Stacey's Book

by Ann M. Martin

  “I’ll get the pickup truck,” she said, “and Mrs. McGill, you can help Mr. McGill into it and drive it over to the fisherman’s dock. There aren’t any steps there. I’ll meet you with the boat.”

  My parents were amazed by Mara. So was I.

  While Mara was getting the pickup my mother and I decided that I should stay behind with Alice until her mother got back. Since it was only for an hour even my mother thought it was okay for me to take care of Alice by myself. (That was my very first baby-sitting job.) Mara reminded me to take Alice to her house before her parents got back and to tell them everything that had happened.

  Alice padded around behind me while I straightened up the mess from my father’s fall and did the lunch dishes. Then I changed her diaper and we went back to her house.

  Mr. and Mrs. O’Connell were nice, but they didn’t seem to think it was any big deal that Mara knew what to do in an emergency. Her father used the two-way radio to call the hospital. (I finally saw how one worked.) When he got off he told me that my father had broken his ankle. He’d have to wear a cast and use crutches for a couple of weeks, but then he’d be fine. They’d just left the hospital.

  I said I’d go home and wait for my parents, but the O’Connells insisted that I stay with them, and that the two families would have dinner together that night.

  I helped Mrs. O’Connell make a blueberry pie while Mr. O’Connell cleaned some fish for the main course. (That fish was the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten. The pie was pretty amazing, too.)

  I guess you can figure out that things between Mara and me smoothed out after that. She was a first-class hero in my book. And a very nice person. Nice enough to forgive me for being such a snob.

  My dad did all right with his broken ankle. He had plenty of time to read all the books on that shelf he’d been trying to reach and do his project for work. And my mother felt so sorry for him that she stopped complaining about his working. The O’Connells let us borrow the pickup truck whenever they weren’t using it. That way my mother could drive my dad to the cove they liked so much, or over to the fisherman’s dock. They seemed to be having a good enough vacation despite the cast and crutches.

  I didn’t see much of my parents, though. I spent most of my time with Mara. I was glad I’d brought so much candy. Mara and I shared it all. She especially liked apricot rolls, which she’d never had before. For the ten days that we were palling around together we each had one apricot roll a day.

  I asked her to teach me a lot of the stuff she knew how to do, like how to steer that motorboat. On calm days my parents let me go out with her to check the lobster traps. It’s a much easier job if there are two people.

  I also told her I wanted to camp out.

  “Let’s wait for the full moon,” she said. “That’s tomorrow.”

  The next day we planned our sleepover. We wrote a menu for what we’d eat and a list of the supplies we’d need. We were going to cook all our meals over an open fire.

  The night of the sleepover was one of the most memorable nights of my life. We had baked potatoes, hot dogs, and roasted corn on the cob. And since we’d saved the two plain chocolate bars I’d brought we were able to make s’mores. Then we laid out our sleeping bags on the very top of Blueberry Hill and slipped inside them. Above us was the full moon. It was so bright it was like daylight, only better because the light had a blue, moody quality. We could hear the surf crashing on the shore, and the smell of the pines was carried to us on soft, moist breezes. It made for an atmosphere that a person never forgets.

  Mara and I talked for hours. I never knew the time because we didn’t bring watches with us. We didn’t need them because Mara knew the time by the position of the moon. (She also knew what time it was during the day just by checking out where the sun was.)

  While we were lying there Mara told me spooky stories she’d heard about Pirate’s Cove, and about the time her father was lost at sea for two whole days and nights.

  I said, “Mara, you know so much and tell such great stories. I don’t have anything to share with you.”

  She said, “Oh, Stacey, yes you do. Please, please tell me about Ireland. That’s where my grandparents live and I’ve never met them. Tell me everything. And don’t leave anything out.”

  I was glad I had something to share with Mara. After that she asked me a lot of questions about living in New York City.

  Two days later it was time to say good-bye to Pine Island and to Mara. Her mother was going to drive us and our stuff in the pickup over to the fisherman’s dock. (Mara didn’t drive us because she’s only allowed to drive the pickup in an emergency. She thought that was a silly rule. At the time I did, too.) But we did use the two-way radio to tell Mr. Stanley to pick us up at the cove instead of at our dock.

  I hated saying good-bye to Mara and to the island. We exchanged addresses. “Promise to write,” I said.

  “Every week,” she replied. “Let’s both say we’ll write on Sunday afternoons.”

  “Yes,” I said. “At three o’clock. That way we’ll know the other person’s doing it at the same time.”

  Mara nodded.

  “ ’Bye, Mara,” I called as the boat pulled away from the dock and I left Pine Island forever.

  “ ’Bye, Stacey,” she called back. By then the motor was roaring and we were headed out to sea, so I could barely hear her.

  I never wrote a letter to Mara and she never wrote one to me. I started to write her, but I never finished. I’m sorry now that I didn’t.

  But I still remember that vacation as one of the most wonderful times of my life. It also taught me not to expect all people to be the same. I think it’s because of that experience that I was able to adjust so well when we moved from New York City to Stoneybrook.

  Pine Island and Mara taught me that new places and people can be an invitation to adventure.

  I looked at the clock. Five-fifteen in the afternoon. In Stoneybrook my friends would be rushing to get to Claudia’s in time for the Baby-sitters Club meeting. I missed being with them. I guess you could say I was feeling sorry for myself. So much so, in fact, that when the phone rang I was hoping it was Allison (whom I don’t even like) inviting me to her birthday party.

  “Stacey, Stacey! You’ll never guess what!”

  It was Claudia. Even though she sounded happy-excited and not upset-excited I said, “Claudia, is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s great!”

  “So what’s up? What won’t I guess?” I was already feeling a hundred percent better than I had just a minute before.

  “You’ll never believe it,” Claudia rushed on. “My parents said I can visit you in New York. I can take the train alone and everything. I had to beg like crazy but they said yes.”

  “Claudia, that’s great!”

  She was giggling. “I’m so excited that I forgot I haven’t even been invited.”

  “Of course you’re invited. You’re always invited. When can you come? Can you come this weekend?”

  “Don’t you have plans and stuff? With Laine or something?”

  “I don’t have anything special planned. If I do anything with Laine, you can do it, too.”

  I was remembering a disastrous sleepover party when Claudia, Kristy, Mary Anne, and Dawn had come to New York City for the weekend. I thought it was a great chance for my Stoneybrook friends to meet my best New York friend. Claudia and Laine most definitely did not get along that night. Nobody got along. So you can imagine my surprise the next day when Laine (whose father, as I’ve mentioned, is a big deal Broadway producer) invited me and my Stoneybrook friends to go to a hit Broadway play. That night Laine and Claudia got along so well that when we were all saying thank-yous and good-byes, my two best friends exchanged addresses and phone numbers.

  Now that Claudia was coming to New York maybe she and Laine would get to know one another even better and I wouldn’t feel so split between my New York life and my old friends in Stoneybrook. I couldn’t wait for
Claudia to come.

  “Claud, if you can possibly come this weekend, please, please do it.”

  “That’s what I was hoping you’d say,” she said, “because I can’t wait to see you. Just a sec.” I heard her say hi to Jessi and Mal as they arrived for the BSC meeting. I stayed on the phone long enough to say hello to everyone, but kept one eye on my watch. I knew that at five-thirty I had to be off the phone so clients could get through to the Baby-sitters Club. Claudia promised to call back as soon as the meeting was over.

  I was so excited about Claudia’s visit that I couldn’t concentrate on my homework. I felt happier than I had been since we moved back to New York City.

  To tell you the truth, things hadn’t been so great at home. My parents thought they were hiding their problems from me, but I knew they weren’t getting along. I was noticing more tension than ever between them. They were still together in those days, but it was hard to believe they were the same couple who spontaneously danced around the living room when I was eight and planned a vacation on a secluded island when I was ten. I noticed that they had stopped exchanging a hello kiss when my dad got home from work.

  At school things weren’t much better. Laine was still my best friend in New York. But my other good friends from Parker — Deirdre, Val, Sally, and Allison — weren’t real friends anymore. My problems with them started even before I moved to Stoneybrook. In fact, one of the reasons I didn’t mind moving to Stoneybrook in the first place was because those girls were mean to me when I first learned I had diabetes. (I know it’s hard to believe, but they were.)

  Since I was back at Parker I felt like an outsider with them. For example, Allison was having a dinner party at a restaurant to celebrate her birthday and I wasn’t invited. I was really glad Claudia was coming for the weekend.

  The next day in the lunch line at school I told Laine about Claudia’s visit. “Did you guys ever write to each other?” I asked.

  “Were we supposed to?” Laine reached for her daily low-fat yogurt. That week she was determined to lose three pounds before she wore this black lycra mini-dress she’d bought for Allison’s dinner party on Saturday night. “We’re going to the Tribeca Bar and Grill,” she told me. “You know, the actor Robert DeNiro’s place in Tribeca.” Then she leaned over and whispered, “Deirdre said she has a sore throat. Maybe she’ll get sick and you can come in her place.” Laine had already explained to me that the reason I wasn’t invited was because Allison could only invite four guests. Of course, Laine, Val, Deirdre, and Sally came before me.

  “It’s no big deal,” I said. “Besides, Claudia’s coming. Maybe the three of us can go out Friday night. Or on Sunday. Or both. Let’s plan something terrific for Claud. She’s such fun.”

  Laine ignored my idea by saying, “I’m going back for a diet soda. Do you want one?”

  We never did make plans together for Claudia’s weekend in New York. Any time I brought up the subject Laine changed it. After school on Friday I told her I was hurrying home to get ready for Claudia. She said, “Have fun. See you on Monday!”

  I didn’t really care. Claudia was my best friend and I had a spectacular New York weekend planned for the two of us. Why shouldn’t we have the most marvelous time? I thought.

  But before Claudia arrived, I had an important errand. I may not be able to eat sugar, but Claudia can’t live without it. So I bought her a weekend stash. I got chocolate bars with peanut butter filling, lollipops, M&M’s, Gummi Bears, three kinds of chips, caramel popcorn, and Mallomars.

  An hour later my mother and I took a cab to Grand Central to meet Claud. My mother was almost as excited as I was. She likes Claudia a lot and she knew that I wasn’t enjoying my New York friends as much as my Stoney-brook friends. Mom and I had been waiting at the information booth in the big rotunda for about fifteen minutes when I squealed, “There she is.”

  Even in the rush hour crowd at Grand Central you couldn’t miss Claud. She was the Japanese-American girl who looked as hip as any funky, downtown New Yorker. That day she had on a purple jacket, black tights, and red cowboy boots. Her black hair was half piled on her head and half down her back, so the brightly colored three-hoop earrings she’d made for herself showed off nicely. She was dragging a big suitcase on wheels. Knowing Claud she’d packed enough outfits to last a month. I ran to meet her.

  By the time my mother reached us Claud and I were jumping up and down and hugging one another. (I kept an eye on her suitcase all the time. In a big city you can’t be too careful.)

  I talked a mile a minute in the cab, telling Claud what I’d planned for the weekend. While we were waiting at the curb in front of my building for the cabbie to take her big suitcase out of the trunk I said, “Of course we can do anything you want. New York’s a big place and there’s lots to do.”

  “You’re the one who knows her way around,” she said. “I’m the hick.”

  Before I could remind her how sophisticated she is, the cabbie put the suitcase on the sidewalk in front of us and said, “Staying for a while, eh?” We laughed about that as we bumped and rolled Claud’s big suitcase into my apartment building. I was wishing that Claud could stay for a long time and imagined how much fun we’d have if she lived with me in New York City.

  When we got to my room I told her to look under the pillow. “Mallomars!” she shrieked. Playing Hot and Cold, Claud hunted until she found the whole stash of junk food. Then she put everything back where I’d originally put it so she’d feel right at home. (She didn’t hide the Mallomars because she was eating them.)

  We both changed our clothes for dinner. My parents were taking us to the Saloon, a restaurant with roller-skating waiters (and a great menu). The Saloon is across from Lincoln Center so it’s a perfect spot for people-watching. My mother came to my room to tell us that my father wouldn’t be going to dinner with us. She sounded very annoyed. “He’s such a workaholic,” she said. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  After my mother left, Claud said, “I was looking forward to seeing your father.”

  “You’ll see him plenty because you’re here all weekend, remember?” We just grinned at one another.

  When we left for dinner my mother was in a bad mood because my dad had canceled on us. Fortunately she improved quickly. But as we window-shopped along Columbus Avenue I started to notice that now Claudia was in a bad mood. There are fifteen store-filled blocks between our apartment building and the Saloon restaurant. We were stopping and checking out every window. In the Betsey Johnson store window I pointed out the lycra dress that Laine had bought. Claudia didn’t seem very impressed with it and moved on to the next store window. “Tomorrow let’s go back to Betsey Johnson’s,” I said. “And you can try some stuff on. It’s your kind of store.”

  “Not really,” she replied.

  I didn’t say anything because just then we bumped into a bunch of kids from my school. I introduced Claud to Jason, Wilson, Emily, and Melissa, who told us they were on their way to a movie and then were going bowling.

  When they left I thought Claud would say something like, “Bowling in New York City? Boy, you can do everything here.” But she didn’t. So I said it. I couldn’t understand why she was being so negative and grumpy.

  Claud seemed more like herself at dinner. Mom and I asked her about Stoneybrook and our friends there. And I was right about Claud loving the Saloon.

  After dinner we strolled around Lincoln Center. Then we walked back on the east side of Columbus Avenue so we could look in the stores we’d missed coming down. It wasn’t fun, though, because Claud was a drag again. I’d say, “Look at that hat. It would be perfect on you.” And she’d say, “Oh,” or just grunt.

  When we got back to the apartment we went to my room to hang out. Before I had a chance to ask Claudia what was wrong she turned into the old Claud and we had a great time. First I tried on some of those clothes she’d brought. Then we looked through magazines. But the most important thing we did was talk, talk, talk. And finally it f
elt like the good old days when Claudia and I were in Stoneybrook.

  The first thing I noticed when I woke the next morning was that someone was sleeping in my room and that that someone was Claudia. The second thing I noticed was that the sun was shining and the sky was the cloudless bright blue that promises a long, beautiful day. Claud likes to sleep late, but it was already nine-thirty and I had planned a full day for us. I stared at her and whispered, “Claud, wake up,” until she opened her eyes. And closed them again.

  I heard someone come in the front door and remembered my mother saying she’d get us fresh bagels. I jumped out of bed and ran into the hall. Before she got to the kitchen I took a hot sesame bagel out of the bag and returned to my room to wave that bagel in front of Claud’s nose. She got up. My dad had just gotten up, too, so we all had our bagel breakfast together. “They don’t get any better or fresher than this,” I told Claudia. She didn’t say, “You’re right. They’re fabulous,” like I thought she would. But she did eat two.

  After breakfast we took showers, picked out what we were going to wear, and got dressed. By the time we left the house it was eleven o’clock. “Almost time for lunch,” Claudia joked. She was eating a chocolate bar when she said it.

  Since it was a sunny day we walked through Central Park to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I described how in New York there are free concerts in Central Park put on by the New York Philharmonic Orchestra and the New York City Opera. I told her how stars like Diana Ross and Paul Simon had performed not far from where we were standing. Claud wasn’t impressed.

  Then I pointed to a ballfield where some kids were playing touch football. “That’s the field where my physical education class comes to play soccer,” I explained. “A lot of schools use the park for their phys ed activities. Isn’t that neat?”

  All she said was, “Too bad you have to walk so far just for a phys ed class.”

  Uh-oh, I thought, whatever was eating Claud yesterday is back. But I knew that being in the Metropolitan Museum of Art would improve her mood. And it did.