Kristy's Worst Idea

by Ann M. Martin

  I do have a heart. And I was worried it would be swayed. I did not want to backslide.

  As I approached Mary Anne at her locker, before homeroom, I prepared myself for the waterfall.

  “Hi, Mary Anne,” I said.

  She turned around. Her eyes locked with mine.

  Don’t give in, I told myself. It’s all for the best.

  “I am so upset,” she began.

  “Mary Anne, we discussed this, and —”

  “They’re serving shell pasta with pesto sauce for lunch,” she continued.

  “Oh … um, too bad.”

  “I think they dilute that stuff with spinach or something,” she said. “It’s awful.”

  We walked toward homeroom. We did not mention the BSC once. (Duh. Did I feel like a fool.)

  I figured maybe Mary Anne had cried herself out. She was so torn apart inside, she just couldn’t show the pain anymore.

  I began to worry about her.

  You know what? Stacey, Claudia, and Abby weren’t showing much pain either. At least none of them came up to me in the hallways on their hands and knees with bloodshot eyes and clasped hands.

  No begging. No backsliding. Nothing. For a while I thought the whole thing might have been a dream.

  Finally, at lunch, we did discuss the breakup. Calmly. Maturely. With disappointment but relief.

  I didn’t see Jessi and Mallory until after school. They were still upset. I think they were worried our friendships would fall apart.

  Before I caught my bus to go home, we all said we’d try to get together over the weekend. Then we said a nice, calm good-bye.

  How did I feel, on a day that used to be a BSC meeting day?

  Like a mixed-vegetable ice cream sundae — full of good and bad things that didn’t mix at all.

  Boy, was it weird to know I wouldn’t be heading to Claudia’s. My mind was still in auto-BSC-mode — anxious to finish my homework before meeting time, worrying whether Charlie’s car was in the shop for repairs.

  Relax, I told myself.

  Part of me had hoped my BSC friends had planned this whole thing as a huge April Fool’s joke, seven months early. We’d all have a big laugh and go back to the way we were, loyal and full of group spirit.

  But here’s the other side: Even though my mind was a mess, my body felt the strangest sense of calmness. As if I’d just taken a swim on a Hawaiian beach.

  I felt free. Free and peaceful.

  A few seats in front of me, Abby was laughing about something with Anna. They both looked so happy. Why shouldn’t they? They’d be seeing more of each other now. (Also, Abby wouldn’t have to worry about being president ever again — thank goodness.)

  I smiled. I pursed my lips to whistle a tune, but then I stopped myself.

  I mean, let’s not get carried away. The BSC had ended. This was not exactly a time to be joyous.

  When I was dropped off, I breezed into my house and kissed my little brother hello. Why? I don’t know. I just felt like it.

  He screamed and ran into the bathroom to wash his face.

  I had a leisurely snack. I read the sports pages. I played with Emily. I played with Shannon, our puppy. I greeted my big brothers as they gallumphed home from school.

  I even went outside to help out in Watson’s garden. For me, this is a big deal. I find gardening about as exciting as reading the phone book. But I figured, hey, it was a gorgeous, clear day. I was free.

  I didn’t mind gardening at all. In fact, it was kind of fun. For a while.

  As I was yanking a beet out of the ground, I started feeling funny. A little nauseous and shaky.

  I glanced at my watch.

  It was five-thirty.

  I gulped. My instincts were telling me to be at Claud’s. The words I call this meeting to order were trying desperately to climb out of my mouth.

  It was now official. The BSC was an ex-club.

  I felt as if a beet had jumped into my throat.

  Rrrrrring! sounded the kitchen phone.

  An irate BSC customer! Had to be. He or she had called Claudia’s number, found out the news, and was now ready to scream at me. I had to pick up the call before an innocent family member was caught in the crossfire.

  I raced inside and grabbed the receiver.

  “Hello, Baby — I mean, hello!”

  “Hi, Kristy.” The voice was faint and sad, but I recognized it.

  “Mallory?” I said.

  “Uh-huh. Um, I was thinking maybe we could all get together. Not in Claudia’s room, but somewhere else. Just so we can have the feeling of being friends, without being a club.” She fell silent for a while. “It’s kind of hard to just stop cold, you know.”

  I felt bad. Somehow the breakup was hitting her and Jessi the worst. If I was feeling a pang, those two must have been pretty devastated.

  “Sure, Mal,” I said. “Let me call everyone and get back to you.”

  We hung up, and I immediately tried Mary Anne. Sharon, her stepmother, answered and said she was out with Logan.

  The next person I tried was Stacey. No answer.

  I kept calling. Abby was about to go shopping with her mom. Jessi was out. Claudia was being tutored by Janine and her dad.

  I had to call Mallory back and break the bad news. She was not happy.

  I was kind of disappointed myself. A nonmeeting meeting would have been fun.

  Oh, well, at least I had the beets.

  * * *

  My friends and I did meet that Saturday, at Pizza Express. I should say, some of us did. Mary Anne and Claudia each thought the other would be there, so neither of them showed up. Abby didn’t look too happy, either. (I think she was still mad at me.)

  Over the next two weeks, we saw each other a fair amount. When it was just one or two of us, things were okay. Any more than that, and the squabbling started again.

  As for our clients, squabbling was the tip of the iceberg. Some of them were furious. And who did they dump on? Claudia, the Bad News Baby-sitter. Her phone rang constantly that first week, and she must have explained our breakup fifty times.

  We knew our charges would be upset, and we all made sure to talk to them and calmly explain that we would still be seeing them. But we weren’t prepared for the parents’ reactions. Mrs. Arnold practically broke down in tears. Mrs. Wilder wanted to have us over for a counseling session. Mr. Papadakis offered us a “retainer” if we stayed together. (Claudia thought he meant the thing you put on your teeth. He was really talking about a steady weekly payment.)

  By the second week, clients started getting the hang of it. They began calling us individually. I got some calls, but I referred them to my friends. I still didn’t trust myself after my experience with Jackie. (He, by the way, was recovering very well.)

  What did I do with all my free time? Homework, mostly. Gardening, sometimes. Walking Shannon. But one Wednesday I had a great pickup football game with my older brothers and a couple of their neighborhood friends. The Monday after, Watson taught me how to make a killer lasagna.

  I still felt the pang on meeting days. But it was fading.

  The second Thursday after the breakup, five-thirty passed me right by. I didn’t even notice. I was relaxing on the couch, sipping apple cider and trying to do science homework, when the phone rang.

  “Crusty, it’s for you!” called Sam from the kitchen. (I hate that nickname.)

  “Thanks, Slime,” I called as I ran to the phone.

  My eye caught a glimpse of 5:37 on the kitchen clock as I picked up the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Kristy? It’s Claudia.” Her voice was a timid whisper. “Can you come over right away?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Are you okay?”

  “Just fabulous,” she hissed in an unfabulous way. “I need you right now.”

  “Sure, Claud. But what —”

  “Just come, Kristy! I can’t talk. ’Bye.”

  Uh-oh. Emergency time.

  I had to find a ri
de, and fast.

  Janine Kishi peered over Claudia’s shoulder. “This was your best effort?”

  “This stuff is so confusing,” Claudia replied.

  “What are all these blotches?”

  “I was stabbing it with my pen.”

  “We went over it all, Claudia — respiration, glycolysis, the Krebs cycle, the electron transport chain,” Janine said. “You claimed to understand it. From this paper, it doesn’t appear you were telling me the truth.”

  Janine Kishi is the only high school kid I know who sounds like a college professor. She’d been trying to coach Claudia on her science homework. Which is a little like a beaver teaching a basset hound how to build a dam.

  “When you explain it, I’m even more confused,” Claudia complained.

  Janine let out a big sigh. “Well, if you’d spend less time on the phone …”

  “What makes you think I was on the phone?”

  “I heard you hang up as I was opening the door.”

  Janine has sharp ears. She’d heard Claudia talking to me.

  No, folks, Claudia had not set her kitchen on fire. She had not caught her finger in the Cuisinart. She had not been discovered eating a Ring-Ding by the junk-food police, her parents.

  Claudia was in a crisis over her homework.

  Had she bothered to tell me that? Noooo. Instead, she had worried me half to death.

  Here’s what happened after our phone call: I ran through my house to find a ride. Watson was working in his office, behind closed doors. Mom was at work, too, of course, and Nannie had taken Emily to the doctor. Charlie was the only driver left in the family.

  I barreled upstairs and into his room. “Charlie, take me to Claudia’s house.”

  He was sitting with his feet propped up on his desk. He turned to me with a scowl. “Haven’t you heard of knocking?”

  “She’s in trouble,” I said. “Something awful has happened.”

  I ran downstairs and outside to his car. Muttering under his breath, Charlie followed.

  Car is a loose description. Heap of scrap metal is more like it. It’s called the Junk Bucket for a good reason.

  I pushed aside a pile of magazines and jumped into the front seat.

  As Charlie started the “car” up, he said, “This isn’t really a Baby-sitters Club meeting, is it? Because if it is, I expect to be paid.”

  “No, Charlie, it’s not,” I replied.

  “Great,” he grumbled. “So it’s just slave labor.”

  “I don’t believe you! One of my best friends may be lying on the floor, gasping for breath, and you’re worried about gas money?”

  “All right, all right.” He started up the Junk Bucket and pulled into the street.

  When Charlie dropped me off in front of Claud’s house, I ran inside through the front door (which the Kishis leave unlocked) and up to Claudia’s room.

  She was slumped over her desk. Janine was pacing behind her, arms folded, lecturing her about study habits.

  Claudia’s face brightened as I walked in.

  “Hello, Kristy,” Janine said. “I’m sorry, but Claudia is very busy right now —”

  “She’s coming over to do the homework with me!” Claudia blurted out.

  “I am?” I asked.

  Claudia shot me a Look.

  “I mean, I am!” I quickly said.

  Janine smirked. “You’re so transparent, Kristy. All right, I’ll help you both. The Krebs cycle is not exactly an intuitive concept.”

  “Krebs cycle?” I said. “No problem. I know it like the back of my hand.”

  I was exaggerating. But I had been studying it. And I kind of understood it. Well, some of it.

  “All right,” Janine said, walking out of the room with a weary sigh. “When you’re running low on collective adenosine triphosphate, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Right,” I said with a smile.

  Janine disappeared into her room.

  “What’d she say?” Claudia asked.

  I shrugged. “How should I know?”

  Claudia sank back into her chair. “Kristy, I am D — E — D. Dead. I might as well be studying ancient Sanscript.”

  “Isn’t it Sanskrit?” I asked.

  “See? I’d flunk that, too.”

  “Claudia, you had me scared. I thought something awful had happened to you.”

  “Something awful has happened to me — this!” She held out her science textbook, open to a complicated diagram of the heart and lungs. “Explain this, please.”

  I scanned the diagram, then said, “Okay. First, this is the heart —”

  Rrrrrring!

  “Arrrrgh! Not again!” Claudia picked up the receiver. “Hello, Claudia Kishi…. Hi, Mr. Sobak. I’m sorry, but the Baby-sitters Club has been disbanded. I believe I told your wife … That’s all right…. Yes, we are…. Her name is Mary Anne Spier, and you’ll have to call her to find out if she’s available…. She’s in the phone book under S — P — E — E — R. No problem…. ’Bye.”

  Claudia slammed down the receiver. “He doesn’t listen to his wife, and then, when I go through the trouble to explain everything, he asks for Mary Anne’s number!”

  “It’s S — P — I — E — R,” I said gently.

  “I, E, what’s the difference? I’m doing the best I can. You think it’s easy answering all these phone calls? Besides, why should boring old Mary Anne get all the jobs?”

  “Claudia!”

  “Sorry, sorry, I take it back.” Claudia turned her textbook toward me. “Teach me the Crab’s Cycle. That’ll calm me down.”

  “Okay, first of all, it’s Krebs, and it’s the way the body makes energy, in the from of ATP —”

  “But that’s so stupid! Energy isn’t a thing. It’s, like, a state of mind or an attitude —”

  Rrrrrring!

  With a groan, Claudia reached for the phone. “Hello? … Yes, hi, Mrs. Hobart…. About two weeks ago…. Yes, it’s permanent…. Well, we’re really busy with schoolwork and stuff…. It’ll be all right. Do you have all our numbers? … I know, I’m sorry…. A central voice-mail pickup? Well, we can look into it, I guess…. Okay, say hi to the boys. ’Bye.”

  Click.

  “What’s a central voice-mail pickup?” Claudia asked.

  I shrugged. “Beats me. Why don’t you just leave your machine on?”

  “I tried that. They keep calling back. Then I have to return their calls. It’s faster just to answer.”

  “Okay, well, back to the homework. When you eat, like, a candy bar, your body stores some of it in fat cells, right? But it also —”

  Rrrrrring!

  “Ohhh, just when we were getting to the good part!” Claudia said.

  “I’ll take it.” I stood up and reached for the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hello?” a muffled, high-pitched voice said. “Do you still have the Baby-sitters Club?”

  I sat on the director’s chair. Claudia was scooting into her closet. “No,” I answered, “but we are available individ —”

  “No club? Then I’ll take the regular baby-sitter’s sandwich, one baby-sitter on rye with mayo and a sour pickle.”

  Now I recognized the voice. “Alan Gray, you are a disgusting goon!” I cried, slamming the phone down.

  Claudia emerged from her closet with a bag of Snickers bars. “For scientific demonstration. You know, for the part you were starting to talk about, the candy bar?”

  I laughed. Claudia tossed me a bar and plopped onto her bed. We just sat there for a moment, munching happily. I saw my trusty visor buried under some papers on Claudia’s floor, so I grabbed it and put it on.

  The clock clicked to 5:51. I was in my usual BSC position. Claudia was in hers. We were doing our usual BSC activity, eating.

  “Feels like a meeting, huh?” I said.

  Claudia nodded. “Kristy, do you miss it?”

  I had to take a deep breath. The truth? Right then and there, in Claudia’s room, the answer was yes. I co
uldn’t help it.

  “Sometimes I do,” I replied. “So much that it hurts.”

  “Me, too,” Claudia said sadly. “You know, when I think of all of us, sitting around here, eating stuff —”

  “Answering calls —”

  “Laughing —”

  I smiled. “And arguing.”

  “Yeah, and changing schedules.”

  “Listening to excuses.”

  “Listening to you blow up.”

  “I never blew up!” I boomed.

  We both started cracking up. “Well,” Claudia said, “I guess I don’t miss it all the time.”

  “It does feel good to have the free time,” I admitted. “I kind of enjoy spending it at home. It’s relaxing.”

  “I spend it with my homework. That relaxes me so much, I fall asleep. Maybe that’s why I’m flunking.”

  I stood up and walked toward Claud’s desk. “Have no fear. You’ll pass. That’s the Thomas promise.”

  Claudia took another bite of Snickers. “You know, I can feel a lot of Krebs in my stomach right now. This is helpful.”

  Rrrrrring!

  “Go away!” Claudia shouted. Then she picked up the receiver once again and said politely, “Hello, Claudia Kishi answering service…. Uh, actually, she is listed, Mr. Sobak. The spelling is S — P — I — E — R …”

  “Use your head, Linny!” shouted Abby.

  I heard her voice as I was biking past a field in my neighborhood on a cloudy Saturday, seventeen days ABSC. Abby was playing goal, while a bunch of little kids tried to kick a soccer ball in her direction.

  Linny looked totally confused.

  “If the ball’s too high to kick, you can butt it with your head,” Abby explained.

  “Cool!” Linny began charging around with his head down, like a goat. “Yo!” he shouted. “Kick it to me!”

  He butted a six-year-old boy named Timmy Hsu, who turned around and jumped on nine-year-old Linny’s back. Sheila Nofziger, who lives down the block, sat on the ball and began bouncing. Scott Hsu, Hannie Papadakis, and Moon Pinckney were kicking around an empty soda can. (Sheila, Scott, Hannie, and Moon are all seven.)

  I supposed it was a soccer practice. To me, it looked more like pandemonium.