“No way!” Shea made a gagging noise and let his head drop to one side and we both laughed.
“Maybe I’m lucky after all,” he said.
“Well, you’re finished with your math, anyway. Want to help me now?”
I pulled out my new flash cards (even though I was still mad at Stacey, I was doing what she’d suggested, and I’d made flash cards for all my vocabulary words now).
“Wow,” said Shea when he saw my decorations. “I’m going to decorate my flash cards!”
“I’ll help you,” I promised. “But first, help me with my vocabulary.”
So we went through the flash cards.
“Only four mistakes out of twenty-five,” said Shea. “Good work.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I wonder what grade that would be on a real test. Like you have twenty-five answers and each answer is worth …”
“Four,” said Shea. “Twenty-five goes into a hundred four times. So four mistakes times four is sixteen. The answer is eighty-four. A B.”
“Pretty good,” I said, impressed with my B and how quickly Shea had figured it out.
“Uh-huh,” said Shea. “But you know what? I think you can do even better, Claudia.”
How many times have people told me that? You can do better, just apply yourself. Try harder. Pay attention.
Oh, most of them mean well. Most of them want me to do better, for whatever reason.
But this was the first time I really believed it. Because Shea understood what it meant to hear these things. And he wouldn’t say them lightly.
“Thanks,” I said.
I smiled at him. He smiled at me.
We were sitting there grinning away at each other when his mother tapped on the door to tell me the tutoring session was over.
I grinned all the way back to my house for the BSC meeting. Unfortunately, Stacey and I arrived at the front door at the same time.
“Claudia,” said Stacey, inclining her head slightly.
“Stacey,” I replied, raising one eyebrow in a very sophisticated way. I opened the door. “After you.”
“Thank you,” said Stacey. She swept in and up the stairs. At the door to my room she stopped and opened it. “After you,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said.
To my relief I saw that every club member except Mary Anne was there. As Stacey sat down and I looked for junk food (as far from Stacey as I could), Mary Anne hurried in.
Kristy pulled her visor down and intoned, “This meeting of the Baby-sitters Club will come to order.”
At exactly 5:45 the doorbell rang.
Dawn leaped up, ran across the room, and looked out the window. “Rats!”
“What! What!” cried Kristy.
“I bet it was the secret message person,” said Dawn. “Why didn’t I think of it before? We could have set a trap. We could have …”
“I’ll get the door,” I said, and raced downstairs, since neither Janine nor my parents were home.
Taped to the door was an envelope, just like all the other envelopes. I peeled it free and raced back upstairs.
“I knew it!” exclaimed Dawn as I entered the room, waving it in the air.
“And the winner is …” I tore the envelope open and unfolded the sheet of paper.
“What does it say?” asked Jessi.
“You guys read it,” I said, puzzled. I passed the note around.
This is what it said:
To the baby-sitters,
Please come meet us at the Rosebud Cafe.
Come on Saturday afternoon. We are inviting you because we like you. You are very special and we want to treat you.
“I knew it,” said Kristy. She sniffed the note, then handed it back to me.
“The note is for all of us,” I said.
“Smell it,” suggested Kristy. “There’s perfume on it.”
“We are inviting you?” said Dawn. “Who’s we? Ugh. That’s strong perfume.”
“I knew it,” Kristy repeated. “Don’t you see? Or rather smell? It’s Cokie and Grace. They’re at it again. That’s Cokie’s perfume! Don’t they ever give up? Why don’t they at least find a new game to play?”
Jessi frowned. “What do you think they are up to?”
“They think,” explained Kristy, “that we’ll think this note is from a bunch of adoring boys and we’ll get all dressed up and go to the cafe at three o’clock and no one will meet us. Or Cokie and Grace will be there to make fun of us. Or something.”
“What rats!” cried Mallory. “What are we going to do?”
Folding her arms, Kristy said, “Leave it to me. I’ll think of something.”
“Another of Kristy’s great ideas,” teased Mary Anne.
Kristy nodded grimly. “You better believe it,” she said.
Business took off for the last five minutes of the meeting, and the phone rang almost constantly. Then it was six o’clock and Kristy adjourned us. As everyone was leaving, Stacey hung back.
What now? I wondered. Was Stacey the Killer Tutor actually going to apologize?
If she did, I’d forgive her. I’d be generous and polite and kind and …
“Claud, I have to correct your journal. Why don’t you give it to me to take home?”
Huh? I thought.
Just then, Mary Anne stuck her head back in the door. “Claud —”
If Stacey wasn’t going to apologize, I didn’t have to be polite, right?
“What is it, Mary Anne?” I said sweetly.
“Claudia,” said Stacey sharply.
“The journal’s in the drawer,” I practically snarled. Then I turned sweetly toward Mary Anne.
“Here,” said Mary Anne looking from me to Stacey and back. “I almost forgot. I borrowed this magazine last Friday and I wondered if …”
“Where?” asked Stacey, slamming one drawer and pulling open another.
“Will you excuse me for a moment, Mary Anne? I’m so sorry about the interruptions.”
“Never mind,” snapped Stacey. “I found it.” She slammed the drawer shut and brushed past us.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Inside, I was boiling mad at Stacey all over again. But I guess it didn’t show too much. Because apart from glancing quickly at Stacey’s departing back, Mary Anne didn’t say anything. She smiled, handed me the magazine, and left.
On Saturday afternoon I stood in my closet, staring at my clothes. Normally, I don’t mind being in the closet. But the usual closet rules that make it interesting — avoid wearing the exact same outfit twice, be outrageous, and look cool and terrific — didn’t exactly apply today.
Today, I was trying to get ready to meet our secret admirers, Cokie and Grace, at the Rosebud Cafe. I was also trying to follow Kristy’s instructions to look as awful as I could.
Hmm. Maybe I could borrow something of Janine’s? No. If she found out why I wanted to borrow her clothes, she might be insulted. And she was bound to ask why I wanted them.
I pulled out an old pair of tattered jeans, studied them for a moment, then ripped the bottoms of the legs off. When I pulled them on, the ragged edge of one leg hung below my knee. The other made an uneven line above my knee.
So far, so good.
I hunted around in my closet and found a big old lime green shirt with a bleached spot (it had gotten mixed in a load of white clothes that were being bleached) near the bottom on the front. I put that on.
Pretty ratty.
And wrinkly.
Better and better.
I found a pair of socks. Kelly green socks. Then I dug a pair of aqua sneakers out of the back of my closet. I had stopped wearing them because I’d poked a hole through one of the toes. I put those on and studied the effect in the mirror. A major clash of colors.
But my superior fashion sense told me something was still missing.
I reached up and took the tie out of my hair and let it fall. I shook my head a little to mess it up.
Jewelry? No.
What about ma
keup? Well …
I remembered an orange-red lipstick that I had bought once (I think I was unconscious at the time) and never worn. I dug around in my makeup drawer and pulled it out.
I put the lipstick on, then stuffed a poo-poo cushion and a joy buzzer into my shoulder sling bag. Having practical joke items is one of the benefits of being a baby-sitter. Not only had I once baby-sat for Betsy Sobak, one of the world’s worst practical jokers — until with the help of one of Betsy’s practical jokes I broke my leg — but Mallory’s brothers and sisters are big fans of practical joke items, such as rubber spiders and fake barf. (Although maybe fake barf wasn’t necessary when dealing with Cokie and Grace.)
Stepping back, I took another look at myself in the mirror.
I was definitely a strong candidate to win the Worse Dressed Award. I couldn’t wait and see what the others in the BSC were wearing. I also could hardly wait to see what gag items they’d bring.
I checked my clock radio and realized I’d have to wait a little longer. It wasn’t quite time to head out for the cafe. That was all right. I’d have a few extra minutes to write in my secret journal.
I put my bag by the door, sat down at my desk, and opened the drawer. At first I thought the journal had disappeared. Then I realized it had slid to the back of the drawer. I pulled it out, flipped it open, picked up my pen …
And screamed, “Oh, no!” The pen slipped out of my fingers. I grabbed the journal with both hands and held it up, hoping maybe I was getting nearsighted and wasn’t really seeing what I was seeing.
But I was.
The journal I was holding wasn’t my secret journal. It was the official one. Which could only mean that Stacey had the other one. The one with all the nasty, hateful things I’d written in it about her.
Never mind that I wasn’t speaking to Stacey. Stacey was never going to speak to me again.
Ever.
I spent a few minutes wondering and worrying. (Maybe she hadn’t read it yet. Maybe she’d realize after the first few lines it wasn’t the right journal and stop reading. Maybe I should move to Mars.)
I remembered a book I’d read, Harriet the Spy. The same thing had happened to Harriet, I told myself, and she’d survived.
Hadn’t she?
The numbers on the clock rolled over and I realized I didn’t have time to worry anymore. I had to hustle if I wanted to arrive at the Rosebud Cafe on time.
A few minutes later, as I neared the front of the cafe, I skidded to a stop. Good grief! Who were those tacky, horrible, fashion victims standing around outside?
“Claud!” gasped Mallory. “You look awful.”
Mallory, Jessi, Stacey, Kristy, Mary Anne, and Dawn all stared at me, and I gaped back at them. (Although I couldn’t bring myself to look directly at Stacey.)
They looked as bad as I did, a cacophony (that was a particularly creatively decorated spelling flash card of mine) of crazy colors, random wrinkles, and disgusting dirt.
Dawn began to laugh.
“Shh,” said Kristy. “Keep it down. We don’t want to give it away.” She reached in her pocket and pulled out a water pistol. “Ready your weapons!” Waving her water gun, she pushed open the door to the cafe.
Dawn put her hand over her mouth, but she couldn’t help snorting through her nose as we followed Kristy inside.
The cafe was almost empty. We stopped and looked around.
“Hi!” called a familiar voice from the back of the room.
It was the Rodowsky boys. And the Arnold twins. And Matt and Haley Braddock. They were beaming with excitement and holding up an elaborate sign that read “BSC.”
“W-what?” gasped Kristy.
“Surprise!” everyone shouted.
“It’s a surprise,” cried Jackie Rodowsky, bouncing up (and letting one side of the sign go so that it almost flopped over on everybody). “Me and Archie thought it up. We wanted to thank you special for being the greatest, most favorite baby-sitters in the world. We worked on it while Shea was doing his homework.”
“I didn’t find out until yesterday,” said Shea. “Hey, Claudia! Here. Sit by me.”
“Oh, wow! Great. But, um … could you give us a second?” I grabbed the two nearest arms, hissed “Come on!” and led the BSC into the women’s room. It was a tight fit, and it got even tighter when I ordered, “Get rid of the gag stuff and defashion-victim yourselves. Now!”
Kristy usually gives the orders, but this time she obeyed without a word. So did everyone else, even Stacey.
“I don’t believe this,” muttered Jessi, pulling off the stained white T-shirt she’d been wearing and stuffing it in her purse along with a rubber chicken. She was wearing a basic leotard underneath.
“Watch your elbows,” Mallory warned, trying to smooth her hair down.
I bent over and rolled the legs of my jeans shorts to equal lengths, then tucked the shirttail into the waist so the bleach mark didn’t show. I rubbed off the orange lipstick and was trying to comb my hair when Kristy handed me a rubber band she’d taken out of her own hair (she’d been wearing a weird topknot).
“Thanks,” I said.
My eyes met Stacey’s briefly in the mirror, but I couldn’t tell what her expression was. I think that was partly because I looked away so quickly, and partly because Stacey was wearing so many different colors of eyeshadow.
Looking a little more presentable, we left the rest room.
“Hooray!” shouted Jackie, and I could feel myself blushing. We joined them sheepishly and sat down.
“I officially declare that this party will come to order,” said Shea, scooting sideways to make a place for me.
Marilyn and Carolyn Arnold picked up the menus and began to hand them around proudly.
“This is on us,” said Haley, translating in sign language for her brother Matt. (Matt can do some lip reading, but not when the person is facing away from him!)
“Anything you want!” signed Matt, grinning.
We all studied the menus and then ordered a round of ice cream sundaes, double fudge shakes, various cones with assorted sprinkles, ice cream sodas, a diet soda (for Stacey), and frozen yogurt with granola sprinkles and fresh fruit (for Dawn). We tried not to order too much, since it was the kids’ treat, but they kept adding things to the order.
Jackie Rodowsky got extra fudge syrup on his sundae and on the front of his shirt.
None of the kids seemed to notice how oddly we’d all been dressed. (And still were, sort of.) I hoped Mr. Braddock, who I had spotted sitting in a booth in the far corner, keeping an eye on everything and smiling as he read the newspaper, hadn’t noticed either.
“This is great,” Shea kept saying.
“It really is,” replied Mary Anne. “What a terrific surprise!”
“We fooled you,” Matt signed.
“You sure did,” Kristy signed back, and Matt grinned.
“You didn’t even guess the notes were from us, did you?” asked Haley.
“Not for a minute,” said Jessi.
“Ha!” cried Jackie triumphantly. “And we kept the secret, too.”
“Does this have anything to do with the way you were hanging around when we’d baby-sit?” I asked.
“Yes,” replied Jackie, blushing.
Carolyn looked at Marilyn then and nodded.
Carolyn began, “We have …”
“… a present for you,” concluded Marilyn.
Jackie and Archie pulled out a big folder, opened it, and solemnly handed each of us a piece of paper with our own individual portrait on it.
“Archie and me colored a lot of these. We wanted to get everything right. That’s why we kept spying on you when you were with Shea.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you very much.”
“These are terrific,” said Mary Anne, with a catch in her voice.
“You made me look just like Rapunzel,” said Dawn, smiling, and holding up a portrait that showed a girl with very, very, very long blonde hair.
> Carolyn looked pleased. “I helped with that one,” she said.
Just then, I felt a poke in my side. I looked at Shea, who glanced down sideways at the space between us in the booth. A folded piece of plain white paper lay there, with my name printed on the outside.
I picked it up and holding it below the table, unfolded it carefully.
I looked up. Was Shea ever blushing. I was, too, a little. I was also a little choked up. The note had made me feel so good.
I caught Shea’s eye, just for a moment and smiled at him.
Shea smiled back, and then poked me with his elbow and returned to his ice cream.
We finished our treats, admiring the portraits as we did, and then Jackie, Archie, Shea, Carolyn, Marilyn, Haley, and Matt began to figure out how they were going to pay the bill.
“Do you need any help?” asked Stacey. “I’m pretty good with numbers.”
“No,” said Jackie firmly.
Haley began to count out the money. “How much do we tip?” she whispered to the others.
They bent over and Matt produced a pencil and began to write some numbers on the back of the check. But then Shea, looking over his shoulder, suddenly said, “Three dollars and twenty cents.” He signed the answer to Matt, who looked surprised.
“Wow,” said Haley. “How did you do that?”
Shea shrugged. “I don’t know.”
I smiled to myself. “We’ll meet you up front,” I said.
Outside the restaurant, Mrs. Braddock had just pulled to a stop.
“Did you have a good time?” she called.
“It was a wonderful surprise!” I called back.
“For some wonderful baby-sitters,” she answered.
We grinned. It is so nice to be appreciated!
Then the kids burst out of the restaurant.
“Does everyone have a ride?” asked Kristy, in her best president-of-the-BSC voice.
Mr. Braddock laughed. “We’re dropping the kids off. No baby-sitting work required, Kristy.”
“This is absolutely, positively the nicest surprise I can imagine,” said Mary Anne.
I looked up and met Stacey’s eyes. What was she thinking? Would this soften her up or would she hate me forever? “Absolutely,” I said, and my fingers touched the note from Shea, which I’d put in my pocket.
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