"Kristy? Did something happen at school today?" She'd sat next to me on my bed.
I'd shaken my head. "I was just thinking about... well, about Dad, actually."
Mom had said nothing but had slipped her arm around me.
"Do you ever talk to him?" I'd asked.
"We're in touch, but I rarely speak with him."
"Do you think... do you think he knew it was my birthday?" I'd said, and then to my surprise I'd burst into tears.
"Oh, honey." Mom had gathered me up like she used to do when I was little and had fallen off my bicycle or lost a game of jacks to Mary Anne (which was humiliating since Mary Anne was so uncoordinated). "I don't know if he remembered, but if he forgot that doesn't mean -"
"Don't say it doesn't mean he doesn't love me," I'd interrupted angrily.
"But it really doesn't," Mom had told me. "He may have forgotten, but he'll always love you."
"He has a funny way of showing it," I'd said, sniffling.
"He has a funny way of showing a lot of things."
I'd pulled away from her. "Are you still mad at him, too?"
Mom had sighed. "I'm still disappointed in him, but I had to stop being mad. I stopped a long time ago because it was pointless and took up a lot of energy."
"Plus, now you have Watson."
"Well, now Watson has come into my life. But I don't know where that's going to go, Kristy."
Six days later, this conversation was replaying in my head during social studies, even though the fan-making had now ended and we were supposed to be engaged in a discussion about South America. When the final bell rang, I just couldn't help myself: I was hot, I was unable to concentrate, and I was so relieved school was over that I leaped out of my seat and shouted, "Hooray!"
Mr. Redmont looked shocked. He was probably thinking he'd been so nice letting us make fans and there I was, not appreciating it at all, just glad the day was over.
I sensed that I was in trouble.
Sure enough, Mr. Redmont said, "Class, you have your homework assignments. You may go. Kristy, I'd like to see you for a minute."
Darn.
But Mr. Redmont was very fair, and he was nice enough as teachers go, so all he did was ask me to write a one-hundred-word essay on the importance of decorum in the classroom.
"Yes, sir," I said, having absolutely no idea what decorum was.
That aftemoon it was my tum to take care of David Michael. Mary Anne walked home with us, and then she and my brother and I sat at the kitchen table, drinking lemonade and waiting for the air-conditioning to kick in.
"Hey," I said to Mary Anne, "Mrs. Newton had asked me to baby-sit for Jamie this aftemoon. Didn't she call you after she called me?"
"Nope. Maybe she called Claudia. I'm sitting for Claire and Margo tomorrow, though." Mary Anne looked supremely proud of herself.
Later the three of us walked to the brook with Louie and waded in the cool water. David Michael tried to make sailboats out of leaves and bark, and Louie ran around, looking for squirrels.
All in all, it was a pleasant, ordinary afternoon - not the kind that made me think anything unusual was about to happen.
David Michael, Mary Anne, Louie, and I walked lazily home. When we reached our driveway, Mary Anne whispered to me, "Nine o'clock, okay?"
I grinned. "Okay." Flashlight time.
When Mom came home a little while later, she had pizza with her. My brothers and I stood around the kitchen, breathing in the lovely smell of cheese and pepperoni.
But Sam and Charlie looked skeptical. "I wonder what she wants," murmured Sam.
I decided not to beat around the bush. "How come you brought home pizza, Mom?" I asked.
Charlie kicked my ankle, but I ignored him. "Come on. What do you have to ask us?"
Mom grinned. "Oh, all right. Well, you know I had arranged for Kathy Patrick to sit for David Michael twice a week this year to give you older kids a break, and Kathy called me at work this aftemoon to say she won't be able to watch David Michael tomorrow. So... I was wondering what you guys are -"
"Football practice," said Charlie promptly.
"Math club," said Sam.
"Sitting at the Newtons," I said.
"Drat," said Mom.
"But we are sorry," added Sam.
"I know you are."
My brothers and I dug into the pizza while Mom started making phone calls. She called Mary Anne before I remembered that Mary Anne was sitting for Claire and Margo.
She called Claudia. Claud had an art class.
She called two high school girls. They had cheerleading practice.
David Michael looked like he might cry.
Finally, Mom called Mrs. Newton and asked if she would mind if I brought David Michael with me when I sat for Jamie. Luckily, Mrs. Newton didn't mind.
I chewed away at a gloppy mouthful of pizza and thought it was too bad that Mom's slice had to get cold while she made all those phone calls, and that David Michael had to sit there and feel like he was causing a lot of trouble just because he was only six years old and couldn't take care of himself yet.
Then the idea for the Baby-sitters Club came to me and I almost choked.
I could barely wait until nine o'clock so I could signal the great idea to Mary Anne.
After dinner that night I went to my bedroom and shut my door. I sat at my desk and thought. I had three things to do: the composition on decorum (whatever that was), my homework, and some thinking about the Baby-sitters Club. I planned to do them in that order, grossest first.
After looking up decorum and discovering that I lacked it, I realized that, basically, I'd been rude. (Why hadn't Mr. Redmont just said so?) I wrote down some stuff about how being rude was distracting to other students and made Stoneybrook Middle School look bad to visitors. I wound up with a composition of exactly one hundred words (The and End being the ninety-ninth and one hundredth).
Then I polished off my homework, and finally I sat on my bed, smoothed out a piece of paper, and started making a list about the Baby-sitters Club:
My idea was that Mary Anne and Claudia and l would form a club to do baby-sitting. We would tell our clients that at certain times during the week we could all be reached at one number. We would hold our meetings during those times. That way, when someone needed a sitter, he or she could make one phone call and reach several different people. One of us would be available for sure. Our clients wouldn't have to go through what Mom had just gone through at dinner.
I knew Mary Anne would like my idea, and I was really hoping Claud would like it, too. If she joined the club, then Mary Anne and I would get to see her more often.
At nine o'clock on the dot I tumed off the lamp by my desk and aimed my flashlight out the window that faced Mary Anne's room.
I flashed it once to let her know I was there. She flashed back.
Then I flashed out this message (it took forever):
HAVE GREAT IDEA FOR BABY-SITTERS CLUB. MUST TALK. IMPORTANT. CAN'T WAIT. WE CAN GET LOTS OF JOBS.
There was a pause. Then Mary Anne flashed: WHAT? And I had to start all over again. I shortened the message. At last, Mary Anne flashed: TERRIFIC. SEE YOU TOMORROW. And we put the flashlights away.
I tumed my light back on and was about to check over my homework, when Mom knocked at the door.
"Come in," I called.
Mom sat down at my desk and smiled at me. "I wanted to let you know that I'm going out with Watson on Saturday night."
I groaned.
"I'm not asking for your permission, Kristy. I just want you to be able to plan on my being out Saturday. Charlie's got a date, but Sam will be home."
I nodded.
"Can't you please give Watson a chance?" asked my mother.
"Maybe," I muttered.
I knew I was being a brat. So it was especially nice of Mom to kiss the top of my head as she was leaving the room.
"Going to bed soon?" she asked.
"Yeah."
Later, w
hen I was tucked in, Louie snoozing at my side, I thought about the shooting stars and the summer, and all that had happened and all that was about to happen. What would seventh grade bring? Could I actually start a baby-sitting business? Would Mom and Watson continue to see each other? Would my dad remember my brothers and me at Christmas? (Here I stemly told myself not to start watching the mail until at least December 15th.)
I lay quietly, listening. Louie was snoring gently. Strains of music drifted in from down the hall. Through the open window I could hear a few frail crickets, the hoot of an owl, a car driving slowly along Bradford Court. Louie had flung one great paw across my back, and I slithered out from under it and knelt on my pillow so l could look outside again. Mary Anne's room was dark, but a light was on in her living room.
I tilted my head back, and to my surprise a streak of light crossed the sky - a flash as quick as the blink of an eye. One last shooting star. It marked, I decided, not an end, but the beginning of whatever was to come.
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