Mary Anne winced. “How badly was she hurt?”
“She didn’t fall! She made it! So then she was going to take the bike to the top of the sliding board and …”
“No!” exclaimed Stacey.
“Mrs. Papadakis caught her just in time. But Lou was really angry she didn’t get to try it.”
“That’s scary. I wonder what Lou will think of next,” said Mary Anne.
I thought about my upcoming sitting job with the Papadakises. “Me, too,” I said. “Me, too.”
Mr. Papadakis met me at the door. “Perfect timing,” he said, smiling broadly. Of course being on time is part of being a good baby-sitter, but it’s always nice to hear someone say something positive. Some of our clients (I won’t say who) only comment on what goes wrong, instead of what goes right. (But we know we must be doing a good job because they keep calling the BSC back.)
“Linny found the car keys,” said Mrs. Papadakis, entering the hallway. Upstairs, Linny leaned over the stair railing and called down, “Three cheers for Linny Papadakis!”
“Yay, Linny!” I called up to him.
“That’s just one cheer,” said Linny.
Hannie’s head popped up beside Linny. “Kristy! Hi! I’ve almost finished my homework! You want to see? We’re working on dinosaurs. You pick one for spelling and arithmetic and creative writing and science. I picked a stegosaurus.”
As Hannie paused to take a breath I said, “Why don’t you finish your homework and I’ll come up and look at it in just a few minutes.”
Hannie grinned, a terrific smile like her father’s. “Okay!”
Linny said, “You owe me two more cheers!” He disappeared in the direction of his room and Mrs. Papadakis laughed as she began pulling on her coat.
“I’ll leave you to the cheering, Kristy,” she said.
And Mr. Papadakis added, “Linny, Hannie, and Lou all have homework that needs to be finished and checked. No TV until then.”
“And I just put Sari down for the night. She went right to sleep.” That was Mrs. Papadakis.
“And there’s a snack.” (Mr. Papadakis).
“Apple cake.” (Mrs. Papadakis).
“The number of the Performance Arts Center is by the telephone,” concluded Mr. Papadakis.
“Sounds great,” I said, and I meant it. The Papadakises are so thorough. It’s another reason they’re one of my favorite families to baby-sit for.
We all smiled at each other, then Mr. Papadakis cleared his throat. “Okay, we’ll be off. Don’t hesitate to call.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “Have a good time.”
But as I closed the door behind them I have to admit I felt a little niggling worry of my own. “Don’t hesitate to call?” The Papadakises are thorough, but that didn’t sound like them. In fact, it sounded as if they were expecting trouble.
The moment I thought of trouble, my mind jumped to Lou.
Stop that, Kristy, I told myself. But I couldn’t help remembering Mary Anne’s experience with Lou. It hadn’t been outrageous or terrible. But it hadn’t been pleasant.
I pushed my negative thoughts firmly aside and headed upstairs. Sari was sound asleep in her room, with her behind in the air. She was clutching a red stuffed dog by one ear. I tucked the covers a little more snugly around them both, then tiptoed out.
I found Linny sprawled on the floor of his room reading, his pen in his hand and a notebook open beside him. “How’s it going?” I asked.
He looked up at me glumly. “We have a substitute teacher and she gave us this really dumb weekly assignment.”
“How dumb?” I asked.
“We each had to pick a state and write a report on it. I picked Rhode Island.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Rhode Island?”
“It’s the littlest.”
I waited. Linny sighed and explained, “I thought it would be the easiest, at least. But it’s got all the same stuff the other states have. You know, produce and weather patterns and everything.”
“Oh,” I said. I suddenly remembered picking the shortest books for book reports when I was a kid (okay, so I still do it if I’m pushed for time) and I bit my lip to keep from smiling. “You know, Linny, sometimes I pick the shortest book for book reports, but the shortest book isn’t always the easiest. In fact sometimes the things that look the easiest are the most complicated. Like The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway?” My voice trailed off. Linny was looking confused. “Anyway, appearances can be deceiving.”
“No kidding.” Linny went back to frowning at the book open in front of him.
“So what’s the state bird?” I asked jokingly. “One of those chickens?”
Linny stared at me. “How did you know?”
“It is? A chicken?”
“A Rhode Island Red. Look.” He showed me the picture. It was definitely a chicken. “What else do you know about Rhode Island?” Did Linny think I was holding out on him?
“I was just guessing,” I reassured him hastily.
“Oh.”
“We’ll play Monopoly when you’re through,” I said.
He smiled. A little. “Okay.”
“Call me if you need anything.”
“Does Rhode Island have a state tree?”
“ ’Bye Linny,” I answered.
“Kristy! Hi!” Hannie was waiting for me by the door of her room. “Look, my homework is all done!” She was waving around a notebook with a construction paper cutout of a stegosaurus on the front.
“A stegosaurus,” I said.
“That’s right.” Hannie nodded, with a big smile on her face. Then she began to turn the pages of her notebook, explaining each one to me. In the front were her dinosaur facts. They were followed by pages for spelling and arithmetic and writing and even art, all centered around dinosaurs in general and the stegosaurus in particular.
I stopped at the art. “Um, Hannie? I’m not sure dinosaurs were purple.”
Hannie looked up at me and said very seriously, “Ms. Colman said no one knows for sure what color they were. So they might have been purple.”
“Oh.” Hannie had a point. “Well, it looks good. You’ve done a terrific job. So, you want to play a game of Monopoly as soon as Linny and Lou finish their homework?”
“I’ll go set it up,” Hannie replied instantly. “I’m going to be purple this time.” (The Papadakises have this ancient Monopoly set, with colored wooden pieces. I think it was Mrs. Papadakis’s when she was a kid. Really.)
Hannie bounced out of the room and I continued down the hall to see how Lou was doing.
I’d half expected the door to be closed, but it was partway open. I knocked and called through the opening, “Lou? It’s Kristy.”
“I know,” said Lou tonelessly.
Taking that as an invitation, I pushed the door open.
I hadn’t seen Lou’s room before. I don’t know what I expected, but I was surprised. It was absolutely, totally neat. The walls were a soft blue, and the comforter on the bed was a darker blue. A colorful rag rug was on the floor. A white desk and chair stood next to the bed, and on the desk stood a blue goose-neck lamp. Clown bookends held a dictionary on the desk. Blue and white chintz curtains with little yellow flowers hung at the windows. The room looked cheerful — but empty. Only it wasn’t.
Lou was lying on her back on the bed with her feet propped up on the headboard. Her shoes were neatly lined up on the rug beside the bed.
“How’s the homework coming?” I asked. (Oh, lord, I sounded like somebody’s mother!)
“Fine,” said Lou.
“You want me to check it for you? We’re going to play Monopoly after everyone’s done.”
“Monopoly!” repeated Lou scornfully.
I ignored her tone and said, “Hannie’s downstairs setting up. She’s already claimed the purple piece. You want to put any dibs in now?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Well, let me know when you want me to check your homework,�
�� I said.
Lou didn’t answer as I walked out of the room.
Hannie had set up the Monopoly board on the game table in the den by the time I went downstairs. A few minutes later, as we were counting out the money, Linny called from over the stair railing, “I finished my homework.”
And he had. (The state tree of Rhode Island is a red maple, in case you’re interested. The flower is a violet and the motto is “Hope.”)
“Yay, Linny!” I said.
“You still owe me a cheer.” Linny shot out of the room in the direction of the den.
“I’ll be right down,” I said to his departing back. “I’m just going to see how Lou is doing.”
Lou hadn’t moved from her place on the bed.
I knocked and stuck my head around the half-open door. “Hi, Lou.”
“What do you want?”
“We’re about to start the Monopoly game. You ready?”
Slowly Lou swung her feet off the bed, pulled on her sneakers, and stood up. She started past me out the door.
“Whoa,” I said, laying my hand on her shoulder. She stiffened and jerked back.
“Let go of me!”
“Sorry. But I need to check your homework first.”
Lou lowered her head and glared at me from under her brows. “What is this, prison? I’m old enough to do my own homework.”
Keeping my voice as neutral as I could, I replied, “I know. But I still need to see it. It’s a Papadakis family rule.”
“My name,” said Lou gratingly, “is Lou McNally, not Lou Papadakis.”
“I still need to see your homework.”
“Forget it.” Lou turned around, stomped back to her bed, and flopped down on it.
“We’d like you to play with us,” I told her.
Lou stared stonily up at the ceiling.
“Kris-teeee!” shouted Hannie.
Lou scowled. “The babies are calling you,” she said to the ceiling.
“I hope you’ll join us soon.”
Lou didn’t answer.
We were deep into killer Monopoly when she appeared in the doorway of the den.
“A gazillion dollars, Kristy!” Hannie was singing. “You owe me a gazillion dollars!”
“That rent seems a little steep to me,” I teased. “Especially for Baltic Avenue. Maybe I could write you a check?”
“Cash only,” said Lou in her deep, gravely voice. “Never go in debt. No credit.”
Were those some of the McNally family rules? I wondered sadly.
“Hi, Lou,” said Hannie. “I’m winning.”
“Hey, wait a minute!” exclaimed Linny indignantly.
“Did you finish your homework?” I asked.
Lou narrowed her eyes at me, but she nodded. “It’s on my desk.”
It was, a neat stack of papers, meticulously written out. I had a feeling it had been finished much earlier.
But I only said, “Good work, Lou,” as I returned to the den.
One look at the three stormy faces before me and I knew I’d gotten back just in time.
“We don’t have to start over, do we, Kristy?” asked Hannie.
“You’ve already bought all the good stuff,” interjected Lou. “How am I supposed to play if you already own everything?”
“It’s your own fault,” said Linny.
I looked at him in surprise. That didn’t sound like Linny.
“You’re the one who needs a baby-sitter to check your homework,” Lou shot back. “Baby.”
“Who are you calling a baby?” sputtered Linny.
“You,” said Lou. “Baby.”
“Oh, yeah?” Linny pushed his chair back and leaped to his feet.
I took a deep breath and slapped my hand down on the table so hard the houses on the Monopoly board jumped. “Quiet!”
Hannie’s mouth dropped open and Linny’s eyes widened in surprise. I had never, ever raised my voice like that with them before.
It surprised me, too. I wanted to say to Lou, Look what you made me do.
But Lou looked bored.
“Sit down, Linny,” I said. “Lou, sit in my place. You can take over for me and I’ll keep the bank. It was my turn to roll.”
Linny sat down and Lou took my seat across from him. She looked at my stack of Monopoly money and property deeds. “You’re not doing too good, are you, Kristy?”
Her eyes met mine. Then she picked up the dice. “Lucky for you I came along, before you lost.”
“I was doing fine,” I said before I could stop myself.
Lou smirked. “Uh-huh.”
Lou won the Monopoly game (despite the fact that nothing could convince her to trade her houses for hotels, insisting that she’d rather have four houses on each property instead of one dumb old hotel) and she was, to my surprise, a pretty good winner.
We had a post-Monopoly party of milk and apple cake in a state of relative calm. Everyone went to bed without protest, although Lou muttered something about “baby hours” that the rest of us ignored.
It was nearly time for the Papadakises to return. I checked on Sari one more time, reminded Linny that he had to turn his reading light off in ten minutes, tucked Hannie in, and went down the hall to check on Lou.
She had put her pjs on, and was sitting on the edge of the bed near the window in the dark, staring out at the night. “My father never made me go to bed until I was ready,” she said as I came in.
I opened my mouth — and shut it again. Lou had not mentioned her father before.
“He sounds pretty neat,” I said softly.
Lou nodded, still staring out the window. “He knew everything.”
“Like what?” I sat down carefully on the bed near her. She didn’t seem to notice.
“Stuff.” She shrugged.
I waited.
“Sometimes … sometimes we’d go for night walks. He taught me about the Big Dipper and Orion. He could hoot like an owl. Sometimes an owl would answer him.”
“Can you do that, too?”
“He was teaching me when …” her voice trailed off. Then she said, “There was a park, too. It had a stream. Once we snuck there at night, when the moon was full. We went wading. It was summer, but the water was cold. There were fireflies. Jay and I —” She stopped abruptly, then swung her feet up on the bed.
I pulled the covers down for her. Lou didn’t seem to notice. It was hard to see her expression by the light coming through the door from the hall.
“You know, Lou, my father left us when I was little. He lives in California now and I — we — hardly ever hear from him. It was hard at first, but now it’s not so bad.”
“He didn’t like you?” asked Lou.
I bit my lip. “I think he loves me and my brothers, but he just doesn’t know how to show it. Maybe.”
“My mother didn’t love me.” Lou’s voice hardened. “She left and never came back. Just like my father.”
I smoothed the covers, trying to understand what Lou was thinking and feeling. “Do you remember your mother?”
I didn’t think Lou would answer, but she did. She said, unexpectedly, “She smelled good. And she was strong. I remember she carried me and my stroller all the way up the stairs.”
“I think she loved you,” I said.
Lou was silent. Then she said, “Do you think they’ll find her? And that she’ll want us now?”
“Oh, Lou.” Impulsively, I reached out toward her.
But Lou jerked away. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t love her. I don’t love anybody. Not even Jay. He can go and live with another family and forget all about me, too.”
“Lou,” I said.
She flung herself to the far side of the bed. “Go away.”
“Lou.”
“Go away or I’ll scream!”
“Lou.”
She put her hands over her ears and began to scream.
I wanted to pick her up and hug her and tell her it would be okay. But why would she believe me? And how would I
know if I was telling the truth?
“Okay, okay!” I stood up and crossed to the door of the room. “Okay.”
Lou stopped screaming.
“Good night, Lou.”
She didn’t answer.
I lay awake a long time that night in my own bed, thinking about Lou McNally. She was the most prickly, maddening kid I had ever met. But somehow, in some ways, looking at her was like looking in a mirror. We’d never been so poor and hard up as Lou and her family. We’d been lucky. I’d been lucky. But things might have been different. And if they had, I couldn’t help but wonder if I might have turned out just like Lou.
Margaret and Sophie and Katie have a great collection of toys, not to mention plenty of imagination to go along with the toys. So Jessi was a little surprised when Margaret pushed her Anti-Coloring Book away and said, “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“Me, either,” said Sophie, who’s four.
“But you’re not coloring, Sophie,” Jessi pointed out. Sophie looked down at the puzzle piece clutched in one hand and then dropped it back in with the rest of the puzzles. “I don’t want to,” she repeated stubbornly.
At that point Katie joined in, waving her terry cloth chicken over her head by one leg and shouting, “NO, NO, NO!”
Uh-oh, thought Jessi. Everything had been rolling along in a pretty predictable way until then. Jessi had arrived at the Craines’ to find Margaret and Sophie busily working at the kitchen table, and Katie contentedly making stacks of blocks in her playpen — and then knocking them down. Mrs. Craine had put snacks in the fridge for later, and her list of emergency numbers along with the number where she could be reached were posted by the phone. The girls watched calmly as their mother waved and hurried out the kitchen door. Katie had even added a cheerful “ ’Bye-’bye!”
But now, suddenly, they were bored.
“Okay,” said Jessi. “We’ll put these things away, and try something else. You want to play with your Cabbage Patch babies?”
Margaret frowned.
Sophie frowned.
Katie said cheerfully, “NO, NO.”
“No, huh?” Jessi looked around for an idea, but nothing came to mind. And she hadn’t brought her Kid-Kit with her this time, because the last time a BSC member (Mallory) had taken care of the Craine kids, she’d brought her Kid-Kit. We don’t like to take those every time because then the kids won’t think they’re as special and might get, well — bored.
Kristy and the Worst Kid Ever Page 5
