Kristy's Great Idea Part 1

Kristy's Great Idea.

Ann M. Martin.

CHAPTER ONE.

The Baby-sitters Club. I'm proud to say it was totally my idea, even though the four of us worked it out together. "Us" is Mary Anne Spier, Claudia Kishi, Stacey McGill, and me - Kristy Thomas.

I got the idea on the first Tuesday afternoon of seventh grade. It was a very hot day. It was so hot that in my unair-conditioned school, StoneybrookMiddle School, the teachers had opened every single window and door and turned off all the lights. My hair stuck damply to the back of my neck, and I wished I had a rubber band so I could pull it into a long ponytail. Bees flew into the cla.s.sroom and droned around our heads, and Mr. Redmont, our teacher, let us stop working to make fans out of construction paper. The fans didn't do much except keep the bees away, but it was nice to take up ten minutes of social studies making them.

Anyway, that stifling afternoon dragged on forever, and when the hands of the clock on the front wall of our cla.s.sroom finally hit 2:42 and the bell rang, I leaped out of my seat and shouted, "Hurray!" I was just so glad that it was time to get out of there. I like school and everything, but sometimes enough is enough.

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 felt bad, but I couldn't help what I'd done. I'm like that. I think of something to say, and I say it. I think of something to do, and I do it. Mom calls it impulsive. Sometimes she calls it trouble. But she doesn't just mean trouble. She means trouble.

And I was in trouble then. I could sense it. I've been in enough trouble to know when it's coming.

Mr. Redmont cleared his throat. He was trying to think of a way to punish me without humiliating me in front of the other kids. Things like that are important to him.

"Kristy," Mr. Redmont began, and then he changed his mind and started over. "Cla.s.s," he said, "you have your homework a.s.sign- ments. You may go. Kristy, I'd like to see you for a minute."

While the rest of the kids gathered up their books and papers and left the room, talking and giggling, I made my way up to Mr. Redmont's desk. Before he could say a word, I began apologizing to him. Sometimes that helps.

"Mr. Redmont," I said, "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean anything. I mean, I didn't mean I was glad school was over. I meant I was glad I could go home. Because my house is air-conditioned. ..."

Mr. Redmont nodded. "But do you think, Kristy, that it would be possible, in the future, for you to conduct yourself with a bit more decorum?"

I wasn't sure of the exact meaning of decorum, but I had a pretty good idea it meant not spoiling Mr. Redmont's day by jumping up and shouting hurray when the bell rang.

"Yes, sir," I said. Sometimes being polite also helps.

"Good," said Mr. Redmont. "But I want you to remember this incident, and the best way for us to remember things is to write them down. So tonight, I would like you to write a one-hundred-word essay on the importance of decorum in the cla.s.sroom."

Darn. I'd have to find out what decorum meant after all.

"Yes, sir," I said again.

I went back to my desk, gathered up my books very slowly, and then walked very slowly out of the cla.s.sroom. I hoped Mr. Redmont was noticing the slowness because I was betting it was an important part of decorum.

I found Mary Anne Spier waiting for me outside the door to my cla.s.sroom. She was leaning against the wall, biting her nails.

Mary Anne is my best friend. We live next door to each other. We even look a little alike. We're both small for our age and we both have brown hair that falls past our shoulders. But that's where the similarity ends, because 1 can't keep my mouth shut, and Mary Anne is very quiet and very shy. Luckily, that's only on the outside. The people who know her well, like Claudia and Stacey and me, get to see the inside of her, and the Mary Anne who's hiding in there is a lot of fun.

"Hey," I greeted her. I pulled her hand out of her mouth and looked at her nails. "Mary Anne! How do you ever expect to be able to wear nail polish if you keep doing that?"

"Oh, come on," she said with a sigh. "Nail polish. I'll be seventy-five before my father lets me wear it."

Mary Anne's father is the only family she's got. Her mother is dead, and she has no brothers or sisters. Unfortunately, her father is pretty strict. My mother says it's just because Mr. Spier is nervous since Mary Anne is all he's got. You'd think, though, that he could let her wear her hair down instead of always in braids, or give her permission to ride her bike to the mall with Claudia and me once in a while. But, no. At Mr. Spier's house it's rules, rules, rules. It's a miracle that Mary Anne was even allowed to become a member of the Baby-sitters Club.

We walked out of school, and suddenly I began running. I forgot all about decorum, because I'd just remembered something else. "Oh, my gosh!" I cried.

Mary Anne raced after me. "What is it?" she panted.

"It's Tuesday," I called over my shoulder.

"So? Slow down, Kristy. It's too hot to run."

"I can't slow down. Tuesday is my afternoon to watch David Michael. I'm supposed to beat him home. Otherwise he gets home first and has to watch himself."

David Michael is my six-year-old brother.

My big brothers, Charlie and Sam, and I are each responsible for him one afternoon a week until Mom gets home from work. Kathy, this fifteen-year-old girl who lives a few blocks from us, watches him the other two afternoons. Kathy gets paid to watch him. Charlie and Sam and I don't.

Mary Anne and 1 ran all the way home. We reached my front yard, sweaty and out of breath. And there was David Michael, sitting forlornly on the front steps, his dark curls falling limply across his forehead.

He burst into tears as soon as he saw us.

"What's wrong?" 1 asked. I sat down beside him and put my arm around his shoulders.

"I'm locked out," he wailed.

"What happened to your key?"

David Michael shook his head. "I don't know." He wiped his eyes, hiccuping.

"Well," 1 said, "it's all right." I got my own key out of my purse.

David Michael burst into fresh tears. "No, it's not! It's not all right. I couldn't get in and I have to go to the bathroom."

I unlocked the door. When David Michael gets like this, it's best just to sort of ignore his tears and pretend everything is fine.

Mary Anne and I held the door open for him and I ushered him into the bathroom. Our collie Louie tore outside as we went in. He was frantic to get outdoors after being locked in the house since breakfast time.

"While you go to the bathroom," I told David Michael, "I'm going to fix us some lemonade, okay?"

David Michael actually smiled. "Okay!"

I'm good with children. So is Mary Anne. Mom says so. Both of us get lots of afternoon and weekend baby-sitting jobs. In fact, I'd been offered a job for that afternoon, but I had to turn it down because of David Michael.

That reminded me. "Hey," I said to Mary Anne as I turned on the air conditioning, "Mrs. Newton asked me to baby-sit for Jamie this afternoon. Didn't she call you after she called me?"

Mary Anne sat down at the kitchen table and watched me put lemonade mix in a big gla.s.s pitcher. She shook her head. "No. Maybe she called Claudia."

Claudia Kishi lives across the street from me. She and Mary Anne and I have lived on Bradford Court since we were born. We've grown up together, but somehow Claudia has never spent as much time with us as Mary Anne and I have spent with each other. For one thing, Claudia's really into art and always off at art cla.s.ses, or else holed up in her room painting or drawing. Or reading mysteries. That's her other pa.s.sion. She's much more grown-up than Mary Anne and I. When we were little, Mary Anne and I were always playing school or dolls or dress-up, but we practically had to brainwash Claudia to get her to join us. A lot of the time, we just didn't bother, but Claud's always been good for a bike ride or going to the movies or the community pool. As far as I'm concerned, one of the best things about Claudia is that her father isn't Mr. Spier. Mr. Kishi can be strict about Claudia's schoolwork, but he doesn't faint if you suggest going downtown for a c.o.ke or something.

Still, Claudia has never been a close friend, and this year, the gap between us seems to have widened just since school started. Even though we're all seventh-graders, Claudia suddenly seemed . . . older. She talks about boys, and spends most of her time adding to her wardrobe and talking on the phone. In the short time since school started, she's become a different person.

David Michael came into the kitchen looking much cheerier.

"Here you go," I said. I handed him a gla.s.s of lemonade as he sat next to Mary Anne.

Charlie came in then, tossing a football around. Sam got home a few minutes later, with our collie Louie skidding along behind him. Charlie is sixteen and Sam is fourteen. They both go to Stoneybrook High. Sam's a freshman this year, and Charlie's a junior.

"Hi, everybody. Hi, squirt," Charlie said to David Michael.

"I am not a squirt," replied David Michael.

Charlie thought he was so great because he'd just made the varsity team. You'd think he was the first person ever to play football for Stoneybrook High.

"We're going to play ball in the Hansons' backyard," Sam announced. "Want to play, Kristy?"

I did, but David Michael wouldn't want to. He was too little. "I don't know. I thought Mary Anne and I would take David Michael to the brook. You want to go wading, David Michael?" I asked.

He nodded happily.

"See you guys later," I called as Sam and Charlie left the house, slamming the front door behind them.

Mary Anne and I took David Michael and Louie to the brook. We watched David Michael wade and make sailboats and try to catch minnows. Louie ran around, looking for squirrels.

"I'd better go," Mary Anne said aft^r an hour or so. "Dad will be home soon."

"Yeah. Mom will be home soon, too. David Michael," I called, "time to leave."

He stood up reluctantly and the three of us and Louie walked home together.

When we reached our driveway, David Michael ran across the lawn, and Mary Anne whispered to me, "Nine o'clock, okay?"

I grinned. "Okay." Mary Anne and I have a secret code. Mary Anne made it up. We can signal each other with flashlights. If I look out my bedroom window I can see right into hers. Lots of nights we talk to each other with the flashlights, since Mary Anne isn't allowed on the phone after dinner except for things like baby-sitting jobs or getting homework a.s.signments.

When Mom came home a little while later, she had a pizza with her. My brothers and I stood around the kitchen breathing in the smell of cheese and pepperoni.

But Sam and Charlie looked skeptical. "I wonder what she wants," murmured Sam.

"Yeah," said Charlie.

Mom only gets pizza when she has to ask us a favor.

I decided not to beat around the bush. "How come you bought a pizza, Mom?" I asked.

Charlie kicked my ankle, but I ignored him. "Come on. What do you have to ask us?"

Mom grinned. She knew exactly what she was doing. And she knew that we knew it. "Oh, all right," she said. "Kathy called me at work to say she won't be able to watch David Michael tomorrow. 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."

Then we dug into the pizza while Mom started making phone calls.

She called Mary Anne. Mary Anne was sitting for the Pikes.

She called Claudia. Claudia had an art cla.s.s.

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 cheese and pepperoni and thought it was too bad that Mom's pizza had to get cold while she made all those phone calls. I thought it was too bad 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.

CHAPTER TWO.

After dinner that night I went to my bedroom and shut my door. Then I sat down at my desk with a pad of paper and a sharpened pencil. I had three things to do: the composition on decorum, my homework, and some thinking about the Baby-sitters Club. I planned to do them in that order, grossest first.

I looked up decorum in my dictionary. It said: "Conformity to social convention; propriety. See Synonyms at etiquette." I had to look up both propriety and etiquette before I got the picture. Then I understood. I'd been rude. Why hadn't Mr. Redmont just said so? It would have made things a lot simpler. So I wrote down some stuff about how being rude was distracting to other students and made Ston-eybrook Middle School look bad to visitors. I counted the words. Ninety-eight. So I added "The End" with a great big flourish, and hoped for the best.

Then I did the math a.s.signment and read about Paraguay for social studies.

And then it was time to think about the Babysitters Club.

I smoothed out a fresh piece of paper and started making a list: 1. Members: Me Mary Anne Claudia Who else!

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