Stacey's Emergency Part 1

Stacey's Emergency.

Ann M. Martin.

Chapter 1.

I looked up from my homework. I watched Charlotte Johanssen, my baby-sitting charge. Charlotte is eight years old.

She was reading The New York Times.

She had just finished going through the Stoneybrook News.

"Wow," said Charlotte.

"What?" I asked her.

"It says here that in New York this woman had a gun and she - "

"Stop!" I cried. "I don't want to hear about it! And why are you reading that story, anyway?"

"I don't know. It's right here in the paper."

I guess I couldn't fault Charlotte for reading something great (and grown-up) like the Times. But did she have to read the grisly stuff? And did she have to read it aloud?

"Gosh," said Charlotte. "Here it says that there was a huge fire in a big, fancy hotel one night and - "

"Char! I really don't want to hear about it. . . . Okay?"

"Okay. Actually, I was looking for science articles. Oh, here's one! Hey, Stacey! There's a whole article about diabetes."

"Really?" Now I was interested. That's because I have diabetes myself. Diabetes is a disease. If your blood sugar level gets too high, you can become really sick. There are different kinds of diabetes and different ways to treat the disease. Some people just stick to a low-sugar diet. Other people have to have injections every day. (I'm one of those people. I know giving yourself shots sounds gross, but the shots save my life.) The injections are of insulin, which is what the pancreas (that's a gland in your body) produces to break down sugar. When your body's natural insulin isn't working right, then sometimes you have to give yourself insulin. From outside your body. But that doesn't always work. Natural insulin is more effective.

I am lucky in one way because I can give myself insulin. Before doctors knew how to do that, I guess people with diabetes suffered a lot. But I am unlucky in another way: I have a severe form of diabetes. My mom told me recently that I'm called a brittle diabetic. That means that my disease is hard to control. I have to have the insulin shots and stay on a strict diet. And I mean strict. My mom helps me count calories. This is complicated. We don't simply count calories. We count different kinds of calories, likeproteins and fats, and we have to balance them. Plus, I have to test my blood. And I have to do it several times a day. How do I test my blood? I p.r.i.c.k my finger (I know -- you're thinking that diabetes is all shots and finger sticks), then I squeeze out a drop of blood, wipe it on this thing called a test strip, and put the test strip into a machine. A number comes up o nthe machine, and the number tellsme if the level of sugar in my blood is too high (either because I've mis- judged and eaten something that has a lot of natural sugar in it, like fruit, or because I have too littte insulin in my body), too low not enough sugar in my blood; (everybody needs some), or just right.

A few times recently I've seen some numbers that haven't been what they shouldl be. Plus, lately, I've been hungrier and thirstier than usual - and also tired. (I've had some sore throats and stuff, too.) I haven't told Mom about the blood tests, though. She's been through a lot in the past months. (My parents just got divorced, but I'll explain about that later.) I don't want Mom to have to worry about me as well as everything else. Anyway, I'm thirteen years old, and I know my body is going through lots of chemical changes. (Everyone's does when they reach p.u.b.erty.) So maybe the insulin was just another chemical in my body that was changing - reacting differently to my diet and injections. That is what I wanted to believe, but it was my own theory. To tell you the truth, I didn't want to worry Mom because I was already worried.

"What does the article say, Char?" I asked her.

"Oh, it's sort of boring." Charlotte skimmed down the page. "It's nothing about treating diabetes. It's about how scientists need more money for research so they can study the disease." Charlotte folded up the paper. Then she reopened it and began looking at the headlines again.

Charlotte Johanssen is really smart. She's an only child, and her parents spend as much time with her as possible - but that isn't a lot. They both work hard, especially Charlotte's mother, who's a doctor. Charlotte's teachers once asked the Johanssens if they'd let Char skip a grade - which Dr. and Mr. Johanssen finally said yes to. It was a big decision. Charlotte may be smart, but she's shy and clingy (although not as bad as she used to be) and has a little trouble making friends.

Sometimes she can be awfully serious, too, which is why I said then, "Hey, Char, let's read something more fun than the paper."

"Okay," she agreed. "Can I see what's in your Kid-Kit?"

A Kid-Kit is a box full of my old toys, books, and games, plus some new things, such as art materials. I bring the Kid-Kit with me on sitting jobs. I wish I could take credit for this great idea, but it wasn't mine. Kristy Thomas, the president and founder of the Baby-sitters Club (which I belong to), thought up Kid-Kits - and a lot of other things as well. But I'll tell you about Kristy and the BSC later, along with my parents' divorce.

Charlotte poked through the Kid-Kit. She pulled out the first book she saw. "Oh, Pad-dington," she said, sounding disappointed. "We've already read this one."

"Keep looking," I told her.

Char did. Finally she emerged with The Dancing Cats of Applesap. "This is a new book, Stacey! Cool!"

"Do you want me to read to you?" (Of course, Charlotte could read the book perfectly well by herself, but there's nothing like being read to, no matter how old you are.) "Yes!" said Charlotte, jumping to her feet.

We both moved to the couch, and Char snuggled next to me while I began reading. I glanced at her a couple of times, because she was so engrossed.

Charlotte and I could practically be sisters. Not because we look alike (we don't), but because that's how close we are. Charlotte even stayed at my house once when her parents suddenly had to go out of town for a few days. Maybe I shouldn't say this, but Char is my favorite sitting charge - and I'm her favorite sitter. We mean more to each other than that, though, which is why I think of us as sisters.

Also, I wish I really did have a sister or a brother. But like Charlotte, I'm an only child. And since my parents' divorce, I live mostly with my mother.

Maybe this would be a good time to tell you about the divorce. But beware, it's complicated! Oh, well. Here goes. I grew up in New York City. My dad has a big-time job there. But just before I was going to enter seventh grade, the company he works for transferred him to Stamford, Connecticut, so my parents went house hunting and found a place for us here in Stoneybrook, which is not far from Stamford. Then, in the middle of this school year (eighth grade), the company transferred Dad back to New York. (I didn't mind much. I had joined the BSC and made friends in Connecticut, but I also wanted to return to New York and live in the city that felt like home to me.) However, we hadn't been back in New York for more than a few months when my parents began to have problems with each other. They were always fighting. And the next thing I knew, they were getting a divorce. Worse, my father was staying in New York, my mother wanted to return to Connecticut (she loves Stoneybrook), and I was given the choice of where I wanted to live. (In other words, with which parent I wanted to live.) It was an awful decision, but finally I chose Connecticut, promising my dad I would visit him on weekends and vacations - whenever I could. I've been pretty good about that, but lately, what with feeling tired and cranky and just not well, I haven't gone to New York as often as Dad would like. All my energy goes into baby-sitting, school, and homework. I can't think about traveling. It wears me out. Plus, I feel as though Mom and Dad have been using me a little. I know that's a terrible thing to say about your own parents, but it's true. And it makes me resent the divorce even more, which makes me want to stay put in Connecticut. I'm not trying to punish my dad, I'm just trying to feel like a normal kid with one home. Each time I have to get on the train and travel to see my father, I'm reminded of the divorce. I don't like to think of myself as a divorced kid, even though the parents of half of my friends are divorced, too.

Oh. I got off the track. I started to say that I feel like Mom and Dad are using me. By that I mean that they're putting me in the middle. In the middle of them. For instance, when I come home from New York, Mom usually wants to know what Dad's "up to." After a few more questions, I can tell that what she really wants to know is whether Dad is dating someone. Dad does the same thing to me on my weekend visits. What am I supposed to do? In the first place, I usually don't know the answers to their questions. In the second place, when I do know, if I tell, am I being an informant? Is one parent going to call the other and say, "Stacey told me you went out with so-and-so the other night"? And then will I be in trouble?

"Stacey?" asked Charlotte. "Are you okay? You stopped reading."

"Oh, Char, I'm sorry," I told her. "My mind was wandering. Let's see. Where was I?" I'd been reading without paying any attention.

"Right here," said Charlotte, pointing to a spot on page nine.

"Okay." I began reading again. This time I kept my mind on the book. In fact, Charlotte and I both became so caught up in the story that when Dr. Johanssen returned, she startled us!

After I'd been paid (and also after I'd lent Charlotte The Dancing Cats of Applesap because she couldn't bear not knowing the end of the story), I asked Dr. Johanssen if I could talk to her in private.

"Of course," said Charlotte's mother, and we sat down in the kitchen.

"It's my diabetes," I blurted out. "I'm tired all the time, hungrier and thirstier than I should be, and . . . and . . ."I finally managed to admit to her that I'd been getting funny blood sugar readings.

I was afraid Dr. Johanssen might blow up at me for ignoring all this stuff. She's not my doctor, but she's a doctor, and she's told me I can always go to her when I have questions. But Dr. Johanssen didn't blow up. (I should have known she wouldn't. She's not an explosive person.) However, she did say, "I think you should have this checked out soon, Stacey. You're awfully busy, you're under a lot of stress, and you do have a tricky form of diabetes. Why don't you ask your mom to call your doctor in New York? Or make an appointment to see your doctor, since you're going to visit your dad in a few days."

"Okay," I replied. "Thanks, Doctor Johanssen."

"Any time, honey."

I called good-bye to Charlotte then and left the Johanssens' house. I had intended to go home and catch up on some of my homework. Besides, I was ravenous. I could have eaten a horse. Maybe two. Even so, I suddenly didn't feel like going home. I wanted to be with someone - in particular with my best friend, Claudia Kishi. I needed to talk to her.

I needed an escape.

Chapter 2.

Claudia and I have been best friends since that day at the beginning of seventh grade when we ran into each other. (I mean, actually ran into each other.) We realized we were dressed alike - in very trendy clothes - and somehow we hit it off. Then when Kristy Thomas, one of Claud's friends, wanted to start a baby-sitting club, I was asked to join. So I became friends with Kristy and her best friend, Mary Anne Spier, as well. But Claudia is my best friend. (Well, she's my best Connecticut friend. My best New York friend is Laine c.u.mmings. I usually see her when I visit my father.) Anyway, like most best friends, Claudia and I are similar in some ways and different in some ways. We're similar in that (I hope this doesn't sound stuck-up; I just think it's true) we are both pretty sophisticated for thirteen. We wear really fresh clothes - leggings, cowboy boots, oversized shirts, hats (Claud wears hats more than I do), and wild jewelry. Claudia, who is an excellent artist, makes some of our jewelry herself. Both Claud and I are pretty interested in boys (I've been described as "boy-crazy"), and we like action! But that's where the similarities end.

We look different as different can be. I have blue eyes and blonde hair, and my mother allows me to get perms, so my hair is usually fluffy or curly. Claudia, on the other hand, is j.a.panese-American. She's got these beautiful, very dark, almond-shaped eyes; creamy, unblemished skin; and long, black, silky hair. While I wear my hair pretty much the same way each day, Claud is forever experimenting with hers. She braids it, puts it in clips, swoops it over to one side of her head in a big pony tail, etc. And she loves weaving ribbons into her hair, buying or making fancy barrettes, and trying out scarves, headbands, you name it. Then, while I'm an only child in a family that seems pretty mixed up right now, Claud comes from a regular old family. She grew up here in Stoneybrook, and she lives with her parents and her older sister, Janine. Janine is a genius. I mean, a real one with an I.Q. that's way over 150, which is the genius mark. She goes to StoneybrookHigh School, but she takes cla.s.ses at our local college. Can you imagine? Sixteen and taking college courses? I don't know why she doesn't just go off to college right now and forget the rest of high school. If she did, she would certainly make life easier for Claudia. That's because, although Claud is smart, she's a terrible student - and an even worse speller. I think that school just doesn't interest her. What does interest her is art. Claud is very talented. As I mentioned earlier, she makes jewelry. She also paints, draws, sculpts, and sometimes experiments with pottery. Her work has even won some local awards. Another thing Claud likes is reading Nancy Drew mysteries. Her parents, however, think she should be reading cla.s.sics or something. (Mrs. Kishi is a librarian.) But Claud just loves mysteries, so she buys the books anyway and hides them around her room. Along with junk food, which she's addicted to. Her room can be pretty interesting. You reach into a container labeled PAPER CLIPS and pull out a handful of root beer barrels. You open a desk drawer, looking for a pencil, and find a bag of M&M's. You ask Claud about the latest book she's read - and she retrieves it from the folds of a quilt at the end of her bed. Claudia is fun, funny, generous, and talented. I just wish she had higher self-esteem.

Talk about self-esteem, Kristy Thomas has it, despite what she's been through in the last year or so. You think my family is mixed up? Wait until you hear about Kristy's. Kristy, the president of the Baby-sitters Club, used to live across the street from Claud. She lived there with her mother and her three brothers - Charlie and Sam, who are in high school, and David Michael, who is seven. Mr. Thomas had walked out on the family when Kristy was six or seven (I think). He just walked out, leaving Kristy's mom to raise four kids. Which she did. She got herself together and found a good job with a company in Stamford. Then, a few months before Kristy entered seventh grade, her mother began dating this millionaire, Watson Brewer. He was the first guy Mrs. Thomas had been serious about since her husband left. And he was the first guy that Kristy said she didn't like. Watson had been married once before, and he had two children, Andrew and Karen, who are four and seven now. During the summer between seventh and eighth grade, Mrs. Thomas married Watson. (That's how I always think of him, because that's what Kristy calls him.) After the wedding, Watson moved Kristy and her family from their small house into his mansion across town. Naturally, Kristy resented this, even though everyone in the family has a room to himself or herself, including Karen and Andrew, who live with their father only every other weekend.

Guess what. Not long ago, Watson and Mrs. Thomas adopted a little girl. They named her Emily Mich.e.l.le. She's two and a half, and she comes from Vietnam. She's adorable. With such a little kid around, though, arrangements had to be made for someone to be at home while the adults were at work and everyone else was at school. So Nannie, Kristy's grandmother, joined the household. What with Kristy, her mom, her brothers, her stepfather, her stepsister and stepbrother, her adopted sister, her grandmother, and the pets (a cat, a dog, and two goldfish), the Brewer/Thomas house is wild, crazy . . . and wonderful! (Even Kristy admits that now.) Kristy herself is outgoing (she's noted for her big mouth), a tomboy, and just a little immature compared to the rest of us in the BSC. She doesn't care a thing about clothes and almost always wears jeans, a turtleneck shirt, a sweater or sweat shirt, and running shoes. Sometimes she wears her baseball cap with the collie on it. She's pretty, although I don't think she knows it. Best of all, when you dig below the loudmouth exterior, you find a caring, concerned, organized person, full of good ideas and creativity. (Needless to say, Kristy - like the rest of us - loves kids.) Kristy's best friend, Mary Anne Spier, actually looks a little like Kristy. They're both short for their age (Kristy is shorter) and have brown hair and brown eyes. Their features are even similar. But beyond looks, they are two extremely different people. While Kristy is outgoing, Mary Anne is shy. She has trouble speaking up for herself or voicing her opinions, although she's better about that than she was when I first met her. She's a romantic and cries easily. (Never see a sad movie with her.) She even had a steady boyfriend for a long time.

Mary Anne grew up next door to Kristy. (She's moved, too, though. I'll explain in a minute.) But her home life was certainly different from Kristy's. It was quiet (no brothers leaping around), just Mary Anne and her dad. Mary Anne's mom died when Mary Anne was quite little. She barely remembers her mother. Mary Anne was raised by Mr. Spier, who was awfully strict with her. Not that he's mean, but he does have this thing about orderliness and neatness and organization. Also, I think he wanted to prove to everyone that he could raise a little girl all by himself just fine. So he invented these rules for Mary Anne and practically took over her life. When I first met Mary Anne she seemed like such a little girl, even though she's my age. That changed when Mary Anne was able to show her father that she was as mature as the rest of her friends. Then he loosened up on her, and Mary Anne loosened up, too.

Midway through seventh grade, a new girl, Dawn Schafer, moved to Stoneybrook - all the way from California. Dawn, a member of the BSC now, had moved here with her mother and younger brother, Jeff, after her parents had gotten divorced. (Sound familiar?) Her mom had chosen Stoneybrook because she grew up here and Dawn's grandparents still live here. Our California girl has the most amazingly blonde hair I've ever seen. And it's long. Her eyes are a sparkly blue, and, well, she's striking-looking. Dawn hates the cold Connecticut winters, loves the warm summers and health food, and is into exercising. Also, she has always liked ghost stories. This is interesting, considering that Dawn's mother bought an old (colonial) farmhouse, which has a secret pa.s.sage that just may be haunted. (We're not sure.) Dawn is self-a.s.sured and an individualist. She doesn't care much what other people think about her. And she dresses in her own casual-trendy, one-of-a-kind style.

Anyway, shortly after Dawn moved here, she and Mary Anne became friends. Now they're stepsisters. How did that happen?

Well, Dawn and Mary Anne are partially responsible. They were looking through some old Stoneybrook High yearbooks and discovered that Mary Anne's father and Dawn's mother had been high-school sweethearts. But after graduation, they went in different directions. So Dawn and Mary Anne found a way for their parents to meet again, Mrs. Schafer and Mr. Spier began dating, and after what seemed like forever, they got married! Then Mary Anne, her father, and her kitten, Tigger, moved into Dawn's house. (Jeff wasn't there, though. He had never adjusted to his new life and had returned to California to live with his dad.) Now Dawn and Mary Anne are living under the same roof, which has been difficult sometimes, but mostly just fine.

While Claudia, Kristy, Mary Anne, Dawn, and I are all thirteen and in seventh grade, the two other BSC members are eleven and in sixth grade. Their names are Jessi (short for Jessica) Ramsey and Mallory (usually known as Mal) Pike. And they are best friends, too. (I think it's interesting that there are so many pairs of best friends in the BSC, yet we get along well as a group.) Anyway, Jessi and Mal are both the oldest kids in their families, they love to read (especially horse stories, and especially the ones by Marguerite Henry), they also like to write (Mallory more so than Jessi), and they both feel that their parents treat them like infants, even though they are old enough to baby-sit, and old enough for plenty of other things. I remember beirtg eleven. It wasn't a Jessi comes from a pretty average family. She lives with her parents, her Aunt Cecelia, h eight-year-old sister, Becca (Charlotte Jo-h&nssen's best friend), and her baby brother, Squirt. Guess where her family lives. In my 0kt house! The one I lived in before we went back to New York and my parents got divorced. (Jessi's family moved here from New Jersey.) Jessi is a really talented ballet dancer. I've seen her perform. She's used to dancing onstage in front of big audiences, and she takes lessons at a school in Stamford that she had to audition for just to be allowed to enroll. Jessi has long dark eyelashes, big brown eyes, tegs that go on forever, and chocolatey brown skin.

Mal, on the other hand, comes from a huge family. She has seven younger brothers and sisters, three of whom are identical triplets (boys). Mal's pa.s.sion is writing. Also drawing. She'd like to write and ill.u.s.trate children's books one day. Mal is not feeling too pretty at the moment. She's got wavy red hair (her hair and face are pretty), but she's also got gla.s.ses and braces. Her braces, at least, are the clear plastic kind, so they don't show up too much. Mal's parents will not let her wear contacts instead of gla.s.ses. They did, however, finally let her get her ears pierced (the Ramseys let Jessi do the same), so there's hope. Besides, the braces will come off eventually.

So there you are. Those are my friends: Kristy, Dawn, Mallory, Jessi, Mary Anne, and Claudia, my best friend, with whom I needed to talk pretty deperately. She lives not far from Charlotte, and I was hoping she'd be at home.

Chapter 3.

Claudia was at home and we had a nice talk. There's something comforting about Claud's room, as well as about Claudia herself. Maybe that's one reason the Baby-sitters Club meets there.

I guess now I ought to tell you just what the BSC is, since I've mentioned it several times. The club was Kristy's idea. She got it back at the beginning of seventh grade, when her mom was first dating Watson, and just after I'd moved to Stoneybrook (for the first time). In those days (they seem so long ago, but they really weren't), Kristy and Mary Anne still lived next door to each other and across the street from Claud. And Kristy and her older brothers were responsible for taking turns watching David Michael after school. That was a good arrangement - as long as one of them was free each afternoon. Of course, they weren't always free. And one evening, when Kristy, Sam, and Charlie had realized that they were all busy the next day, Kristy sat eating pizza and watching her mom make one phone call after another, trying to line up a baby-sitter for David Michael. Unfortunately, David Michael was watching, too, and Kristy felt sorry for him. (David Michael knew he was the source of some sort of trouble.) Too bad, thought Kristy, that her mom couldn't make just one phone call and reach a whole lot of sitters at once. And that was when she got one of the great ideas she's famous for. She and her friends could start a baby-sitting business! If they met somewhere a few times a week, parents could call them and, just as Kristy had imagined, reach several sitters at the same time. Somebody was bound to be free (and get a job), and the parent would be satisfied. So Kristy called Claud and Mary Anne, and they decided to start the Babysitters Club.

Right away, the girls realized that a fourth member would be a good idea. Claud suggested me, since she and I were already getting to know each other and I'd done a lot of sitting in New York. And so the BSC was ready and running. Well, almost. We had to do a lot of work in the beginning. First, we planned to meet three afternoons each week in Claud's room (she has her own phone); on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, from five-thirty until six. Parents could call us on Claud's line during those times and reach four experienced baby-sitters. But how would they know about our meetings?

"We'll advertise," said Kristy.

So we advertised. We told practically everyone about the BSC. We sent out fliers. We even placed an ad in the Stoneybrook News. And when we held our first official meeting, we actually got job calls. After that, the calls kept coming, and they haven't stopped. In fact, we started getting so many that the club had to expand. Dawn joined us after she moved to Connecticut. Then, when I had to go back to New York, Kristy asked both Jessi and Mal to join. And then I returned. I was allowed back into the club. I became the seventh member, and I think I'll be the last. (Unless someone else has to leave.) Claudia's bedroom can't hold more than seven people. Well, comfortably. We'd have to figure out how to drape new people around the ceiling.

The BSC is run very efficiently. Kristy makes sure of that. She's our president. The rest of us are officers, too, and we each have our own job or function. Kristy is president because the club was her idea. That makes sense. Also, Kristy is the kind of person who's good at running things. And with the great ideas she's always getting, she keeps coming up with new ways to promote the club, to attract more clients, or to run the club even more efficiently. (Sometimes she goes overboard, but the rest of us let her know right away.) Claudia is the vice-president. She should be, since the members of the club swarm into her bedroom three times a week, eat her junk food, and tie up her phone. Also, parents sometimes call Claud's line during nonmeet-ing times, and Claudia has to deal with those job appointments on her own.

The secretary of the club is Mary Anne. She's neat and organized - thank goodness. Sometimes I think she works harder than anyone else at a meeting. Her job is to keep the record book up-to-date and in order. The record book was one of Kristy's ideas. In it, Mary Anne keeps track of our clients - their names, addresses, phone numbers, rates paid, and special information about their children. More important, she schedules every babysitting job that comes in. That means that she has to know all of our schedules - when Jessi has ballet lessons or Claud has an art cla.s.s or Mal has an orthodontist appointment. I don't think Mary Anne has ever made a scheduling boo-boo.

I am the club treasurer. Not to brag, but I happen to be very good at math. It just comes easily to me. I can add up numbers in a flash - in my head. My job is to collect the club dues from every member each Monday, to put the money in our treasury (a manila envelope), and then to dole out the money as it's needed. What do we use the money for? Lots of things. To help Claud pay her monthly phone bill, to pay Charlie Thomas to drive Kristy back and forth to meetings now that she lives too far away to get to Claud's on her own, to fund an occasional club party, and to restock the Kid-Kits when we run out of things such as crayons or stickers. Remember my Kid-Kit? Well, we each have one. They're great baby-sitting tools. We don't bring them along every time we sit, but pretty often. The kids love them, so their parents see happy faces when they come home - and then they're more apt to turn to the BSC the next time they need a sitter.

Dawn's position is alternate officer of the BSC. That means that she can take over the job of anyone who misses a meeting. And that means that Dawn has to be familiar with the duties of each officer. I know that sounds difficult, but it isn't really that bad. Anyway, the BSC members don't miss meetings very often. So Dawn answers the telephone a lot.

Jessi and Mallory are junior officers. This is because they are eleven and not allowed to sit at night unless they're taking care of their own brothers and sisters. They are a huge help, though. By taking over a lot of the afternoon jobs, they free up us older members for the nighttime jobs.

Hmm. Let me see. A couple of other things about the workings of the BSC . . .

Just in case a call should come in that none of us can take (and that does happen every now and then), Kristy signed on two a.s.sociate members of the club. These are reliable sitters who don't go to meetings, but whom we can call on in a pinch so that we won't have to disappoint our clients. Our a.s.sociate members are Shannon Kilbourne, a friend of Kristy's in her new neighborhood, and Logan Bruno. He's the guy Mary Anne used to go steady with!

Finally, another of Kristy's ideas was to keep a club notebook. The notebook is more like a diary. In it, each member is responsible for writing up every job she goes on. Then we're supposed to read the notebook once a week to catch up on what's happening with our clients, and also to see how our friends have handled sticky sitting situations. No one likes writing in the notebook much (except Mal-lory), but we have to agree that it's pretty helpful.

"Ahem!"

It was later in the afternoon. Claud and I had finished our talk, and now all of my friends and I had gathered together. Kristy was sitting straight and tall (well, as tall as she could make herself) in Claudia's director's chair. She was wearing her presidential visor and, as usual, a pencil was stuck over one ear.

"Ahem!" Kristy cleared her throat again loudly. She did not have a cold. She was signaling to the rest of us that it was 5:31 according to Claud's digital alarm clock, the official BSC timepiece, and reminding us that she'd called the day's meeting to order a full minute earlier.

What were the rest of us doing? Jessi and Mal were sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed and playing with these paper fortune-telling things they'd made (that, for some reason, they called Cootie Catchers). They kept opening and closing them and reciting, "Ee-nie, meenie, minie, moe. Catch a tiger by the toe. If he roars then let him go. Eenie, meenie, minie, moe. My mother said to pick just one, and this ... is ... it!" Then they'd read a fortune written under a flap of paper. (Cootie Catchers are hard to explain.) Claudia, Mary Anne, and I were lined up on Claud's bed, leaning against the wall. And Dawn was straddling Claud's desk chair, sitting in it back- ward, her chin resting on the top rung.

Claud had unearthed some packages of Ring-Dings and was pa.s.sing them around. The smell of chocolate was driving me crazy. At least I wasn't the only one not eating them, though. Dawn wouldn't touch them. She nibbled at some crackers instead. I did, too, but the crackers didn't begin to quiet the rumbling in my very hungry stomach - too hungry for that time of day. A Ring-Ding or two might have taken care of things.

Anyway when Kristy began her throat-clearing, we sat at attention. And just in time. The phone rang. Dawn answered it.

"h.e.l.lo, Baby-sitters Club ... Hi, Dr. Jo-hanssen . . . Next Tuesday? I'll have Mary Anne check. I'll get right back to you. . . . Okay. 'Bye." Dawn hung up and faced the rest of us. "Sitter for Charlotte next Tuesday night from seven till ten."

While Mary Anne looked at the appointment pages in the record book, Jessi and Mal let out groans. A nighttime sitting job. Neither of them could take it. They were disappointed.

"Okay," said Mary Anne, glancing up. "Sta-cey, Kristy, and Dawn are free."

"I've got a history test the next day," said Dawn. "I better stay at home where I can really concentrate while I'm studying."

"You take the job then, Stace," said Kristy.

"You live much closer to Char."

So I got the job. Mary Anne penciled it into the record book, and Dawn phoned Dr. Jo-hanssen to tell her who the sitter would be. That's how we always schedule jobs. Diplomatically. (Okay, usually. But we hardly ever have fights at meetings.) The rest of the half hour pa.s.sed busily. The phone rang a lot. (Twice, though, the calls were from Sam Thomas, goofing on us.) At six o'clock, Kristy jumped to her feet, announcing, "Meeting adjourned!"

We all stood up. Mal and Jessi took out their Cootie Catchers again. Kristy looked out the window to see if Charlie had arrived to pick her up. Dawn and Mary Anne hurried toward the door, and Claudia followed them. It was her turn to help with dinner that night.

Since no one was watching, I stuck my hand in the dresser drawer where I'd seen Claudia rehide the Ring-Dings.

I pulled out a package and snuck it into my purse.

Chapter 4.