Contents
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Letter from Ann M. Martin
Acknowledgment
About the Author
Scrapbook
Also Available
Copyright
“I see another one!” Margo Pike cried happily. “That makes four robins today.”
It was Wednesday afternoon and I was baby-sitting at the Pike house. After what seemed like an endless winter, we were looking for signs of spring. Nicky Pike, who’s nine, had spotted some daffodils poking up by the backyard fence. And five-year-old Claire Pike was positive she had seen a “flutterby.” (That’s what she calls butterflies.)
“It was orange and black and buzzed all around our house,” Claire said solemnly. “The triplets don’t believe me, but I really saw it.”
“I believe you,” I said, ruffling her chestnut brown hair. All of the Pike kids have that same shade of hair, although Mallory’s is more reddish. And all eight (yes, eight!) have blue eyes. Mallory Pike, who is eleven and the oldest, is the only one with curly hair.
Mallory and I were baby-sitting together because her seven brothers and sisters were home, and it takes more than one person to watch that many children. Mallory’s mom had to attend a library trustee meeting that afternoon, and Mallory’s father wouldn’t be home from work until five-thirty. So Mrs. Pike had called the Baby-sitters Club to find someone to help Mallory baby-sit. The Baby-sitters Club, or BSC for short, is one of the most important things in my life. You see, I’m the secretary and one of the original members. But I’m getting ahead of myself. First I should tell you who I am. Then I’ll tell you about the club.
My name’s Mary Anne Spier. I’m thirteen and in the eighth grade at Stoneybrook Middle School. I have brown eyes, short dark hair, and I’m pretty short myself. Most people say I am very sensitive, and I guess they’re right. Usually, I don’t mind being sensitive. I think it makes me understanding of other people. My friends know that when they have problems, I’ll listen and be sympathetic. The bad part is, I cry at the least little thing. (I still get weepy over Pollyanna, and I bet I’ve seen that movie at least twenty times.)
My mother died when I was really little, so my father had to raise me by himself. He had an awful lot of rules for me. For example, I had to wear little girl jumpers and dresses, and keep my hair in braids (to make the six-year-old look complete). I know he meant well, but it was terribly frustrating.
Luckily, that has changed, partly because I convinced him I was growing up, and partly because he got married again (more about that later). Now I can dress however I like — within reason. And I can wear clip-on earrings, which I think look pretty good.
Dad and I used to live on Bradford Court, next door to Kristy Thomas, my first best friend. It was Kristy’s idea to form the Baby-sitters Club. Besides being a great idea, it was also a big help to me. I’m not only sensitive, I’m shy, which makes it kind of difficult to meet new people. Thanks to the BSC, I made seven more close friends, including one boyfriend, Logan Bruno.
What can I say about Logan? He’s smart and funny, is incredibly cute, and has this charming Southern accent. (That’s because he’s from Kentucky.) When Logan first moved to Stoneybrook, a lot of girls at SMS thought he was cute, but he picked me to be his girlfriend. That was one of the biggest surprises of my life. How did it happen? Over baby-sitting, of course. First, Logan volunteered to join the BSC. Then we baby-sat for the Rodowskys together. After that Logan asked me to go to the Remember September dance. Then one thing led to another and pretty soon we were going steady. We’ve gone through some rough spots, and we even broke up once, because Logan was getting a little too possessive. But he agreed to give me more space, and lately our relationship has been great.
Would you believe me if I told you that I not only met my boyfriend through the BSC, but my sister, too? Well, it’s true. Growing up with just my dad, I always dreamed of having a sister. Of course, I knew it could never happen. Then I met Dawn Schafer, who had just moved to Connecticut with her mom and her younger brother, Jeff. Dawn joined the BSC and became my other best friend. We didn’t know it when we met, but her mom and my father had been high school sweethearts. We found that out while looking through some old high school yearbooks that belonged to Dawn’s mom, and we decided it would be fun for our parents to meet up again, so we arranged it. And guess what? They fell in love all over again. Before long they were married, and my dream had come true. I had a sister. (Dawn is really my stepsister, of course, but she feels like a genuine sister.)
After the wedding, Dad and I left Bradford Court and moved in with Dawn and Sharon. (Dawn’s brother, Jeff, had decided he was much happier living with his dad in California.) Now we all live in an old farmhouse that was built in the seventeen-hundreds. It even has a secret passage which we think may be haunted!
Things were a little bumpy at first, because we have such different habits. My dad is Mister Organization. He categorizes everything — including his clothes — and he likes to keep things neat as a pin. Sharon is the opposite. She’s really absentminded and does the craziest things, such as leaving her high-heels in the vegetable drawer of the refrigerator, or putting the pruning shears in the bathroom cabinet. Another big difference between our two families is that Sharon and Dawn (and Jeff) are practically vegetarians. They don’t eat red meat, and they actually like tofu burgers and brown rice, whereas Dad and I prefer normal food, such as steak and french fries.
Still, despite our differences, we were getting along fine until last fall, when Dawn decided that she really missed her father and brother. After a good deal of soul-searching she asked Sharon and her dad if she could spend some time in California. It was a difficult decision for both parents, but in the end they agreed that Dawn could go. I think I understand why Dawn wanted to leave, but that doesn’t stop me from missing her like crazy.
And she’s not the only fellow baby-sitter I miss. The club lost Mallory (sort of) over the winter, too. Just after Halloween, Mal came down with mononucleosis. Mono is a disease that affects your glands and makes you tired all the time. For about a month, Mallory had to stay home from school and not do anything. She spent the days in bed or on the couch. Finally she was able to attend school, but she had to go straight home afterward to rest — she still couldn’t participate in any after-school activities. Mal hated missing so much school, and was bored to distraction, but the worst part of mono, for her, was when her parents made her drop out of the Baby-sitters Club. (They do still allow her to sit for her own family, though.) It was kind of hard on the rest of us. Everybody in the club had to take extra sitting jobs to make up for the loss.
Between the winter weather, Dawn’s departure, and Mal’s mono, I’d had plenty of reasons to feel blue. Then, on top of everything else, Logan’s volleyball team made it to the state tournament, which was nice, in a way, but it meant I hardly saw him at all. To battle my blahs, I recently volunteered to help Mrs. Kishi with a fund-raising Readathon at the library. That turned out to be an adventure in itself. (Would you believe that I, shy Mary Anne, helped to catch an arsonist who was setting fires with books?) I was sorry when the Readathon ended, and I kind of miss my job at the library, but the good news is — winter has ended, volleyball season is over, and Logan is calling me a
gain.
“I’m so glad spring is coming,” Mallory said, taking a big breath of fresh air and lying back in the moist green grass of her backyard. “I finally feel well.”
“Maybe your parents will let you rejoin the BSC now,” I said, nibbling on a blade of grass. “You’ve been baby-sitting quite a lot lately, haven’t you?”
Mallory frowned. “I can only sit for my brothers and sisters, which doesn’t make sense.” Mallory raised up on one elbow. “I mean, I’m spending so much time baby-sitting for them, I might as well be baby-sitting for other kids. What does it matter where I sit?”
“Maybe your parents are worried that you might get sick again, and they’re just being cautious.”
“Too cautious, if you ask me,” Mallory griped. “I really do feel well, but my parents won’t believe me. It’s so frustrating.”
Before I could say anything to comfort Mallory, the triplets appeared, sporting identical scowls. Byron and Jordan stood on either side of Adam, looking like guards with their arms folded across their chests. Adam spoke first.
“We’ve decided that this is the last time we will have a baby-sitter,” Adam said firmly. “We’re ten years old. That’s too old to be baby-sat.” He winced when he said “baby-sat,” as if just pronouncing the word hurt.
“Have you talked to your mom and dad about this?” I asked.
“Yes!” Adam replied. “But they won’t listen.”
“It’s just not fair,” Jordan chimed in. “Baby-sitting is for babies. We’re in the fifth grade. We’re practically grown-up!”
“Yeah,” Byron added. “I mean, we know long division and how to use a microscope.”
I wasn’t sure what that had to do with being grown-up but I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t. The boys were talking too fast for me to get a word in.
“I make my bed.” Adam ticked off his accomplishments on one hand. “I clean up my room and do my chores. And I stay up till ten o’clock on weeknights.”
“I ride my bike after dark,” Byron added. “That’s got to mean something.”
“Besides,” Jordan burst out, “Mallory is only a year older than us. Why should she get to be on her own and not us?”
At this point Mallory sat up and shouted over her brothers, “Look, I’m not getting any special privileges! Mom and Dad may let me baby-sit, but right now only with you guys. I feel like a prisoner in my own house.”
“So do we!” the boys yelled back.
So much for daffodils and robins. The feeling in the air now was more like a winter blizzard than a warm spring breeze. But instead of running for shelter, I tried to help. “I think you all have reasonable complaints,” I began. “But I’m not sure what to do about them.”
“Me either.” Mallory sighed.
Before we could work anything out, Mrs. Pike returned. “How did everything go?” she asked as she searched through her purse.
“We had a wonderful time finding signs of spring,” I replied. “Claire found a flutterby, Nicky discovered some daffodils, and Margo counted four robins.” I didn’t mention the triplets’ decision. I figured they could bring that up themselves.
“Can you stay for some lemonade?” Mrs. Pike asked.
I checked my watch. Five-fifteen. “Thank you. I’d love to, but today is Wednesday and we have a BSC meeting at five-thirty.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Mrs. Pike nodded. “I forgot.”
“I didn’t forget,” Mallory said, stepping forward.
Mal and I looked at Mrs. Pike. I think we were half hoping she would tell Mallory to go ahead and join me, but no such luck.
“Tell everyone hi for me,” Mal said as I moved to the door. Then she added pointedly, “Tell them I really miss them.”
“Okay,” I said. “I know they miss you, too.”
I hurried down the front steps and across the lawn. Just before I turned the corner, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Mallory waving sadly from her front porch. I felt terrible for her, but I wasn’t sure what I could do. She certainly seemed fine to me. Maybe, like the triplets, she needed to take her complaint to her parents.
When I arrived at Claudia Kishi’s, Kristy was just crossing the street. She was carrying her Kid-Kit, because she had been baby-sitting for the Perkins kids.
“We have exactly one minute to get upstairs and find a seat before the meeting starts,” Kristy said formally. Then she broke into a big grin and shouted, “Race you!”
Kristy is president of the Baby-sitters Club. Mostly because it was her idea, but also because she is a real leader. (Some people might even call her bossy.) She also coaches a softball team called Kristy’s Krushers. Kristy doesn’t care much about fashion. She usually wears blue jeans, a turtleneck or a T-shirt, and running shoes. We call it her uniform. Sometimes she wears a baseball cap with a picture of a collie on it, in memory of her family’s wonderful old collie, Louie.
When Louie was a puppy, Kristy lived next door to me on Bradford Court, with her mom (who was divorced) and three brothers — David Michael, who is seven now, and Sam and Charlie, who are in high school. But then her mom met Watson Brewer, a really nice guy who also happens to be an actual millionaire. Watson has two children from his first marriage: seven-year-old Karen and four-year-old Andrew. Anyway, Watson asked Kristy’s mom to marry him, she said yes, and the Thomases moved across town to Watson’s mansion. Soon, Watson and Kristy’s mom adopted a little girl from Vietnam, whom they named Emily Michelle, and then Kristy’s grandmother, Nannie, moved in to help run the house and take care of Emily (who’s two and a half). It’s a good thing the house is so big, because when Karen and Andrew visit (which is every other weekend) ten people live there.
Our vice-president is Claudia Kishi. We hold our meetings at her house in her room, because she has a phone with her very own personal number. Can you believe it? Claudia is one of the coolest people I know. She’s also totally gorgeous. She’s Japanese-American and has long shiny black hair and a perfect, creamy complexion (which is amazing considering all the junk food she eats). Claud is a fabulous artist and can do just about anything — paint, sculpt, design jewelry, you name it. Her artistic flair shows up in everything she wears and does. For example, Claud rarely buys Christmas and Valentine’s Day cards. She makes her own. Sometimes they’re really sharp collages, with different colored tissue paper and pictures from magazines, and sometimes they’re pen-and-ink drawings, but they are always unique. I’ve kept every one she’s given me.
Claudia is smart, but she’s not a very good student. That might not matter so much, except that her older sister, Janine, is a true genius. Janine is so smart that she’s taking college courses while she’s in high school! Still, even though English and spelling are Claud’s least favorite subjects, she has become a staff writer for the SMS Express, our school newspaper. Isn’t that neat? She started a column called Claudia’s Personals when she was looking for the perfect boy, and it was such a hit that she’s kept it going. Claud still hasn’t found the perfect guy, but she hasn’t given up hoping.
Stacey McGill is our club treasurer, mostly because she’s really good at math. Stacey and Claudia are best friends, which makes sense because they both love math so much. Not! They’re really cool dressers, but Stacey’s a little more trendy. In fact, Stacey is the most sophisticated of all of us, probably because she grew up in New York City, and she still goes there quite often to visit her father, who is divorced from her mom. That’s probably why she always knows the newest styles and is the first to wear them. Her hair is long, blonde, and permed and always looks as though some famous hairdresser just styled it. It sounds like Stacey has it all, right? Unfortunately, she has one thing she doesn’t want — diabetes. That’s a disease which prevents her body from manufacturing enough of this chemical called insulin, which helps you process sugar. Stacey has to give herself injections of insulin every single day. (Can you imagine? I’d probably faint.) She also has to monitor everything she eats. Too much sugar, or too little, and
she could get really sick. She never makes a fuss about it, though. I admire her for that.
One more thing about Stacey. She’s in love! Her boyfriend is this great-looking boy (as cute as Logan, but not really my type) named Robert. He used to be a star basketball player, but recently he quit the team. Why? In part, to protest Stacey’s not getting chosen for the cheerleading squad. She was clearly the best candidate, and everyone knew it, but that was the problem. The other girls thought she was too good. (Ick. Talk about not my type….) Robert also had a real problem with our school’s sports obsession, so even when the cheerleaders finally reconsidered, and offered Stacey a place on the squad (which she turned down), he refused to rejoin the basketball team. I think Stacey and Robert are both a lot happier because of their decisions. The rough time they went through has brought them closer together.
Getting back to our club roster, this is where I fit in. I’m the BSC secretary, because I have the neatest handwriting and I am really organized (kind of like my dad). I’ve already told you a lot about myself, so I’ll move on to alternate officer. Dawn Schafer is usually our alternate officer but, as I mentioned, she’s away in California. She baby-sits out there, too, with a group of friends who call themselves the We ♥ Kids Club. (Yes, Kristy’s great idea went bi-coastal!) Dawn’s west coast life isn’t all sun and surfers, though. When she arrived in California, she discovered that her father’s relationship with his girlfriend, Carol, was much more serious than she had thought. Dawn’s never been too fond of Carol, and when her dad announced that they were going to get married, Dawn ran away. Here’s the really bad part: She used her father’s credit card to buy a plane ticket, without asking, and flew back here to Connecticut. Naturally, this didn’t go over too well. Dawn’s mom was so angry that she booked Dawn on the next flight back to California, and didn’t even let her see any members of the BSC before she left. (Except me, of course — and our reunion wasn’t exactly festive. It was hard to enjoy catching up with Dawn when words like “deceitful” and “irresponsible” were echoing through our house.) Sharon and Dawn’s dad also insisted that she pay them both back for the plane tickets. Flights across the country aren’t cheap, so now Dawn is working like crazy to pay her parents back. To make matters worse, Dawn’s behavior provoked a big fight between her dad and Carol, and they broke off their engagement. Now Dawn feels incredibly guilty, even though her dad assured her that the breakup wasn’t her fault. I wish I could be there for her. Better yet, I wish she’d hurry back!
Mary Anne and Miss Priss Page 1