Mary Anne and Miss Priss

by Ann M. Martin

  Tuesday was almost an exact repeat of Monday. Once again, Miss Priss answered the doorbell. She wore a starched blue dress with a white pinafore, which tied in a big bow at the back. In her hair was a matching ribbon. I had to admit, she looked awfully sweet.

  “Come on in,” Jenny said, gesturing politely to the living room.

  “Thanks, Jenny.” I sat on the couch, and Jenny sat on a straight backed chair, taking extra care not to wrinkle her dress.

  Before I could think of anything to say, Mrs. Prezzioso breezed into the room carrying Andrea, who looked like a little doll in a peach colored bonnet and dress. “Sorry I can’t chat,” she said. “But we must run. Here’s the number where we can be reached.”

  She handed me a piece of paper. The number was different from the one the day before, I noticed. Mrs. Prezzioso blew a kiss to Jenny. “Good-bye, my angel. We’ll be back soon.”

  The moment the door was closed, I heard Jenny gasp. “Oh, no.”

  “What’s the matter?” I asked, hurrying to her side.

  Jenny pointed to a minuscule spot on her white apron. “I must have spilled my lunch!” She hopped off the chair and ran to the staircase. I thought I heard her say, “I hope Mommy didn’t see.”

  I followed Jenny to her room. “You’re not going to change your clothes again, are you?”

  “I have to.” Jenny sorted nervously through the dresses hanging in her closet. “This outfit is dirty now.”

  “Why don’t you change into that?” I pointed over Jenny’s shoulder to a jean jumper hanging in the far corner of her closet. “Then we can go outside and play.”

  Jenny stared at me as if I were crazy. “That dress makes me look ugly.”

  She finally chose a pink dress with puffed sleeves and a big pocket in the shape of a kitten. It was pretty. But it wasn’t something anyone would wear for play.

  I watched Jenny gently place it on the bed. However, instead of changing into the dress, she whirled around and scooted out the door. When I caught up with her, she was at the bathroom sink again, washing her hands.

  “Are you afraid of germs?” I asked as she carefully rinsed the soap away. Maybe one of her preschool teachers had been making a big deal about handwashing. “Cold season is really almost over, you know.”

  Jenny made sure she dried every drop of water with the bathroom towel. “No, I just don’t want to get any smudge prints on my new dress. Then I’d have to change again.”

  I frowned. This was not normal behavior for a four-year-old — even a super-prissy one like Jenny. It was time to get out of the house and away from the closet and that bathroom sink.

  “Look, Jenny.” Back in her bedroom, I pointed to her window. Outside a group of kids were huddled around Adam Pike, who was holding a clipboard. “It looks like something fun is happening.”

  Jenny joined me at the window. “There’s Matt and Haley Braddock,” she said. “And Becca Ramsey.”

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s see what’s going on.”

  Jenny followed me down the stairs and out the front door. (But not without checking her hair in the hall mirror.) She walked very slowly, taking care not to touch or step on anything that might spoil her outfit. We crossed the street and walked to where the kids had gathered. I arrived first, because Jenny was gingerly picking her way around two mud puddles.

  “Hey, guys,” I called. “What’s happening?”

  Adam held up the clipboard and said, “We’re organizing a neighborhood kickball team.”

  “Yeah,” Jordan added. “It’s just like Kristy’s Krushers, only we’re in charge. Not baby-sitters.”

  “Oh, I see,” I said, remembering the triplets’ declaration of independence.

  Adam turned to the group of kids. “Okay. We’re going to have special kicking and pitching practice. Byron will be in charge of that. Jordan will handle running and I’m the organizer. If you want to be on the team, talk to me.”

  I pulled Jenny aside. “Jenny, this sounds like a lot of fun. Remember when you ran in the Mini-olympics? You liked that. Why don’t you sign up?”

  Jenny hesitated for a second, watching the small crowd of kids gathered around Adam. She seemed pretty interested. “But I don’t know how to play.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “You can learn. That’s what practice is for.”

  “I’m not a runner,” she continued. “Jordan will probably want fast runners.”

  “You might be a really good kicker or pitcher. But you’ll never know unless you try.”

  I was pushing Jenny awfully hard, but I had this idea that joining a team and playing with the other kids might take her mind off her personal war against dirt and messiness.

  “Well …”

  “Go on, Jenny,” I said. “Talk to Adam. I bet you’ll like it.”

  “Okay.” Jenny took a deep breath and smoothed out the skirt of her dress. “Adam,” she said, taking a big step forward. “May I please be on your kickball team?”

  I couldn’t believe my ears when a chorus of “no’s” answered her.

  “You can’t let her on the team,” Buddy Barrett said. “She’s afraid of getting dirty.”

  “She’ll be too fussy and she won’t want to touch the ball,” Nicky Pike added.

  “I am not fussy,” Jenny shot back.

  “You are, too,” Margo replied. “You don’t like dirt. You said so yourself.”

  “Stop arguing,” Haley Braddock said. “I want to have fun.”

  “We will have fun!” Adam shouted, trying to be heard over their complaints.

  “How can we have fun with her on the team?” Buddy asked, pointing at Jenny.

  I was proud of Jenny; she didn’t cry. I know I would have. My face would have turned beet red and I would have burst into tears and probably felt as if I’d never be able to face any of those kids again. But Jenny just stood there, ignoring Buddy and Nicky and Margo, waiting for the triplets’ answer.

  Hmmmm. I wondered. How were the triplets going to handle this?

  Adam looked at Byron, who looked at Jordan, who looked back at Adam. Finally Adam said, “Uh, don’t worry, Jenny. We’ll work it out.”

  “How?” Buddy asked.

  A car horn sounded from down the street. Mrs. Prezzioso’s car was turning into the driveway. Jenny didn’t wait for Adam to reply. “Come on, Mary Anne,” she said anxiously. Jenny made a quick check of her appearance, then hurried toward her house, once again being careful to avoid any mud puddles, twigs, or loose gravel.

  Saved by the honk, I thought, glancing over my shoulder at the kids, who were still arguing about Jenny and the kickball team. I didn’t know how Adam was planning to work things out, but I decided not to worry about it. I was a lot more concerned about Jenny and her new obsession with her appearance.

  That night at my house, Sharon made dinner. The main course was what she calls her Health Loaf, which is like meatloaf without the meat. It’s made with walnuts, carrots, zucchini, and tomatoes. I know it doesn’t sound good, but it’s actually kind of tasty.

  “Dad?” I asked as we were finishing our dessert of chocolate chip cookies (which I had made). “What do you know about behavior problems?”

  “Do you mean criminal behavior?” Dad asked. He’s a lawyer in Stamford, and is always thinking like a lawyer.

  “No.” I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tell him about Jenny in particular, so I made my question more general. “Behavior problems, like people who have to do things exactly the same way every time, or people who do things over and over, like, say, washing their hands.”

  “Hmmm.” He scratched his chin. “Is this for a class in school?”

  I shook my head. “I’m just curious.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say I’m an expert on those kinds of problems, but it sounds as though you’re talking about obsessive behavior. I have a few psychology textbooks left over from my college days. If you want to look something up, you can borrow them.”

  After dinner and the d
ishes, I shut myself in my dad’s office and stacked his psychology books in a pile on his desk. I spent the evening reading through them, and what I found was pretty scary. Many of the books described behavior like Jenny’s handwashing as a symptom of a “deep-seated emotional disturbance.”

  An emotional disturbance? Why? Jenny seemed to have a happy home life. She’d had a little trouble getting used to her new baby sister, but that was normal. All children go through that adjustment. Besides, that was a while ago. Now she loves Andrea. What could the problem be?

  Reading Dad’s books hadn’t made anything clearer. It had only upset me about Jenny. What if she really did have some serious psychological problem? How would I be able to help? Should I even try to help? I was going to be spending a lot of time with Jenny and, suddenly, I wasn’t sure whether I was equipped to deal with her.

  Everything seemed to go wrong for Jessi Thursday afternoon, starting with the triplets’ “friendly” greeting at the door.

  “Oh, great,” Adam muttered to his brothers. “It’s another baby-sitter. Just what we need!”

  “Hello to you, too,” Jessi said. “Where’s Mal?”

  Byron gestured vaguely toward the living room. “Around. Looking after the babies.”

  Then Adam grabbed his clipboard and put on his baseball cap. “If you need us, we’ll be outside organizing our kickball team.”

  Adam and Byron headed outside but Jordan remained. “It’s totally our team,” he said pointedly. “We’re completely in charge.”

  Jessi tried to sound supportive. “Good for you.”

  “So we don’t need any help from you,” he continued, “or any other baby-sitter types.”

  Jessi held up her hands in defeat. “Okay, okay, I get the message. I’ll leave you alone.”

  “Good.” Then Jordan ran off to join Adam and Byron, who were already in a huddle with several neighborhood kids in the front yard.

  Before Jessi could recover from her conversation with the triplets, Claire appeared with tears on her cheeks.

  “No fair!” she whimpered. “It’s just no fair.”

  Jessi squatted down to face her and said, “Tell me what’s wrong, Claire.”

  “Adam said I’m too little to play kickball. I want to pitch and they won’t let me.”

  Jessi wiped Claire’s tears off her cheeks and smoothed back her hair. “I’m sure you can kick a ball really far, but pitching is a big responsibility.”

  “But why won’t they let me play?”

  Jessi was at a loss. She wasn’t sure why. After all, this was just a neighborhood team. It wasn’t as if the kids would be competing in a tournament or anything. Finally Jessi said, “Why don’t we talk to Adam and the boys about this? I think they owe you an explanation.”

  “Good.” Claire folded her arms across her chest, satisfied with Jessi’s decision.

  Jessi allowed herself a small sigh of relief and was immediately knocked off balance by a big, slobbery dog. Or maybe I should say a long, slobbery dog. Pow the basset hound has short stubby legs but he more than makes up for it with his big strong chest, thick tail, and deep bark.

  “Pow!” Jessi cried, recovering her balance. “What are you doing inside? All the kids are outside!”

  “He was vacuuming the kitchen,” Claire replied.

  The thought of Pow moving through the kitchen sucking up crumbs and fallen food particles like a vacuum cleaner made Jessi giggle. “Well, he should be outside. Does he know that his old owner is here?”

  Pow used to belong to the Barretts, until they discovered that Marnie, the littlest Barrett, who is allergic to chocolate, is also allergic to dog dander. Buddy and Suzy were heartbroken when they found out they had to give Pow away. Luckily, the Pikes agreed to take him in. Mrs. Pike tried to make a rule that Pow was to stay outside as much as possible, but the kids didn’t always enforce it.

  “Don’t make him go outside!” Claire pleaded. Her chin started to quiver and she looked as if she were going to cry again.

  Before Jessi could answer Claire, Mallory came into the living room. She didn’t look happy.

  “I’ve had it!” she said. “I can’t do anything. I’m locked in this house like a prisoner.”

  Jessi had been listening patiently to Mallory’s complaints for weeks. “Is this about your parents?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Mallory shoved her glasses up on her nose with one finger. “Why won’t they let me do anything? I go to school, come home, do homework —”

  “And look after the kids,” Jessi finished with her.

  That made Mallory pause. She grinned sheepishly at Jessi. “I’ve said this before, right?”

  Jessi gave an emphatic nod. “Yes. At least a hundred times.”

  Mal tilted her head and thought for a second. “Well, it just goes to show how frustrated I am.”

  “I know how frustrated you are. And I know how frustrated the triplets are. And you know what?” Jessi added. “I’m getting frustrated. I think being inside this house is doing it to me. I vote we go outside.”

  “I second the motion,” Vanessa Pike said as she trotted down the stairs from her room. She and Claire were the only Pike kids still in the house. The rest were already out in the yard with the triplets.

  Unfortunately, the situation didn’t improve much when Mal and Jessi stepped outside. In fact, judging from all the shouting, things seemed to have gotten worse.

  “You have to have rules!” Buddy was yelling. “If you don’t, the whole team will fall apart.”

  “We do have rules,” Adam shot back. “Our rules.”

  “Well, if we’re going to pick sides,” Buddy said, “I want to choose who’s on my side.”

  The arguing had started when Jenny and I arrived. The triplets still hadn’t decided whether they were going to let Jenny be on their team.

  Mallory hurried over to see what was wrong.

  “Some of the kids think Jenny might not be a good team member,” I said, trying to keep my voice low so Jenny wouldn’t overhear.

  Mal snorted. “I’m tempted to tell those kids they better let her on the team.”

  Before she could storm away, I grabbed her by the arm and whispered, “The problem is — they may be right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Since Mallory was on a leave of absence from the BSC, she had missed my news about the reappearance of Miss Priss. (I’d told everybody else at Wednesday’s meeting.) So I filled her in on Jenny’s strange behavior.

  “And I’m starting to think it has something to do with her mom and Andrea disappearing every afternoon,” I concluded.

  “Where do they go?” Mal asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I said, feeling a little foolish. “Mrs. Prezzioso always leaves a phone number where I can reach her, but she never tells me where they’re headed. And here’s the odd part — the telephone number changes every day.”

  “Why don’t you just ask her where she’s going?”

  Mallory’s question was a reasonable one but I didn’t have a reasonable answer. “I know this sounds silly,” I said, “but I feel like I’d be prying. Anyway, I never asked before, so it would seem kind of odd for me to ask now.”

  “I think you deserve an explanation from Mrs. Prezzioso,” Mallory said. “I mean, if you want to help Jenny, you need to know what’s going on in her life.”

  I shrugged helplessly. “I guess you’re right. But maybe they’re not connected. The only thing I’m certain of is that according to Dad’s textbooks, Jenny has become an obsessive personality.”

  “Obsessive?” Mallory repeated. Her eyes widened.

  We watched as Jenny made her way along the edge of the lawn toward the porch steps. She seemed to be eyeing each blade of grass she passed, to make sure it didn’t flick dirt or water onto her tights.

  “I think I see what you mean,” Mallory whispered.

  Suddenly Jessi, who had been trying to talk to the triplets about Claire, threw up her hands and stalked away in
disgust. “Can you believe it?” she said to Mallory and me. “They can’t make up their minds about Claire or Jenny. What’s the big deal?”

  “Maybe we should do something,” I said.

  “Uh-uh.” Mallory shook her head. “Adam and the boys said it’s their team and they’re in charge. I think we’d better let them work it out.”

  Jessi turned to look at the boys again. “I don’t think they’re going to do anything except let everyone shout at each other.”

  “Maybe we should offer some guidance.” I was feeling bad for Jenny. But before I could call a halt to the bickering, Jenny, who had finally reached the porch, made her own announcement.

  “Kickball is a dirty sport,” she shouted from the steps. “I quit!”

  “Hooray!” Buddy and a couple of other kids shouted.

  Then Jenny called to me, “Mary Anne! I would like to go home now, please.”

  Frankly, I was glad to leave the Pike place. Too many kids were in rotten moods. I felt a little bad about leaving Jessi and Mal with all those angry children, but I figured the two of them could handle it.

  “It’s a good thing we’re leaving,” Jenny said, pointing to her tights as we walked away. “Look at this stain. I’ll have to change my clothes.”

  Jessi and Mallory watched us walk away and then turned to face each other. “I’m not having a very good day,” Jessi said matter-of-factly. “Are you having a good day?”

  Mallory shook her head miserably. “On a scale of one to ten — ten being really frustrating — I’d have to say today is a nine-and-a-half.”

  Jessi nodded. “Definitely not a good day.”

  Where was Mrs. Prezzioso taking Andrea every afternoon? The members of the BSC considered the possibilities. Stacey baby-sat for Jenny on Wednesday, and Claudia took the Friday slot and, each time, Mrs. Prezzioso bustled out the door, leaving the number where she could be reached on the refrigerator door but not mentioning where she was going.