Kristy and the Mother's Day Surprise

by Ann M. Martin

  “You are kidding!” cried Stacey.

  “Nope. Dad loves little kids. Why do you think there are eight of us?”

  We laughed, and I added, “Marnie ought to spend the day with my mother. It would be, like, a dream come true for Mom.”

  At that point we almost got off the subject, but I went ahead and outlined the day for Stacey (in between a few job calls).

  We were finishing up when Mimi wandered into Claudia’s room, and I mean wandered in. She looked like someone who had gone for a walk without any destination in mind. She just sauntered in — and then she seemed surprised to find us club members there.

  “Oh … oh, my,” said Mimi vaguely.

  Claudia leaped to her feet. “What are you looking for, Mimi?”

  “The … cow.”

  The cow? My friends and I glanced at each other. But not one of us was tempted to laugh. This was not funny.

  Claudia took her grandmother by the arm and led her gently toward the doorway. On the way, Mimi seemed to “wake up.”

  “Dinner is almost ready, my Claudia,” she said. “To please help salad with me after meeting.” (That was normal for Mimi.)

  “Sure,” agreed Claudia. “Just a few more minutes. Then Stacey and I will come help you.”

  Mimi left. An awkward silence followed. Jessi tried to make conversation. “I really like your bedroom, Stacey,” she began. “You should come over and see it, if you want. The wallpaper is so pretty that we left it up, and my furniture looks great … ” She trailed off.

  Claudia had tears in her eyes again.

  Stacey said, “I decided I like it better than my room in New York.”

  Another awkward silence. Both Mallory and Jessi looked awfully uncomfortable. I wondered if they felt like the new kids on the block all over again.

  “I wonder,” I said, as if it were the only thing on my mind, “what my mom will look like when she’s pregnant.”

  “Like she’s going to tip over,” replied Dawn, and we all cracked up. We became ourselves again. In the last few moments of the meeting we giggled and laughed and told school gossip to Stacey. Then the meeting was over. We left Claudia and Stacey, calling to each other, “ ’Bye!” and “See you at eight!” and “Remember your lunches!”

  That night, I could barely get to sleep. I was so, so excited about the Mother’s Day surprise.

  Well, we did have some tears, but Stacey was right. The morning got off to a shaky start — but not a bad one.

  However, the kids’ tears came later in the morning. Stacey began her day much earlier, waking up in the cot that had been placed in Claudia’s room. She yawned and stretched. She looked over at Claudia. Claudia was dead to the world. She could sleep through a tornado. No, a tornado and a hurricane. No, a tornado, a hurricane, a major earthquake, and a garbage truck. Luckily, when Claudia does wake up, she gets up fairly easily.

  But Stacey didn’t need to wake her up right away, which was fine because Stacey wanted to lie in bed and daydream. Actually, what she wanted to do was “rememberize,” which was an old word of hers meaning “to remember something really well.”

  She rememberized the first time she ever met Claudia. It was the beginning of seventh grade — I think it might even have been the first day of school — and they ran into each other in the hallway. I mean, ran right into each other. Each of them was kind of mad because the other was dressed in such cool clothes — and each wanted to be the coolest. But they calmed down and became very close friends.

  Then Stacey rememberized the first time she baby-sat for Charlotte Johanssen. After that, she was about to begin a good daydream about Cam Geary, the gorgeous star, when she realized she really ought to wake up Claudia.

  So she did. She leaned across Claud’s bed and tapped her on the arm.

  “Claud. Hey, Claud!”

  “Mmm?”

  “Time to get up.”

  “Why?”

  “Mother’s Day surprise. The kids’ll be here in just a couple of hours.”

  “Oh!”

  Claudia was up in a flash, and she and Stacey got dressed.

  Now, here’s a big difference between them and me. That morning, I dressed in my jeans and running shoes, a T-shirt with a picture of Beaver Cleaver on it, and my collie dog baseball cap. Then I added my SHS (Stoneybrook High School) sweat shirt that used to belong to Sam, since the weather would probably be chilly in the morning.

  Stacey, however, put on a tight-fitting pink jumpsuit over a white T-shirt, lacy white socks, and those plastic shoes. What are they called — jellies? And Claudia wore a pale blue baggy shirt over black-and-blue leopard-spotted pants that tied in neat knots at her ankles. On her feet she wore purple high-tops. And they both wore all this jewelry and these accessories, like big, big earrings, and headbands with rosettes on them, and nail polish. Claudia even wore her snake bracelet. Honestly, what did they think we were going to do? Enter a fashion show?

  Oh, okay, I’ll admit it. They looked great. And I was a teeny bit jealous. I wouldn’t even know how to dress the way they do.

  Anyway, Stacey and Claudia ate a quick breakfast — they were both kind of nervous — and then waited for the rest of us club members to show up.

  “You girls eat like hawks,” said Mimi, while they waited.

  “She means ‘birds,’” Claudia whispered to Stacey.

  Stacey nodded.

  “What happen today?” Mimi wanted to know.

  Claud and the rest of the Kishis had only explained this to Mimi about a million times already, but Claudia tried again.

  She was halfway finished when the bell rang Stacey ran for the door. She opened it and found — me!

  “Hi!” I cried.

  “Hi!” replied Stacey. (We were both a little too excited.) “You’re the first one … oh, but here come Jessi and Mallory.”

  We all arrived before eight o’clock.

  “What needs to be done?” asked Stacey nervously.

  “Divide up the group tags,” I answered.

  We had decided that we would color-code our groups. My group was red, Mary Anne’s was yellow, Jessi’s was green, and so on. It would help the kids to know who they were supposed to be with. It isn’t a very good idea to let kids go out in public places wearing name tags, but we figured if, for instance, I was wearing a red tag around my neck, and so were Karen, Andrew, and Shea, at least they’d know the four of us were supposed to stick together.

  So at our Wednesday club meeting that week, we’d cut twenty-eight circles out of construction paper and strung them on yarn. They looked like large necklaces. Now we each put one on.

  Stacey and I looked at ourselves in a bathroom mirror.

  “Ravishing,” said Stacey.

  I giggled.

  “Kristy?” Mal called. “Claud wants you.”

  “Okay!” I replied.

  Stacey and I ran downstairs and found the rest of the club members in the kitchen with Mr. Kishi and Mimi.

  “Could you just tell Dad about the lunches again?” Claudia asked me.

  “Oh, sure,” I said. “All the kids are bringing bag lunches. We’re going to leave the lunches here — if it’s still okay with you — and then, if you don’t mind, could you drive them to Carle Playground at twelve-thirty? We’ll meet you there. That way, we won’t have to carry the lunches around the carnival all morning. Is that okay with you? We’d really appreciate it.”

  Mr. Kishi smiled. “It’s still just fine. Mimi is going to help me.”

  But all Mimi said then was, “I’ve got to get that box over to the planet.” She was gazing out the window.

  Ordinarily, any one of us club members might have burst into tears then. We were frustrated by not understanding how Mimi’s mind was working these days. We wanted badly to understand.

  But the doorbell rang.

  “Someone’s here!” cried Stacey, leaping to her feet. “The first kid is here!”

  All seven of us sitters raced for the Kishis’ front d
oor.

  Not one but six kids were crowded onto the stoop with their fathers: Jackie, Shea, and Archie with Mr. Rodowsky, Myriah and Gabbie with Mr. Perkins, and Jamie with Mr. Newton.

  “Hi, you guys!” we greeted them.

  Us baby-sitters stepped outside with the color tags, and the fathers left after kisses and hugs and good-byes. We thought the kids would feel more comfortable in the yard, where they could run around.

  I was about to explain the tags to them when Jamie shrieked, “Stacey!” He ran to her and threw his arms around her legs. “You came back!”

  “Just for a visit,” she told him. “Boy, am I glad to see you! I think you’ve grown another foot.”

  Jamie looked down. “Nah. I’ve still got just two,” he replied, but he was smiling.

  “Okay,” I said loudly, clapping my hands. “I have something special for each of you to wear today.” I handed out the tags (Shea Rodowsky said he felt like a gi-irl) and then — Becca Ramsey and Charlotte Johanssen arrived.

  They were wearing plastic charm bracelets and were so busy comparing the charms that Charlotte didn’t see Stacey.

  Finally, as Mr. Ramsey was leaving, Stacey stepped up behind Char and tapped her on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” she said. “Can you tell me where I could find a Charlotte Johanssen?”

  “I’m —” Charlotte started to say. She turned around. She looked up. Her eyes began to widen. They grew and grew and grew. “Stacey!” she managed to say, gasping.

  Becca grinned. She was in on the surprise.

  “I’m back for the weekend,” said Stacey in a wavery voice. Then she knelt down, held her arms open, and Charlotte practically dove into them. Stacey held Charlotte for a long time.

  “Yuck,” said David Michael, who was watching. He and Karen and Andrew had just arrived.

  “Okay, kiddo,” I heard Watson say to Andrew. “See you this afternoon. Have a great time at the carnival. I know you’ll have fun with Kristy and Karen and David Michael.”

  Well, even with me there, Andrew was the first of our criers. The next crier was Suzi Barrett. She looked pretty confused as Mr. Pike dropped her off along with her brother and four of the Pike kids. Then Jenny Prezzioso began to wail. And finally Archie Rodowsky tuned up, even though he’d been fine before.

  “Oh, boy,” said Stacey.

  Two of us took the criers aside and tried to quiet them. They had just calmed down (after all, they knew who we were, where they were, and where they were going), when Mr. Braddock brought Matt and Haley by.

  Darn old Jenny Prezzioso let out a squawk. “Is he coming?” she exclaimed, pointing to Matt.

  Mr. Braddock was leaving — so Haley made a beeline for Jenny.

  “You wanna make something of it?” she asked fiercely. “You got a problem with that?” (Haley is a really nice kid, but she is super-protective of her brother.)

  “No,” said Jenny in a small voice. To her credit, she did not start to cry again.

  “Kristy,” said Stacey, “introduce me to Haley and Matt, okay? Oh, and to Becca. I don’t know Jessi’s sister.”

  I nodded. Then I spoke to Jessi. Jessi and Haley introduced Matt to Stacey, using sign language. Then Jessi introduced Becca to her.

  “I think,” I said, “that you know everyone else, Stace. It’s pretty much the same crowd.”

  “Just older,” she replied. She smiled ruefully.

  “Well, let’s get this show on the road!” I said brightly. “Are you kids ready for the carnival?”

  “Yes!”

  “Are you wearing your tags?”

  “Yes!”

  “Have you been to the bathroom?”

  “Yes.” … “No.” … “I have to go again.” … “Me too.” … “I went at home.” … “I don’t wanna go.”

  It took nearly a half an hour for everyone to use the bathroom. When we were ready, we set out for Sudsy’s Carnival.

  “We’re really, really going to the carnival!” exclaimed Jamie Newton, as my friends and I led the twenty-one kids along the sidewalks of Stoneybrook. “Oh, give me a comb,” he sang.

  I looked around and smiled. The groups were staying together. (So far.) And oddly enough, my funny little group was working out nicely. Because Andrew had cried earlier, Shea was very protective of him. And Karen seemed to have a crush on Shea. She hung onto every word he said, and gazed at him as if he were a superhero. Shea was playing the part of their big brother.

  From the other children around me came excited comments:

  “I’m going to ride the ferris wheel!”

  “Oh, I hope there’s a roller coaster!”

  “I’m going to win a teddy bear for my sister.” (That was Jamie.)

  “I wonder what a sideshow is.”

  “Is there really such a thing as a bearded lady?”

  “My daddy told me there used to be a circus man named P.T. Barnum, who said there’s a sucker born every minute.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  A shrug. “Don’t know … I hope there’s cotton candy.”

  At that point, Stacey turned to me and said, “How are we going to pay for all this? The kids want rides and food and tickets to the sideshow. I don’t blame them. I would, too, if I were their age, but … this morning is going to be expensive.”

  “Don’t worry,” I told her. “First of all, we decided no food at the carnival. We want the kids to eat their own lunches later. Second, we found out how much most of the rides and attractions at Sudsy’s will cost and realized that we have enough money for each kid to do three things. And third,” (I grinned) “every single kid came with extra money — either part of his allowance, or a little something from one of his parents, so we don’t have to —”

  “THERE IT IS!”

  The shriek came from Jamie, who was at the head of the line with Claudia and the Perkins girls. We had rounded a corner, and in the huge parking lot behind Carle Playground was Sudsy’s Carnival. It spread out before us, a wonderful, confusing mess of rides and booths, colors and smells, people, and even a few animals.

  The kids looked overwhelmed, so we walked in slowly, trying to see everything at once. There were a ferris wheel, a merry-go-round, a whip ride, a train, a funhouse, and a spook house. At the midway were a penny pitch, a ring toss, a horserace game, a shooting gallery, and a fish pond for the littlest kids. The sideshow tent was set up at one end of the parking lot, and wandering among the crowds were a man selling oranges with candy straws in them, an organ-grinder with a monkey, and — Jamie’s precious clown selling balloons.

  “Oh, my gosh,” whispered Shea Rodowsky, taking it all in.

  Even he was impressed. I took that as a good sign.

  Impressive as it was, though, the carnival wasn’t all that big. I mean, it was just set up in a parking lot. Still, there was plenty to see and do. Us sitters wondered where to start.

  The kids solved the problem for us. Karen had spotted the spook house.

  “Please, please, please can we go in that haunted house?” she begged.

  I hesitated. Would it be too scary? I glanced at my friends and they just shrugged.

  What the heck? I thought. How bad could it be?

  Sixteen of the kids wanted to walk through the haunted house. (Andrew, Archie Rodowsky, Suzi Barrett, and Gabbie Perkins were too young, and prissy Jenny announced that the house would probably be filthy dirty.) So Mary Anne stayed outside with them (she looked relieved), and the rest of us paid for our tickets and filed into the house.

  “Where are the cars?” asked Karen. “What do we ride in?”

  Not long ago, we had been to Disney World in Florida. We went on this incredible ride through a haunted mansion.

  But that was Disney World, this was Sudsy’s.

  “You just walk through this house, Karen,” I told her.

  Karen looked disappointed, until we turned the first dark corner — and a ghost suddenly lit up before us. Shea, Buddy Barrett, Nicky Pike, and David Michael burst out laughing.
A few kids gasped. Karen shrieked.

  “It’s all right,” I told her, taking her hand.

  We passed through the Death Chamber. “Cobwebs” swept over our faces. “Thunder” roared overhead. And a very realistic-looking bolt of lightning zigzagged to the floor with a crackle and a crash.

  “Let me out!” cried Karen, as a headless ghost floated by. “Let me out!”

  “Karen, I can’t. We’re in the middle of the spook house. We have to keep going. There’s no other way out.”

  “Oh, yes there is,” said an eerie voice.

  I almost screamed myself before I realized that the voice sounded weird because it was coming from behind a mask.

  “I work here,” said a person dressed as a mummy. “There are exits all over the place. I can let you out if you want.”

  “Karen?” I asked.

  “Yes, please,” she replied, shivering.

  I tapped Claudia, who happened to be standing right behind me, and told her that Karen and I were leaving. “The rest of you will have to watch the kids. Karen and I will meet you at that bench near Mary Anne.”

  “No problem,” replied Claudia.

  The groups were all mixed up, but it didn’t seem to matter.

  The mummy discreetly opened a door in a pitch-black wall, and Karen and I followed him into the bright sunshine.

  “Whew,” said Karen.

  The mummy removed his mask. He was a she.

  “Thank you so much,” I said. “I guess we were a little panicky.” I was trying not to lay all the blame on Karen.

  Karen looked at her feet in embarrassment anyway.

  The mummy smiled. “My name’s Barbara,” she said. “And don’t feel bad. At least once a day, someone needs to use one of the special exit doors.” She knelt in front of Karen. “I’ll tell you some secrets,” she said.

  Tell Karen secrets? That was like telling secrets to the National Broadcasting Company.

  “I’ll tell you how they do the special effects,” Barbara went on, “but you have to promise never to reveal the secrets.”