Dawn and the Big Sleepover

by Ann M. Martin

  Special thanks to

  Harry and Sandy Colt

  for their information

  on Zuni culture.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  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

  “Can I read Rachel’s letter first? Can I?”

  Vanessa Pike was jumping up and down with excitement. She swung a letter and photo in the air, practically hitting me in the face.

  “Me next!” Jordan Pike said.

  “Me next!” Margo Pike said.

  “Me next!” Adam Pike said.

  “Come on, guys, sit down,” Mallory Pike said.

  Have you ever baby-sat for a family of eight kids? Well, welcome to the Pikes’ house. Fortunately, sitting for them usually involves two of us members of the Baby-sitters Club. Unfortunately, eight kids is a lot, even for us.

  Actually, they’re really good kids — most of the time. One of them, Mallory, is a member of our club (more about the BSC later). Mal is eleven and a great sitter. She and I were both looking after her brothers and sisters that night.

  Who am I? I’m Dawn Schafer. I’m thirteen, and I’ve lived in Stoneybrook, Connecticut, since seventh grade. I used to live in California, and if you met me, you might say, “It figures.” I have long blonde hair and blue eyes, and I’m into health foods and sunshine (not that every California girl is like that, but that’s what a lot of people think). Anyway, I moved here with my mom and my younger brother, Jeff, after my parents divorced. Stoneybrook was the town my mother grew up in, and her parents still live here. I liked it right away, but Jeff hated it and ended up moving back to California to live with our dad. (He seems happy now, but Mom and I miss him a lot.) We live in a fantastic old farmhouse that was built in 1795. It has a barn with a secret passage that leads right to my bedroom! Since my mom remarried, my stepfather and stepsister live with us (more on them later, too).

  So that’s me. Now back to the Pikes’ house. Our heroes were on the horns of a dilemma (they weren’t really, but I read that once in a book, and it cracked me up). Adam, Jordan, and Byron (ten-year-old triplets); Vanessa (who’s nine); Nicky (eight); and Margo (seven) were incredibly excited about the letters and photos they had gotten from their pen pals. Anyway, if you’ve been keeping count, you’ve noticed I left out one Pike. That’s Claire, who’s five. She’s only in kindergarten, so she wasn’t involved in Pens Across America.

  I guess I should explain that Pens Across America is a national pen pal program for second-through fifth-graders. The schools that take part are called “sister schools.” (Why? I don’t know. All the kids participate, not just girls. It should be “sibling schools” or something.) For a few weeks, the kids at Stoneybrook Elementary School (SES) had been writing to … Zunis! “Zuni” is the name of a Native American tribe in New Mexico, and they have an elementary school on their reservation. (Their reservation is also called Zuni.)

  None of the kids had ever met their pen pals, but it was amazing how close they felt. Take Vanessa. She was dying to read the letter from her pen pal, Rachel. You’d think Rachel was a long-lost sister or something (as if Vanessa didn’t have enough sisters).

  “Let’s see her picture first!” Margo said.

  All of us leaned over the coffee table to look at the photograph.

  “She’s pretty,” Margo said. “I wish my pen pal was smiling.” She held out a photo of a girl with a grim expression.

  Vanessa shrugged. “Maybe she has braces.”

  “Yuck,” was Adam’s remark.

  “Let’s see your pen pal, Adam,” Margo added. “I bet he’s a dork.”

  “He is not,” Adam replied. “He looks just like the kids in your pictures.”

  Margo giggled. “He looks like a girl?”

  “No!” Adam said gloomily. “I mean, he just looks … you know, like a kid.” He dug a folded-up envelope out of his pocket, then took out a crumpled school photo of a smiling boy with short black hair. Across the bottom in pen it said, YOUR FRIEND, CONRAD.

  “What did you expect him to look like?” Vanessa asked.

  “I don’t know …” Adam said. “Like an Indian, I guess.”

  “He wants to see headdresses and costumes,” Byron said. “Like on TV.”

  “And warpaint! Woo-woo-woo-woo!” Jordan whooped.

  “No …” Adam said, turning red.

  “Guys, come on!” Mal called out.

  I think Adam did want to see headdresses and tepees and stuff — and he was feeling guilty about it. Mal had lectured him about stereotyping, and all the kids in his school had learned about how the modern Zunis really live.

  “He’s a Native American, Adam,” Mallory said, as if she’d said it a hundred times before, which was probably true. “Indians are from India. You should know that by now, especially after three letters.”

  “I know,” Adam said with a sigh. “But Indians — uh, Native Americans — are supposed to have names like, you know, Chief Rocking Horse and Joe Crescent Moon …” Adam looked forlornly at his letter. “Not Conrad White.”

  “Maybe it’s short for White Horse,” Nicky suggested.

  “Or White Smoke Signals,” Margo piped up.

  I decided to interrupt this conversation. “Adam, a lot of the pen pals have English-sounding names. It doesn’t mean they’re not Native Americans.”

  “My pen pal’s named Wendy Jackson,” Margo reminded him.

  Nicky nodded. “Mine’s Joey Evans.”

  Suddenly, Vanessa exclaimed, “I thought I was going to read!”

  “You are!” I said. “Okay, guys, listen up. Presenting …” (I gave a little dramatic gesture with my arms) “Vanessa!”

  Vanessa held up her letter and started to read. This is how it went:

  “‘Dear Vanessa,

  “‘Hi. I really liked your letter. I mostly liked hearing about your family. It must be fun to have triplets in the house.’” Vanessa stopped reading and said under her breath, “That’s what she thinks.”

  “Hey!” Jordan blurted out.

  She quickly went on, “‘My family has twelve people. I’m the youngest. There are my brothers John and James; my sister, April; my parents; three grandparents (the fourth one is dead); my aunts Martha and Connie; and my uncle Bob. My brother John is in California now. He’s nineteen, and he’s allowed to fight forest fires. My dad says he can make a lot of money doing that. I miss him. I have a question for you. Why don’t your relatives live with you? It must be hard to get all the work done.’”

  “They all live in the same house?” Nicky said. “It must be super huge.”

  “If you’d listen, you’d find out,” Vanessa answered. She cleared her throat and continued:

  “‘Our teacher, Mrs. Randall, is really nice. She’s an Anglo, like you. She said we should tell you about the way Zunis live — about our houses and our parents’ jobs and our customs and stuff. Well, we live in a pueblo. That’s like a village, with lots of houses around a plaza. Our houses are called adobe houses, and they’re made of clay and wood. They have flat roofs, and they’re one story high. Maybe that sounds strange to you, but it’s
not. We have electricity and running water and TVs and stuff like that. We speak Zuni at home with our families. Most of the moms and dads make great jewelry to sell at the stores in town. I asked my mom if I could send you a bracelet but she said maybe next time.

  “‘Yours truly, Rachel Redriver.’”

  Everyone began talking at once:

  “See? She has an Indian name!” Adam said.

  “What’s an Anglo?” Claire piped up.

  “A white person, I think,” Mal answered.

  “I’m next!” Jordan called out. He unwrinkled his letter and began to read, stumbling over the big words:

  “‘Dear Jordan,

  “‘Mrs. Randall is making me tell you about Sha’la’ko.’” (Jordan had a real rough time with that one.) “‘It’s a big festival that we Zunis have for the new year. Our new year starts in December. Every year there are eight special Sha’la’ko houses. This year ours is one! My mom has been fixing the house for months. When the sun goes down on the first day of Sha’la’ko, dancers come into all the rooms to bless the house. They dance all night without stopping. They wear masks and feathers and stuff, and we’re supposed to throw cornmeal at them for good luck. All the kids are allowed to stay up to watch.

  “‘Do you have the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie there? It’s great! What about Nintendo? Let me know which video games you like!’”

  Suddenly, Jordan started to laugh, then instantly stopped.

  “What?” Vanessa asked.

  “Nothing,” Jordan said, hiding his letter. “That’s all he wrote.”

  “No, there’s more,” Vanessa insisted, grabbing Jordan’s letter. “Come on, let’s see it!”

  “Hey!” Jordan yelled. “Dawn! She’s —”

  Before I could do anything, Vanessa started reading in a singsong voice. “‘P.S. Y-may eacher-tay ells-smay ike-lay a-hay ow-cay …’” She paused for a moment, then her eyes lit up. “Oooh …”

  “My teacher smells like a cow!” Adam cried out. “That’s pig Latin!”

  “Ew! Ew!” Margo said.

  Well, you’d think it was the most clever thing anyone had ever thought of. All the other kids exploded with giggles — even Claire, who had been pretty quiet since she didn’t have a pen pal herself. “Adam, silly-billy-goo-goo,” she squealed.

  “Did you teach Sam that, Jordan?” Adam demanded. (Sam is Jordan’s pen pal.)

  Byron looked disappointed. “I thought that was our secret language.”

  “It’s okay, Byron,” Jordan said. “Sam’s a good guy, and I made him promise not to tell anyone.”

  Byron nodded seriously (he’s the most sensitive of the triplets), and I kept myself from laughing. As if their secret would really be ruined because some kids clear across the country found out.

  “Look, you guys,” Mal continued, “your pen pals all sent you pictures. Why don’t you think about what you can send them?”

  That idea must have gone over well, because the kids all fell silent. I wouldn’t have thought of that, but leave it to Mal. Really, she’s a perfect big sister. As you can see, she is very practical and smart and cool under pressure. Not to mention creative. Her goal in life is to write and illustrate children’s books, and I know she’ll be great at it. (The problem is, Mal’s convinced her parents will never let her grow up. They still won’t let her wear wild clothes or get contacts.)

  Anyway, Mal’s idea was really catching fire. Even Adam was getting into it. He ran into his room and emerged seconds later with a big, felt Stoneybrook pennant. “This is what I’m going to send!”

  “Me too!” Byron shouted.

  “Me three!” Jordan pitched in, smiling at his own joke.

  “Wait!” I said. “You can’t all send the same thing.”

  “Yeah, that’s boring,” Vanessa said.

  Margo jumped up. “How about Stoneybrook decals?”

  “Or bumper stickers!” Byron added.

  Mal nodded. “Stoneybrook souvenirs would be great — but they’re not as special as the pictures they sent you.”

  “We don’t have our school photos yet,” Nicky said with a shrug.

  I put my two cents in. “What kinds of things do we have in Connecticut that they might not have out there?”

  “Cable TV?” Adam suggested.

  “Rain,” Nicky said. “Ms. Farnsworth told us the weather is always sunny out there.”

  Vanessa groaned. “Really great ideas, guys. Did you forget to put in your brains this morning?”

  “Whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you,” Adam said.

  “We could get something from the mall!” Jordan blurted out. “Like T-shirts with our pictures on them.”

  “Or some stationery!” Vanessa said.

  * * *

  Anyway, that’s pretty much how it went that afternoon at the Pikes’. That was back when the pen pal program was fun. Back when us older kids weren’t involved. Simple. Easy.

  If only I had known what was about to happen.

  By the time Mrs. Pike got home from her trustees meeting at the Stoneybrook Public Library, the kids were hard at work writing letters. Adam had decided he’d send the pennant, and Nicky would send the decals. Byron was going to ask his dad if he could take some pictures of the family, Vanessa planned to write a poem, and Jordan wanted to tape-record himself playing the piano. Margo was still thinking.

  As I walked home, all I could think about were the Zunis. They sounded fascinating. I was dying to know more about their lifestyle, and Sha’la’ko, and a million other things. In a way, I felt kind of sad. I wished it were our school that was in the Pens Across America program.

  “Hi, Mary Anne,” I said to my stepsister, who was in the living room.

  Mary Anne took one look at my face and said, “Don’t tell me. The triplets flooded the sink.”

  “No,” I said.

  “Nicky broke Vanessa’s glasses.”

  “No!”

  “Margo got sick.”

  I smiled. “Mary Anne, do I look that tired?”

  Before Mary Anne could answer, my mom called out from the kitchen, “Hi, sweetheart!”

  One thing I should say about my mom. She’s not Julia Child. I mean, she can throw together a decent salad, but anything else is “eat at your own risk.” The same thing with housework. She sort of loses interest halfway through. And Richard, my stepfather, is exactly the opposite — super organized. I was happy to see him in the kitchen, seasoning some sort of delicious-smelling casserole.

  “Hi!” I called back, plopping onto the living room couch. “I’ll come in and help in a minute.”

  “That’s okay, honey,” my mom said. “Everything’s almost ready.”

  “You and Mary Anne can set the table in about ten minutes,” Richard said.

  “Sure,” I replied.

  Mary Anne was still looking at me with that “I know something’s wrong” expression on her face.

  “The kids were rowdy, but not too bad,” I said. “They were working on their pen pal letters.”

  Mary Anne nodded. “That project sounds like a lot of fun.”

  “Yeah,” I answered. “The kids love it. And to tell you the truth, I’m really disappointed that we can’t be in the program, just because we’re older.”

  “It’s sort of like what my dad says sometimes: ‘Youth is wasted on the young.’” Mary Anne smiled. “Maybe you can write the Zuni elementary school and ask about finding a pen pal of your own in their middle school.”

  That wasn’t a bad idea. See what a great stepsister I have? Sometimes I think Mary Anne can read my mind.

  Okay. I promised I’d tell you about my step-family, so here goes. Mary Anne Spier is my best friend in the world. As you can see, she’s a good listener, sensitive, and patient. Mary Anne’s also very shy and she cries easily. She was one of the first people I met when I moved to Connecticut — before she was my stepsister, of course. Back then she wore her hair in pigtails and dressed in little-girl clothes,
and had to be home by nine o’clock (in seventh grade). That’s because her dad (Richard) set the rules. See, Mary Anne’s mom died when Mary Anne was little, then Richard’s parents died — so Mary Anne was all he had left, and he became very protective of her.

  Anyway, guess who my mom used to date when she was at Stoneybrook High. Richard. When Mary Anne and I found this out, we got them back together and — ta-da! — they got married. Richard has loosened up a lot, and Mary Anne is no longer the oldest baby in Stoneybrook. As a matter of fact, she’s the only one of us BSC members who has ever had a steady boyfriend. His name was (is — Mary Anne broke up with him but he’s still alive) Logan Bruno. Mary Anne, by the way, is our club’s secretary.

  You probably want to know about the other club members. Here goes. First of all, they’re the greatest friends I could imagine having. If you’ve ever moved to a school in the middle of the year, you know how hard it is to meet people. Well, the BSC made me feel totally welcome. Everyone was open and friendly, which was great, because nothing turns me off more than cliques where everyone dresses and sounds alike. Not that there are never any conflicts in the BSC, but everyone respects everyone else’s personality.

  And there are lots of different personalities.

  Kristy Thomas, for example. She’s the president of the BSC, and the one who thought up the whole thing. As you can guess, she really knows how to get things done — and she knows she knows. What I mean is, she can be a little loud and bossy. (A little? A lot sometimes.) She’s always full of ideas and can be counted on to be mature and levelheaded in any emergency. Which you might not guess if you saw her. She seems younger than thirteen, probably because she’s the shortest one in the class and she doesn’t seem to care about boys. Also, she never worries about the way she looks. A turtleneck shirt, jeans, running shoes, no makeup — that’s Kristy. Her two big interests are children (the main requirement for being in the BSC) and sports. She’s even figured out a way to combine the two, by organizing a softball team for kids who don’t play in Little League. (A true Kristy idea.)

  What a family life she has. It makes mine look simple. Really, it’s sort of like a fairy tale … The Saga of Kristy, Chapter 1: Kristy’s dad walks out on the family — just heads out the door and never looks back. He leaves his wife with a newborn baby (David Michael), Kristy, and two older brothers (Sam and Charlie). Chapter 2: Mrs. Thomas finds a job and raises all four kids herself. Chapter 3: Six years later, Sam and Charlie are in high school, Kristy is president of the most brilliant baby-sitting organization in history, and David Michael is six. Along comes Watson Brewer, a divorced millionaire. He sweeps Mrs. Thomas off her feet (which is hard to imagine — he’s balding and quiet and likes gardening), and they fall in love. Kristy hates the idea of having a stepfamily, but … Chapter 4: She finally comes around and Watson marries her mother. The Thomas family moves across town to Watson’s mansion, where everyone has their own room — even Watson’s kids, Karen and Andrew, who only live there every other weekend and for two weeks in the summer. Everyone lives happily ever after. Epilogue: The Thomas/Brewer family decides to adopt a two-year-old Vietnamese girl, whom they call Emily Michelle. Now the mansion is beginning to look like a small town, so Nannie (Kristy’s grandmother) moves in to help take care of the kids. And the saga continues.