Kristy is loaded with energy. I guess you could call her a tomboy. She almost always wears jeans, a turtleneck shirt, a sweater, and running shoes. She coaches a softball team for little kids called Kristy’s Krushers, and she’s good at lots of sports.
To be honest, you could say that Kristy has kind of a big mouth and is on the bossy side, but that doesn’t bother me. One reason the BSC works so well is that Kristy isn’t afraid to take charge.
Besides, I understand how it feels to be part of a big family. (Kristy’s family is now as large as mine.) In a big family you have to speak up if you want to be heard. And when you have younger brothers and sisters, you get used to being in charge. Giving orders starts to come naturally.
So, I can appreciate these things about Kristy, even though size is the only thing our families have in common. Unlike my plain old family, Kristy’s is a modern blended kind of family. And the story of her family is pretty interesting.
The Thomases started out with two parents and four kids — Kristy, plus two older brothers, Sam and Charlie, and one younger brother, David Michael. When David Michael was still a baby, Mr. Thomas walked out on the family, leaving Mrs. Thomas to raise four kids. (Can you imagine?) For a long time she struggled, but — like Kristy — she’s a real dynamo, and she did very well.
After several years, Mrs. Thomas met and fell in love with Watson Brewer, who is (are you ready?) a millionare! He even lives in a mansion.
They got married, and Kristy and her brothers moved into his house. (Believe it or not, Kristy wasn’t thrilled about this because she didn’t want to move and she didn’t like Watson. But now she’s used to her new neighborhood and she’s changed her mind about her stepfather.) When her mother got married, Kristy’s family grew right away. Watson has two kids from his first marriage, Karen and Andrew, who are seven and four. Even though they only stay at Kristy’s every other weekend, Kristy has grown close to them. Then, Watson and Kristy’s mother adopted Emily Michelle, a little girl from Vietnam, who is two and a half. Finally, Nannie, Kristy’s grandmother, moved in to help out with Emily Michelle. That means when Karen and Andrew are over, ten people live in Kristy’s house, just like in mine — only I’m sure being spread out in a mansion cuts down on the “pandemonium” quite a bit.
Do I sound jealous? Maybe I am, just a little. But it’s nothing against Kristy. She’s not snooty. In fact, she’s a regular person, and a lot of fun.
Claudia Kishi is the vice-president of the BSC. She has that title mostly because we use her room and her telephone. Like Kristy, Claudia’s a lot of fun, but I don’t know if you’d call her a “regular person.” For starters, Claudia is so beautiful it’s almost unbelievable. She’s Japanese-American and has this long, silky black hair, and dark, almond-shaped eyes.
But that isn’t what makes her different. It’s Claudia, herself, who’s unique. (Okay, we’re all unique.) Everything about Claudia is artistic. She paints, draws, makes pottery. Claudia looks artistic, too. She makes her own jewelry, and she wears her hair and clothing in really trendy, unusual ways.
Today was a good example. Claudia was wearing a pair of soft, balloony, purple pants; a neon green long-sleeve leotard top; a wide, red braided belt; and a pair of soft, red ballet shoes. Her hair was swept into a French braid with wispy tendrils hanging loose. From one ear dangled a long earring made up of small papier-mâché tropical fruit. In the other ear, where she had two holes, Claudia wore two small papier-mâché hoops. (This earring set is her own creation.) If I wore an outfit like that, I’d look like a lunatic. But not Claudia. She looked like a fashion model.
Claudia adores junk food and Nancy Drew books (which she hides around her room because her parents don’t approve of either). Here’s what she hates: school. She is the worst student. I can’t believe the words she spells wrong! Honestly, half the time I think she must be kidding. But she swears she’s not. Claudia’s teachers say Claudia just doesn’t try hard enough. That might be because she doesn’t want to be compared to her sixteen-year-old sister, Janine, who is an actual genius. But, anyway, I’ve never met anyone like Claudia, and I don’t think I ever will.
Mary Anne Spier is our club secretary. She looks a bit like Kristy (who is one of her two best friends). They’re both short with brown hair and eyes. But Mary Anne is very different from Kristy. She’s quiet and sensitive. She cries easily. And while Kristy is a talker, Mary Anne is a listener. She’s a very sweet person.
Mary Anne’s mother died when she was small. For a long time, the Spier family was just Mary Anne and her father. Mr. Spier was very over-protective. Even in the seventh grade, Mary Anne still wore braids and these dumpy little-kid jumpers. But now she looks much more fashionable. That’s because Mr. Spier has loosened up a lot.
At this point, I have to stop and tell you about Dawn. Dawn is not only Mary Anne’s other best friend, she’s her stepsister!
Dawn is our alternate officer. That means she has to be ready to fill in for any other member who can’t come to a BSC meeting for some reason. Dawn has long, long, long white-blonde hair and a casual-but-trendy way of dressing. (For example, today she was wearing black stirrup pants, a long, fleecy red-and-pink rose-print top and black high-top sneakers. She has two holes pierced in each ear. In those she wore four matching sparkly rose earrings.) Dawn is very pretty, but doesn’t seem aware of it. I like that about her.
Another interesting thing about Dawn is that she only eats healthy food. No junk food at all, and she doesn’t eat red meat. (I admire that, but I don’t think I could do it.) Dawn also likes ghost stories and thinks her house might be haunted. There is even a real secret passageway leading from her bedroom to the old barn behind her house, which is now also Mary Anne’s house.
Here’s how that happened.
When Dawn first moved to Stoneybrook with her mother and younger brother, Jeff, she didn’t know anyone. Her mother was originally from Stoneybrook and had moved back here from California after she and Mr. Schafer got divorced. I think she wanted to be close to her parents (Dawn’s grandparents), who still live in Stoneybrook.
The first person to befriend Dawn was Mary Anne. Then an amazing thing happened. While looking through Mrs. Schafer’s old high school yearbook one day, Dawn and Mary Anne discovered that long ago their parents had dated in high school. They arranged for their parents to meet again and … Mr. Spier and Mrs. Schafer fell in love again. They dated for what seemed like an eternity, but finally they got married. Now they all live together in the Schafers’ big farmhouse. (Except for Jeff, who went back to California to live with his dad.) Of course, everyone didn’t adjust to this new situation overnight. But now they all seem pretty happy to me.
Last, but not least (as they say) is Stacey McGill. She’s our treasurer and a real math whiz. Before moving to Stoneybrook, Stacey lived in New York City. You can tell she’s a city girl. She’s a lot more sophisticated than the rest of us; even slightly more so than Claudia, who is her best friend. Stacey dresses with great style (though not quite as artistically as Claudia). She has shoulder-length blonde hair, which she usually wears permed, and big, gorgeous blue eyes.
I think Stacey is a little too thin, but that’s probably because she has diabetes. A bad form of it, too. She can’t eat sweets, except for a little fruit, and she has to give herself injections of insulin every single day. Every day, forever! I can’t imagine that! Stacey handles it pretty well, though, and hardly ever complains.
Besides being a diabetic, Stacey has had to deal with a lot of difficult things. First, her father got transferred back to New York from Stoneybrook. So just when Stacey was all settled in and happy here, she had to move again. (The Ramsey family moved into the McGills’ old house.) Then, when she was back in New York, her parents decided to split up. Her mother decided to come back, again, to Stoneybrook. We were all really glad to see Stacey.
Oh, and just so you know, the club also has two associate members, Shannon Kilbourne and Logan Bruno. Shannon lives across
the street from Kristy. And Logan is Mary Anne’s boyfriend (remember?) (He speaks with this wonderful drawl, since he’s from Kentucky.) They don’t usually attend meetings, but if none of the regular club members can take a job, we call them.
Now I’m ready to tell you about the club. Kristy got the idea for it one day when she saw her mother making a million phone calls trying to find a baby-sitter for David Michael. It occurred to Kristy that it would be great if her mother could call one number and get in touch with a whole bunch of baby-sitters at once. That was when she thought up the idea for the Baby-sitters Club.
Immediately, Kristy told Mary Anne and Claudia. They thought the idea was great. Then they decided they needed at least four members, so Claudia suggested Stacey.
The logical place for them to set up headquarters was in Claudia’s room since she has her own private phone line. (No one else does. Stacey has an extension, but not her own number.) They wrote an announcement about their club and placed it in the Stoneybrook News. Then they made up fliers and passed them out all over the neighborhood. They were in business! They received job calls at their very first meeting.
Soon the club had more business than it could handle. Dawn joined and that helped some. But then Stacey had to leave, and the club was back to four members. That’s when they asked Jessi and me to come in as junior officers. We’re junior because we can only sit in the afternoons, not at night. But that frees the others up for sitting jobs in the evenings. Then Stacey came back, and the BSC had seven members. That’s fine, though. We just keep getting more and more work. There’re plenty of jobs for everyone.
This is how the club works. We hold meetings every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday between five-thirty and six o’clock. That’s when parents call Claudia’s number. Someone answers the phone and takes down information about the sitting job. The phone answerer then says she’ll call the parent back. Once she hangs up, we put our heads together and see who can take the job.
Mary Anne keeps the club record book. (Another one of Kristy’s great ideas.) The record book holds all our important information: clients’ names, addresses, and phone numbers; how much each client pays; important notes about the children such as if they’re allergic to anything. But most important, it contains everyone’s schedule. In it are my orthodontist appointments, Jessi’s dance class schedule, Kristy’s softball practice schedule, birthdays. You name it, it’s in there! This is how we know who is available to sit and when. Mary Anne keeps the book better than a professional secretary. She has never, ever, made one scheduling error.
Once Mary Anne checks the book, she tells us who is free to take the job. We decide who will do it, then we call the client back and tell him whom to expect.
Sometimes the phone rings constantly for the entire half hour. Other times, it’s a little slower. But no matter what, the half hour whizzes by. There’s so much to do.
Stacey keeps track of how much money each of us has been paid. And she collects the dues. No one is crazy about that, but it has to be done. We need the money to help Claudia pay her phone bill, and to pay Charlie Thomas (Kristy’s oldest brother) to drive her to meetings, since her new neighborhood is kind of far away.
We also use the money to resupply our Kid-Kits. (Another great Kristy idea!) Kid-Kits are boxes filled with crayons, coloring books, our old toys, and lots of fun stuff for the kids to play with. The kits keep the kids busy, and have helped distract kids who were unhappy for one reason or another.
If any money is left over, we use it for something fun, like a slumber party or a pizza lunch. That’s the good part about paying dues.
While all this is going on, we’re also busy with the club notebook. Members are doing one of two things with it: reading it, or writing in it. The notebook is a diary of our baby-sitting experiences. Some club members hate to write in it, but not me. I also like to read it. It’s interesting and very helpful. You can learn how the other baby-sitters solved sitting problems.
We were in the middle of discussing whether or not we should buy these little rubber pop-up suction toys for the Kid-Kits or if they were too dangerous for the youngest kids, when the phone rang.
“Hello, Mrs. Bruno,” said Claudia, rolling her eyes playfully at Logan. “Sure. Someone can sit for Hunter and Kerry. But why not just ask Logan?”
Logan began waving his hands and shaking his head.
“I see … I see …” Claudia spoke into the phone. “Well, all right. I’ll call you back. ’Bye.”
“What’s up, Logan?” Kristy asked.
“I complained to my mom that I’m tired of baby-sitting all the time. I guess she’s trying to take some of the load off me,” he explained. “I’ll bet she wants you next Tuesday at seven so she and Dad can go to a PTA meeting together.”
“Exactly right,” Claud confirmed.
Mary Anne opened the record book and studied it. Then she bit her lip and looked at Logan. “Nobody is free that night. I guess a lot of parents are going to that meeting.”
“I really wanted to watch a football game at Pete Black’s house that night. He gets the sports channel. Why don’t you call Shannon?” said Logan.
Claud dialed Shannon, but she was busy. “Oh, okay,” Logan said with a sigh. “I guess I’ll have to do it.”
Claud called Mrs. Bruno back and gave her the news. Her baby-sitter would be Logan. “Your mother said to tell you she tried her best,” said Claudia to Logan as she hung up the phone.
Logan shrugged. “I wish her better luck next time.”
Several minutes later the meeting ended. We gathered our things and headed down Claudia’s stairs. When I hit the outside air, it sent a shiver up my spine. “Boy, it’s getting cold,” I said to Jessi. “I hope it’s warmer Monday. Otherwise we’ll freeze outside during gym.”
Jessi turned up her jacket collar as we walked across the yard. “No we won’t,” she told me. “We’re not playing field hockey anymore. Monday we switch to volleyball.”
“Yuck! Volleyball,” I grumbled.
“I don’t mind volleyball so much,” said Jessi. “But this year we’re going to be playing with the boys.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. “The boys! Are you sure?”
“Sure I’m sure. Don’t you remember Ms. Walden telling us about it in September?”
Now that she mentioned it, I did. I suppose I’d blocked it from my mind — the way people do when they are presented with facts too horrible to conceive of.
I was expected to appear in front of a bunch of boys in my gross, disgusting gym suit and demonstrate that I was probably the most klutzy, uncoordinated girl in the sixth grade.
Monday morning my eyes snapped open before the alarm even rang. It was gym day. The day of doom!
Rubbing my eyes, I stumbled out of bed and pulled open my closet door. I fished through the jumble of clothes until, way in the back, I found a one-piece denim jumpsuit. It had been a present for my last birthday. I never wear it. Not because I hate it or anything. It’s just not me. It’s a little too high-style or something.
But it would be perfect for today. With one zip I could step into it and zoom out that door after gym class. No buckles and buttons to slow me down. It was important that I be able to get out of there fast. I had to disappear into the hall and get to my next class as soon as possible. I didn’t want any pitying — or worse, laughing — eyes staring at me in the locker room. After all, I had no doubt that this was going to be the most mortifying day of my entire life.
“Did the alarm ring?” Vanessa asked sleepily from under the covers.
“No. I just got up, that’s all,” I snapped. Vanessa made a face at me. I couldn’t blame her. Even I was surprised at how crabby I sounded.
“What’s the matter with you?” she grumbled as she swung her legs out of bed.
“Nothing. Sorry,” I answered. I didn’t even want to talk about it.
At breakfast, Mom kept looking at me strangely. Maybe it was because I was wearing the jumpsuit. Or
maybe it was because I was stirring my Cheerios round and round without taking a bite. I had no appetite at all.
“Mal, is something wrong?” she asked at last.
“Nothing except that I look disgusting in my gym suit and I inherited totally unathletic genes from someone,” I blurted out.
“Don’t look at your mother and me,” said my father, coming into the kitchen. “We play a mean game of tennis.”
I stood and gathered my books. “Then it was probably some great-aunt who died from embarrassment one day during a volleyball game or whatever they played back then.”
“I’m sure you’re blowing this out of proportion, Mallory,” my mother said sympathetically. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
“No,” I replied. Then my eyes lit with an idea. “Maybe I could stay home today. I’d study in my room all day long. I promise.”
For one shining moment, I thought I had a chance. My mother looked at my father as if she were considering saying okay.
Then, once again, my charming brothers ruined everything.
“Us, too! Us, too!” the triplets cried out.
“No fair!” Nicky protested loudly. “If they’re staying home I want to stay home, too.”
“Pipe down!” said my father. “Nobody’s staying home today. Now, all of you, keep moving.”
I went to school, but I probably would have learned more that day if I had stayed in my room and studied. I didn’t hear a word my teachers said. All I could do was sit and count the minutes until the dreaded gym hour arrived — and plan how to get out of it.
Fantasies raced through my head. I suppose that since I want to be a writer when I’m older (I want to write and illustrate children’s books) it’s natural for me to make up stories. Let me tell you, I came up with some doozies that morning.
My favorite of all was the one in which I was hit on the head with a volleyball in the first second of the game. I had to be rushed to the hospital where I developed amnesia. Everyone felt extremely guilty that they’d forced me to play. “If only we’d let her stay home,” my mother said sorrowfully to my father.
Mallory Hates Boys (and Gym) Page 2