Keep Out, Claudia!

by Ann M. Martin

  You will never guess what happened to Mary Anne Spier earlier this year. Her dad finally remarried, so Mary Anne wound up with a stepmother, a stepbrother, and a stepsister. Here’s the unbelievable part. Her stepsister is Dawn Schafer, Mary Anne’s other best friend. Can you imagine having a best friend who becomes your stepsister?

  This is the story. In the middle of seventh grade, Dawn moved to Stoneybrook with her mother and her brother Jeff after her parents got divorced. They moved clear across the country from California, where Dawn and Jeff had been born, since their mother had been born here in Stoneybrook. Dawn and Mary Anne became friends right away, and soon Dawn joined the Baby-sitters Club. Around the same time Mr. Spier began going out with Mrs. Schafer and poof! They got married. The next thing we knew, Mary Anne, her dad, and her kitten Tigger had moved into Dawn’s house (it’s bigger than the one Mary Anne had lived in), and Mary Anne and Dawn had become stepsisters. Whew. You never know what’s around the corner.

  Here’s a theory of mine: Life is just one big surprise.

  I guess I should tell you about Dawn next since I’ve sort of introduced you to her already. Our California girl is the alternate officer of the BSC. If anyone can’t make a club meeting, Dawn steps in and takes over her duties. This means she has to know how to do everyone’s jobs, which isn’t easy. But Dawn is dependable. We can always count on her.

  Dawn is also an individual. She tends to go her own way, and not worry much about what other people think. I don’t mean she’s uncaring. I just mean that she believes what she wants to believe, does the things she wants to do, dresses the way she wants to dress, and so on without being swayed by other people’s opinions. If kids don’t agree with Dawn, she doesn’t care (much). She’s a very strong person. I really admire her.

  Dawn has lo-o-o-o-ong blonde hair. It’s about the color of corn silk. Her eyes are blue. When she lived in California she sported a nice tan, but that has faded, thanks to our Connecticut winters. Remember I said that I’m a junk-food addict? Well, Dawn is a health-food addict. She lives on fruits, vegetables, and stuff like tofu and rice. No red meat or sugar for her. I could live without meat, I think, but it’s the sugar thing I don’t understand. How does Dawn live without Twinkies and Three Musketeers bars?

  Okay, it’s time for me to tell you about my best friend. She’s Stacey McGill, the treasurer of the BSC. Stacey (who’s an only child) lives in Stoneybrook (duh), but she’s a New York City girl at heart. That’s where she grew up. And her dad still lives there. Like Dawn, Stacey and her mom settled here after the McGills got a divorce. But Stace is much more like me than like Dawn. We’re sophisticated and boy-crazy, although we don’t have steady boyfriends. And we love fashion. Stacey is allowed to wear pretty much whatever she wants, and to have her blonde hair permed. Unlike me, Stacey is excellent at math, which is how she became the club treasurer. Stacey’s in charge of keeping track of the money we earn, and of collecting our dues every Monday. Then she doles out the dues money as it’s needed — to help pay my phone bills, to buy new items for the Kid-Kits, and so forth.

  Also, unlike me, Stacey can’t eat sweets. This is because she has a disease called diabetes. Her body doesn’t process sugar the way it should, so Stacey has to help things along by sticking to a strict diet, and giving herself injections (yes, injections) of something called insulin. None of this is easy, but Stacey copes well. I guess she’s a survivor, too. (Actually, in our own way, we’re all survivors.)

  The two youngest officers of the Baby-sitters Club are our junior members, Jessi and Mal. “Junior member” means that they are too young to be allowed to sit at night, unless they’re sitting for their own brothers and sisters and, believe me, they have plenty of brothers and sisters between them. Jessi has one younger sister and a baby brother, and Mal has seven brothers and sisters. She’s the oldest of eight kids.

  Jessi and Mal are another pair of best friends. And Jessi is another newcomer to Stoneybrook. Her family moved here at the beginning of the school year when her father’s job changed. (Mal grew up in Stoneybrook.) Jessi is an extremely talented ballet dancer, and Mal likes to write and draw, and plans to create picture books when she’s older.

  Jessi and Mal don’t look a thing alike. Jessi is African-American. Her skin is the color of cocoa, and (because of her dance classes) she often wears her hair up, or pulled back. Her legs are the long legs of a dancer and her eyelashes are so long she looks as if she’s wearing mascara, even though she isn’t allowed to use makeup.

  Mal is white. Her hair is red and curly, and her face is covered with freckles. Plus, she wears glasses and braces. Her braces are the clear kind that don’t show up much. Even so, Mallory doesn’t feel particularly attractive. At least she and Jessi were allowed to have their ears pierced. Now if Mal could just get contact lenses, but her parents say no; not until she’s older.

  I have a feeling that both Jessi and Mal spend quite a bit of time wishing they were older. They think eleven is the pits. They feel grown-up and want to be treated as adults, but their parents still see them as kids, even when they baby-sit. Oh, well. Everyone is eleven at one time. We all live through it.

  * * *

  “Thank you … thank you … thank you …” The Monday afternoon meeting of the BSC was underway, and Stacey was collecting our dues. She was being very polite, considering none of us particularly likes to part with our money.

  When she had finished, and had added our dues to the treasury (a manila envelope), the room grew quiet. We were waiting for the phone to ring. When it didn’t, I decided to tell my friends about my afternoon with the Rodowsky boys.

  “And so,” I said finally, “what I’ve been thinking is that maybe we should come up with some kind of project — planning a musical performance — with the kids we sit for. Whoever’s interested.”

  “That’s a terrific idea!” exclaimed Jessi.

  “But what, exactly, should we do?” I asked. “I mean, we’ve helped the kids put on some plays and skits already.”

  “And none of us is terribly musical,” Kristy pointed out.

  “I don’t think that matters too much,” said Mal. “We can help the kids organize and plan a show or something. They’ll learn a lot just by experimenting. And don’t forget. Some of them are pretty musical.”

  “Like the Perkins girls,” I said.

  “And Shea Rodowsky,” added Mary Anne. “Remember his piano lessons. Other kids take lessons, too, like Marilyn Arnold. Plus, we can help them play simple homemade instruments such as drums — you know, oatmeal cartons? — and bells and tambourines.”

  Ring, ring.

  “And telephones,” said Stacey, giggling. Then she composed herself and reached for the receiver. “Hello, Baby-sitters Club,” she said. A pause followed. Then, “Yes? … Yes…. Oh, mm-hmm.” She was not talking to one of our regular clients. It was somebody she didn’t know well. Stacey jotted down a few notes and told the caller she’d phone back in a few minutes. When she hung up, she was smiling. “New clients,” she announced. “They saw one of our fliers.”

  “Cool,” said Dawn. “Who are they?”

  “Their name is Lowell. That was Mrs. Lowell. She and her husband have three children. They’re eight, six, and three. Two girls and a boy, I think she said. She doesn’t know much about us. Just what she read in the flier. Also, she heard from somewhere that we’re very reliable.”

  “Our reputation is spreading,” said Kristy proudly.

  “She needs a sitter for Friday afternoon,” Stacey continued. She glanced at Mary Anne who was already checking the record book.

  “Let’s see. Mal, you’re free.” Mary Anne frowned. “And Claud, so are you, unless you’re going to that art thing you mentioned last week. Oh, and I’m free. Who wants the job?”

  “I told Vanessa I’d take her to the bookstore on Friday,” said Mal. (Vanessa is Mallory’s nine-year-old sister. She’s a bookworm, like Mal.)

  “And I did decide to go to the ‘art thin
g,’ ” I said. “It’s an art show. At a gallery.”

  “That leaves me.” Mary Anne penciled herself in for the job. Then Stacey telephoned Mrs. Lowell to tell her who to expect on Friday.

  The numbers on my digital clock flipped from 5:59 to 6:00.

  “Well, I guess that’s that,” said Kristy. “Good meeting, you guys.”

  My friends and I stood up. Kristy removed the pencil from over her ear and stuck it in the back pocket of her jeans.

  “See you in school tomorrow!” Jessi called to Mal as they ran down the hallway to the staircase.

  “I’ll call you tonight!” Mary Anne said to Kristy.

  “Kristy, your brother’s here to pick you up!” Dawn yelled.

  And Stacey, my best friend, said, “ ’Bye, Claud. Phone me tonight and we’ll tawk.” I laughed. I watched my friends leave the house.

  Mary Anne’s afternoon with the Lowell kids was easy, especially considering it was a new job. Sometimes an unfamiliar baby-sitter can be upsetting to kids, but the Lowells were as good as gold, according to Mary Anne.

  Promptly at three-thirty, Mary Anne rang the Lowells’ bell. Mrs. Lowell answered the door. Before she said hello, she glanced up and down at Mary Anne. She did it very quickly, but Mary Anne said it made her feel kind of strange, like she was being inspected. Anyway, Mrs. Lowell must have approved of what she saw because she stretched her mouth into a smile. Then she said, “I guess you’re Mary Anne Spier.” She seemed like any other mom.

  “Yes,” Mary Anne replied. And then she added formally, “From the Baby-sitters Club.” She held up her Kid-Kit as if it were proof of this.

  “Come inside. I’m Denise Lowell. I’m glad you were available. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

  Mary Anne shook her head. “Nope.”

  “Terrific.” Mrs. Lowell and Mary Anne sat in the kitchen. “So you are … how old?” asked Mrs. Lowell.

  “Thirteen.”

  “And how long have you been baby-sitting?”

  “About two years. Before that, some moms let me be mother’s helpers, though. I’ve taken care of all ages of kids, even babies.”

  Mrs. Lowell nodded with satisfaction. Then she told Mary Anne where to find emergency numbers. And then she called, “Children! Caitlin, Mackie, Celeste!”

  In less than a minute, the Lowell kids had run into the kitchen and were standing in a line. At first, Mary Anne just gazed at them. This was when she decided they looked like dolls. The children stood silently in their line. They didn’t smile, but they gazed back at Mary Anne with clear blue eyes. The children were blond, their hair as light as Dawn’s, and their complexions were pale. Caitlin and Mackie were dressed in what Mary Anne guessed were private school uniforms. Caitlin wore a blue plaid skirt, a blazer, a white blouse and white tights, and red shoes. Mackie wore neatly pressed pants, a blazer, and brown oxfords. And Celeste, a large bow in her hair, was wearing a white blouse and a pink pinafore.

  “Thank you, children,” said their mother after a moment, and the kids left the kitchen quietly. Mrs. Lowell turned to Mary Anne. “I’ll only be gone for about an hour and a half today,” she said, and gave Mary Anne a short list of instructions. A few moments later, she left. Celeste cried briefly, then calmed down.

  “So what do you guys want to do this afternoon?” asked Mary Anne. She was in the family room, holding the sniffling Celeste in her lap.

  Caitlin looked thoughtful. “Tell us about your family,” she said.

  Mary Anne was startled. “My family?”

  “Yeah. Do you have any pets?”

  “Oh.” Mary Anne smiled. She likes curious kids. “I have a kitten,” she replied. “His name is Tigger.”

  “What color is he?” asked Mackie.

  “And is he a he or a she?” asked Caitlin.

  “He’s a he. And he’s gray striped.”

  “Does he talk?” Celeste tipped her head back to see Mary Anne’s face. Her tears were drying on her cheeks.

  “Does he talk? Well, he mews,” said Mary Anne.

  “Do you pretend he talks?” Celeste pressed.

  “Sometimes.”

  “Do you have brothers and sisters?” asked Caitlin. Then she added, “I’m lucky. I have one of each.”

  “Me, too,” said Mary Anne. “Well, really they are my stepbrother and stepsister. Guess what. My stepsister is also my best friend. And she’s the same age as me.”

  “Ooh,” said Mackie. “What’s a stepsister?”

  Mary Anne tried to explain. When she had finished, she said, “Dawn is also a baby-sitter, like me. We both belong to the Baby-sitters Club.”

  Well, of course then Caitlin wanted to know about the other members of the BSC. Mary Anne began with Mallory. “She has seven brothers and sisters!” she exclaimed.

  Caitlin raised her eyebrows. “She must be Catholic,” she said.

  Mary Anne raised her own eyebrows. “I —” she began to say.

  But Mackie interrupted her. “What religion are you?” he asked.

  “Well … my family doesn’t go to church very often,” Mary Anne replied, “but when we do, we go to the Presbyterian Church.”

  “Tell us more about your kitty,” said Celeste. By that time she had turned herself around so that she was sitting face to face with Mary Anne. “Do you dress him up?”

  So many questions! Mary Anne had never encountered kids like the Lowells. Even Karen Brewer (Kristy’s little sister) who is an incredible talker, doesn’t ask question after question. (Maybe that’s because she’d rather talk than listen.)

  Mary Anne told Celeste that Tigger doesn’t like to wear clothes (he prefers his fur), and then she managed to engage the kids in some outdoor games, after they had changed their clothes of course. They played mother, may I? and red light, green light, statues, and hide-and-seek.

  Finally, Celeste plopped herself down on the lawn and said, “I’m tired. My legs won’t hold me up anymore.”

  “Let’s go inside then,” said Mary Anne. “Caitlin? Do you have homework?”

  “Not on Friday!”

  “How about you, Mackie?”

  “Not in first grade!”

  “Can we watch TV?” asked Caitlin. “Leave It to Beaver is on. Mommy always lets us watch that.”

  “Sure,” replied Mary Anne, and she led the kids inside. They settled themselves in the family room — but no one could find Leave It to Beaver, no matter how often Caitlin switched the channels.

  Soon Celeste grew bored, so Mary Anne found crayons and paper. Celeste announced that she was going to draw a picture of Tigger.

  “Great,” replied Mary Anne. “I’ll watch.”

  It was while Celeste was adding huge purple eyes to Tigger’s wobbly, wavy head that Mary Anne heard giggling from Caitlin and Mackie. “Did you find Leave It to Beaver?” she asked. She glanced at the TV, but saw only an Asian girl and boy riding their bicycles along a neighborhood street.

  The show was in color, so Mary Anne knew it wasn’t Leave It to Beaver. Also, she guessed she had missed the funny part. Then she heard Mackie cry, “Look at their eyes!” and giggle harder.

  Mary Anne glanced at the TV again. The scene hadn’t changed. She shrugged, not seeing the humor. Oh, well.

  “Hello!” called a voice as the back door opened and closed.

  “Mommy!” shrieked Celeste, and abandoned her drawing. She raced to her mother and wrapped her arms around Mrs. Lowell’s knees.

  Five minutes later, Mary Anne was dashing across the Lowells’ yard on her way to my house for Friday’s meeting of the BSC. She arrived breathless. And early.

  So did Kristy. The three of us piled onto my bed for a chat, just like we used to do years ago when we were little.

  “Hey, guess what,” I exclaimed. “I had a great idea!”

  “That’s my job,” teased Kristy.

  “No, really. I was thinking about Jackie and his brothers and a musical performance or something, and well, how about helping the kids form
a band? The kids who take music lessons can play their own instruments and the other kids can make instruments, like you suggested, Mary Anne.”

  “Way cool!” said Kristy. And she wasn’t the only one who felt that way. After the meeting started, Kristy asked me to tell the others about the band. Everyone liked the idea.

  “Excellent,” said Kristy. “There’s nothing like a new project.”

  “Round and round and round she goes,” I said, circling my finger in the air, “where she’ll stop, nobody … knows!” When I said knows I touched the nose of Lucy Newton, who squealed with laughter.

  Lucy is just a baby, and she loves that game. But Jamie, her brother, is four and wants to do more grown-up things.

  “Let’s play Popeye!” he cried, jumping up and down. “Let’s play Teeny Mutant Stinky Turtles!” (He never gets that right.) “Let’s go outside! Let’s play on the swings!”

  “Whew, hold it, Jamie,” I said. “You’re wearing me out, and I’m still sitting down. How about inviting a friend over?”

  “I have a friend,” said Jamie. “His name is Boris and he lives under the stairs. Want to meet him?”