Baby-Sitters Club 027

by Ann M. Martin

  "But honey," said Mrs. Bruno, "you know we can't have a cat, no matter how responsible you are. Hunter's just too allergic." Kerry put Tigger's things back in the closet. Then she faced us, biting at one of her nails. "Um, I was also hoping to prove that Hunter would be okay as long as the cat stayed in my room. But - but I guess it didn't work." Mrs. Bruno closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she said, "Kerry, I'm a little confused. Did you know the kitten belonged to Mary Anne?" "Not at first," said Kerry. "I really didn't. I thought he was lost or that somebody had dumped him by the side of the road. Then Logan told us about Tigger and I figured it out, only I thought, well, Mary Anne isn't taking very good care of him if she lets him wander away. I decided he'd be better off with me." Mrs. Bruno didn't agree with that, of course, so she and Kerry kept talking. My mind began to wander. I thought of how different Logan had seemed lately, of how he'd sounded kind of irritated that us baby-sitters wanted him to come to our meetings about Tigger, and how he'd jumped right in and been so helpful when I got the ransom note. He must have known all along that Kerry had Tigger, so he was trying to protect her. The ransom note was perfect. Kerry hadn't sent it. Logan could help with the Tigger-napping all he wanted, look like a hero, and keep Kerry's secret.

  I couldn't stand it any longer. "I have to go," I said huskily. I grabbed Tigger and headed down the hallway.

  "But I haven't paid you yet!" Mrs. Bruno called after me.

  "I'll get it tomorrow!" I shouted back.

  Logan was at my heels. "Mary Anne, what's wrong?" he cried as I barged through the front door.

  "You know what's wrong," I answered icily. "You knew about Tigger all along - and you didn't tell me." I placed Tigger in the basket on my bicycle and sped down the Brunos' driveway, without giving Logan a chance to answer me.

  Chapter 15.

  Wednesday afternoon - late.

  Things happened fast. Everyone found out about Tigger quickly. (Of course, I made a lot of phone calls, carefully leaving out the part about Logan.) Then, instead of holding a club meeting, Claudia and Mallory and I walked through the neighborhood and took down as many of the Tigger posters as we could find. Dawn gave back everyone's portion of the reward money and returned the remainder to the treasury envelope. Later, I spent as much time with Tigger as possible - talking to him, cuddling him, playing with him. That night, he slept with me.

  I did not let Tigger outside.

  Thursday.

  I did not talk to Logan. In school, we avoided each other. He sat with his guy friends at lunchtime.

  "Is anything wrong between you and Lo-gan?" Kristy asked me as we sat down in the cafeteria.

  I nodded.

  "But you don't want to talk about it?" said Dawn.

  I shook my head. I didn't want to speak. I was afraid I'd cry. Logan and I had had fights before, but this one was different. I'd never accused him of anything so awful. And I'd never felt so unsure about us. If Logan could keep Tigger from me, what did that say about our relationship? By the end of the day, I just had to know.

  I waited for Logan at his locker.

  "Hi," he said shortly when he saw me.

  "Hi," I replied. I stepped aside so he could work his combination lock.

  When his locker was open, I said, "Can I talk to you?" "Not now. I've got baseball practice." "Later? I'm not baby-sitting this afternoon. I'll be at home." "Will we have to sit outside?" "Yup." (Logan knew that.) He sighed.

  "Come on. It's a beautiful day," I told him. "And I really do want to talk." "Okay. I'll be there. See you later." Logan closed his locker, turned, and strode down the hall.

  Well, I thought, this is better than nothing.

  I walked home with Claudia. When I reached my house, the first thing I did was pick up Tigger. "Oh, it's so nice to find you here when I get home from school," I told him. I lifted him up so we were eye to eye.

  "Mrow?" asked Tigger.

  "I don't know," I answered. "Logan's coming over this afternoon. He'll explain everything then, I hope." I made sure that a bottle of Logan's favorite soda was in the refrigerator. I made sure we had ice cubes. Soda over ice in a glass is much nicer than warmish soda in a can.

  At five o'clock, our bell rang. I ran to the front door and threw it open. Logan stood on our steps, mitt in one hand, books under one arm.

  "Sit down," I told him. "I'll be right back. I'm getting you something to drink." Actually, I was getting more than that. By the time Logan rang the bell, I'd fixed up a tray. I'd put a plate of cookies in the middle and next to it a couple of napkins. Now I set the glasses on it, added the ice and soda, and carried the tray to the front door, which I managed to open as I rested the tray against the wall. When the tray and I were safely outside, Logan looked at us in surprise.

  "What's all this?" he asked.

  "Nothing," I replied. (What a dumb answer. It was cookies and soda. And I'd fixed them because I hoped to make up with Logan.) Logan took a soda and drank about half the glass in one gulp. How do boys do that? I mean, without exploding from the carbonation. Then he looked at me as if to say, "Well?" I breathed in deeply, then exhaled. "Logan," I began, "just answer one question for me, okay?" "Okay." "Did you know that Kerry was hiding Tigger in her room?" "No." "Really?" "That's two questions. And Mary Anne, I don't lie. To be honest, I'm really hurt that you could even think I'd do such a thing. Why would you think that, anyway?" "Because . . . because ..." Don't fall apart, I told myself. Sometimes when people accuse me of things, or sound like they're accusing me of things, I just crumple up and start to cry. So I took another deep breath (this is very relaxing, by the way) and said slowly, "Because of the way you've been acting lately. You snap at me, and you didn't seem to be very sympathetic when Tigger was missing. I know you helped with the search - the posters and everything - but it seemed like a huge chore for you. So I thought you knew about Kerry and Tigger and were just trying to protect Kerry. After all, she's your sister." "And you're my Mary Anne." Logan polished off the cookie he'd been eating, and put his arm around me. "I could never hurt you. Not on purpose. I couldn't lie to you. Don't you know that?" "I thought I did. But you have hurt me lately. You've changed." Logan looked down at the grass. "You might as well know," he said. "I'm about to get kicked off the baseball team." "You are? Why?" I couldn't believe it. Logan had been the star of his school team in Louisville.

  "Coach doesn't like me. He expects more of me than of anyone else. And I start making stupid mistakes because of that." "Oh." I remembered what Dawn had told me, how she'd watched Logan drop a ball that was right in his mitt.

  "So a little while ago, Coach said I'd be off the team if I didn't improve. And I've been trying to improve. I really have. But Coach yells at me all the time and just makes me so nervous. I'm thinking of quitting before I get kicked off." "Wow." "Yeah. But I guess I kind of took my baseball problem out on you. That wasn't fair." "It's okay. I should never have accused you of knowing about Tigger. That wasn't fair, either." "Kerry is a champion sneak," added Logan. "She could hide a whale in the house and we'd never notice him." "Not until you smelled him." Logan and I laughed.

  Then Logan said seriously, "I bet Kerry would change one hundred per cent if she could just make some friends here." "Well, I can help with that. I'll try to get her together with Becca Ramsey or Charlotte Jo-hanssen." "Hey, that'd be great! Listen, Mary Anne, I'm sorry about the way I acted." "And I'm sorry about the things I said. . . . Is our fight over?" "Yes. . . . Are the neighbors watching us?" "Probably. That's the purpose of this outdoor arrangement." Logan made a face. "Then let's just promise that from now on, we'll be more honest with each other." "I promise," I said solemnly.

  "Me, too," replied Logan.

  Friday.

  Club meeting day. At five-thirty we gathered in Claudia's room. Tigger was with me. He was curled up in my lap.

  As soon as our opening business was taken care of, the phone rang.

  "First job of the day!" said Kristy gaily, as she reached for the re
ceiver. She picked it up. "Hello, Baby-sitters Club. . . . Oh, hi, Logan. Hold on. Here she is." Kristy handed me the phone, saying, "If it isn't a job offer, keep it short." Ms. Bossy.

  "Hi, Logan," I said. "What's up? Oh . . ." I listened for quite awhile. When I'd hung up, I turned to the other girls. "It was a Kerry update," I said. "Logan thought you'd like to know what's happened, since you were all involved with the search for Tigger." Five heads nodded.

  "Okay. Well, of course Mr. and Mrs. Bruno were not too happy about what Kerry had done, but they understood why she'd done it.

  She's going to be punished lightly, like, she has to wash the Brunos' cars or something, for keeping Tigger when she knew he belonged to me, and for bringing an animal into the house, especially so near to Hunter's room. However, the Brunos also think Kerry proved she's responsible enough to care for a pet. So tomorrow she and her parents will go to the pet store and Kerry will get to choose a hairless animal, like a turtle or some fish. Plus, next Wednesday, she's going over to Charlotte's house. She needs a friend her age. And one who's human." "That's great!" cried Claud, and the others agreed.

  The meeting continued. When the numbers on Claud's digital clock turned to 6:00, Kristy said, "Well, meeting's over." Everyone stood up, except me.

  "Come on, Mary Anne," called Dawn.

  "Can't," I said. "Tigger's asleep." Kristy groaned. "You are overprotecting that kitten." "Yeah. You're treating him, oh, kind of the way your dad used to treat you," said Claud.

  I stuck my tongue out at her and everyone laughed. Then I said, "All I know is that Tigger will not be allowed to start dating until he's at least sixteen. And I will never, ever let him get his driver's license. Or have his ears pierced." "How about his nose?" asked Kristy, as I struggled to my feet.

  I held the sleeping Tigger out toward her. "On this baby?" Tigger opened his eyes sleepily and yawned in Kristy's face.

  "Mmm. Cat-food breath," she said.

  The six of us began giggling again as we headed downstairs.

  Cat-food breath or not, I was thrilled to have Tigger back - and Logan, too.

  About the Author ANN M. MARTIN did a lot of baby-sitting when she was growing up in Princeton, New Jersey. Now her favorite baby-sitting charge is her cat, Mouse, who lives with her in her Manhattan apartment.

  Ann Martin's Apple Paperbacks are Bummer Summer, Inside Out, Stage Fright, Me and Katie (the Pest), and all the other books in the Babysitters Club series.

  She is a former editor of books for children, and was graduated from Smith College. She likes ice cream, the beach, and I Love Lucy; and she hates to cook.

  BSC027 - Jessi and the Superbrat - Martin, Ann M.

  Chapter 1.

  "Mama! Daddy! Get in here?! Jessi, hurry! Come on!" That was my little sister, Becca, calling us from the living room. If you don't know Becca, you might've thought some major catastrophe had just happened, like: A. The house was on fire.

  B. Enemy soldiers had trooped into our yard, aimed their guns through the front window, and opened fire.

  C. A flying saucer had crashed through our roof, and Martians were streaming down the staircase to capture us and take us off to Spacecreatureland.

  So what was it? Fortunately, the answer was: None of the Above. The truth was, Becca was only calling us because of a TV show. The show had just come on and she wanted us to watch it with her.

  Mama, Daddy, Squirt, and I were in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner. Well, Squirt wasn't exactly cleaning up. He was still strapped in his high chair, gnawing on a teething biscuit, and he had as much food caked on his face as we had just washed off the dishes.

  Maybe 1 should introduce myself and my family before I start the story. My full name is Jessica Davis Ramsey, but everybody calls me Jessi. I'm eleven years old and in sixth grade. I'm black, and just to give you an idea of how few black families live here in Stoneybrook, Connecticut, I'll tell you that I'm the only black kid in my entire grade at Stoneybrook Middle School. I keep my hair long because I take ballet class two times a week and ballerinas are supposed to be able to pull their hair back. Probably my best feature is my legs. They're long, long, long, which is great for dancing. My grandma always says they're graceful, too. And Mama says I move like a cat. I take that as a compliment.

  You can tell I have a nice family. I live with my parents, eight-year-old sister Becca (that's short for Rebecca) and my baby brother Squirt. No, his real name's not Squirt, it's John Philip Ramsey, Jr. But when he was born, he was the tiniest baby in the hospital, so the nurses gave him a special nickname.

  As I said, my family and I live in Stoneybrook, Connecticut, but we used to live in Oakley, New Jersey, and that was great because my grandparents lived on the same street as we did and so did a lot of my aunts and uncles and cousins. One of my cousins, Keisha, was my very best friend. She and I have the exact same birthday, and Keisha always seemed to know what I was feeling about things.

  I'd lived in Oakley since I was a baby, but then Daddy's company transferred him to Stamford, Connecticut, so we found this house in Stoneybrook, nearby. I'll tell you honestly, sometimes I still miss Oakley. It was a little easier to be myself there. And I especially miss Keisha. I mean, how many best friends have known each other since they were one day old?

  Well, Stoneybrook doesn't have Keisha. And it doesn't have my wonderful grandparents or my aunts and uncles. But it does offer a lot of other things. Since we moved here, I enrolled in a very good ballet school in Stamford. To get in, I had to audition. And then Daddy built me my very own ballet barre and practice area in our basement. I also found myself another best friend. Her name is Mallory Pike. And because of Mallory, I now belong to one of the greatest clubs in the world - the Baby-sitters Club. Maybe that's been the best thing about moving to Stoneybrook.

  The club was the great idea of Kristy Thomas. She's an eighth-grader who goes to my school. Last year, when she was in seventh grade, she got together with a bunch of friends who love to baby-sit and they formed a club. They sent out fliers to all the families in the neighborhood - very professional - and pretty soon they had a booming business. Leave it to Kristy. She's a take-charge type of person. The club meets three afternoons a week - Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from 5:30 until 6:00 - and families who need a baby-sitter know to call us up during club hours. The great thing is that one of us is bound to be free. So our clients are sure of getting a sitter and, meanwhile, we get plenty of jobs. Everybody's happy! All the club members are eighth-graders except for Mallory and me. Mallory got in because all the Baby-sitters knew her. See, the girls had sat a lot for Mallory's family, the Pikes. Oh, 1 guess 1 forgot to tell you. Mallory is from a big family, and I'm talking big. Believe it or not, there are eight kids in the Pike family. Mallory's the oldest. Mrs. Pike used to hire sitters from the club and Mallory would always help them out. Of course, being the oldest of eight, Mallory was always great with the kids. So when there was an opening in the club, Kristy decided to let her in. Lucky me, she decided to let me in at the same time! How did I get started on all this? Wasn't I telling you about Becca and the TV show? Well, to get back to the beginning of the story, there I was in the kitchen with Mama, Daddy, and Squirt. And there was Becca in the living room, bellowing at us with the full power of her lungs. Mama looked at Daddy.

  "Do you think someone wants our attention?" she said, and laughed.

  "You guys!" Becca was now standing in the kitchen doorway. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she had this expression on her face that said, I can't believe you guys are just standing there when the best show on TV has come on.

  "ABADA!" said Squirt. (He loves to be in on any conversation.) "Okay, everybody!" Becca said. "If you hurry, you won't miss anything." Mama lifted Squirt out of his high chair and wiped his face clean with the washcloth we keep in the kitchen for that purpose.

  "So what is this five-star show we're missing?" Daddy asked.

  "P.S. 162," I explained. "Becca says all the kids in her class watch i
t every Friday night. I think Becca has a crush on one of the kids in it." "I do not!" Becca cried. She was already back in the living room and settled in her seat. Mama followed her and set Squirt on the carpet. Then she and Daddy squeezed onto the couch next to Becca. I laid down on the floor on my back and lifted one of my legs toward me to stretch it out. Sometimes when 1 watch TV, I use the time to do stretching exercises. I've got my family trained. They're completely used to seeing me sprawled all over the floor like a contortionist. Becca's the only one who ever complains, and that's only if I block her view of the screen.

  "Where's the popcorn?" Daddy joked, as we all settled down for the show.

  "Shh!" Becca said. Her eyes were glued to the TV, even though all that was on was a commercial for toothpaste.

  I'd seen this show, P.S. 162, a couple of times before, and I'd liked it okay. But until that day I'd never thought it was anything special. It's about an inner city elementary school, and the class includes all different kinds of kids. The character Becca has a crush on is named Lamont. He's black, and in the show he's the most popular kid in the class. For good reason, too - Lamont is smart, funny, and good-looking. In the class, there're also Latin kids, Asian kids, and white kids. One of the white characters is named Waldo, and I've got to admit, he always makes me laugh. He's got weird, spiky hair and he wears this pair of thick black glasses and he's an incredible science whiz. You know, one of those kids who lives and breathes science, but put him in the real world and he can barely tie his shoes. When he talks to the other kids, he always uses big, science-y words like "zygotes" and "ecosystem," and of course the other kids don't have a clue what he's talking about.

  That night, finally - after what seemed like about a hundred commercials - the show came on. In the opening scene, as a joke, one of the kids swiped Lament's homework and Lamont was looking for it everywhere. Class was about to begin. The teacher rapped on her desk to get everyone's attention and then asked for a volunteer to write the homework on the board. She stared at Lamont. He slunk low in his desk chair, trying to avoid her gaze.