“So what else is new?” Abby teased her. We all laughed because we knew what she meant. Kristy is always thinking. Sometimes we call her the Idea Machine.
“No, seriously, I was,” Kristy continued. “The holidays are coming, and I was thinking we should do something special.”
“Like what?” Stacey asked. “A party?”
“No, no party,” Jessi objected. “I was just about to tell you all: I’m going to have a party at my house.”
“What’s the reason?” Stacey asked.
Jessi beamed. “Some of my friends from Dance New York are coming to visit.”
Several months ago, Jessi spent a month in New York City training with a dance group called Dance NY. She had to audition, and it was a very big deal that she was accepted. Jessi seemed changed to me when she returned, but in a positive way. She was more sure of herself. She’d gained confidence from her experience, and it made her seem older. “I can’t wait to see Tanisha, Maritza, and Celeste again. They’re so great.”
Mallory rolled her eyes. She hadn’t been crazy about Jessi’s being away for so long. And when Jessi had extended her time in New York by an extra weekend, Mallory had felt shut out. Because of that, I suppose, she saw Tanisha, Maritza, and Celeste as rivals for Jessi’s friendship.
“Quint might come too,” Jessi added. “But he’s not sure he can get away.”
“Ooooh, Quint,” Stacey said, gently teasing. Quint is a dancer too. He used to be Jessi’s boyfriend, but they’d decided to be just friends because Jessi felt she was too young for a long-distance relationship. They’d enjoyed each other’s company during the Dance NY program, though.
“It’s not like that,” Jessi protested. “He and I talked. He understands that I don’t want a boyfriend right now. Maybe someday, but not now.”
“So, when’s the party?” Abby asked.
“Not this coming Saturday, but the Saturday after that. Come over around five.”
I opened the club record book and drew a line through that Saturday evening. “No one will be available to baby-sit that night,” I noted. I’m the club secretary. I keep track of everyone’s schedule in the record book. The book also holds information about our clients — their addresses, phone numbers, how much they pay, and any special information, such as allergies the kids have or specific family rules. Every time someone calls with a job request, the person who answers the phone takes the information about the job. I turn to the book to see who’s available and who is due for a job. With that information, I offer the job to the sitters, or sitter, who should have it. And as soon as the job is assigned, we call the client back to say who’ll be baby-sitting.
Kristy frowned. “That’s right. If we’re all at the party, no one can take a job. I hate to do that to our clients.”
“Oh, come on!” Abby cried. “We have to have lives, don’t we?”
“Mary Anne, would you tell Logan to be prepared to work that night? I’ll talk to Shannon,” Kristy said.
“Okay,” I agreed.
Which reminds me. I guess I should tell you what everyone’s club jobs are.
As I mentioned, Kristy is president. The club was her idea. She formed it when she saw how many calls her mother was making one afternoon as she tried to hire a sitter. Kristy realized that parents would love to call one number and locate a bunch of sitters all at once. Kristy’s main job is running the meetings and thinking of ways to improve the club.
Since Jessi and Mallory are eleven, we call them junior officers. They aren’t allowed to sit at night, unless it’s for their own siblings. They cover afternoon jobs, which leaves the rest of us free to take evening assignments.
Abby is our alternate officer. That means she has to fill in for anyone who misses a meeting.
Claudia is our vice-president because we use her room and her phone. She’s the only one of us with a private phone number and it’s lucky that she has it. Otherwise we’d have to tie up someone’s family phone. Claudia is also in charge of hospitality — which basically means snacks. This is an easy job for her since her room is always fully stocked with junk food. She hides treats because her parents don’t approve of that kind of food. She does go out of her way to make sure she has something healthy for Stacey to eat as well.
On Mondays, Stacey, our treasurer, collects dues. She took this job because she’s our resident math whiz. We all groan when she comes around with the manila envelope she uses as our treasury, but it’s more of a joke than a real complaint. We know we have to pay. We spend the money on Claudia’s phone bill. Plus, we pay Charlie, one of Kristy’s older brothers, to drive Kristy and Abby to meetings, since they live too far away to walk.
The dues money also goes toward stocking our Kid-Kits. Kid-Kits are cardboard boxes filled with hand-me-down toys, art supplies, books, and such, that we bring on special sitting jobs. Each of us has her own Kid-Kit. They come in handy on new jobs, on rainy days, or at times when the kids are sick or upset.
Even when the phone isn’t ringing, there’s still plenty to do at our meetings. Besides dues collecting, treat eating, and lots of talking (and laughing), there’s also writing — in the club notebook. After each job the baby-sitter is expected to write a little something about her experience in the notebook. No one ever wants to do it, except for Mallory, who lives to write. We all enjoy reading the notebook, though, and we know it’s helpful. If we’re going to sit for a family we haven’t sat for in awhile, we can be right up-to-date on what’s happening with them.
“What about the holiday project?” Kristy asked again. “Does anyone have anything they’d like to do?”
“I was thinking of something,” Mallory said. “You know my uncle Joe?” We all nodded. He’s actually Mallory’s great-uncle. We met him when he stayed with Mallory’s family for a while. Now he lives in a nearby nursing home, Stoneybrook Manor.
He’s pretty old, and he suffers from Alzheimer’s disease. That’s a serious brain disorder that makes people forget things and become very disoriented. He has bad days and better ones. On the better ones, he’s fun to be around.
“What about him?” Kristy asked.
“I visited him with Mom two days ago,” Mallory explained. “The staff was bringing out the holiday decorations, and they didn’t look too good.”
“What do you mean?” Claudia asked.
“The garlands were faded, and the Christmas balls were mostly chipped or broken,” Mallory told her. “The fake Christmas tree was falling apart. The menorah looked about a thousand years old. They didn’t have anything for Kwanzaa at all.”
“Let’s make new stuff!” Claudia cried enthusiastically. This project was a natural for her, Ms. Creativity.
Kristy looked at Stacey. “Is there anything in the budget for us to spend on supplies?” Occasionally there’s extra money, after all our bills have been paid.
Stacey checked a budget sheet she keeps in the envelope and nodded. “Yup.”
“I bet the kids we sit for would like to help too,” Kristy said. “Before we start, I should call Mrs. Fellows, the activity director over there, and see if she likes the idea.”
“Why wouldn’t she?” Abby asked.
Kristy shrugged. “Who knows? But I should check before we start.” She turned her attention back to Mallory. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, have you heard from Riverbend yet?”
“Not yet,” Mallory said, shaking her head.
“If they take you, have you decided whether you’re going?” Jessi asked, her voice serious.
Mallory didn’t return Jessi’s gaze. She studied her hands instead. “I haven’t decided,” she admitted.
“Let me know what’s happening,” Kristy requested. “Because if you go, we’re going to have to replace you.”
I took in a quick, sharp breath. Replace Mallory? Unbelievable.
I arrived at Mallory’s locker on Tuesday afternoon and froze. For a second, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Some creep had scrawled the words Spaz Girl acr
oss her locker door in heavy black pencil.
Mal and I were planning to walk to Stoneybrook Elementary School (SES) together to pick up her brothers and sisters. Once again we would be sitting for the younger kids while her parents worked. I glanced up and down the hall and didn’t see her approaching. Maybe I’d have time to wipe the words off before she saw it.
I darted into the girls’ bathroom, which was only a little way down the hall, yanked a couple of paper towels from the container, and soaked them. I pumped some blue soap on one, then dodged around a girl on her way in as I charged back to Mallory’s locker.
The soapy water smeared the pencil, sending streams of gray suds flowing down the metal door. I was scrubbing furiously when I sensed someone standing behind me.
“Mallory!” I gasped.
She studied me with raised eyes and a grim smile. “Feeling especially tidy today?” she asked. “Are you only cleaning my locker, or are you planning on scrubbing down the whole school?”
My eyes darted to the writing on the locker. How much had I removed? Not enough.
Mallory inspected it. “ ‘Z Girl,’ ” she said, reading aloud what could still be seen. “I wonder what that was. Could it have been Jazz Girl? Or Pizzazz Girl?”
I could only gaze at her miserably.
“I know! Spaz Girl!” she cried. “Yes, my new name, Mallory ‘Spaz Girl’ Pike, hopeless loser.”
“Mal, don’t say that about yourself. A few jerks are doing these things, but that’s all. Really. Lots of people know how terrific you are.”
Mallory opened her locker and took out the books she needed. “Oh, forget about it. Let’s just get out of here,” she muttered, slamming the locker shut.
Without waiting for me, she started off down the hall. I gave the awful writing one last good swipe with the wet towel before catching up with her.
I’ve never found it hard to talk to Mallory or to any of my friends. But at the moment I had no idea what to say. I couldn’t imagine what I’d do if this were happening to me. I’d probably be in tears every minute of the day.
As we walked down the hall, I couldn’t decide whether to talk about it or — as Mal had said — to forget about it. Maybe she needed a break. I decided not to mention it.
“Kristy spoke to Mrs. Fellows last night,” I said cheerfully as we left school. “She said new decorations would be great. I was thinking about the paper chains we made at your house the other day. Do you think your brothers and sisters would mind donating them to Stoneybrook Manor?”
“No, they won’t mind,” Mallory replied. “It will give them a reason to make more. They can’t stop. They’re obsessed with chain making.”
“Oh, well, it’s not a bad obsession, I guess,” I said. “It’s not like being obsessed with eating candy, or watching movies about aliens, or … flossing your teeth.”
Mallory wrinkled her nose at me. “Flossing your teeth?”
“Yes, sure. I mean, by itself, flossing is a good thing. But imagine if you were obsessed with it. You could never leave home without your floss. And your gums would probably get sore….”
I knew I was rambling. I was so desperate for something light and breezy to talk about. I think Mallory knew it too, but she wasn’t really listening to me. I could tell by the faraway expression on her face.
“I prefer the mint-flavored floss,” I babbled on as we crossed Kimball Street. “My father, though, only uses the plain kind and —”
“I can’t stand it,” she cut me off.
We both stopped walking, right there in the middle of the street. “What are you talking about?” I asked.
A car came around the corner and we hurried to the other side of the street. “School. I totally hate it.”
A long, slow whoosh of air escaped my lips. “Because of what some idiot wrote?” I said.
She shook her head. “That’s not the first time someone has written ‘Spaz Girl’ on my locker, Mary Anne. They’ve written worse things too.”
Mallory began to walk again. She moved fast, as if energized by what she was saying. I hurried alongside her. “And anyway, it’s not just about hating SMS. I loved Riverbend Hall. It’s not some bunch of rich kids who were dumped there by their parents. They want to be there. And a lot of the kids are there on scholarship. The director told us they offer a lot of scholarships because they want to attract talented, enthusiastic students. And everyone pitches in and helps with everything. There’s a real group feeling.”
“It sounds good,” I had to admit. “But don’t you think you’re a little young to be going away?”
“I wouldn’t be the youngest,” she replied. “The school starts at fifth grade and goes up to twelfth.”
“It seems like such a drastic move,” I said.
Mallory stopped short and looked me straight in the eyes. I sensed that it was really important that I understood how she felt. “Mary Anne, I haven’t decided yet, but I feel that I need something drastic,” she said quietly. “Some days it’s as if I’m floating all alone out in space. At home I’m just one of the crowd. At school I’m Spaz Girl. And even in the BSC I’m only a junior officer with no real job to perform.”
“You’re an important part of the club!” I objected.
“Maybe,” Mallory admitted. “But I won’t be thirteen for two more years. Until then I’ll be a junior officer. I need something now. I think I would really like Riverbend.”
I nodded, unable to come up with any reply to that. If she’d really liked Riverbend, then what could I say? I knew I’d hate it, no matter how awesome it was. I’d cry myself to sleep from homesickness every single night. But I wasn’t Mallory and she wasn’t me (obviously).
“They do a lot of writing too,” Mallory continued, this time in a calmer voice. “Here at SMS, we don’t. That’s very important to me. The only time I really feel good about myself these days is when I’m writing.”
“Then … I hope you get in,” I said. And I meant it. Mallory had convinced me it might be the best thing for her.
Her face softened and the corners of her mouth even turned up in an almost-smile. “Thanks.”
Then, in the next second, she was off again, walking at the same quick clip as before. “I probably won’t get in,” she said. I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or to herself. “They only take the best at Riverbend. How could I even think they’d take me? I’m probably up against girls who’ve even had things published….”
It was her turn to ramble. By the time we reached the elementary school, she’d decided that she’d never get into Riverbend. We stood aside as a teacher opened the front door and released the kids who walked home. The Pikes live on Slate Street, not far from the school, so they were among the walkers.
We waved to the triplets, who noticed us first. Then Margo, Vanessa, and Nicky saw us and smiled. Last to come out was Claire, with the other kindergartners. Normally she attends the morning session, but for the duration of Mrs. Pike’s job she was going to the afternoon class, as well.
“Hi, guys, how was school?” I greeted them.
They all answered at once. Their replies ranged from “Great!” (Claire) to “The same” (Margo), to “Gross!” (Adam) and “School was cool,” from Vanessa the poet, who loves to rhyme.
Our talkative group crossed Burnt Hill Road together and walked up Slate Street to the Pikes’ house. The triplets tossed a football over our heads to one another as we went. I noticed that Nicky was dragging one foot. When I asked him about it, he said he was an elf in his class holiday play and he thought it might be more interesting if he played an elf with an injured foot. “You might be right,” I agreed, “but maybe you should discuss it with your teacher.”
“I suppose,” Nicky replied.
“She won’t let him, I bet,” Mallory said. “Really creative ideas are always shot down.”
“Not always,” I disagreed.
We’d reached the Pikes’ front door, and there was no time for any more discussion of creativi
ty. No sooner had Mallory unlocked the door than the kids raced into the kitchen, digging through cabinets in search of snacks. “How about peanut butter on crackers?” I suggested, following them into the kitchen.
“With chocolate milk!” Margo added. The rest of them seemed to like this idea too. I started slathering peanut butter on Saltines, while Mallory stirred up a pitcher of chocolate milk.
A clattering sound came from the front hall. I shot a questioning glance at Mallory. “It’s the mail, coming in through the door slot,” she explained. “Recently we’ve been getting a late delivery.”
“Probably because of all the holiday mail,” I figured.
“I love to see the Christmas cards,” Vanessa said, leaving the kitchen. She returned a moment later holding an armful of envelopes and glossy mail-order catalogs. Dumping the pile on the kitchen table, she spread it out. “Hey, Claire, here’s your Ladybug magazine,” she said, handing it to her little sister.
“And here’s my Ranger Rick,” Nicky said, snapping up his nature magazine.
Vanessa began sorting out envelopes that appeared to be Christmas cards. “Hey, Mallory, someone sent you a long, thick card,” she reported, handing a white envelope to Mallory.
Mallory took it from her and examined the front. Instantly, her face paled.
“What?” I asked anxiously.
She looked up from the envelope she’d been staring at. “It’s from Riverbend.”
My heart did a quick, hard flutter. And it wasn’t even my letter.
Mallory once again gazed down at the letter. Her hands were trembling.
“It’s from Riverbend?” Vanessa repeated softly.
I nodded. The rest of the kids had realized something was going on. One by one they fell quiet and stared at Mallory. (This was a truly historic moment for the Pike family. Not only was Mallory about to find out whether she’d been accepted at Riverbend, but — probably for the first time ever — all the Pike kids were silent.)
“Open it,” I prodded.
Mallory dropped into a kitchen chair. Her hands still shaking, she tore open the envelope. At first I couldn’t read her expression. But when she looked up from the letter, her face said it all. She was wearing a huge smile.
Mary Anne in the Middle Page 2