I removed the pillow from my head, rolled over, and peered at my alarm clock. It, some clothes, and my furniture were the only things in my room. Everything else had been packed into cartons. Even the rug had been rolled up.
"Eight forty-five!" I said aloud. "Yikes!" The movers were supposed to arrive at ten. And before that, Laine and the Walkers were coming over. I leaped out of bed.
I bet I set a showering and dressing record that morning. By five after nine I was heading to the kitchen for breakfast.
That was when one of the doormen buzzed from downstairs.
"Oh, no! The movers can't be here already!" I cried.
"Don't worry," said Dad, who was sorting out cartons in the living room, making a His pile and a Hers pile. "Movers are never early. It's a law. It may even be written in the Constitution." I laughed. My father often makes me laugh. I would miss that.
I pressed the Talk button on our intercom. "Yes?" I said.
"Laine's on her way up," Isaac told me. He would always let Laine come up without bothering to ask me if she could. It saved time. Usually he didn't even call to let me know she was coming.
"Thanks," I replied, just as the doorbell rang.
I ran to answer it. When I opened the door, there stood Laine, her arms full. She was carrying a big grocery bag.
"Oh, no," I said. "I hope that's not something we have to pack." Laine grinned as she stepped inside and I closed the door behind her. "You can pack it into yourselves. It's breakfast," she told me.
"Breakfast?" "One last famous New York breakfast - bagels, lox, cream cheese, and orange juice. Oh, and coffee for your parents. I figured the coffee maker and everything would be packed." "Laine, I love you!" I cried. "This is terrific." I sniffled.
"You aren't going to cry again, are you?" asked Laine.
"No," I said, even though I'd been ready to really let loose. I still couldn't believe what was happening to me that day.
Laine handed me the bag and we took it into the kitchen. I peeked inside.
"Oh! Paper plates! And plastic spoons and knives! You thought of everything," I exclaimed. "Dad! Mom! Come here and see what Laine brought!" My parents appeared in the kitchen a few moments later. They took a look at the spread, including the cups of steaming coffee, and the little packages of sugar and the containers of cream.
I leaned over to Laine and whispered, "I bet Mom's going to say, 'Laine, you shouldn't have!' " "Laine, you shouldn't have!" cried Mom.
Laine and I burst into giggles.
Mom and Dad smiled. "What is it?" asked Dad. "A private joke?" "Yeah," I said. I gave Laine a sideways glance and we started laughing again. Boy, am I going to miss you, I thought.
To keep from crying, I handed out paper plates, and the four of us set to work slicing bagels in half, spreading cream cheese on them, and layering the lox on top of the cream cheese.
"Mmm," I said, relishing the first bite. "This is heaven." We sat down at the table. I looked around at Mom and Dad and Laine. We could be a family, I thought. Mom and Dad could be my nondivorced parents and Laine could be my sister. Then I thought, Maybe we are a family anyway. Maybe you don't have to be blood relatives to be family.
"This was awfully nice of you, Laine," said my father.
"Well," Laine replied, "I thought Stacey and Mrs. McGill should have one final, authentic, New York breakfast before they left for the wilderness." "The wilderness!" I started laughing again.
"We can get bagels in Connecticut," Mom pointed out, smiling.
"But they're kind of like hockey pucks, remember?" I said.
Mom nodded. Then she looked at her watch. "Oh, goodness! Just half an hour until the movers are supposed to be here! We better get - " " - cracking," my father finished for her.
And I thought, How can they get divorced? They still finish each other's sentences. Then something awful occurred to me. Actually, several things. I don't know why I hadn't thought of them before.
"Dad!" I cried. "You don't know how to cook ... do you? And Mom, how are we going to take care of our lawn? Neither one of us has ever mowed one before. And Dad, do you know that you're supposed to wash white clothes in hot water and colored clothes in - " "Honey, calm down," said Dad. "Everything will be okay." I was about to protest when the doorbell rang.
"I can't believe Isaac didn't announce the movers," exclaimed Mom, flying out of her chair.
"Relax," I told her. "I think it's the Walkers. They want to say good-bye." I ran to the door. Before I opened it, I called, "Hello?" (In New York, you can't be too careful.) "It's us! It's us!" shouted Henry's voice.
I let the Walkers inside while Laine and my parents gathered in the living room.
"Stacey?" Grace whispered. She was hugging my legs and leaning back to look up at me.
"Yes?" I whispered back.
"Henry and I brought you presents." Henry handed me a gift-wrapped package and so did Grace.
"Gosh," I said, sitting down on the couch between the kids, "I feel like it's my birthday or something. Which one should I open first?" "Mine!" said Henry and Grace at the same time.
Everyone laughed. Then Mom asked Mr. and Mrs. Walker to sit down and she brought the lox and bagels out from the kitchen. While the adults ate, I tried to open both packages at the same time. I managed to do so by taking the ribbon off one, then the ribbon off the other, peeling the tape off one, then the tape off the other, and so on, until both presents were open.
Before me lay two pictures, one by Grace, one by Henry, only they had been professionally matted and framed.
"The framing is Mrs. Walker's and my gift to you," spoke up Mr. Walker.
"Thank you," I said. "I'll put these up in my new bedroom." The Walkers stayed until the movers arrived, and then it was time to say good-bye. "Oh, I am going to miss you so much," I told Henry and Grace. "You, too," I said to their parents. Then we began hugging. (I cried, of course, and so did Grace, but only because she tripped over Henry's sneaker.) The next couple of hours were chaos. The Walkers and the movers ran into each other in the hallway, and Grace tripped again. There was one moving company, but two moving vans - one for Dad, one for Mom and me. I was sure our stuff would get mixed up. (It didn't.) All morning, the only words I heard were, "Van one," and "Van two," as the head mover told his men where to put our furniture and boxes.
Mom and Dad had three fights, all over matters I thought they'd already settled. The first was over who got the leather couch. (Mom won.) The second was over who got this pathetic old footstool that both my parents seem to love. (Dad won.) The third was over who got the cordless phone. (Mom won again. This was because Mom had also gotten the car, and to make up for it, Dad had gotten the microwave, the stereo, and two valuable paintings. But this did not seem like a fair trade, considering the poor condition of our station wagon. However, Mom and Dad didn't fight fair anymore, so I was the one who made the decision about the cordless phone.) At long last, the vans and our car were loaded up. Laine had stayed for the whole morning, through the fights and everything. She was with us when Dad locked up our empty apartment, when we whizzed down to the lobby for the last time, when Dad handed our keys to Isaac, and when the vans pulled into the traffic. She waited (but stood at a discreet distance) while I said good-bye to Dad. Which, I might add, was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do.
Dad and I didn't cry, though. We'd already cried enough. We just held each other for a long time. Finally my father patted my back and said, "I'll see you in two weeks, honey." (I was going to visit him for the weekend.) Then he turned away from me, hailed a cab, called "Good-bye!" and was gone.
Mom climbed into our car.
Laine and I were left facing each other on the sidewalk.
"I'm not sure I made the right decision," I said.
"I am," Laine replied. "I saw your list." I nodded. "I guess I'll see you in two weeks, too." "Are you kidding? Of course you will. You better see me every time you come to New York." Laine sounded very cheerful, but her lower lip
was trembling, so we just hugged quickly, and then I climbed into the car next to Mom.
" 'Bye, Mrs. McGill," said Laine.
" 'Bye, Laine," Mom replied.
We drove off.
Neither Mom nor I said a word until we'd left the city.
Chapter 14.
The drive to Stoneybrook takes about two hours. It was at least an hour and a half before I began to feel even a smidge like a human again. For one thing, Mom said then, "Open my purse, Stacey. There's something in there for you from Laine." "There is?" I replied. I reached into Mom's pocketbook and pulled out an envelope.
I held it for so long that Mom finally said, "Open it before I have an accident. I'm dying of curiosity!" I opened it. Inside was half of a locket on a gold chain, and a note that said, "Dear Stace, I've got the other half. I'm wearing it now. Love, Laine." She must have been wearing it under her shirt, because I hadn't noticed it that morning. I put mine on under my shirt.
"I'll wear this every day," I told my mother.
Mom smiled. Then she said thoughtfully, "Hmm. Today is Saturday. Just two days until your first meeting with the Baby-sitters Club." "Yeah." "And soon you'll get to visit Kristy's new sister again. You haven't seen Emily since the day they brought her home. I bet she's changed a lot." "Yeah!" I said, remembering Kristy's photos.
"And your dad and I agreed that you can decorate your new room any way you want. Wallpaper, new bedspread, the works." "Really? Thanks!" By the time we reached Stoneybrook, I was so excited that I had butterflies in my stomach. I couldn't wait to get to our house, even though it wouldn't be our old house. Well, it would be an old house, but not our old house. I mean, not our former house. It would be our new old house.
What I was expecting to see when we pulled into the driveway were the moving vans, the big trees, the lawn, and the creaky old porch. What I wasn't expecting were "all my friends and about half the kids in Stoneybrook. But there they were.
Claud, Mary Anne, Dawn, Jessi, Kristy, Mal, and Logan Bruno were standing in a bunch by the porch steps. Off to one side were Charlotte, all seven of Mallory's brothers and sisters, Kristy's brother David Michael, her stepbrother and stepsister (not little Emily, though), Jessi's sister, the Rodowsky boys, Gabbie and Myriah Perkins, Jamie Newton, the Arnold twins, Matt and Haley Braddock, and oh, I don't know who else. I was trying to look at everyone and scramble out of the car at the same time.
The little kids were holding a huge banner that read, WE KNEW YOU'D BE BACK, STAGEY! And my friends were screaming, "Welcome back! Welcome home!" I ran toward the members of the BSC with open arms. They ran toward me with open arms. We crashed into each other, laughing.
"Group hug!" cried Claudia.
And then the kids dropped their banner and ran to us baby-sitters. If you think there was hugging when I left New York, you should have seen what went on in the front yard of our new old house - although I have to admit that some of the boys, David Michael Thomas and Jackie Rodowsky in particular, said loudly that hugging was gross.
Then we were all distracted when Jackie, our walking disaster, fell over a packing carton and cut his lip. Mal took him through the backyards to her house to fix him up, and soon the kids began to drift home. At last, just Claudia, Kristy, Mary Anne, and Dawn remained. They watched the movers lug furniture and boxes into our house. After awhile, Mom took us all out for lunch. It was such a late lunch it was almost dinner. Then she dropped Kristy, Mary Anne, and Dawn off at their houses, but Claudia came home with me.
Same old Claud, I thought as we trudged up our front steps. Her hair was flowing down her back, pulled away from her face by a headband with a huge pink rose attached to it. She was wearing a long, oversized black-and-white sweater, skin-tight black leggings, pink-and-black socks, and black ballet slippers. Her jewelry was new, and I could tell she'd made it herself. You know those things about a best friend. Her necklace was a string of glazed beads that she'd probably made in her pottery class. And from her ears dangled an alarming number of plastic charms attached to gold hoops.
"Where's your room?" Claudia asked.
"First one on the left, upstairs," I told her. "Let's see if the movers got all my stuff into it." They hadn't.
"Mo-om!" I yelled downstairs. "The movers put my bed in your room and your bed in my room." "You're kidding!" replied Mom. She ran upstairs to take a look. "Yup, you're right," she said.
"Now what?" I asked. If this had happened in New York, Dad and the super would have grunted and huffed, taken the beds apart, and switched them around. Instead, Mom and Claud and I grunted and huffed, took the beds apart, and switched them around. It wasn't easy, but we did it.
"Women can do anything," Mom remarked proudly.
"Except be fathers," I pointed out.
No one knew whether to cry or laugh. Finally we laughed. I hadn't meant to be mean.
"Anyway," said Claudia, "I think mothers -can be fathers and fathers can be mothers - sort of. Look at Mr. Spier. He's Mary Anne's father and mother. Mary Anne has always said so, and I think she's right." Mom kissed the top of Claud's head. "Thank you. I'm glad to see that Stacey has such a sensible friend," she said. "Now I'm going to leave you to your unpacking. I'll see you later." Mom left the room.
"Wow," exclaimed Claud. "No one has ever described me as sensible." "You have to be sensible to be a good babysitter," I pointed out.
"Yeah, but my parents and teachers mostly describe me as outlandish or wild." "Doesn't apply herself," I added, mimicking this math teacher Claud had in seventh grade.
"Doesn't concentrate," said Claudia.
But then I said, "Artistic, kind, understanding, funny, good with children, and smarter than most people think she is." Claud looked at me gratefully. Then the two of us surveyed my room. It was a mess. The movers had put the furniture where they'd thought I'd want it, but they'd thought wrong. And against one wall was a huge stack of boxes.
"Where do we begin?" asked Claudia, who has never moved in her life.
"With my clothes," I replied, giggling.
Claud laughed, too. "Boy, is it good to have you back." She paused. Then she said slowly, "You know, when Mimi died, I thought my life was over, too. I really did. I missed you more then than at any other time. You couldn't have filled the empty spot Mimi left in my soul, but you would have made me feel better." "Did it help that I came for the funeral?" I asked. Claud and I were opening my suitcases. I tried to remember where I'd packed the coat hangers.
"Oh, yes!" cried Claud. "Are you kidding? Even though we couldn't be together during the funeral, I was aware that you were there. The whole time. I really was. You kept me from going crazy." Claudia and I both stopped working for a moment and I knew we were remembering that sunny day when we'd buried Mimi, watching whatever was left of her as she was lowered into a cold hole in the ground. Claudia had tossed a flower onto her casket.
Claud sighed.
I sighed. No matter how glad Claudia was that I'd returned, no matter how good the timing was, Mimi-wise, I still wasn't one hundred percent happy about being back in Stoneybrook. So I said to Claud what I'd said to Laine that morning: "I'm not sure I made the right decision." "About what?" Claudia looked up from an open suitcase. I'd found the hangers and was carefully arranging my clothes in the closet as Claud unpacked them and handed them to me.
"About - about - " I floundered. I didn't want Claud to think I wasn't glad to be with her again, but . . . but I wasn't. Not entirely. "About which of my parents to live with," I said finally.
"You had to choose one of them," said Claud matter-of-factly.
"I know, but then the other one was hurt and it's my fault." "No, it isn't. You didn't ask for this divorce. They wanted it. Parents can do things their kids don't have any control over at all." "Yeah," I replied thoughtfully. "Sometimes I understand it because, after all, they are the adults. Other times it doesn't seem fair. But then I think, They're feeding us, they're taking care of us. You know." "I'm not sure that gives them the right to do
whatever they want to us, though," said Claud. "Look how unhappy they've made you." "Do I actually look unhappy?" I asked, "Not as unhappy as I'd expected. I thought you'd be crying your eyes out." "Oh, believe me. I already have. There aren't any tears left." "Well, I just want you to know," said Claud, handing me a shirt, "that I understand if you aren't completely happy to be back." "You do?" "Sure. I love Stoneybrook, but I grew up here. You grew up in great big, glamorous New York City. And you had to leave your dad behind." I didn't know what to say. I guess I should have given Claudia more credit - I mean, for understanding. That's what best friends are for. And Claud is my Connecticut best friend.
Finally I just said, "Thank you," which didn't quite follow Claud's statement, but I knew she knew what I meant.
Then I changed the subject. "Mom said I could decorate my room any way I want. You know, new rug, curtains, wallpaper, whatever." "Wow! Can I help?" This project was right up Claudia's alley.
"You better," I told her. "I'll need your opinions." "What colors are you thinking of?" "Blue and white," I replied immediately. "Your stuff's already blue and white." "Well, I want different blue and white stuff." Claudia laughed. "I am so glad you're back!" she cried. She held her arms out and we hugged.
But I could not say, "I'm glad to be back." Not then, anyway.
Chapter 15.
Mom and I didn't finish unpacking until almost a week later. When we did finish, the house still looked awfully bare.
"Well, we did move just half an apartment full of stuff into a whole huge house," said Mom.
I burst out laughing.
"What?" asked my mother.
"The yard sale!" I hooted. "Don't you remember the yard sale?" When we were moving away from Stoneybrook at the beginning of the school year, we had decided that we could never fit all the stuff we'd bought to fill up our house into our new apartment in the city. So we'd held a yard sale and gotten rid of some of it.
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