Jessi and the Jewel Thieves

by Ann M. Martin

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Acknowledgment

  About the Author

  Also Available

  Copyright

  “New York, New York,” I sang, really belting out the words. “These little-town blues, are melting away,” I went on as I opened my closet. I glanced inside, trying to decide which of my clothes might possibly pass for cool in the big city. After a minute, I shrugged. My clothes don’t even pass for cool in my little town. There was no way any New Yorkers were going to mistake me for a fashion model.

  I couldn’t believe I was actually going to spend another weekend in the Big Apple. Me, Jessi Ramsey, an eleven-year-old in the sixth grade at Stoneybrook Middle School. I was going to be on my own in the most exciting city in the world!

  Well, not on my own, exactly. I’d be staying with my friend Stacey McGill, who was going to be visiting her father in his Manhattan apartment. Stacey’s parents are divorced, and she lives with her mother here in Stoneybrook, Connecticut, which is the little town I was just referring to. But Stacey’s dad still lives in New York, where Stacey grew up. She visits him fairly often, and this time I was going along.

  But I wasn’t going to be spending all my time with Stacey. The reason I was going was so that I could attend a ballet at Juilliard. What’s Juilliard? Only one of the best music and dance schools in the world, that’s all. And why was I going to a performance there? Well, because this boy I know named Quint Walter was going to be dancing in it, and he’d invited me to come and see him perform.

  Ballet is my passion in life. I go to a special ballet school in Stamford, which is a city near Stoneybrook. I have been studying ballet for years now, and while I may not be at the Juilliard level, I’d have to say that I’m pretty good. I mean, I don’t want to sound self-centered, but I have worked really hard at my dancing, and the work has paid off. I have actually danced the lead role in several big performances.

  Still, ballet isn’t the only thing in my life. I like to do a lot of things, for example: I like to be with my family, which consists of my baby brother, Squirt, my eight-year-old sister, Becca, my parents, and Aunt Cecelia. Oh, and a hamster named Misty. I also love to read, especially horse stories, and I like to spend time with my best friend Mallory Pike, who also loves horse stories. Another of my favorite activities is baby-sitting. I sit for my brother and sister, of course, but I also sit for a lot of kids who live nearby. In fact, I belong to a group called the Baby-sitters Club, and the other members of that club are my good friends. Stacey is a member, and so is Mallory.

  I have been to New York before, along with the other members of the BSC (that’s what we call our club). In fact, I met Quint during one of those trips. I had gone to Lincoln Center to see the New York City Ballet dance Swan Lake, and the performance was totally amazing. And then, to top it off, I found myself sitting next to this incredibly cute boy. He turned out to be a dancer, too, and we hit it off right away. In fact, Quint was the first boy I ever kissed! (Not that I kissed him that day. I got to know him a little better, first.)

  I was feeling kind of nervous about seeing Quint this time around. We have had what you might call a long-distance romance, and it has been fun, but lately I’ve been wondering if it might be better for us to just be friends. It isn’t easy having a relationship with someone you see only once in awhile. For example, I’m never sure how “true” to Quint I’m supposed to be. I have gone to two dances with this seventh-grade boy named Curtis Shaller, who I really like. Does that make me a two-timer? Does Quint also go out with other girls down there in New York? These things have never been clear to me.

  “I’m going to have to talk to him about this,” I said to myself as I poked through my sweater drawer. “After all, I’m only eleven, and maybe I shouldn’t really have a steady boyfriend, much less one who lives so far —”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  I stopped in mid-sentence and whirled around to see Becca standing in the doorway, giggling at me.

  “I’m talking to me, myself, and I,” I said, smiling. “That’s whom.”

  “I thought only crazy people did that,” she said.

  “Well, I guess I’m crazy, then,” I said. “What are you up to?”

  “I heard you singing before,” she said. “That song about Yew Nork.”

  “I laughed. You mean New York,” I said. “New York, New York!” I sang out. “That one?”

  “Right,” she said. “Will you teach it to me?”

  “Sure. Come on, I’ll show you the dance that goes with it, too.” I grabbed her and we faced the mirror. We sang and high-kicked our way through three verses, looking like chorus girls in a Broadway show.

  Afterward, we flopped on the bed. “Whew,” I said. “That was fun.”

  “Yeah,” said Becca. But she didn’t sound too happy.

  I glanced over at her. She was chewing on her thumbnail and looking as if she were about to cry. Kids can change their moods so fast!

  “What’s the matter?” I asked her.

  “Nothing,” she said, but she was still frowning.

  “Come on, Becca, you can tell me,” I said. “What’s wrong?”

  She sighed. “I’m being abandoned by my own family, that’s what’s wrong,” she replied. A tear began to glisten in the corner of her eye. “You’re going to New York this weekend, and Mom and Dad and Squirt and Aunt Cecelia are all going to that wedding. And I’m going to be left behind, all by myself!” Her lip quivered, and the tear fell. “Nobody loves me,” she said, giving a little sniff.

  “Oh, Becca, of course we love you,” I said, reaching over to give her a hug. “And nobody’s abandoning you, or leaving you alone. You’re going to be staying with the Pikes.” I smiled at her. “You’ll have fun there.”

  “Will not,” she said, sniffing again.

  I could understand why Becca was feeling a little left out. It was true that everyone else in the family was going away that weekend. See, my parents and Aunt Cecelia had been invited to this big family wedding in Massachusetts. But it was the kind of wedding that kids aren’t invited to. (Squirt, our baby brother, wasn’t invited either, but he was too young for my parents to leave behind. He would spend the day of the wedding at the hotel with a baby-sitter.)

  For me, the wedding came at the perfect time. I had been nervous about asking my parents if I could go to New York, and I had been shocked when they agreed immediately. But the fact was that they were probably just relieved to know that I had somewhere to go that weekend, so that they wouldn’t have to figure out what to do with me. Anyway, once I had a place to go, the rest was easy. Mallory’s parents had invited Becca to stay at their house. I guess it doesn’t make much difference to them if another kid is in the house, since Mallory has seven brothers and sisters!

  “But why do I have to stay with the Pikes?” asked Becca, sounding a little whiny. “If I have to be abandoned, I want to stay with Charlotte.” Charlotte Johanssen is Becca’s best friend.

  “Becca,” I said, trying to be patient. “Charlotte and her parents are going away this weekend, too. You know that.”

  “Everybody’s going away,” she wailed. “Everybody but me. Even Squirt gets to go! It’s not fair.” She buried her face in my pillow.

 
“Squirt is only going because he’s too little to be away from Mom and Dad,” I said, rubbing her back. “And he’s not going to the wedding. He’s going to stay with a sitter, at the hotel.”

  Squirt’s real name, in case you’re wondering, is John Philip Ramsey, Jr. A big name for a baby, right? That’s what the nurses thought when he was born. He was the smallest baby in the hospital’s nursery, so they nicknamed him Squirt, and the name has stuck. Now he’s not such a squirt anymore. He’s learning to walk and talk and feed himself, and he’s incredibly cute.

  Squirt was born in Oakley, New Jersey, which was where Becca and I were also born. We lived there until the beginning of this school year, when my father’s company transferred him to a branch office in Stamford. Sometimes I miss Oakley — or at least I miss certain things about it. For one thing, back in Oakley we lived on the same street as my grandparents, two of my uncles, three aunts, and tons of cousins. One of my cousins, Keisha, was my best friend. She lived right across the street. I never felt lonely. I also never felt different, which is something I feel quite often here in Stoneybrook. Why? Because my family is African-American. Back in Oakley, there were plenty of other black families. But there aren’t too many here. In fact, when we first moved to Stoneybrook, certain individuals weren’t too happy about our living here. Some people say that racism comes from ignorance, or from fear, and I think that’s true. Several Stoneybrook residents had never really met a black person before! Now that people have gotten to know us, they’re generally a lot nicer. Still, I do feel different sometimes.

  “Jessi!” Becca was trying to get my attention.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I think I know a secret,” she said. Becca is crazy about secrets.

  “Oh?” I asked. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

  She nodded. “Mom and Dad are only pretending I’m not coming to the wedding,” she said. “At the last minute, they’re going to take me with them.”

  “Uh, Becca —” I was about to tell her that her “secret” sounded more like a wish, but then I saw how hopeful she looked and I couldn’t stand to say it. “Maybe,” I replied carefully. “But I don’t think so. They’d like to take you, but I don’t think they can.” Her face fell. I felt awful. “But you’re going to have a terrific time at the Pikes’,” I said. “You always have fun over there, remember?” I hoped I didn’t sound as desperate as I felt. Becca looked crestfallen. “Come on and smile for me,” I said. I reached out and hugged her again.

  “Jessi!” I heard my aunt call from downstairs. “It’s already quarter to five, and you promised to go to the store for me before your club meeting. You better get a move on!”

  I jumped up. I’d almost forgotten that it was Wednesday, and I had to be at my BSC meeting by five-thirty. “Okay, Aunt Cecelia,” I called back. “Be right down!” When Aunt Cecelia speaks, I listen. She doesn’t like for people to ignore her orders — I mean, her requests. In fact, Becca and I used to have a mean name for her: Aunt Dictator. Actually, she’s not so bad anymore. But when she first came to live with us this year (when my mother went back to work and needed help with Squirt), it took her awhile to understand how responsible and mature I can be. She treated me like a baby! And she wasn’t too nice to Becca, either.

  “Yes, sir — ma’am — Aunt Dictator!” I said, under my breath. I grinned at Becca, hoping she would smile back.

  And she did. At least, she gave me something resembling a smile. “That’s better,” I said. I gave her a squeeze and ran downstairs, humming “New York, New York” as I went.

  Stacey and I arrived at the BSC meeting at exactly the same moment. We walked into Claudia Kishi’s room — the official headquarters of the BSC — and saw that everyone else was already there.

  “Hey,” said Claudia. “It’s the jet-setters. Off to fabulous New York for the weekend. Right, dahlings?”

  “But of course,” replied Stacey, grinning and striking a pose. “And then next week we’re off to Paris for the start of the fashion season.” She looked over at me. “Fabulous, isn’t it?”

  “Divine,” I said. We cracked up. It was funny, but I did feel like a real sophisticate, knowing that I would soon be walking down Fifth Avenue. “I can’t wait,” I told Stacey. “By this time on Friday we’ll be on our way!” We were going to miss a BSC meeting that day — something I hate to do — but the train we were taking left at four-thirty, so there was no way around it.

  Just then, Kristy checked the digital clock, which had just flipped to five-thirty, tapped her pencil on the arm of her chair, and called, “Order! And that means everybody, jet-setters and us hicks!” It was time for the meeting to start.

  Here’s how the club works: we meet in Claudia’s room every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, from five-thirty until six. During those times, parents can call us to set up jobs, and believe me, they do call. We always have plenty of business. At first the club advertised with fliers and the occasional ad in the paper, but now that’s hardly ever necessary. We have lots of regular clients, and we’re always getting new ones who have heard about us from our satisfied customers.

  The idea for the club was Kristy’s, which is why she’s the president. Actually, she’s also the president because she’s just naturally a good leader. She knows how to organize people and how to inspire them, and she’s always coming up with awesome ideas for projects. Kristy can be a little bossy at times, but I guess that goes along with the other parts of her personality.

  Kristy is short for her age (she’s thirteen and in the eighth grade, like everyone else in the club except for Mal and me), and she has brown hair and eyes. She does not take advantage of the fact that she is thirteen, however. If I were thirteen, I’d be wearing all kinds of cool outfits and fixing my hair a different way every day. But not Kristy. She wears practically the same outfit all the time: jeans, turtleneck shirt or T-shirt (depending on the weather), and running shoes. And she never does anything interesting with her hair. I bet she hardly bothers to look in the mirror in the morning. Which is not to say that she’s not pretty: she is. She just doesn’t put any work into it.

  Anyway, enough about Kristy’s looks. Let me tell you about her family. It’s an interesting one. First of all, Kristy’s dad took off when Kristy was very young, leaving Mrs. Thomas to raise Kristy and her three brothers (two older, one younger) on her own. Those times weren’t easy. But eventually Mrs. Thomas met and married this great guy, Watson Brewer. He’s a millionaire, and I’m not joking. The Thomases moved across town and into Watson’s mansion. It’s lucky that Watson owned a mansion since a lot of people are now living in that place. See, besides Kristy and her three brothers (David Michael, Charlie, and Sam), there are Watson’s two children from his first marriage, Andrew and Karen. They don’t live at the mansion full time, but they’re there a lot. Then there’s Emily Michelle, who’s two and a half years old and cuter than anything. She’s Vietnamese. Kristy’s mom and Watson adopted her soon after they got married. And after Emily Michelle arrived, Nannie (Kristy’s grandmother) came to live at the mansion, too, just to help out.

  As you can imagine, it’s a pretty busy household. And I haven’t even told you about their pets yet! (They have an old cat, a puppy, and two goldfish.)

  So Kristy’s pretty busy, with that big family and being president of the BSC. Plus, she coaches a softball team called the Krushers. But Kristy’s not Supergirl. She has her limits. Not long ago, she ran for president of the eighth grade, but she found that she had to quit partway through her campaign because she was just overloaded with activities. Still, Kristy is the best idea-person in the BSC. Here are a few of her other ideas: First, the club notebook. That’s where we keep a record of every sitting job we go on. (We each write up our own jobs.) Then we read it every week, to keep informed about our clients and any special problems that the kids we sit for might be having. Second, the club record book. That’s where we keep all the club information and scheduling information, so we can te
ll at a glance who’s free for a particular job. And finally, our Kid-Kits, which are boxes (we’ve decorated them so they look way cool) filled with toys and games that we — or our brothers and sisters — have outgrown. We also add new stickers and markers and things. So even though all the toys aren’t new, they’re new to the kids we sit for, and they’re always a big hit.

  Sometimes I wonder what the BSC would be like without Kristy. I don’t think it could exist!

  But she’s not the only important member of the club.

  Claudia is the vice-president. We meet in her room because she’s the only member of the club with her own phone and a private line. That’s important, because otherwise we’d be tying up somebody else’s line with our calls. Claudia’s other duties include (officially) answering calls during non-meeting times and (unofficially) providing junk food for our meetings.

  Claud considers it a pleasant part of her job to have junk food on hand. Why? Because she loves the stuff. Nothing makes her happier than cruising the aisles of a candy store or convenience mart, deciding between Munchos and Doritos, Kit Kats and Snickers, Life Savers and Jawbreakers.

  Claudia does not look like a person who practically lives on junk food. She has a flawless complexion, and she’s not at all overweight. In fact, she’s gorgeous. She’s Japanese-American, with long black hair and almond-shaped eyes. And she is one of the best dressers at Stoneybrook Middle School. She has a real flair for putting together trendy, one-of-a-kind outfits, and for fixing her hair in amazing styles.

  Claud is an incredibly talented artist. She paints, she draws, she sculpts, she makes jewelry. You name it, she does it, and she does it well. She just loves art. What she doesn’t love is school, and unfortunately that shows in her grades. She’s one of those people who is always having to hear her parents say things like, “If you would just apply yourself,” and “You have so much potential.” She also has to hear teachers say, “Are you really Janine’s sister?” Claudia’s sister Janine is a real live genius. You know that lady who answers brain-teasers in the newspaper? The one who’s supposed to be the smartest woman in the world? Well, Janine will probably replace her when she decides to retire. Luckily for Claudia, Mr. and Mrs. Kishi are good parents, and I think they try not to compare their daughters when it comes to grades.