Jessi's Babysitter

by Ann M. Martin

  our meat for us. Becca and I know she doesn't trust us. I mean, not like she thinks we'd steal or anything. It's just that she doesn't believe we're capable of doing things that an eleven-year-old and an eight-year-old are capable of.

  "If she were a good baby-sitter, she'd trust us. Our parents trust us. I mean, they set limits, but they do trust us. They let me use the stove and cook. They let us choose our own clothes. Not necessarily in stores, but once we have the clothes they let us decide what to wear to school or to a restaurant or wherever we're going. Aunt Cecelia doesn't trust us to do anything right."

  "Jessi, have you and Becca spoken to your parents about Aunt Cecelia?" asked Mary Anne. "Do they know how you feel?"

  I sighed. "No. I mean, no, we haven't spoken to them, and no, they don't know how we feel."

  "Why not?" asked Kristy sensibly.

  "Because Mama and Daddy are so pleased to have Aunt Cecelia here. It solves all sorts of problems for them now that Mama's working. Plus, they think they're making Aunt Cecelia happy. She's been so lonely since her husband died."

  "But, Jessi," said Stacey, "Becca told me

  what you and she are doing to your aunt. Don't you think that talking to your parents would be a little nicer than playing tricks on her?"

  I could feel my face flush, especially as I explained to the other club members about the tricks. Then I added, "And that's another thing. Becca and I feel like we can't talk to Mama and Daddy because of the tricks. For some reason Aunt Dictator hasn't mentioned the tricks to our parents. It's like they never happened. Becca and I are afraid that if we confront Mama and Daddy, Aunt Cecelia will tell on us. I'm completely stuck. I don't know what to do. And I want to talk to my parents, particularly because Aunt Cecelia really isn't a very good baby-sitter. She's not too playful with Squirt. She does things for him that he should be learning to do for himself, and, I don't know, it's a big mess."

  I felt miserable. I know I looked miserable. This was because Dawn said, "You look miserable, Jessi."

  "Boy," I replied. "If I have kids of my own, I'm never going to treat them the way Aunt Dictator treats Becca and Squirt and me."

  "Famous last words," said Kristy, laughing.

  There was a pause, then we took some

  phone calls, and then, out of the blue, Mal said, "You know the five hundred-pound pancake? I wonder how they ever mixed the batter for it. In a cement-mixer?" We left the meeting laughing.

  Chapter 11.

  "Phoo! Phoo! Phee-ew! Jessi, when this volcano erupts, it is going to be the biggest mess." Jackie looked thrilled at the prospect.

  There were just two days left until the science fair. The volcano had been built. The can inside it was filled with the chemicals, which we had been able to find, although Jackie and his mom had had to go to four different places before they found them.

  "Jessi?" asked Jackie. I was sitting for him on another afternoon.

  "Yeah?"

  "Shouldn't we try the volcano just once? I mean, what if it doesn't work when the judges come around at the science fair?"

  Although Jackie had a point, I had to tell him, "No. We can only let the volcano erupt once. Otherwise, you'll take a messy, gooey project to the fair. It won't be as impressive as if it erupts for the first time. Maybe we

  should test the chemicals, though. We could put them in another can, light them — I have to light the match, by the way — and make sure they really form the ash that's supposed to pour out of the crater. We'll test it on your driveway and then wash the mess away with the garden hose."

  "All right!" cried Jackie. "Oh, boy. A mess!"

  Jackie and I carried the chemicals, an empty coffee can, and a packet of matches out to his driveway. We followed the instructions for putting the chemicals in the can.

  Then I said, "Okay, I'm going to toss a match in the can. By the way, Jackie, an adult will have to do that for you at the science fair, too. Me, your mom or dad, or one of the judges. Okay?"

  "Okay."

  "Now get ready. Stand back!"

  Jackie ran to the edge of the driveway. I lit a match, tossed it in the can, and ran. I turned around just in time to see ash spewing from the can and running down the sides. It was very realistic.

  "Awesome!" exclaimed Jackie.

  "It worked!" I cried.

  Jackie ran to the can, but I stopped him. "Don't touch anything! The chemicals might burn your hands."

  We turned on the hose, cleaned out the can, and sprayed the ash down the driveway and into a sewer.

  "Now," I said to Jackie, "it is time to begin final preparation of your project."

  "Final preparation?" squeaked Jackie. "I thought we were done."

  "Oh, no," I told him as we walked back into the house. "We have to figure out how you're going to present your project. It needs a name. And you have to be able to tell the judges about it, not just have someone toss the match in and let the volcano erupt. How are you going to demonstrate your project?"

  "Well," said Jackie, sounding sort of mixed up, "I'm not sure."

  "All right. First, let's make a sign to label your volcano. What do you want to call your project?"

  "I want to call it 'My Volcano,' " said Jackie.

  I shook my head.

  "The volcano? A volcano?"

  "No, no, no. It has to be much catchier," I told him.

  We stood over the volcano in its glass box. "How about 'Welcome to the World of Volcanic Activity'?" I suggested proudly.

  "Okay," agreed Jackie.

  "You make the sign to hang in front of the

  volcano," I said. I handed Jackie a piece of paper and a Magic Marker.

  Jackie worked laboriously for fifteen minutes. Then he proudly held up a sign that looked like this:

  -Va th*. j

  "Jackie! No!" I exclaimed. "You've at least got to spell things right. You can't hang up a sign like that."

  "But these are hard words. You have to help

  me."

  "After all the studying we've done, you should know how to spell 'volcanic' and 'activity/ " I said. "Here, I'll make the sign." .

  Jackie stared at the ground. And I thought, Boy, I have to do all the work. 1 even have to make the sign.

  This is what I made:

  "There. Now that's a sign/' I told Jackie. I set it near his project. "What do you think of it?"

  "Nice," he mumbled.

  "Now, on to the next thing/' I said enthusiastically.

  "What next thing?" cried Jackie.

  "We're heading over to Stoneybrook Elementary to see where the science fair will be held. We've got to stake out the best spot for your project. Mal told me the judges walk around the all-purpose room in a circle, starting at the front. I think your project should be one of the last they see. That way, they'll remember it when they're judging. Plus, they'll be really impressed after all the goofy stuff they've looked at, like Barbie dolls on the moon."

  Jackie didn't even ask what I was talking about. He just put on the sweater I handed him and followed me out the back door and along the streets to the school.

  "I hope the teachers are getting the room ready for the fair," I said as we neared Stoneybrook Elementary.

  "They are," said Jackie. "The room was closed today."

  "Good," I replied.

  Jackie led me around to the back of the

  school, and we peered through the windows of the all-purpose room.

  "There're Mr. Peterson and Ms. Handy. They're the janitors," said Jackie. "It looks like they're putting desks in a big circle."

  "I see a banner," I pointed out. "Look over the stage. Pretty nice, huh?"

  Stretched from one end of the room to the other was a long paper banner that read: STON-

  EYBROOK ELEMENTARY SCHOOL SCIENCE FAIR.

  Jackie began to look excited. "And they're putting up pictures of dinosaurs and planets and birds and — and euen/thing on the walls!"

  "Yeah!" I agreed. "Now let's see. What would be the best de
sk for you?" I looked and looked and finally decided on one. "That desk. Over there," I said, pointing. "It must be at the end of the judges' rounds. We've got to get here early, Jackie, so you can set up your project on that desk."

  Jackie nodded distractedly, still looking in awe at the decorations. "The fair is a big deal, isn't it?" he said. "I never went to it before."

  "It sure is a big deal. Think how you'll feel when you win. I wonder what your prize will be?"

  "I don't care," said Jackie. "I just want to have the best project here. Then I can show lan and John and Danny and all those mean

  guys in my class that I can do something really good. I bet they never built a volcano."

  "Probably not," I agreed.

  We began to walk home. "Okay," I said. "Last thing. You've got two days to memorize what you're going to tell the judges about your project."

  Jackie straightened his shoulders. "I'm going to say, This is my volcano. I built it myself. You light the chemicals and the ash goes phoo, phoo, PHEW out of the can!' "

  "Oh, no, you're not. Jackie, this is a science fair. You've got to explain how a volcano works. Remember the kinds of rocks we built our volcano on? Remember their names?"

  "Iggus, morphus, and sedentary?"

  I sighed. "Almost. Igneous, raetamorphzc, and sedimentary."

  Jackie repeated the words fairly well.

  "Okay, now what you want to say is that igneous rocks are born from fire, the molten rock that lies several miles below the surface of our earth. Above them are metamorphic rocks that have been changed by the heat..."

  I finished my speech before we reached the Rodowskys'. I made Jackie start to memorize it. He wasn't bad. He stumbled on words a few times but he learned quickly.

  When we'd been home for about twenty minutes, Jackie could spout off, "Igneous rocks are born from fire, the molten rock that lies several miles below the surface of the earth."

  Awhile later, the speech was memorized.

  "All right, hand signals."

  "Hand signals?!"

  "Yes."

  "You mean like when I'm on my bike and I'm turning left and I stick out my left hand?"

  "No. I guess I meant to say 'hand gestures.' "

  "To impress the judges?"

  Like I said, Jackie is a fast learner. "You got it," I told him. "See, I think you should even have a pointer. When you say, 'igneous rocks/ point to the bottom layer of Plasticine. When you say, 'metamorphic rocks/ point to the next layer, and so forth. Also, just as the chemicals are about to be lit — throw your hands in the air and say, 'the miracle of a volcano comes to life before our very eyes.' Then give your speech."

  Jackie was grinning. He was going to get to put on a show.

  "This'll be fun," he said, showing almost as much enthusiasm as when we'd set off the volcano on the driveway.

  When Mrs. Rodowsky, Archie, and Shea came home, Jackie gleefully demonstrated his entire project — pointers, hand gestures, and all. I was late leaving for home, but I didn't mind. I was glad to see Jackie so happy.

  Chapter 12.

  I might not have minded that I left the Rodowskys' a little late, but Aunt Dictator sure did. She met me at our front door. I mean, she was just standing there waiting for me, arms crossed, mouth grim.

  "You're late," she said.

  (I was ten minutes late.) "I know, I'm sorry. Jackie was so excited about his volcano that I wanted — "

  "When I am in charge," Aunt Cecelia interrupted me (When isn't she in charge? I wondered), "you follow my rules. You are responsible to me. You must call me if you are going to be late. Is that understood? You must be responsible. And part of being responsible is letting people know where you are."

  Sheesh, I thought. If I'd known I was going to be half an hour late, of course I would have called. But ten minutes? Mama and Daddy don't worry if I'm ten minutes late. They don't

  stand at doors with mental stopwatches going.

  Aunt Cecelia had closed the door behind me and we were facing each other in the foyer.

  "Take off your coat," said Aunt Cecelia.

  Obediently, I took it off.

  "Aunt — Aunt Cecelia/' I said. ("Aunt Dictator" had almost slipped out. I wondered if that would ever really happen.) "Mama and Daddy are strict with Becca and me. Squirt, too. But they're not . . . um . . ." (I almost said "not unreasonable") "I mean, they only get worried when they really need to. They wouldn't worry about ten minutes."

  "Jessica, I am in charge. Late is late, whether it's two minutes, two hours, or two days." (That "two days" thing was a low blow. She was referring to Becca getting stranded on the island, which she still claimed was my fault.)

  "But honestly, Aunt Cecelia, Mama and Daddy really don't care about ten minutes. If I knew I was going to be much later, I would have called. I always do. Once I called, and Mama said, 'Oh, Jessi. Thank you for letting us know — but we weren't even worried yet!' See, the rules here are that if — "

  "I don't know how many times I have to tell you about the rules here, young lady. They are mine when I'm in charge. Period."

  "Okay, okay, okay."

  "Jessica! No backtalk."

  "That wasn't backtalk!"

  "It sounded like it."

  "Well, it wasn't." I looked at my watch. "Uh-oh!" I grabbed my jacket back out of the closet. "I have to leave. I'm going to be late for the BSC meeting."

  "Oh, no," said Aunt Cecelia. "You're not going to any meeting. Not today. Not after what you did."

  "Because I was ten minutes late?!" I exclaimed. I couldn't believe it.

  "Yes. Because you were late and you didn't call me. You were irresponsible."

  "Aunt Cecelia, don't you trust me? I'm not irresponsible. I can do things for myself. And I do the right things. If I were irresponsible I wouldn't have gone to Jackie's to baby-sit today. And missing a club meeting is very irresponsible. The other girls count on me. We all count on each other. We don't miss meetings unless we're sick or there's an emergency or something like a dance rehearsal comes up. When that happens, I let my friends know ahead of time. I can't just not go."

  "Yes, you can. You're being punished. And if you carry this much further, you won't be able to attend Friday's meeting, either."

  My mouth hung open. I just stood there,

  gazing at my aunt's angry face. Slowly the rest of the room came into focus — the clock on the chest, the open closet door, the boots on the floor of the closet, the striped wallpaper, and, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, Becca and Squirt. They were taking the scene in, and both looked frightened. Squirt was clinging to Becca's hand.

  I think it was the sight of their scared faces that prompted me to do what I did next — defy Aunt Cecelia.

  "You're not really in charge," I told her. "Maybe you're the sitter, but Mama and Daddy are in charge of our house, and I am going to call them. If they say I can go to the meeting, then I can go. ... And you can't stop me from calling," I added, dashing into the kitchen.

  I reached the phone before Aunt Dictator could even open her mouth. First I called Daddy.

  "Mr. Ramsey's office," said his secretary.

  "Oh, hi, Ed," I said, trying not to sound shaky or upset. "This is Jessi. Can I speak to my dad, please?"

  "He's out of the office, Jess," Ed replied. (Ed is one of the few people who calls me Jess. I kind of like it.) "Is this an emergency?"

  I hesitated. "No," I said at last. Emergencies

  are fires and accidents and injuries. I wanted to talk to Daddy badly, but this was not an emergency and I didn't want to do anything irresponsible.

  "Do you want me to tell your father you called?" asked Ed.

  "That's okay. I'll see him at home tonight," I replied.

  "Okay."

  Ed and I hung up.

  I glanced over my shoulder at Aunt Cecelia, who was watching me carefully. I turned around, picked up the phone again, and started to dial Mama's new work number. But halfway through, I quit. Mama had said that,
until she was used to her job, Becca and I shouldn't call her at the office — unless there was an emergency and we couldn't get hold of Daddy.

  Okay. No emergency, no call to Mama.

  I hung up, defeated. Have you ever heard the saying, "Someone's got you over a barrel"? Well, Aunt Cecelia had me over a barrel. It meant that she'd put me in a situation I couldn't get out of. I had no options. In this case, I couldn't go to the BSC meeting. Not unless I just rode off, completely disobeying her. And that would make Mama and Daddy (not to mention Aunt Cecelia) very mad. I

  knew I couldn't go without talking to my parents first.

  "Can I at least call Kristy to tell her I won't be attending the meeting?" I asked Aunt Dictator. "That is the responsible thing to do."

  My aunt let me make the call.

  "Hi, Kristy/' I said. "Guess what. I'm really sorry, but Aunt Cecelia won't allow me to come to the meeting today. I was ten minutes late getting back from the Rodowskys' and my aunt blew a fuse."

  "Over ten minutes?"

  "Yes. Can you believe it?"

  "No. That's so unfair!"

  "Listen, Kristy. Can you do something for me?" I lowered my voice even though I didn't need to. Aunt Dictator had taken Becca and Squirt into another room. "Can you call me a lot during the meeting? It'll make me look like you can't get along without me."

  "Sure," replied Kristy. I knew she was smiling. That kind of thing appeals to her. "Your aunt'll think you're the BSC president!"

  "Oh, thank you!" I told her.

  Boy, did my friends live up to their promises. Our phone rang fourteen times between five-thirty and six o'clock.

  By the third call, which was from Stacey, I

  whispered, "Aren't you guys tying up the club phone? I don't want to make you do that."

  "No. We're tying up the Kishis' phone. We're taking turns going down to the kitchen and using the phone there," Stacey told me.

  "Oh, okay." Then I raised my voice for Aunt Cecelia's benefit. "No, tell Mrs. Hobart I won't be able to sit then. I have a dance class that afternoon."

  By 6:00, Aunt Cecelia had had it up to here. (Picture me holding my hand to my chin.) She couldn't believe all the phone calls, but there wasn't much she could do about them — except not forbid me to attend another meeting, and she wouldn't do that again. Aunt Cecelia might be a jerk, but she's no fool.