Jessi's Babysitter
Page 8
"I know, but I shouldn't have. I needed something or someone to blame for that tragedy, and you were it. But I know you've been taking care of your brother and sister — not to mention all the kids you sit for — for quite awhile now, and you're an expert. I wasn't sure I could live up to you.
"On the other hand," Aunt Cecelia continued, her voice changing, growing stronger, "there's a little matter I need to mention to your parents. I think I've kept quiet about it long enough now, don't you?"
Dum da-dum dum. The practical jokes.
Becca and I nodded, but we couldn't look at anyone, not even at each other. We stared into our cups.
"What is it?" asked Daddy warily.
"Ever since I got here," Aunt Cecelia replied, "from the very beginning, I've found spiders — fake ones — in my bed, shaving cream in my shoes, and more, plenty more."
"Girls," said Mama warningly.
"Well, we were mad. She was already taking over. She was our &a&i/-sitter, ordering us around/ making up rules. I don't need a sitter!" I cried. "I am a sitter. And a good one . . . like Aunt Cecelia said," I couldn't help pointing out. This time I looked directly at my aunt and held her gaze.
"Okay. Obviously we've got some problems to work out," said Daddy. He turned to his sister. "Cecelia, I understand that you feel responsible for the girls, but they're used to certain things. For instance, Jessi never misses a meeting of the Baby-sitters Club. Not unless she has a special dance rehearsal or there's an emergency. We don't withhold that privilege as a punishment. I think that from now on, the girls should tell their mother or me about any plans they have. They can do this daily or weekly; we'll see what works best. We'll approve — or not approve — their plans, and then we'll tell you their schedules. Fair enough?"
"Fair enough," replied Aunt Cecelia. I could see her relax a little.
"Fair enough?" Daddy asked Becca and me.
"Yup," we agreed.
"Furthermore, the girls should be allowed to do the things we already trust them to do —
fix their hair, choose their own clothes, that sort of thing," added Mama. "And perhaps," she went on, "it might be helpful if Cecelia is referred to simply as the children's aunt, not their sitter."
Aunt Cecelia smiled. "That sounds nice."
"Now," said Daddy, "there's a little matter of a punishment."
"A punishment?" squeaked Becca. "For who?"
"For whom," Aunt Cecelila corrected her gently.
"For you and your sister," Mama said sternly. "For spiders and shaving cream and I don't know what all."
"Just a moment," interrupted my aunt. "Could I speak to you in private?" she asked my parents.
"Of course," they replied.
Becca and I escaped then. We didn't know what was going on, but we were glad to get out of there. That night, I slept like, well, like Squirt!
Chapter 15.
Monday afternoon. Five-twenty-eight. Time for another BSC meeting.
We were all gathered. Kristy was sitting in the director's chair, visor on, pencil over her ear, watching Claud's digital clock, waiting for it to hit five-thirty on the nose.
Claudia was foraging for junk food.
My friends and I were dressed in typical outfits. Typical, but not necessarily traditional. For instance, Stacey was wearing tight black pants that reached just above her ankles, and sported a column of four silvery buttons at the bottoms. (The buttons were just for show, I think.) Over the pants she was wearing a long (past her knees) blue jacket made of soft material. Under that she was wearing a sleeveless blouse. Now that was unusual.
Claud was wearing a fake leopard-skin vest, a fairly tame blouse, and blue leggings. She had made her jewelry herself — five papier-
mache bracelets that were painted in soft desert colors.
Mary Anne and Dawn had traded outfits, which they do pretty often. That's one nice thing about having a stepsister who's your best friend and also about your size. They were both dressed colorfully, and trendily, but not as wildly as Claud and Stace.
Then there was Kristy in her jeans and tur-tleneck. And finally Mal and me, also in jeans, but wearing (if I do say so myself) pretty fresh sweat shirts. And Mal had been allowed to buy high-top sneakers with beaded designs on the sides!
Click. The clock turned to five-thirty.
"Order, please," said Kristy. "Treasurer, it's dues day."
Groan, groan, groan. We all produced our dues. Stacey counted the treasury money and looked pleased.
Before Kristy could even say, "Any club business?" the phone rang.
"Good sign!" she exclaimed, as Dawn answered it.
"Good afternoon, the Baby-sitters Club," said Dawn. Then, "Hi, Mrs. Newton. . . . Friday? I'll check and call you right back."
We arranged that job plus two others before things calmed down.
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Then Mal said, "Did everyone survive the science fair?"
"Just barely/' I replied.
"David Michael is ecstatic/' reported Kristy.
"Over an Honorable Mention?" asked Dawn. "Anyone who didn't win got an Honorable Mention."
Kristy smiled. "I know. That doesn't matter to David Michael, though. He's just thrilled with the idea of a prize — any prize. He wouldn't even leave the ribbon on his project at the fair. He brought it home on Friday night, slept with it, and carried it around with him on Saturday until Watson suggested having it mounted. Now it's hanging over his bed. You'd think it was the Pulitzer Prize."
"That's sweet," said Mary Anne. "I'm glad David Michael is so happy. You know, it's funny what these fairs do for different kids."
"Yeah," said Mal. "Margo's proud of her project, but not the Honorable Mention. It doesn't mean much to her. She just wants everyone to see Barbie on the moon."
"What about Charlotte?" I asked Stacey.
Stacey rolled her eyes. "Oh, wow. You should see her. She is in science heaven. She found out that the names of the three winners will appear in the Stoneybrook News. She's gotten a huge boost of self-confidence."
"Jackie's reaction is a little different from everyone else's," I spoke up. "He doesn't care about the Honorable Mention, either. But once he got over being humiliated when he couldn't answer the judges' questions, he returned to his usual self. He doesn't want me to help him with next year's project, though."
"I don't blame him," said Kristy.
"Neither do I," I answered.
Then I told the BSC members what had happened Friday night when my family and I had gotten home from the fair.
"What did your aunt want to talk to your parents about in private?" asked Claud.
"I have no idea. That was three days ago and I haven't heard a word about it. I'm afraid to ask."
"You don't think she's leaving, do you?" asked Mal suddenly.
I paused. Then I said, "Gosh. ... I don't know. I thought we'd worked everything out. We talked about how sometimes people take over when they just want to show they care. The way I did with Jackie and his project. And we set up some rules. No. I don't think she's leaving."
You know what was weird? Just then, a little part of me hoped she wasn't leaving. If she did, what would we do about Squirt while Mama
worked? And who would be around to care about me (not for me) in the afternoons? The thought surprised me.
The phone rang then and we took a job call, and then another. When silence fell again, Dawn said, "Guess what? I'm going to California on our next school vacation. I'll get to see Dad and Jeff."
"That's great," said Kristy. "You know where Shannon Kilbourne is going?" (She paused dramatically.) "To Hawaii."
There was a huge chorus of "Oh, wows," and, "That is so fresh," and, "Boy, is she lucky."
Mal looked downcast. "I don't think I'll be going anywhere for awhile. Dad's company is in trouble. He said he heard the president is going to lay off about half the people who work there. Dad says he thinks he'll be one of them."
"But he might not be," I pointed out.
On that somber note, the meeting broke up and I rode home. I forgot about Mal and her father and his job, and began to feel cheerful. That was because this time I knew there would be no disapproving Aunt Cecelia waiting to pounce on me when I got home. There would
be (I hoped) just a regular aunt who was probably making dinner and trying to entertain Squirt at the same time. · I was right on both counts.
When I entered our house I saw my aunt at the stove, stirring things in pots. Sitting at her feet was Squirt, who was banging frying pans with a wooden spoon and looking pretty pleased with himself.
"Hi, Aunt Cecelia," I was saying, just as Becca appeared next to me and gestured wildly but silently for me to follow her. So I did. I followed her upstairs to her room, where at last she found her voice — sort of.
"Jes — Jes — Look at — I mean, see what — "
"Becca, what on earth is the matter?" I asked her.
"Go look at my slippers," was her reply.
I opened Becca's closet door, turned on the light, bent down, and saw that her slippers were filled with shaving cream.
"I almost put them on," she said, horrified. "Then, I needed my flashlight, so I pulled back my bedspread" (Becca keeps her flashlight under her pillow) "and I found this in my bed." My sister held up a huge, disgusting plastic fly. "You didn't do these things, did you?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at me.
"Of course not," I replied. "I bet it was . . ."
"Aunt Cecelia!" we said together.
Then we bolted for my room. I found shaving cream in my slippers and a furry mouse (fake) under my pillow, and discovered that my bed had been short-sheeted.
Becca and I just looked at each other.
Then we heard gentle laughter. We turned around. Aunt Cecelia was standing in my doorway, holding Squirt on her hip.
"I guess we're even now," said my aunt.
I couldn't help smiling. "I guess so."
"Yeah," agreed Becca.
"Aunt Cecelia . . . I'm sorry," I told her. "We weren't very nice to you. We didn't give you much of a chance."
"I didn't give you two much of a chance, either," she replied. "I did move in and take over. But that's going to change now."
"Hey, Aunt Cecelia, want to hear a joke?" asked Becca, which I knew was her way of apologizing.
"Of course I do. Come downstairs and tell it to me while I finish dinner. . . . Um, Jessi, you can watch Squirt for me."
"Thanks," I said.
So we returned to the kitchen and Becca told Aunt Cecelia a joke that I used to tell Becca.
"See, a long time ago, there was this Vi-
king," Becca began. "And his name was Rudolph the Red. And one day he looked up at the sky and said to his wife, 'It's going to rain today.' And his wife said, 'No, it's not. The sky is blue and the sun is shining.' And Rudolph said, 'But it's still going to rain,' and his wife said, 'Is not,' and Rudolph said, 'Is too.' So finally his wife said, 'How can you tell?' and her husband replied, 'Because Rudolph the Red knows rain, dear.' "
Aunt Cecelia let out a burst of laughter like I'd never heard. Not from her, anyway. So we all began to laugh, even Squirt, although he hadn't understood the joke, of course.
And that was how Mama and Daddy found the four of us when they came home from work that night. All together in the kitchen, laughing.
"Well," said Daddy, "I think this household is finally settling down."
"Yup," I agreed. And I was pretty happy with the way things had turned out.
Later that night, I tore up the list of mean things to do to Aunt Cecelia.
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 include Yours Turly, Shirley; Ten Kids, No Pets; With You and Without You; Bummer Summer; and all the other books in the Baby-sitters 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.
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