Jessi Ramsey and Mal Pike (their names are shortened versions of Jessica and Mallory) are the BSC’s junior officers. They don’t have actual club duties. “Junior officer” means that since they’re younger than the rest of us, they aren’t allowed to baby-sit at night, unless they’re taking care of their own brothers and sisters. They are a huge help, anyway. Since they take over a lot of the afternoon and weekend jobs, they free up us older sitters for the evenings.
Like Stacey and me, Mal and Jessi are best friends. Their lives are similar in many ways. They’re both the oldest kids in their families; they feel that, despite this, their parents still treat them like babies; and they have a passion for reading, especially horse stories and mysteries. There are some differences, too, of course. While Jessi has one younger sister and a baby brother, Mal has seven younger sisters and brothers. Three of them are ten-year-old identical triplets (Byron, Jordan, and Adam). Then there’re Vanessa, Nicky, Margo, and Claire. Claire is the baby. Well, she’s five, but she’s the youngest in the family. Mal and Jessi may love reading, but Jessi’s true interest is ballet, and Mal’s is writing. You should see Jessi dance. (I have.) She’s incredible. She takes lessons at a special dance school in Stamford, a city not far from Stoneybrook. She had to audition just to be able to take lessons there. And she’s danced the lead role in several productions, performing onstage before hundreds of people. Mal, on the other hand, hopes to be an author one day. She likes to draw, too, so she thinks she might become a children’s author and illustrator. Guess what. Even though they’re only eleven, Mal and Jessi both have semiboyfriends who are taking them to the Winter Wonderland Dance. Mal’s is Ben Hobart. He’s new at SMS and he’s Australian! (He and his family live across the street from me, next to the Perkinses.) Jessi’s is Quint Walter. She met him in New York City, which is where he lives. Quint is a ballet dancer, too, and attends a special performing arts school. Jessi and Quint have not seen each other since Jessi’s trip to the city — but in just two days, Quint will be traveling to Stoneybrook to stay with the Ramseys and go to the dance. As you can imagine, Mal and Jessi are nearly hysterical with excitement over the dance. Let me see. Oh yes. One other thing — Mal is white and Jessi is black.
* * *
“You guys? Hey, guys, we have a lot to talk about…. Guys?”
That was Kristy. She had called the club meeting to order about six times, and the rest of us were still jabbering away.
“Hey, I was thinking!” shouted Kristy. “We might as well cancel our next meeting. So many of us are going to be busy on Wednesday.” That got our attention. Club meetings are rarely canceled.
“Mal and I will be baby-sitting,” spoke up Mary Anne. “That’s the marathon when Mr. and Mrs. Pike go to New York for a day and won’t be home until, like, one in the morning or something. I’m spending the night at Mal’s.” (The Pikes have so many kids that the children require two baby-sitters.) “Who else is busy?”
“I am,” replied Jessi. “Rehearsal for The Nutcracker.”
“I might be, remember?” added Dawn. “Jeff’s coming home for Christmas sometime that evening. I’m not sure when Mom and I will be leaving to pick him up at the airport.”
“I’m baby-sitting for the Perkins girls again on Wednesday evening,” I said, “but I’ll be around in the afternoon. Why don’t I stay here and take phone messages? I don’t mind.”
We decided that was a good idea. Then we spent the rest of the meeting answering job calls, scheduling appointments, and talking about the dance. I have to admit that the dance was a pretty big deal. For instance, Kristy had invited Bart, who doesn’t attend our school, and Jessi was going to introduce Quint to the kids of SMS. An out-of-town boyfriend was quite special. Futhermore, I don’t know about anyone else, but I was really looking forward to dressing up. I’d bought this black velvet knicker outfit and was going to wear it with a lot of silver jewelry, including snowflake earrings. Now, if only the weather would cool off and it would snow for real.
“Good-bye!”
“ ’Bye, you guys!”
“See you tomorrow!”
“Don’t forget — no Wednesday meeting!”
Our Monday BSC meeting was breaking up. It was Claud who’d reminded us that the next meeting had been canceled.
And it was Mary Anne who said, “Wait a sec! The dance!”
“What about it?” I asked.
“The dance is Friday evening. If we skip our Wednesday meeting, the next meeting should be on Friday, but can we hold a meeting right before the dance?”
“Well, we better not cancel two meetings in a row,” said Kristy. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure out something. See you guys in school tomorrow!”
We weren’t worried. We were too wound up to be worried. So much was going on. Jeff was arriving, Mary Anne’s big Pike job was coming up, Christmas was approaching, and then there was the dance, of course. I was going to go with Price Irving, this guy at school. He wasn’t new or anything, but I hadn’t noticed him until a few weeks ago. Overnight, I had developed this amazing crush on him. And then he had invited me to go to the dance with him. The weird thing is that I had just gotten up the nerve to invite him, and the very next day I was dashing through the halls at school, trying to get from one class to another without killing myself as I dodged through the crowd of kids, when I executed one good dodge — only to run directly into Price.
I almost said, “Oh, my lord,” which is what Claudia would have said, but I caught myself in time and simply said, “Sorry.” (Meanwhile, this little voice in my brain was chanting, “You are such a jerk, you are such a jerk.”) How could I ask him out now?
Price solved the problem for me. He grinned. “That’s okay,” he replied. “I’m glad you ran into me.” (I laughed.) “I wanted to ask you something. Um, Dawn, um, Dawn, um —”
“Yeah?” I prompted him.
After about half an hour (well, not really), Price managed to invite me to the dance. Of course I accepted. I’m no fool. And now the dance was just four days away, and I had bought a new dress and everything.
Life was good.
* * *
“Excited, sweetie?” Mom asked me after supper that night.
“Very. It’s going to be dreamy,” I said, and sighed.
Mom frowned. “Dreamy?”
“Yeah. He’s so … incredible.”
“Incredible? Jeff?”
“No, Price,” I said.
Mom laughed. “I meant, are you excited about Jeff’s visit?”
“Oh! I thought you were asking about the dance. Yeah. Of course I’m excited. I can’t wait to see Jeff. Dad, too.”
My winter vacation was going to be busy. Jeff would stay with us until the day after Christmas, and then he and I were going to fly back to California and I would visit with Dad and Jeff until New Year’s Day.
“Hey, can I call Jeff?” I asked Mom. I looked at my watch. “It’s five o’clock out there. This is probably a good time to reach him.”
“Sure, sweetie,” said Mom. “Go ahead. Ask him about his flight while you’re at it.”
I dialed California. The phone rang twice before someone picked it up. “Simpson’s Clothing Boutique. Bra department,” said a voice.
“Jeff!” I exclaimed.
“Uh-oh. Dawn?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you were going to be Oliver.”
I giggled. “Anyway, hi. Can you talk for a minute? Mom said I could call you. Is this a good time?”
“Sure. It’s fine.”
“I’m sorry I’m not Oliver. I just wanted to ask you about Wednesday. You’re still on the same flight?”
“Yup.” Jeff paused. “It stops in Chicago, though.”
“I know. But it just stops, right? You don’t have to change planes or anything, do you?” Not that it would matter. Jeff is a champion flyer.
“Nope. Just a stop.”
“Do you have enough stuff to do on the plane?”
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�Yup.”
“Jeff, is anything wrong?” My brother may not be a big talker, but usually he can do better than this.
“Well, I was thinking. What if we were flying along and suddenly the plane lost its engine power and we crashed? What if we flew right into a mountain like those people did in that movie?”
“That isn’t going to happen,” I said.
“How do you know?”
“I don’t…. But we’ve both flown lots of times, and the worst flight we ever had was that really, really bumpy one.”
“Yeah. You never know, though.”
My stomach began to feel funny. “Jeff, you are coming, aren’t you?” I asked.
“I wish I didn’t have to fly,” was his answer.
“Oh, Jeff, please! It’s Christmas. We’re waiting until you come before we decorate the tree. Don’t stay in California. You have to come.” Even as the words were leaving my mouth, I knew I’d said the wrong thing.
“I do not have to come,” replied Jeff.
“No. No, you don’t. I didn’t mean that. I’m just looking forward to your visit.”
“But what if the plane does crash?”
“What if it doesn’t and you stay in California and miss a wonderful trip to see Mom and me?”
“At least I’ll be alive.”
I sighed.
When Jeff and I hung up, I told Mom about our conversation.
Mom frowned slightly, but she said, “Don’t worry. Jeff will be all right. I think he’s going through a phase.” (This is a very parent thing to say. According to adults, kids are always going through phases.) “Jeff’s reacting to the divorce,” Mom went on. (Oh, divorce fallout.) “He’s having a little trouble with separation. He’ll be okay once he gets here.”
I nodded. “In two days the flight will be over. Then Jeff can relax.” So could I. I would feel better when he was actually in our house.
While Mary Anne and I were getting ready for bed that night, we tuned into WSTO on the radio. “Hey, listen,” said Mary Anne, putting down her hairbrush.
“Snow is on the way, folks!” the weather forecaster was saying. “Heavy accumulations expected on Wednesday.”
“Yeah, right,” I said, and shook my head.
When Mom and Dad first started talking about this trip to New York, some teensy little part of my brain hoped I might be left in charge (well, accompanied by another baby-sitter, since that’s the Pike rule). Then I found out that my parents were going to leave extra early in the morning and not return until, like, two A.M.
I lost all hope.
But then Mom and Dad said that if an older sitter (like thirteen is so much older than eleven) would spend Tuesday and Wednesday nights at our house, they would consider letting me take on half the job. (The holiday spirit must have been getting the better of them.) As it turned out, Mary Anne was able to do the job with me. I couldn’t believe her father would allow her to sleep over at someone’s house for two nights in a row during school. But he did. (The holiday spirit must have been getting to him, too. Our parents were acting so … sane.)
“So what are you going to do on your trip to the Big Apple?” I asked Mom one day. I myself have been to New York several times.
“Lots of things,” Mom replied. “Your dad and I have planned quite a day. We’re going to eat a light breakfast at the Embassy —”
“That coffee shop?” I exclaimed. I would have chosen the Plaza or some place.
“I love coffee shops!” Mom replied. “Besides, we’ll eat lunch and dinner at fancier places. Anyway, after breakfast we’re going to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Then we’ll take a bus across Central Park and go to the Museum of Natural History. Then we’ll head downtown and go shopping. Everything will look so pretty for the holidays! Your dad and I will have to take you kids there one December. Maybe next year. You’d love the decorations. A giant shimmery snowflake is suspended over Fifth Avenue. At Rockefeller Center is the biggest Christmas tree you can imagine, and it’s covered with tiny lights. And the windows of Saks —”
“Mom, Mom, I can’t stand it,” I interrupted. “Can’t I go with you?”
“Sorry, honey,” replied my mother. “Let’s see. We’re meeting the Sombergs for lunch and the four of us decided to try a new restaurant. In the afternoon, your dad and I plan to visit the Museum of Broadcasting and maybe walk around Lincoln Center. Then we’re going to meet the Wileys for dinner, and after that we’re going to see The Phantom of the Opera. Then we’ll come home.”
“Wow,” said Claire, who’d been listening. “Will you ever get to go to the bathroom?”
Leave it to Claire to make a connection between New York City and the bathroom.
* * *
Mary Anne came over after dinner on Tuesday evening.
“Are you ready for two nights and a day at the Pike Zoo?” I asked her.
“Hey, no problem,” Mary Anne replied. “I’m a pro at this.”
That was true. Mary Anne has come along as a mother’s helper on a couple of Pike vacations. She can survive us for weeks at a time.
Mary Anne stepped into our house and set her duffel bag on the floor. She called good-bye to her father, who had walked her over.
“Hello, Mary Anne-silly-billy-goo-goo!” cried Claire, running downstairs and wrapping her arms around Mary Anne’s legs. “Silly-billy-goo-goo” is a term Claire attaches to names of people she likes — when she’s in her silly mood, which is fairly often.
Claire was followed by our brother Nicky, who’s eight. “Crumble!” ordered Nicky, and Claire let go of Mary Anne and dropped to her hands and knees, tucking her head to her chest.
“What are they doing?” Mary Anne whispered to me.
“Nicky told Claire he has a special power over her,” I whispered back. “Anytime he tells her to crumble, she has to hit the floor, no matter where she is or what she’s doing. Nicky says he’ll have this power forever, and that years from now, at Claire’s wedding, he’s going to wait until she’s walking down the aisle and then he’s going to whisper ‘Crumble’ to her.”
Mary Anne smiled. But she didn’t say anything about our family being a zoo until the triplets bounded down the stairs, pointing their fingers at Nicky and going, “Bzzzz!”
“Not the Bizzer Sign,” I muttered. I thought my brothers had forgotten about that. The Bizzer Sign is this annoying insult thing. They used to give each other the sign all the time. It never failed to get a rise out of the younger kids. Sure enough, Nicky turned to me with a pained expression and whined, “They’re giving me the Bizzer Sign.”
“Good,” said Claire. “My crumble is over then.”
“Is not!” cried Nicky.
“Is too!”
“Kids!” called Mom from the living room. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing!” chorused Claire, Nicky, Byron, Adam, and Jordan. They turned and fled upstairs.
“Nice move,” I said to Mom. I led Mary Anne into the living room. “Here’s Mary Anne,” I added unnecessarily.
Mom and Dad were reading the newspaper. They smiled as we plopped onto the couch.
It was time for … the Briefing. Mom and Dad were going to talk to us about our baby-sitting job. Dad had written out a sheet of instructions, reminders, notes, phone numbers, and addresses. He handed it to Mary Anne and me. Even so, Mary Anne pulled a pen and a small notepad out of her purse and sat poised to take notes. (She is such a good secretary.)
“Let’s see,” Mom began. “First of all, Mary Anne, you’ll be sharing Mal and Vanessa’s room. We’ll set up a cot for you in there.”
“We’d give you our room,” added Dad, “but we’ll be using it tonight, as well as after we come home tomorrow. You two really don’t have much of a nighttime job. Mrs. Pike and I will be gone for less than twenty-four hours.”
“Yeah. All we have to do is watch seven kids for the entire day,” I said.
“They’ll be in school for six hours,” Mom pointed out.
“That’s true.”
“Anyway, Mallory,” Mom continued, “Dad and I plan to get up at five tomorrow, drive to the station, and catch the six-thirty train. We’re going to be hard to reach while we’re gone, but if there’s a real emergency, you can call the Sombergs or the Wileys and they’ll give us a message when they see us.”
“Their phone numbers are on the sheet I gave you,” said Dad.
“Also,” Mom went on, “several of the neighbors know we’re going to be gone tomorrow. So if you need help, you could call Mrs. McGill or Mrs. Barrett or the Braddocks —”
“Or my dad,” added Mary Anne. “He’ll be home tomorrow night.”
“Great,” said Mom. “Now about meals — I desperately need to go to the grocery, but you have enough food for tomorrow. There’s cereal and fruit for breakfast and the fixings for sloppy joes for dinner. I’ll leave enough cash so you can buy your lunches at school tomorrow and Thursday. There should also be enough food for Thursday morning breakfast, and then I’ll go to the grocery as soon I can that morning.”
Mary Anne was taking down practically every word my parents said. She had filled three pages on her little pad and had just started a fourth. (She is a teensy bit compulsive.)
“So,” I said to Mom and Dad, “how much money are you going to leave us? Not that we’ll need it for anything except school lunches, but you never know.”
Mom forked over a roll of bills. “I expect to get most of this back,” she said.
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