Here Come the Bridesmaids! (9780545633406)

by Martin, Ann M.

  What’s the worst thing about having seven siblings? Sometimes your parents don’t even know you’re alive.

  What’s the best thing? Sometimes your parents don’t even know you’re alive.

  When I got home, Dad was busy chewing out three of my brothers while Mom was doing an art project in the basement with the rest of my sibs.

  I slipped right in the back door, twenty minutes late. No one said a word.

  Quickly I tiptoed to my room. When the phone rang, I called out, “I’ll get it!” as if I’d been in the house for hours.

  I picked up the phone in my parents’ room. “Hello?”

  “Mallory? Hi, it’s Claudia! Guess who just called me?”

  “Who?”

  “Mrs. Barrett.”

  Sometimes BSC clients call during non-meeting times. It’s usually an emergency, which means Claudia has to call around frantically.

  “She’s, like, hysterical,” Claudia continued. “I had to listen to a lecture about bad caterers. Then she tells me every single thing going wrong with the wedding plans. Finally she says she totally forgot about all the kids who are coming to the wedding. What if they make too much noise? What if they get hungry?”

  “So she needs a sitter?”

  “Two. I already lined up Shannon, but no one else can do it.”

  “I can!” I exclaimed.

  “Great,” Claudia replied. “Thanks. We’ll talk later. I’m going to call her right now. ’Bye.”

  “ ’Bye.”

  How cool.

  I was going to be part of the wedding. Official Keeper of the Kids. Maybe I could stand in the receiving line with the families.

  I began dancing around the bedroom. I began thinking about a beautiful dress I’d seen at Steven E, a store in the mall. Maybe I’d be allowed to buy it for the wedding. I had a whole week to convince Mom and Dad.

  I froze.

  A week from today. That was the day of the wedding.

  Saturday.

  The same day as the Christmas caroling I’d just planned.

  Uh-oh.

  I picked up the phone and began tapping out Claudia’s number.

  “Hey! Quit it!” shouted my brother, Adam, over the phone. “I’m talking!”

  I was about to yell at him, tell him to get off, but I didn’t. I just said “Sorry” and hung up.

  It was no use. Claudia was already calling Mrs. Barrett. Confirming the appointment.

  One thing you never, ever do as a BSC member is cancel an appointment — unless you have somebody to cover for you. (Even then Kristy chews you out.)

  With a sigh, I slumped onto the bed. I was stuck. I was going to have to let down all those kids.

  Well, maybe not. We hadn’t said we were definitely doing it. Had we?

  I waited a few minutes and picked up the phone again. Adam was finished, so I called Ben.

  I explained everything to him. I hoped he wouldn’t be too mad.

  The first thing he said was, “Cancel it.”

  “Cancel my job?” I asked. “I can’t do that.”

  “Well, you said you’d do this first.”

  “Yeah, but this is a job.”

  “So? What am I going to tell the kids?”

  “Ben, we said we’d think about caroling. We didn’t say we would do it!”

  “Tell them that. My brothers have been practicing! They can’t wait.”

  I fell silent. I could hear Ben breathing like an angry bull. “I … I don’t know what to say,” I murmured.

  “So you’re going to cancel on us?” Now he was practically shouting.

  “I have to, Ben.”

  “Fine. Great. Whatever.”

  Click.

  I stared at the receiver, gaping.

  He hung up on me. Just slammed the phone down without saying good-bye.

  What a jerk.

  I slammed the phone down, too. Let him take the kids by himself. Let him do whatever he wanted by himself.

  No way was I ever going to talk to him again.

  You know what Stacey calls me? A little dictator. Because I dictated my entry to her.

  Stacey thinks that is very funny.

  I know how to write. But it takes too long. Anyway, I really like the way Stacey puts hearts on her i’s. So I let her write, when she baby-sat for me.

  I am in my old house. I miss it so much. Even though I still live here. That’s because my family will be moving. So we’re kind of connected to the new house now.

  I miss my old bed, too. I’m going to sleep on a bunk bed in the new house, with Madeleine, my new sister. She’s only four. I’m five and five-twelfths.

  Know what else? Soon I will have two daddies. My new one is named Franklin. Maybe he is related to Benjamin Franklin. I asked him that once, and he just laughed. But he did not say no.

  My old daddy got a divorce. He lives in Milwaukee now. That’s far away. Like a million miles, or maybe even a thousand. But not a googolplex. That’s the highest number in the universe. My big brother, Buddy, told me.

  I miss my old daddy even more than my old house and bed.

  The new house is yucky. I do not not NOT want to move there.

  We went there the day before yesterday with my new daddy’s kids. Stacey went with us, but she mostly played with Marnie and Ryan. The house smelled like paint. Ick! And the kitchen wallpaper had pictures of broccoli on it. So we have to look at it while we eat. That is so disgusting. One of the bathrooms has a gross hole in the ground instead of a toilet. Franklin said the plumbers were coming to put in a new one.

  The ceilings have holes, too, with wires coming out of them. Buddy said they were alien monster claws, and I got scared. Mommy yelled at him. He’s mean to me.

  I thought I heard a rat downstairs, too, but Mommy told me to shush.

  I shushed. I walked through the house. I saw the new carpet in my bedroom. Madeleine turned on the shower by mistake and got wet. Taylor and me slid on the shiny living room floor.

  We bonked against one wall. Then we bonked against the other, and the other, and the wall with windows. And then I noticed THE MOST HORRIBLE THING.

  “Mommy?” I called out. “Mommy!”

  Mommy came walking in. “What?”

  “They covered up the fireplace.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The workers. They put plaster over the fireplace. Look!” I pointed to the long, blank wall at the end of the room. Where the fireplace is in our old house.

  Mommy sighed. “Suzi, nobody covered anything. This house has no chimney.”

  “It doesn’t?”

  “Duh,” Buddy said. I didn’t even see him come into the room.

  “Duh to you!” Taylor yelled back.

  “Buddy,” Mommy said warningly, “you leave your sister alo —”

  “But what about Santa?” I asked.

  “What about him?” Mommy asked.

  “Where will he come in?”

  Mommy didn’t say anything. She looked at the wall. Then she looked around the living room. “Well …”

  Taylor started biting his fingernails.

  “Through the hole in the bathroom floor,” Buddy said.

  “Eeeewww!” Lindsey started laughing. She was in the hallway, behind Cruddy Buddy.

  “The window,” Mommy said. “We’ll leave the window open.”

  I looked out the living room window. “You mean, the reindeer will land on the lawn?”

  Buddy started laughing really loud.

  “Buddy, will you please go play somewhere else?” Mommy asked.

  My brother doesn’t believe in Santa Claus. But Santa still brings him presents. That is so unfair.

  “Hey, wait up!” Taylor called out. He ran after Buddy.

  I can’t believe Taylor likes my brother so much, when Buddy is so mean.

  “They can eat some grass,” I said to Mommy.

  “Huh?” she asked.

  “The reindeer. While they’re waiting.”


  Mommy smiled and gave me a kiss. Then she went into the kitchen.

  I looked at the window. I could put milk and cookies on the sill. Santa would see them there.

  But then I thought of something else.

  “Mommy!”

  Mommy came back in again. She had a tape measure in her hand. “What is it, sweetie?”

  “Did you tell Santa we moved?”

  “Tell him? Uh, I suppose he has a list or something …”

  “What if he looks for us in our old house?”

  “Suzi —”

  “We won’t be there! He’ll think we died and he’ll give my toys to somebody else.”

  I started crying. Mommy sat on the floor against the wall with no fireplace. She held out her arms and I ran to her.

  “I don’t want to live in this stupid house!” I said.

  Mommy rocked me back and forth. “Let’s see,” she said. “How can we solve this problem?”

  We thought a minute.

  “What about, like, those planes on the beach?” I suggested. “You know, the ones pulling the signs? We could get one with our address on it.”

  “Uh, er,” Mommy said.

  “But then a robber might see it,” I realized.

  “Good point.”

  “Mommy, how many days till Christmas Eve?”

  “Twelve.”

  “How long does it take a letter to get to the North Pole?”

  Mommy smiled. “Oh, four or five. Maybe a week.”

  “Yes! Can we write Santa a letter?”

  “Sure, Suzi. As soon as we get home. Maybe Stacey can help you. She’s baby-sitting tonight.”

  “Okay!”

  Whew. Did I feel better.

  Like my letter? Mommy and I made a copy of it the next day. Then we went to the post office and mailed it.

  “Are you happy now, sweetheart?” asked my mommy.

  “Yes,” I said. But I wasn’t. “Mommy?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “How many kids are in the world? A googolplex?”

  “No, but millions. Maybe billions.”

  “How much room does a million letters take?”

  “I don’t know, Suzi. A few rooms, I guess.”

  “Oh.”

  A few rooms?

  Santa could never read that many letters! What if he didn’t read mine?

  “Mommy?”

  “Suzi. I’m driving —”

  I was so angry. “We can’t move until after Christmas!”

  “We just mailed your letter.”

  “The house is yucky. You can move there. I am staying home!” I folded my arms.

  We didn’t say another word the whole trip.

  “Done,” I said to myself.

  I shut the journal. I ran my finger down my list of things to do. WRITE JOURNAL ENTRY was the second to last thing. I crossed it off.

  The last thing on the list was KISS TIGGER GOOD-BYE.

  Tigger is my kitten. He’s gray and white and my absolute favorite creature on the whole earth.

  I know he sensed what was going to happen. He had this sad look in his eyes, and he hadn’t let me out of his sight since I’d gotten home from school.

  “Ohhhh, Tiggy.” I picked him up and wrapped him in my arms.

  Meeeeew? he said with this fragile, confused tone.

  Forget it. I could feel my heart just fall apart. Tears swam down my cheeks. “I’ll be back.”

  We stayed like that for awhile. Then I looked at my clock. Four-fifteen. Our plane was due to leave at seven, and we needed to allow time to get to the airport and pick up our tickets.

  I put Tigger down gently and ran downstairs. “Dad? Sharon? I’m ready.”

  Dad appeared at the foot of the stairs, looking at his watch. “Uh, we’re not driving to California, honey. We have a few hours.”

  “But we have to pick up Kristy and Claudia,” I said, “and what if we hit traffic on the way to the airport?”

  Dad sighed and began trudging upward. “Okay, I’ll bring down your suitcase. Since you want to leave us so badly —”

  “No, I don’t. It’s just that —”

  Sniff, sniff. Dad was pretending to cry. I could see his lips curling up into a smile.

  From the kitchen, my stepmother called, “Richard, stop it.”

  Sharon was smiling. (So was I. Dad can be pretty goofy when he wants to, but we still love him.) She was busily packing a lunch bag. “Brownies for your trip,” she said. “You don’t get much to eat on these flights.”

  “Great.” I tried to sound enthusiastic. The last time Sharon made brownies, she forgot to put in eggs. They tasted like chocolate rubber. (Sharon is soooo sweet, but she can be a little absent-minded.)

  She must have read my mind. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I bought them.”

  As she turned to look at me, she tried to smile. But I could see tears in her eyes.

  Me? I started blubbering again. We fell into each other’s arms. “It’s — it’s only for nine days,” I said between sobs. “Then Dawn and I will both be home.”

  “I know,” Sharon whispered.

  Poor Sharon. She sure had had her share of painful good-byes. First her divorce, then Jeff moving back to California with his dad, then Dawn’s long visit there.

  Somehow I hadn’t thought my trip would mean that much to her. But it did.

  And it made me realize just how close we’d grown.

  I could hear Dad’s footsteps booming down the stairs. “What did you pack in here, cement?” he grunted. When he reached the bottom step, he let the suitcase thump to the floor. Then he began flexing his arm. “Do I look like Ah-nold?” he asked, in a terrible Arnold Schwarzenegger imitation.

  Leave it to my dad. Sharon and I cracked up. I wiped my eyes, then quickly called Kristy and Claudia.

  Dad, Sharon, and I went out to the car, put my suitcase in the trunk, and took off.

  First we arrived at Claudia’s house. “Hi!” she squealed from the front door as we pulled up.

  She and her dad were each holding luggage as they came out of the house. Her sister and mom followed behind them, lugging an overstuffed, belted-together suitcase. They looked as if they were trying to drag out a hippo.

  “Is the whole family going?” Dad asked me quietly.

  “Uh, I don’t think so,” I replied.

  As Claudia ran to me, Dad got out to open the trunk. I could hear him grumble something about renting a moving van.

  Claudia and I hugged excitedly. “Oh, I have to ask you,” she said. “Did you bring a lined raincoat? I mean, I know it sometimes gets cold at night, so I brought a few sweaters. And I know it doesn’t rain much, but I did bring a slicker just in case. And some boots for the mud. But if it rains at night …”

  Thud!

  Thud!

  WHOOMP!

  Claudia’s suitcases landed in our trunk.

  “I think you’re prepared for anything,” I said.

  She hugged her parents and sister. Everyone said good-byes.

  We gabbed nonstop in the car. Soon we were pulling up to Kristy’s house, which is in Stoneybrook’s wealthy neighborhood.

  No, Kristy is not a rich snobby type. Far from it. Most of her life she lived in a normal house across the street from Claudia. Her dad abandoned the family when she was little (yes, abandoned, without even a good-bye), so her mom had to raise Kristy and her three brothers — Charlie (who’s now seventeen), Sam (fifteen), and David Michael (seven). In fact, Kristy dreamed up the idea for the Baby-sitters Club because she saw how tough it was for her mom to get a sitter.

  How did everything change for Kristy? It’s right out of a soap opera. Mrs. Thomas met this nice guy named Watson Brewer, who happened to be a millionaire. So Kristy got a new dad, a mansion to live in, two stepsiblings (Karen and Andrew), and later an adopted sister (Emily Michelle).

  And they were all there to say good-bye when we arrived. Kristy came bounding down the front steps with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder
.

  “Is that it?” Claudia asked.

  Kristy shrugged. “I’m not moving.” And that was that.

  To a loud chorus of “ ’byes” and “have funs,” we drove off.

  On the highway we played a memory game called “I Packed My Grandmother’s Trunk.” Everyone has to add one item, but only after repeating every item that’s already been added.

  By the time we got to the airport, we had packed (among other things) a bathtub, a flugelhorn, five frozen dinners, a dead wombat, a year’s supply of toilet paper, and a collapsible helicopter. (Don’t ask me.)

  It was 5:30 when we got on the ticket line. The terminal was packed. Kids were squirming in their down coats, couples were crying, huge families were wandering around like schools of fish.

  At the ticket counter, Kristy had to pretend one of Claudia’s suitcases was hers, so Claudia wouldn’t be charged for overweight luggage. We took our tickets and ran toward the gate.

  Except for Claudia. She ran to the snack shop.

  After eating a few Goobers and Heath Bars, and after another flurry of tearful good-byes, we were in the plane, sliding into our seats.

  My heart was pounding. My stomach was in a knot. I could barely speak. Claudia and Kristy were giggling for no special reason.

  This was it.

  We were on our way to California, JUST US!

  Kristy got the window seat, but we all crowded around her. We spotted Sharon and Dad looking for us through the waiting room window, arm in arm. We waved, but I don’t think they saw us.

  Ding, went a soft bell.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Flight 403 to Los Angeles,” an official-sounding voice announced. “If you’ll turn to the front of the cabin, the flight attendants will demonstrate the safety procedures.”

  Claudia looked excited enough to burst. Kristy paid close attention to the flight attendant.

  I tried hard to pay attention, too, but it was hopeless. I decided that if we crashed, I’d just do whatever Kristy did.

  The plane rolled along the ground for awhile, then took off. Connecticut was pitch-black, except for the crisscrossing expressways. Over New York, I felt as if we’d shrunk and were flying around inside the circuit board of some monster computer.

  We calmed down somewhere over western Pennsylvania. “What time do you have?” Claudia asked.

  “Eight-ten,” I replied.