“I have a friend,” said Jamie. “His name is Boris and he lives under the stairs. Want to meet him?”
“I meant a real friend.”
“Boris is real!”
“Okay, a friend you can see, not an invisible one.”
“We-ell …”
“Dawn is baby-sitting for the Perkins girls. Do you want to invite Myriah over? And maybe Gabbie?”
“Okay,” replied Jamie, “but not Laura. She’s another baby.”
Laura did come over, though. That was because Dawn came over, so of course she brought all the girls with her. The Perkins family had moved into Kristy’s old house, across the street from me. There are three Perkins girls. Myriah is five and a half, Gabbie is two and a half, and Laura is the baby. Jamie has become good friends with Myriah and Gabbie, and I can see why. They’re lots of fun. They love to sing and dance and put on shows. And Myriah takes all kinds of lessons and classes — tap dancing, acting, singing. She and Gabbie know the words to lots of long songs. When Laura is older, she’ll probably join her sisters in their acts. Right now she just watches them, cooing and smiling. (Sometimes I look at Lucy and Laura, who are practically the same age, and wonder if they’ll grow up together and become best friends, like Mary Anne and Kristy did.)
When the Newtons’ doorbell rang, Jamie greeted our visitors with his call of, “Hi-hi! Hi-hi!”
“Hi-hi!” replied Dawn, Myriah, and Gabbie obediently.
“Hi-hi!” I said to Dawn, and giggled.
We were about to take the five children into the Newtons’ backyard when the phone rang. I dashed for it. “Hello, Newtons’ residence,” I said.
“Hi, Claud, it’s me.”
“Hi, Stace! What’s going on?”
“The weather’s so beautiful that even Charlotte wants to be out in it.”
“No kidding.” Stacey was baby-sitting at another house in the neighborhood, for eight-year-old Charlotte Johanssen. Charlotte is a wonderful kid — we all love her. She’s quiet and sensitive (a little like Mary Anne), and extremely bright. She’s already skipped a grade in school. Charlotte’s main interests are reading and studying. (She has friends, though. Her very best friend is Becca Ramsey, Jessi’s younger sister.) Anyway, Charlotte’s request to play outside was a little unusual. “Come on over here,” I said. “Dawn just came by with Myriah and Gabbie and Laura. Maybe Charlotte would like to play with the kids.”
“Okay. Thanks. We’ll walk Carrot over.” Carrot is the Johanssens’ schnauzer. He’s getting a little fat. I mean, for a schnauzer.
No sooner had I hung up the phone than it rang again. “Sheesh,” I mumbled. I picked up the receiver. “Hello, Newtons’ residence.”
“Hi, Claud.”
“Mary Anne?”
“Yeah. I’m at the Hobarts’. I’m sitting for Mathew and Johnny.”
The Hobarts have four boys. And they live in Mary Anne’s old house! Mary Anne was watching the two younger Hobarts. (Mathew is six and Johnny is four. The oldest Hobart, Ben, is Mallory’s very first boyfriend.) “So what are you doing?” Mary Anne asked.
“Dawn’s here with the Perkins girls, and Stacey’s on her way over with Charlotte. And Carrot.”
“Oh. Darn. Johnny wanted Jamie to come over here.”
“Why don’t you bring the boys here? We’ll have a play group.”
“Awesome! We’ll be right over.”
Before I knew it, the Newtons’ backyard was crawling with kids. (And one dog.) Jamie, Lucy, Myriah, Gabbie, Laura, Charlotte, Mathew, and Johnny. (And Carrot.)
My friends and I watched them for a few moments.
“Hey, you know what?” I cried suddenly. “You know what we have here?”
“A zoo?” suggested Stacey.
“No, a band. Or the beginnings of one. Lucy and Laura are too little, of course, and I don’t know if Charlotte would want to be part of something like that, but here are five other kids.”
“Yeah!” said Dawn. “Well, let’s see what they think. Hey, you guys!” she called to the children swarming over Jamie’s swing set.
“What?” Jamie called back.
“Come here!”
“Me?”
“All of you. We have an idea.”
When the kids had gathered around us, my friends looked expectantly at me. “Um.” I cleared my throat. “Would you guys like to be in a band?”
“Whose band?” asked Myriah.
“Yours. I mean, ours. We’ll start our own band.”
“What’s a band?” Gabbie wanted to know.
Hmm. Good question. “Well, it’s a group of people playing songs together on musical instruments,” I replied.
“Are you going to teach us to play the instruments?” asked Jamie.
“Some of you,” answered Stacey. “Some of you already play instruments.”
“I play the violin,” spoke up Mathew, proudly.
“I play the guitar,” added Charlotte, sounding shy.
“You do? I didn’t know that,” said Stacey.
“I just started taking lessons. I was going to wait until I got good before I told anybody about it.”
“You mean you’d want to be in the band?” said Mary Anne incredulously.
“I think so.” Char’s voice was a whisper, but she was smiling.
“Maybe the band should have some singers,” suggested Myriah. “Gabbie and I are very good singers.”
“I want to play the drums,” said Johnny Hobart, “only I don’t have any. We rented a violin for Mathew, but I don’t have drums.”
“Then we’ll make some,” said Mary Anne. “It’s easy.”
The kids were becoming excited.
“What could I play?” asked Jamie.
“We’ll need more instruments,” said Charlotte.
“How about some other band members?” I asked.
“Becca!” exclaimed Charlotte. “If I’m in the band, she’s in the band.”
“Maybe the Pike kids,” suggested Stacey.
“Cool. We’ll invite them over.”
“Right now?” asked Mary Anne.
“Why not?”
Twenty minutes later the yard was even more jam-packed. The twelve of us had been joined by Jessi with Becca, and Mal with Nicky, Margo, and Claire, the three youngest Pikes. Nicky is eight, Margo is seven, and Claire is five.
I explained the band to its four newest members, and now all I could hear were cries of, “I want to play the tambourine!” “I want to play a harmonica!” “I want to make lots of noise!” (That was Nicky.) “Does anyone have a tuba?” (That was Claire, who has never played the tuba. “You don’t even know what a tuba looks like,” Margo said witheringly to her sister.)
Mary Anne, our dutiful club secretary, found a pencil and a memo pad in the Newtons’ kitchen. She brought them into the backyard and began making notes: who wanted to sing, who wanted to play instruments, who needed instruments, and so forth.
“Someone should call Kristy and tell her what’s going on,” said Dawn.
“We should call the Rodowskys, too. After all, they gave me the idea for the band,” I pointed out.
“We should probably call a lot of other kids,” added Stacey. “We don’t want to leave anyone out.”
Mary Anne flipped to another page on the memo pad and carefully wrote: KIDS TO CALL. We listed Kristy’s younger brothers and sister, the Barretts, the Arnold twins, Jenny Prezzioso, Nina Marshall, and the Braddocks.
“Anyone else?” I asked during a lull in the activity.
“Maybe the Papadakis kids,” said Dawn.
“How about the Lowells?” added Mary Anne. “Since they’re new clients of the BSC, it might be nice to ask them to join. Anyway, I like the kids. For one thing, they’re obedient. They’ll be able to follow directions.”
I grinned. “Good idea. I’m sitting at the Lowells’ tomorrow, so I’ll ask them then.”
Mary Anne scribbled furiously on her pad.
Mrs. Lowell had asked me to arri
ve at three-thirty the next afternoon. I didn’t want to be late for my new job, so I raced directly to the Lowells’ as soon as school let out. I didn’t bother to go home first. As a result I was standing on the Lowells’ front doorstep at exactly 3:19. Good, I thought. It can’t hurt to show up early for new clients.
I pressed the doorbell and heard chimes ring in the house. When the door opened, I put on a bright smile. “Hi!” I said.
The woman standing in the entryway did not smile. And she hesitated before saying, “Hello. I’m Mrs. Lowell. Claudia?”
I nearly replied, “Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Lowell made me feel … formal. But my mouth had gone dry, so I just nodded.
Mrs. Lowell nodded back. “Well, come on inside.” She walked away, leaving me to open the screen door and let myself inside. I followed her into the kitchen, trying to think of something to say.
The best I could come up with was, “Mary Anne really liked Caitlin and Mackie and Celeste. Um, are they here?”
“Caitlin and Mackie aren’t home from school yet. Celeste is napping,” was the reply. Mrs. Lowell looked everywhere but at me.
Suddenly I knew what was wrong. I’d eaten a bag of cashews on the way to the Lowells’ house. I bet bits of nuts were stuck between my teeth. And Mrs. Lowell was so embarrassed for me she didn’t know what to say. But I ran my tongue over my teeth and felt nothing. Hmm. Maybe my mascara had smeared. Or my hair was parted strangely. Or I had arrived too early after all.
“Claudia? Are you paying attention to me?” snapped Mrs. Lowell.
“Yes, ma’am.” (Actually, I wasn’t.)
“Our next-door neighbor is Mr. Selznick,” she went on. “He’s usually home during the day. You can call him in an emergency.”
“Does he work at home?” I asked. (Maybe he was an artist.)
“What does it matter?”
I know I blushed then. I just know it. My face grew hot. It must have turned the color of a fire engine.
I shrugged and looked down. As I did, I caught sight of my black leggings and high-topped sneakers, my fringed blue-jean vest and beaded Indian belt, my six silver rings and …
Uh-oh. That was it. Mrs. Lowell didn’t approve of my outfit. She thought it was too wild. It wasn’t appropriate for her kids. That must be it. Mary Anne had written about the Lowell kids’ clothes in the club notebook, how neatly and properly they were dressed, especially Caitlin and Mackie in their school uniforms. Of course, Mary Anne would have been neatly and properly dressed, too. She always is, thanks to her father. No wonder Mrs. Lowell didn’t like me. And no wonder she had liked Mary Anne.
As Mrs. Lowell was finishing up her list of instructions, the front door burst open and then a girl and boy rushed into the kitchen.
“Hi, Mom!” cried the girl.
“Hi, Mommy!” cried the boy.
Mrs. Lowell’s face softened into a warm smile. “Hi, kids. How was school? Come have a snack.”
“But, Mom, who’s that?” The girl was pointing at me.
“Caitlin, Mackie, this is your baby-sitter, Claudia Kishi,” said Mrs. Lowell. She paused, then added, “Please be nice to her.”
I forced a smile. “Hi, Caitlin. Hi, Mackie,” I said.
Mackie said nothing, but Caitlin covered her mouth and giggled. I hoped that was a good sign.
“Well,” said Mrs. Lowell presently, “I suppose I should go now.” But she didn’t. She couldn’t seem to leave the room.
“Don’t worry about Celeste,” I said. “I mean, if you’re afraid she’ll be scared when she wakes up and finds a sitter here.”
“No, it isn’t that,” said Mrs. Lowell vaguely.
So what was it?
I didn’t find out. Mrs. Lowell finally managed to leave. Whew. Oh, well. I would only have to face her for a few more minutes at the end of the afternoon. In between I would have fun with the obedient, curious, and well-behaved children Mary Anne had liked so much.
Wrong.
The afternoon started off badly.
Caitlin and Mackie ate four Oreos each and reached for more. “Wait!” I cried. “That’s enough!”
“We’re hungry,” said Caitlin, and grabbed a handful of cookies before I could put the package away.
She and her brother ate greedily, then jumped up and ran out of the kitchen, leaving a crumb-covered table behind. I began to clean the kitchen while they shrieked through the house.
“Quiet!” I hissed.
They shrieked around until I could hear someone crying.
“Who’s hurt?” I called.
“Nobody!” Mackie replied. “Celeste’s awake!”
Well, no wonder. I dashed upstairs. “Caitlin, Mackie,” I said, “please wipe the kitchen table while I get Celeste up.”
The kids disappeared downstairs, then returned quickly.
“We have to talk to Celeste,” Caitlin announced. “We have to tell her about her new baby-sitter.”
Maybe that was a good idea. Celeste was still crying. She was probably confused. Her sister and brother would be able to calm her down. I stepped into the hallway, leaving the three kids in Celeste’s room. Several minutes passed and the sound of crying faded away. I could hear only the low murmur of voices.
“Everything all right in there?” I called.
“Yup!” replied someone, probably Caitlin.
“Okay, then I’m coming in.” When I returned to Celeste’s room, she gazed at me from where she was sitting on her bed sandwiched between her brother and sister. And she didn’t stop staring until Mackie nudged her in her side.
“Celeste, do you want a snack?” I asked.
She nodded. And Mackie cried, “Me, too!”
“You just had one,” I reminded him.
“Well, I want another.”
“So do I,” added Caitlin.
“No way.”
“I’ll tell Mom you were a mean sitter,” said Caitlin, eyes narrowed.
I stood before the Lowell children, trying to decide how to handle the situation. I remembered the time Stacey had tried something she called “reverse psychology” on the two bratty Delaney kids who used to live across the street from Kristy’s new house. How had that worked? Had she told them to do the opposite of what she really wanted them to do? That sounded right.
“Okay,” I said, “I guess you guys didn’t have enough to eat before. You better try to finish off that package of cookies.”
“The whole package?!” exclaimed Caitlin.
“Really? You mean it?” cried Mackie.
Uh-oh. Now what? This wasn’t how Stacey’s reverse psychology was supposed to work. I could picture what would happen that afternoon. The kids would gorge themselves with Oreos and be sick to their stomachs by the time their mother came home. That would be great, just great.
“Um,” I began.
Ring, ring.
“Telephone! I’ll get it!” shrieked Caitlin. She dashed out of Celeste’s room. Several moments later I heard her call, “Claudia! For you!”
Caitlin handed me the extension in the hallway. It’s probably Mrs. Lowell, I thought miserably. She’s phoning to check up on me.
But the caller was Mary Anne.
“I’m at the Hobarts’,” she said. “A whole bunch of us are here. We’re planning the band. Do the Lowells want to join?”
“Oh, my gosh! I forgot to ask them. I think we’ll just walk on over there so the kids can see what’s going on. We need to get out of the house. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
The Lowells forgot about the cookies when I told them we were going to take a walk and meet some new kids, and that they would get to see Mary Anne again. Soon we were milling around the Hobarts’ backyard along with Myriah and Gabbie, who had run over from next door; Jamie Newton; Mallory with Nicky, Margo, and Claire; Kristy with David Michael, Karen, and Andrew; Stacey with Charlotte; Dawn with the Rodowsky boys; and Mary Anne with Jenny Prezzioso. A few other neighborhood kids had arrived, too.
The yard was full of noise
and fun.
“I brought my kazoo,” announced Jackie.
“I found a pair of tom-toms in our basement,” said Haley Braddock. “Matt can play those because he can feel the beat.” (Haley’s brother Matt is profoundly deaf.)
Celeste spotted Mary Anne, ran to her, and clung to her hands (what was wrong with me?), but Mackie and Caitlin joyfully joined the other kids in planning the band and deciding what songs to learn. They had so much fun that when it was time to leave I hated to call them away. And believe me, they did not want to be called away.
“I don’t want to leave!” cried Mackie.
“Maybe,” said Caitlin, eyeing me, “Claudia will let us eat Oreos when we get home. We never got to eat our extras.”
“No Oreos,” I said. “It’s too close to dinner now.”
“But we’re hungry!” said Mackie.
“Good, then you’ll have plenty of room for your supper.”
I walked the Lowell kids home (after I pried Celeste away from Mary Anne), and they whined and complained the entire way.
“You promised us Oreos,” said Caitlin.
“I promised you Oreos when it was four o’clock. Now it’s too late.”
“Hmphh.”
Back at the Lowells’ house, I settled the kids into a game of Memory. They kept slipping out of the family room, though. One at a time. Soon I discovered what they were doing. Sneaking grapes.
“I said no snacking!” I cried.
“No, you didn’t!” replied Mackie. “You said no Oreos.”
I sighed.
I prayed for Mrs. Lowell’s safe and quick return.
I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
“Junk food, anyone?” I asked. I pulled a sack of Payday bars from the depths of one of my bureau drawers.
“Got any chips or Fritos?” asked Stacey.
“Or wheat germ biscuits?” asked Dawn.
“Oh, yeah. Right. Wheat germ biscuits. I have them hidden here under the bed along with my endless supply of tofu.” (Dawn laughed.) “Will you settle for unsalted stone-ground wheat crackers?” I asked.
Dawn raised her eyebrows. “Sure!” she exclaimed.
“Me, too!” added Stacey. Then she frowned. “Oh, you’re kidding. I get it. Silly me. For a moment, I thought —”
Keep Out, Claudia! (9780545690508) Page 3