Stacey's Broken Heart

by Ann M. Martin

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Letter from Ann M. Martin

  Acknowledgment

  About the Author

  Scrapbook

  Also Available

  Copyright

  Oh, no! I thought as a girl with dark brown hair and a wide smile walked toward us. Things were going so well, too. My perfect summer day with Robert was about to be ruined.

  I reached over and took Robert’s hand, intertwining my fingers with his. He’d just bitten into a tuna sandwich on a roll, but he smiled at me with his eyes. I returned his smile.

  We had spent the whole morning together playing tennis. (He’d won three games and I’d won three.) Then we’d biked to the deli and brought back lunch, which we were now eating as we sat on a green bench by the outdoor courts. It was perfect end-of-summer weather, warm but with a cool breeze. The day had been so much fun. I wanted it to go on — undisturbed by Andi Gentile — forever.

  Robert hadn’t yet noticed Andi Gentile approaching. He was looking at me. Maybe if I pretended I didn’t see her he wouldn’t notice her, either. Maybe she’d just keep walking.

  I swiveled around and acted fascinated by a tennis game at one of the courts behind us. (And I do mean acted. The two people playing were moving at a snail’s pace.) “Look, Robert,” I said. “Doesn’t that guy have a great serve?”

  “I guess,” Robert said, eyeing the game skeptically. “It’s kind of slow motion.”

  “Hi, guys,” Andi exclaimed.

  No luck.

  “Oh, hi, Andi,” I replied with casual friendliness as I turned away from the slowest game of tennis on earth.

  “Andi! Hi!” Robert said, quickly wiping at his mouth with a white deli napkin. He swallowed his tuna in one big gulp. “How are you?”

  “Okay,” she replied, rocking on the soles of her gleaming white sneakers and casually swinging her chrome tennis racket.

  I didn’t like the way he was smiling at Andi. Calm down, Stacey, I ordered myself. There was no reason to worry about Andi. Robert and Andi were just friends.

  “I’m meeting Sheila here for tennis,” Andi informed us as if that were great news.

  Not Sheila MacGregor, too! I thought. Of all the girls who hang around with Robert’s old crowd of friends, Andi and Sheila are not the worst. Not by far. I even sort of like Andi. But I wasn’t in the mood to hang out with them today. I didn’t want them spoiling this time with Robert.

  You see, lately Robert has been spending less and less time with his old crowd and I want it to stay that way. Those kids have caused me so much grief, you wouldn’t believe it. They almost got me in trouble for shoplifting, and I even stopped hanging around with my real friends because of them.

  Sure, they’re popular kids and all, but I think their values are the pits. They’re not what I’d call true friends at all.

  Believe me, I know what real friends are because I have them. Seven of them to be exact. Kristy, Mary Anne, Abby, Claudia (my very best friend), Mallory, Jessi, and Dawn. (Even though Dawn has moved to California, she’s still a friend.) When you add me — Stacey McGill — we make up eight devoted friends who would do anything for one another. We’re even in a club together, the Baby-sitters Club. I’ll tell you more about that later.

  For now, though, let me get back to the story of my ruined summer day. (Well, almost ruined, anyway.)

  I definitely did not like the way Robert was smiling at Andi. Not that Robert isn’t allowed to smile at other people. That would be ridiculous. But it was the way he was smiling that bothered me. He was smiling with his eyes and his mouth, smiling as though he were really glad to be talking to Andi.

  Andi was telling Robert this supposedly funny story about how a friend of theirs, Jacqui Grant, got caught going from movie to movie at the quadraplex in the Washington Mall. I know it’s not the worst crime on earth, but still, those kids are always doing things like that. They’re always getting into trouble and they seem to think it’s funny.

  Apparently Andi thought this story about Jacqui was hysterical. She was nearly breathless with laughter. “And then … and then …” she gasped, struggling to speak through all her laughing. “When the usher wasn’t looking, she ducked into the Disney movie and had to crawl down the aisle to get away from him.”

  Robert roared with laughter at this. “I can just picture her crawling around in the dark,” he said.

  “I know! I know!” Andi laughed, putting her hand on Robert’s shoulder as if she were laughing so hard she needed him to hold her up. “Guess how she got caught? She got her foot stuck between two seats. When the usher came after her she was sprawled in the middle of the aisle. Helpless! She couldn’t even move! She just looked up at him and said, ‘I seem to be stuck.’ ”

  That really set them off. Even I had to smile, not because I thought it was so funny but because their laughter was contagious.

  They were doubled over with hysterics, and I was so distracted by them that we didn’t notice Sheila until she was right in front of us. While Andi was dressed in tennis whites, Sheila wore a tight purple unitard that showed off her perfect figure. (All Sheila’s outfits show off her figure.) She tossed back her silky, thick blonde hair. “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “I’m telling Robert and Stacey what happened to Jacqui,” Andi replied, panting.

  “Oh, isn’t that hysterical?” Sheila laughed.

  “Hey,” Andi said. “Why don’t we play doubles?”

  “Yeah, why not?” Robert agreed, scooping his racket up off the bench.

  “No thanks,” I said, my voice overlapping Robert’s. “We’ve already played six games. I’m pretty pooped.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Sheila said with sickly sweet sympathy. “Your illness and all.”

  “No, it’s not that,” I said quickly. “I’m just tired.” Sheila was referring to the fact that I’m diabetic, which means my body has trouble controlling the sugar levels in my bloodstream. Diabetes is a serious disease but I can live a normal life as long as I give myself injections of insulin every day and stick to a strict, healthy diet. (No sweets. Or my system would go wild and I could even go into a coma.) There’s no doubt that having diabetes is a major drag, but I don’t let it stop me from doing anything I want to do.

  “I guess we won’t play then,” Robert said, looking disappointed.

  “You can, if you want,” I offered, knowing full well he wouldn’t.

  “Come on,” Andi coaxed him. “One quick game.”

  “No, thanks. Another time,” Robert said. Waving, Sheila and Andi went off to play their tennis game. Robert turned to me. “Do you feel all right? Do you want to go home?”

  “I feel fine,” I answered honestly. “I just didn’t want to play tennis with them.”

  Robert nodded. He knows how I feel about his friends so I didn’t have to explain. “Okay,” he said. “What do you want to do now?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted with a shrug. “Want to try that new computer game my dad gave me? Mom and I set it up last night. It’s pretty fun.”

  Robert stood up. “Sounds cool. But will your mother mind me being in the living room?” (Mom’s rule is that Robert is allowed to come into the house while she’s at work, but we have to stay in the kitchen.) “The TV is definitely in
your living room, remember?” he added.

  Personally I didn’t see any difference between being in the kitchen and being in the living room. “I’ll call her when we get to my house. I’m sure she won’t care as long as I let her know.”

  We took our bikes from the nearby bike rack and put our rackets into my basket. As we rode through Stoneybrook (our quiet Connecticut town) I thought about Andi and Sheila. Why had I let them bug me? Andi was really okay, and Sheila had been the one who first let me know that Robert liked me. They weren’t horrible.

  Was it because I felt that Robert wanted to hang out with them? Possibly. I wanted him to want to be with me — only me. Was that jealousy? Maybe.

  I didn’t want to be jealous. I don’t think jealousy is a particularly attractive trait in a person. “We can go back and play tennis with them,” I told Robert as we pulled up alongside each other at a stop sign.

  “No, it’s okay,” Robert said. “It sounded like fun at the time, but I know you’re not really wild about Andi and Sheila.”

  “They’re all right, I suppose, but, you know … I want to spend the time with you,” I explained.

  “Yeah, me, too,” Robert said. “I’d rather be with you, too.”

  We pushed off on our bikes and I suddenly felt light and happy. My perfect day with Robert hadn’t been ruined after all. I was glad he’d rather be with me. My worries had been silly.

  I promised myself never again to let mistrust or jealousy get the best of me. Robert and I were tight. Definitely. Nothing could change that.

  When we reached my house, I used my keys to let us in the side door. Since it was Monday, Mom was still at work. The house was quiet. Which was why I jumped when the phone rang.

  “Hello?” I said when I’d recovered from my surprise. It was Dad!

  My mom and dad are divorced. My dad still lives in Manhattan, which is where I lived most of my life. I spend lots of weekends with him in the city, which I love. Not only do I get to see Dad, I get to spend time in Manhattan. I am a huge fan of New York City. (Not that I hate Stoneybrook or anything. I like it here, too. But this way I get the best of both worlds.)

  “Hi, honey,” Dad said. “I thought I’d just call and say hello.” We talked awhile about his work. (Dad’s a workaholic.) I told him about playing tennis with Robert. He told me he’d gone Rollerblading in Central Park with his friend (girlfriend?) Samantha. We agreed to Rollerblade together the next Saturday when I came to visit.

  I had just hung up when the phone rang again. “Sorry,” I said to Robert, who’d sat down at the kitchen table and was reading Time magazine. “Whoever this is, I won’t stay on long.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s cool,” he said. “I’m reading this article on Michael Jordan.”

  I picked up the phone and was greeted by a female voice I recognized from somewhere. I just couldn’t remember where. “Hello. Stacey?”

  “Mrs. Walker!” I cried, suddenly remembering. “Hi! How are you?” Mr. and Mrs. Walker are a couple who live in our old Manhattan apartment building, the one we lived in before Mom and Dad split up. They have two adorable kids whom I’d baby-sat for a bunch of times. The Walkers are both artists. (She illustrates books and he does huge oil paintings.) Their apartment is crammed with great art.

  “We’re all fine,” Mrs. Walker replied. “And I’m calling because Mr. Walker and I are wildly busy these days. We’re trying to pull together a joint showing of our work at the Fitzroy Gallery.”

  “The Fitzroy is major!” I said. The Fitzroy is a big gallery several blocks away from where they live. Famous artists show their work there. It was a very big deal for the Walkers to have an exhibit there.

  Mrs. Walker laughed lightly. “Yes, it is major. And we desperately want it to be perfect. Unfortunately the day camp Henry and Grace are now attending ends this Friday. Gabriel and I will never be ready for the show on time if we have the children underfoot all next week.”

  “So you need a baby-sitter,” I guessed.

  “Desperately!” she exclaimed. “We are madly in need of your services.”

  I chuckled to myself. I really like Mrs. Walker, but she has a funny, very melodramatic way of talking. Everything is desperate! Mad! Hopeless! Fabulous! To me, it makes her seem very artistic, very New York.

  “Could you come and spend the week, Stacey?” she asked. “I was thinking you could stay with your father and then come baby-sit every day. We would be forever grateful and, of course, we’d pay you.”

  A whole week in New York! “I’d love to!” I said, without even thinking. I’d be with Dad. I’d be in the city. And, I’d be with the Walkers.

  The Walkers know tons of interesting, sometimes even famous, people. Their place is always full of excitement. Grace and Henry are cute, too. What could be better?

  “I’ll have to check with Mom and Dad,” I added. “But I think it will be fine. I don’t see why not.”

  Mrs. Walker sighed deeply. “I hope so. I can’t tell you what a relief this is. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome. When do you need me to start?”

  “Could you be here this coming Saturday?”

  “I think so. I was coming in to visit Dad, anyway.”

  “Super! Just super! Call me tonight to let me know for sure.”

  “All right,” I agreed. “I hope I’ll see you next Saturday.”

  “Wow! You look happy,” Robert said as I hung up. “What was that about?”

  I told him, and his face fell. “A whole week!” he exclaimed.

  “It’s just one week,” I said.

  “But it’s the end of the summer,” he protested. “We won’t have much more free time before school.”

  “Aw, come on, Robert,” I said, sitting beside him at the table. “It’s not like we won’t see each other once school starts. We’ll see each other every day in school. The week will go really fast. This is a chance for me to make some money and see my father. The Walkers are cool people, too.”

  “Well, I suppose,” Robert said in a slightly sulky voice. “I’ll miss you, though.”

  His words made me happy. I was glad he’d miss me. “I’ll miss you, too,” I said, laying my hand on his wrist. “But the time will go by like nothing. You’ll see.”

  “I hope so,” he mumbled, forcing a smile.

  “It will,” I insisted. “A week is nothing.”

  I didn’t know then that the week wasn’t going to be nothing. It turned out to be really something.

  Robert and I started to play the computer game my dad gave me, Marvel in the Mist. (I had phoned Mom and she said it was okay for us to stay in the living room together.) We played for three and a half hours. We might have played longer but I had to leave for my BSC meeting.

  BSC is short for Baby-sitters Club — it’s what almost everyone calls the club. At 5:20 I arrived at my friend Claudia’s house on Bradford Court, which is where our meetings are always held. I knew it was 5:20 exactly because I checked Claudia’s digital clock as soon as I stepped into her bedroom. Kristy, our president, is a real nut about being on time.

  “Hi, Stacey,” Claudia greeted me.

  “Hey, look at you!” Abby said, smiling. She sat cross-legged on Claudia’s bed. “Where did you get the Florida tan? Did you use that instant tan stuff that comes in a tube?”

  “Oh, no way!” Kristy laughed and grimaced at the same time. She sat in her usual spot, Claudia’s director’s chair. “That stuff’s too weird. You didn’t use that, did you, Stacey?”

  “Tennis,” I told them. “I guess I got tan playing tennis. But what’s wrong with that tanning stuff? I think it’s kind of cool.” Kristy, Abby, Claudia, and I started discussing artificial tanning creams while we waited for the others to arrive.

  As we talked, I checked out my image in the mirror. Even though I wore sunblock, I was tan. Cool. I know it’s not supposed to be great for your skin, but my eyes always look bluer when I’m tan. I quickly picked out my blonde shoulder-
length perm with my fingers and turned back to the conversation.

  “I get tan even though I wear sunblock,” Abby complained.

  “You’re lucky,” said Kristy.

  As this talk went on I started to think how lucky I was to have good friends like my BSC pals. Even when we have light conversations like this, I feel so warm and at ease. Totally accepted. My BSC friends know me well and like me as I am. It’s a great feeling.

  But before I go any further, let me tell you about the BSC and its members. First, a crash course in BSC history. Ready?

  It all started with Kristy Thomas’s great idea. The idea was: have a single phone number where parents can contact several qualified baby-sitters at once. This saves parents from having to call all around town looking for a sitter. Simple, but brilliant. Most of Kristy’s many ideas are like that.

  In the beginning, the several qualified baby-sitters were Kristy (of course), her best friend Mary Anne, their good friend Claudia, and me. I’d just moved to Stoneybrook and become friends with Claudia. She was the one who suggested me for the club. We put up fliers advertising the club, listing Claudia’s phone number since she has her own private line. Then we sat in her room and waited.

  We didn’t wait long. The phone started ringing almost immediately. In no time, we were so busy that we invited Dawn — who had moved from California to Stoneybrook — to join. Things were going great.

  Then, disaster struck.

  Not disaster, really. But it felt like it at the time. Dad’s company transferred him back to Manhattan, so my family had to pack up and leave. The BSC was then short one member, but had more clients than ever. That was when Mallory and Jessi came on as junior BSC officers. They’re junior because they’re younger (eleven) than the rest of us, who are thirteen.

  Things during my short stay in Manhattan were interesting, to say the least. The bad news was that Mom and Dad split up. The good news was that I returned to Stoneybrook with Mom. It was good, too, because although I’m wild for Manhattan, I missed my Stoneybrook friends terribly. I was glad to be back and they were happy to have me. Club business was booming and they needed me badly.

  Not long afterward, I left the club for a while. That’s because I got the crazy idea that the girls in Robert’s group were cooler than my BSC friends. What a laugh! When I think that I almost lost my true friends because of those girls, it gives me the chills. Once I saw how wrong I’d been I rejoined the club. Kristy let me come back on probation (which meant I was on trial), but now I’m as in as ever before.