Stacey smiled. “Oops.”
“Right this way!” a waiter called out. He led Stacey and Claudia to a table in the back of the restaurant.
Stacey put her bag under her chair. “Order me plain broiled chicken and a green salad with dressing on the side. I’ll be right back.”
The floor near the Newtons’ booth was spotless now. Stacey snuck up quietly, keeping herself out of view behind the high-backed seat. Jamie, who’s four, was slurping spaghetti, his back turned to her. She gently placed her hands over his eyes. “Guess who?”
Mrs. Newton winked and nodded hello. Lucy drooled.
Jamie said, “Laverne?”
“Who’s Laverne?” Stacey asked.
“The waitress,” Jamie replied.
“Nnnngeeee!” Lucy squealed.
“Wrong again.” Stacey pulled her hands away. “Surprise!”
When Jamie saw her, he scowled. Before Stacey could react, he slipped out of his seat and walked away.
“Jamie?” Mrs. Newton called out. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll bring him back,” Stacey volunteered.
She turned and gave Claudia the one-finger I’ll-be-with-you-in-a-minute signal. Then she took off.
Jamie headed toward the gumball machines near the door. But just as Stacey caught up to him, he scampered off again.
“Ohhhh, playing hard-to-get?” Stacey said.
Jamie nearly plowed into a busboy, who was carrying a full tray. He headed straight into the men’s room, pulling the door closed behind him.
Stacey stood outside the bathroom and knocked. “It’s me.”
“You can’t come in!” he shouted through the closed door. “It’s for boys and men!”
“I know. I’ll wait.”
Well, she waited. And waited.
Finally an old man walked up and pulled the door open. Jamie came flying out, his hand still tightly clutching the handle.
“Sorry, young fel —” the man began.
But Jamie was off again.
This time Stacey was able to follow close behind. She grabbed onto him and wrapped him in a big hug. “Got you!”
Jamie’s arms were flailing. “Let me go!”
“Okay, okay,” Stacey said, setting him down. “I was only joking.”
They were by the cashier now, in a corner safely away from the restaurant traffic. Jamie’s eyes were welling up. He wouldn’t look at Stacey.
“Wow, you’re in some mood,” Stacey said. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” he murmured.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“I want my mom.”
“Sure, Jamie.” Now Stacey was totally bewildered. She walked him back to the booth. He slid into the padded seat and shrunk into a corner.
“See, sweetheart, Stacey doesn’t hate you,” Mrs. Newton said.
“Hate you?” Stacey repeated. “Of course not. Why would I?”
Mrs. Newton looked up at Stacey with a weary smile. “I hired Erica Blumberg to sit a couple of times. I didn’t realize how that would affect Jamie. I mean, she’s a perfectly nice girl, but Jamie is used to the Baby-sitters Club. I tried to explain what had happened, but somehow he’s convinced himself that you all hate him.”
Stacey sidled into the seat next to Jamie. “That sure isn’t true. We still adore you.”
“Yeah?” Jamie said. “Then why is smelly Erica our sitter?”
“I told you, honey,” Mrs. Newton said to Jamie, “I won’t always be able to reach the same sitters as I used to. They’re not a club anymore.”
“Why not?” Jamie demanded.
“Well,” Stacey said, “it’s just that we all had a lot of other personal commitments and schoolwork, and we couldn’t keep our meeting times.”
Stacey felt foolish saying that. Jamie just looked at her as if she were speaking a foreign language.
Claudia eventually came over, lugging the two shopping bags, and she tried to console Jamie.
“Jamie,” Mrs. Newton finally said, “I promise, I’ll hire Stacey or Claudia to sit for you next time. And they’ll come. Right, girls?”
“Right,” Claudia and Stacey said.
Jamie grumbled an “Okay,” but he still didn’t seem happy.
By that time Lucy was restless, so the Newtons had to leave. Stacey and Claudia returned to their lukewarm lunches.
The glamour had gone out of the shopping trip.
Mr. Kishi picked them up soon afterward. His reaction to Claudia’s purchases? Well, let’s just say no one was singing on the ride home.
As soon as she was dropped off, Stacey ran inside. “Mo-o-o-om, come see what I —”
Her mother poked her head out of the kitchen. “Stacey, call Mrs. Prezzioso right away. She needs a sitter for tonight. Here’s the number.”
Stacey put down her bags and took a sheet of notepaper from her mom’s outstretched hand. “Thanks.”
She ran into the living room, sat on the sofa, and tapped out the Prezziosos’ number.
“Hello?” said Mrs. P.
“Hi, it’s Stacey! Listen, I’m sorry I wasn’t here but I can do the job —”
“You know, dear,” Mrs. P. interrupted, “I spent the whole morning on the phone. I did manage to reach Mary Anne, however, so I’m covered. But thanks for calling back.”
“You’re welcome,” Stacey replied, feeling a little deflated. “Say hi to Mary Anne.”
“Stacey, I hope you don’t mind my saying this,” Mrs. P. went on, “but this whole process was much easier when you were the Baby-sitters Club.”
Stacey let out a sigh. “I know, Mrs. P. Believe me, I know.”
“Twenty-four … thirty-eight … nineteen …
I, Quarterback Kristy, was waiting for the right moment to begin my pass play. My center, Charlie, was hunched in front of me, ready to snap the ball on command.
Honnnk! Honnnk! a car sounded from the street.
“Seventy-three … eight hundred and five …”
Our opposing team, David Michael and Sam, were starting to sag. “Bo-ring,” Sam called out.
That was my moment.
“Hike!” I yelled.
Honnnnnnk! went the car.
Charlie snapped the football to me and took off across our backyard like a shot.
I had our adversaries where I wanted them. Off balance. Lost in Duh-land.
I dropped back and passed. The ball spiraled toward Charlie’s waiting hands.
HONNNK!
Charlie dropped the ball.
“Arrrgh!” he cried out. “Who is that —”
Suddenly Stacey ran into the backyard. “Kristy, come quickly. Jackie’s in the hospital!”
So much for the game. I was off and running. “Tell Mom where I went!” I shouted over my shoulder.
Racing after Stacey, I called out, “What happened?”
“He fell off his bike and hurt his head,” Stacey yelled back.
Mrs. McGill’s car was idling at the curb. Abby was already sitting in the front seat. (She lives two houses away, so I guess the first few horn blasts had been for her.) Stacey and I jumped in the backseat and slammed the door.
As we pulled away from the curb, I asked, “Is he badly hurt?”
“Charlotte wasn’t sure,” Stacey replied. “She was the one who called to tell me. Her mom’s on duty in the emergency room. She managed to admit him right into a regular hospital room.”
“Was he wearing his helmet?” Abby asked.
“Nope,” Stacey replied.
I groaned. “I always tell him to!”
Stacey shrugged. “That’s Jackie.”
I could barely breathe as we sped along. Stacey’s eyes were misty. Abby was staring grimly out the window.
Before long Mrs. McGill was swerving into the Stoneybrook General Hospital parking lot. She found a space near the emergency room, and we all raced inside.
“Rodowsky!” I said to the receptionist.
She raised her eyebrows and poin
ted to the left. “Follow the crowd.”
Down the hallway, Mary Anne, Mallory, Jessi, and Claudia were gathered outside Jackie’s room.
We called hellos, and I peeked in.
Jackie was on a bed, propped almost upright, clutching an enormous stuffed bear. His mom, dad, Shea, and Archie sat on the other side of the bed, looking worried.
“Hi, Jackie!” I called out.
“Kristy!” Jackie turned and tried to climb out of bed.
Nine pairs of arms reached out to prevent another accident.
“Adverb,” Shea called out, reading from a Mad Libs booklet.
“What’s a adverb?” Archie asked.
Shea sighed wearily. “It’s a verb from an advertisement, like brush teeth or eat Wheaties.”
While a bunch of grammar volunteers tried to set Shea straight, I knelt down near Jackie. “I didn’t have time to buy flowers.”
He smiled. “I hate flowers. Did you bring chocolate?”
“Oops, next time,” I replied. “How did this happen, big guy?”
Jackie looked embarrassed. “Well, um, you know that really steep hill just around the corner from your house?”
“Sure. What were you doing so far from your house?”
“Falling off my bike. I went too fast, and a car was coming the other way, and I got scared, and I kind of ran into a tree and fell. Now I have a combustion.”
“Concussion,” Shea the wordsmith corrected him.
“They have to drain some stuff from my skull,” Jackie continued.
“Fluid,” Shea elaborated.
I must have looked really worried, because Mrs. Rodowsky leaned over the bed and grasped me reassuringly by the arm. “He’s going to be okay. He just has to lie still for a few days and stay under observation.”
Jackie nodded. “I was unconscience —”
“Scious,” Shea interjected.
“Gesundheit,” Abby said.
“And when I woke up,” Jackie went on, “the hospital guys were putting me in an ambulance and all these people were watching. I didn’t know any of them. It was scary. All I was trying to do was bike to your house and give you that.” He pointed to a wadded-up pile of tissues, Band-Aids, dollar bills, lint, and scraps of paper.
“Which part of it?” I asked.
“The yellow piece of paper.”
I reached into the pile, pulled out a folded note, and read it:
I had to read it twice before I had the slightest idea what he meant. “Jackie,” I said, “you don’t think you were the reason the BSC split up, do you?”
“I’m really really really sorry,” Jackie replied. “I was being stupid. I didn’t mean to make you mad. Really.”
Abby took the note out of my hand. As she read it, my other friends looked over her shoulder.
“Jackie, that was my fault,” I said. “I was your sitter. I should have been looking after you —”
“I mean, I know I’m, like, this big klutz and all,” Jackie continued. “But I can be better. Sometimes I do dumb stuff just to be funny, and —”
“Jackie, you can’t blame yourself for everything,” I said. “You’re a kid. All kids make mistakes. I mean, sure, you make me mad sometimes. Especially when you don’t listen. I’m mad that you weren’t wearing your helmet. But I’m much, much more happy that you’re well. And that time you fell out of the tree? It had absolutely, totally nothing to do with the BSC breakup.”
“Zero,” Abby agreed.
“Zilch,” Claudia added.
“Nada,” Jessi said.
“Pronoun,” Shea called out.
“We really love you, Jackie,” I said. “Exactly the way you are, bruises and all.”
I could see tears forming in Jackie’s eyes. Behind me, Mary Anne was sniffling away.
One by one, we leaned into Jackie and gave him kisses.
“Yuck!” Archie yelled.
“Come on!” Shea said. “Pronoun! Like the New York Knicks. A name of a pro team!”
We all started cracking up.
I looked around the room. “Do you realize,” I said softly to Mary Anne, “this is the first time we’ve all been in the same room since the breakup?”
“Uh … huh.” Mary Anne could hardly answer. I didn’t know if she was choked up about the BSC or Jackie.
To tell you the truth, I was almost a little misty-eyed myself.
“I have tissues!” Jackie reached around to his bed table. His arm brushed against a plastic cup filled with water.
It teetered. I reached out to catch it.
With a dull splash, it hit the floor.
“Jackieeeee,” his mom groaned.
I tried as hard as I could not to laugh.
Jackie was going to be just fine. I knew it.
At least as long as he was in the hospital.
“Eighteen,” Mallory and I called out together, “nineteen … twenty! Ready or not —”
“No! Count to a hundred!” Claire Pike cried from somewhere in the house.
Mal and I exchanged a look. “We’ll compromise,” I said. “Twenty-five.”
We turned back to the fireplace and started to complete the countdown.
When we reached twenty-three, Claire screamed, “Ready!”
Mallory and I took off.
Have you ever played hide-and-seek with seven little kids? It isn’t easy. But that’s life in the Pike house.
Claire is Mallory’s youngest sibling. She’s five. The others are Margo (seven); Nicky (eight); Vanessa (nine); and Byron, Jordan, and Adam, who are the ten-year-old triplets.
I hadn’t wanted to take this sitting job. I hadn’t lost the fear of sitting I’d developed after Jackie’s tree accident. But seeing Jackie the day before had helped. And Mal had called me personally.
Besides, I kind of missed the Pike tribe.
As we walked into the dining room, I spotted a pair of sneakers sticking out from under a floor-to-ceiling window curtain. “I think we need more light in here,” I said, pulling the curtains aside to reveal Adam. “Gotcha!”
“No fair!” he yelled. “You saw me!”
“That’s what they’re supposed to do, doofus!” called a voice from under the piano.
“I found Byron!” Mallory said.
“Ha! Who’s the doofus?” Adam crowed.
Vanessa was next. I found her hiding in the bathtub.
“Figures,” Adam said. “That’s her favorite room.”
“I am rubber, you are glue …” Vanessa began chanting.
“Vanessa’s in the bathroom, p. u.!” Byron finished.
As the three of them went off chasing each other, Mallory and I made more discoveries: Margo under her parents’ bed, Nicky behind the loose pillows on the family room sofa, and Jordan behind a refrigerator box in the basement.
That still left Claire.
After a thorough basement search, we walked upstairs. “I’ll take the second floor,” I said.
Mallory nudged me in the ribs and pointed toward the open door of the family room.
Through it, I could see an inner closet door creaking out a bit.
Mallory scampered into the room, saying, “Gee, Kristy, I’ll bet she went outside. Let’s grab some coats and —”
As she pulled open the closet door, Claire shrieked with delight.
“There you are!” Mallory exclaimed. “What a great hiding place!”
“Say you can’t find me,” Claire whispered excitedly. “Tell Adam and Vanessa and them to look.”
“Okay,” Mal replied. She turned away, closing the door behind her.
“AAAAAAAAAA!”
That was not a shriek of delight. Mallory and I whirled around. I yanked the closet door open again.
Claire was clutching her left index finger, screaming. Her eyes were popping, her face bright red.
“Oh no oh no oh no!” Mallory cried, picking up Claire and racing her to the bathroom.
The other Pikes were now thundering toward us. “What happened?�
�� Adam yelled.
I ran into the kitchen to fetch an ice pack from the freezer.
When I returned, Mallory was holding Claire’s finger under cold water.
“You closed the door on my finger!” Claire wailed.
Mallory was sobbing. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“AAAAAAAAAA!”
Poor Claire. I’d never heard her scream so loudly. Her brothers and sisters stood there in shock. Margo was all teary-eyed herself, in sympathy.
I took Claire’s hand and applied the ice pack. “Call the doctor,” I told Mallory.
A few moments later she returned, wiping away tears. “The doctor says that if Claire can move the finger, probably nothing’s broken. But we should take her in anyway, just as soon as Mom and Dad come home.”
I held Claire for about five minutes. By that time her shrieks had quieted to whimpers. Her fingertip was red but not swollen.
I took the ice pack away and Claire slowly moved her finger.
“How does it feel now?” I asked.
“Better,” Claire mumbled.
Her brothers and sisters were now wandering away. But Mallory was standing in the bathroom doorway, her head hung low. “Sorry, Claire,” she repeated.
“It really really hurted,” was Claire’s response. Taking her ice pack, she walked out of the bathroom and into the family room.
Mallory and I hung out in the hallway, silently keeping an eye on the kids. They all gathered around Claire, who held up her finger proudly like a trophy.
In a soft, angry voice, Mallory said, “That was so, so stupid of me. How could I have closed the door while she was in there?”
“Mal, it was an accident,” I said. “You couldn’t see where her finger was.”
“Some baby-sitter. I end up sending my own sister to the doctor.”
“Look, Mal. A bad sitter neglects. A bad sitter does selfish things. You’re a great sitter. You were just playing. Everything you did was careful. Stuff like this just happens.”
“I guess,” Mallory said.
We heard a car pulling into the driveway. The entire pack of kids barged out of the family room and ran outside. I tagged close behind.
Mallory carefully explained to Mr. and Mrs. Pike what had happened. Claire tried hard to cry, but it didn’t really work.
Mrs. Pike gave Claire a hug and said, “Mallory, I did the same thing to you when you were three. Only it was your bedroom door. Do you remember?”
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