Boy-Crazy Stacey

by Ann M. Martin

  “Yes,” we said.

  “I don’t mean to sound harsh. It’s just that the ocean can be so dangerous. But believe me, there are plenty of other things to do in Sea City. There’s Trampoline Land and miniature golf. There’s the boardwalk with an amusement park. There’s a movie theater and shops and so many places to eat you can smell Sea City before you see it!”

  I giggled.

  “It’s a great place for kids,” Mrs. Pike added. “We’ve been going there for nine years. I know you’ll have a good time.”

  Mrs. Pike went on to tell us about the house they always rented, food shopping, dividing up chores, and stuff like that. Then I told her about my diet and about the insulin I have to give myself every day. Although the Pike kids don’t know I have diabetes, Mr. and Mrs. Pike do, and they wanted to be sure I’d feel comfortable on the trip, and that they had the right kind of foods on hand for me. It was very nice of them.

  Mrs. Pike had had to do a lot of fast talking to convince my parents to let me go to Sea City. It would be the first time I’d been away from Mom and Dad longer than overnight since I’d gotten diabetes almost two years ago. They didn’t even think about letting me go until they’d looked up a couple of doctors in Sea City and spoken to them over the phone.

  Mary Anne and I left the Pikes’ that afternoon practically crackling with excitement. We were to leave at eight o’clock the next morning. It was time to go home and pack.

  “I already packed,” Mary Anne confided. “I couldn’t wait. I’m scared, but I’m really looking forward to this. It’s my first time away from my father, my first trip to the beach—and my first bikini! Dad said I could get one as long as the bottom part was decent.”

  Mary Anne’s father used to be really strict with her. He’s still a little strict, but he’s much better.

  It’s because Mrs. Spier died a long time ago and he’s raised Mary Anne by himself. He loosened up a lot, though, when Mary Anne finally began standing up to him.

  When I got home, I went to my room, opened my suitcase on my bed, and began carefully laying my clothes in it—last year’s bikini, the new bikini, two bright sundresses, sandals, shorts, tops, a nightshirt. Then I snuck over to my bottom bureau drawer, removed a bottle labeled SUN-LITE, and buried it under my clothes. I was determined to come home with lightened hair. My hair is already blonde, but I wanted it Sun-Lite blonde. However, if Mom saw the bottle, I’d be dead.

  I hid it just in time, because the next thing I knew I heard my mother’s footsteps on the stairs.

  “Honey?” Mom called.

  “In my room,” I replied. “I’m packing.”

  Mom came in and perched on the edge of my bed. She watched me toss things into the suitcase. “Do you have everything?” she asked.

  “I think so. Mary Anne and I asked Mrs. Pike about clothes and stuff this afternoon. She said no one dresses up in Sea City. A sundress would be fine if we went out to dinner.”

  “Do you have something to do down there?”

  “Something to do?! I’ve got eight kids to watch.”

  “I know, but I’m sure you’ll have a little time to yourself. Do you have a book or some needlepoint?”

  I held up both—an Agatha Christie mystery, and this swan I’d been needlepointing for about five years.

  Mom nodded. “What about stamps? Do you have stamps so you can write postcards?” She was looking more and more nervous.

  “No. But I’m sure there’s a post office in Sea City.”

  “I’ll get you some stamps,” Mom said suddenly. “Be right back.” She dashed into her bedroom and I could hear her rummaging around in her desk. When she returned, she handed me a strip of postcard stamps.

  “Thanks,” I said. I tucked them into my purse.

  Next, Mom asked about toothpaste. But I knew what she really wanted to ask me. She wanted to know if I’d been responsible enough to get together everything I’d need for two weeks of being away. Finally, I gave in and showed her. I opened the special travel kit she’d bought for me.

  “See?” I said. “Everything’s there.”

  “What about —”

  “The doctors’ numbers are in my purse. Mrs. Pike wrote them down, too. And she knows all about my diet. We talked about it today.”

  “Oh, Stacey,” said Mom suddenly. “I’m so worried. I’m going to worry for the next two weeks.”

  “You really don’t have to,” I told her. I sat next to her on the bed. “The Pikes have a phone, remember? You can call if you want. And Mrs. Pike would call you if anything did happen—not that it’s going to,” I added quickly. “And don’t call a lot, okay? I don’t want the Pike kids to think I’m a baby. Then they’d never listen to me.”

  Mom looked at me for the longest time. Finally, she opened her arms. I leaned over and we hugged. Mom cried. I cried a little, too. It’s awfully hard helping your parents grow up.

  But it has to be done.

  Saturday afternoon

  Dear Kristy,

  Hi! We made it. The drive down here was wild, but we arrived unharmed. Do you like this postcard? Mary Anne and I found a drugstore with these really wild cards. Here are some things to put in the Baby-sitters Club Notebook: Sometimes the Pike kids get carsick. Claire is still in her silly stage. She calls her mother “Moozie” and her father “Daggles.” That’s all for now. More tomorrow! Bye!

  Luv,

  Stacey

  The next morning, I discovered the meaning of the word madhouse.

  Mary Anne and I arrived at the Pikes’ early. My dad drove us over. If you think Mom and I had been tearful the day before, you should have seen Mary Anne and her father. It was like Niagara Falls—for both of them. I’ve hardly ever seen a man cry.

  But Mary Anne’s tears were dry by the time we reached the Pikes’. My father pulled up in front of the house. He started to help Mary Anne and me with our suitcases.

  “Just drop us off, Dad,” I said. “Okay? You don’t need to come with us or anything.”

  Dad was understanding. He simply gave me a hug, waved to Mr. Pike, then turned around and drove off.

  Mr. Pike was struggling with the luggage rack. Actually, with two luggage racks. So many of us were going to Sea City that we had to drive down there in both of the Pike station wagons.

  While Mr. Pike tried to fit suitcases into the luggage racks, Mrs. Pike and Mallory kept carrying boxes and things out of the house and depositing them by the cars.

  “Hi, Stacey! Hi, Mary Anne!” cried Margo.

  Claire ran out of the house and joined her sister. I’d never seen anybody so excited. She looked as if she’d just had about ten cups of coffee.

  “Hi, hi, Stacey-silly-billy-goo-goo!” Claire screeched. “Hi, Mary Anne-silly-billy-goo-goo!” She was galloping around in circles.

  I rolled my eyes at Mary Anne. Claire was going through this incredibly silly stage. It could drive you crazy.

  Mr. Pike finally finished hefting all the suitcases onto the luggage racks and securing them with rope. He turned around. Seven cartons were at his feet. “What’s all this?” he demanded.

  “Bedding,” replied Mrs. Pike.

  “Toys,” added Nicky.

  Mr. Pike groaned.

  Forty-five minutes later, everything was loaded into or on top of the cars, including the people. I was sitting in the backseat of the car Mr. Pike was driving. Next to me was Nicky. Between us was a carton. At our feet was a large thermos. Sprawled out in the very back were Claire and Margo. Mallory was sitting up front with her father.

  “You guys comfortable back there?” I asked the girls.

  “Yup,” replied Margo. “We have everything we need.”

  “So I see,” I said. “Coloring books.”

  “Crayons,” added Claire.

  “Pillows,” Nicky pointed out, turning around.

  “Crackers,” I said. “Barf Bucket … Barf Bucket? What on earth is that?” Between the girls was a red plastic sand pail. It was carefully labeled P
IKE BARF BUCKET in big letters.

  “In case we get carsick,” said Claire.

  “Be sure to drink a lot of grape soda this morning,” said Nicky, grinning wickedly. “That’d look neat coming up. Purple puke.”

  Claire and Margo laughed hysterically.

  I closed my eyes. I absolutely can’t stand it when someone gets sick. When I opened them, I caught sight of Mr. Pike looking at me in the rearview mirror.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “We rarely have to use it. We’ve only had a few emergencies that I can remember.”

  I smiled with relief.

  Everyone was settled in the two cars. Mr. and Mrs. Pike had rolled down their windows and were calling last-minute instructions to each other. Things like, “It’s the Garden State Parkway, not the New Jersey Turnpike,” and, “Ice-cream stop!” and, “Try to follow me, but if we get separated, remember the real estate agent in Sea City is Ellen Cooke.”

  At last we backed out of the driveway.

  “Good-bye, house!” called Nicky.

  “Good-bye, house-silly-billy-goo-goo!” called Claire.

  “Good-bye, Stoneybrook. Sea City, here we come!” added Mallory.

  “Hey, Daggles-silly-billy-goo-goo,” Claire said to her father. “Guess what.”

  “What, sweetie?” replied Mr. Pike, trying to cross an intersection with a four-way stop.

  “That’s what!”

  Mr. Pike made it through the intersection and noticed a rope from the luggage rack flapping against the windshield. He pulled to a stop at the side of the road and got out to fix it.

  “Are we there already?” asked Claire.

  “We’re still on our own street, stupid,” Nicky said in disgust.

  “Don’t call her stupid,” said Mallory, without even turning around.

  “Stacey-silly-billy-goo-goo?” asked Claire.

  I hesitated, not wanting to fall into the trap Mr. Pike had fallen into. “What?” I said at last.

  “How much longer?”

  “Several hours,” I replied as Mr. Pike got back in the car. “It’s a long drive. Why don’t you and Margo open your coloring books? You can each make a picture to give to your mom when we get to the beach.”

  The girls opened their books and began sorting through their crayons. Nicky took a horrible-looking green monster out of his pocket and started to play with it. In the front seat, Mallory was reading The Secret Garden. We pulled onto the highway.

  Everything was peaceful for about half an hour—until Mrs. Pike edged forward and passed us in the next lane. For some reason, we all happened to look up as the car went by. So we all saw that Jordan was holding up a big piece of paper in the side window that read BARFMOBILE. Jordan was pointing his finger at us and grinning. Obviously, he meant we were the Barfmobile.

  “Barfmobile!” yelped Nicky. He sounded highly insulted. “You guys have any paper back there?” he asked, turning to his little sisters.

  “Sure,” replied Margo. “Paper, scissors, crayons —”

  “Give me a piece of paper, quick,” said Nicky. “And a red crayon.”

  Margo handed them to him. Nicky rested the paper against the carton and began scribbling.

  “What are you writing, Nicky-silly-billy-goo-goo?” asked Claire about twelve times.

  Nicky held up his masterpiece.

  The paper read VOMIT COMET.

  “That’ll show them,” remarked Mallory.

  “Hey, Dad,” said Nicky, hanging his arms over the front seat. “Speed up.”

  “Why?” asked Mr. Pike.

  “I want you to pass Mom.”

  “Sorry, Nick-o. The traffic is too thick. Maybe when it clears up a little.”

  “Okay.” Nicky flopped back into his seat, pouting.

  The little girls went back to their coloring. Mallory returned to The Secret Garden.

  But Nicky kept peering out the window, trying to spot his mother’s car. “Jingle bells,” he sang softly, “Batman smells, Robin laid an egg.” He turned to me. “Get it, Stacey? Robin laid an egg?”

  “I get it.”

  “Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg….”

  “Nicky, I really hate that song,” said Mallory.

  “Okay. Jingle bells, Santa smells, Rudolph broke his—Hey! Here we go!”

  The traffic was very heavy. The cars in Mrs. Pike’s lane were edging along, but the ones in our lane were suddenly moving a bit faster. As we passed the other Pike car, three things happened at once. Nicky triumphantly held up his sign and was rewarded with dirty looks from the triplets. Claire called, “Hi, Moozie-silly-billy-goo-goo!” to her mother. And Margo grabbed for the Barf Bucket and whimpered, “I don’t feel too good.”

  “Uh-oh,” I said.

  “Darn,” said Nicky. “She didn’t have any grape soda yet.”

  Poor Margo looked so miserable, I couldn’t turn away from her, even though if I saw her throw up, I’d probably have to use the bucket myself. She turned a wicked shade of green, but nothing happened.

  “She might feel better if she sat up front,” suggested Mallory.

  “If you’re going to trade places, do it carefully,” said Mr. Pike grimly.

  “Oh, boy!” squealed Nicky. “The last time this happened, Margo puked while she was climbing over the seats.”

  “Swell,” I muttered.

  The girls managed to switch places. Mallory accidentally kicked Mr. Pike in the shoulder, but Margo’s breakfast stayed down.

  “Jingle bells, Santa sm —” began Nicky.

  “Nicholas, if we hear that song one more time …” threatened Mr. Pike. He was trying to pass a Mack truck.

  “Okay,” said Nicky. “Jingle barf —”

  “Nicholas!”

  “It’s not that song!” Nicky exclaimed. “It’s a different one.” But he kept quiet after that.

  “How many more minutes?” asked Claire.

  “About fifteen and we’ll stop for ice cream,” said her father.

  What a relief! The ice-cream break was just what we needed. Mary Anne and the Pike kids (including Margo, who claimed to be starving) slurped up big ice-cream cones. Mr. and Mrs. Pike had coffee. And I managed to find a Popsicle that was made with fruit only—no sugar. It was great. It’s nice not to be left out of every food treat.

  We climbed back into the cars and began the rest of the trip to Sea City. After a while, the ground began to look sandier. The trees became scrubbier and shorter. And finally, Mallory spotted a sign that said SEA CITY, EXIT 10 MILES.

  “Oh, boy!” she whooped.

  The rest of us cheered.

  Soon we were driving off the exit ramp, Mrs. Pike behind us, and turning onto a causeway that crossed some marshy land. The air smelled of salt.

  “Hey, there’s the cow sign!” cried Nicky, pointing.

  I looked to the right and saw a billboard with a three-dimensional purple cow. It was an advertisement for cream.

  “There’s Crabs for Grabs!” said Mallory as we passed a restaurant.

  “There’s the suntan girl!” Margo dissolved into giggles as we passed another billboard, this one showing a puppy pulling at the bottom of a little girl’s bathing suit, showing off her splendid tan line.

  “Why did Mr. Stupid tiptoe past the medicine chest?” shrieked Claire. “Because he didn’t want to wake up the sleeping pills!” she answered herself.

  “Okay, settle down,” I told her.

  The Pikes fell into silence as we entered Sea City. They looked awed, and I could see why. Their senses were suddenly overloaded with great kid stuff: the smell of hot dogs and fried food and the sea air, the sounds of the waves and of kids shouting and laughing and calling to each other, but mostly the sights. We passed Trampoline Land and miniature golf and souvenir stands. We passed stores and restaurants and ice-cream parlors. And in the distance was a boardwalk with arcades and a Ferris wheel and a roller coaster and probably plenty of head-spinning rides. And beyond all that gleamed the ocean.


  Saturday night

  Dear Claudia,

  Hi! We’ve been in Sea City for half a day now. You should have seen the kids today after we got here. We went exploring as soon as we were unpacked, and they were so excited! There’s so much to do here!

  After we looked around the town we took a walk on the beach. I saw the most gorgeous boy! He’s a lifeguard, and he’s the guy of my dreams! See ya!

  Luv,

  Stace

  Mr. Pike cruised down a wide street in Sea City. (He called it the main drag.) There were palm trees in front of a lot of the stores, but they were all plastic! I guess Sea City wasn’t really palm tree country. Anyway, after a while he turned down a side street and stopped in front of a little pink house surrounded by white gravel. A sign in the yard read ELLEN COOKE, REALTOR. Mr. Pike went inside. He returned a few minutes later with a ring of keys and a folder full of flyers and ads and even an uninflated souvenir beach ball. We drove off again.

  “I claim the ball!” cried Nicky.

  “No, me!” yelled Margo.

  “No, me!” yelled Claire.

  I grabbed the beach ball and sat on it. “Guess what,” I said. “The beach ball is either everybody’s or nobody’s.”

  “Thank you, Stacey,” said Mr. Pike.

  “But it can’t be everybody’s,” said Nicky.

  “Then I guess it’s nobody’s,” I replied.

  “If it’s nobody’s, then I claim it!” Nicky retorted gleefully.

  Luckily, just then we turned into a driveway.

  “Here we are!” announced Mr. Pike. “End of the line! Everybody out.”

  “Yay! Hurray!” We tumbled out of the car. Mrs. Pike parked next to us, and the triplets and Vanessa tumbled out of her car. The Pike kids were all jumping around and yelling. No wonder. The air smelled wonderful. It wasn’t just the salt. It was something else that I couldn’t describe, a freshness that was different from country air.

  “We’re back, we’re here, we’ve come once more, to our gingerbread house by the white seashore!” sang Vanessa.

  “Hey, that was a good one,” said Byron appreciatively.

  I took a look at the Pikes’ rented house. We were facing the back, but even from there I could see that it was sort of gingerbready—with carved railings and posts and eaves and edges. Very old-fashioned. It was large and rambling, painted yellow with white trim. I glanced at Mary Anne and could tell that she had already fallen in love with it. I knew she was mentally writing a postcard to Dawn, describing the house and its view of the ocean.