Baby-Sitters' Winter Vacation

  For L.G.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also Available

  Copyright

  Thank goodness we were still going to the lodge. I’d have died if I couldn’t have finished my book for Logan. By Sunday, he had already left for Aruba, and if our trip had been canceled, not only would we have had to go to school instead of to the lodge, but the week would have seemed a year long without him. In Vermont I’d be distracted by all the new things to do. In Connecticut, I would just have moped around. Of course, the best thing would have been if Logan could have come to Vermont with us. (He’s never even been on the trip because his family still lived in Kentucky last year.) But you can’t have everything.

  Anyway, by Sunday night the rumor had been cleared up (or put to rest, as my father would say), so despite the overcast sky and the light snow that was falling, I went to bed knowing the trip was still on.

  The trip really is a pretty amazing thing. I don’t think kids in many middle schools do what we get to do every year — go away for almost a week at practically no cost. Our parents are just asked to make a donation to the Winter Carnival Fund. If we don’t earn enough money, then the Leicester Lodge people cover whatever isn’t raised. A nice (rich) couple owns the lodge, and they do this for lots of schools all winter long, just so students can have an away-from-home experience. It’s something they like to do for kids. And, boy, do they make our experience nice. Several wings of their huge lodge are equipped as fancy dormitories. (Usually, more than one school is at the lodge at the same time, which is fun because you get to meet new people.) And all week long, they feed us terrific food, and let us use the lodge along with the skiers and other people who are vacationing there. They don’t even mind our Winter War.

  Before I get too much further along, I better stop and tell you who I am. I’m Mary Anne Spier. I’m thirteen and I’m in eighth grade at Stoneybrook Middle School (SMS). I don’t have any brothers or sisters, just an adorable gray kitten named Tigger. I don’t have a mom, either, but I do have a pretty nice dad. We live in Stoneybrook, Connecticut, and I have a lot of friends here. Most of them are my friends in the Baby-sitters Club. Plus, there’s Logan (who’s also part of the club). He’s my boyfriend. It was a long time before I felt brave enough to call him that, but that’s what he is.

  My friends in the Baby-sitters Club are Kristy Thomas, Dawn Schafer, Claudia Kishi, Stacey McGill, Jessi Ramsey, and Mallory Pike. They were all going on the trip, too. For weeks, the seven of us had been so excited we could hardly say the words “Winter Carnival” without becoming hysterical. Five of us had been on the trip before, but Mal and Jessi hadn’t, since they’re in sixth grade. It would be their first time.

  Kristy and Dawn are my two best friends. Kristy is outgoing and has a big mouth, but I don’t mind her mouth — much. She’s funny and full of good ideas. She comes from a huge, mixed-up family with brothers, a stepbrother and stepsister, and even an adopted sister. Dawn is an individual. She has somehow learned not to care about what people think, and to just go her own way and do what she wants to do, without hurting anyone’s feelings. Dawn has one brother, who lives in California with her father. (Her parents are divorced.)

  Claudia and Stacey are best friends, but not my best friends, although we’re all pretty close. They’re both wild dressers, and definitely the most sophisticated of the club members. Stacey even grew up in New York City. One thing you should know about Stacey is that she has diabetes, but she copes really well. Claudia is an artist and a junk-food addict. Stacey’s parents are in the middle of a divorce; Claudia’s aren’t. Stacey is an only child; Claud has an older sister named Janine.

  Then there are Jessi and Mal who, by Sunday night, were getting nervous about the trip to the lodge. It wasn’t their first time away from home (we all went to Camp Mohawk for two weeks in the summer), but the sixth-graders are always the “babies” of the trip, going away with the “big kids,” and that’s not an easy position to be in. Anyway, Jessi and Mal are also best friends, and they’re big readers, but that’s where the similarities end. Mal wants to be a writer when she grows up; Jessi is a talented ballet dancer. Mal has seven younger brothers and sisters; Jessi has two. Also, Mal is white and Jessi is black.

  Those are my friends, and I was glad they were all going on the trip with me. (I would have been even happier if Logan were going, though.) At least the trip hadn’t been called off. I have to admit that I was kind of surprised by that. When I woke up on Monday the sky was the color of mercury, and the air was heavy with moisture. It was 28° outside, according to our thermometer — perfect snowing weather. And when I tuned into the weather channel on TV, the reports for Vermont were grimmer than ever.

  “You better turn on the radio, Mary Anne,” Dad said to me. “If the trip is off, the cancellation will be announced.”

  But there was no cancellation, just the report from the night before saying that the trip was still on.

  “It’s on!” I shouted to Dad.

  A good thing, too, since I was dressed, packed, and ready to go.

  As soon as Dad and I had finished breakfast, I jumped up from the table and said, “Okay, are you ready to leave?”

  “For school?” Dad replied. “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s too early. You’ll have to wait for at least half an hour once you reach the school parking lot. And it’s not even thirty degrees out.”

  “I know,” I said. “Only twenty-eight. Please can’t we go? I don’t think I can wait a second longer.”

  “Well, all right,” Dad answered. “Brush your teeth and say good-bye to Tigger.”

  I refrained from reminding him that I’m not a baby. Instead, I just brushed my teeth and then picked up Tigger. All I had to do was look into those shiny eyes of his and I wanted to cry. I could feel a huge lump in my throat.

  “Mew?” said Tigger.

  “I’ll be back on Saturday,” I told him. “That’s a promise.” Then I kissed him on his furry head and set him on the floor. “ ’Bye, Tigger.”

  Tigger went tearing after this plastic ball with a bell in it. He had no idea what was going on.

  “Don’t forget to feed him,” I told Dad about twelve times as we drove through Stoneybrook to SMS. “And change his water. And put that ointment in his eyes if they start to run. And check behind the refrigerator when his toys are missing.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Dad said good-naturedly.

  When he turned the car into the parking lot, I could see that I wasn’t the only one who was excited and had wanted to arrive early. About thirty other kids were there, including Kristy, Claudia, and Jessi. I said a nervous good-bye to Dad, hauled my stuff out of the car, and joined my friends. Like me, they were each carrying two duffel bags — except for Claud. Claud was laden down with duffel bags plus all her ski equipment. She is practically a champion skier.

  “Doesn’t the lodge lend us skis and boots?” I asked. (Not that I was about to go skiing. I am the world’s most unathletic person.)

  �
�Yes,” Claud replied, “but I wanted to bring my own stuff this year. I ski better with it. And I plan to help lead the Red Team to victory in the Winter War.”

  “No way!” cried Kristy. “The Blue Team is going to win!”

  The Winter War, I should explain, is the main activity of the Winter Carnival up at the lodge. The week before we left for Vermont, everyone in our school had been randomly assigned to either the Red Team or the Blue Team. The teams would compete in five events during Winter Carnival — an ice-skating contest, a snowball fight, a snow sculpture contest, a downhill skiing competition, and a cross-country skiing competition. Although going to Vermont is mandatory, participating in the war is not. (Thank heavens. I did not plan to participate — even though I wanted my team, the Blue Team, to win.) In case you couldn’t tell, Kristy and Claudia were on opposite teams. Kristy was even the captain of her team. It was going to be a very competitive week for her.

  The four of us were standing, shivering, in the parking lot when Dawn and Mallory arrived, and a few minutes later, Stacey.

  “We’re all here!” I said. “The Baby-sitters Club is here and ready to go.”

  “Ready for a week of fun,” said Stacey.

  “A week of contests,” said Kristy.

  “A week away from home,” said Mal uncertainly.

  “A week of relaxation,” said Jessi.

  “A week of reading and lounging,” I said. “I am going to turn into the Leicester Lodge Lounge Lizard.”

  Everyone laughed. Then Dawn added, “A week of snow.”

  And Claudia said, “A week of junk-food opportunities. Remember those great candy machines on every floor?”

  Dawn, our health-food addict, groaned. “I remember the salad bar in the dining hall.”

  “I’m getting nervous,” Mal said suddenly.

  “Me, too,” agreed Jessi.

  “What if we don’t like the food?” asked Mallory.

  “Or spending a week under our teachers’ noses?” said Jessi.

  “Forget it,” answered Claud. “If you survived Camp Mohawk, you can survive any food. Plus, out of school, the teachers don’t seem nearly as much like … teachers. They just seem like regular adults. After awhile, they sort of blend into the woodwork and you hardly notice them.”

  “Really?” said Jessi and Mal at the same time.

  “Really,” the rest of us replied.

  And at that moment, a huge cheer rose up in the parking lot.

  “The buses are here!” someone shouted.

  My friends and I turned to look. Good-bye, Connecticut, I thought. Hello, Vermont!

  The bus ride to Vermont was something else. Luckily, I was prepared for it, having been on the trip in seventh grade. I was also prepared for the good-bye scene with my mother at the school parking lot. It wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be. There were the usual tears (hers) and the reminders about how to take care of myself, as if I hadn’t been doing it for several years already.

  “Remember your insulin, honey,” she said.

  “I will, Mom.”

  “You did pack your injection kit, didn’t you?” (I have to give myself insulin injections every day, in order to control my diabetes. The insulin keeps my blood sugar at a manageable level. If I forget the injections or forget to stick to my diet, my blood sugar goes out of whack, and then I can get really sick.)

  “Yup, it’s packed,” I told Mom. “I never forget it.”

  “And you’ll remind your teacher to remind the cook about your diet?”

  “Yes.” I was getting impatient. I could see my friends waiting in the parking lot and I was dying to join them.

  “Honey, I’m just checking,” said Mom. “That’s part of my job as a mother.”

  I smiled. Then I kissed Mom. She let me get out of the car, and I ran to my friends. I knew that after I met them, when I turned around, Mom would still be in the parking lot, watching me. So I turned around and waved to her. She waved back. Then she drove off.

  Free at last!

  And now we were on the bus. My friends and I, all seven of us, had managed to get on the same bus. It was going to be a long trip to Hooksett Crossing. We weren’t due to arrive there until the middle of the afternoon, weather permitting. But we weren’t going to be on the bus all that time. The trip included two stops, one of which we’d had already. That was a bathroom break at a rest area on the highway. Our next stop would be at another rest area, where we could use the bathrooms and eat lunch. I was looking forward to that break.

  But I was getting nervous about the weather. It had looked like snow for sure in Stoneybrook that morning. And the weather reports for Vermont included predictions for two snowstorms, one of which (a small one) was supposed to hit late in the afternoon. The teachers were hoping it would hit after we reached the lodge. The boys were hoping it would hit before, so we could have some excitement. The girls were divided. Half wanted excitement, the other half wanted to get to the lodge in time for dinner. (The food is pretty good up there, not like at Camp Mohawk.)

  I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. It was Kristy, sitting behind me in a seat by herself.

  “Stacey?” she said. “I’ve got a terrible problem.”

  “What is it?” I asked, alarmed.

  “The theme from Gilligan’s Island is running through my head and I can’t get rid of it.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. It didn’t matter, since Kristy was laughing, too. Then she said, “I forget, Stace. Are you playing a role in the Winter Carnival?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. But I plan to enter every contest in the war. Oh, except cross-country skiing. I’ve never been on cross-country skis before.”

  Kristy nodded. Her role in the carnival was going to be a huge one. Not only was she team captain, but she had volunteered to organize the entire war — to schedule every practice session and event, to encourage kids to compete (she’d never get Mary Anne), and to help keep score.

  “I’m wondering if I made a mistake,” said Claud, who was sitting next to me. (We were trying to ignore the bunch of boys in the back of the bus who were singing “I’m Henry the Eighth.” Every time they got to the part that went, “Second verse same as the first, a little bit louder and a little bit worse,” the boys got a little bit louder and a little bit worse. We were waiting for a teacher to notice this and yell at them.)

  “A mistake?” I repeated.

  Claud nodded. “By agreeing to judge the snow sculpture contest instead of enter it. I really want to make a snow sculpture, but if I did, I couldn’t be the judge. It’ll be hard enough trying to judge without being partial to the Red Team.”

  “I think you made the right choice,” I told Claud. “The teachers really need you to be the judge.” What I didn’t say was that Claudia really needed the extra credit she’d earn.

  “I guess,” said Claud, not sounding at all sure of her decision.

  Dawn, Mal, and I were the only club members without extra-credit roles in the Winter Carnival. Mary Anne was going to be the historian, Kristy was going to run the war, Claud was going to judge the snow sculptures, and Jessi was in charge of Talent Night. That meant organizing a whole talent show, helping the kids with their acts, arranging for rehearsals, and more. This year was the first time the role had been given to a sixth-grader, but we all knew Jessi could handle it.

  Then there were Dawn and Mal and I. Dawn and I simply hadn’t found any roles that interested us. Mal, on the other hand, had brought along a project of her own — her journal. I wasn’t sure exactly what she planned to do with it, but she’d said it was going to keep her busy.

  “Hey, Mary Anne,” I said suddenly, leaning across the aisle.

  “Yeah?” Mary Anne was busy ducking. The boys in the back were throwing wadded-up gum wrappers all over the bus. The teachers, however, had noticed — finally — and had decided that the boys’ restlessness meant that it was time to stop for lunch. Luckily, the chosen rest area was just a few miles away.

&n
bsp; “How are you going to research the history of the lodge and the town?” I asked Mary Anne.

  “Oh, the teachers said there’s plenty of information right in the lodge’s library. Plus, a lot of people who work at the lodge grew up in Hooksett Crossing, and some of them are pretty old. They’ll have information, too.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” I said.

  Mary Anne shook her head — and ducked again. And just then, the bus started to slow down. It rounded a corner and ahead of us, off to the right, I could see a large rest area. Several school buses (ours!) had already pulled into the parking lot. We followed them and parked in a row. Then the buses began to empty out, and us SMS students (all 382 of us) trooped inside this building and into what must have been the world’s largest cafeteria. Honestly, it looked just like our school cafeteria, only bigger. It was not the same place where we’d eaten lunch on last year’s trip to the lodge.

  “What I can’t figure out,” I said to Claud as we stepped inside, “is why the people behind the counters look so horrified. You’d think they’d be glad to have our business. Besides, don’t you suppose they’re used to large groups of people? Their parking lot is the size of Texas. So is their restaurant.”

  “Maybe they’re not used to this big a group,” replied Claud.

  Anyway, what the frantic restaurant workers didn’t know was that most of us had brought our own lunches and just needed places to sit down. We found them quickly. The room was full of tables, and soon the tables were full of us.

  My friends and I grabbed a big round table for ourselves. We dumped out our lunches, began to eat — and for the next half hour were up and down in our seats like jack-in-the-boxes. First Kristy got napkins for us, then Mal decided she wanted a soda, then I decided the same thing, then Jessi bought an orange, then Claud spotted a tray of Twinkies, and so forth. It was the most un-peaceful meal imaginable. I was glad to get back on the bus, even knowing that the boys had plans to start singing “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt.”

  As the kids in our school trooped out of the restaurant, every single worker let out a huge sigh of relief. It was as if the building went, “Whoosh,” as we walked outside into the … snow!