Stacey's Book

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  CHAPTER 1

  THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF ANASTASIA (STACEY) MCGILL: THE EARLY YEARS

  CHAPTER 2

  WHEN I WAS FIVE

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  WHEN I WAS EIGHT

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  WHEN I WAS TEN

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  WHEN I WAS TWELVE

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  ACKNOWLEDGMENT

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO AVAILABLE

  COPYRIGHT

  “Hello, room.” I know it sounds cutesy to say hello to a room. It is cutesy. But I’m so happy to be home, it just came out. Do you know that feeling? It’s the end of a busy day. You get home and the first thing you do is make a quick stop in the kitchen to grab something to eat. But then you go right to your room and close the door behind you. You look around and feel so great just being there.

  I’m Stacey McGill, by the way. I have long wavy blonde hair (it’s a perm), blue eyes, and I’m tall for my age (thirteen). Today, at this moment, I’m wearing black tights, a pink-and-black striped oversized sweat shirt, and pink high-top sneakers. Oh, yes, and right now I’m smiling because I heard myself saying hi to my room. My room is “wearing” lace curtains, a brass bed with a blue satin quilt, a second-hand bureau that my mom and I painted white, my desk, and a flower patterned rug.

  I know that some people don’t have their own rooms and maybe not even a place to live, which makes me even more grateful that I have my own room. Make that rooms. You see, I have two bedrooms but not in the same house. It’s all because my parents are divorced. My other bedroom is in New York City where I go to be with my dad on some weekends and during some vacations. The rest of the time — which is most of the time — I live with my mother in Stoneybrook, Connecticut, where I have this room.

  My parents are as different from each other as you can imagine two people to be, so it makes sense (even to me) that they’d be divorced. I used to worry that the parts of me that are like each of them would clash inside of me and give me personality problems. I’d have this fight going on inside me between the part that’s like my father (being a workaholic) and the part that’s like my mother (being laid back). But it doesn’t work out that way. The characteristics I have from each of them seem to balance in me. I work hard, like my father, especially at my school work (I love math) and on my baby-sitting jobs (which I love too). But I also love to have a good time. So I spend plenty of time hanging out with my friends and enjoying life in Stoneybrook — like my mom. And, also like my mom, I love to shop.

  Which brings up another major thing about me. I like to dress nicely and look good. My Stoneybrook friends all say I have style. Frankly I think that if I have “style” it’s because I grew up in New York City. In case you don’t know it, New York City is the style-capital of America, if not the world. I don’t mean to sound snobby, because honest I’m not. It’s just a fact. But I ♥ New York City for more than the great fashions and the stores that sell them. I also like to do “city things,” such as go to museums and plays or just walk on the crowded streets. New York City is so interesting and exciting that going for a walk can be a major event.

  Even though I go to New York City a lot to see my dad, if you asked me where I live I’d most definitely say in Stoneybrook. I moved to Stoneybrook with both my parents at the beginning of seventh grade, when my dad got an opportunity to work there for his company. My parents thought because of my diabetes it would be good for me to live in a sleepy little town. (By the way, being a diabetic means that my blood sugar has to be checked every day and I have to give myself insulin shots. I also have to count calories and I can’t eat sugar.)

  Well, Stoneybrook turned out not to be a sleepy little town at all. My new friends and I make sure of that. We have a club (the Baby-sitters Club or BSC) and go to a great school (Stoneybrook Middle School or SMS). I’m not saying that Stoneybrook is exciting like New York City, but it’s a fabulous place to live and I luv it.

  Speaking of luv, I’ve already had a few boyfriends. I can’t say that any of them has been the passion of my life. But my most recent boyfriend, Robert Brewster, just might be. He’s incredibly sensitive and sweet.

  For me, having a boyfriend doesn’t take away from my other friendships. Because while I’m falling in and out of luv with different guys my friends in the Baby-sitters Club are my constant friends. We all know each other so well and trust each other so much that we can tell one another anything. We also give each other great advice.

  Let me tell you just a little bit about my friends.

  First and foremost, there’s Claudia Kishi — my best friend. Claud is tall, has the best skin, and long, silky dark hair. She’s Japanese-American and is what my mother would call “a great beauty.” When Claud comes to New York City she fits right in because she wears very funky clothes and has style with a capital “S.”

  The other thing about Claudia is that she’s an absolutely amazing artist. She can make something beautiful out of any old thing. Hand her a paper clip and she’ll hand you back a wire sculpture of a cat. And she makes awesome earrings out of scraps of this and that. The rest of us Baby-sitters Club members give her our old and broken jewelry and she remakes it into great new jewelry. Claudia Kishi has talent with a capital “T.” Though she’d probably spell it “t-a-l-l-a-n-t.” (She hates schoolwork and is a terrible speller.)

  Kristy Thomas is the one who thought of the Baby-sitters Club in the first place. As our president she is efficient and bossy enough to keep the BSC business running smoothly. Another thing about Kristy is that she loves sports so much that she organized and runs a softball team for kids called the Krushers. Kristy is the most take-charge person I know.

  Then there are Mary Anne Spier and Dawn Schafer. I put them together because they live in the same house. You see Mary Anne’s father married Dawn’s mother. Mary Anne and Dawn are really glad because they were best friends before their parents got married, and now they’re sisters, too. Dawn’s mother and father are divorced, so Dawn and I are both dealing with the big “D” — Divorce. The other thing Dawn and I have in common is that neither of us eats junk food. Dawn doesn’t because she’s into eating only food that’s good for you. I don’t eat junk food because of my diabetes. A chocolate bar still looks excellent and tempting to me, but I know (from experience) that if I don’t resist I could get very, very sick. Right now Dawn is on a leave of absence from the Baby-sitters Club. She decided to go to California and live with her father and brother for awhile. I really miss her.

  Shannon Kilbourne, who used to be an associate member of BSC, is taking Dawn’s place.

  The other two regular members of the Baby-sitters Club are sixth-graders. Some girls in my school are snobby about hanging out with anyone who’s in a lower grade than they are, but not my friends. So two of our members (and best friends) are Jessi Ramsey and Mallory Pike.

  Mal loves to write. She has an amazing number of brothers (four) and sisters (three). If I’m ever a little sad about being an only child I go over to the Pikes’ and get a good dose of life with a big family. Then, when I get home, I really appreciate the peace and quiet of life alone with my mom.

  Jessi is this awesome ballet dancer. She gets up before five-thirty every morning to practice, in addition to going to Stamford two times a week for lessons. She’s had roles in Nutcracker, Swan Lake, and Coppélia. If you’ve seen Jessi dance you’d believe her when she says she’s going to be a professional dancer some day.

&nbs
p; Claudia, Kristy, Dawn, Mary Anne, and Mallory were the new friends I made when we moved to Stoneybrook. (I didn’t meet Jessi until later.) Then guess what happened? My dad got transferred back to New York City and I had to say good-bye to my new friends.

  In New York City we had to get a new apartment because our old apartment had been rented to someone else. At least I got to go back to my old private school with my old friends (including Laine who is now my ex-best friend, but that’s another story). We had been in New York for only a short while when my parents decided that the solution to their problems with one another was to get a divorce. They said it was up to me to decide which parent I wanted to live with.

  That’s right. It was my decision, the hardest one I’ve ever made. I chose to live with my mom and we moved back to Stoneybrook. The house we’d lived in had been bought by Jessi Ramsey’s family. We didn’t mind because the house was too big and expensive for just the two of us. We ended up buying a small, rundown house which we fixed up. Now we think it’s just perfect.

  As I’m telling you this I realize that both times we moved to Stoneybrook it was because of one of the big “Ds” in my life. The first time was because of my Diabetes and the second time because of the Divorce. But the second time I moved here without the good “D” in my life — Dad. I miss him.

  But even with all the problems I’ve had with the two “Ds,” I’d say I’m a happy person. Also, between living in two places, being a member of the Baby-sitters Club, having all these great friends to hang out with, and dealing with being diabetic, I’m a busy person.

  I’m going on like this, telling you about me, not because I’m conceited (I don’t think I am; I sure hope not), but because I have this school assignment to think and write about myself. See if you can guess what it is. That’s right. I have to write my autobiography.

  Everyone in the eighth grade of SMS has to write one. It’s been interesting to think through my life this far. I’ve been trying to remember the past while I look through old photo albums and school stuff my mother saved.

  For the section I call “My Early Years” I had to ask my parents lots of questions. They got all teary-eyed and smiley when I asked them about when I was a baby. Probably because I’m an only child and I have this serious disease.

  So here I am on my bed, eating cottage cheese (no sugar, remember?), loving my room, and ready to go to work on my autobiography. I’m about to proofread what I’ve written so far….

  My dad says he doesn’t understand how anyone could say newborns are ugly, because I was the most beautiful thing he ever saw. I’ve seen my baby pictures so I can’t say I agree with him. I guess it’s like a kid loving a Cabbage Patch doll.

  One of the reasons I don’t think I was very cute is because I had practically no hair. You couldn’t see the little that I did have because it was blonde. My mother says she wasn’t worried at all about my hair growing, but I read in the baby book she kept about me that she used to rub my head because she thought it would help my hair grow. She wrote down everything about me at first. Things like who came to visit me and what presents they brought. She even wrote down my eating schedule. There are pages and pages of details that I will spare the reader of this autobiography.

  Let’s move ahead several months to the entry on the page titled: “Baby’s First Step” where my mother wrote:

  I guess I got over that wobbly business pretty quickly because the next entry in the book is:

  That was the last entry my mother made in my baby book. When I asked her why she didn’t fill in the other pages, she said she was too busy trying to keep up with me.

  But she does remember that I started talking long before I was two years old. She managed to make a list of my first words and still keep an eye on me. Instead of putting them in my baby book every time I said a new word, she added it to a list she’d stuck to the refrigerator door with alphabet magnets. She wrote down about twenty-five words before she finally quit doing it.

  I saw on the list that like most kids my first word was “Ma-ma” and my second was “DaDa.”

  The third word I said was “Bih-bih,” which my mother tells me was my way of saying “Big Bird.” I loved Sesame Street.

  The fourth word I spoke was “Cha,” which means chair. If I wanted to say “rocking chair” I waved my hand as I said “Cha.” I don’t remember any of this so I have to take her word for it.

  The next word is “Goobaw,” which is what I still call my teddy bear. Nobody knows why I named him that, least of all me. By the way, you wouldn’t for a second recognize Goobaw as the same teddy as in my baby pictures. Now Goobaw only has one eye and his fur is practically worn off. I rubbed my teddy the way my mother rubbed my head. But in the case of Goobaw it had the opposite effect.

  I still hold onto Goobaw when I’m sad. And every time I’ve been in the hospital for my diabetes you can bet Goobaw went with me.

  * * *

  When I was three years old we moved from Greenwich Village to an apartment on the Upper East Side. The move is the first memory I have. I guess it must have been traumatic for me. Now that I’ve moved three times in two years I can tell you moving is still traumatic for me.

  So here’s my first memory.

  I was in my bedroom playing with wooden blocks when my mother came into my room carrying big, empty cardboard boxes. I looked up at her and she said something like, “Stacey, we’ve got to pack your things. Let’s do it together.”

  At first it was fun to put my toys in the boxes. It was like playing with them. But when she taped the boxes closed and told me again, “We’re moving,” I didn’t feel happy at all. I was confused. She let me keep out Goobaw and a few other toys, but I thought that the rest of my toys were gone forever. I was terribly frightened and I didn’t know how to explain that to my mother.

  That’s all I remember about the move. The rest of my childhood memories take place in the uptown apartment, which (by the way) I loved.

  * * *

  Another early memory is of going to preschool in my new neighborhood. One beautiful spring day my dad took me to school. When we got outside he bent over and put me up on his shoulders. Instead of being on an eye level with garbage cans and people’s knees, I was taller than everyone we passed. I loved it. My dad was in a hurry to get to work on time so he walked fast, which was even more fun for me. I put my chin on his head and (I actually remember feeling this) thought about how much fun I was having.

  Here’s a memory I have of being in pre-school. It couldn’t have been the same day as the on-Dad’s-shoulders memory, because I remember it was raining. One of my classmates, Petey, had a messy cubby next to my neat one. And if his stuff wouldn’t fit in his cubby, he’d stick the overflow in mine.

  This rainy day that I remember so well Petey put his muddy boots in my cubby on top of a book I’d brought for Show and Share Time. The book was Eloise, and it was my prized possession. Two wet, muddy footprints were on the cover of my beloved Eloise. I was so mad at Petey that I wanted to kick him and hit him and bite him. Then, after I punished him myself, I was going to tell the teacher. But since I didn’t want anyone to see that I was crying I couldn’t do any of those things to Petey. So I hid in my cubby.

  It was a tight squeeze, but once I got myself all folded up it was cozy. I decided that from then on, when I came to that dumb old school with dumb old kids like Petey, I would go right to my cubby and stay there until it was time to go home. From the cubby I could see that Lydia and Pam were playing with my favorite things from the dress-up trunk — princess dresses. But I didn’t care. I wasn’t budging.

  I don’t remember anything else about that incident. But I do remember that except for that day I loved preschool, so it’s a safe bet that I didn’t spend the rest of the year in the cubby.

  By the way, the cover of my copy of Eloise is still wrinkled and stained from Petey’s boot marks. As it turned out Petey later went to Parker, the school I attended from kindergarten until I moved to Ston
eybrook. Petey was one of my good friends at Parker but I’d still never want to share a locker with him. No one would. At the end of sixth grade he won the award for the most dirty sweat socks (stink socks?) in a locker. Petey had thirty-one of them.

  During those early years, on weekends my parents and I would do all sorts of things in the city. (If my dad had to work my mom and I would go off by ourselves.) I especially remember going to Central Park. We’d put a blanket down in Sheep Meadow. There aren’t any sheep in the meadow, but there used to be long before any of us was born. Anyway, we’d sit on the blanket in Sheep(less) Meadow and watch all the people. I’d color or look at books or just run around like kids do, while my mother (and father, if he was there) read the Sunday New York Times. I liked it best when we went with another family so I’d have a kid or two to play with.

  Oh, and here’s a neat thing. In Sheep Meadow there was usually someone playing bongo drums or a guitar. And outside the Meadow people with pushcarts were selling cold drinks, ice cream, and pretzels. Those were the good old days when I could have sugar. I always chose an ice cream on a stick with chocolate covering. Yummy!

  Another thing I loved to do when I was little was go to the Museum of Natural History. I never tired of doing that (though I bet after awhile my parents did). I love all the big glass cases with exhibits of stuffed animals. Each one is set up in the appropriate environment for the animal. So if you’re looking at a rhinoceros there’s a little stuffed bird on its back. The thing is, it’s exactly the bird that would stand on a rhino’s back in nature. The plants are the same as they would be in nature, too. The point is that you know that whatever is behind that glass wall is what you would see if you came across a rhino in the wild. It’s all been carefully researched.

  Sometimes I’d be looking at one exhibit and over my shoulder I’d think I saw an animal in another case moving! I was always a little scared when I walked around that section of the Museum of Natural History. But that was part of what I liked. It made it so exciting.