Kristy in Charge

  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

  I sat forward at my desk and gave Ms. Garcia my complete attention. She’s my homeroom teacher, and what she was telling our class this morning was extremely interesting to me.

  “This year the Stoneybrook Board of Education has worked with other schools in southern Connecticut and has come up with a new program called TOT — Teachers of Tomorrow. For three days student volunteers will be teaching some classes in place of the teachers,” she told us.

  Yess! I thought. My friends call me Kristy Thomas, the Idea Machine, and I guess the name fits. Instantly, I was thinking of a million ways Stoneybrook Middle School (otherwise known as SMS) could be improved.

  I raised my hand. “Yes, Kristy?” Ms. Garcia said.

  “Is Mr. Taylor’s job available?”

  “You want to be the principal?” Ms. Garcia asked with a smile.

  The class laughed. I was slightly embarrassed, but I just grinned and shrugged.

  What’s wrong with wanting to be in charge? I couldn’t think of anyone else in the eighth grade better equipped for the job. After all, I have experience in running things. I formed a softball team for little kids called Kristy’s Krushers. And I’m founder and president of the Baby-sitters Club. I’ll tell you more about that later, but for now let me say that the BSC (as we call it) is more than a club. It’s a very successful business.

  “I don’t think the principal’s job is open,” Ms. Garcia said. “But let me tell you how this is going to work.”

  Ms. Garcia went on to explain that any kid who was interested could volunteer to student teach. That would involve teaching in another class every other day for a week (three times total). We’d have to go through a teacher training course and submit prepared lesson plans, just like a real teacher does.

  A troubling thought hit me. Did I look enough like a teacher to control a class of SMS kids? For one thing, I’m only five feet tall, which makes me the smallest kid in my grade. And I don’t look particularly sophisticated. No makeup. No jewelry. I wear my long brown hair plain and like no-fuss clothes such as jeans, sweatshirts, and sweaters.

  Naw, not a problem, I decided. Although I had never taken the place of an adult, I’d never, ever had trouble leading a group.

  “You’ll get to experience what we teachers go through,” Ms. Garcia continued. “Also, we hope some of you will be inspired to become teachers yourselves someday.”

  A girl named Cokie Mason (whom I can’t stand because she’s mean, conceited, and generally obnoxious) appeared at the door with some papers to give Ms. Garcia. She’d stood there long enough to hear what Ms. Garcia had been saying. “Will TOT volunteers be dismissed from their regular classes those days?” she asked as she handed Ms. Garcia the stack of papers.

  Well, duh. Cokie has never been a bright light, but this was a dumb question even for her. Did she really think she’d be expected to be in two places at once?

  “You’ll attend your regular classes except for the class periods when you are teaching another class,” Ms. Garcia explained.

  “Cool!” Cokie said with a giggle as she left the room.

  I couldn’t imagine being in a class taught by Cokie. I raised my hand and asked, “Can anybody do this?”

  Ms. Garcia nodded. “As long as you take the training course. Also, I should mention, those students who do volunteer will receive extra credit for their work.”

  I was definitely going to volunteer. Even if I couldn’t be principal, I had ideas about how some of my classes could be improved. For example, Ms. Griswold, my science teacher, tends to ignore a bunch of goof-off boys who sit in the back of the class. I’d make them work or get out. They distract everyone who sits near them. And Mrs. Simon, my English teacher, although she’s very nice, picks the dullest things for us to read. I’d assign books that are much more enjoyable.

  I wondered which class I’d be assigned to. I was eager to know so I could start planning my lessons right away.

  It was time to move on to my first period class. Before I left homeroom, I spoke to Ms. Garcia. “I’d like to volunteer,” I told her.

  “You’ll have to wait until Monday,” she replied. “We want to give students the weekend to think it over. We only want kids who are serious and who can give the project the time it requires.”

  “That makes sense,” I agreed. “All right. I’ll sign up then.”

  Outside in the crowded hall I saw my friend (and neighbor) Abby Stevenson hurrying to class. “Hey, Abby!” I called to her.

  She turned and waited for me. “Hi,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “This student teaching thing is going to be awesome, isn’t it?” I said as we began walking together down the hall.

  “Are you going to do that?” she cried. “Why would you? It’s so much extra work!”

  “It’s also extra credit,” I reminded her.

  “You get great grades. You don’t need extra credit. You just want to boss kids around.”

  And my friends say I’m too blunt.

  “No, I don’t!” I objected. (Though I secretly wondered if there was a grain of truth to her comment.) A grin slowly spread across my face. “I want to boss the teachers around.”

  “Oh, way to go,” Abby said with a laugh. “How do you expect to do that?”

  “I want to show them how they’ve been messing up in their classes. Show by example, I mean.”

  Abby rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. It sounds like too much work to me. Do you still want me to come over tonight?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’d love the company — and the help. David Michael and Karen don’t act as goofy when someone not related to them is there.”

  That night I was sitting for my baby sister, Emily Michelle, who is two and a half; my younger brother, David Michael (who is seven), and my stepsister, Karen (also seven). I also have two older brothers, Sam (fifteen) and Charlie (seventeen), and a stepbrother, Andrew (five), who is staying with his mother in Chicago for a few months.

  It sounds like a full house, doesn’t it? It’s even more full. My grandmother, Nannie, lives with us. And we have a Bernese mountain dog puppy named Shannon, a fat old cat named Boo-Boo, and several other pets, including a puppy we are training to be a guide dog.

  Luckily, it’s a big house. A mansion, to be exact. Nine bedrooms and three floors! (The top floor is the attic.) It took a little getting used to at first. You see, we (Mom, my brothers, and I) started out living in a pretty average house. Our dad left us right after David Michael was born (which is all I’ll say about him). Mom somehow managed to keep everything together. Then she married Watson Brewer and we all moved across town into the mansion.

  “David Michael and Karen are fun,” Abby objected. “And Emily Michelle is a doll!”

  I smiled. They really are great kids. But having Abby around for backup was still a good idea.

  Ahead of me I saw Alan Gray. Some kids call him the class clown. I’d vote him Most Obnoxious.

  “The lunatics are about to take over the asylum!” he shouted.

  “Do you really want him as your teacher?” Abby asked, jerki
ng her thumb in Alan’s direction.

  Alan whirled around to face us. “I’d be a great teacher. We’d study comic books. And rock lyrics. The things that really matter in this world.”

  “Fabulous, Alan,” Abby said dryly. “See what I mean?” she said after he was gone. “This idea has major drawbacks, if you ask me.”

  As it turned out, she was right. The idea had more drawbacks than either of us could ever have imagined.

  “Who’s doing TOT?” Stacey McGill asked that afternoon before our Friday BSC meeting. We were in Claudia Kishi’s bedroom, where we hold meetings.

  “I’d love to do it,” Stacey continued, “if I could be sure I’d get a math class.” Stacey is a math whiz and the club treasurer.

  “You can’t pick,” Mallory Pike told her. “I already asked. You have to take the class the TOT coordinator assigns you.”

  Claudia ripped open a bag of popcorn. “There’s no way I’m doing it,” she said firmly. That was no surprise. School is not one of her favorite things. She’d probably rather go to the dentist than go to school.

  Glancing at the clock, I saw it was five-thirty. Time to start the meeting. I checked the room. Everyone was there. Good, I thought. It really bugs me when anyone comes late. “This BSC meeting is about to begin,” I announced.

  As I mentioned earlier, I came up with the idea for the BSC. One day when I was in seventh grade, my mother spent hours calling around for a sitter for David Michael. That’s when the idea came to me. If she could call one number and talk to lots of sitters, she’d probably call that number every time she needed a baby-sitter. For her, it would be easy and wonderful.

  And for me — it would be a great business.

  So I talked to my best friend and neighbor, Mary Anne Spier, and then to Claudia and Stacey. We agreed to meet in Claudia’s room since she has her own phone line. Then we let parents know they could reach us on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons from five-thirty until six at Claudia’s number.

  We were an instant success! We had so much work that we brought Dawn Schafer into the club. Later, when Stacey had to move, we added Mallory and Jessica Ramsey. When Stacey returned to Stoneybrook it was no problem because our client list had grown so much that we needed even more help. Then Dawn moved back to California, where she’d grown up, and we had to replace her. Enter: Abby. That makes ten members right now. (Seven regulars, two associates, and one honorary, since Dawn visits fairly often and always comes to meetings when she’s here.)

  The phone rang. Claudia scooped up the receiver. “Hello, Baby-sitters Club,” she answered. Listening carefully, she took the client’s information down on a pad, then said she’d call right back. She turned to Mallory. “It was your mom. She wants someone for this Thursday, but just for Vanessa, Margo, and Claire.” Mallory is one of eight kids. Sitting for only three of them is a breeze compared to dealing with the whole crew.

  “Yeah, I can’t do it Thursday,” Mallory explained. “TOT training. I asked ahead to make sure I’d be available.”

  “Then a lot of us can’t take the job,” Mary Anne said as she opened the BSC record book where, as club secretary, she keeps track of all our jobs. “I wanted to volunteer too.” She looked at Claudia. “You said you didn’t want to do it, right?”

  “Me? No way,” Claudia replied. “I’m definitely free for Thursday.”

  “I’m not doing TOT,” Jessi said. “But I can’t sit either. I just started an extra ballet class on Thursdays.”

  “I’m not doing TOT either,” Abby added.

  Mary Anne looked down at her book. “But you have an allergist appointment that day,” she reminded Abby.

  Mary Anne not only records all our jobs in the record book, she also keeps track of our appointments and after-school activities, so there’s never a conflict. She’s awesome at it.

  “I’ll go,” Claudia said as she punched in the Pikes’ phone number to tell Mrs. Pike she was coming on Thursday.

  “The training is on Friday too,” Mallory mentioned to Mary Anne. “I won’t be available on that day either.”

  “I’d better find out now who’s going to TOT training and who isn’t, so I can schedule everyone properly,” Mary Anne proposed. “Everyone who is going, raise your hand.”

  As Mary Anne sorted out this scheduling wrinkle, I looked around at my friends and thought about which class each of them should teach.

  For Mallory, English would be a perfect fit. She loves books and writing and hopes someday to write and illustrate stories for children. She has a dry, wry sense of humor that would probably work well in books for kids.

  Mallory has reddish-brown hair, glasses, braces, and a nose she hates. She complains about her looks all the time — as if looks matter. Her personality is funny and perky and she’s a good person. Those are things that count.

  Since she and Jessi are eleven and the rest of us are thirteen, they’re our junior members. They only work during the day, unless they’re sitting for their own brothers and sisters.

  Speaking of Jessi, there’s no doubt what class she should teach — dance. She’s a graceful classical dancer who works hard at it. She even looks the part, with her long legs and her black hair swept off her face ballerina-style.

  Jessi and her family moved to Stoneybrook from Oakley, New Jersey, a town with a mix of ethnic groups. So the Ramseys were shocked when here in Stoneybrook some people gave them a hard time because they’re African-American. They snubbed them and were rude and basically intolerant. Fortunately, that seems to be in the past now, and the Ramseys have lots of good friends here.

  “Okay, that’s all set,” Claudia said, hanging up the phone. “Write me in for the Pikes this Thursday at three-thirty. Mal, do you think the girls would like it if I brought over my bead-making kit?” she asked.

  “They’d love it. They go wild when you bring your art stuff over.”

  Claudia’s class would have to be art. She lives and breathes it. She even looks like art. I’m not kidding. Today she was wearing a long-sleeved white T-shirt on which she’d painted a bald man’s head from a side view. All the lines were sharp, not natural at all. His nose was purple, his eyes were orange, and his skin was green. Jagged yellow lines like lightning bolts sizzled around his head. “What is that supposed to be?” I’d asked her when I saw her in school.

  “A person having a great idea,” she’d answered, as if it should have been obvious to me. “You, especially, should have recognized it, Ms. Idea Machine.”

  “I generally don’t turn colors when I think. Why is his skin green?” I’d asked.

  “Why not?” she’d replied. Sometimes, I have to admit, I don’t get it. But Claudia is creative. She’s also a junk food maniac, which is why she’s been assigned to be our club caterer. (Her official title is vice-president.) As club caterer all she really has to do is pull out the bags of snacks she has hidden all over her room. (Her parents forbid her to eat the stuff. But does that stop her? N-o-o-o-o-o.)

  Really, you’d never think Claudia likes junk food so much. She’s slim and has perfect skin. Her long, straight black hair gleams, and there’s always a shine in her dark, almond-shaped eyes. (She’s Japanese-American.) Claudia is like a walking advertisement for the benefits of unhealthy eating. I wonder sometimes how long she’ll be able to keep it up before something (like a zit) catches up with her.

  Claudia’s best friend is Stacey. The class Stacey would most like to teach is math, as she mentioned. She could also teach a special class on style and sophistication. Stacey is originally from New York City, and it shows. I think she seems older than the rest of us. (With the possible exception of Claudia.)

  Stacey isn’t just a former city girl. She still goes there on weekends every so often to stay with her father. You see, her parents are divorced and her dad still lives in the city. She’s also dating this guy named Ethan, who’s an art student there. So, in a way, Stacey has another life in New York City.

  One more thing about Stacey. Sh
e’s diabetic and has to eat healthily and carefully. It’s serious business. Her body doesn’t properly regulate the amount of sugar in her bloodstream. To keep this condition under control, she has to give herself injections of insulin every day. She also has to watch what she eats. She’s very disciplined about these things and most of the time her diabetes doesn’t get in the way of her life.

  “Okay,” Mary Anne told our group, “everyone is doing TOT except Abby, Jessi, and Claudia. Is that right?”

  We nodded.

  Of course it was right. Mary Anne never gets a scheduling matter wrong. Her class could be secretarial sciences. She would be a great guidance counselor too. She’s an excellent listener, extremely sympathetic, and she really cares about people.

  Mary Anne and I actually look a bit alike — small with brown eyes and brown hair.

  Mary Anne is so sweet that people assume she’s had an easy life. That’s not true. Her mother died when Mary Anne was just a baby. She lived with her grandparents for a while after that, because her dad was so freaked out that at first he couldn’t deal with raising a child. Soon, though, he pulled himself together and came for her. He was a good father but very strict. Mary Anne had to fight for every little freedom she had.

  In seventh grade, Mary Anne met Dawn Schafer. Dawn is tall and willowy with straight blonde hair and strong convictions about issues such as ecology. Dawn’s parents had recently divorced and Mrs. Schafer had moved home to Stoneybrook, where she’d grown up.

  One day, Mary Anne and Dawn discovered that their parents had been a couple when they were teenagers. They instantly began plotting to bring them together again. Amazingly, it worked. Dawn and Mary Anne became stepsisters and best friends and Mary Anne and her father moved into Dawn’s old farmhouse on Burnt Hill Road. (Dawn’s brother, Jeff, soon went back to California.) The Schafer-Spiers were doing pretty well as a new family until Dawn decided she missed California too. She moved back there to live with Jeff, her father, and his new wife.

  We all were sad when Dawn left, but Mary Anne took it the hardest. I think she felt deserted. But she had me, her other best friend, and she also had Logan.