Kristy for President

  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

  Friday. Finally. And was I ever glad. It’s too bad you can’t organize the weeks so that Fridays come more often. Or so that you have extra ones to use every once in awhile, when you need them — like those cards in Monopoly to Get Out of Jail Free. Not that I think of Stoneybrook Middle School as jail.

  But if Friday had just come earlier this week, I would have missed a pop quiz in science on Wednesday, for example. I didn’t fail it. But I wasn’t ready for ten true-false questions about the similarities and differences between vertebrates and invertebrates.

  At least it was Friday now. The PA system was just finishing crackling and garbling out announcements, which sounded like someone with his hand over his mouth practicing ventriloquism. (Stacey McGill says it brings a little bit of New York City here to Stoneybrook, Connecticut, because that’s how all the announcements in the subways sound.) After the announcements we’d be going to an assembly.

  Stacey is from New York originally. She’s a little more sophisticated than the rest of us. The rest of us isn’t all of Stoneybrook Middle School, although she often does seem older than everyone else at SMS. The “us” I’m talking about is the Baby-sitters Club. That’s a business that my six friends and I operate. I’m the president and Stacey is the treasurer and — well — more about that later.

  When the announcements were over, and the bell had rung, I picked up my books and headed for the auditorium. Stacey and Claudia Kishi were going in just as I got there. Stacey and Claudia are best friends — they share a sort of city-cool sense of style, for one thing — and Claud is also vice-president of the BSC.

  “Friday at last,” said Claudia, as if she’d been reading my mind. Claudia is not too fond of school. In fact, you could probably say school is not her best subject, although she is smart and very creative.

  “Does anybody know what this assembly is about?” I asked.

  “Maybe,” Claudia said, “they’re going to cancel school for the rest of the day.”

  “Good idea,” I replied.

  “In your dreams,” said Stacey, shaking her head. Claudia and I grinned at each other and followed Stacey into the auditorium.

  Mary Anne Spier and Dawn Schafer were saving us seats.

  I plopped down next to Mary Anne. “Whew! This week has been too long.”

  Mary Anne looked at me sympathetically. She knew about that pop quiz. “I couldn’t do everything you do, Kristy,” she said. “It’s amazing.”

  I thought about that and felt better: baby-sitting, coaching the Krushers, which is what you might call a well-rounded softball team (the youngest player is only two and a half and the oldest is eight), being president of the Baby-sitters Club, and keeping up with school is a pretty tough schedule. I raised my eyebrows and said, in a snobby tone, “Organization. If one is organized, one can do anything.”

  Mary Anne made a face, then suddenly lifted her arm and waved. Mallory Pike and Jessi Ramsey, who are sixth-graders and junior officers in the BSC, hurried to join us. Jessi was giggling and Mal was rolling her eyes, but before we could talk anymore, the assembly was called to order.

  It was not the most interesting assembly in the history of the school. In fact, it was more like having the PA announcements read clearly and in person. About five minutes after it started I looked down the row of seats and saw:

  Stacey, staring into space, fiddling with one of her earrings (a small silver replica of the Eiffel Tower). Claudia, her head bent, her long black hair, which was swept up and over to one side, falling forward over her cheek as she drew something in her notebook. Dawn, doing some quick catch-up homework. Mal, just plain reading — probably a horse story. Jessi, sitting very upright, one leg raised, flexing her ankle. Mary Anne, not doing anything quite so obvious to show she was bored, but glancing around — very casually, of course. Probably looking for Logan Bruno, who is her boyfriend.

  I snuck a quick look around myself, wishing Bart Taylor went to our school. I sort of have a crush on Bart. Okay — I have a giant crush on him. Then I noticed the Special Ed kids. Like the BSC, they were all sitting together. But then they do everything together, even staying in the same classroom although the other students change classes.

  Sometimes the other students — the “normal” ones — make fun of the Special Ed kids. I couldn’t help wondering whether if we saw more of them, it would happen less. I mean, I know the world is not perfect, and you can’t change everybody. But you have to try, right?

  What would I do, I wondered, remembering Susan, a girl who is autistic. I’d baby-sat for her not too long ago. That job — and Susan — had taught me to look at the Special Ed kids almost as if I were seeing them for the first time, which in a way I guess I was. “Learning different.” That was a phrase I’d heard used. They learned different things differently — the way Stacey was a whiz in math and Claudia saw the world full of possibilities for creating new sculptures and drawings and paintings.

  Susan was locked up in her own world, as if the world outside didn’t exist at all. She was away now at a school that probably had the best possible chance of helping her. But these kids were right here. What if —

  “Kristy?”

  Mary Anne was poking me, and I figured the assembly was over.

  Then I realized it wasn’t over at all. It was a fire drill.

  “Just in time,” said Stacey. She nodded toward the stage, where the principal was thumping on the microphone, making it give out one of those EEEEE-NNNNNNN sounds, like fingernails on the chalkboard with the volume way up.

  Mary Anne clapped her hands over her ears and made a face, and we all stood up obediently.

  The principal was saying something, but you couldn’t understand it. Fortunately, there had been so many fire drills lately that we were pretty experienced at handling them. There was a lot of shuffling and giggling and teachers clapping and making motions like traffic cops. I heard a shriek and whipped around. Maybe the school really was on fire. But then I saw Cokie Mason, her face red. She was rubbing her shoulder and glaring at Alan Gray. He’d obviously just given her one of his dumb knuckle punches.

  Alan Gray is such a goon sometimes.

  “I bet that hurt,” said Mary Anne, almost sympathetically. That’s Mary Anne. She can be sympathetic to the most rotten people. And considering some of the tricks Cokie Mason has pulled on Mary Anne (and on me, for that matter), Cokie should be at the top of Mary Anne’s rotten-people list.

  Thinking about that, I decided maybe, just this once, Alan wasn’t being such a goon. “Probably another false alarm,” I said.

  “Yeah,” said Claudia. “I like missing class, but this is a little extreme.”

  Everyone got outside pretty quickly. Since we had all been in the same place this was easier than usual. I noticed that some of the kids seemed to be drifting away, toward the sidewalk. I looked back at the school, half expecting to see smoke pouring out and teachers motioning us farther away to safety. But SMS just stood there stolidly, the same as always.

  I looked back and more kids were following. I couldn’t believe it. Then
one of the substitute teachers, Mr. Zorzi, walked quickly by. A minute later we saw him at the head of the group of kids, his arms held up.

  The mass exit from the school grounds stopped.

  Claud started to laugh. “I don’t believe it,” she said. “Alan and the other guys just started walking and everyone followed.”

  She was right. Another teacher had gone out to join Mr. Zorzi and they came back, leading Alan Gray and Justin Forbes and Kelsey Bauman. Alan and his friends looked sort of sheepish, but you could tell by the way they were glancing sideways at people and grinning a little that they were pleased with themselves, too.

  Stacey shook her head. “Would you follow those guys anywhere?”

  “No way,” said Dawn.

  “Not a trusty leader,” agreed Claudia.

  After an assembly (well, half an assembly) and a fire alarm, the rest of the morning went by pretty quickly. And despite all the variations in our morning routine, what was being served up for lunch looked just the same.

  “What is that stuff?” I asked Claudia.

  Claudia peered down at her plate. “I like to think of it as art,” she said loftily.

  “Splatter art,” I agreed. “You know, like in those horror movies …”

  “Ewww. Kristy!”

  “Don’t worry, Stacey,” I said soothingly. “You didn’t get the hot lunch.”

  Dawn, who was placidly opening a container of yogurt to go with her sprout salad, said, “I believe that is called meat loaf.”

  Mary Anne picked up her fork and started to cut the meat loaf. Just as she cut it, I shrieked.

  Mary Anne gave a little shriek herself and dropped the fork. I lowered my voice mysteriously. “I think it’s still alive.”

  Everyone broke up, except Mary Anne, who was looking a little green. She gave me a Look, and I said, “Okay, okay.”

  I picked up my own fork and took another look at the meat loaf. It was gray, and the tomato sauce was pale red and watery. The mashed potatoes next to it had a sort of oozy quality. And I wasn’t so sure I liked the color of the broccoli. It looked like something that had been attacked by Bunnicula, the vampire rabbit.

  I sniffed at my lunch. “This does not smell great,” I said.

  “No,” said Dawn, who is totally into healthy food.

  “I can’t believe they keep serving us stuff like this. It can’t be good for you.”

  “No,” repeated Dawn.

  “You know, Kristy,” said Stacey, who also brings her own lunch, “why don’t you do something about it? Class president elections are coming up. Run for class president.”

  “Maybe.” I gave the broccoli a poke, decided it was safe even if Bunnicula had gotten there first, and started to eat. I had forgotten it was almost time for class elections. It was probably one of the things that was going to be talked about in the assembly. The requirements were not any big deal. The main one was that you had to have a B average.

  That part, at least, would be no sweat.

  “You could,” said Stacey, polishing off the apple she’d brought for dessert. She pointed to the soggy piece of angel food cake on my tray, which was beginning to look a little too much like the mashed potatoes. “Your motto could be ‘Let us eat cake.’ ”

  Everyone cracked up.

  If Friday was wild and crazy, Saturday was pretty usual — wild and crazy.

  Nannie and I ate breakfast to the sound of live music. Nannie is my — our — grandmother. Not too long ago, Mom got married again. (Our dad left when I was a little kid. He lives in California, and we never really hear from him.) Mom married Watson Brewer, and we had to move into Watson’s house. Okay, it’s actually a mansion, and moving wasn’t so bad, although I hated to leave because I lived right next door to Mary Anne and across the street from Claudia.

  But life in a mansion is okay. Before this, Sam and Charlie, my two older brothers who are at Stoneybrook High School, had to share a room. And David Michael, who is a second-grader, practically lived in a closet. Now we all have our own rooms. But we’re filling the mansion up pretty fast. Watson’s two kids, Karen, who is seven like David Michael, and Andrew, who is almost five, spend every other weekend with us and two weeks during the summer. And then there’s Emily Michelle. She’s our adopted sister. She’s from Vietnam and is two and a half.

  And that’s where Nannie comes in. Watson and Mom both work hard, and so Mom asked her mother to come live with us and help while everyone is at work or at school. And she did.

  So that’s Nannie.

  Breakfast was English muffins, toasted, with peanut butter and strawberry jam for me and plum preserves for Nannie.

  The music was Karen and David Michael singing in the den. They’d made up this game to the tune of “Do-Re-Mi.” Except instead of singing “do-re-mi” they were singing nonsense rhymes. Andrew, who is shy and quiet, was sitting at the table with us, methodically eating his cereal.

  “What’s happening today?” I asked Nannie.

  “Boo!” (Karen) “Ooh!” (David Michael) “Foo!”…

  “Bowling,” said Nannie, eyeing the plum preserves for seconds.

  “They’re good for bowling,” I said helpfully.

  “My thoughts exactly,” she replied, reaching for them again. “What are you doing today?”

  “Baby-sitting for David Michael and Karen and Andrew and Emily Michelle this morning. This afternoon I get to take care of Jamie and Lucy Newton.”

  “Sounds like a busy day,” said Nannie.

  “Noooo,” said David Michael, and it didn’t rhyme, and it didn’t sound very happy.

  I got up and gave my plate a quick rinse and put it in the dishwasher. “Sounds like I better get started.”

  In the den I found David Michael and Karen staring at one another. They’d stopped singing. They were standing eyeball to eyeball.

  “Kristy?” That was Mom. I took another quick look at David Michael and Karen. They weren’t moving or blinking, so I stepped into the hall.

  Mom and Watson were on their way out. “We’ll be back at noon,” said Mom. “Emily Michelle is just waking up.”

  “I’ll go get her.”

  “Thanks, dear.” Mom and Watson hurried out the door. For a moment it was quiet. I knew Charlie and Sam had left early. That just left the six of us in the house, all peaceful and calm.

  “You blinked!” shrieked Karen.

  At about the same time I heard Emily Michelle. “Hiiiii?”

  I stuck my head in the den. “Start over,” I said to Karen and David Michael.

  “He blinked first!”

  “Did not!”

  “Did too!”

  “Listen,” I suggested. “Close your eyes, and see if you can catch each other peeking.”

  “That’s silly,” said Karen.

  “Really,” said David Michael.

  “Lilly!” sang Karen.

  David Michael grinned and took a deep breath. I took one of my own, checked on Andrew (still working on his cereal), and ran upstairs to get Emily Michelle.

  After that, the morning went a little more smoothly. Emily Michelle doesn’t talk a lot yet, but she’s learning. She was very definite about how I made her peanut butter English muffin, for example, but in a nice, positive way. “Yes!” she crowed when I started making it. “Oh-oh!” she said, sounding very alarmed when I reached for the plum preserves. Then when I switched to the applesauce she beamed. “Yes!” she said again, happily.

  The sun was shining outside, so after Emily had eaten, we all took Shannon out into the backyard.

  Shannon’s great. She’s a Bernese mountain dog puppy, and she’s enthusiastic about everything. She’s still in her clumsy puppy stage, but she’s very smart. And it’s funny, she seems to understand that Emily Michelle is littler and more vulnerable than David Michael or Karen or Andrew. She’s always much calmer with Emily.

  Karen picked up a leaf as soon as we got outside and stuck it under her headband. “I’m a leaf collector,” she said.<
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  “Me, too,” said David Michael.

  “I’m the chief leaf collector. You are the executive vice-president in charge of choosing colors.”

  “Red,” said David Michael instantly. They bent over and started searching for red leaves. Shannon and Andrew joined in, not sure what they were doing, but glad to help out.

  “You want to make a leaf collection, Emily?” I asked.

  Emily squatted down and peered at a leaf. She picked it up and looked it over with a serious expression. Then she put it back down exactly where she found it.

  “No?” I asked.

  She looked at me solemnly.

  “We can write messages on the green leaves. Would you like to do that?” I pulled a couple of green leaves off of a tree and brought them back. I picked up a twig and wrote a big E on one. “See,” I said. “That’s an E. It’s what your name begins with.”

  I handed it to her. She inspected it, then put it down precisely, and looked at me expectantly.

  “As leaf chief,” said Karen, “I now declare we have all the red leaves in the whole yard.”

  “Hi,” said a voice behind me just then and I looked up. “Shannon,” I said. “Hi! Can you stay for awhile?”

  Shannon Kilbourne lives across the street. When I first moved into the neighborhood, I thought she was an awful snob. But she’s turned out to be a good friend, even though we don’t get to see that much of each other. (Shannon goes to a private school.)

  “Not right now,” said Shannon. “Astrid and I are going for a walk, and we came to see if you wanted to come.”

  Just then Shannon the puppy saw her mother and frisked over to her. (Shannon gave us one of Astrid’s puppies when our collie, Louie, died. We’ll never forget Louie, but it’s nice having a puppy around, too. And yes, David Michael named Shannon the puppy for Shannon the person.) The two dogs touched noses, tails wagging furiously.

  “I wish I could go with you guys,” I said, “but I’m baby-sitting.”

  “Yeah … I could put it off. What about this afternoon?”

  “I have another job this afternoon,” I said regretfully.

  “Oh. Well, listen. Maybe tomorrow. Astrid needs the exercise. She’s gaining weight, and that’s not good.”