Dawn's Wicked Stepsister, Page 2

  Then there are Jessi Ramsey and Mallory Pike, junior officers in the club. Jessi and Mal are best friends. They’re also sixth-graders, while the rest of us are eighth-graders. We all go to Stoneybrook Middle School. Mal and Jessi are both the oldest kids in their families, both love horses, both love to read, both think their parents treat them like infants — even though recently they were allowed to get their ears pierced (just one hole in each ear, of course) — and neither one of them has ever had a boyfriend.

  But the similarities end there. Mal comes from a huge family (she has seven younger brothers and sisters), while Jessi comes from an average-sized family — one younger sister and a baby brother. Mal wants to be an author and illustrator of children’s books when she grows up and is always writing in her private journal, while Jessi is thinking of becoming a professional ballet dancer. She takes lessons at a special dance school in Stamford and has even starred in some ballet productions. One last difference: Mal is white; Jessi is black. Jessi’s skin color doesn’t matter a bit to any of us, but it sure mattered to some people in Stoneybrook when the Ramseys first moved here. They gave Jessi and her family a really hard time. See, there are hardly any other blacks in Stoneybrook (Jessi is the only black student in the sixth grade), and some people wanted to keep it that way. They were downright mean to the Ramseys, but things have cooled off, thank goodness.

  The last person who was over at Mary Anne’s on that sunny day after the wedding was Logan Bruno. He’s only sort of a member of the Baby-sitters Club, but since he’s Mary Anne’s boyfriend, he was invited to dish about the wedding with the rest of us. All us girls like Logan — but no one except Mary Anne likes him in that special way.

  Logan is funny and kind. He enjoys sports. He cares very much about Mary Anne and doesn’t mind when she’s feeling extra shy. And he is drop-dead gorgeous. He looks like a movie star.

  Logan’s family is from Louisville, Kentucky. They moved here just before we began eighth grade. Logan has a younger sister and a younger brother. His family speaks with a southern accent. Logan says “Luevulle” for “Louisville” and “mah hayer” for “my hair.” What’s funny (sort of) is that his little brother, Hunter, has allergies, so he says “bah hayer” for “my hair” because his nose (doze) is always stuffed up!

  The eight of us dished for about two hours. Then everyone began to leave.

  “Gotta go, you guys,” said Logan, standing up. “I’m sitting at the Rodowskys’ tonight.”

  “Charlie’s going to be here to pick me up any second,” said Kristy.

  Before we knew it, Mary Anne and I were alone. We’d been looking forward to ordering in a pizza for dinner and watching a scary movie on TV, but now I could tell that we both felt sort of empty. Our parents were away, and Mary Anne was about to spend her last night ever in her old room. And it didn’t even look like her room anymore, since it was half packed up. We tried to make the best of things, though.

  But I knew we were thinking about the next day, and wondering what, exactly, it would bring.

  Moving day!

  Mary Anne and I woke up early that morning. To tell you the truth, we hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. Every time we heard the teensiest sound we were sure a robber was breaking into the house. You might think that I wouldn’t mind odd sounds, since I like mysteries and sleep in a room with a hidden entrance to a secret passage in the wall — but my mother is always home at night. It’s different when no adults are around. My mother probably couldn’t get the better of either a robber or a ghost, but I always feel comforted knowing she’s in the next room.

  “Boy,” said Mary Anne at 3:15 A.M., when we’d been awakened for about the thirtieth time, “you should have been living in Stoneybrook when Kristy, Claudia, Stacey, and I thought we were being harassed by a phantom phone caller.”

  “A phantom phone caller?” I repeated.

  “Yeah. There was this guy who would call people’s houses at night. If no one answered the phone, he’d come rob the house. The Baby-sitters Club was brand-new then, and us club members were scared to death. We were sure he was going to call sometime when one of us was sitting, figure out that no adults were around, and then come rob the house with us in it!”

  “What did you do?” I whispered.

  “Lots of things. One night I was sitting for David Michael because he had a cold, and Kristy and the rest of her family were out — probably visiting Watson, I don’t remember. Anyway, I rigged up all these burglar alarms — and kept setting them off by accident. Once Louie set one off. Remember Louie? The Thomases’ old collie? Anyway, that seemed like a really scary time, but when I think of it now, it’s kind of funny.”

  I giggled. Mary Anne and I felt better for about five minutes. Then we heard a c-r-e-a-k and we both shrieked.

  Were we ever glad when Mom and Richard pulled up in front of the house at ten o’clock that morning. They’d already picked up Jeff.

  Mary Anne and I flew out the front door. “Hi! Hi!” we called.

  “What a nice, warm welcome,” said Mom.

  If she only knew. We were really just relieved.

  “Well, now what?” I asked.

  “Now we wait for the moving van,” said Richard. “It should be here in a minute.”

  The five of us stood around on the Spiers’ front lawn.

  Richard tried to make conversation. “Jeff had a fine time at the Pikes’ last night, didn’t you, Jeff?” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” Jeff replied. (He would have to work on that “sir” business. Or maybe not. He was going back to California the next night.)

  “Did you girls have fun?” Mom asked us.

  Mary Anne and I glanced at each other. “Sort of,” I replied.

  Across the street, the door to the Kishis’ house opened and Claud dashed across her lawn and over to us.

  “I can’t believe you’re moving,” she said fervently to Mary Anne. “Oh, hi, Mr. Spier. Hi, Mrs. Scha — Mrs. Spier.” Claud rushed on. “You and Kristy always lived across the street from me. Then Kristy left, and now you’re leaving, Mary Anne. The triangle is completely broken up.”

  Now why did Claud have to go and say that? Of course, Mary Anne started to cry. To make things worse, the moving van arrived then. It pulled into the Spiers’ driveway.

  Mary Anne’s tears fell faster. “I don’t want to leave,” she said. “I’ve never lived anywhere but here.”

  I began to feel guilty. Why? Because underneath the guilt I was excited. I couldn’t wait for my new sister and father to get settled at our house. And I knew the only way that would happen was by making Mary Anne miserable. I didn’t have much patience for her tears.

  “Come on, sis,” I said to her. “You know it’s going to be great. We’ve both always wanted a sister.”

  Mary Anne watched the movers carry her dresser through the front door and load it into the van.

  “Sis?” said Claudia.

  We barely heard her. “There’s my dresser,” said Mary Anne. “It won’t even fit in your — I mean, our — room. I’ll have to put it in the guest room. Who ever heard of sleeping in one room and keeping your dresser in another?”

  “But the rest of your clothes will hang in my closet,” I told her. “We made room, remember?”

  “Of course I remember,” snapped Mary Anne. “I’m not stupid.”

  Well, obviously Mary Anne wasn’t in as good a mood as I was. She must be one of those people who gets crabby if she doesn’t have enough sleep.

  She and Claud and Jeff and I stood on the lawn and watched the movers. Mary Anne’s eyes misted up as each item came out of her house — even stupid things, like boxes marked CLEANING SUPPLIES.

  And she wasn’t cheered when neighbors started dropping over with good-bye presents. First Mrs. Kishi came by with a casserole.

  “I don’t think you’ll be doing much cooking today,” she said.

  Mary Anne cried.

  Then Stacey and Mal (whose houses are back to back) ca
me over with brownies they’d baked together.

  Mary Anne sobbed.

  Then Myriah and Gabbie Perkins, who had moved into Kristy’s old house next door, came over with a bunch of flowers they’d picked.

  Mary Anne became a gusher.

  I was relieved when the van was finally loaded, we’d said our good-byes, and my new family had climbed into the Spiers’ car and followed the van to my house. I thought Mary Anne would cheer up once she was away from her house.

  But, no.

  She turned into the Crab Queen.

  “I can’t believe we gave our sofa to the Salvation Army,” she said, looking around our living room, which was now on the crowded side.

  “There wasn’t any room for it,” I pointed out. I didn’t bother to add that Tigger had clawed it and the stuffing was coming out. It was awful-looking. Why would we want it?

  Later, Mary Anne and I went upstairs to our bedroom. It now held two beds, two desks, and an extra bookcase, plus several cartons of Mary Anne’s possessions. Originally, we’d thought we could fit her dresser in the room, too, but as I already said, we couldn’t. The room was just too crowded. It looked like a furniture warehouse. We kept tripping over things.

  “I’m sure it’ll seem better when your boxes are unpacked,” I said. “At least they won’t take up space.”

  Mary Anne sort of grunted.

  Just then we heard mewing.

  “Oh, that’s Tigger!” cried Mary Anne. “Where is he? I bet he thinks he’s lost.”

  Mary Anne rushed into the hall, found Tigger, scooped him up, and brought him into our room. “Poor thing,” she said, stroking his back. “He’s all disoriented. I don’t blame you a bit for crying, Tiggy.” (I rolled my eyes.)

  Mary Anne should never have said that. She put Tigger down and he continued to wander around the house and mew for six hours. I thought he (and Mary Anne) would drive my mother insane.

  They nearly drove the movers insane, too. Mary Anne kept jumping around them, exclaiming, “There’s Tigger! Don’t step on him! Don’t let him out! Don’t drop that chair on him!”

  The rest of the time, Mary Anne moped. She didn’t unpack the cartons in our room. She wasn’t even cheered up by the bouquets of flowers that kept arriving all day. Everyone wanted to congratulate us, but Mary Anne couldn’t have cared less.

  * * *

  By Sunday, she seemed better, though. Tigger was learning his way around our house, so he stopped mewing. And Mary Anne was forced to unpack her cartons because she needed the things that were in them. When everything had been put away, Mary Anne looked around our room. “You know,” she said, “this isn’t half bad.”

  I smiled. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s pick out our clothes for school tomorrow, only you pick out one of my outfits, and I’ll pick out one of yours.”

  “Okay!” Mary Anne actually smiled back at me. She even said, “This is fun … sis.”

  * * *

  That night, Jeff had to fly back to Los Angeles. His visit had been short, but school was in session and Mom and Dad didn’t want him to miss too much of it.

  Jeff and I always travel to L.A. at night because of the time difference. It’s three hours earlier in L.A., and the flight is about five hours long. So if we put Jeff on a plane that leaves around seven, he travels (Mom thinks he sleeps) for five hours, which means he arrives in L.A. around midnight our time — but only nine o’clock California time. Jeff could get in a good night’s sleep and even go to school the next day. A miracle of modern science.

  All of us — Mom, Richard, Mary Anne, Jeff, and I — drove to the airport to see Jeff off. Our good-byes are usually pretty sad. But this time, Jeff seemed more concerned than sad. After he’d loaded up on comic books for the long flight, he pulled me away from everyone else.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Jeff frowned. “I’m not sure. I used to like Mary Anne, but this weekend I didn’t like her. And I don’t think she likes us.”

  “Oh, come on, Jeff,” I said. “She just didn’t want to move.”

  “Well, it’s going to be awhile before I come to Stoneybrook again. I think this new family is going to have some … trouble.”

  I had to admit that Jeff was right. Things hadn’t gotten off to the greatest of starts. But they would improve … wouldn’t they?

  Jeff’s plane was announced then, and our sad good-byes began. Jeff and Mom hugged. Jeff and I hugged. Mary Anne kissed Jeff awkwardly on the cheek. And Jeff shook Richard’s hand and said, “Good-bye, sir.”

  Then my brother turned and walked onto the boarding ramp.

  Monday was a BSC meeting day.

  Mary Anne and I showed up in our borrowed outfits, which, of course, we’d already worn to school that day. Our friends had noticed right away. And Claudia had said, “You guys are so lucky. You just doubled your wardrobes without paying a cent!”

  However, neither Mary Anne nor I was in the best of moods by the time we got to the meeting. I had tripped over Tigger that afternoon (I had not hurt him, but Mary Anne had given me a look), and she had been completely grossed out when she’d opened our refrigerator and found bean sprouts in it.

  “There’s something growing in there!” she’d shrieked.

  I couldn’t help laughing, and Mary Anne had huffed off, mad.

  Our BSC meetings always start at five-thirty on the nose — the second that Claudia’s digital clock, our official club timepiece, changes from 5:29 to five-thirty. The meetings last until six and are held three times a week, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. We hold them late in the day in case any of us has a baby-sitting job, a class, or an appointment in the afternoon.

  Before I tell you what went on at the meeting that day which, as it turned out, was the official beginning of the Pike Plague, only none of us knew that then, I’d better tell you a little about our club — how it runs and operates.

  The BSC is really more a business than a club. As I mentioned earlier, Kristy thought it up. She got the idea for it way back at the beginning of seventh grade. That was before her mom had married Watson, when the Thomases still lived across the street from Claudia. In those days, Kristy, Sam, and Charlie took turns baby-sitting for David Michael after school. But, of course, a day came along when none of them was free to sit. Mrs. Thomas wasn’t upset. She understood that kids have things to do. So she got on the phone to find a baby-sitter. Only that turned out to be a lot easier said than done. Kristy watched her make call after call. Everyone seemed to be busy. And that was when Kristy got her great idea. She thought it would be wonderful if her mother (or any parent) could make just one call and reach a whole bunch of sitters at once. So she decided to form a baby-sitting business in her neighborhood. She asked Mary Anne, Claudia, and Claudia’s new friend Stacey to join her. The girls decided on club meeting times when people could call them to line up a baby-sitter. With four girls at each meeting, Kristy reasoned, one of them was bound to be free. So our clients would practically be guaranteed a sitter with just one phone call. And she was right. The club has been a huge success. Now there are seven of us sitters, plus two associate club members.

  How do people know when and where to reach us? Because we advertise. As I’ve said, Kristy is an ideas person. In order to start the club, she and her friends placed a small ad in the Stoneybrook newspaper and stuck about a million fliers in people’s mailboxes. (We still distribute fliers from time to time.) They also spread the news by word of mouth. You know — just telling people what they were doing. Well, the club caught on quickly. By the time I moved to Connecticut in January, the girls needed me as a new member because they had so much business. Later, they took on two associate members — Logan, and a friend of Kristy’s named Shannon Kilbourne. The associate members don’t come to meetings; they’re backup people we can call on in case someone needs a sitter when all us club members are busy. Believe me, that happens sometimes. Anyway, then Stacey had to move back to New York, so we replaced her with both Jessi and Mal, a
nd then Stacey returned to Connecticut, so of course we let her right back in the club. We needed her, and besides, we would never have told an original member that she couldn’t be part of the club anymore. The club members are like sisters (or in Logan’s case, he’s like our brother).

  What does each club member do? Well, I’ll tell you, starting with Kristy, since she’s the president. As our ideas person, Kristy figured out how the club would run and is always coming up with new plans. For instance, it was Kristy who decided that we should run a playgroup for awhile last summer, and that a nice Mother’s Day gift for our clients (and for some of our own mothers) would be to take their kids off their hands and give them a day of freedom and relaxation. So we took a huge bunch of kids to a carnival on the Saturday before Mother’s Day. Kristy was also the one who thought up Kid-Kits. Kid-Kits are boxes (we each have one) that we decorated and then filled with our old games, books, and toys, and a few new items such as coloring books, construction paper, and Magic Markers. We bring our kits along with us on some of our sitting jobs, and the kids adore them. There’s just something about playing with other people’s toys…. Anyway, because the children like the Kid-Kits, they like us, so their parents like us, and they’re more apt to call the BSC again. I think Kristy will become a great businesswoman one day. Kristy’s job, aside from getting good ideas, is to run the meetings, which she loves doing, because she likes being in charge.