Good-Bye Stacey, Good-Bye, Page 3

  “A spectacular one,” added Kristy. “Or at least a special one. Not just the five of us sitting around with soda and potato chips in club headquarters.”

  “What could we do that would be really special?” mused Mary Anne.

  “A surprise party?” suggested Dawn.

  “A big party with kids from school?” suggested Kristy, adding tentatively, “Boys …?”

  “Maybe,” said Claudia, “but I’m not sure how special those ideas are.”

  “I know,” agreed Kristy. “They’re just regular old party ideas.”

  “We may have a little problem,” Mary Anne spoke up.

  “What?” asked Kristy.

  “Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m kind of low on money, and I don’t think we should use treasury funds since Stacey contributes to the treasury, and it would be like she was paying for her own party. I’ve got about five dollars, myself.”

  “Oh,” said Dawn. “I’ve got five-fifty.”

  “I’ve got six,” said Kristy. She looked at Claudia.

  “Zero,” replied Claud. “I just bought a new pair of sneakers.”

  “Sixteen-fifty won’t go very far if we want to give Stacey a really special party,” Dawn pointed out.

  “That’s not our only problem,” said Kristy. “We’re forgetting something. What on earth is the club going to do without Stacey? I know it’s kind of mean to think about that right now, but it is a problem. A big one.”

  “Yeah,” said Mary Anne slowly.

  “I mean, we did all that advertising when school started,” Kristy went on. “We got new customers — the Rodowskys, the Papadakises, the Delaneys, and everyone.”

  “And we depend on Logan and Shannon for help pretty often,” added Dawn. “Hey, maybe one of them —”

  “No, we’ve been through that already,” Kristy interrupted. “They don’t want to be regular members.”

  My friends grew silent, thinking.

  “This is one big problem,” said Kristy, heaving a sigh. “Being a member of the club takes up an awful lot of time.”

  “And we need someone just as responsible as Stacey,” said Dawn.

  “She is not going to be easy to replace,” Kristy remarked. “Not at all. This may be the biggest problem our club has ever faced.”

  Meanwhile, I was upstairs with Mr. Zizmore. He was patiently explaining a problem to me, and I was patiently not listening. I was thinking of moving, of Claudia, of Laine, of the Jerk Twins, of awful Allison Ritz, of the Baby-sitters Club, of Charlotte Johanssen.

  Charlotte. How could I tell her I was leaving? That her favorite person in the world was abandoning her? It wasn’t my fault, but she wouldn’t care whose fault it was. All she’d care was that I wouldn’t be around anymore.

  Of course, she had Carrot and all her best friends, and she liked school. But I couldn’t kid myself. She would really miss me. And I would miss her. And telling her I was leaving was going to be very, very hard.

  Darn Dad and his stupid old company. They were making life miserable for a whole lot of people.

  Tonight I baby-sat for Jeff Schafer, and we had some discussion. Dawn, you’ll especially be interested in it, but I hope it won’t upset you when I talk to you about it tomorrow.

  The evening got off to a bad start. As soon as you and your mom left, Jeff closed himself in his bedroom. (I guess that isn’t so unusual these days.) Anyway, I didn’t have much to do, so I sort of wandered around your house. I noticed the living room was a little messy (sorry, but it was), and I started picking things up and putting them away. Everything would have been okay if I hadn’t decided to look at one of these pieces of crumpled-up notebook paper that was everywhere. But I did, and Jeff came downstairs just in time to see me. Boy, did he blow up! …

  Mary Anne’s job sitting for Jeff Schafer started out normally. Mary Anne was prepared for a fairly easy job since Jeff was the only kid to sit for, he’s pretty old, and it was a school night, so she figured he’d have homework to keep him busy. She arrived at the Schafers’ a little early. The reason Dawn wasn’t taking care of her own brother was that she was going out with her mother. The public library was giving a program on old homes and “haunted” houses in Stoneybrook. This sort of thing is fascinating to Dawn. She loves to read ghost stories, and the Schafers’ house is really old and even has a true secret passage in it. Of course, Mrs. Schafer and Dawn had asked Jeff to go to the lecture and slide show with them, but he’d refused. So Mary Anne was baby-sitting.

  Ding-dong. Mary Anne could hear the Schafers’ bell ringing in the house. It was followed by silence. At the Pikes’ it’s followed by the sound of a stampede as the eight kids run to the door. At the Perkins’ it’s followed by the frantic barking of Chewbacca, their dog. But at the Schafers’ that night, Mary Anne didn’t hear a thing. She was about to ring again when the door was flung open by Dawn.

  “Sorry!” she apologized breathlessly. “You’re early! Mom and I were upstairs changing our clothes. Don’t ask me why Jeff couldn’t come to the door.”

  “Is he in one of his moods again?” Mary Anne asked warily.

  Dawn nodded ruefully. “I guess so.”

  Mary Anne sighed. She knew that Jeff was having problems and had become sort of a handful since school began that fall. See, Dawn’s parents got divorced almost a year ago, and Dawn and Jeff and their mom moved to Connecticut last January. (The reason they moved all the way to Stoneybrook from California is that Dawn’s mother grew up here.) At first, things seemed to be going pretty smoothly. The Schafers got all the hard stuff out of the way. They found a house they liked, Dawn and Jeff started in their new schools, and finally Mrs. Schafer even got a job. Then, toward the end of the summer, Dawn and Jeff went to California to visit their father for the first time since they’d moved east. Dawn thought the trip went well, but maybe it went too well for Jeff. Not long after they returned to Stoneybrook, Jeff started acting cross and moody. In school he became a troublemaker. And lately he’s been talking about moving back to his dad’s, if that’s possible. Dawn, of course, is praying it isn’t. She doesn’t want her family ripped in half.

  Mary Anne stepped inside and Dawn closed the door behind her. Mary Anne really likes the Schafers’ old house. The rooms are small and dark, the doorways are low, and the stairways are narrow. This may sound spooky and gloomy (and maybe it is), but Mary Anne loves the idea that the house is so old, and that all sorts of history has gone on while it was standing.

  “I bet Jeff didn’t want me to baby-sit, did he?” Mary Anne whispered to Dawn.

  Dawn shook her head. (It’s not that Jeff doesn’t like Mary Anne. The problem is that he thinks he’s old enough to be left alone. His mother agrees that he’s old enough to be left alone during the day, but not at night.)

  “Oh, well,” said Mary Anne. “I’ll live. Anyway, I came over early to see if you have any ideas about Stacey’s party, or about getting money so we can give the party.”

  Dawn screwed up her face as she buttoned the last two buttons on her shirt and fastened an earring to one of her ears. “I really don’t,” she said at last. “How about you?”

  “Not one single teeny idea,” replied Mary Anne.

  “Well, we’ll just have to keep thinking,” said Dawn philosophically.

  “Dawn? Are you ready, honey?”

  Mrs. Schafer called this out as she came thumping down the stairs, trying to put on her watch and straighten out her skirt at the same time. Mrs. Schafer is totally scatterbrained and disorganized, but she’s really nice.

  “I’m ready,” Dawn replied.

  “But you’ve only got one earring on,” Mary Anne pointed out.

  “Oh, I know.” Dawn fingered the little pair of sunglasses that was hanging from her right ear. “This is the new style.” Dawn is not quite as trendy as Claudia or me, but she’s certainly more trendy than Kristy or Mary Anne, so if Dawn said one earring was in, Mary Anne believed her.

  Mrs. Schafer and Dawn le
ft for the library in a flurry of excitement. “Bye!” they called to Jeff as they dashed out to the car. They couldn’t hear it, but Jeff’s reply was the slamming of his bedroom door.

  Mary Anne went upstairs and knocked on the door. “Jeff?” she called. “It’s me, Mary Anne. I’ll be here until your mom and Dawn come back.”

  No answer.

  “Let me know if you need help with your homework or anything.”

  No answer.

  “Come down later and I’ll fix you a snack.”

  No answer.

  Mary Anne went back down the stairs. She’d finished her homework that afternoon, so there wasn’t much for her to do except watch TV. She wandered into the kitchen and looked at the big brick fireplace that had been built in colonial days. She wandered into the dining room and glanced outside through the wobbly panes of glass in the window. Then she wandered into the living room and discovered the mess that she’d written about in the club notebook. A can of creamed spinach was sitting on the couch, and a screwdriver and a doormat had been tossed into a corner. (I told you Mrs. Schafer is scatterbrained.) Plus, the floor was littered with crumpled-up papers.

  Mary Anne put the doormat and screwdriver in the garage, and the spinach in the kitchen, and returned to the living room with a plastic garbage bag. She began tossing the papers in the bag. About halfway through the job, she glanced idly at one piece of paper that was hardly scrunched up at all. This is what she saw:

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Mary Anne jumped and turned around. She found Jeff standing behind her, his face red with anger.

  “I was just — just cleaning up,” Mary Anne replied guiltily, but she knew it didn’t look that way to Jeff.

  “You were not just cleaning up. You were reading my stuff. I was trying to write a letter. Mail is private, you know. It’s a federal offense to read someone else’s mail.”

  Jeff’s mouth twitched and Mary Anne thought he might cry. Between that and his blond hair hanging in his eyes, he suddenly looked like a very little boy.

  “I’m sorry if I upset you,” Mary Anne said.

  “I guess I was reading your letter, but I didn’t mean to snoop. These papers were just lying here on the floor.”

  Jeff reached over and snatched the letter out of Mary Anne’s hand. He started to stomp back up to his room.

  “You know,” said Mary Anne, thinking fast, “Stacey McGill is moving back to New York City. That’s where she used to live before she moved to Stoneybrook.”

  Jeff stopped in the middle of a stomp. He turned around and ran back down the stairs. “Really?” he said. “How come? Her parents aren’t divorced, are they?”

  Mary Anne shook her head. “Nope. Her father’s company is transferring him. He has to move because of his job.”

  “Oh.” Jeff dropped onto the couch, the picture of disappointment.

  “Stacey really likes New York,” Mary Anne went on. “She’ll miss her friends here, but, well, I think deep down she’s glad she’s going back.”

  “I don’t blame her,” said Jeff miserably.

  “You’d like to go back to California, wouldn’t you?” Mary Anne asked him.

  Jeff nodded.

  “Do you really hate it here?”

  Jeff was quiet for a long time. At last he said, “My dad needs me and I need him.”

  “Your mom and Dawn need you, too. And you need them.”

  “That’s different. We left Dad all alone out in California. Besides, Mom and Dawn are girls. Dad and I are boys…. I hate girls! They treat me like a baby. Dad doesn’t do that. And if I lived with Dad, Mom and Dawn would still have each other.” Jeff looked at Mary Anne and then looked away quickly.

  “My dad used to treat me like a huge baby,” Mary Anne confided, “but I think he just did that because he loves me.”

  “Maybe,” said Jeff slowly.

  “Families belong together,” said Mary Anne.

  “Well, we’re not together now. Dad’s not with us.”

  “That’s what happens when parents get divorced. But your family is more together now than it would be if you went back to California.”

  “I don’t see how,” said Jeff. “Apart is apart. Dad needs me. Mom has Dawn. She doesn’t need both of us.”

  Mary Anne wasn’t sure what to think. She could see Jeff’s side of the problem, and Dawn’s, too. She and Jeff talked for a long time that night.

  The next day, Mary Anne and Dawn discussed everything in a whispered conversation during study hall. When the bell rang at the end of the period, Dawn looked at Mary Anne and shrugged. “I really don’t know what’s going to happen,” she said, “but whether Jeff goes or stays, it’s not going to be good. Somebody is going to get hurt.”

  “I can’t — oof — jam these in … any … farther!”

  “Here, let me help you.” I ran into the den, where my mother was trying to close up a carton of books she’d just packed, and flung myself on the box.

  “Stacey, that works with suitcases full of clothes, but not cartons full of books,” my mother said. “I’ll just have to take some of these out and start a new carton. Honestly, I thought twenty boxes would be more than enough to pack up the stuff in here. But I underestimated. I bet I’ve underestimated for every room in the house. How did we acquire so much stuff?”

  I frowned, looking around the half-empty den. “When we moved here,” I reminded Mom, “we thought the house looked empty, so we bought some things to fill it up. I guess we did a pretty good job.”

  “Far too good,” Mom replied. “There is no way we’re going to be able to fit everything we own into our new apartment.”

  “I thought the new apartment was bigger than the old one,” I said.

  “It is. But not big enough to hold a whole houseful of furniture and books and … and junk.”

  My mom was going a little crazy with the packing. She and Dad had found a nice, big apartment in New York, and we could move into it whenever we were ready, but we had run into a slight problem — how to cram a house into an apartment. Mom was right. There was no way.

  “You know,” I said, “there’s probably a lot of stuff we don’t really need. There’s that old ironing board that doesn’t work —”

  “I don’t know why I kept it after we got the new one.”

  “— and the crutches from the time Dad broke his foot —”

  “I hope we’ll never need those again.”

  “— and all the clothes I outgrew this year —”

  “Somebody could use them. You grew so fast you barely wore them.”

  “— and all the stuff in the attic.”

  “Junk. Pure junk.”

  “Why don’t we have a yard sale?” I suggested.

  “I don’t think so, honey.”

  “But everyone in Connecticut has yard sales. You see the signs all over the place.”

  “Oh, I know. But how can I possibly arrange for a yard sale when I have to pack and send out change-of-address cards and call the real estate people, the phone company, the electric company, the —”

  “What if I ran the sale?” I interrupted. “I bet my friends would help me. It would be fun.”

  “We-ell,” said Mom slowly. “It’s a big job, you know. You have to price everything and tag all the items and organize them and set them up in the yard. And advertise.”

  “Mom, Mom, relax. You’re giving me a headache. My friends and I could do it. I know we could.”

  My mother, who had been crouching on the floor, rocked back on her heels. She blew a strand of hair out of her face, then glanced around the room at the overflowing cartons and the cupboards full of stuff we hadn’t even looked at yet. “Stacey,” she said at last, “I would love to weed out the things we don’t need anymore. If you and your friends will organize and run the entire sale, you can keep whatever money you make.”

  “Are you kidding?!” I cried. “Oh, thanks! It might be a lot of money, though, Mom. All those little th
ings add up.”

  “It’s yours. It’ll be worth it to your father and me. If we don’t get rid of this stuff now, we’ll just have to do it after we get to New York and find that there’s no room for it. And we won’t be able to hold a yard sale in the middle of the city.”

  “Oh, wow! Thanks! Great! Fantastic! Can I call the club members and tell them?”

  Mom grinned. “Go ahead.”

  I dashed out of the den and up to my bedroom, where I grabbed the telephone. Who should I call first? It was a Saturday. My friends might be home, they might not.

  I dialed Claudia.

  “Guess what! Guess what!” I shrieked into the phone. “Oh…. Mimi? Sorry. It’s Stacey. Didn’t I dial Claudia’s number? … Oh, okay…. Over at Mary Anne’s? All right. I’ll call her there. Thanks. Bye.”

  I called Mary Anne’s house.

  “Mary Anne! Mary Anne! Guess what. I’ve got amazing news!”

  “You’re not moving after all!” she cried.

  In the background I could hear excited shrieks. “She’s not moving? She’s staying here?”

  “Who’s over there?” I asked. “I mean, besides Claudia?”

  “Kristy,” Mary Anne replied. “So how come you’re not moving after all?”

  “Oh, we’re moving,” I told her. “That’s not the news.”

  “She’s still moving,” Mary Anne said to the others.

  The shrieking stopped.

  I told Mary Anne about the yard sale. “So even if we earn a whole lot of money, we get to keep it and divide it up five ways.” I finished up.

  “Wow, that’s terrific,” said Mary Anne.

  “Tell the others,” I instructed her. “I’ll call Dawn.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that. She’s on her way over. Why don’t you come over, too?”

  “Okay!” At the time, I was so excited about the sale that I didn’t even bother to wonder why the members of the club were getting together without having invited me to join them. I just hopped on my bike and rode over to the Spiers’ house.

  Mary Anne let me in and we ran up to her room. I was greeted by the sight of Kristy and Claudia, both wearing visors and blowing pink bubbles, and Dawn over in a corner, standing on her head. Her hair had fallen in a blonde pool around her head, and her face was turning red. At the sight of me, Kristy and Claudia popped their bubbles and Dawn dropped to the floor.