“Within reason,” Stacey repeated.
“I want to go sledding at the SMS hill,” Sean said. “And every time I sled to the bottom, someone has to pull me back up to the top. And give me a push.”
“You’ve got it,” said Stacey.
Everyone bundled up. After Stacey had left a note for Sean’s parents, they all walked to SMS. The hill is a good-sized one at the foot of the school yard. The snow had been packed down hard by millions of sleds. A few kids were sledding there when Sean and his loyal royal subjects arrived.
He waved at a thickset blond boy and said, “Hey, Mel!”
The boy glanced at Sean, then waved back, a little reluctantly, it seemed. Stacey smiled. Mel was the bully who had once teased Sean about having a baby-sitter until Sean, with Stacey’s help, had found a way to stop him.
Satisfied that he had Mel’s attention, Sean sat down on his sled and said, “Okay. Pull me to the top.”
Stacey and Jessi grabbed the sled and began to haul Sean up the hill. Mary Anne helped Corrie pull her sled up.
At the top of the hill, they gave Sean a big push. He shot down, screaming loudly as the sled swooshed far out into the school yard. When he reached the bottom, he stood up. “Come on,” he said. “I want to go again.”
Mary Anne and Stacey pulled Sean up the hill. He sailed down again. Stacey went down to help. Then Jessi. Then Mary Anne again.
Sean waved at other kids and shouted greetings each time he was pulled to the top. Sometimes he called to whoever was pulling him, “Faster, faster!”
“Yes, King Sean,” Stacey (or Jessi or Mary Anne) would say, and pull a little harder.
Sean had a great time. In fact, he was having such a great time that they let him be king for almost an hour and a half. But at last Stacey looked at her watch and said, “Okay, King Sean. This is the last ride.”
He was given one more push off the hill. Then the BSC gave Corrie a push and followed her down.
“That was great,” Sean cried as they walked home. “Did you see how far I went? And super-fast. You guys give good push-offs.”
“Thanks,” said Jessi a bit breathlessly.
“I like being king. You should try it, Corrie.”
“I’d like to,” said Corrie.
The Addisons’ car pulled into the driveway as they turned the corner near the house. At just about the same time, Stacey got her breath back. “Whew,” she said. “That was hard work. I’m glad it’s over.”
Wrong thing to say.
Sean stopped in his tracks, his eyebrows drawing together in a thunderous frown. “What?”
“It was hard work pulling you up that hill,” said Stacey, sensing only dimly that she’d said something to upset Sean.
“You’re glad it’s over!” said Sean. “That’s what you said. You didn’t even want to play King of the Hour. You’re glad I’m moving. I knew it. I knew it!”
“Sean, wait,” said Stacey, but it was too late.
Sean grabbed his sled out of Stacey’s hand and ran to the house. They heard the crash of the sled as he threw it into the garage.
Sean ran inside, past his parents.
“Hey,” called Mr. Addison. “Sledding? Good idea. I don’t think we’re going to see a lot of snow in Seattle.”
“Have fun?” asked Mrs. Addison.
“I did,” said Corrie.
“Sledding is always fun,” said Mary Anne diplomatically.
But no one was sure what Sean’s answer would have been. Maybe Sean would realize that the BSC didn’t hate him. Or maybe one innocent statement had made things worse than ever.
I’d been working on my project nonstop, and thinking about Lou.
This was, perhaps, natural, since I was supposed to baby-sit for Lou and Jay that afternoon while their aunt and uncle were at a meeting.
But, of course, that wasn’t the only reason. As I walked up the steps to the McNallys’ house, I realized that I didn’t know which Lou I was going to meet on the other side of that front door — the Worst Kid Ever, or the Best.
If the way a kid is dressed is a tip-off, then Lou’s clothing proclaimed that she had reclaimed her Best Kid role. She met me at the door in her corduroy pants, a long-sleeved rugby shirt, matching socks, and a coordinating headband. It was nice and neat, and not Lou’s style at all.
“Hey, Lou, how’s it going?” I asked.
“Fine, thank you,” said Lou. “How are you? How is your project?”
“Fine, and fine. In fact, I think my project might be the best project in the history of the world.”
Lou smiled. Politely. Then she said, “I’m sorry if I was not, you know, well-behaved the other day.” She looked over her shoulder as if she was afraid someone might overhear her. Then she went on. “I was only kidding. You don’t, you know, need to tell anybody, do you?”
“What’s to tell?” I said. “No problem.”
“Hi, Abby,” said Mrs. McNally, who was followed by Jay and by Happy, who was apparently being propelled by her wildly wagging tail.
“Hey, Happy,” I said.
“These guys have to do their homework first. Then they have free time. We’ll be home in time for dinner,” Mrs. McNally told me as she took her coat out of the hall closet. “Mac’s already at the meeting. We won’t be long.”
“Did you leave a phone number where I can reach you, just in case?” I asked.
“In case of what?” Lou asked.
“Standard baby-sitters’ procedure,” I explained. “It’s a Baby-sitters Club rule.”
“And a good one,” Lou’s aunt agreed. “The number is by the phone in the kitchen.” She smiled at Lou and me. “Be good and have fun,” she said.
“I’ll be good,” Lou answered solemnly. She reached up and hugged her aunt. I watched as Mrs. McNally gently unwrapped Lou’s stranglehold. “I know you will, Lou,” she said, and kissed Lou on the cheek.
Lou watched until her aunt was out the door. Then she turned to me. Her tense body seemed to relax a fraction.
“I guess I should go finish my homework,” Jay grumbled.
“Or we could play a game,” Lou suggested.
“Homework first, games second,” I said.
“Okay.” Lou sighed. “I don’t have much anyway. I have to draw a picture of the food pyramid. You know, all the healthy food you’re supposed to eat every day.”
Jay said teasingly, “Is your teacher going to let you count chocolate chip cookies as one of the food groups?”
“She should,” Lou answered, grinning at her brother. “Come on, Happy.”
After Jay and Lou were safely working, I settled down on the sofa to catch up on some of the homework I’d been neglecting because of my project. I knocked off a few math problems and raised my head to do the baby-sitter radar scan. The house was very quiet. Was it too quiet?
I stood up and went to Jay’s room.
“I’m almost done,” he announced. He was sitting at his desk, his homework spread out in front of him.
I found Lou on the floor of her room, a large poster in front of her. Happy was sprawled out on the bed, watching Lou intently.
Lou had filled in the food pyramid. Then she’d made a list down one side that said, “More Food Groups.” Sure enough, chocolate chip cookies were at the top of the list.
“Lou, you are too much,” I said.
She smiled at me and jumped up. “All I have to do is sign it,” she said. She selected a red pen, squatted down, and wrote in big, blocky letters LOU WAS HERE. “Now let’s set the table for dinner,” she suggested. “We can surprise Aunt Sarabeth and Uncle Mac.”
“Good idea,” I agreed.
Jay liked the idea, too, as long as we could play a game afterward.
“If we have time,” I promised.
Lou raced away. Jay and I followed. When we reached the kitchen, I turned on the light (funny — I thought the kitchen light had been on), and Lou leaped out and screamed, “BOO!”
I leaped back and cras
hed into Jay.
Jay said, “Lou! Are you nuts?”
Lou doubled over with glee. “I gotcha!” she declared.
“Lou, don’t do stuff like that. It’s not funny.”
“I’m laughing.”
“Lou,” I said warningly.
“Oh, okay. I won’t do it again. Sorry.” But she didn’t sound sorry. I decided to accept the apology anyway and went into the kitchen. It was clear to me that Lou could go from Worst to Best and back again at bewildering speed.
We’d just finished setting the table when Lou accidentally dropped a plate. It shattered.
Lou shrieked.
I came running, half expecting it to be one of Lou’s jokes. But it wasn’t. She was staring down at the shards of broken china with a horrified expression on her face.
“Lou? Are you okay?” I asked.
She looked up at me, ashen-faced. Her lips seemed to move stiffly. She whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll get the broom,” Jay volunteered cheerfully.
“I’m sorry,” Lou repeated.
“It’s just a plate, Lou,” I said. “Accidents happen.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Lou could not stop apologizing, her voice rising with each repetition. She ran blindly forward. If I hadn’t caught her, she might have run right through the wall. I heard china fragments crunch and was grateful that she was wearing her shoes.
Jay returned as Lou burst into noisy sobs. “I didn’t mean to do it!” she cried.
Jay grabbed Happy, who’d come barreling in to investigate the noise. He shoved her into another room while he swept up the china. I led Lou into the den. I sat her down on the sofa next to me, keeping one arm around her. Her small body shook with sobs.
“Lou,” I said soothingly, “it’s not the end of the world. It’s just the end of a plate.”
She kept crying. I stroked her hair and patted her back.
Jay came into the den with Happy bounding next to him. “Come on, Lou. It’s okay.”
“No it’s not.” She choked out her words and I felt her fists clench around my neck.
Jay put one hand on Lou’s shoulder and gave it a little shake. “Why not?” he said.
She raised her tear-streaked face to look at him. “Because they’ll give me away. They’ll send me back because I’m bad. They won’t keep me.”
Lou really did believe that. How awful, and how heartbreaking.
“Lou, that’s just not true,” I said.
“No way,” Jay agreed, sitting down on the other side of her. She butted her head against his chest and kept on crying.
“They will,” she insisted. “They’ll send me to live with another family.”
“We went to court,” Jay said indignantly. “They couldn’t send us to live with another family even if they wanted to. And they don’t. Adoption is forever.”
Lou’s sobs lessened. But she said, “You’re good. But I’m not. They could just send me away.”
“Aunt Sarabeth and Uncle Mac would never do that. Never. And besides, I wouldn’t let them,” said Jay.
“You couldn’t stop them after Daddy died,” Lou argued. “They sent me away without you.”
Happy, who had been watching us intently, gave a little yip and leaned up to try to lick Lou’s face. Lou smiled a woebegone smile.
Then I heard the front door open. Happy gave another yip and scampered down the hall. A moment later she came back with the McNallys behind her.
“Lou? Jay? What happened?” said Mrs. McNally, taking in the scene at one glance.
I cleared my throat. But Jay beat me to it.
“Lou broke a plate and she thinks you’re going to give her — us — back if she’s bad.”
“Oh, Lou,” cried Mrs. McNally. She was across the room in one stride, her arms around both Lou and Jay. “No! Never. Ever! Not in a thousand years! Mac and I love you and Jay more than anything.”
I stood up. It was time for me to go. The McNallys didn’t need me to work this out.
When I got home, I went into my mother’s study and hugged her hard. We’re not big on hugs and sentimental, mushy stuff in our family, but Mom gave me one look over the top of the half glasses she wears for reading and then pulled me onto her lap as if I were a little kid.
I didn’t protest.
“Hard day?” asked Mom.
“Maybe,” I said, remembering Dad. My grip tightened on my mother. “I’m glad you’re here,” I said.
“I’m glad too,” said Mom.
“Yeah,” I said, and sighed with happiness — and a little sadness too.
I was tired, I was totally energized. I was calm, I was out of my mind. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times….
Wait a minute. That last line is from A Tale of Two Cities, a book by Charles Dickens.
It was project day at the Stoneybrook Community Center. Although it was Saturday, I got up much, much earlier than I usually do, even when I’m planning a long run. I checked to make sure that I had the tape I had made about the Underground Railroad (which I had called Invisible Tracks to Freedom). Then I checked to make sure I had my two backup copies.
I looked at the clock. I wanted to call Mal’s house. Surely her family would be up this early, even on a Saturday. I mean, everyone knows that large families, especially large families with small children, don’t sleep late.
My hand hovered over the telephone, but I pulled it back.
I decided to make myself a cup of hot tea instead.
“Abby?” Anna peered at me sleepily from the door of the kitchen. “Aren’t you up awfully early?”
“I have to get to the community center soon to set up my project,” I said.
She squinted at the clock on the kitchen wall. “Of course, I can’t be sure without my glasses, but that clock seems to say it’s seven in the morning, and the center doesn’t even open until nine, right?”
“Are you sure that clock is working?” I said, struck by a horrifying thought. “What if it stopped? What if we’ve already overslept? What if that’s why …”
Anna walked into the kitchen and picked up my wrist. She raised it and I was face-to-face with my watch. It read 7:01, and as I watched, it flipped over to read 7:02.
“Right,” I said sheepishly.
“I’m going back to bed.” Anna yawned. “See you in an hour.”
At the community center, we were all assigned booths in the enormous, all-purpose common room. The “booths” were empty spaces broken up by rope dividers. Everywhere I looked, people were busily setting up their projects.
“Chairs,” I barked to Anna. “Table.”
I signed in with the person in charge and raced to the car. Mom and I wrestled a sturdy table into the common room and set it up at the very back of my booth against the wall. That was for the television. Then we brought in chairs and lined them up two by two on either side of a small aisle. At the front of the booth, to one side, we set up a smaller folding table. On it I put my programs and an information sheet. Then I hung up a poster that Claudia had made. It read ALL ABOARD THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD. Beneath that it read VIDEO DOCUMENTARY BY ABIGAIL STEVENSON. Then it listed the show times.
My tape had ended up being twenty minutes long. That sounds short, doesn’t it? But it had taken me hours and hours and hours to put together all the video footage I had made into one cohesive story.
Where was Mal? She was going to help me with crowd control. I looked at my watch. I looked up and down the rows of booths.
I saw the triplets and Mr. Pike. Mal, Nicky, and Vanessa were behind them. I waved my arms and heard Byron say, “There she is!”
“This is cool,” said Adam. “Can we look around?”
“Sure,” said Mr. Pike. He smiled at me. “All set, Abby?”
“All set, Mr. Pike,” I said.
He nodded and smiled, then left with Nicky and Vanessa.
Mal looked around my booth. Compared to some of the hyperactivity at the othe
r booths, mine was an oasis of calm. I was ready.
“Wow,” Mallory said. “You must have gotten here at dawn.”
I grinned. “Practically.”
“Is Anna here?”
“She and Mom went to get some breakfast. I, uh, kind of didn’t give them much time for it this morning.”
“Intense,” commented Mallory. Then she said, “You mind if I look around?”
“Go ahead,” I said. “Just be back in time for the grand premiere.” I pointed at the sign at the front of the booth. “Seating is limited.”
“I’ll be here,” Mallory promised.
Seating was limited. In fact, for the premiere, it was standing room only. I looked out at the crowd of people in my booth and felt an enormous rush of pride. My friends hadn’t let me down. Every BSC member was there, plus all the kids who had participated in the documentary, plus their families. Claudia closed the “ticket” box (she’d made free tickets to the Underground Railroad, which she’d handed to each person who walked into the booth, along with a program).
Lou was dressed in her neat, clean Best Kid Ever clothes … without the matching headband. She “ushered” people to their seats. “I think you’ll enjoy our movie,” I heard her telling people earnestly.
When everyone was seated and the standing room had been filled, I cleared my throat and held up the program. “Welcome to the premiere screening of Invisible Tracks to Freedom,” I said. “I couldn’t have made this video without the help of my friends, and I’d like to thank each and every one of you.” With that, I read the list of names in the program. When I had finished, the crowd burst into applause. Lou, who was sitting up front on the floor with Hannie and Karen and some of the other kids, jumped to her feet and took bows. The applause intensified and a ripple of laughter spread through the crowd. The other kids jumped up and joined Lou.
I let them take their bows. They’d earned it. Then, as the applause died down, I held up my hand again. “Thank you. And now, Invisible Tracks to Freedom.” I pushed the tape into the VCR and pressed PLAY.
The title and the credits appeared on the TV screen. It had taken a lot of work, but I had managed to pair each person’s name with a moment of footage showing him or her doing something on the tape.