I knew it was Jeff right away, and began giggling.
“Hey, dweeb,” I said affectionately. “You can’t fool me. This is your sister.”
“Hey, geek.”
“Who were you expecting? A friend of yours?”
Jeff lowered his voice. “No, Carol.” (Carol is Dad’s girlfriend. Jeff and I don’t like her much, although I think she’s growing on Jeff. But he still tries to cut her off from Dad sometimes.)
“Jeff! That’s not nice.”
“I know,” he replied.
I couldn’t help laughing.
“Do you want to talk to Dad?” asked my brother.
“Maybe in a few minutes. I want to talk to you first, though. It’s about this weekend.”
“Oh, no! It’s off, isn’t it? You guys decided to go away or something, didn’t you?”
“Of course not, dweeb. Claudia and I are having a sailing race on Saturday and I want to know if you’d like to be my crew member. We’re sailing to Greenpoint Island and back.” (Jeff had been there once before.) “Mom already said you could go,” I added.
“Really? Awesome! I’m there!”
“Terrific!”
I talked to Jeff a few minutes longer, and then to Dad, but Dad and I were interrupted when Carol dropped by.
Jeff got back on the phone. “The Hair Queen is here,” he whispered.
I laughed again. Jeff’s new nickname for Carol is the Hair Queen because she is constantly getting her hair cut or dyed or something.
When Jeff and I hung up, I called Claud right away.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” I replied. “Well, Jeff’s ready. He’s really excited about the race.”
“Great,” said Claud, “but we’ve got one teeny-tiny problem.”
“What?”
“Becca is so excited about the race that she started calling all her friends to tell them about it. Most of the kids just thought the race was neat, but Haley Braddock wants to come with us.”
The Braddocks are clients of the BSC. They have two children — Haley, who’s nine, and Matt, who’s seven. Matt is profoundly deaf. That means that he really can’t hear anything. And he has no speech. He goes to a school for the deaf in Stamford, and he communicates using sign language. All the Braddocks use sign language, even Haley. In fact, she’s almost an expert. So she’s a neat kid, but I think sometimes she feels that Matt gets all the attention in her family. That was probably why she wanted to go boating so badly. It would be something special for her.
“Well, that is a problem,” I agreed. “I’d hate to tell Haley she can’t come with us when she wants an invitation so badly.”
“I know …” replied Claud slowly. “But it’s not fair for me to have two crew members and you to have only one, even though the kids won’t be doing much. In fact, having Becca and Haley along might even make me lose. They’re both pretty inexperienced.”
“How about this?” I suggested brightly. “You let Haley come along, and I’ll find a second crew member, too. One who’s completely inexperienced, to make up for Jeff.”
“Well…. Who would you ask?”
I thought for a few moments. At last I said, “I know this will sound crazy, but how about Jamie?”
“Jamie Newton?” cried Claud. “He’s only four.”
“I know, but he’d love this. He’s a good swimmer — he’s been taking lessons — and he has this thing for boats right now. They fascinate him. Can you imagine if he got to go on a sailing race?”
“He’d be in heaven,” said Claud.
“The only thing,” I went on, “is that he’d probably rather go in your boat than in mine.” (Claudia and Jamie are very close.) “Do you think the girls would mind splitting up? Becca or Haley would have to go with you and Jamie then, and the other could come with Jeff and me. I’m positive Jeff will want to be in my boat. We’d still be pretty balanced in terms of our crew members.”
“Listen, before we get carried away with details,” said Claud, “we better call the Braddocks and the Newtons and get their permission. For all we know, they might be going away this weekend.”
But they weren’t. The adults were delighted with the invitations for Haley and Jamie, as long as we promised all the safety stuff, like making them wear life vests. We promised.
And on Wednesday, another dimension was added to our race. It was my idea. “Claud,” I said to her in the school cafeteria that day, “instead of just racing to Greenpoint and back, how about making this a real outing for Jeff and the kids?”
“What kind of outing?” asked Claud.
“Well, we could race just to Greenpoint, not to Greenpoint and back. We could pack picnic lunches, and after the race, we could stay on the island for an hour or two, eat, let the kids play in the water and look for shells and stuff, and then we could have a leisurely sail back home. That way, we’d still get our race in, and the kids could have some fun.”
“I think that’s a great idea!” exclaimed Claud. “We’ll just have to get the parents’ permission, that’s all.”
We took care of everything that afternoon. We talked to the Newtons and to my mom, to the Braddocks and to Jessi. Her parents weren’t home, but she was sure they’d approve the outing since they’d already approved the race. Becca and Haley even said they wouldn’t mind going in different boats.
We were set to sail!
Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. Puff, puff, puff, puff.
I was on a towel on the floor in the den, working out along with one of those exercise videos. The woman on the video seemed to have boundless energy, and I was proud to say that I did, too.
It was Friday afternoon, the day before the rematch. I had been working out all week. And I’d been bulking up on healthy, high-energy food. Of course, I didn’t tell Claudia that. I was pretty sure she was sticking to her junk-food regimen and not exercising at all. She rarely does. Exercise, that is.
“All right!” said the video woman brightly. She bounced to her feet from a sitting position. How did she do that? Every time I reached that point in the tape I fell over. When I righted myself, I had to stop the tape, back it up, and start at the place where I’d tipped over sideways and gotten behind the instructions.
“And one, and two, and three, and four,” said the instructor, sounding as if she belonged on Sesame Street. “Lift those legs. Lift those legs. Higher! Higher! You can do it!”
She sounded sort of silly, but the funny thing was, I found that if I tried, I could do it. I lifted my legs higher than the day before.
The video woman started running in place. I ran in place with her. We were running to “Give My Regards to Broadway,” which made us run pretty fast. I have to admit, I was relieved when the phone rang. I was the only one at home, so I would have to pause the tape to take the call.
Click. The video woman froze in running formation.
“I’ll be right back,” I told her.
I grabbed a small towel from the arm of a chair and patted myself off as I made a dash for the phone. I was all sweaty and out of breath.
“Hello?” I said, panting, as I picked up the receiver.
“Dawn? Is that you?” It was Logan Bruno, Mary Anne’s boyfriend.
“Yeah,” I gasped.
“Where’d I get you from?”
“Exercising.” Pant, pant, pant.
“Oh. Sorry. Listen, is Mary Anne there?”
“No, she’s sitting at the Perkinses’ for a little while.”
“Okay. Well, I’ve got a problem. Mary Anne and I were supposed to meet at the library around four-thirty — right after she finished at the Perkinses’, I guess. But Hunter just had an asthma attack and Mom has taken him to the doctor, so I’ve got to stay here with Kerry until they get back, and I don’t know when that will be.”
Logan’s little brother, Hunter, is allergic to everything in the world, and sometimes gets asthma attacks, which can be scary. Kerry is Logan’s younger sister. It was lucky that Logan was
at home to take care of her.
“Wow. I’m really sorry, Logan. I’ll call Mary Anne at the Perkinses’ for you and tell her what happened. I hope Hunter’s okay.”
“Thanks, Dawn.”
We hung up and I was about to call Mary Anne when the phone rang again. This time it was Mom.
“Hi, sweetie,” she said. “I’m just calling to tell you that I spoke to Richard a few minutes ago and we’ve decided to go out for an early dinner tonight. We thought it would be a nice way to start the weekend.”
“Oh, great, Mom. Have fun!”
“Thanks. You and Mary Anne will be okay, won’t you? If you don’t see anything in the fridge you like, then go ahead and order in Chinese food or something.”
“All right! Thank you.” I wasn’t sure if Chinese food was healthy, bulking-up stuff, but it sure sounded good. I was looking around the kitchen for our Chinese menus when I heard the video go on in the den again. The “pause” was over. I ran to the den, began the workout again, and had gotten as far as two running steps when the phone rang for a third time.
“Darn!” I exclaimed. I paused the tape and dashed back to the kitchen.
“Hello?” I said, picking up the phone.
“Hi, Sunshine. It’s your old dad.”
“Hi, Old Dad!”
“I just wanted to let you know that Jeff’s safely on his way.”
“Okay. We’ll be picking him up late tonight. Mom and Richard are going out to dinner, but we’ll all be at the airport in plenty of time to meet Jeff. I can’t wait to see him.”
“Well, have a great weekend. Jeff told me about the race. Good luck! I know you’ll win.”
When Dad and I got off the phone, I hung around in the kitchen, waiting for the phone to ring again. When it didn’t, I finally returned to my workout and was able to keep at it without interruptions. I planned to exercise until almost five o’clock (if I could stand it), then quickly shower and change my clothes. That would give me just enough time to get to the Friday BSC meeting.
“And one, and two …”
I managed to exercise until 4:45. Then I had to stop. My muscles felt as if they were coiled springs — too tight. I cooled down for awhile, went upstairs, peeled off my sweaty workout clothes, and stepped into the shower.
Ahhhh. I stood there forever, just letting the hot water spray my back. Finally I had to turn off the water, though. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be dried off and dressed in time to make the meeting.
It was just as I was slipping a shirt on over my head that I heard our front door open and then close with a bang.
“Mary Anne?” I called. “Is that you?”
“Yes,” she answered shortly. She sounded pretty mad.
The next sound I heard was footsteps pounding up the stairs and into Mom and Richard’s room.
“Hey, Sis,” I said. “Is something the matter?”
“Yes, something is the matter. Logan stood me up, that’s what.”
By that time I was leaning against the doorway to our parents’ room. Mary Anne was sitting in a chair, dialing the phone.
Uh-oh, I thought. I didn’t call the Perkinses’ to give Logan’s message to Mary Anne.
“Um, Mary Anne,” I began.
But Mary Anne was already saying, “Logan?” and waving her hand at me to be quiet.
From then on I could only hear Mary Anne’s end of the conversation, of course, but from the things she said I had a pretty good idea of what went on. And I have rarely seen Mary Anne so mad.
“Logan! What are you doing at home? Have you been there all afternoon? We were supposed to meet at the library at four-thirty. Where were you? You stood me up!”
Logan must have said something like, “I did not stand you up,” because Mary Anne said, “Well, you weren’t there. I waited and waited.”
“Mary Anne!” I hissed.
Mary Anne put her hand over the receiver and said, “SHHH! Logan and I are trying to have an argument. Would you please leave me alone?”
I stopped leaning against the doorjamb, but I just edged out into the hallway where I could hear the rest of the conversation. I knew Logan and Mary Anne would figure out what I’d done and that I’d be in trouble pretty soon. I wanted to be prepared for it.
The next thing I heard Mary Anne say was, “How could you stand me up? Did you just forget? Or did you have something better to do?”
Logan must have said he had something better to do and then told her about Hunter’s asthma attack and his call to me. Because soon Mary Anne was saying, “Well, Dawn never called me,” and “Logan, I’m so sorry.”
But apparently Logan wasn’t accepting Mary Anne’s apology. I guess he just couldn’t believe that Mary Anne would think he’d stand her up. Mary Anne kept saying, “I’m sor — Logan, I’m really — Logan, I’m sorry. I —” But Logan wouldn’t let her get a word in edgewise. Which of course made Mary Anne madder than ever at Logan.
Finally, she hung up on him!
Whoa, I thought, as I fled to my room. (I didn’t want Mary Anne to know I’d been eavesdropping.) When Mary Anne appeared at the door to my room (which took all of about two seconds), she just stood there and glared at me.
Before she could say a word, I blurted out, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Logan gave me the message for you and I was going to call you right away, but before I could, Mom called, and then Dad called, and I guess — I guess I just forgot … I meant to tell you.”
“But you didn’t.”
I changed the subject. “I’ve never heard you hang up on Logan before.”
“Were you eavesdropping?” Mary Anne’s voice was growing shrill.
I looked at my watch. “Uh-oh. If we don’t hustle, we’re going to be late for the meeting.” I took off down the stairs.
Mary Anne followed, but she didn’t let up on me. We argued the entire time we were riding our bicycles over to Claud’s house, the BSC headquarters.
“Didn’t you tell Logan I forgot to give you the message?” I asked as we pedaled toward Bradford Court.
“Of course I did,” she snapped. “But he’s mad at me for thinking that he’d stand me up.”
I sighed. Logan and Mary Anne are usually so understanding of each other. This fight was unlike them. So I felt terrible. Because of me, Logan and Mary Anne were very mad at each other. And Mary Anne was furious with me. So furious, in fact, that as we parked our bikes on the Kishis’ driveway, she said, “You know what? I wish I never had to see you again. I wish you would get out of my life — forever.”
Saturday was another perfect day for sailing. I woke up to a clear blue sky with some puffy white clouds and just enough of a breeze to make our sailing race fun and challenging.
That morning I dressed sensibly for our rematch. No jewelry at all (I was not about to lose on account of earrings), and a long-sleeved jersey that I could tuck into my jeans. I even pulled my hair back and braided it so it wouldn’t blow in my face.
At about ten o’clock my phone rang. I was just finishing putting on my makeup. (I didn’t see how I could possibly lose a race on account of makeup.) I screwed the mascara tube together and picked up the receiver.
“Hello?” I said. (Sometimes I forget and say, “Hello, Baby-sitters Club,” even when we aren’t having a meeting.)
“Hi, it’s me.” Dawn. My friends and I know each other so well, we don’t even have to say who’s calling.
“Are you chickening out?” I asked immediately.
“No!”
“Oh. What’s up?”
“I was calling to see if you were chickening out.”
“No! I’m ready to go. I’m going to cream you.”
“We’ll see.”
“Are you and Mary Anne speaking to each other?” I asked.
There was a pause. Finally Dawn said, “Not exactly.” Then she changed her mind and said, “Not at all.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Luckily, Dawn didn’t seem to need a response. She went o
n talking. “What, um, what are you wearing?” she asked. I could tell she was trying not to laugh.
“Jeans, a polo shirt, sneakers, and a visor. And my hair is braided, and I do not have any jewelry on,” I answered indignantly.
“I’m just teasing you,” Dawn said. “Listen, I’ve packed granola bars, all-natural peanut butter sandwiches, bananas, some salad made without mayonnaise — you know, so it won’t go bad — some yogurt, a few juice boxes, and a lot of bottled spring water for Jeff and me. We love spring water. What are you putting in your picnic basket?” she asked.
“Bologna sandwiches, apples, a big bottle of Coke, and fifteen candy bars. Do you think we have enough food?”
“For an army,” said Dawn. “Okay. I’ll see you at the community center at eleven o’clock. Be there or be square.”
I giggled. Then we hung up our phones.
* * *
An hour later, a crowd of people was at the boat dock. There were my parents, my sister, and me; Dawn, her mother, and her stepfather; Jessi, Becca, and Squirt (who’d been driven over by Haley and her family, who were also there); Jamie, his parents, and his baby sister; Kristy; Stacey; Mallory, her father, and two of her brothers, who were all going to go sailing themselves later; and a few counselors.
Mary Anne and Logan were not there. That was because Logan was mad at Mary Anne, and Mary Anne was mad at Dawn.
Dawn and I had each chosen a boat for the race. We had stowed our picnic baskets in them, made sure each boat had a first-aid kit and three life preservers, and now we were coating ourselves and the kids with sunscreen.
While this was going on — in fact, while I was rubbing sunscreen on every part of Jamie’s body that wasn’t covered up — he and his mother were having this conversation:
“Honey, I just don’t know if you should go.”
“But I feel fine, Mommy.”
“But you had the sniffles yesterday.”
“I still feel fine.”
“I don’t know …”
“Puh-lease? Please, please, please? Pretty please with a cherry on top? I promise I’ll never bother Lucy again.” (Lucy is Jamie’s sister.) “And I’ll do whatever you tell me from now on. I’ll clean up my room, and I won’t leave my sneakers on the stairs —”