“Hey, you guys, pipe down!” Shannon yelled from upstairs. “I’m tired of hearing you bicker. Why don’t you go outside and fight instead?”
Maria and Tiffany quieted down instantly. The cookies were supposed to be a surprise. If Shannon came into the kitchen to see what they were doing, that would ruin everything.
“I have an idea,” I said gently. “How about if we microwave the butter for a couple of seconds? That ought to soften it up. And Maria, maybe if we pour some hot water over the raisins they’ll plump up a little.”
I may not be one of the great chefs of all time, but I’ve baked more than a few batches of cookies.
The girls welcomed my ideas, and, working cooperatively, they soon turned out a lovely batch of cookies.
I wish.
In fact, what happened was that after a brief peaceful period, the girls went back to squabbling. Shannon had left for a French Club meeting, so it didn’t matter so much. Still, they paid so much attention to fighting that the cookie-making was a disaster. One batch burned. Another batch stuck to the pan. There were no raisins left for a third batch. (P.S. Naturally, as a responsible baby-sitter, I was the one operating the oven.)
Meanwhile, the kitchen was taking on the look of one of those I Love Lucy episodes in which everything goes wrong. There was cookie dough everywhere — on the faucets, on the oven knobs, on the refrigerator door handle, even on the ceiling. (Don’t ask me how it ended up there.) Flour dusted every surface, walnuts crunched underfoot, and the sink was overflowing with bowls, spatulas, baking sheets, and measuring spoons.
Mrs. Kilbourne came home just as I was pulling the fourth batch (minus raisins and nuts) out of the oven. She stood in the middle of the kitchen and surveyed the mess. Her face was pale. “What —” she asked weakly.
“Snickerdoodles,” explained Tiffany in a tiny voice.
Mrs. Kilbourne rolled her eyes. “I guess you’ve both forgotten that you have plans for tonight,” she said. She pointed at the clock. “We have to be out of here in five minutes!”
Tiffany clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, no,” she said. “You’re right. I’m supposed to go over to Martha’s house to work on our science project.”
“And I have a swim team meeting!” said Maria. She glanced around at the kitchen. “What are we going to do?”
Her mother frowned. “I’m going to have to ask Shannon to take care of it,” she said. “She’s the only one who’ll be at home tonight, since Daddy and I have a dinner party to go to.”
Maria and Tiffany exchanged an anguished look. I knew I should clean up, but the fact was I couldn’t. I’d promised my mom I’d cook dinner that night. “See you tomorrow,” I said, waving to the distraught girls.
What a disaster.
Another disaster. This time, it seemed as if nothing could go wrong. What was simpler than walking a dog? And what could be more helpful? After all, Shannon was having a hard time fitting Astrid’s walks into her schedule. And the dog belonged to the whole family. It made sense for Tiffany and Maria to take over her afternoon walk. Even Shannon, still a little sulky about the kitchen episode of the day before, had to agree.
“Just be careful when you go by the Papadakises’. If Astrid sees Noodle, she’ll pull really hard,” Shannon said as she dashed out of the house, on her way to the library.
Noodle is, in case you’re wondering, a poodle.
“I know, I know,” said Tiffany. “It’s not like I never walked her before.” She grabbed the leash, attached it to Astrid’s collar, and opened the door. The three of us set out, full of that good feeling you can only earn by doing a good deed. It was another gorgeous, crisp fall day. Astrid’s tail was up and waving gaily as she trotted along. I whistled the theme from Bewitched. Maria and Tiffany chattered and giggled.
You can probably guess what happened next.
Before I knew it, we were passing the Papadakises’. I was just about to remind Tiffany to hold on tight to Astrid’s leash when a white blur flashed in front of us.
“Noodle!” shouted Maria.
But Astrid had already figured that out. She gave one hard lunge and the leash snapped out of Tiffany’s hand. Then Astrid was off and running — dashing through hedges, jumping over flower beds, dodging trees — all in pursuit of Noodle, who seemed to love the game.
“Astrid!” I called.
“Come, Astrid!” shouted Tiffany.
“Here, girl!” said Maria.
Nothing worked. It was as if she were deaf. Deaf and fast. In about three seconds, we’d lost sight of her. Tiffany stood there looking stunned, her empty hands by her sides. Maria burst into tears.
“They’ll come back,” I said, trying to sound positive.
“Noodle will,” said Tiffany in a monotone. “But Astrid won’t. Once she starts running, she hates to stop.” Tiffany sounded as if she’d been through this before.
Sure enough, a couple of minutes later Noodle came trotting back. He stepped delicately up the stairs onto the Papadakises’ porch and settled down for a nap. But Astrid was nowhere in sight.
“So, what do we do now?” I asked Tiffany.
“We walk around calling her. But there’s really only one person who can tempt her into coming back,” she said sadly.
“And that would be —?” I asked, almost not wanting to know.
“Shannon,” the girls said together.
I had wondered about this one from the start. And I should have said something about my doubts. But I didn’t, so it’s probably my fault that it all went so wrong.
I guess it happened over the weekend, when I wasn’t around. The first I heard of it was on Monday afternoon, when I showed up to sit for Maria and Tiffany. They’d just come home from school, as usual, and were sitting at the kitchen table in their uniforms, having a snack, as usual. Everything seemed peaceful, and I was just about to ask how Operation SOS had gone over the weekend when I heard thundering footsteps coming down the stairs.
A second later, Shannon burst into the kitchen, waving a sheaf of papers. “How could you?” she shouted.
Tiffany and Maria stared at her. “What?” asked Maria innocently.
“My algebra homework. You turned it into utter nonsense!” Shannon said angrily. “This was the most embarrassing day I ever had at school.”
“We were just trying to help,” said Tiffany in a small voice. “We know you don’t have much time, and —”
“Trying to help?” asked Shannon. “How? By changing every x to a number? Don’t you understand? Algebra is supposed to have x’s.”
“It just didn’t look right,” said Maria. “It seemed wrong to have letters in there with all the numbers.”
“Well, it wasn’t. It was right,” said Shannon. “And it wasn’t easy to explain my mistakes to Ms. Crifo — in front of the entire class.” She turned on her heel to leave, then turned back for one last word. “Next time you want to ‘help’ somebody, do her a favor and just stay away.”
Ouch.
I can’t believe we had the nerve to keep trying after that, but we did. I still thought it would all work out and that Shannon would discover how much her sisters cared. That’s why we tried one last item on our list:
I won’t even go into the gory details. Just imagine a malfunctioning vacuum cleaner that blows out instead of sucking in — and a pile of carefully arranged French Club notes. Imagine trying to dust with upholstery cleaner instead of Lemon Pledge. Imagine washing windows with a greasy rag. I think you’ll understand why the room-cleaning disaster was the last straw.
I don’t remember much about what Shannon said when she came home later that afternoon, but I have no problem recalling the general ideas she outlined. The thrust of her message was that Tiffany and Maria were the biggest pests she’d ever seen and that she’d prefer it if they’d stay out of her room, her business — and her face.
She wasn’t nasty about it. She was calm and rational and even told them she still loved them. But she left no doubt in
her sisters’ minds.
Operation SOS had been a total failure.
It was the Monday after the room-cleaning catastrophe. I was sitting for Maria and Tiffany again, and Claudia had a job over at the Kormans’, who live just next door to the Kilbournes. She was sitting for Bill, who’s nine, Melody, who’s seven, and Skylar, the baby, who’s only one-and-a-half. I like the Korman kids a lot. Since they live in my neighborhood, I’ve done lots of sitting for them, and by now I know them pretty well. Melody and Bill go to Stoneybrook Day, and Melody is good friends with my stepsister, Karen.
As it turned out, Claudia and I and our charges ended up hanging out together that day — along with a bunch of other kids. When I arrived at the Kilbourne house I found two very bummed-out little girls. Maria and Tiffany were upset about the failure of Operation SOS, and I couldn’t blame them. I couldn’t figure out how to cheer them up either. Not until my latest Great Idea came to me, that is.
The idea hit me when Shannon and Mrs. Kilbourne left that afternoon for an All-Stoneybrook Dance committee meeting. Maria and Tiffany, who were still in their school uniforms, sat at the kitchen table, picking glumly at their afternoon snack.
“Who cares about that dumb old dance anyway?” Maria asked. “I don’t know why Mommy and Shannon are so excited about it.”
“I know,” said Tiffany. “It’s just a stupid dance.”
The girls felt left out. It was too bad the dance was only for middle school kids. But if the younger kids had their own dance … “Hey!” I exclaimed. “Why couldn’t there be an All-Kids Dance?”
I saw a spark of interest in Maria’s and Tiffany’s eyes. But it only lasted an instant. “Mom’s too busy to plan that too,” said Maria.
“She doesn’t have to,” I said. “We can do it ourselves.”
Tiffany was nodding. “We could, you know,” she said. “How hard could it be?”
Famous last words, right? Well, maybe. But I was so excited by the idea that I plowed ahead. “I’m going to call Claudia,” I said. “She’s right next door at the Kormans’. Let’s see if they want to be in on this. We could have our first meeting right now!”
My enthusiasm was contagious. Maria and Tiffany started to chatter about where the dance could be and when, and what they might wear to it.
I jumped up and grabbed the phone. “Claud, listen to this,” I said. I explained the idea, and she loved it. She, in turn, told Bill and Melody.
“Come on over,” she said. “We’re not doing anything.”
By the time we arrived at the Kormans’, Claudia and her charges had already started planning. “Look!” said Bill, pointing to pens and pads laid out on the huge kitchen table. “We’re all set for a meeting.”
“Great,” I said. “But how come there are so many chairs at the table?”
“Because the Kormans and Kilbournes go to Stoneybrook Day, but we’ll need representatives from other schools,” Claudia explained. “Bill and Melody and I have been on the phone nonstop, and a bunch of other kids are on their way over.”
“Wow,” I said, overwhelmed. Usually I’m the one pushing plans along. This idea already had a life of its own. “Where’s Skylar?” I asked.
“Upstairs with Mrs. Korman,” Claudia said. “She’s not feeling too well, so she stayed home. She said it was okay if other kids come over as long as things are quiet. Skylar has a slight fever.”
Just then, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it!” cried Melody.
“Not without me, you won’t,” said Claudia, laughing, as she raced to the door with Melody. One of our BSC rules is that we never let charges answer the door alone, even if we’re expecting someone.
Claudia opened the door and found two of the Papadakis kids. They’d walked over, since they live just two houses down from the Kormans. (They’re the ones who own Noodle the Poodle, remember?) And they go to Stoneybrook Academy, which is a private elementary school — the one Karen goes to. Hannie is seven, and she has an olive complexion with dark hair and eyes, and the quickest smile I’ve ever seen. Linny is nine, with similar looks. He also smiles a lot. The Papadakis kids are very good-natured.
Just as they were arriving, an old Volkswagen pulled up and Becca Ramsey (Jessi’s eight-year-old sister) and Charlotte Johanssen (Becca’s neighbor and best friend, also eight) jumped out. Karen also came over. By then I’d joined Claudia at the door, and she and I waved to Becca’s aunt Cecelia, who’d driven the girls over, and called, “Thanks!” She waved back and drove off.
Next to arrive was Triple Trouble — the Pike triplets, Jordan, Adam, and Byron, who are ten years old. Mrs. Pike dropped them off on her way to the grocery store. I noticed this relieved smile on her face as she drove off. The triplets can be a handful. They’re probably easier to deal with now that they’re ten and can do a lot for themselves. I often wonder how Mrs. Pike made it through those early years when the boys were babies and Mal was just a toddler.
They bounded up the walkway and shoved each other aside in their haste to be first inside. “Out of my way, booger head,” said Adam, elbowing Byron.
“Move it or lose it,” said Jordan, giving Adam a push in the shoulder.
“Beep, beep, coming through!” yelled Byron, shoving both of them out of the way.
Claudia and I exchanged looks over their heads, rolling our eyes. This meeting was going to be a circus.
Surprisingly, it started off fairly well. Tiffany had somehow decided she was in charge. Once everyone had grabbed a paper cup of juice (Melody passed them around) and a handful of cookies (Bill handed those out), Tiffany shouted — to make herself heard over the din — that everybody should take a seat.
“I hereby bring this meeting of the All-Kids Dance committee to order,” she called. She looked down at her pad of paper, which she’d already filled with notes (a president after my own heart!), and went on. “We have representatives from each school here. Linny, Hannie, and Karen are all from Stoneybrook Academy. Stoneybrook Day is represented by Melody, Bill, Maria, and me. And Charlotte, Becca, and you guys” — she swept a hand toward the Pike boys — “are all from Stoneybrook Elementary.”
“We know, we know,” said Adam.
“This is boring,” sang Jordan.
Tiffany silenced him with a Look. “Did I just hear you volunteer for the decorations committee, Jordan?” she asked.
Jordan looked sheepish. “No,” he mumbled, “but I guess I will.”
“Who says there’s even going to be a decorations committee?” asked Linny. “Can we back up and figure some things out? Like, where’s the dance going to be?”
“SES!” shouted all three Pikes at once. “No way it could be anywhere else,” added Jordan. “Our school gym rules.”
“I bet you’ve never even seen Stoneybrook Academy’s gym,” Hannie said. “It’s really nice.”
Actually, I could barely even hear Hannie over the argument that had broken out between Bill, Adam, and Karen. They were shouting at each other at the top of their lungs, each insisting that their school was the best place for a dance. Charlotte and Becca looked a little taken aback by all the yelling. They shrank into their seats as if they’d like to hide.
I stuck two fingers into my mouth and gave the loudest whistle I’m capable of. I bet Astrid heard it, even with all the windows closed.
The kids fell silent and looked up at me.
“Whoa,” I said quietly. “Slow down. This isn’t a war between the schools. This is a fun event, one you’re all going to share in.” I caught my breath, ready to go on with my lecture, but Tiffany jumped in.
“Kristy’s right,” she said. “I’m sure we can plan this without fighting. How about if we talk about all the different stuff we’ll have to plan and then figure out who’s going to take care of each area. Like, we have to think about food and music —” As she spoke, she made notes on her pad.
Tiffany was acting like a leader. The kids felt it too, and they responded. “We have to figure out when the dance is going
to be,” pointed out Becca.
“And how to let kids know it’s happening,” added Adam.
Tiffany nodded, adding items to her list. “Right,” she said.
Soon the suggestions were flying — but nobody was fighting, nobody was yelling. Claudia and I glanced at each other and smiled. The All-Kids Dance was going to happen and it was going to be great.
“The only thing that worries me,” Claudia said to me later that day as we waited for the others to arrive at our BSC meeting, “is the way the kids kept glancing at each other. I have the feeling they may be worried about something connected with the dance, like —” She paused.
“Like, dates?” I asked. I’d sensed the same unease. “I know. I saw Linny looking at Charlotte, and I could practically hear the wheels turning inside his head. ‘How can I ask her? What if she says no?’ Poor kid.” I shook my head. “We’ll have to talk to them about that.”
Claudia agreed. “Speaking of dates,” she said casually, “how would you like one for the dance?”
“What?” I asked, shocked.
“Mark knows this guy from Kelsey, an eighth-grader who’s really into sports. I think you guys would have a blast together.” Claudia looked at me hopefully. Mark is her seventh-grade sort-of boyfriend. I don’t know him very well, since seventh- and eighth-graders don’t mix too much. Claud is so excited about being at a dance with us — her friends — and her boyfriend. I could see she really wanted me to say yes to this blind-date idea.
“I don’t know,” I said. Ugh. I hate the idea of going to a dance with someone I barely know. “Plus, Bart may be at the dance.” Bart Taylor is a friend who used to be a little more than a friend, if you know what I mean.
“Right. He might even be there with someone else,” Claud pointed out.
Double ugh. “Oh, okay,” I said. “But I don’t want the dance to be our first date. How about a trial run, so we can see if we even like each other?”