Suddenly the lights were turned on full force, and everyone began singing “Happy Birthday.”
I felt totally confused. What was happening? Stacey hadn’t said this was a birthday party. Not until the kids sang, “Happy birthday, dear Mary Anne,” did I understand. Then I saw that Stacey was at the bottom of the stairs carrying a big birthday cake that said HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MARY ANNE in pink frosting and glittered with lighted candles. Behind her were Kristy and Dawn, each holding a stack of gifts.
Stacey set the cake on a table next to Logan and me. Kristy and Dawn piled the presents on the floor near my feet. Logan held out a small box wrapped in silver paper and tied with a silver bow.
Silence had fallen over the rec room. The song was finished. Austin had paused in his pretzel-throwing. Alan was staring at me with his blind M&M eyes. Pete had stopped in the middle of a dunk, and the soggy potato chip had fallen into his Coke. Claudia, Dori, and Emily were standing in an expectant bunch, a safe distance from Alan, their eyes on me. All the guests were waiting for me to react, to blow out the candles, to cry, or something.
It was a nightmare. It was like one of those dreams in which you go to school naked, or study and study for an important test and then sleep through your alarm clock and miss it.
I had only one thought: I had to get out of there.
So I did.
I ran up the stairs, out the McGills’ front door, and all the way home, leaving my nightmare behind.
“Mary Anne,” my father exclaimed as I barged into our house. “What are you doing home so early? I thought you were going to call me for a ride when the party was over.”
“Sorry,” I replied. I slowed down and caught my breath. I didn’t want my father to know anything was wrong. I just couldn’t explain this to him.
“Everything okay?” asked Dad.
“Oh, sure. The, um, party broke up early.”
Dad looked suspicious. “Were Mr. and Mrs. McGill there?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. Stacey wouldn’t let them go into the rec room, but they were right in the kitchen the whole time. Honest. It just wasn’t a very good party. No one was having fun. So it kind of ended.”
“I’m sorry,” said Dad, and he really did look sorry.
“Me, too,” I replied. “Well, I’m tired. I guess I’ll go to bed.”
I went slowly up to my room and stretched out on my bed, but I had no intention of going to sleep. I hadn’t even taken my party clothes off. How dare Stacey have done that to me? I thought. She knows how I feel about parties and people and surprises and being the center of attention. My other friends know, too. Especially Kristy and Dawn and Logan. But they had all let it happen.
I was beginning to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Everyone had known about the cake except me. I must have been the only one who was told to arrive at six-thirty. The others had probably come at six, as originally planned, so I wouldn’t see them arrive with gifts. That’s why Claudia hadn’t wanted to go to the party with me.
I lay there, and the memory of the lights coming on flooded back: everyone singing, Stacey with the cake, Kristy and Dawn with the presents. I recalled that Logan had been grinning at me like a Halloween mask. How could he? Hadn’t we just been talking about how I was shy and quiet? I took people seriously, but no one took me seriously.
I felt tears streaming down my cheeks, but I didn’t bother to dry them. I had run away. I had humiliated myself. As mad as I was at Stacey and my friends, I realized that they had wanted to do something nice for me, and I hadn’t let them. I’d spoiled everything.
But still … how could they?
I looked at my watch. I’d only left the party fifteen minutes earlier. Any moment now, Logan or Stacey would call. The thought cheered me. They would apologize for embarrassing me, and invite me back, and say they didn’t know what they could have been thinking.
I tiptoed to my door and set it ajar so I’d be sure to hear the phone when it rang. Then I lay on my bed again.
When another ten minutes had gone by, I realized that Stacey (or Logan) was probably going to come over instead, to give things the personal touch. Of course. That was just like them.
I opened my window a crack so I’d hear them when they got to the front door. I hoped Dad had left the porch light on. l peeked outside. He had.
When an hour had gone by and my room was chilly with the night air, I knew that no one was going to call or come over. My stomach felt like I’d swallowed a brick. I’d really blown it this time. I should have seen it coming. My friends had finally had enough of my behavior. I’d gone one step too far. No one likes a party-spoiler, no matter how well he tries to understand that person. And Logan had surely decided that I wasn’t right for him after all. I really was just plain too shy.
Well, I was sorry I was different. I couldn’t help it. But it was their fault for doing something they knew I wouldn’t enjoy.
My anger was no comfort, though. All I could think was that I’d lost my friends. I tried to cheer myself with the thought that the last time that had happened I’d been forced to make a new friend — and I’d found Dawn. But the thought wasn’t all that cheery. I didn’t want any new friends now. I only wanted Kristy and Dawn and Stacey and Claudia and Logan.
Tomorrow might be a good time to ask my dad for a cat.
I fell asleep with my clothes on and awoke to a beautiful Saturday morning. But it felt bleak to me. As soon as I saw my famous-cities skirt, the awful evening rushed back. I realized that the brick was still in my stomach.
It was nine o’clock. Dad had let me sleep late. I felt as if I hadn’t slept at all, though. I staggered to my feet, washed up, and changed my clothes. I found my father in the living room, drinking coffee and reading some papers for work.
“Morning,” he greeted me.
“Can we get a cat?” I replied.
Dad raised an eyebrow. “What brought this on? … Oh, your birthday, right? I didn’t forget, Mary Anne. We’ll do something special on the big day. I was thinking of dinner at a restaurant in Stamford. Wouldn’t that be fun? I’ve got some presents, too.” Dad grinned. “And I had a little help picking them out, so I know you’ll like them.”
“That sounds great,” I said, mustering a tiny smile, “but this doesn’t have anything to do with my birthday. I just want a cat to keep me company. Then I wouldn’t feel alone when you’re not here.”
“I don’t know, Mary Anne. We’ve never had a pet before. We’d need a litter box and a carrier. And what would we do with the cat if we went on vacation?”
“Get Mallory Pike to come feed it?” I suggested.
“Well,” said my father, “I’ll think about it. Do you know any vets? We’d need a vet, too.”
“The Thomases go to Dr. Smith,” I told him. “They really like her.”
Dad sipped his coffee and stared into space. At last he said, “Okay, I’ve thought about it. You may get a cat.”
All I could say was, “What?” I couldn’t believe he’d made the decision so fast.
“You may get a cat,” Dad repeated. “If you’ll use some of your baby-sitting earnings to buy dishes and toys and a litter box, I’ll buy the carrier and pay for food and the vet bills. Consider it an early birthday present. After all, thirteen is an important birthday.”
“Oh, Dad! Thanks!” I flung myself at my father, giving him a fierce hug.
“We probably should have gotten a pet a long time ago,” he said. “The only two things I ask are that you take care of the cat as much as possible —”
“Oh, I will, I will!”
“And that you get the cat, or a kitten, from the animal shelter. Give a home to a pet that really needs one. Most of the animals in the pet store will eventually be sold, but the animals in the shelter are in a bit of trouble.”
“No problem,” I said. “I’d rather get a stray, too.”
Suddenly I had an excuse to do something I’d sort of been thinking about ever since I woke up. I went into the kit
chen, closed both doors, and called the Brunos’ house.
Logan’s little sister answered, shouted, “Logan, it’s for you — a gi-irl!” and giggled non-stop until Logan got on the phone.
“Hello?” he said.
I cleared my throat. “Hi, it’s me.”
“Mary Anne?”
“I thought you always knew my voice,” I teased him.
“I didn’t expect to hear from you, that’s all. I thought you were mad at me.”
“You did?”
“Well, actually, we all thought you were mad at us. I’m really glad you called.” Logan sounded relieved.
I bit my lip. “Is that why no one called me last night?” I asked.
“Well … yeah. We were sure you never wanted to speak to us again. We’re really sorry about what we did. We should have known better.”
“Wow,” I said. “I thought all of you were mad at me — for being so, you know, ungrateful. And spoiling the party.”
“Oh, boy,” said Logan, letting out his breath. “Sorry.”
“Me, too … But listen. I have some good news. Dad said I could get a cat! Want to meet me at the animal shelter and help me pick one out?”
“Sure! When? Today?”
“This afternoon. Dad and I have to buy a few things first.”
So that morning my father and I went shopping for cat stuff, and that afternoon, we met Logan at the Stoneybrook Animal Shelter. Dad waited in the car so Logan and I could go looking alone.
The shelter was clean and the people were nice, but I sure wouldn’t have wanted to be an animal stuck there. It was like an orphanage for pets. Row after row of wire cages, each holding a lost or homeless dog or cat. Most of them looked frightened and nervous.
A woman led Logan and me into the cat area.
“I think I’d like a kitten,” I told her.
“Well,” she said, “I’m afraid it’s the wrong time of year for kittens, so we don’t have many. Just one litter. They’re over here. Someone left these four kitties outside the shelter a couple of weeks ago without their mother. We weren’t sure they were going to make it. But now they’re all healthy and frisky.”
I peered inside a cage that was larger than most others. The four kittens were snoozing in a relaxed heap on an old blanket. There were two red tabbies, one splotchy, patchy calico, and a gray tiger cat.
“Are they old enough to be separated?” I asked.
The woman nodded.
“Then I want the gray one, please,” I said.
Logan nudged me. “Don’t you want to play with them first or something? Maybe you’d like one of the others better.”
“Nope,” I said. “I’ve always wanted a gray tiger cat, and I’ve always wanted to name it Tigger after the tiger in Winnie-the-Pooh.”
This seemed to make sense to Logan.
The woman opened the cage, gently pulled the sleeping kitten from its litter mates, and handed it to me. “It’s a boy,” she said.
Dad and Logan and I took Tigger home in his carrier, and he cried all the way. He didn’t seem to want milk or kitten chow or anything, and refused to leave the carrier, so Logan and I left him in it and watched him fall asleep.
When Tigger was as limp as a little rag doll, Logan reached into his pocket, pulled something out, and handed it to me. It was the silver-wrapped box he’d had at Stacey’s party.
“Happy birthday,” he said. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever be giving this to you. After last night, I thought we were through. I really didn’t think things could work out between us. But you took the first step and called me today. I know that wasn’t easy. Anyway, happy birthday.”
While Tigger napped, I opened the box and found a delicate silver bracelet.
“Oh, thank you,” I breathed.
“You’re welcome,” Logan said softly. “Want to come to the Fifties Fling with me next month?”
Did he have to ask? Of course I did!
Saturday had turned out to be a pretty good day after all, what with Tigger, Logan’s birthday present, and Logan’s invitation to the dance. But I wasn’t through with my apologies. I knew I had to call Stacey, too. So, late in the afternoon, with a now frisky Tigger playing in my lap, I picked up the phone and dialed her number.
“Stacey,” I said, a lump rising in my throat, “it’s me, Mary Anne.”
“Oh.”
I couldn’t read that “oh” at all. Had it sounded surprised? Annoyed? Sarcastic? But before I could decide what to say next, Stacey mumbled, “I guess you’re wondering why I haven’t called.”
“Well,” I replied, “I thought you might be wondering why I hadn’t called.”
Then Stacey and I proceeded to have the same sort of conversation that Logan and I had had that morning. Each thought the other was mad, we both apologized, and then we cried a little. I promised to try to be more outgoing (after all, the kids at the party had been my friends), and Stacey promised to try to be more understanding.
“Ow!” I cried as she was finishing her promise.
“What? What?”
“Something bit me!” (Tigger, of course, with his baby teeth, which were like needles.)
I told Stacey all about Tigger then, and she suggested that we hold a special meeting of the Baby-sitters Club at my house the next day so everybody could see him.
It turned out, though, that she had another reason for wanting to hold a meeting at my house, but I didn’t find that out until Sunday.
On Sunday afternoon at three o’clock, the doorbell rang.
“Time for our meeting,” I told Tigger. I picked him up and carried him to the door so he could meet the first club member.
When I opened the door, though, I found the entire club on our doorstep, along with the remains of my birthday party — a chunk of cake, and all the presents.
“Surprise,” whispered Kristy, Dawn, Claudia, and Stacey.
I giggled. “Come on in.”
Tigger watched my friends with wide, bright eyes as they settled themselves in the living room. Dad stuck his head in the room, said hello to everybody, and then sensibly retreated to the den.
“You sort of missed the birthday part of your party,” Stacey explained, “so we decided to bring it over. You can open your presents, and we’ll meet Tigger.”
“There are so many presents!” I exclaimed.
“Everyone at the party brought one. And they all wanted you to have them, even after you’d left. So here they are.”
“Wow,” I said. “Well, you can play with Tigger while I open them.”
But Tigger didn’t want to play with my friends. The wrapping paper was much more interesting. He rolled on his back, leaped in the air, and batted at the ribbon with his paws.
“He sure is lively,” said Claudia.
“I know. We have to have the vet look him over, though. I mean, since he was a stray and all. The shelter gave us this little book on cat care and it said that kittens should be checked for worms and mites. Plus, the vet has to tell us when he’s old enough to get his shots.”
“Are you going to take him to Dr. Smith?” asked Kristy.
“Yes, I think so. Oh!” I had just opened Dawn’s present. It was a blue shirt that matched my famous-cities skirt. “Thank you! This is perfect!” I cried.
I kept on opening. I’d never seen so many presents. Kristy gave me a Smash tape. (They’re our favorite group.) Stacey gave me a pair of famous-cities socks. (They were really wild.) And Claudia gave me some jewelry she’d made in her pottery class. “I can’t believe you made this,” I said. “It looks professional.”
Most of the other gifts, especially the ones from the boys, were silly. Alan Gray gave me a wind-up dinosaur that shot sparks out of its mouth, and Austin gave me a pin shaped like a cow. When I’d opened everything, Stacey said, “Well, let’s kill the cake. You haven’t even tasted your own birthday cake, Mary Anne.”
I always feel bad eating sweets in front of Stacey, but she doesn’t seem to mind. So I divided
the cake into four small pieces and Kristy, Claudia, Dawn, and I ate every last crumb, while Stacey polished off a couple of rice cakes. (Yuck.)
“Maybe we’ll turn you into a junk-food addict yet,” Claudia said to Dawn.
“I don’t think so.” Dawn made a face. “Now that I’ve eaten all that sugar, the only thing I want to do is brush my teeth.” She settled for rinsing her mouth out.
“You know what?” I said to the members of the Baby-sitters Club. “I think this has been one of my best birthdays ever — and it’s not even my birthday yet!”
“Mew,” announced Tigger. He was sitting up perfectly straight with his tail wrapped around his front feet, gazing at me with round eyes.
“And you,” I said, picking Tigger up gently, “are part of what made my birthday so great.”
Tigger looked at me for another moment and then yawned.
Everybody laughed.
“Come to order. Please come to order!” said Kristy. She was wearing a visor and she adjusted it on her head as she settled into Claudia’s director’s chair.
It was the next afternoon (my birthday), time for a real club meeting. Before she could say another word, the phone rang.
“Hello, Baby-sitters Club,” said Stacey.
I listened as Stacey asked questions, and could tell she was talking to Mrs. Pike. We fixed the Pikes up with a sitter, and the phone rang again immediately. It turned out to be one of those days.
After we lined up a sitter for Jenny Prezzioso, Mrs. Barrett called. Then Kristy’s mom, Mr. Newton, and Mrs. Rodowsky. By the time we hung up with Jackie’s mother, our heads were spinning.
“Oh,” groaned Kristy, and the phone rang again.
This time I answered it. “Hello, Baby-sitters Club.”
“Hello, my name is Mr. Morgan. I live across the street from Mariel Rodowsky. She recommended your group to me. I need a sitter on Saturday night.”
“How many children do you have?” I asked.