“I know.” (Jenny heaved a sigh that was probably heard in China.) “But it won’t be the same.”
“No. You’re right. It won’t be the same. I bet your mom and dad will make special time just for you, though.”
“Maybe.”
“You know what?” I said. “My mom died when I was little, so I grew up without brothers or sisters. It was just my dad and me. And sometimes I was really lonely. I wished and wished for a brother or sister. Especially a baby brother or sister. I wanted to have someone to take care of.”
“You did?”
“Yup. Anyway, then my dad married Dawn’s mom, so now Dawn is my sister. She’s not a baby sister to take care of, and every now and then we fight, but mostly we’re glad to have each other. Sometimes at night when we’re supposed to be in bed, one of us will sneak into the other’s room and we’ll stay up late, talking and talking in the dark.”
“That sounds like fun …” said Jenny uncertainly.
“What’s the matter?” I asked her.
“Babies seem like a lot of work. And Mommy wants me to be a big girl now. She wants me to do grown-up, big-girl things.”
“But you’ll still be your mommy’s little girl. Nothing will change that.”
“Yes it will!” Jenny shouted suddenly, startling me. “Andrea will change everything. I’ll have to give her bottles the way I practiced on that darn old doll, and I’ll have to —”
“Whoa, Jenny. Calm down,” I told her. “You won’t know how things will be with Andrea until you actually see her.” Jenny got up and stomped around the living room. “Okay, kiddo,” I said. “Outdoors.”
“Why?”
“Because you have a lot of energy to get rid of, and I’m going to teach you a new game. It’s really fun and funny.”
“What is it?” asked Jenny suspiciously.
“It’s called Flamingo Fight.”
Jenny giggled. “Okay,” she said.
So we put on our jackets and mittens and went outside. Luckily the snow that had fallen had long since melted, and the grass was dry. (You need a soft, dry outdoor place that’s not too near the street to play Flamingo Fight, because you fall down a lot.)
“Oh, wait,” I said to Jenny as soon as we were outdoors. “I’ve got to get us blindfolds. You sit right here on the front steps and don’t move. I’ll be back in just a second.”
I dashed inside, grabbed two woolen scarves from the Prezziosos’ closet, and dashed back out. Jenny was sitting where I’d left her.
“Okay. First thing,” I began. “Do you know what a flamingo is?”
Smiling, Jenny got up. Then she tried to balance on one leg.
“That’s right!” I said. “A flamingo is a bird that stands on only one of its legs. It tucks the other one up under its body. You can pretend to be a flamingo by bending your leg up behind you and holding your foot with your hand. Then you can hop around on your other leg.”
“Okay,” said Jenny, trying it. “But what about the fight?”
“Well, what you do in a flamingo fight is try to make the other person fall down. If you can do that, you win. But there are some rules. You have to tie a scarf around your face so that you can’t see. Then, we call out to each other so that I know where you are, and you know where I am. We try to bump into each other. If I make you fall down, I’m the winner. If you make me fall down, you’re the winner. One important thing, though. We can’t use our hands. We just hop and bump around in the darkness.”
Jenny was laughing by then. “Let’s play!” she cried.
So I tied a scarf around Jenny’s eyes (I was careful not to cover her nose) and made sure she couldn’t see. Then I tied a scarf around my eyes. “Jen?” I said.
“Yeah. I’m here.”
“Are you holding one foot up?”
“Yup.”
“Okay. Then get ready to … flamingo fight!”
I hopped in the direction in which I’d heard Jenny say, “Yup.” But I didn’t run into anything. “Jen?” I called. I heard giggling from the opposite direction, turned around, and hopped toward the sound. Suddenly I bumped into Jenny. “Flamingo fight!” I cried.
Laughing, Jenny and I kept bumping into each other, until finally I lost my balance and fell down.
“You win!” I said. “The score is one to nothing, in favor of you.”
“Yea!” shouted Jenny.
Twenty minutes later, the game was tied five to five, and Jenny and I were desperately trying to knock each other over, when we heard the honking of a car.
“I think that’s Mommy and Daddy … and Andrea!” exclaimed Jenny. In her excitement, she rushed toward the driveway, ran into me, and knocked me to the ground.
“Hey, you win!” I told Jenny, slipping the scarf from over my eyes.
Then, “Jen, wait!” I called, realizing that Jenny was tearing toward the driveway blindfolded. I caught up with her and removed her scarf. The two of us stood at the edge of the driveway and watched Mr. P. park the car.
He pulled gently to a stop by the front walk, got out of the car, and hurried around to Mrs. P’s door. Then he took the baby from her, and Mrs. P. climbed slowly out of the car herself. She knelt down and held her arms open wide. “Jenny!” she said. “I missed you.”
Jenny flew toward her mother, and I thought, Oh, what a nice reunion.
But at the last moment, Jenny veered to the side, stood on tiptoe in front of her father, and said, “Let me see Andrea.”
I couldn’t tell whether Mrs. P. looked hurt or relieved or proud or all three things at once. At any rate, she and I both watched as Mr. P. bent down, cradling the baby, and Jenny got her first look at her sister.
Andrea was wrapped up in blankets. Only her face and her tiny hands showed. She was wide awake and she looked as if she were staring solemnly at her sister, who stared back at her.
For a few moments, Jenny and Andrea continued to stare at each other. Then Andrea’s hands moved slightly and Jenny held out a tentative finger. She touched one hand. She leaned over for a closer look.
“She has fingernails!” said Jenny softly. “She has real fingernails, but they’re so little.” She paused and said, “Ooh, Andrea is much better than my doll. Can I hold her, Daddy?”
“When we’re inside,” replied Mr. P. “And before we go in, why don’t you give your mom a big hug? She missed you.”
“I missed you, too, Mommy,” said Jenny, as everyone stood up. “I’m glad you came back.” She hugged Mrs. P. around the legs.
Jenny took her mother’s hand and they followed Mr. P. and Andrea inside. I followed Jenny and her mother.
The first thing Jenny said when we were indoors was, “Can I hold the baby now?”
“Let’s take off our coats first,” replied her mother.
So we did. A few minutes later, Jenny was sitting in an armchair, her feet sticking out in front of her, and Mr. P. and I were watching as Jenny’s mother placed Andrea in her sister’s waiting arms.
I hope that the Prezziosos saw what I saw then: As Jenny looked down at her new sister, and gently stroked a hand, an arm, a cheek, her entire face changed.
I could tell it was love at first sight.
Jenny loved Andrea, her new sister.
Oh, sure, there would be tough times ahead for them. They would quarrel, fight, slam doors, not speak to each other, go on car trips and divide the backseat in half so that neither sister touched the other’s belongings. Just like Dawn and me. We fight sometimes. But mostly we’re good friends. We stick up for each other and we have fun together.
I could tell that that was the way things would be for Jenny and Andrea, too.
Jenny bent over. She and Andrea were nose to nose. “Hello, Andrea,” said Jenny. “I’m your big sister. I know you can’t do many things yet, so I will help you. Maybe when you’re three or four I’ll teach you how to play Flamingo Fight. I’ll be seven or eight by then. I’ll be going to school and you won’t, so I’ll tell you all about school.”
Jenny stopped talking. She stroked the black downy hair on Andrea’s head. “Don’t worry, Mommy,” said Jenny, looking up. “I remember about the soft spot. I won’t hurt the baby.”
By that time, the Prezziosos were filming this scene on their camcorder. But Mrs. P. stopped watching her daughters long enough to pay me. Then I went home.
Wow.
Did I ever do some heavy thinking as I walked from Jenny’s house to mine.
I was thinking about relationships. I thought about Dawn and me, and what good friends we are. Even when we fight, we learn something from our fights. We learn how to listen to each other and respect each other.
I was thinking about Jenny and Andrea. In my wildest dreams I had never imagined that Andrea’s homecoming would have worked out the way it had. Not with the conversations the BSC members had been having with Jenny. Not with Jenny throwing her doll around her room. Not with Jenny’s fears about no longer being her parents’ “one and only.”
I suppose that sometimes some family members never get along, but I don’t think that happens often. Usually when people are mad, some sort of love is underlying the feelings that show, the feelings on the outside. When people love each other — whether they’re brothers and sisters, parents and children, best friends, husbands and wives, or girlfriends and boyfriends — that love leads to an understanding. That’s why I can (usually) ignore my father when he gets into one of his orderliness frenzies. It’s why my stepmother doesn’t force me to eat the foods (such as tofu) that she and Dawn adore. And it’s why Dawn and I can fight and make up.
Then I thought about Logan and me. What did this say about us? I had tried to be understanding of Logan, but was he understanding of me? He used to be, that’s for sure. I remembered my thirteenth birthday. There had been a surprise party. Since I’m shy, you can imagine how I felt about being surprised with a cake and gifts. I hated being the center of attention. Being the center of attention is right up there with performing and public speaking. I’m terrified of those things. And when I ran out on my own party that evening, Logan understood. He gave me a chance to get myself together. Then we talked about things, and Logan never made me the center of attention again, if he could possibly help it. He didn’t mind when I’d agree to go to a school dance — and then not dance. He let me make up my mind about going to Halloween parties in costumes or in regular clothes…. He used to be that way.
Now he wasn’t.
I felt that he didn’t listen to me anymore. He thought only about what he wanted, while I tried to understand him and what he wanted, and to make allowances for him. Not that he would have forced me to dance at a school hop — or would he have? I wasn’t sure. What I was sure about, though, was that he expected me to be available for him at all times. He seemed to have forgotten that I had a family and another life, and that they did not include Logan.
Logan wanted me to be “Logan’s girl,” and I didn’t want to be anybody’s girl. Ever. I may not be as independent as my sister, but I have rights and feelings like anyone else.
I did not want to be owned.
* * *
By the time I reached our house, I had made a decision.
First, I went to my room. I opened my jewelry box, removed something from it, and slipped it into my pocket.
Then I telephoned Logan.
“Hi,” I said when he picked up the phone. “It’s me.”
“Hi, you!”
“Logan, I have to talk to you. Now. Can we meet in the park?”
“It’s late, Mary Anne. It’s getting dark out. Why do you have to meet me somewhere? Can’t we just talk? Or can’t we see each other in school tomorrow? I’m not —”
“No,” I interrupted.
“Mary Anne.”
“Logan, when you call me on the spur of the moment and want me to go out, I usually do it. Now I’m asking you to do the same thing for me.” I paused. Then I went on, “We’ll meet at the bench by the skating pond.”
“Oh, okay! Remember that snowy afternoon in the park? That was great, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. But Logan, you don’t need to bring your skates. I can’t stay out very long.”
“Me, neither,” replied Logan agreeably. “See you in a few minutes.”
We hung up the phone.
“Dawn!” I called. (She was in her room, studying.) “I’m going to meet Logan in the park now.”
“Now?”
“Yeah. I know it’s late, but I only have to see him for a few minutes. I’ll be back before six o’clock.”
“You shouldn’t let Logan push you around like this,” was Dawn’s reply.
I almost told her that I was doing the pushing, but I didn’t have time. Besides, by this evening I’d probably have a lot more to tell her, so I just yelled, “Later!” Then I put on my parka and mittens and ran out the door and all the way to the park.
The park looked very different than it had a few weeks earlier. The snow was gone. Scrubby brown grass showed in its place. The tree branches were bare, dark against the late afternoon sky. No snow outlined them, turning them into fairy trees. Only a few people were still enjoying the park; the children had left.
And yet just seeing the park brought back all sorts of memories. It brought back good times that Logan and I had shared there. And those memories led to other memories.
I pictured Logan and me wearing cat costumes to the Halloween Hop.
I pictured us on a joint baby-sitting job for Jackie Rodowsky. That was before Logan and I were boyfriend and girlfriend.
I remembered the first time I had spotted Logan in school, when he was the new boy — and I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.
I could not believe what I was going to do.
* * *
When I reached the bench it was empty.
I sat down and waited.
Logan was not likely to be late.
And he wasn’t. I’d been sitting alone for less than a minute when I heard him call, “Hi, Mary Anne!”
He was loping toward me, jogging through the park. Smiling.
Oh, I thought. What am I doing? What am I going to do to Logan? What am I going to do to us?
But my mind was made up.
Logan sank down next to me. He tilted my chin toward him so we could kiss, but I pulled away.
“What’s wrong?” asked Logan. “Here we are in the park. Don’t —”
I put my hand over Logan’s mouth to make him stop talking. It was Logan’s turn to pull away. But then he leaned toward me and tried to kiss me again. Why wasn’t he getting the message?
Oh.
Because I wasn’t talking. I thought my actions were enough, but maybe not. After all, Logan couldn’t read my thoughts.
“Logan … Logan?” I began.
“Yes? Yes?” Logan laughed at his joke.
“Logan, this is serious,” I said. (Logan’s smile vanished.) “Remember how I said we needed to cool our relationship?”
“Of course,” answered Logan. “And we did.”
“No. I did. You never took it seriously.”
“I did too!” exclaimed Logan indignantly.
“But then you decided to start things up again, without asking me.”
“I don’t have to ask your permission for everything.”
“No, but you need to listen to me. And understand me. I don’t feel like you do either of those things anymore. You haven’t for a long time.” I could feel my hands growing clammy in my mittens, but I was determined to say what I’d planned to say. “I was the one who asked to cool our relationship for awhile, and you agreed. Don’t you think it would have been courteous to consult me when you felt we were ready to start seeing more of each other?”
“Courteous?” repeated Logan. “Who are you? Miss Manners?”
“No, I’m Mary Anne Spier and I am a person. An independent person who likes to think for herself and have some freedom.” (I was shaking; wondering just how independent I was — or wanted to be.)
>
“What exactly are you saying, Mary Anne?”
“I want to break up with you,” I replied. I didn’t even hesitate before I said it.
“You what?”
“I want to break up with you. It’s time to do that. This relationship isn’t going anywhere. I don’t know about you, but I’m not happy.”
“Mary Anne —”
Logan stopped talking when I stood up, took off one mitten, and reached into my pocket. From it, I pulled the heart bracelet that Logan had given me on Valentine’s Day. Then I reached for Logan’s hand, dropped the bracelet into it, and closed his fingers around the linked hearts.
“I can’t keep this,” I told him.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” said Logan.
“Yes,” I replied softly.
Logan opened his hand. He looked at the bracelet coiled in it. Then he looked back at me. “I guess this means we’re — we’re not —” Logan had to stop speaking because his voice had choked up. (I was choked up, too.)
“Good-bye, Logan,” I said.
“Good-bye, Mary Anne.”
* * *
Dear Reader,
Mary Anne was the first member of the Baby-sitters Club to have a steady boyfriend. However, I know from letters that I receive from readers that lots of girls do not have boyfriends at all when they’re Mary Anne’s age. So it seemed reasonable to me that Mary Anne and Logan would break up at some point. Also, in the past Mary Anne has had problems in her relationship with Logan.
It isn’t easy for Mary Anne to stick up for herself. But when something is very important to her — such as standing up to her father when she felt he was treating her like a little girl — then she will do it. I knew that some readers would be disappointed by this book, but I felt it was a realistic direction for Mary Anne and Logan’s relationship to take. And who knows what the future may bring?
Happy reading,
* * *
About the Author
ANN MATTHEWS MARTIN was born on August 12, 1955. She grew up in Princeton, New Jersey, with her parents and her younger sister, Jane.