“You take it, Kristy,” I said immediately. “It makes much more sense since you live in the Delaneys’ neighborhood.”
So Kristy took the job. I knew she considered that particular meeting a huge success.
When the meeting was over, the BSC members trickled out of Claud’s house.
“Any word?” Jessi whispered to me as we unchained our bicycles from the Kishis’ lamppost.
I shook my head, glad that Jessi hadn’t said anything about my dad’s job at the meeting. She’s a good enough friend to know when to keep quiet. “Dad should be home by the time I get home, though,” I said. “I’ll call you tonight to tell you whether the news is good or bad.”
“Okay,” replied Jessi. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed. I’m sure the news will be good. Talk to you later.”
“Later!” I called as we both rode off.
I pedaled along in the semidark. Good news, good news, good news, I said to myself in time to the pedaling.
When I reached my street, I picked up speed. (Good-news-good-news-good-news.) And when I reached my driveway, I picked up even more speed. (Goodnewsgoodnewsgoodnews.) I was riding so fast that I nearly crashed into Dad’s car as I sped into the garage.
Calm down, just calm down, I told myself.
I entered our house through the garage door. The rec room was silent and empty. So I ran upstairs to the living room. Everyone was sitting there, either on the couch or chairs, or on the floor.
No one had to tell me what the news was. I could see for myself.
“Oh, Dad,” I said, letting out a breath.
“I’m sorry,” said Dad simply.
“Hey, you don’t have to apologize,” I told him quickly. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“He got a pink slip,” Claire spoke up. She was sitting on the floor, playing with Vanessa’s hair. “He got it at five o’clock.”
“Those stinkers!” I exploded. “Why did they wait so long to tell you? Why didn’t they give out all the slips in the morning, instead of driving people crazy making them wait all day?”
“I don’t know.” Dad sighed. “Maybe they were still making decisions about who should go and who should stay. Those aren’t easy decisions.”
“Well, I still think the people who run your company are really stale.”
“Look,” said Dad, sounding cross, “I got fired and that’s that. I don’t want to spend all night discussing it.”
“Okay. Sorry,” I replied. I was taken aback. Mom and Dad usually don’t talk that way. My brothers and sisters and I do sometimes, but not our parents. And especially not Dad. He’s a sensitive, gentle person.
“Come on,” said Mom. “Let’s have dinner.”
“Is it okay to eat? Shouldn’t we be saving our food for when we really need it?” asked Nicky. He wasn’t being sassy. He meant it.
“For pity’s sake, we aren’t destitute,” answered Dad.
“What’s dessatoot?” Claire whispered to me as we followed Mom and Dad into the kitchen. I felt bad for her. I knew she was whispering because she didn’t want Dad to hear her and get mad at her.
“Destitute,” I corrected her, “and it means as poor as you can get.”
“Very, very poor?” whispered Claire.
“Right. Very, very poor. And we aren’t very, very poor,” (yet, I thought) “so don’t worry, okay?”
“Okay.”
Dinner that night was gloomy, as you might imagine. At first, no one knew what to say. So we didn’t say anything. Then finally Mom spoke up. (Sometimes it’s nice to have a mother who speaks her mind. Other times it is dibbly horrible.)
“Okay, everybody,” said Mom. “Heads up, eyes on me.” She sounded like a teacher, but I think she just didn’t want us looking ashamed and embarrassed. We looked at her. Even Dad looked at her. “We’ve got a problem here,” said Mom.
“Duh,” muttered Jordan.
“I heard that,” Mom said, then continued by saying, “We are a family.”
“We are the world, we are the people,” sang Jordan.
“Jordan!” bellowed Dad. (He didn’t need to say another word.)
“We are a family,” Mom repeated, “and we will stick together and work together and everything will be fine. I want you to understand what I mean by work together,” she went on.
“You mean like in the garden?” interrupted Margo.
“Not exactly,” said Mom. “I mean, doing what is asked of you, since we’re going to have to make some changes. First of all, no extras. That means new clothes only if it’s a necessity. If it’s not a necessity, you wait, or you ask a brother or sister — nicely — if you can borrow something. It means no new toys, because we’ve got plenty already. It means no trips, and it means that your father or I will do the grocery shopping and we won’t hear complaints about what we buy.” (I knew it, I thought. This was the end of the junk food.) “Furthermore,” continued Mom, “I will be going to work.”
“You will?” cried Adam. The idea was foreign to him.
“Yup,” Mom answered. “I can type and use word processors, so I’m going to register with an agency to do temporary work. That means,” she said, “that I won’t have a steady job, I’ll just be working at companies whenever and wherever I’m needed, and that means that some days I’ll be working and some days I won’t, and that means, Mallory, that if I’m at work and your father needs to go on a job interview, I’ll ask you to baby-sit — for free. Do you understand?”
“Sure,” I replied. I was glad I could help out.
“Oh, another thing,” said Mom. “I hate to tell you this, but no allowances until we’re back on our feet. We need every penny.”
“No allowances?” repeated Byron. “Aw, man.”
“Sorry, kiddo,” said Mom.
“That’s okay,” Byron replied, glancing at Dad.
During this entire discussion, Dad hadn’t said a word (except to chew out Jordan). Now I studied him and decided he looked almost angry. Why? I wondered. I thought we were all being pretty cooperative and accepting. Mom was going to get work, I had said I’d baby-sit for free (and without any help — Mom usually insists on two sitters at our house), and my brothers and sisters and I had barely griped about cutting back or losing our allowances. I would have thought Dad would be proud, or at least pleased, but he certainly didn’t look as if he felt proud or pleased. Which made me feel confused.
I was so deep in thought that when Dad said, “Kids?” I jumped a mile.
“Yeah?” we replied.
“I’ll be in charge when your mother’s at … at work,” he said gruffly. “I’ll expect you to listen to me and behave.”
Why wouldn’t we? I wondered.
“I’ll probably only work a couple of days a week,” said Mom apologetically.
“Right,” said Dad shortly.
Next to me, Claire became wiggly. I nudged her with my elbow. For some reason it seemed important for us to be model kids, and I realized why. I didn’t want to upset Dad any further.
I felt afraid.
When our torturous dinner was finally over, nobody scattered, as we usually do. Instead, we helped clear the table and clean up the kitchen. Then my brothers and sisters and I crept to our rooms, leaving Mom and Dad downstairs.
“You guys?” I said softly, standing in the hallway, where I knew everyone could hear me. “Come into my room for a sec.”
In a minute, the eight of us were jammed into Vanessa’s and my bedroom, somber-faced.
“Okay,” I began. “I call to order a meeting of the Pike Club.”
Claire brightened. She likes the idea of clubs and wishes she could belong to the BSC. “What’s the Pike Club?” she asked.
“It’s us,” I replied. “The eight of us. And we’re going to meet sometimes while Dad is out of work to talk about things.”
“What kind of things?” Nicky wanted to know.
“Well, ways we can help save money…. And things we’re afraid of,” I tossed in, offhande
dly. I knew we were all afraid of things we hadn’t mentioned yet.
“I’m scared of Daddy,” said Margo in a small voice. “He yelled tonight. And I think he’s mad at Mommy.”
“He sounded like he was mad at Mommy,” I said slowly, “but I think maybe he’s mad at himself. Or ashamed. Even though he shouldn’t be.”
“Well,” said Byron, “let’s think of some other ways to save money.”
“Yeah!” cried Nicky. “Like not leave on lights when we don’t need them.”
“Good idea,” I agreed. “We could probably cut our electricity bill way back just by being careful. Don’t leave anything on unless you really need it. We’re always forgetting and leaving the power to the stereo on. And we can watch less TV and not use the stereo or our radios too often.”
“We should use dish towels instead of paper towels,” added Vanessa. “Then we wouldn’t have to buy paper towels.”
“And only one Kleenex instead of two when we blow our noses,” said Claire.
I smiled. “These are all terrific ideas. See what happens when the Pike Club meets? We can think of plenty of ways to cut back.” I looked at my brothers and sisters, who seemed relaxed. That was nice.
The first meeting of the Pike Club broke up about ten minutes later. Most of us had homework to do, including me. But instead of starting it, I called Jessi.
“My dad lost his job,” I whispered to her. (I didn’t want my family to know that I was already spreading our bad news.)
“He did?!” Jessi squeaked. “I don’t believe it. How stale.” She paused. “Mal? Is there anything I can do?”
I thought for a moment. “Not really, I guess. Just … just let me lean on you when I need to. My brothers and sisters are all leaning on me.”
“Boy,” and Jessi. “If they lean on you and you lean on me, I might fall over.”
“Please don’t,” I said, giggling.
“I won’t. You know I’m here,” Jessi told me seriously.
“I know. Thanks, Jessi. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.”
“’Night, Mal.”
Friday afternoon arrived. It was time for the next meeting of the Baby-sitters Club. Two days had passed since the last meeting and since my dad lost his job, but the days felt more like years. Mom had registered with the temping agency, but they hadn’t called her with a job yet. And my dad had launched right into his search for a new job. He worked so hard at it that he was making a job out of looking for a job.
However, my parents didn’t seem much happier than they had on Wednesday night. Breakfast and dinner were agonizing times. Dad was gruff and cross, Mom was constantly apologizing for him, and the rest of us didn’t know what to do or say, so mostly we were silent. Neither Mom nor Dad seemed to notice the money-saving campaign that my brothers and sisters and I had started, though the house was noticeably quiet with the TV, stereo, and radios off most of the time. Mom and Dad didn’t even say anything when we washed the supper dishes by hand on Thursday night, so as not to use up electricity by running the dishwasher. I think Mom and Dad were dazed.
I called Jessi with great regularity to report on things.
By Friday, my friends knew what happened. Mom and Dad had not said to keep Dad’s job loss a secret, and anyway, secrets don’t last long in the BSC. So when I reached Claud’s room that afternoon I was greeted by a chorus of, “How were things this afternoon?” and, “How’s your dad doing?”
“Okay,” I had time to answer before Claud’s clock turned to 5:30 and Kristy called our meeting to order.
“Any club business?” Kristy asked, then immediately answered her own question. “I move that we let Mal have the job at the Delaneys’, that is, if Mrs. Delaney approves. You haven’t sat for the Delaneys, have you, Mal?”
I shook my head. Why was Kristy giving me the job?
“I second the motion,” said Claudia.
“I third it,” said Dawn, and we laughed.
“Just a minute, you guys. What’s going on?” I asked. “Kristy, how come you can’t take the job with Amanda and Max?”
“Oh, I can take it. But I think you need it more than I do.” Kristy stopped abruptly, probably wondering if she’d just blurted out something she shouldn’t have said. “You’re not offended, are you?” she asked.
“No,” I replied. “Just, um, surprised. And — And —” I didn’t know what else to say except, “Thank you, Kristy.” Then I thought of something. “Wait a sec! Don’t call Mrs. Delaney yet. How am I going to get to your neighborhood every day, Kristy? I can’t ride my bike that far, and I can’t ask my parents for a ride, either.” (It had been Jordan’s idea to save on gas.)
“No problem. I’ve got it all worked out,” Kristy answered. She grinned at me from under her visor. “Mrs. Delaney needs a sitter on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, right?”
“Right,” I said.
“And those are club meeting days, right?”
“Right.”
“Okay, so three times a week you’ll take the bus home with me, go over to the Delaneys’, and then ride with Charlie and me to Claudia’s. Charlie can even drop you off at your house after the meetings, since you won’t have your bike.”
“I think we should let Mal have as many sitting jobs as she can handle,” added Claudia. “Tuesdays, Thursdays, weekends. Whatever jobs come in.”
“Yeah, Mal has first dibs on daytime jobs,” said Stacey. “That’s fair.”
“Mal?” asked Jessi. “Mal?”
I hadn’t said anything because I was desperately trying not to cry. I swallowed hard and finally found my voice. “Thanks,” I managed to say. “This is — I mean, you guys are —”
“Don’t! Stop!” exclaimed Mary Anne. “In a few seconds, I’m going to cry!”
“Oh, lord,” said Claud.
“I’ll call Mrs. Delaney,” Kristy spoke up in her most businesslike voice.
There. That was good. The meeting began to feel more normal.
Mrs. Delaney agreed to the change in sitters without even asking questions. She trusts the BSC.
So the job became mine. By that time, I was more in control. (So was Mary Anne.) “This is dibbly great,” I said. “I’ve decided I’m going to give all of my baby-sitting money to Mom and Dad to help with the groceries and stuff. Well, I’ll give them most of it, anyway. I might save a little for myself in case I need something. Then I won’t have to ask them to buy it for me.”
The phone rang then. It was Mrs. Prezzioso needing a sitter for the following Thursday afternoon. Mary Anne gave me the job after saying, “Only if you really want it, Mal. I know how you feel about Jenny. I’ll take the job if you don’t want to go to the Prezziosos’.”
“No, I’ll go. I can’t afford to be a baby now. I’ll put up with Jenny.” I felt like a soldier volunteering to cross enemy lines or do something else equally dangerous.
So I got the job with Jenny. Wow! I thought. I’ll be rich! Then I paused. No, I wouldn’t. And neither would my parents when I turned my pay over to them. Baby-sitting money was not going to feed ten people.
The phone rang several more times, and several more jobs were scheduled.
After the last call, Claud waited a moment to see if the phone would ring again. When it didn’t, she reached behind her pillow and pulled out a bag of Fritos, which she passed around.
“Hey, Jessi, Mal,” she said. “You know what happened at lunch today?”
“What?” we asked. (Jessi and I eat lunch with the sixth-graders. The other club members eat with the eighth-graders during a later period. They all sit together. Sometimes Logan joins them.)
“Dori Wallingford fainted.”
“You’re kidding!” exclaimed Jessi. But I wasn’t listening. I couldn’t help thinking about what had happened during my lunch period.
“Mal? … Mal?” Claud was saying. “Earth to Mal.”
“Oh, sorry.” I must have really zoned out.
“Anything wrong?” asked Dawn.
&nbs
p; I glanced at Jessi. She knew what was wrong.
“It’s just that … well, at lunch today, um —” I began.
“Yeah?” said Mary Anne.
“Nan White — Do you know her?” I asked my friends.
“I do, sort of,” said Kristy. “She isn’t the nicest person in the world. She likes to put people down. Especially — don’t take this the wrong way, Mal — but especially people who aren’t good at fighting back.”
“Well, she chose the right person,” I said. “Jessi and I were eating lunch, minding our own business, when Nan came up to me and said, ‘I heard your father got fired. What’d he do? Steal from his company?’”
“I hoped you denied that,” said Stacey, looking astonished.
“I tried to. But Nan was with Janet O’Neal,” I replied.
“A bad combination,” added Jessi.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “And the two of them stood there and laughed and said that their fathers had never been fired. And then they sat down with Valerie and Rachel, and all four of them began talking about me. I know they were talking about me because they kept looking over at our table. They weren’t very subtle. And they laughed a lot.”
“I thought Valerie and Rachel were friends of yours,” said Kristy.
“I thought so, too,” I said.
“That is so mean!” cried Mary Anne. “Why would Nan White start something like that? Well, actually I can see why she would do that, but why would Valerie and Rachel join in and laugh and stuff?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I’m glad they’re not close friends. If they were, I’d feel like a real outcast. Instead I just feel … hurt, I guess.”
“You have every right to feel hurt,” spoke up Jessi. “They were being cruel.”
“I wonder why some kids always want to hurt other kids,” I mused.
“I don’t know,” said Jessi slowly. “I guess Nan was just born that way.”
“Maybe,” said Mary Anne thoughtfully, “Valerie and everybody were laughing because they’re afraid. You know how sometimes you tease people because you need to feel that you’re better than they are? Not that you tease, Mal. I mean, just in general. Well, maybe those girls were laughing to cover up the fact that they’re afraid their parents might get fired someday. And they’re glad it hasn’t happened yet.”