Kristy would.
It’s easy to recognize Kristy. She’s the shortest BSC member, and she’s always dressed super casually. Jeans, a T-shirt or turtleneck, and sneakers — “neat and simple” is her motto. The funny thing is, her stepdad’s extremely rich so she could buy the most expensive clothes around.
Kristy wasn’t always rich. Until she was about seven, she lived across the street from Claudia with her parents and two older brothers (Charlie is now seventeen and Sam — yes, my old boyfriend — is fifteen). But her dad deserted them not long after her younger brother, David Michael, was born. (Kristy hates talking about her real dad.) So Mrs. Thomas raised four kids by herself and held down a full-time job.
Then came Watson. Watson Brewer the millionaire, that is. He fell in love with Kristy’s mom and married her. Life suddenly became easier — in a way. On one hand, the Thomases moved into a mansion. On the other hand, Kristy’s family doubled in size. Watson already had two kids from a previous marriage (Karen and Andrew), who live with him on alternate weekends. Then Watson and Mrs. Thomas adopted a little Vietnamese girl (Emily Michelle), and Kristy’s grandmother moved in to help take care of the house and kids. Add a zooful of pets, and you have a busy household.
“This meeting will come to order!” Kristy bellowed at the stroke of five-thirty (actually, it’s more like the click of five-thirty on Claudia’s alarm clock).
Jessi had already hung up the phone. She took her usual position on the floor. Shannon Kilbourne sat next to her. I was cross-legged on the bed, between Claudia and Mary Anne. Kristy sat forward in her director’s chair. “All present and accounted for?” she asked.
“Puh-leeze,” Claudia said with a giggle. “This isn’t the army.”
Kristy shrugged. “I just like the way that sounds. Any new business?”
The room fell silent for a moment. Jessi stretched out her long legs on the carpet. (She’s a fabulous ballerina, so she’s always stretching.) Her right foot disappeared under the bed, and … crrrunch!
“Oops,” she said.
“The blue corn chips!” Claudia cried out. “I almost forgot about them.”
Jessi pulled back her leg, and Claudia leaned down to pull a huge bag from under the bed.
“Blue chips?” Kristy did not look impressed. “Are they moldy?”
“No, they’re made from blue corn,” Claudia answered, ripping open the bag. “Try some.” She gave a chip to Kristy, who held it as if it were a dead mouse.
Mary Anne reached in for some. “Dawn loved blue chips,” she said with a sigh.
Dawn, by the way, is Dawn Schafer, one of our regular members. Right now she’s in California, staying with her dad. She’s originally from California, but when her parents divorced, Mrs. Schafer moved to Connecticut with Dawn and Dawn’s brother, Jeff. Jeff never adjusted to the change and ended up moving back with his dad. Dawn stayed in Stoneybrook, but she grew incredibly homesick for “her California family,” so she moved back to be with her dad and Jeff for a while.
Dawn is also Mary Anne’s stepsister and best friend. Mary Anne’s been feeling pretty down since she left. (So have I. Dawn is fun to be with — plus she’s the only other BSCer who doesn’t eat sweets. She’s a health-food freak.)
“Have you talked to her lately?” Jessi asked.
Mary Anne shook her head sadly. “Not since two nights ago.”
“We could call her now if you want,” Claudia offered.
Kristy looked at the clock. “Nope. It’s two-thirty-four in California. She’s not back from school yet.” She took a fistful of chips out of the bag. “These aren’t bad.”
“Kristy, don’t hog them,” I said.
“Don’t worry,” Claudia assured me. “There’s another bag behind my hats.”
Translation: It was on the top shelf of her closet, where she keeps her huge hat collection. (Probably next to a few Milky Ways and a box of Oreos.)
Claudia is the BSC vice-president. She also happens to be my best friend in the world. I love her so much. We have a lot in common, but I will never understand her eating habits. She loves candy, pretzels, and ice cream. Sometimes I think she’s the opposite of a diabetic — her body must need sugar and junk. Her parents don’t permit much junk food in the house, so Claudia hides candy, cookies, and chips all over her room. (Mr. and Mrs. Kishi also permit only Great Literature, so Claudia has to hide her Nancy Drew mysteries.) And here’s the weirdest thing. Despite her eating habits, Claudia looks like a model and has perfect skin. She has long, jet-black hair and dark almond-shaped eyes (she’s Japanese-American).
It’s easy for Claud to hide stuff, because her room is a mess. Not that she’s a slob. It’s just that every corner is taken up by art supplies. You see, Claudia is an artist. Talk about talent. There’s nothing she can’t do well — drawing, sculpture, painting, jewelry-making. Unfortunately, art has never been very important to the Kishi family. Grades and schoolwork are, and Claudia’s not a good student. For most of her life she felt inferior to her sister, Janine the Genius, who has enough IQ points for two people. But now even the Kishis realize Claudia’s got talent.
One thing Claud and I do have in common is a passion for fashion. But our styles are different. I like sophisticated, chic clothes, and I’m great at spotting the perfect outfit in a catalog or shop window. Claudia’s more artistic. She dresses hip and funky (hiply and funkily?), and she puts together her own outfits. For instance, at the BSC meeting she was wearing baggy wool men’s pants, gathered at the waist by a black leather band; a white tuxedo shirt with rolled-up sleeves; Capezio-type flats with mismatched white and black socks; and a glittery bow-tie barrette in her hair. On someone else, the Look might be too formal, or just plain weird. On Claudia, it was fabulous.
As we sat there, passing around the second bag of chips, Shannon blurted out, “Oh! Guess what. My parents need a sitter for Tiffany and Maria on Tuesday afternoon. I have to go to this honor society meeting.”
“Let’s see …” Mary Anne looked in the club record book. “I’m at the Prezziosos’, Kristy’s sitting for the Hobart kids, Stacey’s with Charlotte, Jessi has the Newton kids, Claudia has a dentist appointment … uh-oh.”
Kristy shook her head. “I knew this would happen with two members missing.”
“Logan adores the Hobart kids,” Mary Anne said. “If he doesn’t have track practice he might take your place, Kristy.”
She picked up the phone and tapped out his number. After a short conversation, she hung up and said, “We’re in luck!”
“Good,” Kristy replied. “I’ll sit for the Kilbournes.”
“Bring a suit of armor,” Shannon remarked. “You would not believe Tiffany. She has become such a brat.”
“Really?” I said. “She used to be so quiet.”
Shannon nodded. “She missed the Terrible Twos. Instead she’s having the Terrible Tens. Even her teachers are complaining.”
Shannon and Logan, as I mentioned before, are our two associate members, and they’re not required to come to meetings. Shannon has hair to die for — blonde and curly and incredibly thick. She goes to a private school called Stoneybrook Day School, and she’s involved in a lot of extracurricular activities. Lately, though, she’s been picking up some of the slack for Dawn and Mallory. Logan (who is cute with a capital Q) is Mary Anne Spier’s boyfriend. He’s on the football and track teams, and he works part-time as a busboy, so he’s often unavailable to sit.
Doesn’t it figure that the quietest, shyest BSC member would be the only one with a steady boyfriend? Well, I must admit Logan has good taste. Mary Anne is also about the nicest, most sensitive and caring person I’ve ever met. She cries at sad movies. She cries at happy movies. Logan says she cries at store openings.
She does not cry over the BSC record book, which is a good thing, because the book is filled to the brim with her neat, tiny handwriting. As BSC secretary, Mary Anne keeps track of our sitting jobs in that book. She writes down all our conflicts in adv
ance — Jessi’s ballet classes, Mallory’s orthodontist appointments, and whatever else comes along for the rest of us. She also keeps an updated client list, including the rates they pay and the special likes and dislikes of our charges. And she never, ever makes a mistake.
I told you how sweet-toothed Claudia and diabetic me are best friends. Well, shy Mary Anne and loudmouth Kristy are best friends, too. They are very different. But I can think of two things they have in common. The first is looks. Mary Anne is pretty short, too, and both girls have brown hair and brown eyes.
The second thing Mary Anne has in common with Kristy is an unusual family history. Mary Anne’s mom died when Mary Anne was a baby. Her dad was so overwhelmed by this that he had to send Mary Anne away to her grandparents while he recovered. When he took her back, he tried hard to be a good father and mother. His rules were very strict. Mary Anne had to go to bed early every night. She had to wear old-fashioned little-girl clothes and keep her hair in pigtails.
Mr. Spier changed radically, though, when he met his high-school sweetheart, who just happened to have moved back to Stoneybrook after living for years in California. (Can you guess who she is? I gave you a hint earlier.)
Yup. Mrs. Schafer, Dawn’s mom. She is the opposite of Mary Anne’s dad. In other words, she’s wild, funny, and absentminded. Mary Anne and her dad now live in what was the Schafers’ house. (It’s a two-hundred-year-old farmhouse with a barn and a secret passageway to Dawn’s bedroom!)
Nowadays Mary Anne looks exactly her age. She’s allowed to wear the clothes of her choice and experiment with her hair and makeup.
Okay, I’ve told you about everyone except our junior members. Mallory Pike and Jessi are both eleven years old and in sixth grade. (The rest of us are thirteen and in eighth grade.) They have weeknight curfews, so they take mainly afternoon jobs. Since Mal came down with mono, Jessi has really missed her in meetings. They’re absolutely best friends. Both of them love to read, especially horse books. Both are the oldest among their siblings, and both are convinced their parents treat them like babies.
Those are the similarities. The girls are also quite different. For one thing, Mal is Caucasian and Jessi’s African-American. For another, Jessi has two younger siblings and Mallory has seven (yes, seven). Mal’s not a ballerina, like Jessi. She loves to write and illustrate, and she wants to be a children’s book author someday.
Oh. I forgot one important thing. I’m the BSC treasurer, which means I have to collect dues every Monday. It’s the least popular job, and I got it because I’m good in math. (By now I’m used to the groaning and complaints on dues day.) I figure out what part of Claud’s phone bill should be paid by the club, how much money to pay Charlie Thomas (he drives Kristy to and from meetings), and whether or not we have enough leftover money for special treats, like a pizza party. I also try to keep a reserve in case we need to buy things for Kid-Kits.
Rinng!
“Hello, Baby-sitters Club!” Claudia said into the phone receiver. It was 5:38. Our first call of the afternoon had come in. The phone calls continued, almost nonstop, until six o’clock. We hardly had time to talk about anything — including my upcoming date.
It was just as well, I thought. The school year was still young. Who knew what could happen? No use building it up.
I had a daydream, though. I imagined a championship game in the SMS gym, standing room only. I saw Stoneybrook behind by one point and RJ scoring a basket with one second left in the game. I heard a deafening roar as RJ bounded off the court and lifted me into his arms.
I had to laugh. It was ridiculous. I didn’t even know the guy.
Oh, well, a girl can dream, can’t she?
On Friday I made myself three promises.
1. I would not mention my date to anyone at school or at the BSC meeting.
2. If I were asked about it, I would change the subject quickly.
3. If and when I saw RJ, I would remain cool and calm.
How did I do? A big, fat 0 for 3.
I blabbered about how excited I was to Sheila McGregor in homeroom. When Mary Anne asked me how I was feeling, I shrieked in the hallway. Then RJ decided to sit at our table during lunch, and I could hardly put a sentence together. It didn’t help that I was eating a sandwich on a poppy-seed roll, so I looked as if I had gaps between my teeth. (Kristy made sure to let me know about it — afterward, of course.)
By the end of school I was a wreck. I almost forgot to go to the BSC meeting. I showed up at 5:37 and guess what they were talking about?
My date. We ended up discussing the time RJ was picking me up (six-thirty), our destination (downtown), our “agenda” (a movie and then a bite to eat), and what I was going to wear (a black-and-white plaid unitard with a tankstyle top, covered with a black, over-sized cotton knit jersey).
What else did we do at the meeting? Don’t ask me. My mind was in the ozone layer. I think I agreed to take a sitting job, but I’m not sure. All I know was that at six on the nose, I was out like a shot.
Because of my diabetes, I have to eat meals at regular times. Since RJ and I were going straight to the movie, that meant I needed to have dinner beforehand. I arrived home at 6:06, so I had exactly twenty-four minutes in which to eat and get ready.
I was glad I’d decided what to wear in advance. I ran straight to my room, changed, and put on a little makeup. Mom and I wolfed down some salad and leftover lasagna.
As I was drinking a glass of juice, the doorbell rang.
I coughed. Some juice had caught in my throat.
“Take it easy, sweetheart,” Mom said with a smile.
“I’m —” Cough. “I’m —” Cough. “I’m all right.” I swallowed and took a deep breath. “I’ll get it.”
Calmly I stood up from the table. Mom was giving me a very patient smile. I went to the front door and opened it — not too eager, but friendly. “Hi, RJ!” I said.
Hic.
I tried to swallow the hiccup, but I couldn’t. It just snuck up my windpipe. I was horrified. I wanted to melt into the carpet.
“Can you stand on your head?” RJ asked.
“Huh?” Great. I was hiccuping like a frog, and RJ wanted to do gymnastics in the living room. “Uh, yeah, but …”
Hic.
“It’s how you get rid of hiccups,” RJ said.
“Here, drink this.” Mom, the voice of reason, walked up behind me with a glass of water. I swallowed it slowly.
RJ shook his head. “Nah, standing on your head is definitely better.”
I managed a smile. “It’s okay. Really. They’re gone.”
Have you ever actually forced down a hiccup? I did. It wasn’t fun. It felt as if a tiny bomb had gone off in my stomach. But I was not going to be talked into doing headstands on a first date in a beautiful new outfit.
Mom cheerfully waved good-bye as RJ and I slid into the car. Mr. Blaser was driving. He was a bigger version of RJ — tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome.
How was the ride? Well, we started by talking about the cold winter weather. That was okay. But it led to a very long discussion about the right kind of antifreeze for the Blasers’ car. RJ and his father both had strong opinions. Me? I understood a little bit of it, mainly words like and, the, and bottle. I nodded a lot.
Fortunately, we reached the theatre before the conversation became too unbearable. We went straight to the box office, bought tickets, and stood on the popcorn line.
“Hey, great, they have caramel corn!” RJ exclaimed.
“Um, I’ll have regular,” I said.
“Your choice. I’ll get one of each. I guess you’re on a diet, huh?” He said “diet” in a mocking tone of voice.
“Yeah, I am, sort of,” I replied.
RJ smiled and rolled his eyes. “Girls.” He sighed. “Diet soda, too?”
“Thanks,” I said.
Okay, okay, I chickened out. I admit it. I didn’t want to tell RJ about my diabetes. Some people get grossed out by the mention of it. Why spoil th
e date so early? I’d mention it when we got to know each other better.
The theatre was busy, and we had to maneuver our way through a crowd to get to the door.
I saw a few familiar faces. Sabrina Bouvier and her date were talking to some friends by a water fountain. Erica Blumberg, Cokie Mason, and a bunch of their friends were in line for the restroom.
You know what? They all, all stared at me.
You know what else? It felt wonderful. I slipped my arm into RJ’s, and he gave me a huge grin.
The theater was noisy and crowded as we walked in, but in the last few rows were plenty of empty seats. “Want to sit back here?” I asked.
“It’s kind of far away,” RJ said. “There are seats up front.”
There were — in the first two rows. “Those are too close,” I replied.
“Okay, no problem.”
RJ marched to the center of the theater. One row was not quite full, with two single seats separated by three couples. “Yo,” RJ called out, “can you guys move over so we can sit together?”
I couldn’t believe he was doing this. All six people had to get up and move, muttering and fumbling with their winter clothes. I felt awfully guilty.
We squeezed by everyone, took off our coats, and sat in our seats.
“This okay?” RJ asked.
It wasn’t. The guy to my left was hogging the armrest. In front of me was a girl with major hair. She was either six feet tall or was sitting on her coat. The only place to hold my coat was in my lap, which was also the only place to hold my popcorn and drink. “It’s fine,” I answered.