Contents
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Letter from Ann M. Martin
Acknowledgment
About the Author
Scrapbook
Also Available
Copyright
Have you ever had one of those tingly feelings — the kind that tells you something is going to happen, but you’re not sure what or where or when? That’s the feeling I had when I opened my eyes on Monday morning.
“Claudia!” Mom called from downstairs. “Are you up?”
“I’m up,” I mumbled, not moving.
“Better hurry. You don’t want to be late for school.”
Want to bet?
I lay on my back staring at the ceiling, where I had painted little stars and moons the week before. As an artist, I have this theory: if you can’t eat it or wear it — paint it. That’s what helped me decide to use the walls and ceiling of my room as my canvas. I also paint clothes (I tie-dye them, too) and shoes. I have several pairs of high-top sneakers that I decorated in glitter and puff paint. I even have a pair of ballet flats that are entirely covered in red sequins. I call them my ruby slippers, after Dorothy’s in The Wizard of Oz.
Anyway, I was staring at the purple polka dot cow I’d painted jumping over a silver moon, and I got that tingly feeling again. It was definitely not my usual Monday morning feeling.
I’m generally grumpy at the start of the week. I think most kids feel pretty cranky on Monday mornings, except those few mutant types who leap out of bed at the crack of dawn and can’t wait to hurry to school and take a test so they can add yet another A to their straight A record. (Have you guessed that I’m not exactly your model student?)
School is okay. There are even one or two classes I really enjoy, like art. But there are some classes, like English — particularly spelling — that practically paralyze me. I don’t know why that is. Neither do my parents. They think I don’t apply myself and that I need to study harder. They may be right. Let’s face it, I don’t spend every single night slaving over my homework. I have a well-rounded life, unlike my sister Janine, who’s a junior in high school but also takes college classes. Can you believe it? No wonder my parents are disappointed in my grades. But it’s really hard to complete with a total genius.
Anyway, back to my tingly feeling. What could possibly be causing it? Nothing special was scheduled at school. After school, I had my regular Monday Baby-sitters Club meeting. Hmmm. I wondered if that was it. Kristy Thomas (our club president) had talked the week before about wanting to start a fall project. Along with the baby-sitting, the Baby-sitters Club organizes lots of fun activities, like neighborhood carnivals and talent shows. Once we even had an ecology fair and got our whole school involved in recycling and conservation. But maybe I should tell you more about myself, and then fill you in on the Baby-sitters Club.
My full name is Claudia Lynn Kishi, but sometimes my friends call me Claud. I’m thirteen and I’m in eighth grade at Stoneybrook Middle School. I have dark, almond-shaped eyes and long, jet-black hair. (My family is Japanese-American.) I love to read mysteries, Nancy Drew being my absolute fave. And I’m crazy about junk food. Doritos, Mallomars, Ring Dings — you name it and I’ll eat it. You’d think I’d have a pretty bad complexion from all of those sweets, but by some miracle, my skin is clear (which drives my friends crazy!).
I also love clothes. Dressing is like another art form for me. I really enjoy putting unusual combinations together. I’ll wear suspenders backwards with tuxedo pants and a long sleeved T-shirt that I’ve tie-dyed myself. Or I’ll cover an entire jean vest with tiny safety pins and funky plastic charms from a gumball machine and wear that with a jean skirt and bright red cowboy boots.
“Claudia, you have exactly five minutes to get dressed and eat breakfast,” Mom called from downstairs. “Make that four and a half minutes.” Can you tell my mother is a stickler for detail? She is head librarian at the Stoneybrook Library, and she likes for things to be accurate.
“I’ll be right down,” I called as I switched into high gear. Mondays are hard enough as it is. But being late for school on a Monday is the worst, because the teachers are feeling just as grumpy as the students. I had no time to think about my wardrobe. I just made it up as I went along. I slipped on a pair of baggy jeans with an extra long belt and grabbed a pinstriped vest to go over my white shirt. For color, I wore my purple high-tops and a black derby with a pink-and-purple hatband.
“Two minutes and counting.” Mom handed me a piece of toast covered in peanut butter and half an apple as I passed her in the hall. “That should hold you until lunchtime.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I gave her a quick hug. “I’ll see you after school.”
“Be sure to come straight home,” Mom called from the front steps. (It’s a habit of hers — shouting last minute instructions to me as I go down the block.) “You’ll be receiving a very important phone call around four o’clock.”
“Phone call?” I screeched to a halt (as much as you can screech in sneakers). “From who?”
“Peaches. She called with some big news while you were still asleep.”
Peaches just happens to be one of my favorite people on the planet. She’s also my mom’s sister, but you’d never know it to meet her. While Mom is organized and, well, mom-like, Peaches is carefree and fun, which is more kid-like. A phone call from her is always a big thrill.
“What news?” I ran back to Mom and hopped up and down in front of her. “Tell me! Tell me!”
Mom ran her hand across her mouth. “My lips are sealed. Peaches wants to tell you herself.”
“But I can’t wait a whole day to talk to her. I’ll die of agony. Couldn’t you just give me a little hint?”
Mom grinned but shook her head firmly. “Nope. Not even one.” She checked her watch. “Now hurry, or you really will be late for school.”
I would have stayed longer, pleading for just a little clue, but I spied my best friend, Stacey McGill, standing at the end of my walk, making last minute adjustments to her hair.
“Pick up the pace, Claud,” Stacey called. “I’m supposed to meet Robert on the front steps before school.”
“I’m coming. I’m coming.”
What was with everybody today? It seemed as if they were all moving in fast motion and I was slogging through Jell-O trying to keep up.
“Mary Anne and Mal said they couldn’t wait any longer, so they went on ahead,” Stacey said as I fell in step beside her. “I think Mary Anne needed to see Logan before school and Mal wanted to talk to Jessi about a report they were doing together.”
Like me, Stacey, Mary Anne, Mallory, Logan, and Jessi are all members of the Baby-sitters Club. They live in my neighborhood, and most days we walk to school together. It’s nice having a big group of friends, but I also like spending time just with Stacey.
“Don’t tell anyone,” I whispered, looping my arm through Stacey’s. “But I’m glad it’s just you and me today.”
Stacey grinned. “Me too. I feel as though I hardly see you anymore.”
“Especially now that you and Robert are together,” I teased. Robert Brewster is Stacey’s new boyfriend. He’s totally great looking, and just as nice as he is gorgeous.
“And especially since you’ve become the professional match
maker of SMS.”
Stacey was referring to this column I write for the SMS newspaper. It was something I’d originally started in hopes of meeting the perfect boy. Mr. Wonderful never came along, but I continued with the column. I really enjoy putting people together.
Stacey and I shuffled through the red and gold leaves that had fallen from the sycamore trees lining Bradford Court. As we headed for school, we caught each other up on the latest events in our lives. I told her about my new art project.
“I’m working on a sculpture made entirely of non-biodegradable material. Like Styrofoam cups and plates and plastic bottles and —”
“How about disposable diapers?” Stacey asked.
“Ew!” I squealed. “Everything but that.”
“Does your sculpture have a title?”
I nodded. “I came up with the perfect name. I’m calling it ‘Forever Yours.’ ”
“That is perfect.”
Then it was Stacey’s turn to talk. Most of what she had to say was about Robert, and what a fun time they’d had that weekend. Before I knew it we’d reached the front steps of SMS, the bell had rung, and another fun-filled day of school had begun. I didn’t even get a chance to tell Stacey about my phone call from Peaches. I figured I’d wait to tell her after I heard the big news.
The day passed at a snail’s pace. I barely squeaked by with a C on a pop quiz in math class, which, as usual, was totally confusing. Science was actually kind of fun. We had to draw pictures of the stomach and all the parts that attach to it. After lunch I could barely concentrate on the rest of my classes. I just kept thinking about Peaches and my upcoming phone call.
You probably think Peaches is a weird name for a Japanese-American to have. Well, it’s not what my grandmother named her. Her real name is Miyoshi. (My mom’s name is Rioko.) Her husband, Russ, called her Peaches and it just sort of stuck. Russ isn’t Japanese. He’s “American-American” (actually, I think his grandparents came from Ireland) and has red hair, freckles, and a big friendly grin. Anyway, I’ve always known Peaches as Peaches, and I’ve always been crazy about her — and Russ. They lived in Stoneybrook until I was about seven. They used to take Janine and me to the park all the time. Russ and I would climb trees while Peaches would hang from the monkey bars (Janine would just watch and smile).
Once, when we’d had a really terrible storm, Russ wanted to check on us to see if we were okay. He’d broken his ankle and couldn’t walk, and the storm had blown down so many trees that the roads were closed, so he couldn’t drive, either. But Russ found a way — he rode over in a golf cart!
As I thought about all of my Peaches and Russ adventures, I realized that one of the last times I’d seen them had been a very sad occasion.
That was at Mimi’s funeral. Mimi was my grandmother and my very special friend. She understood me better than anyone else. Whenever I was upset or confused, Mimi was there to comfort me. Sometimes she’d make a cup of her special tea and sit next to me while I drank it. Other times she’d just stroke my hair and murmur, “My Claudia.” I always felt better, just knowing she was there and that she cared. It’s weird, but sometimes I’ll forget she’s gone and run into her room to tell her some little bit of news or to show her some new piece of art that I’m proud of. Then I remember, and a knot forms in my chest and my eyes fill with tears. It’s still hard to accept that someone I loved so much could be gone.
Mimi’s death hit everyone hard. Even Peaches, who is usually so bright and cheery, found it difficult to put on a happy face for months afterward. I think part of that had to do with the fact that she and Russ had never given Mimi grandchildren. I knew that they both wanted kids badly — but they were both serious about their careers, too.
Brrrring!
I sat up with a start, trying to remember where I was. I blinked several times and realized I was in Mrs. Hall’s English class. Everyone around me was gathering their books and heading for the door.
“Now remember, class,” Mrs. Hall called, “I’ll need those reports back by tomorrow. It shouldn’t be too hard if you’ve read the chapter and paid attention in class.”
What reports? I wanted to shout. I hadn’t heard her mention any reports. I hadn’t heard her say anything. Then I realized I’d spent the entire class daydreaming. Now I was going to have to go home, read my chapter, call somebody to tell me what I’d missed in class, and write a report. It was going to be a long night.
That afternoon, I think I brought home work from every class in school, including art. My “Forever Yours” sculpture was due in less than two weeks and I knew I’d need to work on it outside of school to get it just right. Still, I didn’t sit down to work the instant I reached my house. I walked in my front door, dropped my (enormous) stack of books, and fixed myself a snack of graham crackers smothered in peanut butter and topped with (my favorite) chocolate chips. Yum!
I scarfed that down and was about to fix myself another plateful when the phone rang. I checked the clock. Four already? (Wow, time sure flies when you’re eating chocolate.)
“That’s for me!” I bellowed up the stairs to no one in particular. If I’d thought about it I would have remembered that I was the only one home. Mom and Dad were still at work and Janine was at one of her college classes. Anyway, I dove for the phone, anxious to talk to my aunt.
“Hello, Peaches?” I shouted into the phone. “Is that you?”
“Of course, it’s me,” Peaches replied. “Is that you?”
“Tell me your news,” I cried. “I can’t stand it another second.”
“Okay, but first I want you to make sure you put me and Russ on your Baby-sitters Club client list.”
“But our client list is for people with —” I never finished my sentence. I let out a loud whoop of delight.
“I’ve just gone deaf,” Peaches cracked. “Was that a siren or a shriek?”
“Oh, Peaches!” I gushed. “Are you really going to have a baby?”
“That’s what the doctor tells me. In about seven months.”
“I’m so happy for you.” I couldn’t help it. Suddenly my eyes were brimming with tears and my voice had gone completely shaky. “Tell Russ congratulations.”
“Thanks, honey,” Peaches said, sounding a little shaky herself. “We’ve waited a long time for this baby. I’m ecstatic.”
“Oh,” I suddenly gasped. “That means I’m going to have a new cousin.”
“That’s right,” Peaches said. “And I expect you to teach your new cousin all the important things in life, like how to climb trees —”
“And hang by your knees from the monkey bars,” I added with a giggle.
“But first she has to learn to walk,” Peaches reminded me.
“She?” I repeated. “Are you hoping for a girl?”
“I don’t care if it’s a girl or a boy,” Peaches declared. “Just so long as she or he, is healthy.”
We talked for a few more minutes, then Peaches had to run. She was trying a new recipe for an all-vegetable casserole from the Eating Right for Pregnant Women cookbook. The timer on her oven had just signaled it was done.
The second I hung up I started dancing around the kitchen and nearly crashed into the table. So that’s what my tingly feeling had been about! Wonderful Peaches and Russ were going to have a baby. At last!
I couldn’t wait to break the news to my friends. Luckily for me, the Baby-sitters Club meeting was at five-thirty, so I didn’t have long to wait.
“Rock-a-bye baby on the tree top,” I sang as I vacuumed my room. “When the wind blows, the cradle will —”
“I don’t believe it!” Kristy Thomas announced from the door to my room. “Call the newspapers. Claudia Kishi is cleaning her room and singing lullabies. She must have lost her mind.”
“Very funny.” I clicked off the vacuum cleaner. “I just happen to be turning over a new leaf.”
“What leaf?” Mary Anne Spier peered over Kristy’s shoulder. “If you want leaves, our front yard is covere
d with them. It’s going to take a week to rake them all up.”
Kristy turned to Mary Anne and explained, with a very serious face, “Claudia’s not collecting leaves, she’s turning them over.”
“Turning over leaves?” Stacey called from behind them as she came up the stairs. “What’s that, some kind of performance art?”
Can you tell that Baby-sitters Club meetings can get awfully silly? Of course, they can also be pretty serious, but today was definitely a goofy day.
Before I tell you any more about the meeting, I should keep my promise to tell you about the club and everyone in it. Here goes.
The Baby-sitters Club history has to start with Kristy Thomas, our president. It was Kristy’s great idea to form the club and it’s Kristy’s even greater ideas that keep it running smoothly. Her own story is a little complicated. You see, she used to live right across the street from me with her mom, who was divorced, and her three brothers, Charlie (who is seventeen, and in high school), Sam (he’s fifteen) and David Michael (age seven). Then Kristy’s mom fell in love with this millionaire named Watson Brewer and everybody’s lives changed. First, Mrs. Thomas married Watson and became Mrs. Brewer. Then the whole Thomas family moved from their nice little house on Bradford Court to Watson’s huge mansion across town. It’s a good thing he has a mansion, because ten people live there most of time. How’d they end up with ten? Well, you see, Watson has two kids of his own: Karen, who’s seven, and Andrew, who’s four. They live with Watson every other month. After Watson and Kristy’s mom got married, they adopted Emily Michelle from Vietnam, who is two and a half. Then Nannie, Kristy’s grandmother, moved in to help look after Emily, and that brought the total to ten.
What else can I say about Kristy? She has brown hair and brown eyes. She’s the shortest girl in the eighth grade, but she more than makes up for it with her big personality. Kristy’s a natural leader. Besides being president of our club, she coaches Kristy’s Krushers, a neighborhood softball team. Kristy’s a real athlete and dresses like one. No frills — just jeans, a turtleneck, a sweater, and sneakers. It’s practically her uniform. Sometimes Kristy can be stubborn and bossy, but I guess that goes with being a leader. One other thing about Kristy — she won’t admit it, but she has this semi-romance going with a guy named Bart Taylor. They’re made for each other. Bart coaches a softball team called Bart’s Bashers, he’s crazy about Kristy, and they both like anchovies (ew! ick!). See? A perfect match.