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
I glanced at Josh as he sat on my bed and worked on his sewing. A small V-shaped wrinkle had formed in the center of his forehead and — without his realizing it — the tip of his tongue had crept out of the corner of his mouth.
In the months that we’d been going out, I’d come to learn that this adorable expression meant Josh Rocker was concentrating very hard on what he was doing. Unfortunately, I could also see that all his concern and thought hadn’t prevented a big problem.
As if he sensed that I was watching him, Josh looked up. “What?” he asked, suddenly self-conscious.
“Sorry to mention this,” I began, shifting uncomfortably in my director’s chair, “but I think there might be a problem with the shirt you’re sewing.”
“There is?” he asked doubtfully, holding the shirt out in front of him. It was a white T-shirt with a basketball-shaped badge in the right-hand corner. On the badge were the letters GSBA, which stands for Girls’ Stoneybrook Basketball Association. GSBA is a local group of neighborhood girls here in Stoneybrook, Connecticut, who were inspired by the Women’s National Basketball Association to start their own basketball league.
The girls involved are younger than my friends and me, who are in middle school. But we’d volunteered to help out, so I was decorating uniforms and Josh was helping me. We were getting started this afternoon by sewing on the badges I’d ordered from a print shop in downtown Stoneybrook.
“I think you’ve stitched the two sides of the shirt together,” I said gently.
“No way,” Josh protested, running his hand up the middle of the shirt. “Oops,” he said with a quick grimace. Then he blushed slightly, the red spreading around his cheeks. (So cute.)
“That’s okay.” I reached behind me and took a pair of scissors from my desk. “Just snip it out and start again.”
Rolling his eyes, Josh took the scissors from me.
The door opened and my sixteen-year-old sister, Janine, stuck her head in. “Is everything proceeding as planned in here?” she asked. “Do you require any assistance?”
Janine can be such a superbrain oddball. She’s a real-life genius with a sky-high IQ. Josh and I couldn’t help but smile at the way she talks like a brainiac, as if she’s playing the part of a genius on a TV show.
We also smiled because we knew Janine was just pretending to care if we needed help. She was actually looking for an excuse to keep a close eye on Josh and me.
My parents expect Janine to be in charge when they’re out. She takes that responsibility very seriously. And I know her well enough to be sure that my being alone with Josh was making her nervous
“Thanks, Janine, but we’re fine,” I assured her.
“That’s excellent,” she said. “If you need anything, I’ll be in my room working on my calculus assignment.” As she left, I noticed she pushed my door open even farther and left it that way.
I smiled to myself as I went back to my own sewing. Janine didn’t have to be so worried. Sure, Josh and I were boyfriend and girlfriend — but we were also good friends. We like to do things when we’re together rather than sit around and be romantic all the time. Of course we have our lovey-dovey moments, but they aren’t the biggest part of our relationship.
“I can’t believe this,” Josh muttered as he picked at his stitches with the scissors blade. “This is the second time I’m pulling these out. The first time they looked too messy. Now I’ve sewn the shirt together. How do you get me into these things?”
“Kristy got us both into it,” I replied. Kristy Thomas is a good friend of mine. She’s also the president of the Baby-sitters Club. (I’m vice-president. I’ll fill you in on the Baby-sitters Club, also known as the BSC, later.) Mostly what you need to know about Kristy is that she’s a sports nut. She’s even the coach of a little-kid softball team called Kristy’s Krushers. So, being wild for sports, she was naturally very excited when she heard about the GSBA, and volunteered the BSC members to help.
I myself am not particularly wild for sports. It’s not that I hate them — I just don’t care about them. What I do love is art. Painting, sculpting, jewelry making, printmaking, you name it. If it’s artistic, I want to get my hands into it, which is why I leaped at the chance to design the GSBA uniforms.
Since Kristy had agreed to be the GSBA coach, I checked my designs with her before going ahead. She rejected my first two concepts before settling on the third, which was white shorts and T-shirts with the basketball badges and a small design of girls playing basketball stamped in the lower corner of the shorts. I don’t usually like such plain clothing, but I knew it was the kind of thing Kristy would approve of. And it had a crisp, sporty look that was appealing.
“Kristy got us into this, but you volunteered us to work on the uniforms,” Josh argued.
“I did not,” I protested. “I said I would work on the uniforms. I didn’t say you would. You were the one who offered to help.”
“I had to. How else would I ever get to see you? You’re always so busy baby-sitting or with your friends or doing some art project. At least this way I can look at you while I sew.”
He glared in disgust at the rumpled shirt on his lap. “Maybe that’s the problem. I should look at the shirt more and you less.”
The poor, pathetic shirt was starting to look like a crumpled kite. “Maybe so,” I agreed with a raised eyebrow. Then we both started laughing.
That’s the great thing about our relationship. We find the same things funny. And sad and boring and interesting. We have so much in common, though I’d never have expected it when we first met.
I wouldn’t know Josh at all if I hadn’t been sent back to the seventh grade for a while. You see, I’ve never been strong in my schoolwork. I can’t seem to work up the interest or enthusiasm that other people have for it. I used to do so badly in the eighth grade that my parents and teachers decided it might be best if I went back to the seventh grade and mastered that work before moving on.
Although, at first, I was embarrassed beyond belief, going back to seventh grade was a smart idea. A surprising thing happened when I returned to my old classes. For the first time in my life, I actually did well in school. I even experienced the thrill of bringing home a good report card.
Another unexpected thing occurred at that time. I made some new seventh-grade friends. This wasn’t as unbelievable as my good grades, but it took me by surprise. I’ve had the same friends for so long that making new ones wasn’t something I ever thought I’d do. Especially not younger friends.
Before I revisited seventh grade, I had exactly two non-eighth-grade friends. Mallory Pike and Jessica Ramsey, both eleven, are two years younger than I am. I became friends with them through the BSC. Other than that, I barely knew who the younger kids at SMS (Stoneybrook Middle School) were. But now I have three really close seventh-grade friends: Joanna Fried, Jeannie Kim, and Shira Epstein. Plus Josh, of course, since he’s a friend as well as a boyfriend.
That’s how the two of us started — as friends. Then, little by little, I realized I felt close
r to Josh than I did to my other seventh-grade boyfriend, Mark. Part of me couldn’t believe I’d break up with Mark, who was so cool and cute. But that’s what I did, because another part of me just wanted to be with the guy who made me feel comfortable and happy.
I noticed Josh studying the shorts piled on the end of my bed. “What are you thinking?” I asked as I pulled a bag of potato chips from behind my pillow. (The first time Josh saw me pull junk food from a hidden place in my room he laughed so hard he fell down. Now he’s used to it. My parents don’t like me to eat junk food, so my room is a treasure trove of hidden cellophane bags containing various sweet and salty treats.)
As he spoke, Josh dug into the chip bag I held out. “Would Kristy completely freak if you dyed the waistband on those shorts blue?” he asked thoughtfully. “You could let the dye bleed down the shorts a little. It might look cool.”
I was impressed. I thought it would look good too. The design I’d planned to print on the shorts could be the same color as the waistband. (I would be carving the stamp design from raw potato and using deep blue fabric paint on it.)
“I think you’re right. It might look excellent,” I said to him. “Let’s do it.”
“Do we run it past Kristy or just go ahead?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, glancing at the digital clock on my desk. “But speaking of Kristy, it’s almost time for our BSC meeting. Everyone will be arriving in a few minutes. We’d better pack this stuff up.”
Josh stuck his needle into the badge and loosely folded the shirt. “Gladly,” he said. “Claudia, do you want to go to the movies this Saturday?”
“I do, but I can’t. It’s my father’s birthday and we’re taking him out to dinner.”
“You can’t miss your dad’s birthday. No problem. We’ll do it another time.”
“Yeah, sorry,” I said. And I was sorry. I felt bad that there never seemed to be enough time for Josh.
Kristy and Abby Stevenson walked into the room then. It was before five-thirty, our usual meeting time, but Kristy always comes early and Abby gets a ride with her, so she’s early too. “Hey, Rock Man,” Abby greeted Josh in her usual high-energy style. “How’s it going?”
“That’s what I’m doing — going,” he replied, grinning, gathering his schoolbooks from my bed.
“You don’t have to. Why don’t you stay and watch a meeting?” Kristy suggested.
“Thanks, but I can’t.” Josh gets jittery around some of my friends. I think it’s because they’re older.
I walked with him to my front door. “I’ll see you in school tomorrow,” I told him.
“Okay. I’ll call you later, after dinner,” he said, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.
It seemed like the moment for a kiss.
But we didn’t.
Josh punched me lightly on the arm and left. I stood there wondering why the moment had felt so awkward. It was probably because Abby and Kristy were around. Maybe. I wasn’t convinced that was the reason, but I couldn’t think of another.
“He’s so cute,” Abby commented when I got back to my room.
“It’s too bad he always gets so nervous when he sees us,” Kristy said, dropping into the director’s chair.
“He likes you guys,” I assured them. “It’s just hard being the only seventh-grader with a bunch of eighth-graders.”
“It doesn’t bother Jessi,” Kristy argued.
“What doesn’t bother me?” Jessi Ramsey asked as she entered the room.
“Being younger than the rest of us,” Abby replied, then filled her in.
“It didn’t bother me because Mallory was with me,” Jessi said. “And now I know everyone so well that it’s fine. But if I’d met you guys without her, I might have been nervous too.”
She sat on the rug in the spot where she always used to sit with Mallory, and it didn’t look right to see her there by herself. It was strange, now that Mallory was gone.
Maybe I’d better back up, though, and tell you a bit about our club, and how it works, and who we are.
Awhile back, Kristy came up with the idea of forming a business that would allow parents to call one number at specific times and reach a group of qualified baby-sitters. She contacted Mary Anne Spier, our friend and neighbor, Stacey McGill, and me. We were the original members of the Baby-sitters Club. Since I have a phone and a private number, it made the most sense to meet here in my room. We put out fliers listing my number and told parents to call during our meeting times, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoon between five-thirty and six.
If ever an idea was marked for instant success this was it. Right away we were swamped with calls. It was soon clear we needed more help. We invited a new girl in town, Dawn Schafer, to join. Then we asked Jessi and Mallory to join as junior members. When Dawn moved to California, where she’d originally come from, Abby — the new girl in town — took her place.
The latest development is that Mallory has gone off to boarding school. We couldn’t come up with anyone to replace her, so we’re hoping we can all pick up the extra jobs. We’re not yet sure if this is going to work out. Right now it seems as if we’re all sitting an awful lot.
As I’ve mentioned, Kristy is our president. This isn’t only because the club was her idea. She’s also very devoted to running it. Her style can be overbearing sometimes. We don’t really mind, though, because she’s lots of fun. And we know that she’s the one who keeps the club moving so smoothly.
Kristy has another quality that makes her a great president. Ideas come to her a mile a minute. We call her the Idea Machine. She’s always thinking of some interesting project or finding a new way to make the club work more effectively.
For example, it was her idea to bring Kid-Kits to difficult sitting jobs. Each of us has a box filled with small toys, art supplies, games — anything that will interest a kid and make him or her more comfortable with us.
The club notebook was also her idea. That’s a book in which we write about every sitting job we go on. Writing in it is a chore for most of us. (Especially for someone like me, who finds writing tough. Spelling totally baffles me. I’d rather draw a picture of what went on.) Reading the notebook is incredibly helpful, though. If we’re going to sit for a family we haven’t seen in awhile, we can simply read the book to find out what’s happening with them.
While Kristy has tons of ideas about the BSC, she doesn’t spend much mental energy on fashion. She always wears jeans, T-shirts or sweatshirts, and sneakers. Her long, light brown hair is straight and often covered by a team cap. She’s the smallest girl in our grade, which just proves you can’t always tell about a person from her appearance. Kristy may look small and plain, but she’s not. A big personality lies inside.
Another thing you wouldn’t guess about Kristy from looking at her is that she lives in a mansion. Her stepfather, Watson, is a millionaire. (Kristy’s biological father abandoned the family when she was six.) When Mrs. Thomas married Watson, the whole family, including Kristy’s two older brothers, Charlie and Sam, and her younger brother, David Michael, moved across town to Watson’s. His kids from his first marriage, Karen and Andrew, live there part-time. (They live with their mother and her new husband when they’re not at the mansion.) Kristy’s mom and Watson also adopted a little girl, Emily Michelle, who was born in Vietnam. In order to help care for Emily Michelle, Kristy’s grandmother, Nannie, moved into the house. Add a lot of pets to this mix and you have a very full house. Thank goodness it’s a big one.
I’ve told you most of the things you need to know about me, except what I look like. I have long black hair and dark eyes, and I’m Japanese-American. In general, I’m pretty okay with my looks.
Since we meet in my room and use my phone, I tend to act as the club hostess. Being hostess is easy for me since, as I told you, my room comes fully stocked with treats, including something healthy for Stacey to eat.
“Hey, everybody!” Stacey walked in at 5:27. She glanced at the clock. “W
ow, just made it. I stayed after school for Math Club and I didn’t have time for a snack. Have you got anything, Claudia?”
Earlier that afternoon I’d cut up some carrots and celery. I handed them to her from my desk.
“Thanks, you’re a pal,” she said with a smile.
Of course I’m a pal. Stacey is my best friend. And I know how important it is that she eat right and not get hungry. She has to keep her blood-sugar level as regular as possible because she has diabetes, a condition in which her body can’t properly regulate the amount of sugar in her blood. In addition, she has to give herself injections of something called insulin every day. She’s made the injections and eating right a part of her life. She doesn’t let her illness get her down or stop her from doing anything. I admire the way she handles it.
Stacey is our club treasurer. As you might have guessed from her mention of Math Club, she’s a math whiz, so the job naturally fell to her. Every Monday she collects dues in a manila envelope. We all grumble as we hand over our money, but it’s not a real complaint. We know dues paying is necessary. Stacey budgets the money so there’s enough to help pay my phone bill and to restock the Kid-Kits when needed. We also pay Kristy’s brother Charlie to drive Kristy (and often Abby) to meetings, since they don’t live within walking distance. If there’s ever any money left over, we use it for fun things, like treating ourselves to a pizza party.
You can easily tell that Stacey is originally from Manhattan. She has a big-city style. Unlike me — I like to put my outfits together in my own way, combining things I make with items I find on my treasure hunts in thrift shops — Stacey has a very pulled-together, fashion-forward look. And some boy or other is always paying attention to her. Now she dates this cute fifteen-year-old art student named Ethan, who lives in Manhattan. The distance isn’t a problem since Stacey’s in New York City a lot. She goes there often to visit her father. (Her parents are divorced.)
While Stacey was munching her carrots, Abby began to lift up pillows and move around chairs. She turned to me, holding my latest Nancy Drew mystery in her hand. “I’m searching for Ring-Dings and all I’ve found so far is this,” she said. (My parents don’t think Nancy Drew mysteries are “intellectually stimulating” enough. So, like the treats, I hide them in my room.)