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
Acknowledgment
About the Author
Also Available
Copyright
It’s not that I hate animals. I don’t. I think animals are wonderful. I like dogs. I like cats. I even like gerbils, although they are, you have to admit, kind of useless.
But I’m not what you would call an animal-lover. I don’t have a pet of my own, and I never especially wanted one. I’m a vegetarian, but it’s not because I feel sorry for the cow or anything. It’s just because I don’t really like the taste of red meat. And, while I understand that some people develop very deep relationships with their cats and dogs, I do not understand why they expect me to feel the same way they do about Fluffy or Fido.
Take my stepsister Mary Anne. She’ll hold up her kitten Tigger so that his nose is practically touching mine and say, “Kiss Tigger, Dawn. Tigger loves you.” Blechh. I do not believe in kissing cats.
Or take Buddy and Suzi Barrett. They are two kids I baby-sit for sometimes. Buddy’s eight, and Suzi’s five. They’re both really cute: Buddy is kind of skinny, with these big knobby knees, and Suzi is a pudgy girl with pigtails and the most adorable little round tummy. They also have a two-year-old sister named Marnie. Anyway, I was sitting for them on Tuesday, and we were playing with their bassett hound, Pow, and Buddy was actually encouraging Pow to jump up on me, muddy paws and all! I put a stop to that game pretty quickly, believe me.
Do I sound like a nut? I’m not. Really. I’m just a nice, normal thirteen-year-old girl. My name is Dawn Schafer, and I’m in eighth grade at Stoneybrook Middle School. I live in Stoneybrook, Connecticut. I have long blonde hair and blue eyes, and I do all the things that nice, normal thirteen-year-old girls do. Except I don’t kiss cats.
I’d been thinking about people and their animals ever since I saw Mrs. Mancusi up by the elementary school. Who is Mrs. Mancusi? She’s a woman who lives not far from me. She and her husband have no children, but they do have about five million pets. Well, maybe I’m exaggerating. But they do have a lot of animals, like at least one of every kind you can think of.
Anyway, on Tuesday I was on my way to the playground with Buddy, Suzi, and Marnie — and Pow, of course — and there was Mrs. Mancusi, walking her three dogs. “Oh, Cheryl,” I heard her say to the huge Great Dane by her side, “Isn’t it a beautiful day?” Then she turned to the little apricot-colored poodle on her other side and said, “Pooh Bear, do you see the pretty leaves on that tree?” And then, as if that weren’t enough, she called to Jacques, the golden retriever, “Jacques, you don’t have to follow behind Pooh Bear! Here, go on and fetch the ball.” Then she took this gloppy, disgusting ball out of his mouth (he must have been carrying it and slobbering over it all day) and threw it for him.
I just stood there, shaking my head. I mean, why talk to dogs? They can’t talk back, can they? And there’s no way those dogs could have understood a word Mrs. Mancusi said. Well, maybe Jacques understood one word: “ball.” But that’s about it.
Mrs. Mancusi waved to me. “Hi, Dawn,” she called.
I waved back, but I didn’t walk any closer to her because I didn’t really have time to talk. (Not that she’d want to talk to me. But Pow was with me, and I figured she might want to have a long conversation with him.)
I was in a rush because I didn’t want Suzi and Buddy to be late for softball practice. If they were late, Kristy would be mad at me; she just hates it when people aren’t on time.
Who’s Kristy?
Oh, boy, I’d better back up and explain a few things. Remember how I said I baby-sit fairly often for the Barretts? Well, I do. That’s because I love to baby-sit. And it just so happens that I’m good friends with six other girls who love to baby-sit, too. We’re all part of a club: The Baby-sitter’s Club, or the BSC. I’ll tell you more about it later. All you need to know for now is that Kristy Thomas is the president of our club. She runs all our meetings, and that’s how I know about her hating people who are late for things.
Besides being our club president, Kristy also coaches a softball team called Kristy’s Krushers. Cute name, right? The team is pretty cute, too. It consists of about twenty kids, most of whom are too young, or not good enough to play Little League. Some of them are afraid of the ball, some of them can hardly lift a bat, and some of them tend to forget which base is first base. But they all have a good time playing, and Kristy is a great coach. And there are enough decent players on her team so that they even occasionally win a game.
“Okay, you guys, here we are,” I said, when the Barretts and I reached the playground next to Stoneybrook Elementary School. “I’m going to sit on the bench over there with Marnie while you have practice, okay?”
Buddy nodded and ran over to join the kids who were gathered around Kristy. But Suzi hesitated. “What about Pow?” she asked. “He’ll be lonely without us.”
“He’ll be fine,” I assured her. “Marnie and I will keep him company.” I reached down and patted Pow’s head.
“Well … okay,” she said. She gave Pow a quick hug. “ ’Bye, Pow,” she said. “Wish me luck! If I get a home run, I’ll duplicate it to you.”
I stifled a giggle. “I think you mean ‘dedicate,’ ” I said.
“Pow knew what I meant,” said Suzi. She skipped off toward Kristy. When she reached her, she turned and waved. I waved back, even though I wasn’t sure whether she was waving at me or at Pow. Kristy looked over then and saw me. She gave me a big grin and a wave. “Hi, Dawn,” she yelled. “Hi, Marnie!” Then she turned her attention back to her team.
I watched the Krushers practice for awhile. First Kristy gave them batting practice. She pitched five times to each kid (Kristy is always careful to be very fair), and gave them tips on things like how to keep their swings level or how to step into the ball. Some of the really little kids, like Claire Pike, who’s Suzi’s age, needed special help. “Claire,” I heard Kristy say, “you’ve got to choke up on the bat.”
“Choke the bat?” asked Claire. “Won’t that hurt it?”
“Not ‘choke,’ ” said Kristy gently. “Choke up. We’ve been over this before, remember? It’s when you put your hands higher up on the bat.”
“Oh, right,” said Claire. “Like this?” She moved her hands.
“Like that,” said Kristy, smiling.
Kristy is so patient. I’m sure she’s explained “choking up” to Claire about fifty times. But she never seems to mind going over things again, especially for the youngest members of her team.
After batting practice, Kristy went over catching skills. Then she arranged the kids in the outfield, and started hitting balls to them for fielding practice. The Krushers try so hard. They really want to do well, and they especially want to please Kristy.
During fielding practice, I saw Matt Braddock make the most amazing catch: He had to jump about three feet in the air just to reach the ball. Kristy gave him the thumbs-up sign instead of yelling out “all right!” the way she usually does. Matt grinned back at her. He’s deaf, and signing is the only way he communicates. You would think that having a deaf kid on the team would be difficult, but Kristy makes it look easy. And the other kids love Matt — in fact, they’ve all learned a few basic signs, just so th
ey can “talk” with him. Matt is one of the best all-around players on the team.
Soon after Matt’s great catch, Kristy finished up fielding practice and started to give some tips on base-running. Then she divided the kids into groups — each group included at least one older member — and gave them base-running drills. I noticed that Claire Pike’s brother Nicky, who’s eight, was one of the fastest runners. He also seemed to like sliding into base; by the end of the drills his white T-shirt was almost completely covered with reddish dirt. Luckily, his mom isn’t the type to care too much about a filthy shirt. Nicky has seven brothers and sisters, and Mrs. Pike stopped worrying about things like spots and stains a long time ago.
Once the drills were over, Kristy divided the kids into two teams and got a game started. “Pretend this is the real thing,” I heard her say to them. “Pretend you’re playing against the Bashers, and give it everything you’ve got!”
The Bashers are another Stoneybrook team. They are coached by this boy named Bart Taylor, who is sort-of-kind-of-not-really-but-maybe Kristy’s boyfriend. If you know what I mean. Anyway, the Bashers and the Krushers have a long history as rivals, and Kristy must have known that mentioning them would fire up her team.
“Yay!” yelled the kids, as they streamed out onto the field. “Bash those Bashers!”
I watched the game for awhile, and then I started to feel a little bored (sports were never one of my all-time favorite things and Marnie had fallen asleep in her stroller), so I walked over to the swings and sat down on one. Pow curled up near Marnie, and promptly went to sleep, too. I started to swing, gently at first. Then I pumped harder, and swung higher. Soon I was swooping through the air with my hair streaming behind me. It felt great! For awhile, anyway. Then I began to feel dizzy. I think only little kids can stay on swings for hours. When you get older, that back-and-forth, back-and-forth can make you a little sick to your stomach. I slowed down my swing and just sat for awhile, staring around at the playground. It looked so familiar to me: the slide, the jungle gym, the picnic tables. But the funny thing is, I never went to Stoneybrook Elementary! I guess it’s just familiar to me because I’ve spent a lot of time at that playground in recent months.
I didn’t go to Stoneybrook Elementary because when I was younger I lived in California. In fact, I lived there almost all my life. I only moved to Connecticut after my parents got a divorce. When that happened, my mom decided she’d be happiest going back to the town where she’d grown up and where her parents still lived — and that town was Stoneybrook.
I missed California when we moved here, and I still do. I miss the warm weather, the more relaxed life-style, and most of all, the beach. But I’ve adjusted to Stoneybrook, mainly because I’ve made so many good friends here. My little brother Jeff never did adjust. He ended up going back to California to live with my dad. Mom and I miss him like crazy.
At first I felt as if our family was shrinking. First it was the four of us, then it was just Mom and me and Jeff, and then it was just Mom and me. But my family started to grow again. How? Well, Mom met up with this old boyfriend of hers from high school days, fell in love with him again, and married him. (That’s making a very long story very short!) And the best part was that the old boyfriend happened to be the widowed father of my best friend — now my stepsister — Mary Anne Spier.
I leaned my cheek against the cold steel chain that held up my swing. Just then, I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Hi, Dawn,” said someone behind me.
I turned my head. “Mary Anne!” I said. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Good things, I hope,” she said. “Hey, listen,” she went on. “I just found the neatest new store.”
“What kind?” I asked. “Clothes? Records?”
She shook her head. “Nope,” she answered. “It’s a new pet store, right in Stoneybrook. I was just there, looking at things for Tigger. It has a great selection of cat toys.” Mary Anne sounded really excited.
Me? I’m sure my face fell. I’d been expecting something a little different. But I tried to hide my disappointment. After all, I’d hate to be thought of as Dawn, the Animal-Hater!
“So, be honest with me, Dawn,” said Kristy. “How did the Krushers look? I mean, as a team?”
It was the day after my sitting job with the Barretts. It was a Wednesday, and it was almost time for a BSC meeting. Kristy and I were waiting for the other club members to arrive.
“Well, they looked okay,” I said. “I mean, I don’t know much about softball, but they seemed fine to me.”
“I’m just hoping that they have what it takes to play against some kids from New Hope,” Kristy said. New Hope is a little town not too far from Stoneybrook.
“New Hope?” asked Stacey, who had just come in. “What’s going on there?”
“Oh, this boy who coaches a softball team there phoned Bart the other night. He wants to arrange a game with a Stoneybrook team,” said Kristy. “Bart and I haven’t worked out the details yet, but it seems like it might be fun.”
By then, most of the other members had drifted in. “Neat idea,” said Jessi.
“Let us know when it’s set up,” said Mallory. “It’d be fun to watch the Krushers play somewhere else.”
Kristy nodded. “I will,” she said. “Now, is everybody here?” She looked around the room. “Everybody but Mary —”
“Here I am!” said Mary Anne, bursting into the room. “Sorry,” she said to Kristy. “I was playing with Tigger and I lost track of the time.”
“That’s okay,” said Kristy. “You’re not really late. It’s just five-thirty now.” She pointed to Claudia’s digital clock.
I guess Claudia’s clock could be called the official timepiece of the BSC. It’s fairly important to us. That’s because we meet in her room every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from five-thirty to six o’clock. During those times parents can call to set up sitting dates. That’s how our club works. Simple, right? And parents seem to like it. We always have plenty of business.
It’s a simple idea, as I said, but it’s also a great one. Kristy was the one who figured it out. She’s always coming up with terrific ideas. The BSC started before I moved to Stoneybrook, but I became a member soon after I met and made friends with Mary Anne. The members are: me, Kristy Thomas (whom you’ve already met), Mary Anne Spier (ditto), Stacey McGill, Claudia Kishi, Mallory Pike, and Jessi Ramsey.
As I told you before, Kristy is the president. That’s mainly because she invented the club, but partly also just because she’s a good leader. Kristy likes to be in charge. I guess you could even say she’s a little bossy at times, but we’re all used to that. Kristy’s kind of a tomboy; she doesn’t care much about clothes or makeup or anything. She’s short for her age, and she has brown hair and brown eyes.
Like me, Kristy is a “divorced kid.” Her father took off a long time ago, and Kristy’s mom worked hard to bring up her kids alone. (Kristy has two older brothers and one younger one.) Those weren’t easy times. But then something great happened. Mrs. Thomas met this really neat guy, started to date him, and ended up marrying him. Just like what happened to my mom. Only, in Kristy’s case, her new stepfather really changed her life. That’s because he (his name is Watson Brewer) is a real live millionaire! Truth! Kristy moved across town to live in his mansion.
It’s a lucky thing that Watson owns a mansion, because Kristy’s family has really grown. First of all, Watson has two kids from his first marriage, a girl and a boy. They stay with their father every other weekend, plus two weeks in the summer. Second, Kristy’s mom and Watson decided that they wanted to adopt a baby, so now two-and-a-half-year-old Emily Michelle lives with them, too. She’s Vietnamese, and she’s incredibly adorable. And finally, Kristy’s grandmother Nannie moved in to help out. So now a lot of people are in and out of that mansion all the time. And since Kristy loves kids, she’s in heaven with her large family.
The BSC’s vice-president is Claudia Kishi. She’s vice-president because —
well, because we meet in her room. And we meet in her room because she’s the only member who has her very own phone, with a private line. The club needs that line; we’d never get away with tying up our parents’ phone lines!
Claudia is really something else. She’s totally gorgeous, for one thing. She has jet-black hair, and almond-shaped brown eyes (she’s Japanese-American, in case you couldn’t tell by her name) and the coolest, most unique sense of style I’ve ever seen. Claudia can wear anything and make it look like high fashion.
I think her sense of style is related to her incredible artistic talent. Claudia loves to draw and paint and make things like jewelry, and she’s very, very good. Not just good for an eighth-grader, either. I mean good. Unfortunately, Claud is not that good at schoolwork. I don’t know why, since she’s obviously (to me) very smart. Sometimes I think it might be because she doesn’t want to compete with her older sister Janine, who is a certifiable genius. Really. But maybe it’s not that. Maybe it’s just that she doesn’t care much about school.
Two things Claud cares a lot about are Nancy Drew books and junk food. She’s never happier than when she’s reading one of those mysteries and munching on a Twix bar. But since her parents disapprove of both passions, Claud has to hide books and snacks all over her room. It’s not unusual, when you’re in Claudia’s room, to lift up a pillow and find a Three Musketeers bar, or to come across The Clue of the Black Keys underneath a pile of art supplies.
Stacey McGill, our club’s treasurer, is Claud’s best friend. Like Claudia, Stacey is a great dresser. She’s extremely sophisticated; she perms her blonde hair and really knows how to use makeup to bring out her blue eyes. To me, Stacey really looks the part of a New York City girl, which is where she’s from. She grew up there, and moved to Stoneybrook not long before I did. For a brief time, Stacey moved back to New York, when her father was transferred there, but then her parents got a divorce and Stacey and her mom ended up returning here to stay.
The divorce wasn’t easy for Stacey, which I can relate to. I guess it’s not easy for anyone. But she’s adjusted to it. She visits her dad as often as she can, and she and her mom seem to get along really well.