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
“Oh, no!” cried Mary Anne Spier. “Please tell me you’re not going to make that.” She was staring down at the health food cookbook I held in my lap. Her eyes were wide with horror. “Dawn, I really don’t think anyone will want to eat tofu apple nut loaf at this party,” she added.
“Okay,” I said, flipping through the pages. “We could try this one. Soybean pie.”
Mary Anne sighed deeply. “Soybeans in a pie? I bet there’s not even a teaspoon of sugar in it, either.”
“Nope. Honey.”
“You and I have totally different taste buds,” said Mary Anne, as she plopped down into the chair next to mine. “Let me look at this book. Maybe I can find something in here that isn’t completely gross.”
It was the day before New Year’s Eve, and we were in our kitchen, deciding what to serve at our New Year’s Eve sleepover party. I’m using the word our because Mary Anne and I live together (along with our parents, of course). We’re stepsisters. But before we became stepsisters, we were best friends.
Maybe I’d better start at the beginning. First let me introduce myself. My name is Dawn Schafer. I’m originally from California. Awhile ago I moved here to Stoneybrook, Connecticut, with my mother and my younger brother, Jeff.
Mom came back to Stoneybrook after she and my dad got divorced. Stoneybrook is where she grew up. Pop-pop and Granny (Mom’s parents) still live here. I guess that made Mom feel a little more secure, since the divorce was hard on her at first.
Unfortunately, Mom was the only one who was happy about the move. Jeff and I missed California like crazy. I missed my friends and the warm weather, and everything Californian.
There was only one thing I liked about Stoneybrook right from the start. Our house. It was built in 1795. Can you imagine? The doorways are low, the stairways are narrow, and the rooms are small and dark. It is the total opposite of the sunny ranch-style house we left back in California. But for some reason I loved our new (old) house right away.
And here’s the best part. Our house has a secret passage that leads from the barn in the backyard right into my bedroom! It was probably once part of the Underground Railroad, which helped slaves from the South escape to freedom in the North. How’s that for total coolness!
Anyway, even though the house was great, I wasn’t too sure about the rest of Stoneybrook. Then I met Mary Anne. It didn’t take long for us to become best friends.
At first glance, Mary Anne sure didn’t look like somebody who would become my best friend. Her brown hair was in pigtails, and she always wore these awful little-kid jumpers. Since she’s on the short side, she appeared much younger than a seventh-grader. Which is what she was. (So was I. Now we’re both in eighth grade.)
Mary Anne and I must have made a pretty odd couple. There she was, short and kind of kidlike. And there I was, tall, with long (waist-length) white-blonde hair, and my own style of dressing. (My friends call it California casual.)
Still, despite looks, there was a lot to like about Mary Anne. She’s extremely sensitive and a great listener. Talking to her felt very natural and easy. And as we got to know each other better, two things happened that I would never have expected.
The first thing was that Mary Anne introduced me to the members of the BSC (Baby-sitters Club). They were Mary Anne’s friends (she was mad at them when we first met, but that didn’t last long) and now they’re my friends, too. They asked me to join the BSC almost right away, and I’ve been a member ever since. The BSC has become one of the most important things in my life. It’s the reason I eventually came to like Stoneybrook. I’ll tell you more about it later.
The second unexpected thing was that Mary Anne and I discovered our parents had dated when they were in high school. More than dated — they were in love! We could tell by the romantic stuff they wrote to each other in their yearbooks. (We found my mother’s yearbook first. It was still packed in a box, even though we’d been in Stoneybrook awhile. My mother is not exactly the most efficient, organized person in the world, to put it mildly.)
Things didn’t work out between my mom and Mary Anne’s dad back then. That was mostly because my grandparents didn’t think Richard (Mary Anne’s father) would ever be successful, since he was from a poor family. (Their words.) They did everything to break them up, including sending Mom to college in California. Their plan worked — almost. Mom met my dad in California. And Richard also married someone else, who became Mary Anne’s mom.
But now, as you know, Mom was single again. And Mary Anne’s mother died when Mary Anne was little, so Richard was also single. With a small push from Mary Anne and me, they started dating again. (And dating, and dating, and dating. It seemed as if they dated for ages.) Finally, though, they got married. Now we all live in the old farmhouse together. That’s how Mary Anne and I became best friends and stepsisters.
It sounds perfect, doesn’t it? Mostly it is. It would be totally perfect if my brother, Jeff, were still here. But he never adjusted to Stoneybrook the way I did. One day he asked to go back and live with my father in California. It was very hard on all of us to let him go, but we knew it was for the best. And even though I sometimes go to California to visit, I still miss Jeff.
On that particular day, though, Jeff was here visiting for winter vacation. He’d been a total pest since the second he got off the plane. The only reason we had quiet at that moment was because he’d gone off to visit his friends the Pike triplets. (Truthfully, I didn’t mind his pestiness. It felt as if he’d never left.)
Besides Jeff’s going to California, we had a few other problems with the divorce and the remarriage. Mom had to get used to Tigger, Mary Anne’s kitten. Mary Anne and I had to get used to sharing a room (which didn’t work out, and now we have our own rooms). And then there was the big food issue. That’s what we were faced with as we tried to plan our party.
Mom and I eat healthy things like raw vegetables, tofu, and brown rice. The thought of eating red meat makes me want to barf.
Mary Anne and Richard are completely opposite. It seems that they’ll eat any old food. (Like hot dogs! Ew, ew. Yick!) When it comes to eating, Mary Anne and Richard don’t worry about their health much at all.
“These peanut butter log things might be okay,” said Mary Anne doubtfully, as she pointed to a recipe in the book. “Only I wish we could use some normal peanut butter instead of that natural stuff.”
“Look,” I said, starting to get just a little annoyed. “Why don’t you make some snacks your way, and I’ll make some my way. Then we’ll see whose food gets eaten first.”
“Good idea,” said Mary Anne with a smile. “I want to have those little hot dogs wrapped in biscuit dough. And I saw this recipe for individual pepperoni pizzas that you make on English muffins.”
“Yuck,” I groaned, as I covered my mouth and puffed up my cheeks.
Mary Anne shook her head. “How can you say that? I love those little hot dogs. They’re so adorable. What’s that cute name they call them? Oh, yeah, pigs-in-a-blanket.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost three. “We better start writing our s
hopping lists,” she reminded me. “Your mom told us to be ready at three-thirty to go food shopping.”
Mom had gone to pick up Jeff at the Pikes’. (It was a Friday, but Mom’s company had given them the day off for a long weekend.) “She’ll probably be late,” I said. “You know how much she likes to chat with Mrs. Pike.”
Mary Anne looked worried. “I hope she’s not too late. We have to get to our meeting later.”
“Ohmigosh!” I cried. The vacation had put me so off schedule that I had almost forgotten it was Friday. We always have BSC meetings on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, from 5:30 until 6:00.
Mary Anne took two sheets of paper and two pencils from the kitchen junk drawer and handed one of each to me. We both began writing lists of supplies we’d need for the party.
“I talked to Logan today,” said Mary Anne, as she wrote.
“That’s nice,” I commented, not even looking up from my writing. This wasn’t exactly earthshaking news. Mary Anne talks to Logan every day. Logan is her steady boyfriend. (From the way I’ve described Mary Anne, it might seem strange that she has a boyfriend. I should explain that although Mary Anne is still shy, she no longer wears jumpers and pigtails. Richard has eased up on the fashion rules. Mary Anne has grown a few inches, too. She doesn’t look like a little kid anymore.) Anyhow, Logan and Mary Anne are very close.
“Lewis called him last night. He’s definitely coming in mid-January, but he’s not sure of the exact date yet,” she continued. “It’s too bad he couldn’t come while we’re off from school. But his school is on a different schedule, so he didn’t have any choice. I’m sure we’ll have fun, though …”
Mary Anne was talking, but I was no longer listening. I was too busy worrying about Lewis.
Lewis Bruno is Logan’s cousin. He lives in Louisville, Kentucky. That’s where Logan is from originally. Awhile ago, Lewis and I started writing to each other. Mary Anne and Logan set it up. They were sure Lewis and I would get along great. They even sent him my picture (without asking me). Then Lewis sent me a picture of himself. He’s super cute. And, from his letters, I could tell he was really nice. Every time one of his letters appeared in the mailbox I’d feel excited and happy. He always had something funny or interesting to say.
So, what was the problem? I was the problem. Even though Lewis had seen my picture, and even though he seemed to enjoy my letters, I was afraid he wouldn’t like me. I know this sounds like I’m totally insecure, but I’m not. People are always saying what an individual I am. You have to be at least somewhat secure to be an individual.
It was just that no boy had ever liked me. Not the way Logan liked Mary Anne. (This one time, I thought a guy named Travis was interested in me. But he wasn’t. He was just leading me on, probably because he could tell I had a major crush on him.)
Other girls are always saying I should be a model or an actress. They say, “Oh, I wish I had your silky hair.” Or, “I’d die to have your skin.” (They might have good hair and skin if they didn’t eat so much junk food.) Enough people have told me I’m pretty, so I should believe it. Personally, though, I can’t see it. To me, I just look like me. Not pretty, not ugly — just me.
Obviously, boys couldn’t see it, either. They liked me well enough to borrow my notebook or to goof around with. But when it came to really liking me, forget it.
“Dawn! You’re not writing!” said Mary Anne, interrupting my thoughts. “You weren’t listening to me, either. What are you thinking about?”
“Lewis,” I admitted. “Mary Anne, what if he hates me?”
“Hates you!” gasped Mary Anne. “That’s crazy. I don’t know anybody who hates you.”
“You know what I mean, though. What if he’s really disappointed when he meets me? He seems so nice. I want him to think I’m, you know, attractive.”
“Don’t worry,” Mary Anne said, putting her hand on my arm. “He’s already seen your picture.”
“I suppose,” I admitted.
“Look, you guys must have exchanged at least a zillion letters so far,” continued Mary Anne. “He knows plenty about you. It hasn’t stopped him from writing.”
Mary Anne is great to talk to, as I said before. For the moment, I felt less worried. “I’m going to go upstairs and make it a zillion and one letters,” I said.
“What about your list?” asked Mary Anne.
“I know what I need,” I assured her.
“I do, too,” Mary Anne said, wrinkling her nose. “Honey, nuts, soybeans, and two tons of tofu.”
“Three tons,” I teased, as I headed out of the kitchen.
Upstairs I opened a new box of writing paper. Each sheet had a tiny silver unicorn in the right-hand corner. Jeff had bought it for me in California. Here’s what I wrote:
I stopped writing because I’d heard the front door open and close. In a moment my mother called up the stairs. “Dawn, come on!”
“Okay, be right there,” I called back.
I started writing very fast.
I stuck the letter in an envelope and ran down the stairs. Mom, Mary Anne, and Jeff were in the kitchen. It was weird to see Jeff with his sun-bleached hair and light tan, all bundled up in a jacket. He was putting a cup of soup into the microwave.
Mom was rummaging through the junk drawer. “The supermarket is having a sale on sparkling cider,” she said. “I cut the coupons. I know they’re in here somewhere.”
I went to the hall closet and got my down jacket.
“Are these the ones you mean?” I heard Jeff ask, as I returned to the kitchen. He had found a plate in the microwave. The coupons were stuck to the bottom of the plate.
“Oh. Yes, they are,” said my mother sheepishly. She looked at the three of us. Our expressions were somewhere between total exasperation and laughter. My mother is such a scatterbrain.
“Okay, okay,” she said, even though no one had said anything. She took the coupons from Jeff. “If it makes you all feel any better, my New Year’s resolution is to become more organized.”
“A resolution?” asked Jeff.
“Yeah. You know — when you decide to do something differently from the way you used to do it,” Mary Anne explained. “People make resolutions on New Year’s Eve because it’s the beginning of a new year. It’s like a new beginning.”
A New Year’s resolution. That made me think. What kind of resolution did I need to make?
Kristy Thomas checked the time as Mary Anne and I scooted into Claudia Kishi’s bedroom. “You’re late,” Kristy commented, pointing to Claudia’s digital clock. The clock read 5:31. Kristy is a stickler for punctuality. She hates for anyone to be even one minute late for a Baby-sitters Club meeting.
“Sorry, we were shopping for the sleepover tomorrow,” explained Mary Anne, who was now perched on the end of Claudia’s bed.
“The checkout lines at the grocery store were humongous,” I added, as I settled down, cross-legged on the floor.
There was this little bubble of tension in the room. I could tell from Kristy’s expression that she was still annoyed. (I knew our being late wasn’t the only thing that was bothering Kristy. She gets a little jealous of me sometimes. Before I came along, Kristy had been Mary Anne’s only best friend.)
Luckily, Claudia broke the tension. “Now that we’re all here I think we should have a pre-New Year’s Eve celebration,” she said, sliding gracefully off her bed.
She rolled a tin can the size of a small waste-basket out from under the bed. “Aunt Peaches ordered this for me. It came in the mail yesterday,” she said, popping open the lid. Inside were three different kinds of popcorn: regular, cheese, and caramel-coated, divided into compartments. Naturally, Claudia went right for the caramel-coated. She is a total junk food fanatic.
“Wow! Cool! Popcorn!” cried Mal (Mallory) Pike, one of the two junior members of the BSC. Eagerly, she leaned forward from her spot on the floor and dug out a handful of cheese popcorn.
Our other junior member, Jessi (Jessica) Ramsey
was sitting beside Mal. She practically dove into the caramel-coated popcorn. “This is a great gift,” said Jessi. “Your aunt really knows what you like.”
Claudia nodded, her mouth full. “It was lucky I was home to receive it,” she said, clearing her throat. “I took it right upstairs before my parents saw the caramel-coated and cheese popcorn. I just barely talked them into letting me have regular popcorn. Flavored popcorn would definitely be out.” (Claudia always stashes her junk food because her parents don’t approve of it.)
“Hey, if you guys could stop stuffing your faces for a minute, we have some business to go over,” Kristy reminded us sternly.
“We can eat and do business at the same time,” said Stacey McGill, stretching from her spot on the bed to scoop up a small amount of plain popcorn. She ate it slowly, one piece at a time.
Maybe this would be a good place to tell you something about each member of the club.
You already know about Mary Anne, so I’ll start with Kristy. She’s the president because the club was her idea. Also because she’s a natural president-type. (To say it more plainly — she’s very bossy.) Even though Kristy comes on too strong sometimes, deep down she’s sensitive and nice. Plus, she’s pretty levelheaded and knows how to get things done. Kristy is also great with little kids.
There’s something about Kristy that you would never guess. She’s rich! Her stepfather, Watson Brewer, is a real millionaire. Her family lives in an actual mansion. It’s unbelievably gorgeous.
Kristy certainly doesn’t look like my idea of a rich kid. Jeans, a sweater over a turtleneck, and sneakers — that’s Kristy’s idea of fashion. She gives her long, brown hair a few quick strokes with a hairbrush and thinks she’s gone all out. (Since she’s short, she’s often mistaken for being younger than she is.)
Kristy doesn’t act like a rich kid, either. You couldn’t find a more regular, down-to-earth person. She loves sports and even coaches a little kids’ softball team called Kristy’s Krushers.
I suppose Kristy isn’t a typical rich kid because she wasn’t always rich. Her mother didn’t marry Watson until Kristy had finished seventh grade. Before that, Kristy’s family wasn’t poor, but they weren’t loaded, either. Kristy’s father just up and walked out when Kristy was little, leaving her mother to support the whole family. (Kristy hardly ever hears from her father. She says she doesn’t care, but it’s got to hurt.) Her mom must have had it tough. Kristy has two older brothers and a younger brother. Four kids is a lot for one person to take care of all by herself.