Stacey and the Stolen Hearts Read online

  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

  Ever been around when an asteroid slammed into the Earth, destroying everything in its path and creating total chaos?

  No?

  I haven’t either. But I think I could handle an asteroid attack, now that I’ve been through another type of natural disaster.

  Valentine’s Day.

  I’ll never understand it. It’s supposed to be a pleasant little romantic holiday. Why does it usually end up causing trouble and heartache instead?

  I sat back in my seat. I was on a train headed for New York City to spend the rest of Valentine’s Day with my boyfriend, Ethan. And I thought about the Valentine’s Day that will go down in history, the one I’d just survived.

  But before I tell you all about it, let me introduce myself. My name’s Stacey — Anastasia Elizabeth McGill, if you want to be formal. I’m an only child, I’m thirteen years old, I’m in the eighth grade, and I live in Stoneybrook, Connecticut. More basic facts about moi? I’m tall, with blonde hair, which used to be long and permed, but recently I had it cut shoulder-length — I just needed a change. I do pretty well in school, especially in math, my favorite subject. I’m even on Stoneybrook Middle School’s math team, the Mathletes. We recently became state champs!

  You may think it’s a little unusual for a thirteen-year-old to be taking the train to Manhattan by herself. Well, I suppose it might be for most thirteen-year-olds, but it’s not for me. For one thing, I grew up in Manhattan, so I know the city like the back of my hand. (Have you ever thought about that expression? It’s a little weird, isn’t it? Who cares if you know the back of your hand?) I’ve always known how to hail a cab, choose the best restaurant for lunch, or find the coolest new boutique.

  For another thing, I still visit Manhattan on a regular basis. To see Ethan? Well, yes, though I only met him recently. To check out Bloomingdale’s, my favorite store? Absolutely. But really, there’s one major reason I go to Manhattan: to see my dad.

  My parents are divorced.

  I live in Stoneybrook with my mom. Dad still lives in the city. I love them both, so you can imagine how hard it was when they told me I had to pick where — and with whom — I wanted to live. Stoneybrook edged out the Big Apple, even though I’d only lived there for a little while. That was before the divorce, when my dad had been transferred here briefly. The main reason? The friends I’d made during that time. I’d joined this great club, the BSC (short for Baby-sitters Club), and I became instant Friends 4-Ever with each and every club member. But more about that later.

  My parents’ divorce was one of the two biggest things that ever happened to me. The other was finding out I have diabetes. If you know anyone with diabetes, you might understand what that means. If not, let me explain. Basically, there’s an organ in your body called the pancreas, which is supposed to make a hormone called insulin, which helps regulate your blood sugar. Well, your pancreas may be doing its job, but mine sure isn’t. So I have to help it out, by testing my blood sugar regularly, injecting myself with insulin every day (it sounds awful, but I’m used to it), and being careful about what I eat. I mean very careful. If I don’t eat right, I can become extremely sick. (That’s why I’d brought a snack — Wheat Thins and an apple — with me on the train. I knew it would be a long time before dinner.)

  Oh, one other thing about diabetes. It’s not like a cold or the flu that makes you feel miserable for a little while and then you recover. It’s a lifelong disease. Maybe I’ll be lucky and someone will come up with a cure during my lifetime, but for now I have to take the long view and cope with it the best I can. Diabetes can make you feel different, apart from other people. I try not to let it do that. Even though I’m constantly aware of my health, even though I’ve been to more doctors than most people four times my age, even though I could get seriously ill eating a chocolate bar, I always try to remember that I’m more than just a diabetes patient. I’m a person who happens to have diabetes.

  My friends are great about it. They’re supportive and understanding and altogether cool. So’s Ethan.

  In fact, Ethan’s amazing. It hasn’t been long since we first met, yet I feel as if I’ve known him all my life. He’s sweet and funny and caring, and I can talk with him about anything. We’ve had a few ups and downs but now we’re definitely up. He also happens to rate about a gazillion on the hunk-o-meter: long, almost black hair, a tiny gold hoop in one ear … sigh.

  But my relationship with Ethan goes way beyond caring how he looks. This thing with Ethan is different, new. I’ve gone out with plenty of boys. In fact, I have to admit (blush, blush) I even used to be a little boy-crazy. There was Toby, at Sea City, and Sam, my friend Kristy’s older brother. There was Wes, the student teacher I had a Texas-sized crush on, and Pierre, my first boyfriend-on-skis. I went out briefly with Terry, a mysterious boy who lived in Stoneybrook only for a short time, and with RJ, one of the more popular boys at school, and with Pete, and with Ross.

  And then there was Robert.

  Robert Brewster was my first serious boyfriend, and I know I’ll never forget him. He was on the basketball team when we first met, and I loved watching him play. Robert and I went out for quite awhile. It wasn’t a perfect relationship, but we worked through the hard times. Then, not long ago, we broke up for good. I think the breakup was a long time coming, but that didn’t make it any easier when it finally happened. I was hurt because he’d started seeing another girl, with whom I was sort of friendly, before we’d even broken up. Yuck.

  That’s all history now. I’m over Robert, and I imagine he’s over Andi Gentile. (That’s the girl he was seeing. She goes to SMS too.) Sometimes I wonder, though. Lately I’ve seen Robert looking gloomy when I pass him in the halls at school. He used to be cheerful, always laughing and joking, but something’s changed. We haven’t talked much since our breakup, so I don’t know what’s going on with him.

  Anyway, back to Ethan. He and I had planned a super-romantic time together in New York. We were going to have dinner at a cozy little French restaurant, then go for a carriage ride through Central Park (touristy, but definitely romantic). Finally, we’d go dancing. Ethan had promised to teach me how to tango!

  After that, I planned to spend most of the weekend with my dad. On Sunday, I’d hop a train back to Stoneybrook.

  Stoneybrook. Home of the Great Valentine’s Day Disaster. As my train entered the tunnel that would bring us into Manhattan, I tried to remember how it had all started. I thought back to a BSC meeting a couple of weeks earlier and remembered that it was there that the subject of Valentine’s Day had first come up.

  Okay, quick personality quiz. Valentine’s Day is coming. You want to send a card to one of your best buds. Which type tickles your eyeballs when you stroll into your friendly neighborhood card shop?

  A) Classic. Hearts and flowers rule.

  B) Silly. The way to my heart is through my funny bone.

  C) Artsy. I have elegant taste. No Garfield, please.

  D) Cute. I’ve never met a puppy I didn’t love.

  Which did you pick? I lean toward the classic, myself. I’m a sucker for mushy poems and pictures
of sunsets. Anyway, I do believe the kind of card you send says something about who you are. That’s what I was thinking about as I looked around the room at my fellow BSC members. I was remembering last Valentine’s Day, when I received cards from each and every one of them (we love to celebrate holidays). The cards they picked out were exactly what I would have expected. In fact, I probably could have matched cards to friends without even checking the signatures.

  Take Kristy, for example. That’s Kristy Thomas, the president of the BSC. Last year, she sent me a valentine with a picture of an old-time baseball player on it. Inside, it said, “I’d go to bat for you anytime.”

  Perfect. Kristy really is the kind of friend who’ll stand by you, no matter what. Also, Kristy’s a sports fiend, and baseball’s probably her favorite game. She even coaches Kristy’s Krushers, a softball team for little kids.

  Kristy’s always full of ideas and full of the energy it takes to see ideas through. In fact, the BSC was Kristy’s idea. She saw how hard it often was for her mom to find a sitter for her younger brother and realized that parents would probably love knowing they could call one number and reach several responsible, caring sitters. She was right. As soon as we started the club the calls began to pour in.

  We meet three times a week, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from five-thirty until six. During those times parents can call us to set up sitting jobs. When they do, our secretary, Mary Anne Spier, who keeps track of all our schedules plus tons of client information, checks our club record book to see who is free for which jobs. Since there are seven of us (nine, when you count our associate members, who don’t come to meetings but who fill in as necessary), we hardly ever have to say no to a parent. Not that we’d want to anyway. We love kids and we adore sitting for them, mainly because we make sure it’s fun. The only thing that isn’t much fun about sitting is writing up our jobs in the club notebook, a chore Kristy insists on. But I have to admit, you learn a lot when you read everybody else’s entries, and parents love that we’re always up-to-date on their kids. When we’re on the job we don’t just hang around raiding the fridge and channel surfing. Instead, we play games, read books out loud, organize special events, and generally have a great time with our charges. And, on those days when we feel less than inspired, or there’s a need for extra inspiration, we bring along our Kid-Kits: boxes we’ve filled with hand-me-down toys and games, plus stickers and markers.

  Kid-Kits were Kristy’s idea too. She’s determined to make the BSC a successful business. In fact, Kristy is Ms. Determination. I think she inherited her mother’s drive. Kristy’s mom raised four kids (Kristy; her younger brother, David Michael; and her two older brothers, Charlie and Sam) on her own after her husband walked out on the family.

  Now Kristy’s mom is married again, this time to a really good guy. His name is Watson Brewer, and he came as a package deal. He has a cat, two kids (Karen, seven; and Andrew, four) from his first marriage, their pets, a mansion, and tons of money. A mansion? Tons of money? That’s right. It just so happens that, besides being a good-natured, funny guy, Watson happens to be immensely rich. He has mega-money. (I have to say that if my mom ever decides to marry again, I wouldn’t mind a stepdad like Watson. I’d have a charge card for every store in Manhattan!)

  Watson’s mansion is so huge that it doesn’t seem crowded. Which is amazing, because the family has continued to grow since he and Kristy’s mom married. First came Shannon, a Bernese mountain dog puppy. She’s named after Shannon Kilbourne, who gave her to the Thomases. Shannon lives in Kristy’s neighborhood, and she’s one of our associate members. Then came Emily Michelle, an adorable toddler who was born in Vietnam and was an orphan until Watson and Kristy’s mom adopted her. And the latest arrival is Nannie, Kristy’s grandmother, who came to help out.

  Full house? No kidding. But it’s a happy household, and Kristy seems to thrive on the chaos.

  Her best friend, Mary Anne, the BSC’s secretary, wouldn’t last a day at the mansion. She’s Kristy’s total opposite: shy, quiet, and very private. They don’t seem to have anything in common other than looks. Both of them are somewhat vertically challenged (short, in other words) and have brown hair and eyes. Still, they’ve been friends since they were in diapers.

  Go figure, as a New Yorker would say.

  Mary Anne’s valentine to me last year? A card featuring a fluffy gray kitten (similar in looks to her kitten, Tigger) cuddling up to a teddy bear. Yes, Mary Anne goes for cute with a capital C. She likes romance too. In fact, she’s had a steady boyfriend for quite a while. His name’s Logan Bruno, and he’s our other associate member. Whenever Logan does something romantic, Mary Anne is likely to burst into tears. Tears come easily to Mary Anne. I caught her crying once while we were watching a nature show. She couldn’t stand how mean the animals were to one another.

  Mary Anne’s family is smaller but almost as complicated as Kristy’s. For a long time, her family was tiny — just Mary Anne and her dad. Her mom died when Mary Anne was just a baby. Then her dad remarried … and the bride was his recently divorced high school sweetheart (how romantic). Mary Anne gained a stepmother, a stepbrother, a stepsister, and a best friend. That’s three people, not four. The stepsister, Dawn Schafer, was Mary Anne’s friend, and a member of the BSC, even before the families blended.

  Mary Anne was very happy about Richard, her dad, marrying Sharon, Dawn’s mom. But she didn’t have long to experience life in a bigger family. First Jeff, Dawn’s younger brother, decided he’d rather live in California, where he and Dawn had grown up and where their father still lives. Then, after awhile, Dawn decided that she belonged on the West Coast too. That was hard on Mary Anne. She misses Dawn muchísimo. We all do.

  Dawn is an honorary member of the BSC. When she was here, she was the BSC’s alternate officer. That meant she could fill in for any other officer who wasn’t able to make it to a meeting.

  That job is now covered by Abby Stevenson, the BSC’s newest member. Abby moved here recently from Long Island. She’s a fellow New Yorker, though not a Manhattanite. I didn’t receive a valentine from her last year, but I bet I will this year, and I’d bet all the money in the BSC treasury that it will be a funny one, the funniest one she can find. Abby has a wild sense of humor. You should see the imitations she does. And she’s always cracking jokes and making puns.

  Abby is an identical twin. Her sister’s name is Anna, and though they look alike, with dark curly hair and dark eyes, they are different in most other ways. Abby loves sports and is a terrific athlete, despite the fact that she has allergies and asthma that keep her sniffling and sneezing, gasping and wheezing. Anna, on the other hand, loves music and plays her violin for hours a day. She hasn’t let the fact that she has scoliosis (a slight — in her case — curvature of the spine, for which she wears a brace) slow her down.

  Abby and Anna live near Kristy with their mom, who commutes to Manhattan for her job as an executive editor at a big publishing company. Their dad died several years ago in a car wreck. Neither of them talks about him much, but I know they miss him terribly. I’m no psychiatrist, but I have a feeling that Abby’s love for joking and Anna’s devotion to music may have something to do with how they’re working through their dad’s death.

  Whew! Heavy. On a lighter note, let me introduce my best friend, Claudia Kishi, vice-president of the BSC. I’ll never forget the valentine she sent me last year, in part because I look at it every day. It was such a work of art that I had it framed and hung it on my wall. Claudia would never dream of buying a valentine. She’s an arts-and-crafts virtuoso, and nobody I know is more creative. Her valentine was an abstract painting in red, white, and gold. There were no cupids or hearts, but the feeling of love came shining through.

  Our club meets in Claudia’s room, mainly because she has her own phone with a private line, which is essential for our business. Hosting meetings is Claudia’s main duty as vice-president. As far as I can tell, the job has no other official duties. Unofficiall
y, Claudia is responsible for providing munchies for each meeting, a job she carries out with great pleasure. You see, she is the Junk Food Queen of the Universe. Workers in the Ring-Ding factory probably toil away beneath a gold-framed portrait of Claudia.

  Her parents know nothing of her royal standing. They forbid her to eat junk food or, for that matter, to read what they consider junk literature, such as Nancy Drew mysteries. So her room is full of hiding places stuffed with bags of Cheetos and boxes of Junior Mints, not to mention Nancy Drew mysteries. I should mention that Queen Claud is always kind enough to have sugar-free snacks, such as pretzels, on hand for me.

  Somehow, Claudia’s eating habits have had no impact on her looks. Her figure is trim and her skin is clear. Claudia, who is Japanese-American, is a knockout. She has long, straight black hair (always decorated with the accessory du jour) and dark, almond-shaped eyes. As you can imagine, her creative nature leads her to dress with incredible style. She may not be an awesome student like her older sister, Janine the Genius (in fact, Claud spent some time back in seventh grade this year), but she definitely has her own talents.

  Speaking of talents, I should mention that my talent for math is what led me to take the job as the BSC treasurer. I am responsible for collecting dues every Monday and for keeping track of how much money we have in the treasury. We use the money for things such as Claudia’s phone bill and Kristy’s transportation costs. (Watson’s mansion is across town, so Kristy’s brother Charlie drives her and Abby to meetings. We pay for his gas.)

  I received two other BSC valentines last year, from our junior officers, who are both eleven years old and in the sixth grade. (The rest of us are thirteen and in the eighth.) As junior officers, Jessi Ramsey and Mallory Pike aren’t allowed to sit at night for anyone other than their own siblings, which means that they take many of our afternoon sitting jobs.

  Jessi and Mal are best friends. They love horses (the card Mal sent me featured a white horse on a beach) and reading. Jessi’s totally involved in ballet (her card had a dancer on it), while Mal spends a lot of time writing and drawing. She wants to be an author/illustrator of children’s books someday. Mal is white, with reddish-brown hair and freckles, and she wears — and detests — glasses. Jessi’s African-American, with deep brown eyes and strong, ballet-toned legs. Jessi has a younger sister, a baby brother, and an aunt who lives with the family. Mal has seven younger sisters and brothers. No wonder she’s such a good sitter!