Dawn and Whitney, Friends Forever 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

  Letter from Ann M. Martin

  Acknowledgment

  About the Author

  Scrapbook

  Also Available

  Copyright

  Sunny, sunny California.

  That’s redundant. (Check out those vocab words). What it means is, you don’t need to say that the sun is always shining in California. Just the word California says it all.

  Do I sound as if I like living here? I do. Maybe it’s no coincidence, either, that my father’s nickname for me is Sunshine. Or that one of my two best friends in California is named Sunny.

  And summer in California is California to the max. Surf’s up. Minimum clothing dress code. Sunscreen and shades and … well, you get the idea.

  Dawn Schafer (that’s me) of Stoneybrook, Connecticut and Palo City, California, was about to settle in for a smooooth summer in the redundantly sunny California sun. (Oh, okay, California isn’t always sunny and warm, but it feels that way to me.)

  I guess I do sound a little like a tourist, the ones you see on the beaches sometimes with cameras and big flowered shirts and weird sunglasses, snapping pictures of everything that moves. But I was actually born and raised in California. I never truly appreciated it, though, until my mother and father got divorced and my mom moved back to her hometown, Stoneybrook, Connecticut, with me and my younger brother, Jeff. That’s where her parents, our grandparents, Granny and Pop-Pop, still live.

  Naturally I was not enthusiastic about the move. But we bought this old farmhouse built back in the 1700s and I actually discovered a secret passageway from my bedroom to the barn. Then I made friends with Mary Anne Spier and she invited me to join a group called the Baby-sitters Club (or the BSC) and soon I was pretty happy.

  Not my brother Jeff, though. He went from obnoxious-but-lovable little brother to monster brother and he even started getting in trouble at school. He wanted to go back to California and eventually, Mom and Dad decided that it might be best.

  I hated to see Jeff go. In such a short time we’d gone from being a family of four in one place, to a bicoastal divorced family, two here, two there.

  But not for long. Mary Anne’s father and my mother rediscovered each other. They’d known each other in high school and dated and then lost touch. But the romance rekindled and they got married. (Mary Anne’s mother had died when she was just a baby and she and her father had been a family of two for practically her whole life.) So anyway, Mary Anne and her father moved into the farmhouse along with Mary Anne’s gray tiger kitten Tigger. Since Mary Anne and I were already best friends, things couldn’t get any better than that, right?

  Wrong.

  I kept on missing Dad and Jeff. And the harder I tried not to miss them, the worse it got. Not California. I mean, I missed it, but I could live without it. My father and my brother were a different story, though. I finally decided I had to go west again for more than a visit.

  It was a hard decision. It made Mary Anne cry (which made me cry, too), and it made Mom pretty miserable, especially since she took it personally. But eventually she and Dad worked it out (along with the guidance counselors at Stoneybrook Middle School and at Vista, my California school, who had to make sure I would have “continuity of education” if I moved back to California for any length of time). And I came back to Palo City for a good, long stay.

  The right decision. A hard decision, but the right one. I’ll be going back to Stoneybrook before too much longer but, right now, I’m enjoying every minute of the west coast part of my bicoastal life.

  Well, almost every minute.

  It’s this dating thing, you see.

  I mean, there are plenty of nice people out here, but …

  Oh, I’m not talking about me! I mean our father. You see, he’s been dating a lot lately. Especially since he broke his engagement with Carol, this woman he’d been seeing for a long time. I admit, I was relieved when they broke up. Not that I didn’t like Carol. But she tried so hard to be cool that it left me cold. I realize now that I didn’t understand how hard it must have been for Carol, too, coming into a ready-made family and trying to fit in. Worse than being the new kid in school by about a hundred times.

  But anyway, that’s over and Dad is doing what Granny calls “playing the field.” That means he’s dating a lot. And a lot of different kinds of people.

  It also means that after the first couple of dates, the “date me, date my kids” theme goes into effect. That means that on the next date, Dad includes Jeff and me.

  Try to imagine going on a date — which includes your parents. Pretty weird, huh?

  Well, it must be pretty weird for dad and his dates, too. I’m glad he wants us to like the people he goes out with. But I keep thinking there must be an easier way …

  “What’s for dinner?” Jeff powered through the kitchen on his way to his next rendezvous with chaos, and I snagged a loop of his jeans.

  “Endive salad, three-cheese macaroni, asparagus, and raspberry crisp,” I said. “And you’re in charge of setting the table.”

  “Endive?” Jeff clutched his throat and Mrs. Bruen, our housekeeper, laughed.

  “You’ve never had endive, Jeff,” Mrs. Bruen said. It was true. Jeff just liked giving me grief, little-brother style.

  Jeff let go of his throat and I let go of his jeans and a cunning look came into his eyes. “Hey,” he said.

  I recognized the look, a holdover from his most recent career plan to become a comedian, which meant that he told a zillion bad jokes to anybody who was unwary enough to stand still for one second.

  I groaned, but Jeff went on. “Hey, Dawn, Mrs. Bruen, what did the dog say when they served it endive?”

  Mrs. Bruen smiled good-naturedly. “I don’t know, Jeff. What did the dog say?”

  “Barf, barf!” shouted Jeff.

  I had to smile at that one. “That’s terrible,” I said. “But it’s not bad.”

  Jeff looked enormously pleased with himself.

  Just then the doorbell rang.

  “Does Dad have a date?” Jeff asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “But it’s too early. That must be Sunny. She’s sleeping over tonight.”

  I wiped my hands on a kitchen towel, put the raspberry crisp in a safe place on the counter, ready to pop into the oven when we sat down for dinner, and headed for the door.

  “Dawn!” cried Sunny, as if we hadn’t talked on the phone only a couple of hours before.

  I’ve known Sunshine Daydream Winslow longer than I’ve known anybody else in my whole life (except my mother and father and my grandparents, of course). Her parents, as you might guess from Sunny’s name, were (and still are, I guess) hippies. The Winslows live down the street from us and Mrs. Winslow is a potter, an artist, and a really nice human being. Come to think of it, she’s a lot like another artist I know, a fellow member of the BSC back in Stoneybrook, Claudia Kishi. But more about that later.

  “Sunny!” I exclaimed now, matching her tone and grinning. Sunny bounded in, slung her backpack into the nearest corner and sniffed appreciatively. “What’s cooking? It smells like one of my main foods.”

  “Three-cheese macaroni.” It’s a Mrs. Bruen specialty and it is one of Sunny’s favorite
s.

  “Super!” exclaimed Sunny.

  “Yeah, I like it, too,” I told her.

  Sunny and I are a lot alike. Not only is her name the same as my nickname, but we are both blonde, although Sunny is a strawberry-blonde and my hair is almost white. We also like natural food and don’t eat red meat, and we’re independent, outgoing, and easygoing. We like to surf. We love ghost stories.

  “I’m starved,” said Sunny as we headed back for the kitchen.

  “You’re just in time. Jeff’s setting the table now.” I raised my voice so Jeff, who I could see edging out of the kitchen, could hear me.

  Jeff stopped. Then he went over to the silverware drawer and scooped up a handful of knives, forks, and spoons and headed for the dining room.

  “Hey, Jeff-man,” said Sunny. “How’s it going?”

  Jeff stopped. That cunning look came into his eyes. “Hey, Sunny. Listen, what did the dog —”

  “Table first, jokes second,” I intervened quickly. “And you know what, Jeff? You should wait till Dad gets here. Then he can hear your joke, too.”

  “Okay,” said Jeff. He took one of the dinner knives, stuck it under his arm, cried, “I’ve been stuck,” and reeled away.

  Mrs. Bruen rolled her eyes.

  “Anything I can do to help?” asked Sunny.

  “It’s all done,” said Mrs. Bruen, popping open the oven and pulling out the casserole.

  Jeff came back in, grabbed the plates, and hustled out. This time he didn’t waste time cutting up. Everything smelled too good.

  It was good, too. Our father came in and sat at the table with us (although he couldn’t eat; he was going to take his latest date to dinner after a movie). Jeff got to tell his barf, barf joke again. And Sunny and I laughed a lot and settled down to concentrate on macaroni and asparagus.

  “What movie are you going to see, Mr. Schafer?” Sunny asked.

  “We’re going to a Charlie Chaplin film festival,” my father said.

  “That sounds cool,” said Sunny.

  “Could be,” said my father. He winked at me and I tried to smile encouragingly.

  “You’ll have a good time,” I said. Then I thought, good grief, I sound just like someone’s parents. The next thing I know, I’ll be telling Dad just to be himself.

  Dad added to the feeling by saying as he stood up to go, “Do I look okay?”

  “Super,” said Sunny, and I nodded.

  “See you guys later, then,” my father said.

  “We’ll save you some dessert,” answered Jeff. “Ha, ha.”

  After dinner was over (and Jeff had, despite his best efforts, not eaten all the raspberry crisp), and Mrs. Bruen had left, Sunny and I were the baby-sitters in charge, informally.

  We followed Jeff out into the yard. Half a dozen kids were out in their yards around us, or zooming up and down the sidewalks on blades and bicycles. But when Jeff said, “Soccer,” it wasn’t long before we had a pick-up game of soccer organized, with Sunny and me playing goalie at either end. It was fun, kind of like the Krushers’ softball games back in Stoneybrook. (The Krushers are a softball team made up of kids of all ages — the average age is 5.8.) Everyone played hard but fair and when Jeff scored a goal on me and shouted, “Goalllllll, Schafer,” everyone cheered good-naturedly along with him.

  When it got too dark for that, we headed back inside and settled in for a movie. Not too much later, I noticed that Jeff’s eyes were closing. Sunny and I exchanged a look. We knew better than to suggest that Jeff might be getting sleepy. He’s ten and a little touchy about being treated “like a baby.”

  “I’m getting tired,” I said to Sunny, but looking at Jeff.

  She knew exactly what I meant. She stretched and yawned and said, “Me, too.”

  Jeff opened his eyes, squinted at the screen for a moment, then said, “Me, too. See you guys.”

  “I’ll come tell you good night in a little while,” I said.

  “Okay,” said Jeff.

  “Brush your teeth,” I called after him.

  “Okay.”

  “So how sleepy are you?” asked Sunny.

  “Not,” I said. “Besides, it’s not that late.” How late was it in Connecticut? I wondered.

  Sunny, my oldest-friend-and-mind-reader, asked, “How late is it in Connecticut? Not too late for a phone call, right?”

  I flashed her a grin. “Right!”

  A few minutes later (three hours later in Connecticut), I heard Mary Anne’s voice on the phone.

  “Dawn! It’s you! Where are you?”

  “California still,” I said.

  Mary Anne laughed. “And we still miss you in Stoneybrook. What’s happening?” We talked for a little while. I updated her on my father’s new dating plan and what was happening in the We ♥ Kids Club (which is the more laid-back California version of the Baby-sitters Club back in Stoneybrook), and she told me what was happening with the BSC. We didn’t talk too long — after all, if my father had a mondo phone bill, he might object to my calling Connecticut so much — but it was long enough to be satisfying.

  Afterward, I went to say good night to Jeff, which turned out to be unnecessary, and by the time I got back to help Sunny make popcorn, Dad was coming home from his date.

  “How was it?” I said as he walked into the kitchen.

  “The popcorn was good,” said Dad.

  “And?” asked Sunny.

  “I liked the movie. The Gold Rush. It’s one of my favorite Chaplin films.”

  “And?” I prompted.

  “That’s it,” said my Dad.

  “You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you can find a prince. Or a princess,” said Sunny.

  “What!” I shrieked. I’ve known Sunny forever. But I’ve never heard her say that.

  Sunny turned bright red.

  My father burst out laughing. “Thanks for the advice, Sunny. And I know you’re right. Some day my frog princess will come.”

  My father was still laughing as he headed for his room.

  And I was still giving Sunny major grief for that line when we went to sleep late that night, after talking through one and a half scary movies and eating another bowl of popcorn.

  “This meeting of the We Love Kids Club will now come to order,” I intoned.

  Silence.

  I looked around the room.

  Sunny’s mouth dropped open.

  Maggie Blume gave a theatrical little gasp.

  Jill Henderson looked at me with real concern in her chocolate brown eyes and said, “Dawn? Are you feeling okay?”

  I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. After a moment, Sunny and Maggie started laughing, too, and Jill grinned sheepishly.

  The reason they were laughing was because that was definitely not the way we run our club. Sunny started the W♥KC when I was in Stoneybrook, after I told her about the Baby-sitters Club I’d joined there.

  The BSC is still going strong in Stoneybrook and I’m still a member. (Basically.) And every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoon from five-thirty to six (Stoneybrook time) I can tell you exactly what my closest friends and fellow BSC members are doing. They’re sitting in Claudia Kishi’s room having a BSC meeting. Kristy Thomas is the president and one of the founding members of the BSC. She got the idea one night while listening to her mother make a zillion phone calls trying to find a baby-sitter for her little brother. What, Kristy the idea queen thought, what if a person could make just one phone call and reach several baby-sitters at once?

  Now at exactly five-thirty Stoneybrook time, Kristy is sitting in her director’s chair with her green visor on, saying, “This meeting of the BSC will now come to order.” Claudia, the vice-president, is passing around the junk food that she keeps hidden in strategic places in her room. Mary Anne, who is BSC secretary, is keeping the record book. Stacey McGill, the treasurer, is collecting and counting dues (if it is Monday, dues day). Shannon, who is (alternate) officer (and my replacement), and responsible for taking over someone
else’s job in case of emergency, is there. And Jessica Ramsey and Mallory Pike, who are junior officers (they can’t sit at night because they are younger), are there too, talking and laughing and taking care of business.

  Which is not exactly the way the We ♥ Kids Club works, as you might have guessed.

  We’re more laid-back. Easygoing.

  But not too easygoing. That almost got us into trouble not too long ago. Our club got written up in the newspaper and then we were featured on a local news station on TV and the next thing we knew, we were swamped with calls. Our, er, loose organizational style meant that we ended up double booking and overbooking and almost making a real mess out of our business. That’s when we decided that laid-back didn’t mean no rules at all. So we made up a few.

  1. Regular meeting times. Every week. At Sunny’s.

  2. Keep a record book.

  Are you waiting for more rules? That’s it. No officers. No other special rules. Unless, of course, we decide we need them.

  I looked around the room at my fellow club members, thought about the BSC, and wondered if we’d ever have a BSC / W♥KC convention.

  Hmmm. That would be a job for Kristy Thomas. Kristy is the most organized person in the world, and possibly the universe. She lives with her mother and stepfather, a stepbrother and stepsister (part time), her maternal grandmother, her three brothers (two older, one younger), her adopted little sister, a dog, a cat, and a family ghost in a mansion in Stoneybrook. The mansion and the stepfather and stepsiblings came along after her mother recently remarried. Before that, Kristy’s mother was working pretty hard as a single parent to raise four kids. (Kristy’s father left when her seven-year-old brother was just a baby and is now rarely in touch).

  Kristy has brown hair and brown eyes and is the shortest person in her class. She’s a casual dresser, jeans and sweaters mostly, but that’s the only thing she is casual about. As I said before, Kristy is intensely organized. She not only thought of the BSC and got it going, but she also thought of the BSC Record Book, complete with client list and a calendar of each member’s sitting jobs (no double booking or overbooking in the BSC!). Club members also keep notes and records of their various jobs in the BSC Notebook, which all the members use as a sort of reference to keep them posted on what’s happening with the kids they take care of.