Dawn and the Older Boy Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  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

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Scrapbook

  Also Available

  Copyright

  “I don’t think orange is your color,” Claudia Kishi said thoughtfully. “You’re more the peaches-and-cream type, with your light skin and blonde hair.”

  “Mmm, I think you’re right.” I stared at myself in the mirror and reached for a tissue. The orange lipstick had to go. I looked like I had just kissed a pumpkin.

  “Try this,” Claudia went on, handing me a tube of gooey pink lip gloss. It reminded me of used bubble gum.

  Claudia caught the expression on my face and burst out laughing. “Trust me, Dawn. It will be fantastic on you.”

  Claudia is an artist and can see shapes and colors in a way that nobody else can. It’s a good thing that Claudia is creative because she’s not the world’s best student. (She’s an especially bad speller.) And just to make things worse, she has this incredibly brainy older sister named Janine. Janine is the type of girl who sits around doing quadratic equations for fun. Honest.

  But back to the story. I glanced around Kristy Thomas’s bedroom and saw that all six of my friends were experimenting with lipstick and nail polish. A few of them, like Stacey McGill, were even trying out new hairstyles. It was a sort of mass “make-over,” and there was a lot of giggling going on. (And some of the “befores” looked better than the “afters,” if you know what I mean.)

  I guess I should stop right here and introduce everybody before I tell you anything else about the sleepover at Kristy’s. First of all, the seven of us are members of the Baby-sitters Club (or BSC), which I’ll explain about later. My name is Dawn Schafer, and I am the alternate officer of the club. I live in Stoneybrook, Connecticut, and I am thirteen years old. My friends all say I look like a California girl with my long blonde hair and sparkly blue eyes. This makes sense since I lived in California before my parents got divorced and my mom and my brother Jeff and I moved to Stoneybrook. Now Jeff lives in California again with my father (he just wasn’t happy in Connecticut), and sometimes I go back to visit. What else would you like to know? Well, I love the outdoors, I’m a vegetarian, and I try to eat a healthy diet. (Unlike Claudia, who thinks Gummi Bears are nature’s perfect food.)

  Claudia is a beautiful, dramatic-looking Japanese-American who loves exotic clothes. (She’s also the vice-president of the BSC.) Claudia’s one of those people who can wear anything and get away with it. Today, for example, she had stuck to two colors: black and white. Black cotton bib overalls over a white turtleneck with a shiny black patent leather belt looped around her waist. Black suede ankle boots and white cotton socks. Long black hair swept off her face with giant white plastic barrettes. Anyone else would look like a penguin in that get-up, but Claudia looked great.

  “What do you think?” she asked, holding up a white hoop earring next to her face. “Too much?”

  I nodded. “Maybe just a little.” The earring was the size of a doorknob.

  “Hey, Dawn, will you take a look at my hair?” asked Mary Anne. Mary Anne Spier is my stepsister (my mother married Richard, her father) and she is also my best friend. Mary Anne is a lot less daring with clothes and makeup than I am, but she has grown up quite a bit in the past year.

  When I first met Mary Anne, she looked like a little girl. She was wearing little-girl clothes and, worst of all, she was wearing her brown hair in two long pigtails. Awful! When I got to know her better, I realized that she’s really sweet and very sensitive, and that she dressed that way because her father picked out her clothes. See, Mary Anne’s mother died when Mary Anne was just a baby, so her father has always been very protective of her. Luckily, he’s loosened up a lot since he married my mom, and Mary Anne looks like a regular thirteen-year-old now. And she even has a steady boyfriend. She’s the only one of us BSC members who can make that claim. Her boyfriend is named Logan Bruno, and he’s part of the club, too. Mary Anne is the club secretary.

  “What’s the problem?” I asked, scooting over to her side of the room. The minute the words were out of my mouth, I knew the answer.

  Stacey McGill (a real New York girl) was busily “scrunching” Mary Anne’s long brown hair into a tangled mane that trailed down her back. Very hip, very in, but not very “Mary Anne.” I thought it looked fantastic, but I knew that Mary Anne was unhappy with it. Mary Anne usually wears her hair in a smooth style; she’s used to seeing herself in a certain way. (I should explain that Mary Anne would never complain to Stacey, because she doesn’t like to hurt anyone’s feelings.)

  “Honestly, Mary Anne, if you’d just keep your hands out of the way, this would go a lot quicker.” Stacey had scrunched her own hair into a cloud of blonde curls and was trying for the same effect with my stepsister.

  Mary Anne shot me a desperate look in the mirror, just as Stacey gave a final pat to her hair and said pointedly, “Doesn’t she look great?”

  I was on the spot. “I think it’s a nice change,” I began. “Of course, you wouldn’t have to wear it that way every day.”

  “She should. It’s a big improvement,” Stacey said flatly. Stacey McGill, the club treasurer, is very fashion-conscious and always wears the newest, trendiest clothes. She is sophisticated, like Claudia (who happens to be her best friend), and she has boyfriends sometimes, but no steady ones. She’s an only child and grew up in New York City until her father’s company transferred him to Connecticut. The McGills had lived in Stoneybrook for a year when her father was sent back to New York. We all said tearful good-byes to Stacey and wondered if we would ever see her again. About a year later, Stacey’s parents got divorced, and Stacey and her mom returned to Connecticut. Talk about a complicated life! Stacey still seems like a New York girl at heart (just like I am a California girl at heart) and she visits her father in New York whenever she can.

  Just to add to Stacey’s problems, she has a severe form of diabetes. She’s very careful about what she eats and knows how to give herself insulin shots every day. Diabetes is something she has to live with, but at least she can keep it under control. The main thing she has to remember is not to eat sweets. Just imagine a life without sugar and candy, and you’ll get the idea. At first, we tried not to have cookies or things lying around where she could see them, but we found out that Stacey has a lot of self-control. She doesn’t eat those things because she knows she could get really sick.

  “Well, it’s finished,” Stacey said. She put down the brush and reached for an apple. The rest of us were munching on fudge (except for me — too unhealthy), but that’s off-limits for Stacey, of course.

  “I appreciate it, I really do,” Mary Anne said earnestly. I knew that Mary Anne would never wear her hair that way again, but she managed to look as if she were thrilled with her new style.

  “I’ll be glad to do it for you anytime,” Stacey said. “The thing to remember is to use just a little bit of gel and —” She stopped talking suddenly and sat down on Kristy’s bed.

  “Are you okay?” Kristy Thomas asked. (Kristy Thomas is the president of the Baby-sitters Club, and she is a take-charge sort of person.)

  “I’m fine,” Stacey said lightly. She put her ha
nd up to her forehead, just for a second, as though she had a headache.

  “You look a little pale,” Kristy said, peering at her. I remembered that Stacey hadn’t felt well for the past few days.

  “Hey, I’m fine. Really.” Stacey bounced right back on her feet and picked up her styling brush. “I think I got a little dizzy from all the hairspray,” she said with a smile. “Maybe we should get some air in here.”

  “Good idea.” As usual, Kristy took command of the situation and marched over to the nearest window. Sometimes I get a little annoyed because Kristy tends to be bossy (wait till you see her at a club meeting, and you’ll understand), but I have to admit she really gets things done. It’s funny, because in some ways, Kristy seems a little younger than thirteen. She has zero interest in clothes and makeup and practically lives in her favorite outfit: a turtleneck, faded jeans, and running shoes. But in other ways, she seems very mature and is exactly the kind of person you would want to have around in an emergency.

  Kristy has an interesting family. She has three brothers — Sam and Charlie, who are in high school, and David Michael, who’s only seven. For a long time, Mrs. Thomas supported the family all by herself, because her husband had walked out one day and never come back. It was very hard on everyone, but Mrs. Thomas managed to get a good job and keep the family together. Then (and this is the wonderful part) she met a millionaire named Watson Brewer and they married and the Thomases moved across town into his mansion! It sounds like something out of a movie, doesn’t it? Watson Brewer has two children, Karen, who has just turned seven, and Andrew, who’s four, so Kristy found herself with a new brother and sister. (They only live with their father every other weekend and for two weeks during the summer, though.) Things got even more interesting after that because the Brewers adopted an adorable little Vietnamese girl whom they named Emily. By now Kristy’s family was beginning to look like the Brady Bunch, so Nannie, Kristy’s grandmother, moved in to help. Kristy loves her new family, and since she’s terrific with kids, she’s a big help with her younger brothers and sisters.

  Okay, now I need to tell you about the two junior officers of the BSC, Mallory Pike and Jessica Ramsey. While the rest of us are eighth-graders at Stoneybrook Middle School, they are eleven and in sixth grade at SMS. They are very different, but they are best friends.

  Actually, Mal and Jessi have a couple of things in common. They are both the oldest in their families (that can have some good points and some bad points). And they share some interests.

  Let’s start with Mal. Mal comes from an enormous family. She has seven brothers and sisters, including a set of identical triplets (boys). Mallory is very creative and loves to read and write and draw. Her dream in life is to write and illustrate children’s books, and I think she would do a wonderful job.

  Jessi has an eight-year-old sister named Becca (short for Rebecca) and a baby brother named Squirt. Squirt? That’s right. His real name is John Philip Ramsey, Jr., but he was so tiny when he was born that the nurses in the hospital nicknamed him Squirt.

  Jessi also likes to read (she and Mal both love horse stories), but her real talent is quite different from Mallory’s. Jessi wants to be a professional dancer and has studied ballet for years. It takes a lot of skill and hard work to get roles in major ballets and to perform in front of hundreds of people, but Jessi has what it takes. She doesn’t even get stage fright. (I know I would faint dead away if I had to do something like that.)

  One other difference between Jessi and Mal — Jessi is black and Mal is white.

  I have a lot more things I want to tell you about my friends (especially about my stepsister, Mary Anne, and the really romantic way our parents got together), but I will have to save that for later. Stay tuned!

  At eleven o’clock the following morning, Mary Anne tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Dawn, wake up,” she said urgently. “It’s practically lunchtime!”

  I snuggled deeper into my sleeping bag and buried my face in the pillow. “Uh-huh,” I mumbled. What was Mary Anne getting all steamed up about? Nobody bounces out of bed the morning after a sleepover, and besides, we hadn’t turned out the lights till three A.M. No wonder I felt like a zombie.

  But Mary Anne wouldn’t give up. She sat down next to me. “I think we should all get up right this minute,” she said firmly. “We’ve already wasted half the day!”

  “Quit talking,” Stacey muttered from her sleeping bag. “Some people are trying to sleep.”

  “I know you are,” Mary Anne apologized. “But I think the Brewers expect us to show up for breakfast. We shouldn’t be lounging around in bed all morning when they’re trying to feed sixteen in the kitchen.” I hated to admit it, but I decided Mary Anne was probably right. I also thought that my stepsister was the only person in the whole world who would worry about something like that.

  “Mmm, I think I smell bacon cooking,” Mal said. She wriggled off her air mattress and stretched. “I agree with Mary Anne. We should all go downstairs.”

  Jessi gave a gigantic yawn. “I’ve decided to have breakfast in bed,” she said sleepily. “Just leave a tray outside the door for me.”

  “Ha! Fat chance!” Claudia yelled, tossing a pillow at her. “If we get up, you get up.”

  Mary Anne yanked open the drapes, and the room was flooded with harsh yellow sunlight. Everybody really woke up after that, including Kristy, who had burrowed like a mole under her fluffy pink quilt.

  “Hey, Kristy,” Stacey asked, “do we have to get dressed to go down to breakfast?”

  “On a Saturday morning? Are you kidding?” Kristy grinned and jammed her feet into a pair of fat down slippers. “That’s the great part about weekends. You can wear whatever you want, and Mom and Watson won’t care. Honest.”

  Claudia glanced in the mirror. Her hair was a mass of tangles and her mascara had smudged over her cheekbones in two dark shadows. She looked like someone straight out of Night of the Living Dead.

  “Claudia, you look awful,” Kristy said cheerfully.

  “You don’t look so terrific yourself,” Claudia retorted. She wasn’t in the least bit offended because the truth is we all looked awful.

  “I know. Isn’t it fun?” Kristy grabbed her favorite baseball cap (the one with the collie on it) and plunked it on her head. “But who’s going to see us at breakfast except for Karen and Nannie and Mom and everyone?”

  A few minutes later we had our answer. Who was going to see us? Only the cutest guy in the whole world!

  Talk about having a panic attack. All seven of us had trooped downstairs, looking our absolute worst, when we realized there were boys sitting around the kitchen table! Two of them were Kristy’s older brothers, Charlie and Sam, and the other looked like a movie star. Sandy brown hair, deep blue eyes, and a smile that I knew I would never forget. Claudia was in front of me, and she skidded to a stop just like the Road Runner in that Saturday morning cartoon show. Naturally, I bumped into her, and she lurched against the back of Sam’s chair.

  “Oh, Claudia. Hi there.” He glanced at Kristy. “I figured you were going to sleep all day.” Sam took a quick peek at the rest of us, and his jaw dropped open. Why hadn’t we taken a few extra minutes to brush our hair and put on a little makeup? (Or at least take off the old makeup?) I know I looked terrible. I have very light skin and, as I’ve said, my hair is so blonde it’s practically white. Can you imagine what I look like first thing in the morning, especially with mascara smudges under my eyes?

  I tried to duck behind Stacey, who immediately caught on and started inching her way back toward the hallway.

  “Hey, don’t run away,” Charlie teased her. “Kristy, I want you and your friends to meet someone.” He waved a hand at the fantastic-looking boy at the table. “Travis, meet my sister and the rest of the Baby-sitters Club. Travis just moved to Stoneybrook,” he went on.

  Travis half rose out of his chair and smiled at everyone. (He could afford to be cheerful. He looked terrific, and the rest o
f us were wrecks.) The other kids in the family were at the table with him. Emily was spooning up cornflakes with David Michael, Karen, and Andrew, but I barely looked at them. I couldn’t take my eyes off Travis (and I couldn’t stop wishing I were invisible)! Why did I have to look my absolute worst?

  Travis was too polite to look shocked, though, and I thought I would drop through the floor when he reached across the table and shook my hand! No one my age shakes hands (do they?), but somehow it seemed just right when Travis did it.

  I could feel a little ripple of excitement go through the group, even though most of us were busily staring at our toes and wishing we were on another planet. There was this incredibly long silence while everyone waited for someone else to think of something to say, and Travis and I just stood and stared at each other.

  Without thinking, I blurted out the first words that came into my head. “Is that granola you’re eating?” Not the brightest remark in the world, but you have to realize that this was a crisis situation. Think how you would feel if you happened to be wearing a tattered old nightgown and a three-sizes-too-big terry robe at a time like this. It was enough to make anyone tongue-tied.

  “That’s right,” Travis said easily. “It’s practically the state food in California.” He was from California! “Why don’t you join us?” He gestured to an empty seat beside him, and it was all I could do not to throw myself into it. Then I remembered my shiny face (and morning breath) and decided against it.

  “Oh, we’ll get something to eat later,” I said, trying to sound totally cool and in command of the situation. (I wasn’t in control at all, and my heart was beating like a rabbit’s.)

  “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” he said teasingly.

  “I know that,” I replied, nodding. If he wanted to talk nutrition, that was fine with me. Mom and I are fanatics about eating healthy food, and we even make our own breakfast cereal.

  Kristy, as usual, took charge. “I really think we should be heading back upstairs,” she said firmly.