The Fire at Mary Anne's House 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

  “Tigger! You silly boy.” I laughed as I moved Tigger one more time. I was lying on my bed, trying to do some serious reading. But my gray tiger-striped kitten, who can be a rascal when he wants to be, was more interested in playing games. He leaped upon each page as I turned it, pretending that the paper was a small animal and that he was a wild jungle cat after his prey.

  “How am I ever going to learn about the ‘Eleven Laws of Love,’ or ‘How to Make Him Yours Forever,’ if you can’t keep your paws off my magazine?” I asked Tigger.

  Well, as you can see, my serious reading was actually not so serious. To be honest, I was leafing through the Hot Summer Fun issue of Teenzine, a magazine my dad calls “a monumental waste of time.”

  He’s not totally wrong about that. I can’t pretend that Teenzine is especially deep. But just then, it was exactly what I wanted to be reading. After all, it was a warm June afternoon. School had ended for the summer, and I was due for some relaxation. And even though my dad would probably prefer that I relaxed with more challenging reading material, I was sure he wouldn’t deny that I deserved a little time to daydream. He knows I work hard, both in my classes and outside of school.

  My dad’s name is Richard Spier, and he’s a lawyer. I’m Mary Anne Spier, and I’m not a lawyer. I’m just a thirteen-year-old native of Stoneybrook, Connecticut. I go to Stoneybrook Middle School (SMS), where I make above-average — but not perfect — grades. I have brown eyes and chin-length brown hair and I’m one of the shortest girls in the eighth grade. I’m not a supertrendy dresser (I’d never wear most of the wild stuff they show in Teenzine), but I do manage to look presentable. My style is preppy-but-casual. I like to look neat; no dreadlocks or huge baggy jeans for me. And my ears aren’t even pierced, much less my nose or my belly button.

  One of the models in Teenzine has, like, everything pierced. Plus, she has about six tattoos. Um, no thanks.

  I think my dad is happy I turned out the way I did. He brought me up all by himself, since my mom died when I was just a baby. I don’t remember her at all. Sometimes I stare at the pictures I have of her, hoping for some distant memory to pop into my brain. But that hasn’t happened yet.

  Anyway, my dad did his best to be both father and mother to me. And except for a brief time right after my mom died, when he was just too sad to cope and he sent me to live with my grandparents, he has always been up to the job. In fact, for a while he tried a little too hard to be good at parenting. He was extremely strict. My friends couldn’t believe how he controlled my life. He chose the clothes I wore (mostly little-girl dresses, even when I was in seventh grade), my hairstyle (braids, which went well with those dresses), and even my bedspread and posters (my room looked like an eight-year-old’s). But as I matured and he loosened up a bit, he gave me more and more independence. I started to pick out my own clothes, do my hair the way I wanted, and decorate my room with things I’d picked out myself.

  My dad’s been fine with all my choices. (Who knows how he would react if I wanted to dye my hair pink, though!) He even approves of the fact that I have a boyfriend. Fortunately, Logan Bruno is the kind of boy any dad would like. He’s polite and respectful and treats me so nicely. He’s adorable too — not that my dad would care about that. Logan looks like Cam Geary, my favorite celebrity. They both have blue eyes, brownish-blond hair, and smiles to die for. Logan also happens to have this great Southern accent, left over from when he lived in Louisville, Kentucky.

  There was a feature on Cam in Teenzine. I had already cut out the best picture — one in which he was playing with his dog on the beach — to add to my Cam Geary collage. Under the picture was a quote about how the dog was his best friend. It was so sweet it almost made me cry.

  Don’t tell Kristy I said that.

  That’s Kristy Thomas, my best friend from way back when. She’s been known to give me a hard time about how sentimental I can be. Once, when we went to a sad movie together, she showed up lugging a huge box; it was a carton of Kleenex. That’s her idea of a joke.

  But I know Kristy appreciates how sensitive I can be. She always tells me what a good listener I am and comes to me for advice when she needs a sympathetic ear. And somehow, even though she’s one of the most outgoing people on the planet, she understands and accepts the fact that I am one of the shyest.

  Kristy is president of this club I belong to, the Baby-sitters Club (known as the BSC). Most of my friends belong too (even Logan). We all love kids and love sitting, so the club is a natural for us. I’ll explain more about the BSC later.

  First of all, though, I have to explain that my dad and I are now part of a much bigger family. One of the reasons Dad loosened up a bit as I grew older was that he was too busy falling in love to worry about my hairstyles.

  Yes, love. It can even happen to grown-ups.

  In this case, it was more like falling back in love, with an old flame … who happened to be the mother of my other best friend, Dawn Schafer.

  Confused? I don’t blame you. It’s complicated.

  See, back when he was a student at Stoneybrook High, my dad used to go out with this girl named Sharon Porter. But her parents didn’t approve of the match. Eventually, she went to college in California, where she met and married a man named Jack Schafer. They had two kids, Dawn and Jeff. But the marriage didn’t last, and Sharon ended up moving back to Stoneybrook with the children.

  That’s when Dawn and I met and became instant best friends. (Kristy had to adjust to sharing me, which she did. Dawn even became a member of the BSC.) Dawn is the greatest. She’s a very relaxed person who never judges anyone or anything and who stands up for what she believes. I don’t know if that’s her upbringing or just the way she is. She’s beautiful on the outside too, with long, straight, white-blonde hair and clear blue eyes. (It’s obvious why her dad nicknamed her “Sunshine.”)

  Anyway, it didn’t take long for us to figure out that her mom and my dad had been high school sweethearts. We fixed them up again, and soon wedding bells were ringing.

  It was so romantic.

  Dad, Tigger, and I moved into the house where Dawn and her mom were living. (Jeff had moved back to California by then, to live with his dad.) I love this house, and I already feel as if I’ve lived here all my life. It’s an old, old farmhouse, with tons of interesting nooks and crannies, including a secret passage that Dawn believes is haunted. (I, myself, would rather not believe in ghosts. Too scary.) This house was actually a stop on the Underground Railroad! It’s as if history is alive here. Sometimes I stare into the big brick fireplace and imagine all the people who have built fires there and warmed their hands at that hearth. Or, at bedtime, I’ll climb the narrow stairway and picture some girl my age doing the same thing, carrying a candle to light her way. There’s even a big old barn out back (it’s connected by the secret passage), with bales of hay and old stalls, some with the nameplates for horses who once lived in them.

  Anyway, there we were, one big happy family. Well, maybe not exactly that. It took us awhile to adjust to one anothe
r, to tell you the truth. For example, I love Sharon, but I have to say that she is just about the most disorganized person I’ve ever met. My dad, on the other hand, is Mr. Neat. His sock drawer is organized by color, with each pair neatly folded. Sharon doesn’t even have a sock drawer, as far as I know. I’ve found her socks in the linen closet, in the china cabinet, and even — once — in the lettuce crisper in the fridge. (Don’t ask …)

  Also, Dawn and Sharon are both health food nuts who thrive on tofu. My dad and I, on the other hand, are omnivores. Our primary cookbook for years was 101 Fantastic Hamburger Recipes.

  Eventually, we ironed out our differences and settled into a happy blended-family life. But after some time, Dawn realized that she really missed California and that she wanted to live there again, like Jeff. It wasn’t easy for us to let her go, but we didn’t really have much of a choice. I know she’s happier out there, even though she misses her Stoneybrook friends and family. And if she’s happy, I’ll try to be happy for her. I do miss her, though. More than I can say. And I know Sharon does too.

  “Tigger!” My pesky kitten was at it again. I was trying to concentrate on an article called “Makeover Mojo,” but Tigger insisted on being the center of attention. He lay down on the open magazine, rolled over onto his back, and purred as loudly as he could. That’s his way of saying, “Pat my tummy.”

  I obeyed.

  I didn’t really mind. It wasn’t as if I were trying to study for an algebra test or anything. If I didn’t learn any new tips on applying eyeliner that afternoon, so be it. I’d survive. And I happen to enjoy patting Tigger’s tummy.

  But you know how cats are. Two seconds later, he’d decided it was time to head downstairs to see if there was any interesting food in his bowl. He jumped down from the bed and stalked off, twitching his tail. I plumped up my pillows, made myself comfortable, and went back to my reading.

  I cringed through “Life’s Most Embarrassing Moments” (I can hardly stand to read those — imagine having a visible booger in your nose the whole time you’re talking to your principal), skimmed over “Backstage with U4Me” (I don’t care that much about what a rock band does between sets), and checked my horoscope to see if anything wonderful was going to happen in the next few days (nope). Finally, I flipped to the back page to check out the Contest of the Month. I’ve never entered a Teenzine contest, since they’re usually pretty dumb. Last month’s was about who could come up with the best name for a new deodorant. Can you imagine wasting your time thinking about that?

  But this month’s contest was different.

  “Hey, neat!” I said out loud as I read the headline. Finally, a contest I could care about. “Baby-sitter of the Year,” it said. “Who’s the coolest, most together baby-sitter you know? Is it you? Your sister? Your best friend? Write and tell us all about her — or him. Contest winners will be featured in our back-to-school issue!”

  The headline was followed by a long list of rules and guidelines. I pored over them. Could one of the BSC members win this contest?

  Absolutely. No question about it.

  I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. It was 5:10, almost time for me to leave for that afternoon’s BSC meeting. I shoved the magazine into my backpack and headed to the barn to grab my bike.

  I could hardly wait to tell my friends the news.

  One of us was sure to win … but who? I thought about this as I rode over to Claudia’s house. Each and every member of the BSC is an excellent example of what a baby-sitter should be. How were we going to figure out which one of us should enter the contest?

  Maybe I should explain a bit more about the club. The BSC meets three times a week, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons from five-thirty to six. We always meet at Claudia Kishi’s house — in her room, to be exact. We’ve been together as a club for quite a while; in fact, sometimes I have a hard time remembering that we haven’t always been a club. We’ve grown and changed over time, but the basic idea of the club has been the same. We provide responsible, excellent baby-sitting services to our clients. That’s it.

  How does it work? Well, our clients call us during meeting times to set up jobs. (That’s the genius part; the parents only have to call one number to reach a whole group of sitters.) In the beginning we had to advertise, but now we have plenty of regular clients. We schedule jobs according to which sitters are free at which times (we even have two associate members — Logan, and a girl named Shannon Kilbourne — to lend a hand when the regular members are booked solid).

  We make sure to arrive on time to our jobs and to come prepared, which may mean bringing our Kid-Kits (special boxes we’ve decorated and filled with toys, games, markers, and stickers) on a rainy day. We keep track of what’s going on with our clients by writing up every job in our club notebook.

  Who came up with all of these brilliant ideas for making the BSC work so well? My best friend, Kristy, that’s who. Which is why she’s president. Still, the club is a success because of all the members. Each of us contributes something different and special. That’s why it was so hard for me to figure out which member should enter the contest.

  If I were going to nominate Kristy for Baby-sitter of the Year, for example, it would be because of the energy and enthusiasm she has for everything she does.

  Kristy is a whirlwind. Her life is busy and chaotic, but she flies through it with ease. She seems to thrive on having too much to do. She’s part of a huge family, she runs the BSC, and she also manages a softball team for little kids.

  Meeting Kristy’s family for the first time would be overwhelming for anyone. (Living in it would be overwhelming for me!) She has two older brothers, Charlie and Sam, plus one younger one named David Michael. Kristy’s dad walked out on the family when David Michael was a baby, leaving Kristy’s mom to cope with raising four kids on her own. But surprise! Kristy’s mom is one tough cookie. She not only managed, she did a great job. And then she won the Excellent Husband sweepstakes when she met and married Watson Brewer, one of the nicest grown-ups I know. He came complete with two kids of his own from his first marriage, Karen and Andrew. They live with Kristy’s family part-time, in Watson’s ultragigantic mansion. (Oh, did I forget to mention that Watson’s a millionaire?) Kristy also has a new younger sister, Emily Michelle. She was a Vietnamese orphan whom Kristy’s mom and Watson adopted soon after they married. And then there’s Nannie, Kristy’s extremely cool grandmother, who came to live with them as well.

  Could the house be any more packed?

  Well, yes, as a matter of fact. I haven’t even begun to list the pets, which include one huge puppy, one feisty kitten, some goldfish, and an ever-changing cast of smaller pets that travel back and forth with Karen and Andrew.

  All I can say is that it’s a good thing Kristy has all that energy. She needs it.

  Not that the rest of us are slouches. Take Claudia. She’s the BSC’s vice-president, mainly because we meet in her room. (We meet there because she’s the only member with her own phone line.) Claudia is hardly a couch potato. She’s a wildly creative person who lives for art. And to Claudia, everything is art — from paintings hanging in museums to the way a person does her hair.

  I could nominate Claudia for Baby-sitter of the Year because she brings her creative spirit to everything she does, including caring for children. Our charges just love her.

  Claudia is Japanese-American, with long, glossy black hair. She lives with her parents (Mr. Kishi is an investment banker, Mrs. Kishi is a librarian) and her older sister, Janine, who is truly brilliant, at least in an academic way. Janine has no artistic talent whatsoever. (Claudia, on the other hand, does not do all that well in school. She’s smart, but she isn’t fulfilled by learning algebra equations and spelling rules.)

  As vice-president, Claudia has no real duties other than taking phone calls for the club during nonmeeting times. But she has designated herself our official Provider of Munchies and makes sure to have plenty of yummy snacks on hand for every meeting.
It’s a job she enjoys because she is a junk food junkie. She hides the stuff in her room, along with her Nancy Drew mysteries, since her parents don’t approve of them either.

  Claudia always makes sure to have some sugar-free snacks on hand for her best friend, Stacey McGill. Stacey is diabetic and has to be extremely careful about what she eats. In case you don’t know, diabetes is a disease that prevents the body from properly processing sugars. In order to stay healthy Stacey has to give herself daily injections of insulin, a hormone her body doesn’t produce. Diabetes is a lifelong problem, but Stacey has learned to live with it. Looking at her, you’d never know what she’s had to go through. She seems extremely healthy, with her bouncy blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

  I’d base Stacey’s nomination for Baby-sitter of the Year on her gift for organization. As the BSC’s treasurer, she keeps track of all the money we earn. She also collects dues each week, which we use to help pay Claudia’s phone bill, for buying markers for our Kid-Kits, and so forth. She always knows how much we’ve saved — to the penny.

  Stacey grew up in New York City. Her dad still lives there, but since her parents divorced, Stacey and her mom have lived in Stoneybrook. Stacey visits her dad as often as possible. She still loves the city, partly because of all the shopping opportunities there. Stacey is into fashion. She has an extremely sophisticated style. You’d never mistake her for someone who grew up in a small town.

  We have another ex-New Yorker in the club: Abby Stevenson. Abby and her twin sister, Anna, grew up on Long Island and only moved to Stoneybrook recently. Their mom works in publishing and commutes into Manhattan on the train. Mr. Stevenson died in a car accident a few years ago, when Abby and Anna were nine.

  Maybe you would expect Abby to be a sad person because of that. And underneath, I think she is very sad. But the face Abby shows to the world is anything but. She has an outrageous sense of humor and loves to keep people laughing. In fact, I’d nominate her for Baby-sitter of the Year just because she’s so much fun. And what kid doesn’t love to laugh?