Mary Anne's Book

  Mary Anne's Book

  Ann M. Martin

  Mary Anne's Book

  Ann M. Martin

  Chapter 1.

  Well, I cry easily. For instance, I cry at movies and over some of the books I read. I cry over personal, real-life situations too, such as my friends' problems. I've also been known to shed a few tears over my own problems. But more about those later.

  None of my friends is as shy or weepy as I am, but they don't mind my moods. I have some great friends. We're all members of the Baby-sitters Club, a sitting business which was started by my very best friend (and club president), Kristy Thomas. Kristy and I had lived next door to each other since we were babies. That changed when we were in the seventh grade. That year Kristy's mother married Watson Brewer, and her family moved into Watson's house, which happened to be a mansion. Then my dad married Dawn's mother, Sharon Schafer. The Schafer house was bigger than ours, so Dad and I moved in with them. Our new home isn't a mansion, but it's special. It's a two-hundred-year-old farm house with low ceilings and doorways, slanted floors, a ghost (according to Dawn), a secret passage (that used to be part of the Underground Railroad), a genuine outhouse (that we don't use), and a great big barn. I love our new old house.

  My other friends in the Baby-sitters Club are Claudia, Stacey, Abby, Jessi, Mal,Shannon , andLogan . Claudia Kishi was one of my first

  friends, and is the BSC vice-president. Claud's only official duty as V.P.~ is to host our meetings every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Her unofficial duty is providing us with the junk food that she keeps hidden in her room. Claudia is a beautiful, tall, Japanese-American. She's a gifted artist and dresses in outrageous clothes. People are always saying, "Wow! What a great outfit!" when they see Claud. Unlike me, she loves the attention. The way Claudia dresses is just one expression of her artistic talent.

  Stacey McGill is also very into fashion. Her wardrobe is more sophisticated than funky, though. Stacey says that her sense of fashion comes from growing up inNew York City . Her parents are divorced and her dad lives inNew York City . So, while Stacey spends most of her time in Stoneybrook and goes to school with us, she also has a bedroom in her dad'sNew York City apartment. Stacey often feels torn between her parents and has had a lot of problems with the divorce. She also has diabetes, which means she has to be very careful about what she eats (absolutely no sweets) and has to give herself insulin shots. As you might guess, this has helped to make Stacey a very responsible person - and a responsible club treasurer. (It also helps that she's a math whiz!)

  Dawn, my stepsister, used to be an officer in the BSC. Now that she's living inCalifornia she's an honorary member of the club. I miss Dawn so much that I'm getting teary just thinking about her. Dawn is a member of a baby-sitting club inCalifornia called the We

  V Kids Club. My sister is athletic (she loves to surf), full of fun, and is seiiously into eating healthy foods. She actually prefers a tofu burger to a hamburger, carrot sticks to french fries, and an apple to an ice-cream cone.

  Abby Stevenson is a new member, and the alternate officer, of the BSC. (She fills in for any club officer who can't attend a meeting.) She's the opposite of me in temperament. Abby is extremely outgoing and is always cracking jokes and fooling around. But Abby and I have one important thing in common:

  we both have lost one of our parents. Abby's father died in a car accident about seven years ago. My mother died when I was a baby. By the way, Abby has a twin sister, Anna, but Anna isn't a member of the BSC.

  Logan Bruno is the only male member of the BSC. Actually, he's an associate member, which means we call on him when we have extra baby-sitting jobs that we can't fill with regular members.Logan is a terrific sitter and a terrific guy. He's kind, intelligent, sweet, sensitive, funny, understanding, good

  looking, and . . . he's my boyfriend. Logan and I have had our ups and downs. For instance, we once had a big misunderstanding about how much time we were going to spend together. He expected me to spend all my free time with him. But that made me feel suffocated and unhappy. I like my independence. Now we each understand what's important to the other person and our relationship is great. Logan Bruno is one of my very best friends.

  Shannon Kilbourne is the other associate member of the club. Since the BSC is only one ofShannon 's many extracurricular activities, we don't see her much. Also, she's the only one in our group who goes to a private school instead ofStoneybrookMiddle School .

  Jessi Ramsey and Mallory Pike, the junior members of the club, are younger than the rest of us. But the only real difference between us and them is that they can't baby-sit at night, unless they are sitting for their own families. Jessi and Mal are responsible, excellent members of the BSC and good friends. Mal is a serious writer and artist who wants to be a children's book author when she grows up. Jessi is an amazing ballet dancer. I'm sure she'll be a professional ballerina someday.

  I finished my cereal and was about to go upstairs to work on my autobiography when

  the doorbell rang. I saw that it was our postman and opened the door.

  "Priority mail for you, Ms~ Spier," he said. I took the envelope, thanked him, and went back inside.

  I saw right away that the return address wasMaynard,Iowa . The package was from my grandmother, Verna Baker. I sat on the stairs and opened it. Inside was a letter and a pink satin baby book.

  The letter started with my grandmother's saying that she was happy I was writing my autobiography and that she hoped I would send her a copy when I finished it. She went on to say that she'd recently located my baby book and thought it might be helpful as I worked on my project. "It's hard for me to believe that eleven years have passed since I completed the baby book that your mother began," she wrote.

  I put the letter aside to finish later. I couldn't wait to see what my mother had written about me when I was a baby and she was still alive. The first entries - all in her neat handwriting

  - were straight facts about how much formula I drank (a lot) and when I slept (most of the time). Then I read, "Mary Anne gave me her first genuine smile today. What a beautiful smile. What a beautiful baby." I burst into

  tears. I wiped my eyes with the back of my sleeve so my tears wouldn't fall on the words my mother had written about me.

  "What's happened, Mary Anne?" asked my dad.

  "My goodness, - what is it?" exclaimedSharon .

  I hadn't heard my dad and stepmother come in through the kitchen. Now they were standing at the foot of the stairs staring at me.Sharon looked terrified. "Are Dawn and Jeff okay?" she asked. "Did you get a call fromCalifornia ?"

  "They're okay," I assured her. "I'm sorry I scared you." I put the letter and the baby book back in the envelope. "I'm okay, too."

  "What were you reading that made you cry?" my dad asked.

  "Just stuff for my autobiography," I replied. "Grandma Baker sent me the baby book she and my mother wrote about me."

  I don't usually mention my mother to my father. I know it makes him sad. And I didn't think it was fair to talk about my mother (my father's first wife) in front of Sharon (his second wife). ButSharon didn't seem to mind. She sat next to me on the stairs and took my hand in hers. "I'm sorry you feel sad," she said softly. That, of course, made me cry even harder.

  "Is your autobiography going to be sad?" my dad asked.

  I thought about that for a second, then I smiled through my tears. "No," I answered, "it isn't going to be sad, because my life isn't sad." I looked from Sharon to Dad. "I'm happy and I'm lucky."

  "I'm glad to hear you say that," Dad said.

  "Because you make me feel happy and lucky." "Me, too," said Sharon. She gave me a soft

  kiss on the cheek.

  My dad cleared his throat in the way he does
when he's getting choked up over something. "Well," he said, "I better put the groceries away before the frozen items melt." Putting stuff away is a job my dad loves. He is just about the neatest person in the world. He even alphabetizes cereal boxes and the bottles on the herb and spice rack. "After I put things away I'm going to make ham and french toast for brunch," he told me. "Will you have some?"

  "I'd love to," I said. "But can I work on my autobiography while you cook?"

  "Sure," he said.

  "I'll put the groceries away, Richard," Sharon offered, - "so you can start cooking."

  My dad and I exchanged a smile. Sharon is as disorganized as my dad is organized. If she put the food away we were apt to find the ice

  cream melted all over the vegetable bin and the lettuce in the freezer.

  I knew Sharon and my dad would figure out who was doing what in the kitchen. And that they'd be happy while they were doing it.

  Meanwhile, I went upstairs to work on my autobiography. I grabbed a fresh box of Kleenex from the bathroom cupboard. Even happy things can make me cry.

  Chapter 2.

  My father told me that I was a quiet and sweet baby. "When we first brought you home I didn't want to leave for work in the mornings," he said. "I just wanted to stay home and look at you."

  "You must have been home a lot when my mother was sick," I said.

  "Yes," he said, "I was home a great deal then. So it was the three of us, together. Alma, your mother, wanted you near her all the time. Your crib was next tO her bed. You were a comfort and a joy to her."

  It makes me happy to know that I helped my mother, even if I can't remember. My grandmother Baker - my mother's mother -talks about what a comfort I was to her and to my grandfather, too. After my mother died, l)ad was terribly upset and concerned about whether he could take care of an infant on his own. When my mother's parents offered to take care of me, my dad thought that would be best. So he let me go to Iowa to live with my grandparents. They raised me until I was eighteen months old. I don't remember being with my grandparents, but Grandmother Baker has told me about that part of my life. She also continued the baby book my mother began. It's filled with details (most of them pretty boring) about my early life.

  When I visited my grandmother recently, I asked her what I was like as a baby. "When you first came to us," she told me, "you were clingy. You didn't want us out of your sight, even for a minute." She smiled. "But of course we didn't want to lose sight of you for a minute either, so it worked out fine. Your grandfather would hold you against his shoulder and go off to the fields to look at the corn. And when I went to town, I'd push you around in the stroller while I did my errands. Everyone admired you."

  "Didn't it bother you when I cried and stuff?" I asked. I was remembering some fussy infants I'd baby-sat for.

  "No," she said. "First of all, you were a very easy baby. And second, we were so glad to have you. For us it was a way of keeping Alma alive."

  My earliest memory is of being with my dad. So it must have been when I was living with him again. I remember being in the house on Bradford Court. I was playing on the living room rug with a pile of plastic cones that fit into one another. Someone must have been baby-sitting for me, but I don't remember who. I do remember hearing a car pull into the driveway, which I recognized as the sound I always heard before my father came through the kitchen door. I put down the cones and stood up. When my father entered I was already running toward him. He reached out and lifted me into his arms. It must have been winter, because I remember the cold on his coat and face. I don't remember what we said. I don't even know if I could talk yet. I just remember how glad I was to be with him, and the feel of his cold cheek against my warm one.

  From the time I was three or so I have a lot of memories. I remember my father braiding my hair every morning, and sitting at the table to eat breakfast cereal together. My dad liked to play number and letter games with me. On Saturday mornings we would sit side by side on the couch and· watchSesame Street reruns. We'd sing the alphabet and numbers songs along with the characters and their guests. My dad thought Letter Man was hysterical. Big Bird was my favorite.

  I also enjoyed playing with my Legos while my father worked at his desk in the living room. My dad's a lawyer, so he often brings paperwork home. He says he brought work home on weekends so he wouldn't have to go into the office. He wanted to take care of me as much as he could.

  For as long as I can remember we ate out on Sunday evenings. I recently asked him why

  he bothered bringing a wiggly three-year-old to a restaurant. He said he wanted me to learn early how to behave properly in public. We always went to the same restaurant, sat at the same table, and ordered the same meals. He'd have roast beef with a baked potato. I'd have a hamburger without the roll and mashed potatoes. For dessert he'd have apple pie and I'd have a scoop of chocolate ice cream.

  I remember being sad when the weekend ended and my father had to go back to work. I never liked being with the baby-sitters as much as with my dad.

  One morning my dad announced, "No baby-sitter this morning. Today you are going to nursery school and I want to take you myself for your first day." He braided my hair especially tightly.

  "Ouch," I protested.

  "Sorry," he said. "But we want you to look extra nice for nursery school." He reminded me that a few- weeks earlier we had visited the school. I vaguely remembered a place where a lot of other kids were playing and having a good time. "Claudia and Kristy are going to nursery school, too," he said.

  The first activity on my first day of nursery school was storytime. My dad read to me every night and I liked hearing stories. So far,

  nursery school was fine. Especially since my dad was sitting on a little chair at the side of the room, watching me.

  While we were still in the story circle we sang, "If You're Happy and You Know It." I'd never heard that song before, but I learned it pretty quickly. And my dad was still in that little chair smiling at me.

  Next we broke into groups and played in different parts of the room. The teacher told me to go to the dress-up corner with two girls I didn't know. I didn't want to dress up, but I helped the others pick out what to wear, which was fun enough· for me. I was arranging a big red feather boa around a girl's shoulders when my dad appeared beside me. He kissed me on the top of the head and said he'd see me later. Then he was gone.

  Uh-oh. I wasn't so happy about being in nursery school anymore. I was terrified I'd never see my dad again. What if my father forgot he had left me there? Tears came to my eyes. What if he remembered but forgot the way to the nursery school? Just then I felt a little punch on my arm. "Hi," another kid said. It was Kristy.

  She grabbed my hand. "Come on, Mary Anne," she commanded. She pulled me over to the block corner where Claudia was building a high tower. "Nursery school is fun," Claudia said. "Want to help me build a beautiful building?" I nodded. In a few minutes I was so busy handing Claudia blocks that I forgot about crying.

  I stuck by Kristy and Claudia during snack-time. When the teacher announced rest period, Kristy unrolled my mat between hers and Claudia's. "These are our permanent rest places," she told me. I didn't know what permanent meant, but I did know that Kristy would look out for me in nursery school. And that being in nursery school with Kristy and Claudia was going to be a lot better than being at home alone with a baby-sitter.

  Now that we were in nursery school together, Kristy, Claudia, and I began playing

  together more outside of school, too. Since Kristy lived next door to me and Claudia lived across the Street, it was easy for my sitters to arrange play dates. They were probably thrilled when I went to other kids' houses. That meant they had time off.

  My favorite place for us to play was at Claudia's. I thought that, next to my father, Claudia's grandmother, Mimi, was the most wonderful person in the world. "And how are you today, our Mary Anne?" she would ask.

  I remember once when I was playing in

  Cla
udia's yard, I fell down and scraped my knee. It was a little scrape that didn't even hurt. But I still let Mimi gather me in her arms and sit me on her lap. "Well, Mary Anne, let's take a look at it." I enjoyed every second of her fussing over me. She brought me inside and cleaned my knee with antiseptic. Then she

  suggested I rest with her for a few minutes on the back porch. I sat next to Mimi in the rocking chair and we watched Claudia and Kristy kicking a ball around the yard.

  After awhile she asked, "Do you want to play again?" I shook my head no, snuggled even closer, and took a deep breath of the flowery smell that was special to Mimi.

  When Mimi died not long ago, Claudia gave me one of her grandmother's silk scarves. It still has that wonderful Mimi smell.

  Going to kindergarten with Claudia and Kristy was as-much fun as nursery school. We were always together. We stayed together in first grade, too. But first grade was not as much fun for me as nursery school and kindergarten. That's because our teacher was Mrs. Frederickson.

  Mrs. Frederickson's volume control knob seemed to be permanently stuck on extra loud. She was one of those teachers who never spoke softly, but yelled all day long. Being in

  Mrs. Frederickson's class was my first expe-. rience with an adult who yelled. I didn't like

  it.

  Mimi picked us up after our first day of first grade. I made sure to hold one of Mimi's hands as we walked home. Claudia held onto the other one. Kristy didn't seem to mind that there wasn't- a Mimi hand for her to hold. Her hands were occupied with tossing a rubber ball in the air and catching it.

  "And how was first grade?" Mimi asked us as we walked along.

  "I don't like it," said Claudia. "The teacher's mean."

  "I'm going to wear earmuffs to school," Kristy announced. "She yells."

  "What about you, Mary Anne?" asked Mimi. "What do you think of first grade?"

  "It's okay," I told Mimi.

  She gave my hand a gentle squeeze of approval.

  "Maybe your teacher was a little bit nervous on the first day," she suggested.