Baby-Sitters Club 090 Read online

  So there's your first set of best friends.

  Set #2: Another study in opposites in, oh, so many ways.

  Claudia Kishi and Stacey McGill. Two knockout babes. This is what the guys in my school on Long Island would call them. They would be right. Not only are Claudia and Stacey easy on the eye, but they know what to wear and how to wear it. Fashion sense to the max. But each in her own way.

  Claudia is the vice-president of the BSC because she is one of the founding members, with Mary Anne and Kristy, and because she has her own phone line in her room. That means BSC business doesn't tie up a telephone line another family member might want to use. Her room is also BSC headquarters.

  Claudia has long black hair, creamy perfect skin, brown eyes, and a passion for art, junk food, and Nancy Drew books. She brings her artistic talents to her style of dress - she even makes a lot of her own jewelry - and looks great in combinations of colors and styles that no one else would be caught dead in.

  She loves junk food and at every BSC meeting produces excellent sugary and salty treats from hiding places all around her room, including a hollowed-out book. Today, for example, we were eating Dove chocolates, barbecue potato chips, and pretzels.

  Claudia also loves to read Nancy Drew books, which is a mystery to her parents. (That's a joke - see?) Her mother is a librarian and Claudia's older sister is a real, live genius, so I guess her parents think Claudia should read books such as War and Peace for fun. But apart from Nancy Drew, Claudia doesn't like books, or anything to do with school. She has trouble with every subject, basically, except art.

  Claudia's an art genius, not an academic one. No doubt her parents will catch on sooner or later.

  Now stop me if these two friends don't sound totally different.

  Stacey, Claudia's BF (best friend), is the treasurer of the BSC because she is a math whiz (as well as a good student in general.) She's from New York and most of the time looks as if she were a model who stepped off a fashion designer's runway. She has shoulder length blonde hair, blue eyes with dark lashes, pierced ears, and a way about her. She's from New York City originally, and probably the other members of the BSC think she is the most sophisticated of them. True, she is, at least in the way she dresses and views the world. But from what I've scoped out, she makes some pretty unsophisticated choices. For instance, recently she almost quit the BSC altogether, because she was hanging out with a way cool crowd. The kind of crowd that's too cool to be real friends, which of course you only find out when you need a real friend.

  Fortunately, Stacey came to her senses and now she's back with the BSC.

  Stacey was eating the pretzels. She was the only one eating the pretzels. Because she's a diabetic and her body can't handle sugar, she has to be very, very careful about what she eats and when. She even has to give herself injections of insulin every day. If she doesn't do all that, she could become very, very sick, and even go into a coma.

  She doesn't seem to miss junk food. She can watch her best friend consume amazing quantities of it with amazing calm.

  Now to the junior officers: Mal and Jessi, who are both in sixth grade at SMS. As junior officers, they can't baby-sit at night, except in their own homes, so they take a lot of afternoon jobs. Shared interests: books, especially mysteries and books about horses; also horses, and, of course, kids. (The #1 requirement for being in the BSC!) Differences: Mal comes from a large family. She has seven siblings, including brothers who are triplets. She has curly red hair and blue eyes, and freckles across her nose. She wears braces and glasses and wants to be a children's book writer and illustrator when she grows up. She's already won a writing contest and she's secretary of her class at SMS.

  Jessi has black hair, which she often wears pulled back in a bun. She has dark brown eyes and medium brown skin and she walks with the grace of a ballerina.

  In case you haven't figured it out, Jessi is a ballet dancer. She takes special classes two afternoons a week, gets up every morning at 5:29 to practice at the barre in the basement of her family's house, and has had big roles in at least two ballets (The Nutcracker was one).

  Jessi's family may be a bit larger than average: She has a younger sister and a baby brother, plus an aunt who lives with them. But it is definitely not as large as Mal's.

  Have I left anyone out? Oh. Shannon. Shannon does not fit into the best friend theme. She is an associate member, like Logan, and isn't particularly tight with any one BSC member. Shannon is a neighbor of Kristy's and mine. She attends a private school, Stoney-brook Day School (where they have to wear uniforms). She has thick, curly blonde hair, pale skin, blue eyes, and high cheekbones. She has two younger sisters and a pedigreed Bernese mountain dog, Astrid, who is the mother of Kristy's family's puppy. Shannon and Kristy didn't get along very well when they first met, but they sorted it out. Then Shannon gave Kristy one of Astrid's puppies after Kristy's old collie, Louie, died, and David Michael named it Shannon in honor of Shannon.

  I wonder if I would feel flattered if someone named a dog after me. Hmm. It would depend on the dog, I guess. Anyway, Shannon is really into school and is a member of all sorts of clubs, such as the astronomy club and the French club, which is why she's an associate member. Shannon can't come to every meeting of the BSC or take as many jobs.

  And I can't leave out Dawn, although she's in California now and part of a new babysitting organization called the We V Kids Club. I've never met Dawn, but from what I've been told, she's very cool. She's supposed to be very easygoing except when it comes to causes about which she is passionate, such as the environment (my dad would have liked her for sure). I look forward to meeting Dawn.

  But back to the meeting.

  Kristy sat in the director's chair she sits in every meeting. She looked at her watch. She looked at Claud's clock. She cleared her throat. "This meeting of the Baby-sitters Club will come to order/' she announced.

  Claudia pushed the BSC notebook toward Stacey. "Here. Your turn," she said. The notebook (another one of Kristy's great ideas) is sort of like a diary. In it, we write up a description of every job we take and also read each other's entries to keep up with what's going on with the many families we sit for. Very helpful, although I think I am in the majority when I say it is more fun to read the notebook than to write in it.

  Stacey took the notebook and snagged a pen off Claudia's desk. She flipped open the notebook to a blank page and bent over it, her hair brushing her cheeks.

  The phone rang almost immediately. Mal answered, took down some information, then said, "We'll call you back, Mrs. Papadakis." She turned to us. "For the day after tomorrow," she said. "Hannie, Linny, and Sari Papadakis from three-thirty until five." "Can't. Test" said Stacey.

  "Me, neither," Kristy said. She made a face. "Killer homework." Mary Anne opened the record book, where she keeps the list of all our appointments, along with clients' names, addresses, phone numbers, and special info about the kids, such as who has allergies. (If I had a page in the record book for my allergies, it would be full.) She ran her finger down the pages. "Mal, you and Jessi are ..." "Sitting for my family." Mal grinned. "I know." The Pikes always hire two baby-sitters because there are so many kids.

  Mary Anne studied the book and announced, "The only person free at this late date is you, Abby." "Sign me up," I said. "I like the commute." The Papadakises live across the street from Kristy and me.

  Mary Anne looked a little confused, but she signed me up anyway.

  Pushing her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose, Mal asked, "Have you heard that the art and music programs at all the Stoney-brook public schools might be cut back?" This was not the sort of question that inspired me to leap in with both feet. Neither, apparently, did it immediately inspire Kristy, who merely leaned forward, looking interested.

  Claudia, however, practically levitated. She dropped the Dove chocolate she was unwrapping and cried, "No way! You're kidding! How could they possibly cut the money for art? Art is important! Art is ... we don't ha
ve enough money for art supplies as it is. I can't believe it!" Jessi added, "Not to mention that dance isn't even included at all in the arts piogram. It's just as important - as the baseball team. Or the soccer.team." I didn't know if I agreed with Jessi. But there was no doubt in my mind that she worked as hard as any athlete I knew. Hmmm. I'd have to think about that.

  Then I thought of Anna. Anna was totally involved in the music program at school. She was not going to be happy about the cutbacks, to say the least.

  Suddenly the issue became very much more important to me. "So what's the gory story?" I asked.

  "It's not exactly gory," Mal said, then grinned. "Oh. Well, the story is, the Ston-eybrook public schools are organizing a weekend carnival at the end of the month to raise money for the arts program. Anyone who wants can have a booth, and all the money earned will be donated to the Arts Fund. My family's going to run a booth. We're collecting crafts from people, you know, asking them to donate handmade items, and we're going to sell them at the booth." The word carnival sent the interest level soaring. "A carnival!" exclaimed Kristy. You could see her brain working furiously on Great New Ideas.

  "Crafts," Claudia said thoughtfully, pulling on one of her handmade, papier-mache earrings.

  "I like it," I said. This was the sort of thing my family needed, I decided. It would pull Anna and Mom and me into the community. It would make new friends for all of us.

  "We could ask all our families to have booths," said Jessi.

  With a smile, Mary Anne held up the record book. "Not only that," she added, "but we have a list of people who have children - the perfect people for getting involved in a fund-raising carnival to support the school arts program." "We are there!" I exclaimed. "Write me down. I can see it now: a big banner, maybe some lights: Don't be Heartless . . . and leave us Art-less!" It took a minute, but everybody suddenly broke up.

  Fabulous club. Fabulous audience.

  Fabulous.

  Chapter 3.

  "Achoo!" I sneezed.

  "Do you have a cold?" asked Nannie. "My dad makes us special tea for a cold. It has honey and lemon in it." "Or maybe you need a shot/' Linny suggested.

  Two days after that BSC meeting I was babysitting for Hannie, Linny, and Sari Papadakis. Linny is nine, Hannie is seven, and Sari is two.

  "Forget it, Linny," I said. "No shots. It's just allergies. Animals make me sneeze and you gotta admit, you've got an animal or two around here." I was referring to Pat the Cat, Noodle the Poodle, and Myrtle the Turtle.

  "Dogs and cats and turtles make you sneeze?" asked Hannie.

  "Well, maybe not turtles," I conceded. "And poodles don't make me sneeze as much as other dogs because they don't shed as much." I looked around. Inside, it was nice. But outside there was more space with fewer animals.

  "What do you say we put Noodle in the backyard for a little while and shoot some hoops in the driveway?" I suggested.

  "All rightl I'll get my basketball!" Linny disappeared in the direction of his room.

  "I have to put on my sneakers," said Han-nie, sticking out one loafer-clad foot.

  "You go do that and I'll put something extra on Sari to make sure she stays good and warm," I said, scooping up Sari. Like her cat, Pat, Sari clung to what she'd been sitting on, in this case the throw rug in the den.

  I disentangled Sari and took her upstairs to put on her red jacket and matching red cap. Then I took out one of the baby-sitters' secret weapons: the . Bad-Kit. Another of Kristy's great ideas. Kid-Kits are medium-sized boxes filled with all kinds of things, from stickers to old books and games. Even though the kits contain mostly used stuff, they're a big hit when we take them along on jobs. That's because the toys and games inside are new to the kids we take care of.

  We don't take them to every job, but so far, I hadn't left it home once, in case of an emergency situation. My Kid-Kit was a shoebox that my newest pair of soccer cleats had come in. I hadn't decorated it yet - the company's picture of the cleats on the side of the box looked good enough to me - but I had been filling it up.

  "Mmm. Let's see, let's see," I murmured. "Let's find a toy for you to play with outside. Aha!" Sari pointed. "Cat!" she cried.

  "Cat," I agreed.

  It was an old wooden puzzle in a box, six big pieces in different shapes that fit into a bigger square of wood. When the pieces were all in place, a white cat with black and orange spots and green eyes was looking out at you.

  I grabbed one of Sari's blankets and we went downstairs and out to the basketball hoop above the driveway on the side of the house. I settled Sari on the blanket on the grass in the corner of the fence with the puzzle. (I had hauled my Nikes out of my backpack in the house and put them on. I'd sort of dressed up for school that day, but I never leave home without my Nikes.) I started shooting baskets with Linny and Hannie.

  It was a great day. Sun. Blue sky. A nice cool breeze, but not cold. Autumn leaves blowing down and curling along the ground.

  Noodle settled down on the other side of. the fence from Sari and watched her and us.

  It was fun. Linny's a good athlete and Han- nie will be, too, if she keeps practicing.

  I could have played all afternoon. Except for one thing.

  My allergies weren't getting any better. I realized that the mold on the fallen leaves was probably getting to me.

  No big deal, I told myself. Don't panic. Take it easy. It'll settle down if you give it time.

  But the familiar, hateful tightness in my chest didn't go away. It became worse.

  I jumped to take a shot and came down with a wheeze that made the old school bus sound good. I doubled over and put my hands on my knees.

  It helped. Time to get out the secret weapon, I thought. I meant my inhaler. I was pretty sure the inhaler would make everything okay. Especially if I just took it easy.

  "Abby?" Linny stood next to me, holding the basketball. "You okay?'; "Um," I managed to say. "Need my inhaler." I was about to ask Linny to get it for me. Unfortunately, I didn't have the chance. Maybe my face looked funny when I straightened up. I don't know. All I know is that Hannie suddenly shrieked, "Don't worry, Abby! I'll get help!" She took off.

  "Hannie!" I shouted. "Hannie, waitl" But Hannie didn't slow down. She ran straight into the street. Straight in front of a car.

  I started running faster than I had ever run in my life knowing that no matter how fast I ran, I could never run fast enough. I couldn't get there in time. I couldn't save Hannie.

  Then I heard the brakes squeal, and a horn blare.

  And I saw Hannie dart safely into Kristy's front yard, without even slowing down.

  The driver kept going, too. I had a blurred impression of someone shaking his head as he drove by.

  "Oh," I gasped. "Hannie. She ..." I felt Linnie's hand on my shoulder.

  "She's okay, Abby . . . Abby?" It was too late now. My heart was pounding. My head was spinning. I was gasping and coughing and fighting to breathe.

  "Sari?" I managed to ask.

  "She's on her blanket," Linny said. His voice sounded scared. "Abby?" "Inhaler. In my backpack. In the house." "You want me to get it for you?" I nodded, gulping and struggling for air. "H-hurry!" Linny ran inside the house.

  I tried to walk toward Sari. I couldn't. I could only keep an eye on her from where I stood, bent forward, trying not to be afraid.

  "Abby?" said another voice.. It was Kristy. "What's going on here?" I tried to straighten up, but I couldn't.

  "She's allergic!" Hannie said, almost tearfully, "Kristy? Can you fix it?" "Asthma attack," I wheezed. "Paramedics . . ." Linny's voice said, "Is this it?" "Yes," I gasped gratefully and grabbed the inhaler. I held it to my lips and took as deep a breath as I could manage. It helped. But not enough.

  "Call for help," I told Kristy.

  "Hannie, come with me. Linny, stay here with Abby and watch Sari," Kristy ordered. Kristy grabbed Hannie's hand and flew into the house.

  I took another breath from the inhaler. No good.


  Kristy told me later that the ambulance arrived in no time. But it seemed like forever before I saw the flashing red lights out of the corner of my eye. Then the paramedics were putting me on a stretcher as Kristy said, "Asthma." "Has this happened before?" one of them asked.

  I nodded and immediately he said, "This should help." He slipped a mask over my face and I took a deep breath. It did help, some. I stopped feeling so panicked. See, I told myself, I was right. No problem.

  I left with lights flashing and sirens wailing.

  Kristy stayed behind to call my mom and to take care of the Papadakises.

  I thought, thank goodness Hannie wasn't hurt. I realized that my panic when she ran into the street was what had kicked a manageable allergy attack into a full-scale asthma attack.

  I had seen Kristy's face as she turned away to take Sari and Hannie and Linny into the house. She looked worried. And shocked. The mask the paramedic put over my face to help me breathe looks scary, but it's no big deal. No way to tell Kristy that now, though.

  Then I thought, there's something else in that look she gave me. But what? As the ambulance pulled away, I realized what the expression on Kristy's face meant.

  Kristy was looking at me and seeing a sick person. An invalid. Someone who got sick on the job and wasn't able to finish it.

  And Kristy was wondering if she'd made a mistake, asking me to join the BSC. After all, what good was a baby-sitter who got so sick so suddenly that she couldn't even take care of the kids who were her responsibility?

  I took a deep breath.

  "That's it," said a paramedic encouragingly. "Everything's under control now. Don't worry." So I closed my eyes. And I worried.

  Chapter 4.

  I know my way around an emergency room, okay? So although I was scared by the asthma attack, a part of me kept saying, "Been here, done this, no prob." I'd had a couple of asthma attacks before, and a trip to the emergency room had fixed them. In fact, halfway through the ambulance ride I was already feeling better.