Kristy and the Worst Kid Ever Read online

  Stacey is Claud’s best friend and the other Fashionable Dresser in the club. Part of that is her New York sense of style. Today she had pulled her blonde permed hair back into a complicated braid threaded with green ribbon. The ribbon matched her shoes. She was wearing silver capri pants, an oversized shirt with a green belt, a green checked short skirt, and gold leaf-shaped earrings.

  Stacey always looks pulled together, partly because of her New York roots. But partly (I think) because she is diabetic which means she really has to be responsible about taking care of herself. Diabetes is a disease in which your pancreas doesn’t make enough insulin, which means your blood sugar is out of control and could make you faint, or even get really sick. So Stacey has to be in charge of herself. She has to watch what she eats and even give herself an injection of insulin every day. That’s why she chose pretzels from Claud’s junk food collection, and also why she’d brought an apple along.

  Anastasia Elizabeth McGill (that’s her real name, but you’d better call her Stacey!) is an only child. Her parents were very overprotective of her after the diabetes was discovered, even when she’d found a doctor she liked, and had proved that she could handle her illness. It took Stacey awhile to convince her parents to quit treating her like she might break.

  Mary Anne Spier, the secretary of the BSC, is my best friend and although we look alike, with our brown hair and brown eyes, and we’re both short (okay, okay, I’m the shortest person in my class), we have totally different personalities. I tend to speak my mind. (Some people would say I have a big mouth. I hate to admit it, but I do say things without thinking sometimes.) Mary Anne, on the other hand, is quiet and shy and sensitive. That doesn’t mean you can bully her, though! Although Mary Anne is always willing to see the best in people, she’s very perceptive and honest.

  She’s also kind of romantic. She’s the first one of us to have a steady boyfriend, Logan Bruno. He’s a Southerner, and Mary Anne thinks he looks just like her favorite movie star, Cam Geary. Logan is cute, but I think Bart Taylor, who coaches the Krushers’ rivals, the Bashers, is even cuter. I sort of like Bart, as you might guess.

  Mary Anne’s mother died when she was very young, and Mr. Spier raised her very strictly. Like Stacey, Mary Anne had a hard time convincing her father that she was growing up, and could be trusted to be more responsible. He’s still a strict father, but he doesn’t make her wear little-kid clothes anymore. Plus, he allowed her to get a kitten named Tigger, and he gave Mary Anne more freedom.

  Anyway, before my family moved into Watson’s mansion, we lived next door to Mary Anne and her father. That was one of the reasons I didn’t want to move to Watson’s mansion. I hated the idea of not having Mary Anne next door. But we wouldn’t have been next-door neighbors all that much longer anyway, because Mary Anne’s father got married! And he married Dawn’s mother, Mrs. Schafer. They’d both grown up in Stoneybrook, and had known each other in high school, when Mrs. Schafer was Sharon Porter. Then Sharon Porter had moved to California and met Dawn’s dad and become Mrs. Schafer, and they had Dawn, and Dawn’s brother Jeff. But they got divorced and Mrs. Schafer returned to Stoneybrook with Dawn and Jeff. Jeff eventually decided to go back to California to live with his father, but Dawn stayed here.

  So Mary Anne, who had been an only child suddenly had a whole new family. And she and her father moved in with the Schafers, so Dawn is not only Mary Anne’s other best friend, but also her stepsister.

  I have to admit, I didn’t like Mary Anne’s having two best friends at first. But Dawn is as nice a person inside as she is outside. What I mean is, Dawn is very striking looking, as beautiful in her own way as Claudia is. And she’s a good person inside, too. So I learned to like Dawn, and to stop thinking I had to compete with her for Mary Anne’s friendship.

  Dawn has very long pale blonde hair, incredible blue eyes, and is tall and thin. She appears to be easy going, but she has definite boundaries. She doesn’t eat red meat. She doesn’t eat junk food. She has two holes pierced in each earlobe. And she loves ghost stories. Guess who lives in a haunted house? Dawn does! The old farmhouse where the newly combined Spier-Schafer family now lives has a secret passageway that leads from Dawn’s room to the barn.

  Although they are not blood sisters, Dawn is a little like Mary Anne in that they’re both sensitive. But where Mary Anne is shy, Dawn just says what she thinks. It was hard for Dawn to leave California and move to cold, snowy Stoneybrook and hard, too, to choose between living in California with her father and Jeff, and Stoneybrook with her mother. But she worked it out, and I think she’s pretty happy now.

  Jessi and Mallory are junior BSC officers because they are the younger club members. Most of us are in eighth grade, but Jessi and Mallory are in sixth. In fact, we used to baby-sit for Mal, before she joined the BSC. She’s a natural baby-sitter, which maybe is not surprising, since the Pike family is a large one: Mal has four younger brothers, three of them identical triplets, and three younger sisters. She has pale skin, reddish-brown hair, and she wears glasses and braces. She likes to write and draw and would like to be a children’s book writer and illustrator when she grows up. Right now, she is secretary of the sixth grade class, in addition to being a junior officer in the BSC.

  Mal and Jessi are not only junior members of the BSC, they’re best friends, too. They have a lot in common, since they are both the oldest in their families, they both love horses and horse stories (especially the ones written by Marguerite Henry), and they both have pet hamsters.

  But Jessi’s not into writing or drawing. She wants to be a professional ballerina someday. She goes to a special dance school in Stamford, where she studies ballet several days after school, and she’s already danced on stage in performances before real audiences.

  Jessi’s family is also new in Stoneybrook. Some of their neighbors gave them a hard time when they first moved here, because they are black. But once everyone got to know the Ramseys things settled down. Jessi has big brown eyes and black hair (and no glasses or braces)!

  So you can see we’re all pretty different. Which is why I think we have such a good baby-sitting club.

  Right after I called the meeting to order (and finished my Mallomar), the phone rang. I picked it up. “Hello. You have reached the Baby-sitters Club,” I said. The caller was Mrs. Arnold, who has eight-year-old identical twin girls. Mrs. Arnold told me when she needed a sitter, I took down the information, told Mrs. Arnold I’d call her back, and hung up the phone.

  “Mrs. Arnold needs a baby-sitter for Marilyn and Carolyn Thursday afternoon from three-thirty until five-thirty.”

  Mary Anne flipped the pages of the BSC record book. “Mal or Stacey,” she announced. “You’re both free that day.”

  “You do it, Mal,” said Stacey. “I’m already scheduled for the Papadakises on Tuesday, and the Newtons on Friday night.”

  “Great,” said Mallory. Mallory and Jessi can’t baby-sit at night, so we try to give them afternoons whenever possible.

  I called Mrs. Arnold back and told her Mallory would be there Thursday afternoon. Hanging up, I remembered what the Papadakises had told us on Saturday.

  “We may have a new kid to baby-sit for at the Papadakises soon,” I told everyone.

  “Is Mrs. Papadakis going to have a baby?” asked Mary Anne excitedly. Babies are lots of fun to sit for. We have even taken special classes in infant care.

  I shook my head. “No. They’re going to be a foster family.”

  “Wow,” said Dawn. “That’s a really cool thing to do.”

  “When?” asked Claudia.

  “I don’t know. They don’t have a foster child yet, but they will soon.”

  “For how long?” asked Claudia.

  “I don’t know,” I repeated.

  Stacey said, “I saw a special program on television a little while ago about foster families. The kids who are placed in foster homes are usually only put there on a temporary basis.”

  “Then what happens to them
?” asked Jessi.

  “They go back to their original families once the problems have been solved. Or if the kids can’t go back to their families, they try to find relatives who can take them.”

  “What if there are no relatives?” asked Mary Anne.

  “The kids are put up for adoption.”

  “What if no one adopts them?” Mary Anne looked worried. “What then?”

  “I don’t know,” Stacey said. “Lots of them stay foster kids until they grow up. Some of them just keep getting moved around from home to home.”

  “How awful,” said Mary Anne indignantly.

  “You know, Mary Anne,” said Stacey. “According to that show, some of the foster kids were pretty tough to handle.”

  “It’s still not right,” said Mary Anne.

  “No,” I said. “Anyway, the Papadakises will take good care of any foster child for as long as needed.”

  “No matter what,” agreed Claudia.

  Just then the phone rang and by the time I’d finished lining up the next job we were talking about something else. But very soon I would remember what we had said — and wonder if we’d been wrong.

  I settled down at our table in the lunchroom next to Mary Anne and examined the special of the day. I gave the alleged chicken cutlet a poke with my fork.

  “Artistically speaking,” said Claudia, “today’s lunch is an interesting color composition.”

  “Interesting,” I mused. “That’s a good word for potatoes that are gray.”

  “The arrangement is a sort of study in winter tones,” Claudia went on. “For example, not only do you have the gray potatoes, but the brown chicken, the dark, winter-green spinach …”

  “Spinach is good for you,” Dawn murmured. “It makes you strong.”

  “Strong like Popeye,” said Logan, sliding in beside Mary Anne. He doesn’t always eat with us, but sometimes he does. Now he flexed one arm, pretending he was Popeye.

  Mary Anne blushed.

  Claud was on a roll. “Like, if you shellacked this lunch tray, you could hang it on a wall. What would I call it?” She tilted her head, making her long ponytail sweep over one shoulder.

  “If you called it, I bet it would come,” said Logan.

  “Nah, it’s already rolled over and played dead,” said Stacey.

  “Well, I don’t call it lunch,” I said. “But I’m hungry.”

  “Claud, if you do turn it into art, maybe we could donate it to the school auction and sell it to the highest bidder,” suggested Logan. We all cracked up (although I swear Claud had a faraway, “artistic” look in her eyes).

  Logan was talking about the auction our homeroom teachers had announced this morning. It was to raise money for new computers.

  I have to admit, I hadn’t exactly been listening. Actually, I’d been studying in case we had a pop quiz in math (we didn’t). I’m a very organized person. I have to be, because I have a lot to do. (There was a time when I had too much to do, when I ran for class president, but I finally figured out that not even I can do everything. So I resigned and Pete Black, who was the best candidate running — besides me, I mean — won, so it worked out okay.)

  Anyway, even the most organized person needs to do a little extra studying sometimes. That’s why I had taken my math book to homeroom that morning. And that’s why I was staring down at my math book when I heard my homeroom teacher say, “… new computers for the lab.”

  New computers? That had gotten my attention. The computers in our lab now were ancient and slow and frustrating. Sometimes I wondered if the old electric typewriters people used to use weren’t faster and more efficient.

  “So the student council has decided to organize an auction to raise money for the new computers. It will be student-planned and student-run. The students will be responsible for the items donated. This is a chance for everyone to pitch in for Stoneybrook Middle School and to show some real creativity and initiative.”

  I had closed the math book (but I did keep my finger in it to mark my place) and listened while our homeroom teacher explained when the student council would hold the auction, and when and how the donations would be accepted.

  This was a great idea, almost as good as starting the BSC. The idea of new computers made my fingers itch — and my brain, too. But what would I donate to the auction? The BSC members would have some good ideas, I’d decided.

  “What are you going to donate to the auction, Claudia?” I asked now, remembering my thoughts in homeroom.

  Claudia looked up from her lunch tray, which she was still studying thoughtfully, and shrugged. “I don’t know. Will the computers correct your spelling for you?”

  We all had to laugh. Claudia’s a terrific artist, but school in general is not her best subject. And spelling is at the top of her list of subjects she would like never to have to think about again.

  “Some do,” said Mary Anne. “Maybe you could donate a piece of your artwork, Claudia.”

  “Maybe,” said Claudia vaguely.

  Dawn finished her yogurt and unwrapped a sandwich. She folded back the wax paper in which the sandwich had been wrapped (wax paper is more environmentally safe than plastic, Dawn had told us) and picked up the sandwich.

  “Sprouts and tofu?” I guessed.

  “Not today,” said Dawn calmly.

  “You know what sprouts look like?” I asked.

  “No,” said Dawn. She began to eat her sandwich.

  “Hairs,” I said. “Little curly green hairs. And they get caught in your teeth, too.”

  “A hair sandwich,” said Logan. “Interesting.”

  “Euwww,” said Mary Anne.

  “Well this is all-natural peanut butter,” said Dawn. “With honey and bananas.”

  I looked down at my plate. Actually, Dawn’s sandwich was sounding pretty good. I gave the chicken cutlet another tentative poke.

  Mary Anne said, “We can donate anything to the auction. Like antiques or flea market stuff, or even prizes like dinner for two or a makeover.”

  Dawn, who is in Mary Anne’s homeroom, nodded. And Stacey added, “Or like those celebrity auctions in New York. You know, where you bid for dinner with a famous person, or for some really well-known stylist to cut your hair.”

  “Dinner with a celebrity,” said Mary Anne dreamily, “like Cam Geary.” (As I’ve mentioned before, Cam Geary is absolutely Mary Anne’s most favorite star.)

  Dawn said, “Or a membership in Greenpeace. Or volunteer work. You could donate that.”

  Mary Anne lost her “I-dream-of-Cam-Geary” look and said, “That’s a great idea, Dawn!”

  I was beginning to get an idea of my own, but then Claudia looked toward the table where Cokie Mason and her sidekick Grace Blume were sitting. “I wonder what they’ll donate to the auction.”

  Stacey rolled her eyes and Dawn wrinkled her nose and I made a face (forgetting what I’d been thinking about). Only Logan and Mary Anne didn’t react, Logan because he was concentrating on dessert, and Mary Anne because she’s Mary Anne. Cokie Mason is world-class nasty sometimes, and Mary Anne (and I) have gotten caught by a few of her tricks, but Mary Anne is so soft-hearted that she tries to understand why Cokie is the way she is. Although not even Mary Anne has quite forgiven Cokie for some of the things she’s done.

  “Maybe Cokie’ll bid for a makeover,” suggested Dawn.

  “It better be a good one,” said Stacey.

  “Let’s brainstorm today at the BSC meeting,” added Mary Anne quickly.

  I started brainstorming even before the meeting, while I was baby-sitting for David Michael and Emily Michelle. What I was doing, actually, was trying to remember the almost-idea I’d had before Cokie and Grace had distracted me. But I couldn’t recall what I’d been thinking about, so I took Emily outside to inspect the Three Musketeers’ playhouse.

  The playhouse had a piece of plywood for a floor now, with two flowerpots and one box upended on it for stools and a table. An old blanket was flung across the “tab
le” for a cloth. It was so big, though, it trailed along the floor.

  “Playhouse,” I told Emily, pointing at it. “Emily. Can you say playhouse?”

  “Play,” said Emily.

  “Let’s play hide-and-seek,” said David Michael, who’d tagged along, insisting that he didn’t have much homework to do. “I’ll hide, and you and Emily can look for me.”

  “Okay, but you have to stay in the backyard,” I said.

  “If you’ll count to a hundred.”

  “A hundred? A hundred? You need a whole hundred to find a hiding place?” I teased.

  “Kris-ty.” David Michael folded his arms. “Those are the rules.”

  “You’re right, David Michael.” I picked Emily Michelle up, walked around to the side of the house, and faced it with my eyes closed. “One,” I began to count. Emily Michelle sang soft little nonsense words along with me until I reached a hundred. “Here we come, ready or not!” I cried. I whirled around and took Emily’s hand.

  No David Michael.

  “Come on, Emily. Help me find your brother.”

  “Dog,” said Emily.

  “Shannon? You remember Shannon trying to find her ball? Good for you, Emily. We’ll let Shannon out of the house. She can help us find David Michael if we can’t find him by ourselves. Okay?”

  That seemed to satisfy Emily Michelle.

  With Emily walking beside me, we bent down to look under bushes. We peeked around the edge of the toolshed. We looked in the playhouse.