Kristy + Bart = ? Read online

  “Typical Krushers,” he replied.

  “Oh? What’s that supposed to mean?” I said.

  “Nothing.”

  What a goon. See, Bart coaches the Bashers, the Krushers’ number one (and only) rival. His team is bigger, older, and more organized than ours. But guess who won our World Series last season?

  The Krushers, of course.

  “Jealous,” I mumbled.

  Bart smirked. “We let you guys win, you know.”

  “Did not!” David Michael yelled.

  “Crush the Bashers! Crush the Bashers!” Linny chanted.

  The rest of the kids joined right in.

  I smiled at Bart. “You’re outnumbered.”

  I organized sides for a practice. Most of the kids were pretty rusty, but with my help, just about everyone was making contact with the ball. Even the non-Krushers, Timmy and Scott, were having a great time. At one point, Scott asked, “Can we join the team?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Bart spoke up. “Our tryouts aren’t till the spring, and —”

  “I don’t want to join your team.” Timmy rolled his eyes. “I meant the Krushers.”

  I smiled. “Sure, guys. No tryout necessary for the World Champs.”

  “Yaaaaaay!” Scott and Timmy jumped up and down.

  Bart tried not to look insulted.

  “Can we have an official practice?” Bill asked. “Like, on the field, with uniforms and stuff?”

  “Yeah!” Melody said. “It’s almost spring.”

  Bart shook his head. “We’re still in our down coats.”

  “Mine is Hollofil, not down,” Karen informed us.

  “The pros are already in spring training,” Bill insisted.

  “Yeah, in Florida,” Bart replied.

  “Can we go there?” Andrew asked.

  “That is a plane ride away,” Karen patiently told him.

  Andrew lit up. “Okay!”

  “Sorry, guys,” I said. “We really need to wait a month or so.”

  “To fly?” Andrew asked.

  “No, to begin official team practice,” Bart said.

  Melody sank to the ground, arms folded. “No fair.”

  “Look, guys, softball’s a warm-weather game,” I said firmly. “We’re still in snow season. And we can’t move around well with bulky clothes on. Plus the ground is rock-hard until the spring thaw. Besides, what’s wrong with working on our basics right here?”

  “We’ve had enough basics,” David Michael complained.

  “This isn’t real,” Linny said.

  “I’m bored,” Bill added.

  “We could play Parcheesi,” Karen suggested.

  “How about a game of football?” Bart asked.

  “Ewwww,” said Hannie and Bill.

  “Want to shoot baskets?” Bart pushed on.

  David Michael shook his head. “The basketball has a hole. It’s flat.”

  Chug … ding … dzzzzt. The famous Kristy Thomas Idea Machine was at work.

  “Do you know what the world record for flatball free throws is?” I asked.

  The kids looked at me as if I were speaking Turkish.

  “Zilch,” I continued. “Absolutely no one in the entire world has kept track of consecutive successful free throws with a flattened basketball, and that’s a fact.”

  Linny burst out laughing. “Flattened basketball? That’s not an official statistic!”

  Bart shrugged. “We’ll make it official.”

  “It has to be printed,” Linny insisted. “Like the Guinness Book of World Records.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Then let’s print it. In the Official Thomas Book of World Records.”

  “Who’s Thomas?” Melody asked.

  “Kristy Thomas,” I shot back. “You guys set the records, I’ll record them.”

  Bart nodded enthusiastically. “The weirder the better.”

  “Fastest tree climber,” Bill suggested.

  “Most books read in one week,” Karen offered.

  “That’s not weird,” Linny remarked.

  “How about, most holes in one shirt,” David Michael piped up. (He was in a shirt-poking phase.)

  “Most toe boogers!” Hannie squealed.

  I could tell that was a keeper. The kids were rolling on the lawn, cackling.

  “Uh, excuse me?” I asked.

  “You know,” Hannie said, “the stuff that’s between your toes when you take your socks off at night?”

  “Cool.” Bart started to take his shoes off.

  Of course, so did all the others. Despite the cold.

  “Not now!” I yelled. “This is one you can do later, in private.”

  I shot Bart another Look. Grinning, he jumped to his feet. “Last one to the flatball has to collect the toe boogers!”

  They were off like a cannon shot.

  And I had a new project on my hands.

  “Aren’t you going a little overboard?” Claudia asked.

  “A little?” Abby said. “Toss her the life preservers.”

  “Kristy,” Mallory calmly explained, “I don’t think I can ask Henrietta Hayes to —”

  “You were her assistant!” I reminded her. “She’s one of the most famous authors around. She knows tons of publishers. Just call to say hi, how’re you doing. Then you can casually say, ‘I have this friend who has a great book idea.’ ”

  “Kristyyyy,” Stacey warned her.

  Mallory was shaking her head firmly.

  I tried Claudia. “You had Ted Garber on your radio show. Another world-class writer. You could call him.”

  “Yeah, right, Kristy. Teddy babe and I, we’re like this.” Claudia held up two fingers close together.

  Okay, maybe I’m crazy. But think about it. When you go into a bookstore, you always see some new, weird humor book on display. So what could be newer and weirder than Record Wreckers: The Thomas Book of Kids’ Wild, Wacko, Off-the-Wall Records? Wouldn’t you want to buy it?

  Well, I would.

  Which was why I had brought the subject up at our Monday Baby-sitters Club meeting. Henrietta Hayes and Ted Garber are two of the hottest children’s book authors in the country — two great BSC connections to the world of publishing! What was so terrible about asking them for a teeny tiny favor?

  I know, I know. Some people just don’t see the light, even if they trip over it.

  Sigh.

  I decided to let the subject brew for a while. I’d bring it up later. We had a full half hour.

  That’s how long our meetings last, from five-thirty to six, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. That isn’t a long time, and boy, do we fill it up.

  Our number one activity: answering phone calls from Stoneybrook parents. Our clients love us. They call one number and reach seven great sitters. And we spread out the jobs evenly, so we all keep busy.

  Fantastic idea, isn’t it? (If I do say so myself.)

  But, unfortunately, not perfect. I did have to work out some kinks. For instance, the diversity problem. Some clients didn’t like the idea of seven different sitters, instead of one or two steady ones. So we try to be super prepared. We write about each of our jobs in the BSC notebook, including special house rules, bedtimes, and any other useful information about the client or the children. Voilà — each member is up-to-date for each client.

  The notebook was my idea. (Ahem.) So were Kid-Kits. Those are small boxes full of old toys, games, and books that we sometimes take to our jobs. Kids love them.

  As you can see, the BSC is well run. I should know. As I mentioned, I’m the president. I’m in charge of the meetings. I also try out different advertising techniques to find new clients. Kristy’s Cardinal Rule of Business is There’s no such thing as too much business.

  Some of the other members think I’m crazy. Claudia, for instance. She’s our vice-president, mainly because we use her room as our head-quarters (she has her own private phone line). Claud’s always teasing me, telling me to chill out.

  I don’t
mind. I’m used to her. I lived across the street from Claudia almost my whole life. It’s impossible to stay angry at her. For one thing, she has the best sense of humor. For another, she feeds us great junk food at our meetings. Chocolates, cookies, chips, pretzels. You name it, Claudia has it hidden away in every corner of her room.

  Well hidden. Her parents would pass out if they knew she was such a junk food addict. They are super-strict about nutrition. (Education, too. Claudia has to hide her Nancy Drew books, because Mr. and Mrs. Kishi consider them unchallenging.)

  Too much chocolate is supposed to make you fat, pimply, and irritable, right? Not Claud. She’s thin, zitless, and fun-loving. Gorgeous, too. Her hair is jet-black and looks so cool, whether it’s in braids, a ponytail, cornrows, or even hanging loose. (When my hair hangs loose, I look like a wet mouse.)

  Boy, is Claudia different from the brainy, conservative types who make up the rest of her family. Her older sister, Janine, for example, is a real certified genius. Claudia’s a terrible student (especially in spelling and math), but she’s an amazingly talented artist. Even the way she dresses is like an abstract painting — vintage clothes, funky odds and ends from thrift stores. I don’t know how she does it, but she always looks great.

  The Kishis used to compare Claudia to Janine all the time. But they’ve grown out of that, more or less. The one family member who always understood Claudia was her grandmother, Mimi. Mimi’s English wasn’t perfect (Claud’s grandparents immigrated to the United States from Japan), but she was Claudia’s soulmate. Since she died, Claudia has kept a large picture of Mimi on her wall, and a smaller one on her night table, right next to the phone.

  Rrrrring!

  Our first call came in at 5:29.

  Stacey picked up the receiver. “Baby-sitters Club,” she said. “Hey, Mrs. Pike! Mallory’s right here…. Sure, I’ll tell her…. Okay, we’ll get back to you.”

  As Stacey hung up, Claudia’s clock flicked to 5:30. “This meeting will come to order!” I announced.

  “Aye-aye, sir,” said Claudia with a yawn. (Honestly, I get no respect.)

  “Your mom and dad have an emergency PTO meeting Saturday and need you and one of us to sit,” Stacey told Mallory. “Also, she wants you to borrow the toilet plunger from the Kishis’. Claire flushed some doll accessories.”

  Mal looked horrified. “I have to walk home with one of those things? In public?”

  I tried not to laugh, but I couldn’t help it. The image was too funny.

  We all started howling like hyenas. Except Mary Anne, who was politely looking through the BSC record book. “Abby, Stacey, and Kristy are free,” she said.

  “Uh, well,” Stacey said, “Robert asked me to —”

  Abby raised her hand. “I’ll take the plunge.”

  The rest of us groaned.

  As Mary Anne wrote Abby’s name on the record book calendar, Stacey tapped out the Pikes’ number.

  The record book is the backbone of the BSC. Without it, we’d be lost. Along with the calendar of sitting jobs, it contains a list of client names, addresses, and pay rates. Mary Anne is in charge of it. As club secretary, she assigns our jobs. She has to know in advance every BSC member’s conflicts: doctor appointments, afterschool activities, lessons, and practices. She also has to keep the list updated.

  Confusing? Not to Mary Anne. Organized isn’t the word for her. Even efficient doesn’t come close. Organicient? Something like that. But that’s just one side of her. She happens to be the warmest, sweetest, most sensitive person around. Shy, too.

  And she’s the best friend of yours truly. She and her dad lived next door to me in my old neighborhood. (I never knew Mrs. Spier. She died when Mary Anne was a baby.) Mr. Spier was very strict and never seemed to realize Mary Anne was growing up. Even in seventh grade, she had to wear pigtails and little-girl dresses to school, and she wasn’t allowed to get her ears pierced.

  Mr. Spier may be stuffy, but he’s not a monster. Gradually he began to ease up. And eventually, after so many years of single parenthood, he remarried — the divorced mom of another BSC member, Dawn Schafer! Dawn, her mom, and her brother had moved to Stoneybrook from California. But Mrs. Schafer had grown up here, and Mr. Spier was an old flame of hers from high school. What a soap opera, huh? Boy, did Mary Anne love having a stepsister in the house. Unfortunately, Dawn has moved back to her dad’s house in California. (Her brother’s there, too; he’d already moved awhile ago.)

  Nowadays Mary Anne looks her age. She has short brown hair and dark brown eyes. Before she had her hair cut, people used to say we looked alike. Which was true, I guess. No one, however, has ever said our personalities are alike. Mary Anne hates sports, and she cries at the slightest thing.

  Shy as she is, Mary Anne’s one of the two BSC members with a steady (meaning, kissy-face serious) boyfriend. His name is Logan Bruno, and he’s an associate member of the BSC. That means he fills in whenever he can, but he doesn’t have to attend meetings.

  Our treasurer is Stacey. She collects dues every Monday and keeps the cash in a manila envelope. We use the money to contribute to Claudia’s phone bill, pay Charlie for gas money (he drives Abby and me to meetings), and keep our Kid-Kits stocked. Sometimes, if we have a surplus, we’ll treat ourselves to pizza.

  Stacey is our only diabetic-native-New-Yorker-math-whiz-fashion-plate-member. Okay, I’ll clarify all that. She has diabetes, which means her body doesn’t properly make this hormone called insulin. Insulin regulates the sugar in your blood, and without it you can go into a coma. So Stacey has to inject insulin every day, eat very regular meals, and avoid sweets. (She eats chips and pretzels at our meetings.)

  All of us occasionally have taken the train ride to New York with Stacey. Her dad still lives in an apartment there, and she visits him pretty often. I don’t know about you, but I think NYC is the coolest place. (Although I haven’t been able to convince Stacey to ask her dad to take us to Shea Stadium.) Stacey is an only child. When she first moved to Stoneybrook, her parents were married but not getting along too great. Then they all had to move back to New York because of Mr. McGill’s job, and the marriage fell apart. Stacey had to choose between living in the Big Apple with her dad or moving to Stoneybrook with her mom.

  Why did she choose Stoneybrook? Her unbelievably fantastic friends, of course! But she still retains a little New Yorkishness. Mostly in the way she dresses: cool, urban, sophisticated. She wears stuff I would never dream of wearing. (Stacey calls me fashion-challenged.) She has long, blonde hair, and is the only other member with a steady boyfriend. Very steady. Not long ago, Stacey became so involved with him, she started missing meetings and backing out of jobs. I was so furious at her, I kicked her out of the BSC.

  (Don’t worry, we made up.)

  Our alternate officer is Abby Stevenson, whom you already know about. She’s the official substitute whenever another officer is absent.

  Jessica (Jessi) Ramsey and Mallory Pike are our two junior officers. They’re in sixth grade (the rest of us are in eighth). They both have early curfews on school nights, so they take a lot of weekend and afternoon jobs.

  Jessi is a future ballet star, mark my words. Even I enjoy watching her, and normally I’d rather eat leftover turnips than go to a ballet. Her other great passion is horses. I think she and Mallory have watched both Black Beauty videos about a hundred times.

  The Ramseys moved here from New Jersey. They’re African American, and you would not believe the bigotry they faced in Stoneybrook. Really, it came from just a few creeps, but it was enough to make things uncomfortable for them. Fortunately, the people involved seem to have come to their senses since then.

  Mal is Jessi’s best friend. They both moan about how hard it is being the oldest child in the family. Jessi has two younger siblings, a sister and a brother, and Mal has seven. Yup, seven. That’s why her parents often need two sitters. A traffic cop would be nice, too. The Pike house is twenty-four-hour chaos. It makes our house look peaceful. I keep
telling Mal she could have a family softball team, but she hates sports. Her favorite activities are writing and illustrating her own stories.

  Those are our regular members. You already know about one of our associate members, Logan Bruno. The other is Shannon Kilbourne. She goes to a private school called Stoneybrook Day (so does Bart). She couldn’t possibly be a regular member because she’s so involved in extracurricular activities. Somehow, though, Shannon always manages to come through in a clutch. She pinch-hit for us a lot after Dawn moved and before Abby joined.

  Okay, now I’ve told you about the rules, the players, and the positions.

  Back to the game.

  Until about 5:50, we continued to take more calls. Then, finally, I brought up Record Wreckers again.

  “No!” was the first word out of Claudia’s mouth. “I will not call Ted Garber!”

  “Forget about Ted Garber,” I said. “Let’s just talk about the book itself. What do you think?”

  “The idea is fantastic,” Claudia replied. “If you just keep it simple.”

  “Without worrying about fame and fortune,” Stacey added.

  “My brothers and sisters would die to be in it,” Mallory said.

  “That’s what I’m talking about!” I blurted out. “Get as many kids involved as we can. Turn it into a BSC project.”

  Mary Anne’s brows were all scrunched up. “But what about the little kids, the ones who aren’t as good in sports?”

  “It doesn’t have to be sports,” I answered. “Kids can make up records. You know … consecutive times saying the word ‘rutabaga’ without stopping. The number of cornflakes balanced on one nose.”

  Jessi raised an eyebrow. “Cornflakes on your nose?”

  “Whatever!” I said. “The stupider the better. The littlest kids can be involved. We’ll do it for a month or so, then collect the results. It’ll be so much fun!”

  Falling off their seats. Screaming with laughter. That’s how I expected my friends to react.

  Instead, they all looked as if they were concentrating on a final exam. Just glancing at each other, thinking.

  They hated it. Thought it was the stinkiest idea since extended-wear socks. Couldn’t bear to tell me the truth.