Kristy and the Sister War Page 2

  Abby Stevenson is another BSC member who has to spend time dealing with her health. Abby has allergies and asthma, and both problems require some attention. But her health isn’t the only thing that keeps Abby busy, and it certainly doesn’t slow her down. Abby is a natural athlete who loves any kind of physical activity. She runs, she plays tennis, she skis, she’s on the soccer team — you name it, Abby does it, and she does it well. (I’m so impressed with her skills that I’ve even given her the supreme honor of making her the assistant manager for my little-kids’ softball team, Kristy’s Krushers.)

  Abby and her twin sister, Anna, who have dark eyes and dark, curly hair, moved to my neighborhood recently. (They used to live on Long Island.) They live with their mother, who is an editor at a big publishing company in New York. Their father died several years ago in a car crash. Abby doesn’t talk about him much, but I know she’ll never stop missing her dad.

  When the twins moved here, we asked both of them to be in the BSC, but Anna said she couldn’t. She’s way too busy with her music. Anna is an amazing violin player who puts most of her energy into practicing and playing. And until recently, she and Abby were also very busy studying and planning for their Bat Mitzvah, which is a Jewish celebration of a girl’s transition to womanhood.

  I am glad that Abby said yes to the BSC. She and I have had our clashes — we both have pretty strong personalities — but overall I’d have to say she’s brought a breath of fresh air to the club. She’s smart and quick and very, very funny. She’s one of the best mimics I’ve ever seen. (You should see her imitation of our assistant principal, Mr. Kingbridge.)

  Mary Anne Spier, my best friend and the secretary of the BSC, doesn’t necessarily like Abby’s imitations. She always feels bad for the person being imitated. Mary Anne’s ultra-sensitive, ultra-gentle (am I making her sound like facial tissue?), and the best friend anyone could ever have. In a way, I think that’s what keeps Mary Anne busiest: being a good friend. That may sound crazy, unless you know someone like her. Someone who really listens to what you have to say. Someone who calls you up when she knows you’re feeling down. Someone who is always willing to do a friendly favor.

  Being that kind of friend can be time-consuming.

  Mary Anne and I may be opposites in temperament (nobody ever called me ultra-gentle!), but that’s never kept us from being best friends. We actually look a little alike, but she pays more attention to fashion than I do. Mary Anne has a steady boyfriend, Logan Bruno, and a kitten she adores, named Tigger. Because she’s neat and tidy and well-organized, she makes a terrific secretary for the BSC. She’s in charge of our record book, which contains all our schedules as well as information about each of our clients.

  I’ve been friends with Mary Anne forever, but I don’t remember her mother. Neither does Mary Anne. That’s because her mom died when Mary Anne was just a baby, leaving Mr. Spier to bring up their only child on his own. He did a good job of it, but he was very overprotective and treated Mary Anne like a little kid for way too long. He’s much better since he fell in love and married again, giving Mary Anne not only a stepmother she loves but a new sister and brother as well.

  The sister, Dawn Schafer, is another best friend to Mary Anne and was in the BSC until she recently moved back to California. That part is a little complicated, but let me explain. See, Dawn and her younger brother, Jeff, grew up in California, but their mom, Sharon, was originally from Stoneybrook. When she and Dawn’s father divorced, Sharon and the kids moved back East, where she fell in love all over again with her high school sweetheart, Richard Spier (Mary Anne’s dad). That’s how Mary Anne and Dawn ended up as sisters. But Jeff and Dawn never adjusted to life in Connecticut, and over time both of them moved back to California to live with their dad. We all miss Dawn, Mary Anne most of all.

  By the way, when Dawn was in the BSC, she was our alternate officer. That meant she could fill in for anybody who couldn’t make it to a meeting. Our new alternate officer is Abby.

  We also have two junior officers, Jessi Ramsey and Mallory Pike. While the rest of us are thirteen, Jessi and Mal are eleven. They take a lot of our afternoon sitting jobs. And, even though they’re younger than the rest of us, they’re just as busy. Jessi, who has dark hair and chocolate-brown skin, lives with her parents, her aunt, a little sister, and a baby brother. She’s a talented ballet dancer who practices every day and takes tons of lessons.

  Mal, who has reddish-brown hair and wears glasses, comes from a much larger family. She has seven younger brothers and sisters! As if that doesn’t keep her busy enough, she also loves to read and write. (She’s the only BSC member who truly enjoys making entries in our BSC notebook, where we write up each job we go on.) For now, Mallory mostly writes in her journal. Someday, though, she hopes to be an author-illustrator of children’s books.

  You may be wondering where Shannon, the Queen of Busyness, fits in, since I’ve mentioned that she’s a BSC member. Well, she’s what we call an associate member. She and the other associate member (Logan Bruno, Mary Anne’s boyfriend) don’t come to all our meetings, but they do help out with jobs when we’re overbooked.

  Shannon wasn’t at our meeting that afternoon, of course. But her name came up. Why? Because one of our first calls was from her mom. It turned out that Mrs. Kilbourne had decided to join Shannon on the dance committee as a parent representative.

  “Also,” she said, “I’ve decided to take some classes at Stoneybrook University. I’m thinking about going back to school to work toward a teaching degree.”

  I raised my eyebrows. Shannon wasn’t the only busy one in her family. “How can we help out?” I asked Mrs. Kilbourne.

  “I’ll need a sitter for Tiffany and Maria,” she said, “several afternoons a week.”

  I told Mrs. Kilbourne we’d call her back. Mary Anne checked the record book, and we discussed who would be best for the job. Since the Kilbournes live in my neighborhood, and since Abby — who also lives nearby — has soccer practice nearly every afternoon these days, guess who signed on for the part.

  That’s right. I now had a steady job to look forward to. No more afternoons in the sun, at least for a while. But, hey, since all my friends are so busy, I might as well be too. Right?

  “Kristy, you’re a lifesaver,” said Mrs. Kilbourne as she threw on her jacket and grabbed her car keys from the hall table. “The girls just came home from school, and they’re in the kitchen, having a snack.” She stood very still for a moment, and I could tell she was checking off items on a little list in her head. You know, the kind of list that goes, Jacket. Keys. Greet Kristy. Leave. Then she gave a quick sigh, called, “Good-bye, girls!” and sped out the door.

  It was Tuesday, the day after our meeting, and my job at the Kilbournes’ had begun. It was another gorgeous fall day, but this time I wouldn’t be lying around in the leaves. I’d be working. And I was prepared. I’d brought my Kid-Kit. I’d brought some new books I thought might interest Tiffany and Maria. And I’d brought a great attitude and plenty of energy. I haven’t done much sitting for Maria and Tiffany, and since this job was going to be regular, I thought it would be wise to make a good start.

  I poked my head into the kitchen. Maria and Tiffany were seated at the kitchen table, wearing identical SDS uniforms (gray sweater-vests, white shirts, gray-and-green plaid skirts) and identical bored expressions. No, they are not twins. Not even close. Tiffany’s eleven and has the same blonde hair, blue eyes (framed with long, dark lashes), and high cheekbones as her mom and older sister. Maria is eight. Her coloring is totally different, more like her dad’s. Her hair is reddish-brown — auburn, I guess you call it — and her eyes are a dark hazel color, almost brown.

  “Hey!” I said, greeting the girls with a big smile.

  “Hi, Kristy,” said Maria.

  “Hi,” echoed Tiffany.

  Neither of them sounded all that thrilled to see me.

  “I was really looking forward to coming over here today,” I said, seating
myself at the table. I plunked my Kid-Kit down in front of me. The girls barely gave it a glance.

  “That’s good,” said Tiffany.

  Maria didn’t say anything. She just helped herself to another Ritz cracker, then carefully spread it with peanut butter and began to nibble away.

  “How’s swim team?” I asked her. Maria-as-jock is a new thing. Until recently, she was pretty much a bookworm. Now she loves sports, especially swimming. Once I saw her swim in a neighbor’s pool, and she was awesome. She’s a much, much better swimmer than I am, that’s for sure. She’s like a dolphin in the water. And she’s always excited about some upcoming meet.

  But you wouldn’t have known that by the way she answered me. “All right, I guess,” she said without looking up.

  “Are you still the backstroke champ?” I asked.

  She nodded, but she didn’t smile. What was with her? I tried one more question. “Any major meets coming up?”

  She blinked. “Not for a while,” she said indistinctly. Her mouth was full of crackers and peanut butter.

  I didn’t want to keep bugging her if she didn’t want to talk, so I turned to Tiffany. “How about you?” I asked. “What’s new in your garden?” Tiffany is the Kilbourne family gardener. She has this tiny plot of land out back that she does amazing things with. It’s packed with flowers and vegetables. Tiffany’s a garden expert. And she loves to share her knowledge and enthusiasm.

  Usually.

  But not today. She barely managed a shrug. “Nothing much,” she said.

  “I know, it’s fall,” I replied. “I guess that means you’re mostly concentrating on next year’s garden.” I’ve seen some of Tiffany’s garden plans. She puts her heart and soul into them. They include perfectly scaled pictures of the garden, with neatly labeled colored-pencil drawings that show each plant in its ideal place.

  She gave that little half shrug again. “Uh-huh,” she muttered.

  Okay. I’m not dense. The message was coming through loud and clear. Neither of the younger Kilbournes wanted to talk. Not to me, not to each other, not to anyone. All they wanted to do was sit and sulk.

  But why?

  I know curiosity killed the cat, but I can’t help myself. I always want to find out the whys and hows behind everything. I tried to give myself a little lecture. Forget it, I thought. Whatever’s wrong is none of your business. If they wanted your help they’d ask for it. But they don’t. All they want is to be left alone.

  Right. That talk lasted for about two seconds. Then I couldn’t resist trying one more tactic. “Hey, guys,” I said, “check out what I brought.” I reached into my Kid-Kit as I spoke and pulled out items. “I found each of you something great to read,” I said, holding out a book toward each girl.

  “Already read it,” said Tiffany.

  “Hated it,” said Maria.

  “Okay.” I tossed the books back into the box. “Then how about some stickers? Some new markers? A friendship-pin kit?” Desperately, I dumped my entire Kid-Kit onto the table.

  Maria and Tiffany just looked at me.

  “Stickers are for babies,” said Tiffany.

  “Those friendship pins are so last year,” said Maria.

  I blew out a sigh of exasperation. “What is with you guys? You don’t want to talk. You don’t want to do anything. You just sit there, looking like two bumps on a log. Listen,” I went on. “I want the two of you to go upstairs and change out of your uniforms. Then come right back down. We’re going to have a meeting.” If I was going to sit regularly for Maria and Tiffany, something had to change. No way was I going to put up with their nasty moods for three long afternoons every single week.

  For a second, I thought they were going to argue with me. Maria opened her mouth, then closed it. Tiffany frowned, started to say something, then frowned again. Then they stood up, pushed back their chairs, and headed upstairs.

  It didn’t take them long to change. Within ten minutes, both of them plodded back down the stairs. Maria had put on jeans and a blue sweatshirt. Tiffany was wearing overalls with a red turtleneck underneath. “Great,” I said, eyeing them. “Now let’s go sit in the TV room.”

  The Kilbournes have a spacious family room, just beyond the kitchen. It has a huge couch, a big TV, and a cabinet with glass shelves that are loaded with trophies and awards that Shannon and Maria have won. (If they gave trophies for gardening, Tiffany would have prizes up there too.) “Okay,” I said. “Time to spill it. What’s the matter?”

  Maria coughed. Tiffany cleared her throat. But neither of them spoke.

  “Come on,” I said. “Out with it.”

  Another pause. Then Tiffany started to talk, and I thought she’d never stop. Maria joined in too. Both of them talked for a long, long time.

  “We’re mad at Shannon,” said Tiffany. “And at our parents. Really mad. But we can’t even talk to them about it because they’re never here.”

  “They’re all just way too busy,” put in Maria. “And that’s why we’re mad.”

  “Nobody ever has time for us anymore,” said Tiffany. “Mom never even asks what we did at school, or who we’ve been playing with. Shannon always acts like she has more important things on her mind, if you want to talk to her. And Dad pays more attention to his beeper than he does to us.”

  Maria looked as if she were about to cry. “I don’t care if Daddy is the main lawyer on a big case. I miss him. And I miss Mom. Why does she have to go to stupid old school?”

  “The worst part is Shannon, though,” said Tiffany. “She’s always been busy before, but never like this. She used to have time for us, no matter what.”

  I listened to everything they said, and my heart ached for them. It was no wonder they were feeling sulky. “When was the last time your family had dinner together?” I asked gently.

  Maria and Tiffany looked at each other and shook their heads. “I don’t know,” said Tiffany slowly. “A long, long time ago. That’s for sure.”

  “I’m really sorry,” I said, “but I’m glad you told me. You know why?”

  “Why?” asked Maria warily.

  “Because I’m going to help you figure out what to do about it.”

  “Do about it?” asked Maria. “What can we do about it? This is just the way things are.”

  “Maybe not,” I said. I’d been thinking furiously, and I’d come up with an idea. I remembered how harried Shannon had seemed when she was trying to exercise and walk the dog at the same time. “Shannon has a lot to do right now,” I said. “What if we thought about some ways to help her? What if you guys could save her some time?”

  “That might work,” said Maria.

  “But how can we help?” asked Tiffany. “Most of what she does is for French Club or stuff like that. I don’t know any French.”

  “Let’s do some brainstorming,” I suggested. “I bet we can come up with some ideas.” I ran for my Kid-Kit and pulled out a pad of drawing paper I always keep handy. Then I sat down between Tiffany and Maria, pad and pen in hand. I was energized, and they were too. Together we were going to tackle this problem — and win.

  I thought our list looked great. So did the girls. Shannon was going to be one lucky big sister. Imagine having two wonderful siblings whose greatest wish was to make your life easier. What could be better? By the time I left the Kilbournes’ that Tuesday, Maria and Tiffany were excited, and so was I. Operation SOS (for Save Our Sister) was going to change Shannon’s life.

  And it did.

  But not in the way we’d intended.

  Over the next few days, Maria and Tiffany worked their way down the list we’d made. They worked extra hard to help Shannon in every way possible. Every ounce of their energy went toward Operation SOS.

  So what went wrong?

  Just about everything. For starters, here’s what happened with item number one on the list:

  Of course, making Shannon cookies wasn’t exactly a helping-out kind of thing. But Tiffany insisted that it would be a great way t
o kick off their new plan. “Shannon loves Snickerdoodles so much,” she explained. “And Mom never has time to make them anymore. If Shannon has a good supply of Snickerdoodles, she’ll be happier. And if she’s happier, that might mean she’ll be nicer to us.”

  I had no idea what Snickerdoodles were, so Maria had to explain. “They’re yummy,” she said. “Not as yummy as brownies — those are my favorite — but they’re definitely yummy. They’re kind of buttery tasting and they have walnuts and raisins inside and cinnamon and sugar all over the outside.” She rubbed her stomach. “Just thinking about them makes me hungry.”

  So that’s what we did on Thursday. We made Snickerdoodles. Or at least we tried. I stayed in the background and let Maria and Tiffany take charge, since that was important to them. All I did was check with Mrs. Kilbourne to make sure it was okay for the girls to bake. Then I watched the whole disaster unfold.

  As soon as they’d changed out of their uniforms, the girls tied on aprons, pulled out ingredients, and began to do the Betty Crocker thing.

  “I told you to put the butter on the counter before we left for school!” Tiffany said to Maria. She had dropped a stick of butter — straight out of the fridge — into a bowl, and she was trying to mush it around with a big wooden spoon. The butter was basically unmushable. I could hear it thudding against the sides of the bowl.

  “I can’t remember everything!” said Maria. “And for that matter, why didn’t you remember to put raisins on Mom’s shopping list? All we have are the ones left over from Christmas, and they’re dried out.”

  “Raisins are supposed to be dried out,” said Tiffany, still struggling with the butter.

  “Not like this,” said Maria. “This is beyond dried out. This raisin is practically mummified.”

  “Well, what do you want me to do about it now? We’re just going to have to use them, mummified or not.” Tiffany poked at the stick of butter again, and it flew out of her bowl and onto the floor. She let out a howl.