Kristy and the Snobs Read online

  Finally, there’s Dawn, who’s more of a newcomer to Stoneybrook than Stacey is. She moved here from California last January with her mother and younger brother after her parents got divorced. Dawn’s job as alternate officer is to take over the duties of any other officer if someone gets sick or has to miss a meeting. Dawn’s likes — health food, sunshine, baby-sitting, ghost stories. Dislikes — junk food, cold weather. Looks — the longest, palest, shiniest, silkiest blonde hair you can imagine. Dress — whatever she feels like. Dawn is an individual. Personality — confident, doesn’t care what other people think of her.

  And that’s the five of us. Together we make a pretty good team.

  I realized that my friends were looking at me, waiting for me to begin the meeting.

  “The meeting will now come to order,” I said, even though we already were in order. “Stacey, how much money is in the treasury?”

  “Give me your weekly dues first,” she replied. (Monday is Dues Day.)

  Each of us handed Stacey a dollar.

  “We’ve got nine dollars and eighteen cents,” she reported.

  “That’s kind of low, isn’t it?” I replied.

  “Well, we pay Charlie to drive you to and from the meetings,” said Stacey, “and we just bought coloring books and sticker books for the Kid-Kits. We’re okay as long as we don’t buy anything for a while. We’ll just let our dues pile up.”

  (Kid-Kits are boxes filled with games and books — our old ones, mostly — plus new coloring books, crayons, activity books, etc. that we sometimes bring on baby-sitting jobs. The kids love them.)

  “Anything else to report?” I asked.

  The club members shook their heads.

  “Have you been keeping up with the notebook?”

  The club members nodded their heads — but Claudia, Dawn, and Mary Anne looked a little guilty. I knew they’d just been reading the notebook before I came into the room. We’re responsible for writing up every job we go on. We record the jobs in our club notebook and then we’re supposed to read the notebook each week to see what happened when our friends were baby-sitting. It’s not always very interesting, but it’s usually helpful.

  The telephone rang then with what was probably going to be the first job of the meeting.

  Dawn answered it. “Hello, Baby-sitters Club.”

  (See how professional we sound?)

  “Okay, Mrs. Rodowsky. I’ll call you right back.” Dawn hung up the phone and turned to us. “Mrs. Rodowsky needs a sitter for Jackie and his brothers next Tuesday afternoon from three-thirty till six.”

  “Let’s see,” said Mary Anne, who had already turned to the appointment pages of our record book. “Claudia, you’re the only one free.”

  “Okay,” said Claudia. “I guess I can handle Jackie.” (Jackie’s a nice little kid, but he’s accident-prone and always in trouble.)

  Dawn called Mrs. Rodowsky back to tell her that Claudia would be her sitter on Tuesday.

  A bunch of other calls came in then, but the most interesting one — just before the meeting came to an end — was from Mr. Papadakis. The Papadakises live not far from me in the new neighborhood. They have three kids — Linny, who’s eight and a friend of David Michael; Hannie, who’s six and a friend of Karen; and Sari, who’s just two. I knew the Papadakises a little through David Michael and Karen, but I’d never sat for them. Now Mr. Papadakis was calling with a job.

  “We saved your flier,” he told me. “We need a sitter on Thursday afternoon and we know Linny and Hannie like you.”

  “You take the job! You take the job!” Mary Anne said excitedly to me after I’d told Mr. Papadakis I’d call him back. “You’re free and it’s good for you to sit in your new neighborhood.”

  “Well … okay!” I said.

  At that time, I had no idea what a sitting job in my new neighborhood would really mean, and so — I was foolish enough to look forward to it.

  Charlie picked me up promptly at six o’clock and we headed back to our house. (It had been a long time before I could think of Watson’s house as ours.)

  “I can’t wait to see how Louie’s doing,” I said as Charlie pulled up to a stop sign.

  “Didn’t you see him this afternoon?” he asked.

  “I didn’t have time. I stayed at school to watch a field hockey game. The late bus dropped me off just in time for you to pick me up and take me to Claudia’s.”

  “Oh,” said Charlie. “Well, I’m sure he’s fine.”

  “I hope so,” I replied.

  But when we got home, Louie wasn’t fine. He was resting in the living room on his orange blanket, and he didn’t get up when he saw us. Usually, he’s on his feet in a flash, wanting to play or to be let out.

  “Hi, Louie!” I said. “Come here, boy.”

  Louie lifted his head off his paws, but didn’t get up. I had to call him two more times before he stood up. He began to walk toward me. It was still hard to tell whether he was limping, but what nobody missed was when he walked smack into a table leg instead of my outstretched arms. David Michael and Mom had just entered the room, so they saw the whole thing, along with Charlie and me.

  “Oh, Louie,” murmured Mom, leaning over to pat his head. “What’s wrong, boy?”

  “He’s not too sick,” announced David Michael. “I just gave him his supper and he ate it in one gulp.”

  “Well,” said Mom, “maybe he ought to have a check-up with Dr. Smith tomorrow. I’ll call her answering service tonight and try to make an appointment. Charlie, could you take him after school?”

  “Sure,” replied Charlie.

  “I’ll go with you,” I said.

  “Me, too,” added David Michael.

  So it was arranged. The next afternoon, Charlie drove David Michael and Louie and me to Dr. Smith’s office.

  Louie does not like the vet. He never has. And he’s pretty noisy about it. Somehow, he figures out where we’re going when we’re only halfway there. Then the whining starts. He can be really pathetic. David Michael is always prepared, though. He fishes doggie treats out of his pocket and feeds them to Louie one at a time.

  In between bites, though, Louie whines. Charlie says it drives him crazy, but we made it to the vet without incident.

  Dr. Smith’s waiting room wasn’t very crowded, thank goodness. There were only two patients ahead of us — a dachshund with his front paw in a cast, and a cat in a carrying case who kept yowling unhappily. Louie was well-behaved. He lay on the floor with his head resting pitifully on Charlie’s shoe and whined so softly you could hardly hear him.

  When Dr. Smith’s assistant called for Louie Thomas, Charlie, David Michael, and I rose as one. With a lot of prodding, Louie came, too. Charlie and I hoisted him onto the metal table in the examining room.

  “Hello, Thomases,” Dr. Smith greeted us as she entered the room.

  “Hi,” we replied.

  We really like Dr. Smith. She’s an older woman with graying hair and bifocals who’s wonderful with animals. She talks to them in a soft, soothing voice. I’ve never heard her raise it, not even the time Louie panicked and knocked over a box of sterile bandages.

  “Well, what’s wrong with Louie today?” asked the doctor.

  David Michael spoke up. “We’re not sure. Yesterday I thought he was limping, but it’s hard to tell.”

  “He just lies around,” I added. “And last night he walked right into a table when he was aiming for me.”

  “But his appetite is fine,” said Charlie. “He always eats his meals.”

  “Well, let’s have a look.” Dr. Smith examined Louie carefully. She poked him and stroked him, listened to his heart, looked in his eyes and ears, and watched him try to walk. She frowned as Louie lumbered stiffly into the door jamb. Then she examined his eyes again and sort of massaged his legs.

  When she was finished, she looked at us gravely.

  “What is it?” I asked, suddenly feeling afraid. Awful thoughts began to run through my mind. The worst was, Lou
ie has cancer.

  But what Dr. Smith said was, “Louie is getting old.”

  My brothers and I nodded.

  “And just like some old people, his body is beginning to slow down. He’s developing arthritis and his eyesight is poor.”

  Is that all? I thought. Arthritis and poor eyesight? It didn’t sound too bad.

  “Can dogs get contact lenses?” asked David Michael seriously.

  Dr. Smith smiled. “I’m afraid not, honey.”

  I wondered why she still looked so solemn.

  “What can we do for him?” asked Charlie.

  “Well, he’s probably in a fair amount of pain. I can give you some pills to ease it, but they won’t cure the arthritis, and the arthritis is probably going to get worse. His eyes may, too.”

  Now I understood. Louie was in pain. There wasn’t much we could do for him and he wasn’t going to get better. It wasn’t as if he had a cold or an injury. I looked down at him. He had settled onto the floor of the examining room. It must be scary, I thought, not to see well and to know that you’re in a strange place. No wonder Louie had walked into the side of the door.

  I realized that Dr. Smith was talking again. “Please tell your mother to call me anytime if she has questions. We can strengthen the dosage of the pills if Louie seems to be worse, but I don’t want to do that yet. I have a feeling Louie’s got a tough road ahead of him.”

  David Michael was sitting on the floor, talking to Louie. I was glad he wasn’t paying attention. I couldn’t speak to the doctor because a lump had formed in my throat. But Charlie took over.

  “We’ll tell Mom,” he said. “Is there anything else we can do for Louie?”

  “Stairs will be difficult,” replied Dr. Smith, “so keep his food and water on the level of the house where he spends the most time. Carry him up and down stairs if you can. But he will need a little exercise. Short, slow walks. Let him go at his own pace.”

  Charlie and I nodded.

  “Can we leave now?” asked David Michael impatiently, and Dr. Smith laughed.

  “Had enough of the doctor’s office?” she asked.

  “Louie has.”

  Dr. Smith handed a packet of pills to Charlie and explained when to give them to Louie. Then we left. Charlie and I looked as if we were on our way to a funeral. But David Michael walked Louie jauntily to the car, singing a song that he made up as he went along.

  “Oh, you’re going home, Louie, and you’re fi-i-i-ine,” he said. “No shots, no stitches, no treatment. You don’t even have to spend the ni-i-i-ight.”

  Charlie and I glanced at each other. Obviously David Michael didn’t understand that Louie was in bad shape. All he knew was that the doctor had sent him home with some pills. How sick could he be? Pills always made David Michael better.

  I felt awful by the time we reached our house. “I think I’ll take Louie for a walk,” I told my brothers. “A slow one, like Dr. Smith suggested.” I was hoping it would calm me down.

  Charlie must have guessed how I was feeling because when David Michael said, “I’ll come with you!” Charlie said, “Why don’t you come with me instead, kiddo? We can give your new football a workout.”

  I flashed Charlie a grateful smile, and Louie and I started slowly down the drive to the shady street. I remembered the day us Thomases moved into Watson’s house. The morning before, we had really spruced Louie up because we’d wanted him to look his best when he came to this neighborhood, where (I was sure) all the dogs were purebred, pedigreed, and groomed at doggie parlors.

  Well, that was several months ago. Since I hadn’t met many of the people around here, I hadn’t met many of their dogs, either. I had no idea what they were like. No question about it, though, Louie was not at his best as we plodded down the street. His head was hanging (Was he trying to see the ground better?), he moved stiffly, his fur was all ruffled from the examination, and he smelled of the vet.

  So wouldn’t you just know that I’d run into that curly-haired blonde girl I’d seen at the bus stop the day before? She was flouncing down the street toward me, a leash in her hand. At the end of the leash was an absolutely gorgeous dog. It looked something like a heavy golden retriever with the markings of a Saint Bernard. And with the girl and the dog was a littler blonde, holding a spotless white Persian cat in her arms.

  Our eyes met, the sidewalk was narrow, there was no way the girls and I could avoid each other.

  They stopped a couple of yards away from me, and the big snob girl flipped her hair over her shoulder, and put her hand on her hip.

  “What,” she said, pointing to Louie, “is that?”

  “That,” I replied, “is a dog.”

  The girl made a face at me. “Really? It’s hard to tell. He’s so … scruffy.”

  “Yeah, he’s icky!” cried the younger one.

  “He’s old,” I said defensively. “And he has arthritis.”

  The older girl softened just a smidge. “What’s his name?” she asked.

  “Louie.”

  “Oh. This is Astrid. Astrid of Grenville. A pedigreed Bernese mountain dog.”

  “And this is Priscilla. She’s purebred. She cost four hundred dollars,” said the little kid.

  “Hoo,” I replied, trying to sound like British royalty. I had to admit, though, that next to Astrid and Priscilla, Louie looked like a scruffy old orphan dog.

  “Well,” said the older girl. “I guess you should know that I’m Shannon Louisa Kilbourne. I live over there.” She pointed to a house that was across the street, next door to the Papadakises. “And this is Amanda Delaney. She lives next door to me.”

  “But Priscilla and I have to go home now. So bye!” the little girl called gaily, and ran off.

  “Well, I’m Kristy Thomas,” I told Shannon. “You know where I live.”

  “In Mr. Brewer’s house,” she answered, clearly implying that I was not good enough to be a Brewer, just lucky enough to live with one. “Pew,” she went on, “your dog smells. Where’s he been? In a swamp?”

  “Personally,” I replied, ignoring her question, “I would rather live in a swamp than across the street from you.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, you’re only proving what a jerk you are,” retorted Shannon.

  “And you’re only proving what a snob you are.”

  “Jerk.”

  “Snob.”

  Shannon stuck her tongue out at me, I stuck mine out at her, and we walked on.

  Linny and Hannie Papadakis are neat little kids. They love to “play pretend” and to organize activities for the other neighborhood kids. And their little sister, Sari, is very sweet. All of the kids have dark hair, deep brown eyes, olive skin, and really terrific smiles.

  On the afternoon that I was to baby-sit for them, Linny and Hannie were waiting for me in the front yard.

  “Hi!” called Hannie, jumping up as soon as she saw me coming.

  “Hi, you guys,” I said.

  “Guess what we want to do today,” Linny said. “We want to have a pet fashion show.”

  “Yeah, we want to dress up Myrtle and Noodle,” Hannie added.

  This is the great thing about the Papadakises. They have just as much money as anyone else around here, but you wouldn’t know it, except for the mansion. They’re very down-to-earth, and their pets are named Myrtle the Turtle and Noodle the Poodle, not Astrid of Grenville, like some pets I can think of. The children are allowed to choose their own clothes every morning, even though they sometimes end up wearing stripes with plaids, and they go barefoot all summer long.

  “Let me talk to your mom first,” I told Linnie and Hannie, “and then we’ll see about Myrtle and Noodle.”

  “Okay,” said Hannie cheerfully. She took my hand and led me inside the Papadakises’ house. “Mo-om!” she yelled. “Kristy’s here!”

  Mrs. Papadakis came bustling through the hallway from the back of the house. “Hi, Kristy,” she said. “Thanks for coming.”

  Linny, Hannie, and Sari look exactly
like their mother. Mrs. Papadakis wears her dark hair so that it frames her face. And when she smiles her terrific smile, the corners of her wide-set brown eyes crinkle just the way Hannie’s were crinkled then.

  “I should be back by five o’clock,” she told me. “I’ve got a meeting at the children’s school.”

  “Okay,” I replied. “Are there emergency numbers somewhere?” (As a baby-sitter, I always ask this if I’m working for a family I’m not too familiar with. You just never know what could happen.)

  “Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Papadakis. “I almost forgot. They’re on the memo board in the kitchen. Pediatrician, grandparents, and George’s — I mean, Mr. Papadakis’s — office number.”

  “Great,” I said. “Where’s Sari?”

  “Upstairs napping, but she should wake soon. And she’ll want apple juice then. There’s some in the refrigerator. But no snacks for the kids, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Mrs. Papadakis kissed Linny and Hannie and rushed off.

  “Now,” I said briskly, “what’s this about dress —”

  “WAHH!”

  I was interrupted by a cry from upstairs.

  “Oh, Sari’s awake,” said Linny.

  “I’ll get her,” I told him. “Why don’t you guys go play in the backyard?”

  “Okay,” they agreed.

  “But stay there,” I added. “Don’t leave without telling me.”

  “Okay!” They were already halfway out the door.

  I ran upstairs and followed the sound of Sari’s sobs to her bedroom. I opened the door slowly, knowing she would be confused to see me enter instead of her mother.

  “Hi, Sari!” I said brightly.

  The sobs increased.

  I cheerfully pulled up the shade and straightened the room, talking to Sari all the time. “Hi, I’m Kristy,” I told her. “We’re going to have fun playing this afternoon.”

  “No, no, no, no, no!” wailed Sari.

  But by the time I’d changed her, tickled her, and talked to her teddy bear, we were old friends. We walked down the stairs hand in hand. I gave her some apple juice, and then we joined Hannie and Linny in the yard.

  “Hi, Sari-Sari!” cried Hannie, running over to her sister.