Stacey's Ex-Boyfriend Read online

  Our dance genius is Jessica Ramsey. Jessi is a gifted ballerina who’s already appeared in several professional productions. She takes classes twice a week in Stamford, which is the closest city to Stoneybrook.

  Jessi is all ballerina. She moves gracefully, and has long, long arms and legs. She often puts her hair up in a dancer’s bun. Jessi is also pretty. She has big, dark eyes and creamy brown skin. I can see her as a famous dancer someday.

  Jessi is one of our junior officers. That’s because she’s eleven and isn’t allowed to sit at night, unless she’s minding her younger sister, Becca, who’s eight, or her little brother, Squirt, who’s fourteen months. That doesn’t happen too often because Jessi’s aunt Cecelia lives with the Ramseys and is usually available to take care of the younger kids.

  Our other junior officer is Mallory Pike, Jessi’s best friend. She’s our writing genius. Her goal is to write and illustrate children’s books. She has lots of kids on whom to test her work. She’s the oldest of eight!

  Mallory doesn’t like her looks, but I think she’s pretty. She has very wavy reddish-brown hair, sparkly blue eyes, and a great smile. But she hates her hair because it’s unruly. She doesn’t like her eyes because she wears glasses, and she can’t appreciate her smile because she has braces. (They’re the clear kind and you hardly notice them.) I hope someday Mallory will be able to see how attractive she really is.

  Last, but absolutely not least, there’s Abby Stevenson. No doubt about it, she’s our comic genius. She loves puns and has a wacky sense of humor.

  Abby is so sunny that you might not guess she’s had some hard times. Her father was killed in a car crash a few years ago. As you can imagine, it devastated Abby, her mother, and Abby’s twin sister, Anna. They lived on Long Island (which is not far from New York City) at the time. Abby says she barely smiled and never cracked jokes then. But eventually she started to live her life again.

  Abby’s not only funny, she’s an excellent soccer player. And like me, she has to deal with a condition that’s not going to go away unless someone discovers a cure. In her case, it’s asthma. When she has an asthma attack she can barely breathe. She always carries a prescription inhaler to help her breathe during an attack.

  I wish I had Abby’s hair, which is thick, naturally curly, long, and dark. She’s so lucky.

  That’s pretty much our group of geniuses. That afternoon, Abby was the last to arrive. She slid into the room just as the digital clock clicked over to 5:31. “My foot was in the room at five-thirty,” she insisted. “It was!”

  “Oh, sure,” Kristy said with a wry smile. “Sure.” (Kristy and Abby clash sometimes. They’re both such strong personalities that it can’t be avoided, I suppose. But this time they were both smiling.)

  Abby held a brown bag out to Kristy. “Have a strawberry,” she offered. “They’re great.”

  Kristy took one from the bag and bit into it. “Wow!” she said, her mouth full. “It’s so good. Where did you buy these? I haven’t seen any strawberries around yet this year. The ones in Watson’s garden are still green.”

  The phone rang and Claudia answered it. “Hello, Baby-sitters Club.” It was Mrs. Hill, wanting a sitter for the next Saturday.

  While Mary Anne checked the record book to see who could sit for Norman and Sara, Abby passed the strawberries around the room. “This is great,” I said, taking a berry. “A treat I can have too.”

  “This new place just opened outside of town, not too far from the highway. It’s called Strawberry Fields Forever. You know, like the old Beatles song.” She sang a couple of lines from the song, then continued. “These berries came out of the greenhouse, so they ripened faster. But there are fields and fields of them, which, the man there told me, should be ready next week. Next Saturday, they’ll open it to the public, and you can pick your own berries.”

  “I love doing that,” Mallory cried excitedly. “My family and I picked strawberries at a place like that last summer, when we were on vacation.”

  “The kids we sit for would probably love to pick berries,” Kristy said thoughtfully.

  I’d seen that expression on her face before. I knew the wheels were already turning in that active brain of hers. It was just a matter of time before some great new strawberry-related plan popped out of her. What would it be?

  I love when it finally becomes warm enough to put away my winter clothing and take out summer stuff. I am sick of my clothes by the end of winter, and I’m dying to put on the lightweight things I’ve packed away.

  Also, the warm weather provides a great excuse to buy a few new things. Last summer’s sandals are too beat-up to wear again this season. Or your old bathing suit is too frayed and faded from all that pool chlorine. I’d been saving my baby-sitting money since March for a mini spring shopping spree. And the day — a Saturday morning — had finally come to spend it.

  Claudia and I had taken the bus to Washington Mall. We were standing by the big fountain that sprays pink water, deciding what store to hit first.

  “Lear’s?” Claudia suggested.

  I shook my head. “They never have anything I like.”

  “Laura Ashley?” Claudia tried again.

  I looked at her. “You don’t usually find anything there you want,” I pointed out.

  “I know,” she replied. “But you do. And I saw some cool sundresses in the window.”

  I nodded. “I could use a sundress. Let’s go.”

  We’d just taken a few steps away from the fountain when I spotted Patti Brewster, Robert’s younger (by one year) sister. I hadn’t seen her in awhile. “Hi, Patti,” I called, waving.

  She seemed surprised to see me. And I was surprised when she didn’t return my friendly greeting. “Oh, Stacey. Hi,” she replied flatly.

  What was that all about? I hurried over to her. “Is something the matter?” I asked.

  “As if you care,” Patti replied.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You and Robert broke up, so I guess you don’t care about us anymore,” she said coldly.

  “Patti. For one thing, Robert broke up with me. I didn’t break up with him. And, for another, I do care.”

  “Then why don’t you ever call Robert?”

  Claudia and I exchanged a confused glance. I was glad Claudia seemed as bewildered by Patti as I did.

  “It’s not so easy to just call a guy once he’s broken up with you,” Claudia put in.

  “Yeah, but you sent him a valentine-gram. I thought maybe you guys would get back together and then everything would be fine again.”

  “The valentine-gram just said that I hoped we could be friends. But what do you mean, ‘fine again’? What’s wrong?” I asked. “I mean, I know Robert has been a little down lately. Is something wrong at home?”

  Patti shook her head. “Nothing’s wrong at our house. If you want the truth, I think it’s your fault, Stacey. Robert hasn’t been the same since you two broke up.”

  “Since he broke up with me.”

  “Whatever. It really bummed him out.”

  She didn’t seem to think it mattered who broke up with whom. But it mattered to me. How could it be my fault that the breakup bothered him so much, when he’d been the one to do the breaking up?

  “Could anything else be upsetting him?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. He just sits up in his room, staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t hang out with anybody. He never smiles anymore.”

  “What do your parents think?” Claudia asked.

  “They barely notice! They just tell each other that teenagers act weird and they think he’ll get over it. And his so-called friends don’t care. They don’t even call him anymore. It used to annoy me that the phone was always for him. Now it doesn’t. Nobody calls him. You sure don’t.”

  She really zinged me with that last remark. The truth was, even though I didn’t think Robert’s gloomy state was my fault, I suddenly felt guilty. I had known something was wrong with Robert way bac
k in February. I’d made a slight effort to talk to him, then forgotten about him.

  “I’ll call him,” I told Patti.

  “When?”

  “Soon. Tonight.”

  Patti eyed me skeptically.

  “This afternoon,” I said. “I promise.”

  Patti nodded and glanced beyond my shoulder. “I see my friends,” she said, waving at a group of girls who were walking toward us. “See ya.”

  “See ya,” I murmured as she left.

  “Wow, what a little creep,” Claudia said when Patti was too far away to hear. “The nerve of her blaming you for whatever’s botherng Robert.”

  I smiled grimly. It’s always nice to have a loyal friend like Claudia on your side. “She’s just worried about her brother,” I said. “I suppose she’s looking for a reason for Robert’s mood, and our breakup is the only one she can come up with.”

  We began walking toward Laura Ashley. “I just had a thought,” Claudia said slowly.

  “What?”

  “Maybe Robert isn’t depressed because you broke up. Maybe he broke up because he was feeling depressed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Suppose that back then, he had this vague feeling that something was bothering him, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, he might have tried to figure out what was bothering him,” Claudia went on. “And he might have thought it was his relationship with you. He figured that if he changed girlfriends he might feel better. He might have thought that dating someone new — like Andi — would solve his problem.”

  “Makes sense,” I had to admit.

  “Only it didn’t make him feel better,” she added. “Look how quickly he and Andi broke up.”

  “She broke up with him,” I reminded Claudia as we walked into Laura Ashley.

  Claudia lifted a purple flower-print sundress off a rack and held it up to herself. “I know, but maybe she broke up with him because she could tell he wasn’t really into the relationship.” She studied herself and the dress in a long mirror. She wrinkled her nose in distaste and returned the dress to the rack.

  I nodded. “That makes sense. But it still doesn’t tell us what was bothering Robert in the first place.”

  “That’s true,” Claud admitted. “Could he be taking drugs or something like that? People always change when they take drugs.”

  “Robert?” I cried, shocked by the idea. “No. Never. I mean … no way. I just can’t believe he’d do that.”

  “Just checking,” Claudia said, lifting a white blouse off the rack. “Some of Robert’s friends are weird enough to take drugs. They might influence him. You know how they are.”

  “Don’t remind me,” I said, rolling my eyes. I’ll never forget how some of them tried to involve me in a shoplifting scheme. And how they got into trouble — and got me into trouble — for sneaking alcohol into a concert. “But Robert isn’t really like those friends. Besides, I don’t think he’s hanging out with them much these days. Back in February when we talked, he said he couldn’t relate to them anymore. He was bored by them.”

  Claudia studied the blouse. “Do you like this?” she asked.

  “You can always use a plain white blouse,” I said.

  Claudia’s eyes brightened. “White blouses are great to paint on. Can’t you see this one with big sunflowers on the front? And I could sew a pattern of beads around the collar.”

  “You’d paint on a good Laura Ashley blouse?”

  “Of course! Why else would you buy a white blouse?” Claud replied. Then her expression grew serious. “You’re right. I can find a shirt to paint on at the thrift shop.” She put it back and sighed. “It would have looked cool, though.”

  We had a good time for the rest of the afternoon. I bought a simple, short, sleeveless aqua dress that made my eyes look even bluer. I also found a pair of cool clear-blue jelly sandals with chunky heels to go with the dress. Claudia bought a white blouse and then stocked up on stuff from the crafts store, including beads, a bag of feathers, sequins, and fabric paint.

  We laughed and talked about our summer plans. I forgot about Robert until I arrived home.

  Placing my shopping bags on the kitchen table, I stared at the wall phone. I’d told Patti I’d call Robert. I had promised. Now I had to do it.

  But for some reason I didn’t quite understand, I punched in Claudia’s number instead.

  “Of course you don’t want to call him,” Claudia said sensibly over the phone. “He’s your ex-boyfriend. It’s an awkward situation. I haven’t talked to Mark at all since we broke up.” (Mark is Claudia’s ex-boyfriend.) “For one thing, I don’t want to upset Josh.” (He’s the guy she’s seeing now.)

  “Well, I don’t have to worry about that, since Ethan is in New York City. Still, I wouldn’t want to do anything behind his back. But … I’m not. I’m only calling a friend,” I said.

  “An ex-boyfriend is not the same as any other friend,” Claudia insisted.

  “Why should it be different?”

  “I don’t know. It just is.”

  We talked for a few more minutes and then I hung up. Talking to Claudia had made me feel better. At least it helped me understand why I felt so weird about calling Robert. But it didn’t solve my problem. I still had the phone call to make. “Just do it,” I instructed myself sternly. “Okay,” I muttered in reply. “Okay.”

  Taking a deep breath for courage, I punched in Robert’s number, which I still knew by heart.

  The phone rang two … three times. I hoped Patti wouldn’t answer. I wasn’t in the mood to hear her chilly, accusing voice.

  “Hello?” It was Mrs. Brewster. “Stacey,” she said softly when I told her who I was. She sounded a little surprised but friendly. “How are you?”

  “Fine,” I answered, feeling extremely ill at ease. She must be wondering why I was calling. I hoped she didn’t think I was chasing after Robert or anything embarrassing like that.

  “Robert isn’t here,” she said. “I’ll be sure to tell him you called. Any message?”

  “No … no message. ’Bye.”

  Whew! I hung up, feeling relieved. I was off the hook (no pun intended). At least for the time being.

  I’d realized as soon as Mrs. Brewster answered that I had no clue what I would say to Robert. “Hi! It’s Stacey. Just checking in after months of noncommunication to find out why you’re still depressed. Didn’t I tell you not to be depressed anymore back in February? Weren’t you listening?”

  I mean, really! What could I say?

  That night I went to the movies with Mom. When we returned home we found a message from Robert on the answering machine: Hi, Stacey, this is Robert. Just returning your call. ’Bye.

  That night, as I climbed into bed, I told myself I had done my job. I’d called Robert. He’d gotten the message that I had called. He knew I cared. And that was the point. So I didn’t have to call him back.

  With that thought in mind, I slept well. But my conscience caught up with me in the morning. I’d promised, after all. Deep down I knew that leaving a message wasn’t the same as calling.

  So, after breakfast, I tried again.

  I reached the Brewsters’ answering machine. Yesss!

  I left another message, then prepared to take the train to Manhattan. I had a great day planned. Bike riding in Central Park with Ethan, an early supper with Dad, then home.

  It was a beautiful spring day, and I had a great time. By the time Mom picked me up at the train station that night it was just after nine. Mom said Robert had called back earlier, but I decided it was too late to call him again.

  There was no avoiding him in school the next day, though. He came to my locker, first thing. “Hi! Sorry I kept missing your calls,” he said. “What’s up?”

  What’s up? Normally that’s not an especially difficult question. But this time I was stumped for an answer.

  “Ummm … well, nothing really,” I replied, ta
king the books I needed from my locker. “I just thought … we haven’t talked in awhile…. I just wondered how you were doing and all…. Are you okay?”

  Robert laughed self-consciously. “Wow! I blank out on one little math problem and you think I’m falling apart.”

  “I didn’t say that,” I protested with a smile. (He was shockingly on target, though.) I shut my locker and leaned against it, hugging my books to my chest. “Back around Valentine’s Day you told me you were feeling kind of out of things, and … well … to be honest … you still look as if you’re sort of out of things.”

  Robert ducked back and checked his reflection in the window of a classroom door. “Gee, I didn’t know it was so obvious,” he said.

  I smiled. “It may not be obvious to everybody, but I can tell. And Patti is worried about you too.”

  “Oh, so that’s it,” Robert said. “Bigmouth Patti ratted me out.”

  “She’s worried.”

  Robert looked over his shoulder at the flow of students hurrying to their classes. We needed to hurry too. “Want to walk home together after school?” he suggested. “We could talk then.”

  “All right,” I agreed. “Meet me here at my locker.”

  He nodded and started to walk away. Then he turned around to face me and walked backward. “Thanks for asking, Stace.”

  “Sure,” I said. With a wave, he turned again and disappeared around the hallway corner.

  I stayed at my locker for a moment, watching the kids go by. Robert was so sweet. I couldn’t believe I’d felt all worked up over calling him. It would be nice to walk home with him again.

  * * *

  “So, what’s bugging you?” I asked as we walked out the school door that afternoon.

  He sighed deeply. “I wish I knew.”

  “But something is bothering you. Right?”

  “Yeah, but I’m not sure what it is. I mean, I have some ideas. Partly, it’s the same thing I told you about the last time we talked. My friends are annoying me. I’m sure you can understand that.”