Abby and the Best Kid Ever Read online

  Stacey McGill is also tall, very thin, and blonde, with pale skin and big blue eyes. She’s a math whiz and a fashion maven. She’s originally from New York City and goes back often to visit her father, who returned after the McGills got divorced.

  Stacey often seems older than the rest of us, perhaps because of her big-city background. Or maybe it’s because she has had to take a lot of responsibility for herself since she discovered that she has a disease called diabetes.

  When you have diabetes, your body can’t handle sugar. Stacey has to be very careful about what she eats (no sweets), and she gives herself daily injections of insulin. But she takes it all in her sophisticated stride.

  I think Stacey’s style is a reflection of her city background. For instance, today, when we were all dressed warmly and casually, Stacey was wearing a cropped sweater in dark blue-green that looked good with her blue eyes. She also had on a short skirt (black faux suede), pale blue tights, and very cool-looking black suede boots that came to just above her knees. Tiny gold knot earrings completed her ensemble.

  The other “ensembled” person in the group is Stacey’s best friend, Claudia. As I said, Claudia is veep of the BSC because she has her own phone line — and because she keeps us supplied with huge quantities of junk food that she keeps hidden around her room, from pretzels (for Stacey, since she can’t have sugar) to Twinkies and Hershey Hugs (a current favorite of Claud’s). Today, she was relying on chocolate trail mix to get her through the meeting, and we were all pitching in to help eat it, except for Stacey, who was eating an apple.

  Claudia’s ensembles resemble Stacey’s only in that they fit her personality and make her stand out from the crowd. Claudia is an artist who struggles in school but has no problem being amazingly creative. She’s overshadowed a bit by her older sister, Janine, who has test scores that prove, to the experts at least, that she is a certifiable genius. But I read somewhere recently that IQ tests only measure one kind of genius and that there really are many different kinds of intelligence. Claudia proves it. She is, I believe, an artistic genius.

  She’s also a knockout, with dark brown eyes, jet-black hair, and a creamy complexion (in spite of all the junk she eats!). She usually dresses like a work of art herself, or as she likes to describe it, a work-in-progress. Today the room was considerably brighter because Claudia had decided to wear red. That meant she had on a red tunic with an orange-red braided belt (that she had made herself, naturally). Her leggings were a rose-pink color, and she had on black shiny flats with tiny rosettes on the toe. She’d pulled her hair back with a large red silk scarf that matched the tunic. Her earrings were silver snowflakes, also homemade. On anybody else, this outfit might have looked overwhelming, but on Claudia it was smashing.

  Mallory Pike and Jessica Ramsey are another pair of BSC best friends. Jessi has a younger sister, Becca, and a baby brother, John Philip, Jr., whom everyone calls Squirt. Her aunt Cecelia lives with the family and helps out, the way Nannie does with Kristy’s family. Jessi, like Kristy, is organized. Like Claudia, she has artistic ambitions.

  In Jessi’s case, however, the art is ballet. She wants to be a prima ballerina and gets up every morning at 5:29 to practice her ballet moves at the barre in her basement. She also takes classes twice a week in Stamford and has even had roles in ballets.

  Although Jessi dressed casually for our meeting, you would have guessed she was a ballet dancer by the way she wore her dark hair pulled back in a neat bun, or the way she was (as usual) doing stretches as she sat on the floor, her long arms curving in graceful arcs. Jessi has dark brown eyes and brown skin. She often wears pink or lavender leotards that set off her coloring — and add to her ballet-dancer aura.

  No one, on the other hand, would mistake Mallory Pike for a ballet dancer. Although Mal and Jessi are about the same height, Mal is sturdier in build and she usually allows her reddish-brown hair to fall over her shoulders. She has pale skin with a scattering of freckles and, to her eternal despair, wears glasses and braces. I keep telling her glasses are no big deal, but Mallory pines for contact lenses, which she plans to get as soon as she’s older. She can’t wait to lose her braces either, although they are practically invisible.

  Really, Mal can find a dramatic story in almost anything. She wants to be a writer and an illustrator when she grows up. She’s already won a prize for writing. She’s also the baby-sitter with the most at-home experience. That’s because she is the oldest of eight siblings, including triplets. Maybe that contributes to Mal’s storytelling abilities. It can’t be easy keeping seven brothers and sisters entertained and out of trouble. But somehow Mal manages to do it, and keep calm at the same time.

  The ability to keep calm is something that Mallory and Jessi share. They also both love horses and mysteries. Their favorite author is Marguerite Henry.

  Shannon goes to a private school, Stoneybrook Day School. Like Kristy, she wears a uniform every day, but in her case, it’s a required school uniform. She looks pretty good in it too. She has thick, curly blonde hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, and wears black mascara every day.

  Also like Kristy, Shannon is an Achiever with a capital A. She’s an excellent student and a member of the Honor Society, the debate team (one of the best in the state), the Astronomy Club, the French Club. In addition to all that, she participates in school plays and was one of the leads in a Drama Club production of Arsenic and Old Lace.

  It makes even me tired to think about it, but all that activity doesn’t seem to faze Shannon, an outstanding quality for a baby-sitter.

  Last (but not least, especially for Mary Anne!) is Logan Bruno. Mary Anne thinks Logan looks like her favorite TV star, Cam Geary. I don’t know about that, but I admit that with his blue eyes, curly blond-brown hair, and nice athletic build, he’s cute. Logan is from Kentucky and has a soft southern accent that I like to listen to. He also has a good sense of humor and loves sports (of which I naturally approve). In fact, Logan is as big a sports fanatic as I am, although his sports are track, football, and baseball rather than soccer. And, of course, he is a very good baby-sitter.

  Logan and Shannon weren’t at the meeting, but the rest of us were. We were all talking at once about the Addisons when we got the first phone call of the day. However, we quieted down as Kristy picked up the phone and said, “The Baby-sitters Club. May I help you? … Hi, Mr. Papadakis.”

  The Papadakises live across the street from Kristy and have been regular clients of the BSC for ages.

  Mary Anne took out the record book and got ready to make a note of the appointment. But when Kristy hung up the phone, her first words were, “Guess what? I have more amazing news.”

  “The Papadakises are moving?” said Claudia, looking unhappy.

  “No. Lou McNally is coming back to town.”

  A stunned silence met this announcement.

  Then Mary Anne said, with quick sympathy, “Oh, no. Is something wrong? Is Lou all right?”

  “She’s not in trouble, is she?” asked Mal anxiously.

  As you may remember, I mentioned Lou earlier. She had earned the title “Worst Kid Ever” from us during her stay in Stoneybrook. Lou was a foster child and had been placed with the Papadakises after her father died (her mother had been long gone). Her older brother, Jay, had been sent to another foster family.

  Baby-sitting for Lou was practically dangerous. You never knew what she was going to do. Her stunts and behavior often incited an all-out war with the other kids around her.

  But, as the BSC soon figured out, Lou wasn’t really bad. She was unhappy. And who wouldn’t be?

  Fortunately, Lou’s story had a happy ending. Her uncle and aunt were located, and Lou and Jay were reunited in their custody. They even gave Lou a three-month-old black Labrador puppy, whom Lou named Happy, because, as she wrote in a letter to Kristy, “She’s happy all the time. Silly dog.”

  Kristy grinned. “I don’t know if Lou has turned into the best kid ever,” she said, “but apparently she�
�s doing fine. And now the McNallys are moving to Stoneybrook!”

  “That’s great!” said Claudia.

  “Where’s their new house?” Stacey asked.

  “Near you, Claudia,” Kristy answered.

  “But the Addisons don’t live that close by,” I blurted out.

  Everyone looked at me in confusion. Then Jessi said, “Oh. Are the McNallys moving into the Addisons’ house?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Kristy.

  “So we’ve got two new families coming to Stoneybrook,” said Stacey.

  Kristy gestured with an impatient motion of her hand. “Anyway, Mr. Papadakis wants to set up a sitter for Lou and Jay while the McNallys unpack.”

  “I’d love to see Lou again,” said Claudia. “As long as she’s no longer the Worst Kid Ever.”

  “I agree,” said Kristy.

  Meanwhile, Mary Anne was running her finger down the list of available sitters. Only one of us could take the job.

  Me.

  “Lucky Abby,” said Jessi, smiling at me.

  Maybe yes, maybe no, I thought, but I didn’t say anything. I’d wait and see if the Worst Kid Ever still lived up to her name.

  Mrs. Bernhardt, my history teacher, is short and big-chested, with thick, curly blonde hair, and smiles a lot through the ton of makeup she inevitably wears. She is also known as Dolly One. Dolly Two is Ms. Vandela, another short, big-chested blonde teacher with a fondness for heavy-duty cosmetics. Their real names are not Dolly, but both are Dolly Parton look-alikes and huge Dolly Parton fans.

  Dolly One, Dolly Two. Hmmm. Sounds like the title to a country-western song, doesn’t it?

  Don’t get me wrong. I like Dolly One (I’ve never had a class with Dolly Two). She may smile more than your average human being, but I think most of the time it’s sincere. However, history is not my best subject. I guess I take it places where it doesn’t necessarily want to go….

  Mrs. Bernhardt didn’t quite know what to do when I suggested that since Philadelphia was the City of Brotherly Love, we ought to have a city named Philasororia (for the City of Sisterly Love). And she didn’t even laugh when I said that if we couldn’t name a city that, it would make a great name for a dinosaur.

  Sometimes I see Mrs. Bernhardt looking at me as if I were the Student from Another Planet.

  But she did manage a smile when I stopped by her desk after school that Tuesday.

  “Abigail, how are you, honey?” she asked.

  I’d been sitting in her class for the last fifty minutes, so you’d think she’d already know. But that’s the way Mrs. Bernhardt is.

  “Fine, thank you,” I said. “Except for my grade.”

  With a look of distress, Mrs. Bernhardt said, “Well, I know your grades aren’t what they should be. What are we going to do about it?”

  “We?” I said.

  Mrs. Bernhardt raised her eyebrows. She might have a soft exterior and syrupy voice, but underneath, she is steely to the bone.

  Moving right along, I said, “Well, I’d like to bring my grade up, of course. So I thought we could talk about the Black History Month projects.”

  “Ah, yes. We have quite a few topics to choose from.” Mrs. B reached into her top drawer and pulled out a folder. She opened it and extracted two sheets of paper stapled together at the top.

  I recognized the handout material we’d been given when the projects had been announced. “I’ve been thinking about Black History Month education,” I said. “What I’d like to do is help some of the neighborhood kids do a project for the big presentation at the Stoneybrook Community Center.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” said Mrs. Bernhardt.

  “I’ll help organize the project,” I said. “And I’ll also document how the different kids work together. You know, it’ll be a project within a project. Two for the price of one. Double the fun. Twofers.”

  Holding up one scarlet-nailed hand, Mrs. Bernhardt said, “I get your drift. But I’m not sure you realize how much work you are proposing to take on. I don’t want a shoddy presentation….”

  “It won’t be!” I said, stung. I mean, I wasn’t Mrs. B’s best student, but I wasn’t a slacker either. “It’ll be the best project this class has ever seen.”

  “Well,” said Mrs. Bernhardt. She tapped one red nail against her lipsticked lips. “All right. But if you turn in a bad project, it won’t help your grade, Abigail.”

  “No problem,” I said.

  Claudia and Stacey, who are in my class, had waited for me in the hall.

  “How’d it go?” Stacey asked.

  Claudia patted my arm as if to console me. Since she’s not a good student, Claudia doesn’t like even the thought of having a conference with a teacher — not even a voluntary one.

  I gave Claud a reassuring smile and told them both, “Easy as pie.”

  “Pi?” said Stacey. “R squared?”

  “Pie?” asked Claudia. “What flavor?”

  I knew Stacey was talking math and Claudia was talking junk food. I laughed, and they laughed too.

  “Easy,” I said. “She agreed to it.”

  “So what’s your project going to be on?” asked Claudia.

  “Well, I haven’t quite finalized my plans yet,” I answered. “I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

  “Good,” said Stacey. “We’ll help you out.”

  Claudia nodded and we parted ways to go to our next classes. I was relieved that they hadn’t asked more questions.

  Why?

  Because although I had told Mrs. Bernhardt “No problem,” of course there was a problem. Mrs. Bernhardt had sensed it too.

  I had my presentation worked out, but I didn’t have the subject. I mean, what was my project going to be about? I had no idea.

  I went into project mode for the rest of the day. I thought about it in math. I thought about it in English. I thought about it in gym. Little bitty pieces of ideas would float to the surface. I thought of people worthy of a project: Wilma Rudolph. Sojourner Truth. Rosa Parks.

  But how could I develop any of this into something that would meet Mrs. Bernhardt’s standards? Plus, I was pretty sure that lots of my ideas had already been claimed by other students.

  I’d have to think of something, and fast. Otherwise my grade would ruin my social life … by getting me seriously grounded.

  “Hi, I’m Mr. McNally. You must be Abby.”

  I nodded and shook hands with the short, dark-haired man who’d opened the door. He was wiry, with a brisk manner and a kind face. “The movers will be here tomorrow,” he explained as he led me down a hallway. “We’re staying in a motel tonight, but we’ve brought over a few carloads that we’re trying to get unpacked now.”

  “We still have boxes we haven’t unpacked from when we moved to Stoneybrook,” I said.

  Mr. NcNally smiled. “Don’t tell Sarabeth,” he said. Before I could ask who Sarabeth was, Mr. McNally said, “Sarabeth, Abby’s here.”

  A tall woman with laugh lines at the corners of her green eyes turned and looked down at me from a step stool by a kitchen cabinet. An open box of dishes told me what she’d been doing. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Sarabeth McNally. Welcome to our mess!”

  At that moment, a gravelly voice said, “You’re not Kristy.”

  I turned and saw a small, wiry girl standing in the doorway. I knew it had to be Lou McNally. “No,” I said. “I’m Abby. I’m the newest member of the Baby-sitters Club.” Then I added reassuringly, “Kristy sent me.”

  The girl walked forward and held out her hand, just as her uncle had done. “How do you do,” she said formally. “I’m Louisa McNally. I’m sorry if I was rude.”

  I was surprised. “You weren’t rude,” I said.

  A taller boy had followed Lou into the kitchen. He said, “Hi, I’m Jay. Are you our baby-sitter?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m eleven and I don’t need a baby-sitter.”

  Lou grabbed the sleeve of Jay’s flannel shirt and
tugged it. “Jay!” she exclaimed in an agonized whisper. “That’s not nice.”

  “No problem,” I said.

  Mr. McNally said, “Well, you don’t have to think of Abby as a baby-sitter, but she is in charge of you two right now, okay?”

  I had been prepared for Jay to argue or scowl. But he just shrugged and said, “Okay.”

  “Isn’t someone missing?” I asked. “I thought I’d get to meet a terrific dog named Happy McNally too.”

  “I just let her out into the backyard for a little while,” said Lou. “I didn’t want her to mess up the house.”

  Mrs. McNally smiled. “You don’t want to leave her outside too long, dear. It’s cold.”

  “I’ll get her!” cried Jay, and he ran to the back door and threw it open. The black Labrador puppy bounded in. As I bent over to say hello, she leaped up and licked me on the chin, her tail whirling like a helicopter’s blades.

  “Happy!” said Lou in a worried voice. “Off!” Happy flattened her ears and slid down onto her front paws.

  “She’s adorable,” I said, and sneezed. Uh-oh. My allergies were kicking in. Quickly I added, “Why don’t we take Happy for a walk? I’ll show you the neighborhood.”

  “If that’s what you would like to do,” said Lou. She glanced toward her aunt and uncle. “And if it’s okay with Aunt Sarabeth and Uncle Mac.”

  “Sure,” said her uncle. “Have fun and stay out of trouble.”

  Lou’s cheeks reddened. She said solemnly, “I won’t get into any trouble. I promise.”

  I helped Lou and Jay into their coats. Then I buttoned mine up again and fastened the leash to Happy’s collar. We walked outside and Jay said, “Let me walk Happy.”

  “Abby can walk her,” said Lou.

  Jay looked as if he were going to argue. Then he said, “Well, Happy’s your dog. I guess so….”

  “If you don’t mind, Lou, I don’t mind if Jay walks her.”

  “Okay,” said Lou.

  Jay grabbed the leash, looped it around his wrist, and said, “Come on, girl!” The two of them took off, sprinting down the sidewalk.