The Baby-Sitters Club #109: Mary Anne to the Rescue (Baby-Sitters Club, The) Page 4

  On Wednesday, Abby had a big project in mind: Operation Mathew on Wheels. Ever since his parents took off his training wheels, he’d been struggling to ride a two-wheeler. Abby was determined to teach him once and for all.

  Mathew picked up speed. Abby sensed that he had his balance. As gently as she could, she let go. Mathew was doing it!

  “Abby’s not holding you!” James sang out.

  Abby could see Mathew’s body freeze up in panic.

  Mathew wobbled. Immediately he pushed his leg backward and braked. Abby had been keeping pace alongside him. She nearly took the handlebar in her stomach.

  Somehow she managed to jump away. Mathew wasn’t so lucky. His bike fell out from under him. He hit the ground, helmet-first.

  “Ow-ow-ow-ow!” he moaned, rolling on the grass.

  Abby ran to help him up. “Are you all right?”

  “No!” Mathew replied, bursting into tears. “Why did you take me out on this stupid bike? I’ll never ever ever learn how to ride it. I hate bikes!”

  Abby wrapped him in a hug. “Hey, that’s okay. We can take a rest from it. You were doing fine. Did I ever tell you what happened to me when I first tried —”

  “Beebeebeebeebeep! Coming in for a landing from Mars!” yelled Johnny as he pedaled closer.

  Crash! Right into Mathew’s bike.

  Johnny burst out laughing. “Traffic jam, traffic jelly!”

  “Hey, stop that!” Mathew cried out.

  James had taken one lap around the playground and was zooming by. “Are you still falling down, you big baby?” he taunted Mathew.

  “I’m resting!” Mathew retorted.

  “No, he falled!” Johnny insisted.

  “Did not, tattletale!” Mathew yelled.

  James was looking over his shoulder at his brothers. He was zigzagging lazily toward the playground entrance.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Abby spotted two nannies heading out of the playground. They were deep in conversation, wheeling two babies who were fast asleep in their strollers.

  “James, watch out!” Abby yelled.

  James faced forward. His bike swerved toward the babies.

  The nannies gasped. They tried to yank the strollers back.

  James was moving too fast to turn away. He jammed on the brakes and skidded.

  In a moment, James and his bike were both tumbling to the ground. James’s helmet thudded against the dirt.

  Abby sped toward him. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  “Did I hit the —?” James sprang to his feet and glanced at the nannies. He seemed more embarrassed than injured. “Sorry,” he murmured.

  “You need to watch where you’re going!” one of them snapped.

  As the two women walked away, Mathew grinned at his older brother. “Now who’s the big baby?”

  “Yeah!” said Johnny, crashing his trike into James’s bike. “Traffic jam, traffic jelly!”

  “Sto-o-op!” yelled James.

  “I’m from Mars,” Johnny explained. “We don’t have grabbity.”

  “Uh, guys,” Abby said wearily, “maybe we should try this another time.”

  “No!” all three said at the same time.

  “Hiiiii!” called a voice from behind them.

  They all turned to see Jackie Rodowsky riding toward them on his Stingray bike.

  Abby’s heart jumped. Jackie is known as the Walking Disaster. He’s only seven, but he’s had enough accidents to last a lifetime — including a crash into a tree on his bike. Unfortunately he hadn’t been wearing a helmet at the time, and he had to be hospitalized with a concussion.

  This time, Jackie was wearing his helmet. He was wearing elbow and knee guards, too. He was riding slowly, on the far right-hand side of the street. Just before he turned into a driveway to mount the sidewalk, he gave a hand signal. He was all smiles.

  Abby sighed with relief. “Now, you see how careful Jackie is when he rides?”

  But Jackie’s smile had vanished. His legs had stopped pumping, too.

  Abby heard a rip. Jackie was wobbling jerkily from side to side.

  She caught a glimpse of Jackie’s pants, caught in his bike chain.

  “Who-o-oa!” Jackie toppled over, hitting the ground with a soft thud.

  “Ja-a-ackieeee!” shouted James and Mathew, cracking up. (I know, how cruel.)

  Jackie was gazing at his ankle in bewilderment as Abby sprinted to his side. “What happened?” he murmured.

  Quickly Abby extracted his torn pants from the chain. “Can you move your ankle?”

  “Uh-huh,” Jackie answered, flexing his foot. “Good thing I remembered my helmet, huh?”

  Abby smiled. “Next time, try some ankle clips.”

  The Hobart boys were right behind her now, still giggling. “Wacky Jackie,” James muttered.

  “Ahem,” Abby said. “You guys aren’t exactly in the running for the Safe Biker of the Year award, either.”

  “I am, traffic jam!” Johnny sang.

  “At least we don’t get our pants caught up in our chains,” James said.

  “That’s just because you’re wearing shorts,” Jackie reminded him.

  “Look,” Abby interrupted, “you’re all good riders, okay? Just keep remembering to use your safety rules.”

  “On Mars, there are no safety rules,” Johnny insisted.

  “You mean, like, hand signals and stuff?” James asked, ignoring his little brother. “Nobody does that. It’s dorky.”

  “Is wearing a helmet dorky?” Abby asked.

  “No way!” Jackie piped up.

  “Kids used to think so, when helmets were first introduced,” Abby said. “See, it’s not about dorky and nondorky. It’s about smart and stupid.”

  “I use signals,” Jackie said. “One time a driver even thanked me.”

  “When I was a kid,” Abby explained, “my dad always told me to watch out for people in parked cars. He said it so many times I wanted to barf. Then one day I was speeding down a big hill near my house. I was just about to come to this busy intersection, and I had the green light. Nyyyeeearr — I zoomed as fast as I could. A red sportscar was parked at the curb, and just out of habit, I glanced into the car through its window. I could see a driver leaning into the door, ready to open it. I must have been going about thirty miles an hour as the door swung open — and I was heading right for him!”

  “Did you die?” Johnny asked.

  “Nope, I swung right around him and made the light,” Abby replied. “But my heart was beating so hard, I could practically see my shirt move. And I never, ever complained about my dad’s lecture again.”

  “Wow,” Mathew murmured.

  The kids all started talking at once. But Abby wasn’t really listening. She was thinking about her dad. About how his advice had saved her life.

  And about how she couldn’t save his.

  Right there, in front of the Carle Playground, she realized that she had a duty. She needed to pass on what her dad had given her.

  In the distance, Abby could see Jake Kuhn, Buddy Barrett, and Lindsey DeWitt heading toward them. Riding their bikes the wrong way on a one-way street.

  Visions of Shelley Golden popped into her head. Abby thought about the upcoming Firefighters’ Fair. If first aid and fire safety could be made so cool, why couldn’t bike safety?

  “Hiii!” the newcomers yelled as they approached.

  Abby looked at her watch. Ben and his mom weren’t due back at the Hobarts’ for an hour or so. “Guys, you are all in luck,” she announced. “Today is Stoneybrook Road Safety Day, and you are the lucky participants!”

  James looked at her, dumbfounded. Buddy was ready to turn and bike away.

  But Abby was already running through all the safety rules she knew, planning how to teach them.

  And thinking of an appropriate reward.

  “And whoever can master the Stevenson Rules of the Road exam will receive, free of charge, a three-scoop ice-cream sundae!”

  “
YAAAAAY!”

  It was official. Abby was in business.

  “I’ll write,” Logan said as we walked into the Stoneybrook Community Center parking lot.

  “Uh-huh,” I replied. “Me, too.”

  I could just picture it. Trudging home from school through the December snow and taking the letter out of the mailbox. Dear Mary Anne, I meant to write in September but things have been busy here …

  “We can e-mail each other,” Logan went on as we locked up our bikes. “I mean, if Dad allows me to go on-line at Conant. He might not. He’s kind of old-fashioned that way. And I don’t know the school policy, either, really.”

  I had visions of stern schoolmarms and mean priests, like the ones in Jane Eyre or A Little Princess. I could see them giving Logan the cold stare as he asked about computers, then handing him a quill pen.

  “Do they have telephones there?” I asked.

  Logan burst out laughing. “It’s a prep school, Mary Anne, not a time machine.”

  “Well, you said it was way out in the woods. I just thought it might be one of those back-to-nature places.”

  “It’s on a campus. Roads go to it. So do telephone wires and cables. If it weren’t modern, nobody would want to enroll. Well, maybe Dawn would.”

  “Dawn’s modern, Logan,” I retorted.

  “Hey, it was just a joke. Don’t be so sensitive.”

  I shut my mouth. I did not think I was being too sensitive. What was I supposed to do? Be happy that Logan was going away? Kiss our relationship good-bye? Or was I supposed to wait patiently for his visits? Goodness knows I already had practice with that. I wait for Dawn’s visits. I wait for Dad whenever he’s on his business trips.

  “Did you have a chance to talk to your mom?” I asked.

  “About what?”

  “Everything — the prep school, the boot camp. You know, the way Dawn suggested.”

  Logan rolled his eyes. “Dawn means well. But she doesn’t know my parents.”

  “So you didn’t talk to her?”

  “Why should I? She just does whatever Dad says.”

  “That’s not true, Logan. I’ve seen your mom and dad disagree.”

  We were approaching Stoneybrook Community Center now. Alan and his friends were hanging out by the front door, glancing at us and whispering.

  Logan let out an exasperated sigh. “I’ll talk to her if it makes you happy, okay?”

  “Me?” I said. “What about you? You sound as if you want to go away.”

  “Can we please stop arguing?” Logan hissed.

  My eyes were welling up. I hate hate hate fighting.

  I wished Dawn had walked with us. She’d stayed back to wait for Stacey and Claudia, figuring Logan and I needed time to talk. Maybe if she’d come along, the conversation wouldn’t have been so tense.

  “Logan and Mary Anne sitting in a tree,” Alan sang out.

  “Grow up,” Logan snapped, barging past Alan and into the building.

  I followed behind, trying to ignore Alan’s immature giggling. I spotted Kristy, Abby, Jessi, and Mallory near a trophy display. Kristy waved me over.

  “What’s with Logan?” she asked.

  “He had … uh, a fight with his dad,” I replied. (Well, it was sort of the truth.)

  “We made it!” called Stacey’s voice from behind us.

  I turned to see her, Claudia, and Dawn walking across the lobby. “Sorry we’re so late,” Dawn said.

  “Stacey had a crisis,” Claudia said. “She called me frantically, right before we were supposed to leave. I had to perform emergency hair support.”

  “I must have slept on it funny,” Stacey explained.

  “It was awful,” Claudia went on. “Broken, twisted, and lifeless. I was crying. I didn’t think we’d make it. I figured it would be a hat day. But we pulled through!”

  “See?” Stacey said, fluffing out her hair.

  “Looks the same as always,” Kristy said.

  Claudia curtsied. “Thank you!”

  “Uh, guys?” Abby said, pointing to her watch. “Class?”

  We were off and running. We made it to class just as Alan and his friends slouched in. Shelley Golden was sitting at her desk, busily shuffling papers. Logan had taken a seat by the window and was staring glumly into the parking lot. He gave me a tight, distracted half smile as I sat nearby.

  Shelley Golden, on the other hand, was beaming. “Okay, listen up!” she cried out. “I have some great news. Remember my proposal about a Stoneybrook Safety Day? Well, actually, it wasn’t my proposal. I was representing the Stoneybrook Emergency Service Council, which is comprised of police officers, firefighters, emergency-room service technicians, doctors, and nurses. Anyway, our idea was approved! The mayor has decided to make next Saturday and Sunday Stoneybrook Safety Weekend. Sunday for the Firefighters’ Fair, and Saturday for the First Annual Stoneybrook Safety Day. And I expect all of you to be our first victims.”

  “Cool,” said Abby. “I’ll go.”

  “I’m serious about the victim part,” Shelley said. “We are going to stage a mock disaster, and we need volunteers — people who will pretend to have broken legs or be sick or —”

  “How about food poisoning?” Alan asked. “I can barf on cue.”

  “Ew, gross, Alan!” Stacey cried out.

  “Thank you,” Alan replied.

  Shelley laughed. “Alan, you will be our star victim.”

  “Yyyyesss!” Kristy shouted.

  “My other news,” Shelley said, “is that I’ve obtained permission for us to visit the Stoneybrook General Hospital emergency room during our class next Tuesday. That should be very informative.”

  Informative? My stomach was churning just thinking about it.

  “Today,” Shelley went on, “I’m going to begin with a brief CPR demonstration.”

  She reached into a closet and pulled out a realistic-looking baby doll. Gently she lay it facedown on her desk. “We’ll start with infants. What do you do if a baby is unconscious, completely unresponsive?”

  I felt a catch in my throat. I thought of all the baby BSC charges — Jessi’s brother, Squirt; Andrea Prezzioso; Lucy Newton. What would I do if something happened to them?

  Cry, probably.

  “Tap the baby’s back?” a girl asked.

  “Blow into her mouth?” Mallory guessed.

  Shelley shook her head. “Shout, ‘Help!’ If there are any people within hearing distance, make one of them call nine-one-one. That is the cardinal rule. CPR is difficult. If it’s done wrong, it’s potentially dangerous. Next step, turn the baby onto its back, trying to treat its body as one unit.”

  Lifting the doll’s left arm, Shelley turned the body over gently, cradling it in her left forearm and holding its head.

  “It’s best if you do this on a hard surface. Now, try to open the airway by lifting the chin and moving back the forehead until the mouth is just barely open. Then, look, listen, and feel. Look for chest movement, listen for breathing, and move your cheek close to the mouth to feel for breath.”

  Shelley demonstrated. I could hardly see her for the tears in my eyes. The poor little doll looked so limp and lifeless.

  Around me, I could hear a few shuddering breaths. The kind you make when you’re trying not to cry. I wasn’t the only one upset.

  “If the baby is not breathing,” Shelley continued, “then you begin CPR while you’re waiting for the ambulance. First you give two rescue breaths. With a baby, you can actually put your mouth around both the nose and the mouth. Be sure to make an airtight seal. Then blow twice, making sure to watch the baby’s chest.”

  Shelley blew once, and the baby’s chest rose.

  It looked so realistic. Sort of like Lucy Newton.

  A lot like Lucy Newton.

  I began to feel faint. I grabbed the edge of my desk.

  “Mary Anne?” Kristy called out.

  Logan bolted up and ran to my side. He knelt beside me and asked, “Are you okay?”

>   “Fine,” I said.

  All around me, I could hear chairs scraping on the floor. From the front of the class came the sound of Shelley’s second rescue breath.

  “Emergency!” Abby’s voice called out.

  “I’m fine!” I insisted.

  I must have looked awful. Kids were crowding around me. Claudia began fanning me with looseleaf paper. Shelley was running toward me, too, leaving the baby on the table.

  I felt like such a fool.

  Why couldn’t I have been born with a stronger stomach? Not to mention a braver heart.

  Mary Anne the Chicken strikes again.

  “I don’t know what you’re worried about, Mary Anne,” Dawn said, gulping down a spoonful of whole-grain cereal. “Emergency rooms are interesting. At least they seem that way on TV.”

  “Lots of blood and guts,” Jeff added.

  I started at my bowl. It might as well have contained slugs with garlic. “I don’t feel well.”

  I pushed the bowl aside. I was nauseous. I was shaky. I wanted to go back to sleep for the rest of the day.

  The last thing I wanted to do was go to an emergency room.

  Tigger, my kitten, climbed into my lap. I think he could sense how awful I was feeling.

  I had been dreading Tuesday morning for four whole days. I could hardly sleep the night before. I kept dreaming about a body being wheeled down a long, white corridor. Somehow, in my dream, I was hovering over the body. Then I zoomed in close to realize it was … me.

  “You’re just grossed out, that’s all,” Dawn said. “I feel the same way every time I see a pork chop.”

  “Dawn, I couldn’t even watch Shelley give that doll mouth-to-mouth resuscitation,” I said. “How am I supposed to deal with a real, live emergency room?”

  “You were fine after the initial shock,” Dawn reminded me. “And anyway, we were all kind of shaken up. That little dummy looked so real.”

  Sharon poked her head into the kitchen. “ ’Morning! Did either of you see my tennis shoes?”

  “Where did you last wear them?” Dawn asked.