Karen's Big Weekend Page 4

  “When does our train leave? When do we have to go back to Stoneybrook?”

  “In about two hours,” replied Mommy.

  We had not even packed our suitcases or checked out of the hotel. A funny feeling crept into my stomach. “We are not going to be able to go shopping today, are we?” I asked. (I already knew the answer to my question.)

  Another Santa

  Just as I thought, after we left St. Patrick’s we returned to our hotel.

  “Now do not leave anything behind,” said Mommy as we packed our suitcases. “Check the drawers and the closet.”

  “Look under the beds and in the bathroom,” added Seth.

  “Boo, boo, boo,” I grumbled as I crawled under the beds.

  “Are you mad?” Andrew asked me.

  “Yes, I am mad,” I replied. “I promised Nancy and Hannie special New York presents and I did not find any.”

  “Maybe you will see something on the way to the train station,” said Seth. “We will leave a little early so you can look.”

  “Thanks,” I said. But I kept right on grumbling.

  When we left the hotel, Seth asked the cab driver to drop us off two blocks from Grand Central Station. That way I could look in some stores. But a lot of the stores were closed. The ones that were open did not seem very interesting. Mostly they sold magazines and pocket knives.

  “There are more stores in the station,” said Mommy. “Remember, Karen?”

  “Yeah,” I replied glumly.

  We struggled along with our suitcases. We passed a barbershop and a newspaper stand. I did not even glance at them.

  “Well,” said Seth a few minutes later, “here we are. Grand Central.”

  I sighed.

  Mommy sighed.

  And Andrew exclaimed, “Santa Claus!”

  He was right. Standing by the door to the train station was a Santa. Actually, he was a Santa’s helper. And not a very good one. He was skinny, and you could tell that his beard was fake. Also, I could see red hair sticking out from under his white wig.

  Next to the Santa was a box with a hole in the top, like the money boxes at St. Patrick’s, only bigger. A sign on the box said HELP NEW YORK’S NEEDIEST — PLEASE.

  “What does ‘neediest’ mean?” I whispered to Seth.

  “Poorest, I guess,” he replied. “The people who need help the most.”

  “People who do not have homes?” I asked.

  “Probably. And people who need food and clothes.”

  “And toys,” I added. I thought about the kids I had met with Maxie the day before. I had been so busy since then — going to Rumpelmayer’s and the theatre — that I had forgotten about the West Side Family Center. Now I remembered Maxie saying that the kids who were given toys at the party would not get any other toys for Christmas. And I remembered how lucky I had felt because I have a home. Because I have two homes.

  Mommy and Seth and Andrew were hurrying through the door into the train station. “Wait!” I called to them. I set my suitcase on the sidewalk. I opened my purse. I pulled out my money — fourteen one-dollar bills and a penny.

  First I dropped the penny in the box. Then I stuffed in a dollar bill. Then I stuffed in all the rest of the dollar bills.

  “That’s for kids who will not get any toys on Christmas Day,” I said to the Santa. “Can you please use it to buy some toys?”

  The Santa smiled. “I sure will. Thank you very much, young lady.”

  “You’re welcome,” I replied. “Merry Christmas!”

  I ran to my little-house family. I did not know whether to feel happy or sad. I was glad I had given my money to the Santa. But I did not know what I was going to tell Nancy and Hannie about their presents.

  Home Again

  Mommy and Seth and Andrew and I walked through the train station. We found our train. Then we found four seats together. Mommy and Seth had bought coffee. They sipped it, and looked at a newspaper. Andrew fell asleep before the train even left the station.

  I was tired, too, but I had thought of something I wanted to do. I asked Mommy for a pad of paper and a pencil. I propped the pad on my knees. Then I wrote:

  When I finished my letter, I folded it in half. I slipped it into my purse. I would leave it in Mommy and Seth’s room before I went to bed that night. Then I scrunched down in my seat. I fell asleep just like Andrew. When I woke up, the train was pulling into Stoneybrook.

  “Home again, home again, jiggety jig,” said Andrew.

  We piled our things in the car and drove to the little house.

  “We’re here!” I cried as I ran through the front door. “Rocky! Midgie! Emily Junior! We are home!”

  Midgie came skittering out of the kitchen. Rocky wandered in, yawning. (I guess we had disturbed a nap.) I hugged them and kissed them and patted them. “New York was great,” I told them. Then I ran upstairs to my room. I knelt by Emily’s cage. “Hi, Miss Rat,” I said. “I am back. I can tell Nancy took good care of you.”

  I let Emily run around in my room for awhile. Then I put her back in her cage. I decided to call my two best friends. I called Nancy first.

  “Hi!” I said. “I am back. Thank you for taking care of the pets.”

  “You’re welcome,” replied Nancy. “How was New York?”

  “It was wonderful. The best, best weekend. We ate in restaurants. And we saw two shows. One was a play called Guys and Dolls. And this one man in the play? His name was Nicely-Nicely Johnson.”

  ”Cool,” said Nancy.

  Then I called Hannie. “Hi!” I said. “I am back.”

  “Did you like New York?”

  “It was terrific. We saw the biggest Christmas tree in the world. And the biggest snowflake and the biggest menorah. And we went ice skating, and I met Maxie’s family.”

  “Excellent,” said Hannie.

  Later, just before supper, I unpacked my suitcase. Stuffed into one corner I found a small brown paper bag. Inside were the two I ♥ NYC buttons. I laid them on the bed. They looked very small. They did not look as if they had cost seven dollars each, which is how much money I had wanted to spend on my friends. Our holiday party was going to take place in less than a week. And I had no more money. I did not have New York presents for my friends. I hardly had any presents at all.

  I would have to figure something out. And I would have to do it quickly. I did not want to disappoint my friends.

  Happy Holidays

  I had a plan — sort of.

  Nancy and Hannie and I had decided to hold our holiday party at the big house. My sister Kristy helped me decorate my room. We made a red-and-green paper chain and a blue-and-white paper chain. We hung them across the ceiling. We cut out snow-flakes and taped them to the windows. We blew up some balloons, too.

  Nannie helped me bake gingerbread men. They were going to be our refreshments — gingerbread men and hot chocolate.

  At two o’clock on Saturday afternoon the bell rang. I dashed to the front door. I threw it open.

  “Hello! Welcome to the holiday party!” I cried.

  Nancy and Hannie had both arrived. They were standing on the stoop, bundled up in their snow clothes. They were each carrying two beautiful presents with big bows.

  “Come on in,” I said.

  My friends stamped the snow off their boots. Then they stepped inside and hung up their jackets.

  “What shall we do first?” asked Nancy.

  “Open presents!” cried Hannie.

  My friends raced up the stairs to my room. I followed more slowly. I watched them put their presents on the bed. Their presents were big. All four of them. The two I ♥ NYC buttons looked extra small next to them. You could hardly even see them.

  In fact, Hannie did not see them. “Go ahead, Karen. Get your presents,” she said. “Then we will open everything, one at a time.”

  “Well,” I began. I paused. “Well … your presents are right here.” I pointed to the buttons. Then I drew in a deep breath. “I have to tell you something
about your presents. Remember, I had fourteen dollars when I went to New York?” I said.

  “Fourteen dollars and sixty-five cents,” spoke up Hannie.

  “Right,” I agreed. “I bought you these little presents in the train station when we first got to the city. Then I had fourteen dollars and eleven cents left. I looked and looked and looked, but I could not find just the right presents. Or else I found great presents, but they cost too much money. Then on Saturday, Maxie and I met these kids who do not have homes. They have no place to live. And I found out that lots of kids like them do not get any presents at the holidays. None at all.”

  “Not one?” said Nancy.

  “No, not one,” I replied. “So on Sunday I gave all the rest of my money — the money for your presents — to someone who was collecting to help out New York’s neediest. That is what his sign said. He told me he would spend my money on toys for kids. So … so those are your presents. I mean, your presents are that now some other kids will get presents.”

  “Really?” said Hannie. “That is so cool.”

  “Much better than another toy,” added Nancy. “I got lots of toys for Hanukkah.”

  “And I will get lots of toys for Christmas,” said Hannie. “Thank you, Karen!”

  “Yeah, thanks,” said Nancy. “That is the best present ever.”

  I grinned at my best friends. Then the Three Musketeers tore into the presents. We left a mess of wrapping paper on my bed. After awhile we put on our boots and coats. We built a snow family in the front yard. Later we ran inside. We ate our gingerbread men and drank our hot chocolate. We sat around the table in the warm kitchen and told jokes.

  When the party was over, my friends and I called out, “Good-bye! Happy holidays! See you tomorrow!”

  About the Author

  ANN M. MARTIN is the acclaimed and bestselling author of a number of novels and series, including Belle Teal, A Corner of the Universe (a Newbery Honor book), A Dog’s Life, Here Today, P.S. Longer Letter Later (written with Paula Danziger), the Family Tree series, the Doll People series (written with Laura Godwin), the Main Street series, and the generation-defining series The Baby-sitters Club. She lives in New York.

  Copyright © 1993 by Ann M. Martin

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, BABY-SITTERS LITTLE SISTER, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First edition, 1993

  e-ISBN 978-1-338-05693-8