Karen's Stepmother Read online

  Elizabeth smiled. “Do you know what, Karen? I should explain something to you that I probably should have explained before. There is a reason for the rules and the assigned chores at the big house. It is because the big house is a big house — with a big family living in it. Keeping track of ten people, and running a household for them, is not easy. It takes planning and organization. Otherwise, this place would be a mess! But if everyone pitches in, we can keep it running smoothly. The little house is probably easier to run. So, here at the big house, everyone does chores. If they don’t, they lose their allowances. Kristy and her brothers know this, Andrew and Emily are learning it, and you have to learn it, too.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  “Now,” Elizabeth went on, “maybe I did not make this clear at the beginning. If I did not, it was because I wanted you and Andrew to feel comfortable here. I didn’t want to overwhelm you. Anyway, now that you understand about the chores, what other things do we need to talk about?”

  “We-ell …” I tried to think of a nice way to say what I wanted to say. “Elizabeth, you make too many suggestions. You are always suggesting different ways to do things. Your ways. I feel like I do not do anything right.”

  “Fair enough,” said Elizabeth. “I will stop making so many suggestions. If you will stop talking so much. And stop interrupting me when I’m on the phone.”

  That sounded like a fair deal. So I agreed to it. Then I agreed to one more deal. Elizabeth and Nannie would remind me every day to do my chores. And I would do them without complaining.

  Elizabeth and I turned and headed back to the big house. On the way, I said, “Elizabeth? Will you tell me some more about Hoover tonight?”

  And Elizabeth replied, “I would be happy to.”

  Grease

  During the next two weeks, Elizabeth and I tried very hard to get along. We stuck to our deals, and that helped. Elizabeth only made suggestions that were really necessary. Like the one she made the day I ran out the door on my way to Hannie’s so her dad could drive us to school. As I ran by Elizabeth she said, “May I make a suggestion, Karen?”

  I looked at her warily. “What?”

  “That you go back inside and get your lunch and your homework.”

  “Oh! Thanks, Elizabeth!”

  And I tried not to talk so much, especially during meals. I let Andrew and Emily talk more. But once I had to interrupt Elizabeth when she was on the phone. I thought she would want to know that whatever was in the microwave had just exploded. And she did.

  Also, every morning, Elizabeth poked her head in my room and said, “Time to get up, honey. Make your bed and tidy up your room before you come downstairs.”

  Every afternoon, as soon as I came home from school, Nannie would point to the recycling stuff and say, “Remember your job, Karen.”

  I found that if I separated the stuff once a day, it only took a few minutes. And Charlie was much more pleasant about going to the recycling center. Sometimes he even let me ride along in the Junk Bucket with him. I had not missed my allowance again.

  Meanwhile, Andrew and I worked on our go-cart. Guess what. It was actually beginning to look more like a go-cart. We were working hard. I did not want us to be embarrassed during the race. So we made the box more sturdy. Also, I figured out a way to steer our car. I took a good look at that old red wagon to see how it steered. Then I tried to make our car steer the same way. It did not steer nearly as well, but it steered. At least we would not sail into the crowd of people watching the race. We would be able to stay on the road. And I had worked on the wheels to make our car faster. In fact, it could really zoom along. Nannie watched Andrew take a ride in it one day, and afterward she told both of us we would have to start wearing crash helmets. I was flattered. (Andrew was disappointed about the lampshade, though.)

  On a Thursday, four days before our race, Andrew and I decided our car was finished. We took it for another run down the hill. Elizabeth was just coming home from work, and she watched us zoom past her. She was waiting for us in the driveway when we dragged the car back.

  “That is really something,” said Elizabeth. “It’s a speed demon.”

  “It still does not steer very well, though,” I replied.

  Andrew and I stood in the driveway. We looked at Elizabeth. She looked back at us. I was waiting for her to make a suggestion. I could tell she was not going to, though. I could not blame her. Finally I said, “Well, what do you think? About the steering?”

  “Hmm. Have you tried grease?”

  “Grease? No, we greased the wheels, though. And they are much faster. Maybe we should grease all the steering stuff, too.”

  So we did. Then we took the car out again. Elizabeth watched us roll away. Now our car shot down the hill, and it was easy to steer.

  “Cool!” cried Andrew as he climbed out of the box.

  “Hey, I have an idea,” I said. “I hope we can find some paint in the garage.”

  We found several cans. We painted our car blue. Then we painted the words SPEED DEMON on each side of the box. We painted them in red, and then we outlined them in white so they would show up better. I almost asked Kristy to help with the outlining. Then I did it by myself.

  The go-cart was finished. Andrew and I were proud of it. We had built it by ourselves, with only one intsy little suggestion from Elizabeth.

  The Race

  After we had painted the go-cart, I had a little problem. It was Andrew. He kept looking at our beautiful racing car and saying, “Now we are going to win!”

  “Andrew, our car looks great,” I agreed. “But that does not mean we are going to win. The other cars look great, too.”

  That was the truth. In fact, most of the cars looked a lot better than ours. David Michael’s was one of them. He had found some very cool stuff in the lot where the house was being built. Then, on Saturday, Andrew and I watched him take his car for a test run. Elizabeth and Sam and Kristy watched, too. David Michael zoomed down that hill. He went so fast his hair blew out behind him.

  “Is he faster than us?” Andrew asked me.

  “I’m not sure,” I replied.

  Elizabeth thought he was fast, too. “Wear a helmet from now on,” she told him. “Andrew and Karen are also wearing them.”

  David Michael looked cross.

  “Want to borrow the lampshade?” Andrew asked him.

  On Sunday, Bill, Timmy, and Maria took their finished cars on test runs. They looked awfully fast, too.

  “But no one is faster than us,” said Andrew.

  “Andrew. Do not expect to win,” I told him. “I mean it. Those cars are faster and better than ours. But at least when we race tomorrow we will probably not come in last. And we will not ride into the curb. Just have fun tomorrow, Andrew.”

  * * *

  Finally Monday arrived. It was the day of the race. It was also our last full day at the big house. On Tuesday, Andrew and I would go back to Mommy’s after school. I could not believe the month was almost over.

  My friends and I had decided to hold the race at three o’clock in the afternoon. By quarter of three, people were lining the street along the hill. They were the parents and grandparents and brothers and sisters and friends of the ten kids in the race.

  “Ooh, look at our audience,” I whispered to Hannie. We were lining up our cars in the street. I noticed that all of us kids were wearing helmets now.

  Sam was going to start the race. He waited until my friends and I were standing ready behind our cars. Then he aimed a water pistol into the sky. (The pistol was shaped like a bunny.) “On your marks!” yelled Sam. “Get set! GO!” He shot a stream of water over his head.

  My friends and I each took five running steps, pushing our cars. Then we leaped into them. I stepped on Andrew’s hand again. But he did not seem to notice.

  “Karen, we are flying!” he cried.

  Well, of course we were not really flying, but we felt as if we were.

  Zoom! We passed Hannie’s car. Zoo
m! We passed David Michael’s car! Zoom! We passed Maria’s and Timmy’s and Linny’s. We almost rode into Melody’s, but I jerked our car away.

  The next thing I knew, Andrew and I were sailing across the finish line. Bill Korman was right beside us. As soon as Charlie had helped us to stop, I said, “See, Andrew? We did not come in last.”

  Charlie looked at me strangely. “Did not come in last?” he said. “Karen, you and Andrew came in first. You won the race!”

  My mouth dropped open. I could not believe it. We had won. Bill had come in second. Andrew and I had beaten the oldest kid in the race.

  Happy Mother’s Day!

  My big-house family held a barbecue that night. We were celebrating Memorial Day and the go-cart race and the end of Andrew’s and my first month at the big house.

  “The next time you are here,” said Kristy as we were setting the picnic tables in the backyard, “it will be July. Maybe we will have another barbecue for the Fourth of July.”

  “Cool,” I said.

  “Are you happy to be going to your mom’s house tomorrow?”

  I thought for a moment. “Happy and sad,” I said finally. “This month started out to be … not so great. But then it turned out to be fine.”

  Elizabeth had decided on a vegetable barbecue. So this is what we grilled: veggie shish kebabs and corn on the cob. Also, we made a huge salad full of all kinds of vegetables.

  My big-house family sat at the picnic tables and ate from plastic plates. (Andrew had wanted to use paper, but Charlie said they were wasteful.) As we ate, the sky grew darker and the first fireflies came out. We watched them wink on and off.

  “When I was little,” said Kristy, “I used to think that if you filled an entire jar with fireflies, you could use it as a flashlight.”

  “Can’t you?” replied Andrew.

  Kristy smiled. “Well, maybe we will try it later this summer.”

  “Karen?” said David Michael, who was sitting next to me. “When you leave tomorrow, are you going to take the Speed Demon?”

  “I do not think so,” I said. “It is too big. We will probably leave it here.”

  “Well, while you are gone, could I look at it? I want to see how you made it steer. Maybe I can make my car work better.” David Michael had come in fourth in the race. He did not seem to mind.

  “Sure,” I replied.

  “You can have the lampshade, too,” offered Andrew.

  Emily Michelle started to get fussy then, so Nannie took her inside. The rest of us cleared the tables. We carried the things into the kitchen, but then I went back outdoors by myself. I stood in the yard. I breathed in the springtime smells. The air had become chilly, but I could feel summer in it.

  I thought about the past month. I thought about Elizabeth and rules and go-carts and flower gardens. And then I thought of a good idea. I found Daddy’s shears. I carried them carefully to the garden. I cut a bouquet of flowers. Then I returned the shears to the garage, and brought the flowers inside.

  “Elizabeth?” I called. (I remembered to use my indoor voice.)

  “What is it, honey?” Elizabeth was leaving Emily’s room. She had just put her to bed.

  I held the flowers out. “Happy Mother’s Day,” I said softly. I was hoping the bouquet would make up for the dead flowers I had given her when I was feeling so angry.

  “Oh, Karen,” said Elizabeth. “Thank you.” Her eyes filled with tears. (I really don’t understand why grownups cry when they are happy. Maybe when I am a grown-up myself I will understand.)

  “You’re welcome,” I replied. Elizabeth gave me a hug. Then I said, “Are you going to finish the story about Hoover tonight?”

  “As soon as you are ready for bed. And Karen, thank you for doing your chores these last two weeks. Will you remember to do them when you come back?”

  “I hope so,” I said. “I will try very hard.”

  “That is all I can ask for.”

  I went to my room then to get ready for my last night at the big house.

  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 © 1994 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.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

  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, 1994

  e-ISBN 978-1-338-05708-9