Logan's Story Page 4

  “Uh-huh.” King hopped onto his bike seat. “Come on, guys. Logan’s too busy to talk to us.”

  “Do we have to go?” Jim whined, sticking out his lower lip. “I wanted to pway wif dem!”

  “ ’Bye, Bwuno!” Irv squealed.

  They pedaled away, howling with laughter.

  I looked down at the grass and exhaled. Wow, did I feel like a dork. Not to mention a liar, I hadn’t told them I was a member of the BSC. Plus I’d let down Johnny and Mathew by not sticking up for them. And then there was the hat.

  Good work, Bruno.

  I felt someone tugging at my sleeve. “Logan?”

  It was Mathew. “Are we going to finish fighting the wildcat?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Sure.”

  Johnny was holding the coonskin cap out to me. “Here.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Okay, go get him! He’s attacking the tent!”

  The brothers yelped happily and ran toward the tent, ready for battle.

  While their backs were turned, I let the coonskin cap fall to the ground, then followed behind them. I wasn’t going to take any chances.

  We played a little while longer, and then began “breaking camp.” As we cleaned up, Mrs. Hobart turned into the driveway and beeped her horn. Ben Hobart waved to us from the passenger seat.

  “Mommy! Ben!” Johnny and Mathew yelled. “Look at our tent!”

  Mrs. Hobart was smiling broadly as she slid out of the car and walked across the lawn. “Well, it looks as if I have a house full of happy campers!” she said cheerily.

  I smiled back. She was right about two of us.

  “Hello, Baby-sitters Club!”

  Only fifteen minutes into our Friday BSC meeting, the day after the Hobart disaster, and Claudia was taking our fourth call.

  So far I’d been lucky, in two ways. First of all, there was no football practice that afternoon, so I didn’t have to show my face to King and the other guys. Second, I’d managed to avoid having to take any of the day’s sitting offers.

  “Oh, hi, Mrs. Hobart!” Claudia continued.

  I had a feeling my luck was about to change.

  “Uh-huh … Sure, I’ll ask him. Can I call you back in a second? … Thanks … ’bye.”

  She hung up and gave me a shrug. “The boys are in love with you, Logan. They want you to sit for them Monday and a week from Saturday. I didn’t want to say yes, because I thought you might have practice.”

  “Well, practice is Tuesday and Thursday next week,” I said. “So I guess it’s all right.”

  “Great,” Claudia said, grabbing the phone again.

  That was how I got my second and third sitting jobs. The fourth one came about ten minutes later, a Tuesday job at the Rodowskys’.

  Yes, Tuesday. I was going to miss my second football practice in a row. And since I often stayed late to practice for track tryouts, I was going to miss that, too.

  But you know what? I wasn’t going to let any of this get me down. I couldn’t salvage the football practice, but I vowed to go to the track on Saturday and work out.

  The minute I made that promise to myself, I felt much better. I sat back, relaxed, and decided to make the best of it.

  And that was when Kristy brought up her latest great idea again. “Oh! You guys, I forgot to mention I called the health fair chairperson. Her name’s Ms. Bernstein, and she’s really nice. And she was thrilled we want to set up a booth. But she needs to know what we’re going to do, so she can include the information in the poster for the fair.”

  “It should be pretty easy to figure something out,” Stacey said.

  “Let’s see, health ideas …” Claudia said, biting into a Twinkie.

  “How about contacting people from a couple of health professions?” Jessi suggested. “We could ask Dr. Johanssen to come and talk to kids—”

  “There’ll by plenty of doctors and nurses there,” Kristy interrupted.

  “I know!” Stacey said. “What about nutrition for kids?”

  “Yeah, the four basic food groups and stuff like that,” Claudia agreed.

  “What are the four basic food groups?” asked Mal.

  Claud put down her half-eaten Twinkie. “Fruits,” she began, counting confidently on her fingers, “vegetables, starches, and … um, candy, I think.”

  Everyone giggled. (I, of course, being a guy, laughed.)

  “We could raffle off some health food,” Mary Anne said.

  “And what would the winners get?” Jessi asked.

  “A week’s worth of soy burgers,” Claudia suggested.

  “We have to do something practical,” Kristy said, “something we know about.”

  Then I had an idea. “How about safe sitting?” I said. “That has to do with health, in a way. We could give out information on baby-sitting techniques, like how to deal with a kid who starts choking on food.”

  “We could demonstrate the Heimlich maneuver!” Mal said.

  “Or suggest helpful tips,” Stacey added, “like never leave a baby alone while he’s taking a bath, even if there are only a couple of inches of water in the tub.”

  “That’s a great idea!” Kristy said. “We could put it all in a pamphlet and distribute the pamphlets — with a BSC flier attached!”

  “Would they allow that?” Stacey wondered. “Advertising, I mean.”

  “I’ll ask,” Kristy replied. “In the meantime, let’s list the things we’re going to put in the pamphlet.”

  Mary Anne opened the record book to a blank pad in the back. “Okay, shoot.”

  “Always keep one hand on a baby when she’s on a changing table,” Jessi suggested.

  “Make sure to get the phone number of the restaurant or theater your client is going to,” Stacey said.

  “Check all electrical sockets to see if they’re covered,” Mal said.

  “Always know where there’s a spare set of keys,” I said.

  “Know where the fuse box or circuit breakers are,” Kristy said.

  “Ask about allergies,” I said.

  Mary Anne wrote furiously, using some kind of shorthand that only she can read. By the time we ran out of suggestions, she had filled up three pages with tiny print. It looked like some exotic foreign language.

  “My dad has a new laser printer in his office,” Mal said. “Maybe if you write that neatly, he could type it and print it out.”

  “Would he really do that?” Mary Anne asked.

  “Hmmm …” Mal said. “I know. I’ll offer him a free baby-sitting session or two.”

  “If not, I’ll just print it in my best handwriting and ask my mom or dad to copy it at work,” Mary Anne said.

  Kristy looked deep in thought about something. “You know what, guys?” she finally said. “I hate to say it, but we’ll only need a couple of people to hand out pamphlets at the booth.”

  That quieted everyone down. Mary Anne leafed through the record book and said, “Well, Logan, Claudia, Jessi, and Mal have jobs that day, so they can’t be there.” She put the book down and sighed. “It won’t be much of a group activity, will it?”

  “Sure it will,” Kristy said. “Whoever has a job can bring their kids to the fair.”

  “Jessi and I are sitting for my brothers and sisters,” Mal said. “We could ask them if they want to go.”

  “That’s the kind of thing Charlotte Johans-sen would love to do,” Stacey said.

  “Okay,” Mary Anne replied. “If you guys do that, then that leaves Kristy and me to run the booth. Is that okay with everyone?”

  We agreed to the idea, and Kristy got on the phone to Ms. Bernstein. In a few minutes, the Baby-sitters Club had officially entered its first Stoneybrook health fair.

  As soon as Kristy hung up, Claudia said, “It’s six o’clock! I have an idea —”

  “It’s three minutes to six,” Kristy corrected her.

  Claudia rolled her eyes. “Okay. In exactly three minutes, why don’t we put in a call to Dawn in California?”

 
Everyone thought that was a good idea, even Kristy. And at the stroke of six, Mary Anne picked up the phone and punched in Mr. Schafer’s number.

  We waited silently. On the other end, the phone rang and rang and rang.

  “Hello? Mr. Schafer?” Mary Anne said. We were in luck! “You just got in from the hospital? How’s Jeff? … Dawn’s there? Great! Thanks!”

  There was a moment of silence, then the loudest, happiest “Hi!” I ever heard. It was somewhere between a squeal and a word.

  “How are you? How’s Jeff? Uh-huh … uh-huh …”

  “What? What?” Kristy said.

  “Wait,” Mary Anne held up her hand. Then, back into the phone, “Fine! We’re going to have a booth in this health fair next Saturday … yes! … Here, I’ll let you talk to Kristy about it.”

  Kristy took the phone, then Stacey, then Jessi, then Mal, then me. Mostly small talk, gossip, weather, stuff like that. It wasn’t until Mary Anne got the phone back that the important question was mentioned. The question everyone seemed to be avoiding.

  “So when are you coming back?” Mary Anne asked.

  I couldn’t hear what Dawn said, but I could tell it wasn’t good. Mary Anne’s face kind of sank. “Uh-huh … OK … miss you, too, Dawn. Everybody does. Give Jeff our love …. ’Bye!”

  She hung up the phone dejectedly and said, “Jeff’s recovering, but he may have to stay in the hospital longer than they first thought. Dawn wants to stay till he’s home.”

  “She’ll miss the fair!” Kristy said.

  Mary Anne nodded. Her lower lip quivered a little. “Probably.”

  I knew that quiver. It meant a cry wasn’t far behind. Sure enough, the moment I put my arm back around her, the dam broke. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m sure she’s learning a lot about health at the hospital.”

  Mary Anne started to laugh a little, and her tears soon dried up. But when the meeting ended, our good-byes were pretty somber.

  I walked Mary Anne home, trying to be as cheerful as I could. But the minute I was alone, I felt a knot in the pit of my stomach. I felt bad for Mary Anne. She was taking this so seriously. But I was thinking of me, too. The longer Dawn was away, the more deeply involved in the Baby-sitters Club I became. Now I was expected to take the Hobart kids to the health fair.

  What if my teammates showed up there? They probably would, too, just to show off their great pulse rates or get free food. And there I would be, surrounded by kids and the BSC. It was a little too … public.

  Oh, well, it might not be so bad, I thought. Maybe they wouldn’t come. Maybe Dawn would be home in time.

  As long as there were maybes, I was fine. If the maybes didn’t work out, well, I didn’t want to think about that.

  I had to laugh when I read that. I had no intention of not talking to Mary Anne, even though I had been a little steamed about Saturday’s incident.

  Let me explain. First, “our angel” is what Mr. and Mrs. P. always call their daughter Jenny. Second, P. stands for Prezzioso. Third, Jenny Prezzioso is not an angel. Far from it.

  What’s she like? Spoiled is the first word that comes to mind. Before baby Andrea was born, all Jenny had to do was look at a toy and her parents would buy it for her. She had a closet full of the fanciest clothes imaginable. (It sort of makes sense if you look at Mrs. P., who dresses like she stepped out of a fashion magazine.) Jenny hated the idea of getting a baby sister. One time when Mary Anne sat for her, Jenny tore apart the baby’s room from top to bottom.

  But when Andrea was born, Jenny kind of lightened up. She liked the new baby and was excited about being a big sister. Now she’s actually a pretty nice kid, but she’s still spoiled.

  When Mary Anne arrived at the Prezziosos’ house on Saturday, Mrs. P. was wearing a long, flowing, silk dress. “Welcome, Mary Anne!” Mrs. P. said. “What do you think? Do I still look like a blimp?”

  “What? Oh! No, not at all,” Mary Anne replied. She realized Mrs. P. was talking about her pregnancy weight, which she hadn’t totally lost yet. “That dress really covers it up. You look normal.”

  “Normal! Oh, thank goodness for that!” Mrs. P. was smiling, but I think she was expecting Mary Anne to call her ravishing or something.

  Mr. P. walked in, busily trying to tie his bow tie. He was wearing a suit, with a shirt corner sticking out. “Hi, Mary Anne,” he said.

  “Oh, Nick, let me get that,” Mrs. P. said. As she tied the bow tie, she called out, “Jenny! Mary Anne’s here! Come on down!”

  “Waaaaaaahhh!” came a scream from Andrea.

  “Oh, darn, I woke her up,” Mrs. P. said.

  Jenny came running into the living room, still in her pajamas. (Mary Anne made sure to tell me they were Laura Ashley pajamas. I’m not sure what that means, but she made it seem like an important detail.) “Mommy, Andrea has a poopy diaper. Hi, Mary Anne.”

  “Hi. I’ll take care of it,” Mary Anne said.

  “Thanks, dear. Afterward you can put her in the stroller and take the girls outside, okay?”

  “Sure!” Mary Anne answered as she rushed to the baby’s room.

  She could hear Mr. P. saying to Jenny, “Now we expect our angel to behave for Mary Anne while we’re at brunch.”

  And she could hear Jenny screaming, “I’m not going to listen! I hate daytime baby-sitters!”

  A few seconds later, all she could hear was, “Waaaaaahhhhhh!”

  It didn’t look like a promising day.

  Mary Anne managed to change the diaper and quiet Andrea down. She carried her into the living room, where Jenny was waving to her parents through the front screen door.

  Jenny turned around with a big smile on her face, as if she had had a personality transplant. “Can you lay out my clothes for me?”

  “Sure,” Mary Anne said. Jenny led her back upstairs and pulled open her closet. She pushed aside about a hundred almost-new outfits and pointed to a brand-new sweat suit combination. “Mommy bought me these yesterday. And new sneakers, too!”

  That was why Jenny suddenly wanted to go out. Her mom must have just reminded her about the outfit (or the bribe, I should say).

  Oh, well, a baby-sitter’s job is to take care of the kids, not make value judgments. As for me, I think Jenny needs discipline, but that’s all I’ll say on the subject.

  Mary Anne knew that I was working out at SMS that morning. As she was putting Andrea into the stroller, she said to Jenny, “Want to take a walk to my school? Logan’s going to be practicing on the track, and we can watch him for a few minutes.”

  “Okay!” Jenny said. “And then can we go to the playground?”

  “Sure.”

  “And then can we get some ice cream?”

  “It’ll be lunchtime by then, Jenny,” Mary Anne said.

  Jenny scowled. “I don’t want any lunch!”

  “No lunch, no ice cream,” Mary Anne insisted.

  “Can I have ice cream after lunch?”

  “If you eat everything on your plate, we’ll talk about it.”

  “Yea!” Jenny said.

  And they were off. The day was clear and sunny, with a refreshing breeze, and Mary Anne felt peaceful and happy.

  I felt like my legs were going to fall off. By the time Mary Anne reached the school, I had finished a two-mile warm-up run and about ten practice sprints. I was with three other guys who were going out for the team — Alex Turnbull, Bob Stillman, and Peter Hayes — and we were about to do a mile run with alternating paces. I really felt the fact that I hadn’t exercised since the previous Tuesday.

  “Yo, Logan, here comes your old lady, with your kids,” said Bob Stillman. I shot him a look, but he quickly added, “Just kidding.”

  Mary Anne waved to me as she rolled the stroller in front of the bleachers. She sat in the first row, being careful to turn the stroller so that the sun flap cast a shadow over the baby. Jenny sat with her for a few seconds. She waved, too, even though she doesn’t know me too well.

  “Hi!” I called out. Despi
te Bob’s crack, it felt really nice to see Mary Anne there, kids or no kids.

  I started to walk toward them, but then I heard Peter call out, “Hey, Bruno, you going to do this mile with us or not?”

  “Oh, yeah!” I said. With a shrug and a smile, I waved back to Mary Anne, then jogged to the starting line.

  “Okay,” Bob said. “We’ll do a two-twenty-yard jog and a two-twenty sprint, then alternate four-forties, jog and sprint, until we do four laps. Everybody got it?”

  We all grunted yes. It may sound complicated if you don’t run on a team, but those are standard distances, and the track is marked off so you know how far you’ve gone.

  We were taking our starting positions when a hollow, metallic banging noise started, and we looked around. In the bleachers, Jenny had grown bored. She was running up and down, stomping her feet on the long, metal seats.

  The guys looked at each other. Alex and Peter snickered. Bob murmured some snide comment, but I didn’t catch it.

  That’s when I took over. “Okay, on your marks …”

  “I’m king of the world!” came Jenny’s voice. Out of the corner of my eyes I could see her on the top row of the bleachers. Mary Anne was desperately gesturing for her to come down.

  “Get set …” I persisted.

  “Go!” Jenny screamed.

  “Go!” I said.

  It wasn’t the ideal way to start the run, but the guys knew enough to listen to me and not Jenny. We took off, slowly at first.

  After two hundred twenty yards, or halfway around the track, we started sprinting. I was so tight, I felt as if there were claws around my legs. I gritted my teeth and pumped my aching legs as fast as they could go.

  Clang! Clang! Clang! Jenny was jumping up and down on the bleachers, shouting, “Go, Logan, go! Logan’s the fastest!”

  Her words barely registered. My mind was blank. I was having enough trouble staring straight ahead. When the next jogging part began, I wanted to drop out and collapse. I let myself exhale loudly to force out the carbon dioxide, just like Coach Mills tells us.

  “Why are you all going so slow?” Jenny was calling out.

  I think that was when she started getting on my nerves.