Abby and the Best Kid Ever Read online

  Making popcorn didn’t involve just popping the popcorn in a microwave. It also involved putting “good stuff” on it, as Nicky said. This involved raisins, cinnamon, brown sugar, peanuts, and even nonpareils. (It’s not as weird as it sounds.)

  As I helped Vanessa and Nicky set out the various toppings and mixes, I was pleased to see that Lou seemed to have loosened up again. She was acting more normally, although I had to admit she was dressed in the style of Jenny Prezzioso, a four-year-old baby-sitting charge of ours who earned the nickname “Miss Priss” when she went through a stage of wearing only lace socks, hair ribbons, and perfectly ironed dresses — and who still can be pretty fussy. Lou was standing on a stool next to the microwave, swathed in an enormous apron over her neat green corduroys and blue-and-green-striped sweater. She was also wearing blue socks and a green headband. Very matching, very perfect. The only things that clashed were the enormous purple oven mitts on her hands.

  “It’s not popping as much!” she cried.

  “Bowls!” cried Mal, passing large bowls down the assembly line (Nicky and the triplets), who lined them up on the table.

  When Lou cried, “It’s ready, it’s ready!” Kristy opened the door and handed her the bag of popcorn. She carried it solemnly to Mal, who opened it carefully (to avoid the initial blast of hot steam) and dumped the popcorn into a bowl.

  Then Lou went back to her post, took out a new bag of popcorn, and stuck it into the microwave. With Kristy’s help, she punched the numbers to start the oven.

  “Thank you, Chef Lou.”

  Lou giggled. “You’re welcome, Chef Kristy.”

  Maybe Lou had just needed time to get used to the idea of moving, I thought. When her aunt dropped her off, she had been even more reserved than usual. She kept thanking us for inviting her. She glanced at her aunt constantly, as if to make sure she wasn’t saying anything wrong.

  Luckily, as the afternoon progressed, she definitely become less robotically polite.

  I wanted to tell her to calm down and act like a kid.

  What bothered me was this: Lou’s behavior didn’t seem so much polite as careful, as if she were afraid of making a mistake. Lou was having a tough time being a new kid, I figured, and didn’t want to take any chances. Maybe she was even worried that her history of extreme misbehavior would be held against her.

  Poor Lou. She seemed so young when her aunt had dropped her off — even younger than eight. And yet her face, composed and watchful, had the wary expression of a much older child.

  I smiled now at Lou, who was eating double handfuls of popcorn. She smiled back, the first spontaneous smile I think I had seen since she’d returned to Stoneybrook. It made her into a different kid, one I immediately liked better than the hypercareful Louisa McNally.

  Although Lou was very polite and helpful during the rest of the meeting, she didn’t seem so determinedly eager to please. And that, I couldn’t help but notice, significantly lowered the disaster factor.

  Which is something I brought up at the BSC meeting that afternoon. (Okay, okay. I also brought it up because I could tell by the look in Kristy’s eyes that she wanted to talk about my project.)

  “You’re right,” said Stacey. “This is a whole new Lou. It’s like she’s competing for the Most Unnaturally Polite Kid on the Planet Award.”

  “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Jessi reminded us.

  “No, I’m not saying there is,” I explained. I took a handful of garlic nugget pretzels from the bag Claudia was passing around. “But the key word here is ‘unnatural.’ I appreciate polite, well-behaved kids as much as the next baby-sitter. But it’s like Lou is, well, worried all the time. Like, if she isn’t absolutely polite, she’s going to do something terribly wrong.”

  “Maybe it’s a phase she’s going through. That’s what my parents always say about my Nancy Drew books,” Claudia said.

  “Maybe. But why?”

  “Because she’s new in town and she’s got a rep to live down,” said Mal. Then she laughed. “Vanessa should hear me — I made a rhyme.”

  “You’re probably right,” I said. But I wasn’t entirely convinced. Lou was acting like a nervous rabbit — a polite rabbit but a nervous one. What did she have to be afraid of now? She had a caring family, a cool dog, a room of her own, love, attention, even friends — if she’d let herself relax enough to be friends with the other kids. It had been clear to me at the last Railroad Project meeting that Hannie was trying her best to be friends with Lou. But she wasn’t finding it easy going.

  I sighed.

  “Are you sighing because of your project?” Kristy asked.

  Good old unsubtle Kristy. I hadn’t taken her mind off the one subject I wanted to avoid, after all.

  “No,” I replied.

  “How’s it going?” Claudia inquired.

  “Fine,” I said.

  Kristy raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

  “Really. Why wouldn’t it be?” I gave Kristy a hard look. Kristy gave me one back.

  “This is going to be a project that Stoneybrook will never forget,” I insisted. “I’m thinking of … of building a mini replica of a secret passage. Maybe I’ll even make a short film about the Underground Railroad. Plus, just to make sure that it is a world-class project, I’ll publish a guide to the Underground Railroad stops in Stoneybrook. Mary Anne’s house wasn’t the only one, you know.”

  “That’s true,” Mary Anne agreed. “But you better check to make sure that the Stoneybrook Historical Society doesn’t already have some kind of guide.”

  “Even if it does, mine will be better.” (Eek. I had better check and see what the historical society had. I’d only been there once, about an hour before closing time. I hadn’t had time to go through their archives. Mostly I’d just confirmed a lot of the information that I had already dug up at the library.)

  “Those are all pretty good ideas,” Kristy said.

  “Pretty good? Pretty good? What do you mean? They’re great,” I shot back.

  “But you’d better make up your mind, and quick,” Madame President added relentlessly.

  “Thanks for the input,” I snapped.

  The phone rang.

  “It’s for you,” I said, and slumped back against the bed in relief.

  Kristy was right, not that I’d ever let her know it. I had to come up with a plan. And fast.

  Boxes, boxes everywhere, and still the Addisons were only half packed. Mary Anne followed Mr. Addison through a house barricaded with boxes. Some of the boxes had labels: DISHES. FRAGILE! ATTIC. VERY FRAGILE!!!! MISC. and more.

  “It’s a mess,” said Mr. Addison, “but we’re making progress. Sean! Corrie! Mary Anne is here!”

  Mary Anne noticed Mr. Addison was careful not to say, “The baby-sitter is here.” Even though Sean was no longer teased by a bully at school for having a baby-sitter, she suspected it was a sensitive subject.

  The doorbell rang and Mr. Addison said, “The kids are in the den. That’s probably the Nichollses at the door. They’re the family who’s moving in. They’re here to take another look. I’m sure they’ll be gone by the time Mrs. Addison and I leave for dinner.”

  He hurried away and Mary Anne picked her way through the maze of boxes into the den. Sean was watching TV, restlessly channel surfing. Corrie was working on an art project involving what looked like various packing materials.

  “Hi, guys,” Mary Anne said. “How is everything going?”

  “Hi, Mary Anne,” Corrie replied cheerfully.

  Sean just glanced at Mary Anne, then turned his attention back to the TV.

  “I’m in charge of dinner tonight. We’re going to make pizza.” (Mrs. Addison had called earlier and said that they could send out for pizza. Mary Anne had suggested they make it instead. She thought it might be more fun. Little did she know …)

  “Pizza! I love pizza,” said Corrie.

  “Pizza would be okay,” said Sean, still watching the channels flick by.
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br />   “Why don’t we head out to the kitchen and see what we’ve got in the way of toppings?” Mary Anne suggested.

  Corrie immediately began to gather up her art supplies. Sean reluctantly turned off the television.

  “Sean, Corrie, I don’t believe you’ve met the Nichollses yet,” Mr. Addison said from the doorway.

  Mary Anne looked up to see a family of four standing with Mr. Addison: a short man with close-cropped sandy brown hair, a birdlike woman with chin-length blonde hair, and two boys, about five and seven years old. “This is Sean and Corrie, and Mary Anne Spier. If you need a baby-sitter, her baby-sitting club is the one you’ll want to call,” said Mr. Addison.

  “Hello,” Mary Anne said. She looked at the two boys. “What’re your names?”

  “That’s Nate,” said Mr. Nicholls, indicating the smaller boy, who had big brown eyes and his father’s sandy brown hair. “And that’s Joey.” Joey had his mother’s green eyes and dark brown hair. “Nate, Joey, say hello.”

  “Hello,” they both said, almost shyly.

  “Hi, Nate. Hi, Joey,” Mary Anne replied. “Welcome to Stoneybrook. Where are you moving from?”

  “We’re from New Jersey,” said Mr. Nicholls. He looked at his watch. “I know you’re on your way out the door, so let’s make this quick.”

  “Joey and Nate, why don’t you come with Sean and Corrie and me to the kitchen and we can get something to drink while your parents look at the house again,” Mary Anne offered.

  The two boys glanced at their father. “Say thank you,” he ordered.

  “Thank you,” they said in unison, and Mary Anne led the four kids into the kitchen.

  Mary Anne got out glasses and poured Apple & Eve Cranberry Raspberry juice. The kitchen was not quite as jammed with boxes as the rest of the house. The Addisons appeared to be saving that job for last. Mary Anne was also relieved to see that most of the cooking utensils were still around.

  The kids sat down at the table.

  “Aren’t you going to have any, Mary Anne?” asked Corrie.

  “Not right now,” Mary Anne said, checking the refrigerator for the pizza dough.

  “We’re moving to Seattle,” Sean announced.

  Nate nodded.

  Joey said, “I know where that is, but you don’t, Nate.”

  “I might know,” argued Nate.

  “You don’t,” Joey proclaimed, with all the superiority of an older brother. “I do because I’m older.”

  “Well, I might have known,” said Nate.

  Mary Anne hid a smile as she found a jar of pizza sauce and put it on the counter.

  Mr. and Mrs. Nicholls came into the kitchen, followed by both of the Addisons.

  “I think you’ll enjoy living here,” Mrs. Addison said, looking at Mrs. Nicholls.

  Mr. Nicholls rapped out, “Joey, what have I told you about putting your drinking glass directly on a table?”

  Mary Anne saw that Nate had put his glass of juice on a folded napkin, but Joey’s was sitting on the table. Since the table was basically waterproof, it was not a big deal.

  “I’m sorry,” Joey said, his voice a sudden squeak.

  “It’s fine, Mr. Nicholls,” Mary Anne said. She grabbed a towel and wiped up the ring the glass had left. “See?”

  Both boys had jumped to their feet. Mr. Nicholls glanced at Mary Anne, then gave Joey a stern look. Mary Anne thought for a second that Joey was going to cry.

  Mrs. Nicholls put her hand on her husband’s arm, but he shook it off.

  Then Mr. Addison said, “No harm done. That’s why we have your basic spill-proof kitchen table.”

  Mary Anne wondered why Mr. Nicholls was so worried about making a good impression. Hadn’t he already bought the house?

  Mr. Nicholls finally nodded. “Come on, boys.”

  Joey and Nate practically ran out of the kitchen after their father and mother. Oh, well, Mary Anne thought.

  After the Addisons and the Nichollses had left, Mary Anne put the pizza dough on the counter. “Corrie, will you find the pizza pan for me?” she asked. “Sean, you’re in charge of locating an onion, a green pepper, and whatever else you want on your pizza.”

  Sean took another sip of juice, looking at Mary Anne levelly over the top of the glass.

  “We have a pizza cutter too,” said Corrie. “You want that?”

  “Yup.” Mary Anne rummaged in the cabinets and said, “Do you think your folks would mind if we used this can of artichoke hearts on the pizza?”

  Corrie made a face.

  “They wouldn’t mind, but you would,” Mary Anne interpreted. Corrie nodded.

  “What about you, Sean? Any food you hate on pizza? Artichokes? Squid?” Mary Anne turned around. Sean hadn’t moved, except to fold his arms. He was practically glaring at her.

  Mary Anne had been the first BSC member to baby-sit for Sean, and Sean had been so difficult that for a long time Mary Anne had avoided baby-sitting for him again. But she thought, as we all did, that things had smoothed out.

  Apparently they hadn’t. Trying to keep things light, Mary Anne said, “No artichokes for you either, huh? Okay.”

  Corrie said, “I’ll grate the mozzarella cheese for the topping.”

  “Great,” Mary Anne said. She opened the sauce. Corrie grated the cheese. They worked companionably side by side. When Corrie had finished the mozzarella, she asked if she should turn on the oven.

  “Good idea.” Mary Anne got out the onion and green pepper (Sean still hadn’t moved or spoken) and began to dice the pepper. She glanced over her shoulder and said, “You know, Sean, I bet this pizza would taste even better if you helped make it.”

  Sean burst out, “You hate me, don’t you? Don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” Sean shot back. His face was very red and his lower lip was poking out. He was trying to appear tough, but he still seemed very young.

  Carefully putting the knife down, Mary Anne said, “Sean, I don’t hate you. Whatever gave you that idea?”

  Corrie said, “If anybody hates you, Sean, it’s your own fault. You’re so mean to people.”

  “Who asked you, cat litter lips?” Sean lashed out.

  Before Corrie could retaliate, Mary Anne patted her shoulder. “Corrie, will you give me a few minutes to talk to Sean alone?”

  “Have tons of fun,” said Corrie, giving Sean a furious look. She stomped out of the kitchen.

  Mary Anne sighed. Sean had always been a problem for the BSC, no question about it. They had talked about him more than once, and he had more than his fair share of notes in the BSC notebook.

  But no one hated Sean. How could he think that?

  “Sean,” Mary Anne began gently, “I don’t hate you. No one in the Baby-sitters Club hates you. We might have had problems, but people have problems all the time. Even best friends have problems. That doesn’t mean they hate each other.”

  Sean’s expression remained stormy. He said, “You’re glad to see me go. You’re sad to see Corrie go, but you’re glad I’m leaving.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “What do you think I am, stupid?” Sean jumped up and bolted from the kitchen.

  Mary Anne stood there for a moment, shocked to the soles of her feet. She didn’t know what to do next. She remembered that one of the reasons Sean was so difficult was because he demanded so much more attention than anyone might expect from a boy his age. He acted out. He took things harder, believed the extreme interpretation of situations. He didn’t always see the logical, simple truth.

  Mary Anne walked to the kitchen door. “Corrie, Sean, let’s finish making this pizza.”

  Corrie returned immediately. Mary Anne could tell she was curious about what had happened but didn’t say anything.

  They made pizza. When it was ready, Mary Anne called Sean. He didn’t appear. For one awful moment, she thought he’d run out of the house. But she found him sprawled in a chair in the den, his chin on his chest, his hand
clutching the television remote.

  “Sean,” she said. “Pizza’s ready.”

  He shrugged.

  “Come on, Sean. Please?”

  At last he got up. He brushed past her into the kitchen. Corrie chatted cheerfully as they ate dinner. Sean didn’t say a word, no matter how much Mary Anne tried to reach him. By the time she left, she was exhausted and felt very sorry for Sean.

  She hated the idea of him leaving Stoneybrook thinking that no one in the BSC could stand him. But what could we do? The going-away party we’d been planning to throw for Corrie and Sean somehow didn’t seem to be enough.

  Maybe nothing we could do would change the way Sean felt.

  When Mary Anne told me about Sean, I was genuinely surprised — and bothered. But I didn’t have time to think about it much. I had to focus on my barely existent project, or else.

  I’d taken videos of some of the kids inside the secret passage in Mary Anne’s house. They had measured it and talked about how it would have felt to be a fugitive slave hiding there. We’d had another meeting of the Railroad Project. I’d videotaped that. I’d done more research, both at the library and at the Stoneybrook Historical Society.

  I had a ton of material. And nothing to turn in.

  I made another trek to the historical society after school on Friday. As I was sitting in one of the two rooms that housed the society’s archives, Ms. Kellogg, who is president of the society, said, “You might find it interesting to look at the originals of some of our materials. You will have to be very careful with them, of course. Some of this documentation is two hundred years old.”

  A little while later, she returned, holding several papers, each of them individually sealed in protective plastic covers. Some of the papers were letters. One, of which Ms. Kellogg was very proud, was an actual wanted poster for Harriet Tubman. “This is quite rare and valuable,” she explained to me. “Harriet Tubman often hired sympathizers and fellow Railroad members to follow the people who put these posters up. They would take them down and destroy them almost as soon as they went up.”

  I nodded, staring in awe at the yellowed wanted poster, trying to imagine the courage of Harriet Tubman.