Baby-Sitters Club 021 Read online

"These are from Aunt Elaine and Uncle Frank," said Carolyn, holding up two sticks. Attached to the ends of each was a long rope that fell beneath the stick in a loop.

  "What are they?" I asked.

  "Jump sticks," answered Carolyn. "See?" She put one of them down, held onto either end of the other, the stick poised in front of her at waist level, and made the rope circle up over her body. Jump, jump, jump. It was like a skipping rope, except that you held onto the stick instead of the ends of the rope.

  "Neat!" I said. "But that looks like a better outdoor toy than an indoor one." Carolyn obediently set the stick on the floor.

  "Mommy and Daddy gave us these," spoke up Marilyn. She was pointing to two brass doll beds. Each had been placed at the foot of the girls' own beds.

  "Boy," I said, "I never had anything like those." We aren't poor, but with eight kids in your family, you don't get duplicate copies of brass doll beds. You don't even get one brass doll bed.

  "Now," said Carolyn, "you have to come downstairs to see our biggest presents." Biggest presents? The doll beds weren't enough?

  The twins took my hands again and led me to the rec room. There, on the floor, were two dollhouses. Pretty impressive ones, I might add.

  "Look," said Marilyn. She ran to one house and pressed a button. Lights came on in each room! You should have seen those houses. They were decorated with everything from furniture (naturally) to teeny-tiny books and teeny-tiny plates of food. In each attic were a Christmas tree, a wreath, and garlands of greens, so the houses could be decorated for Christmas.

  I was speechless.

  But I was even more speechless after Marilyn said, "Guess what our best presents are." "The dollhouses," I replied immediately.

  "Nope," said Marilyn. "The piano pin and the science book." "My presents?!" I exclaimed. "You're kidding! How come?" But already I knew the answer. I just hadn't realized how strong the girls' feelings about individuality were.

  "Because . . . because," Marilyn said, giving her sister a sidelong glance, "they were different." "And they were meant just for us, "added Carolyn. "I mean, you know, a piano for Marilyn because of her lessons, and the book for me because of the science fair." "It seems like you know us," said Marilyn. "Is - is that silly?" "Of course not," I answered seriously. "It isn't silly at all. Did I tell you that three of my brothers are triplets?" "No! They are?" exclaimed Carolyn.

  "Yup. And our family never treats them like they're all one person. I think maybe that's because there are so many kids in our family. There wouldn't be any point in treating three of them like one person, and the rest of us like five different people." "So," said Marilyn, "you mean your brothers don't dress alike?" "Nope," I said.

  "Or have three of everything?" "Nope. Unless they want three of something that isn't too expensive." The twins looked thoughtful. "How come," Carolyn ventured after a moment, "you thought it was so neat that Marilyn and I are lookalikes and have all the same things?" I must have appeared sort of blank because she went on, "Remember that first day you sat for us?" I nodded. "Well, in the very beginning you tried to tell us apart, but then . . . then you were just like everyone else. You said, oh, how cute we were in our matching outfits and stuff. We decided we weren't going to be nice to any baby-sitters anymore." So that had been my mistake.

  "I'm sorry," I apologized. "Really I am. But you were cute. I didn't mean that I didn't care who you were. I just meant you were cute." "Then we're sorry, too," said Carolyn. "We didn't understand." "Yeah, we're sorry, too," added her sister.

  I smiled. "You know, I've been thinking. Would you like to talk to your mother about how you feel? I'd help you." Please say yes, I begged silently. This was my plan and I wanted it to work.

  "Talk to our mother about . . . what?" asked Marilyn.

  The twins looked mystified.

  I had thought it was obvious. "About you two. About letting you be individuals, separate people. Marilyn, if you could wear any kind of clothes you wanted, what would they look like?" I asked.

  "More grown up," was her answer. "Like skirts without straps and stuff." "Carolyn, how about you?" "More cool," she said immediately. "Pushdown socks and zipper jeans and barrettes with ribbons on them." "You see?" I went on. "You guys like different things. It isn't just that you don't want to dress the same anymore, you also want to dress like you. You are two different girls and you have different tastes. Just like my sisters and I have different tastes." "And you'd help us talk to our mother?" asked Marilyn.

  I nodded. "How about it?" "Yes!" cried the girls.

  Talking to the twins' mother had seemed like a good idea when I'd first thought of it - but by the time Mrs. Arnold came home, I was a wreck. What right did I have, I wondered, butting into another family's business?

  I had promised the girls I would help them talk, though, so as soon as Mrs. Arnold had paid me, I drew in a deep breath and said, "Urn, I was wondering. Could Marilyn and Carolyn and I talk to you?" "Of course," replied Mrs. Arnold. "Is there a problem?" She began to look worried.

  "Well, yes," I answered. "Not a baby-sitting problem, but..." "Let's sit down," suggested Mrs. Arnold.

  We stepped into the living room. I sat on the couch with one twin on either side of me. Mrs. Arnold sat across from us in an armchair.

  I cleared my throat. I wasn't sure where to begin. At last I said, "Mrs. Arnold, did you know that three of my brothers are triplets?" I asked.

  Before she could answer, Marilyn jumped into the conversation: "And they don't have to wear name bracelets!" "No," said Carolyn. "They dress differently. Everyone can tell Mallory's brothers apart." "Even though they're identical," I added.

  "Yes?" said Mrs. Arnold, frowning.

  "Well, the thing is," I went on, "I think Marilyn and Carolyn would like to be - " "Different," spoke up Marilyn. "But we look alike and dress alike, so everyone treats us like one person - the same person." "And we aren't one person, Mommy!" said Carolyn desperately. "We're two. Only no one knows it. At school, the kids call both of us 'Marilyn-or-Carolyn/ " I cringed, remembering that that was how I used to think of the girls.

  "We hate it!" added Marilyn.

  "The girls do look sweet in their matching outfits," I said, "but," I added quickly as Carolyn poked me in the ribs, "they've told me they think they're old enough to choose their own clothes. They have different tastes." "If we went to school footing different," said Marilyn, "maybe the kids would get to know who we are." Oh, good line, I thought as Mrs. Arnold melted before our very eyes.

  "Girls," she said, "I never realized. . . . You're so adorable in your matching outfits. And it's so easy to lay out the same clothes for you every day and to buy two of everything. Plus, when you were little you liked looking identical, didn't you?" "Yes, but we're not babies anymore," said Carolyn. "We can choose our own clothes every day. Honest." "And if you let us come shopping with you," said Marilyn, "we could pick out the kinds of things we each like." The twins looked hopefully at their mother.

  "Of course you can come shopping with me." "Can I grow my hair out?" asked Marilyn.

  "Can I get mine cut?" asked Carolyn.

  "Oh, you two," said Mrs. Arnold with a little gasp, and for a moment I was afraid she was going to cry. "I feel terrible. I always assumed that since your father and I liked the way you look, you liked the way you look." "Well, we used to," Carolyn admitted.

  "But not anymore," added her sister.

  "Mallory," said Mrs. Arnold, "thank you. I know it wasn't easy for you to bring this to my attention." "It wasn't," I said with a smile, "but I really like Marilyn and Carolyn. I'm glad this worked out." "Mallory," whispered Carolyn, nudging me.

  "Oh, right," I said. "There's one more thing." "Yes?" said Mrs. Arnold.

  "Mommy," Carolyn began, "you know the money we got for our birthday? Well, if you say it's okay, we want to spend it on new clothes." "That's okay," agreed Mrs. Arnold quickly. "It's your money." "Great," I spoke up. "Could I take them shopping on Thursday? You could drop us off downtown
on your way to the school and pick us up afterward." "Please?" begged the twins.

  "It's a date," said Mrs. Arnold.

  The girls cheered.

  And I walked home that afternoon feeling as if I were on air.

  Chapter 12.

  By the time I reached my own house, not only did I feel as if I were on air, but I'd come up with another idea. (I was getting like Kristy Thomas, with all my ideas.) Anyway, the talk with Mrs. Arnold had gone awfully well. So it had occurred to me that I should probably try talking to my own parents. If I really wanted pierced ears and decent hair, maybe I should tell them so, instead of moping around, dropping hints about how unattractive and babyish I thought I was. Mrs. Arnold had given in to an awful lot, and the twins were barely eight years old. Imagine what my parents might agree to for someone who was closer to twelve than eleven.

  As soon as I walked through our front door I ran up to my room, hoping Vanessa wouldn't be there. She wasn't. Good. There was about a half an hour before dinner, and I needed peace to plan my strategy. I wanted to talk to Mom and Dad right after dinner, and I figured I would need a good strategy.

  It never hurts to be prepared, especially with Mom and Dad. As the parents of eight children, they know every trick in the book - because one or the other of us kids has pulled every trick in the book at least once. My parents can tell a real stomachache from a fake one. They know when someone is eating and when someone is just moving food around on the plate. And I'm pretty sure they have eyes in the backs of their heads - under their hair or something - because without even turning around, they can see a kid who's trying to sneak something upstairs. Maybe they are wizards.

  After twenty minutes, the ideal plan of attack came to me: bargaining. I am very good at bargaining. Once, I went to a flea market and saw this really neat old jewelry box. The price tag said $7.50, but I bargained with the guy who was selling it and bought it for $4.75. The man was asking for more than the box was worth, so first I offered less than it was worth (only a dollar) and finally we agreed to $4.75, which -was a pretty fair price.

  Yes, I thought, bargaining just might work.

  Dinner that night was a typical Pike meal. Nicky tortured Claire by telling her that in first grade she would get six hours of homework each night and her gym teacher would be Mr. Berlenbach, who would make everyone play touch football whether they wanted to or not.

  "That's not true!" cried Claire.

  Nicky put his hands over his ears and began humming loudly. "Hmm, hmm-hmm, hmm-hmm. I ca-an't hear you! Hmm, hmm-hmm, hmm-hmm." Then Adam stuck two straws up his nose and announced that he was a walrus, at which point I said, "Mother, that is revolting." (It couldn't hurt to get on her good side before our talk.) "It certainly is," she agreed. "Everyone, calm down and behave." "Everyone?" echoed Margo. "Even Daddy?" "No, Daddy is behaving himself quite nicely," said my father.

  We all laughed. But that didn't stop Jordan from very quietly singing the most disgusting song he knows: "Great big globs of greasy grimy gopher guts, little birdies' dirty feet - " He stopped abruptly when I kicked him under the table. Margo was turning green, and I didn't want dinner to wind up being such a disaster that Mom and Dad would be too fed up for a talk.

  Things calmed down. Margo's face returned to its normal color. We finished our meal. I helpfully volunteered to clean up the kitchen, and I even made coffee for Mom and Dad. I brought it to them in the living room, where they were unwinding.

  "Oh, Mallory, you're a lifesaver," said Mom.

  "Thanks, honey," added Dad.

  "You're welcome. . . . Um, could I talk to you about something?" (Hadn't I said almost the same thing to Mrs. Arnold just a couple of hours earlier?) My parents glanced at each other, and in that one glance, I could see that they had figured out everything. Their eyes were saying, "Oh, so that's why she was so helpful during dinner, and then cleaned up the kitchen and made coffee for us." I think they really are wizards.

  Wizards or not, I had to go on with my talk. I mean, I'd already said I wanted to talk to them, so I'd better get started.

  "Mom, Dad," I began, "I'm - I'm eleven years old. Soon I'll be twelve." "And after that you'll be a teenager," said Dad, groaning slightly.

  "Exactly!" I exclaimed. "I'm not a kid anymore. But I feel like one. I have this dumb hair, and my clothes are sort of, well, babyish.

  They're nice," I added diplomatically, "but they're young. And I would really like to get my ears pierced." (I had purposely decided not to say, "Half the girls in my class have pierced ears," because then one of my parents would have said, "If half the girls in your class were going to jump off a cliff, would you do that, too?") "I would also like to get contact lenses," I went on. "That's all I want - a haircut, pierced ears, contact lenses, and a brand-new wardrobe." (If I got permission for a haircut, I'd be lucky. But that's how bargaining works.) "What?" cried my mother with a gasp. "You want what?" "A haircut, pierced ears, contact lenses, and a new wardrobe." My parents just stared at me. This must have been one trick they hadn't encountered. I decided to try another.

  I hung my head. "I'm such a baby," I moaned. "I'm a freak." "Oh, honey, you are not," said Mom sympathetically.

  "You are also not old enough to get contact lenses," added Dad.

  "And I'm afraid we can't afford a new wardrobe for you," said my mother. "Do you have any idea how much that would cost?" I did, but I didn't say so. The wardrobe was one of my bargaining chips. It was something I wasn't expecting at all, so I could easily give it up.

  "No," I replied. "How much?" "A lot," said Dad.

  "Oh." I hung my head again.

  "I don't see why you couldn't get your hair cut, though," said Mom. "Could you pay for half of it with your baby-sitting money?" "Sure!" I cried.

  "All right. Then you may get your hair cut. On one condition." "What?" I asked.

  "That you don't go to that place where you'll come out with a green mohawk. I want you to go to the salon downtown." "Deal." (That was no sacrifice. I'd wanted to go to the salon, anyway.) I paused, thinking. I'd given up the wardrobe and the contacts, but I'd gotten the haircut. What about the pierced ears? "What about piercing my ears?" I asked, and suddenly I forgot about bargaining and tricks. "Please, please, please, please, please can I get them pierced? I really want to. Earrings look so pretty, and I promise I won't get more than one hole in each ear, or wear anything weird like, you know, snake fangs. I'll just wear little gold dots, or maybe gold hoops, but tiny ones. Please could I have my ears pierced?" Another look was exchanged between Mom and Dad, but I couldn't tell what this one meant.

  At last Mom said, "I was twelve when I got my ears pierced. You're pretty close to twelve." She turned to Dad. "What do you think?" "I suppose if s all right - if it's all right with you." "It's all right with me on three conditions," replied Mom.

  Three conditions this time? I guess my wizard parents know how to bargain, too.

  "What are the three conditions?" I asked.

  "One," Mom answered, "that you pay for the piercing and the earrings yourself." "Okay," I said.

  "Two, that you do everything you're told to prevent infected ears - put alcohol on them, don't change your earrings right away. Everything." "Okay." "And, three, that you don't stick to tiny gold earrings. What's the fun of having pierced ears if you can't wear snake fangs every now and then?" I laughed. "Oh, thanks, you guys! Thank you so much! This is great! I understand about the contacts and the wardrobe. Really. But would it be okay if I spent my baby-sitting money on clothes sometimes?" "Of course," said Mom. "Just be sensible." "Oh, I will! I will! Wow! Thanks again. This is awesome! I have to call Jessi and give her the news." I ran down to the kitchen phone. Jordan and Byron were there making ice-cream sandwiches out of graham crackers and frozen yogurt. (There is no such thing as privacy at my house.) I leaned against the counter and dialed Jessi's number.

  Jessi answered the phone herself.

  "Hi, it's me," I said in a rush, "and guess what. My parents said I could g
et my hair cut and my ears pierced." "You are kidding!" "Nope. It's the truth. I just had a talk with them." From across the kitchen I heard Byron say, "Ooh, big deal. Pierced ears." "SHHH!" I said. "No, not you, Jessi. Byron. My brothers are being pains. And pigs." "Yeah, piggy-pains," said Jordan, and he and Byron began to laugh uncontrollably.

  "Would you please go somewhere else? . . . No, I don't mean you, Jessi. The piggy-pains-" My brothers finally left, and Jessi and I got down to serious business.

  "What are you going to do to your hair?" asked Jessi.

  "I'm not sure. It's so curly. Maybe something short would be good. Short and fluffy. But not too short. Oh, I don't know." "Boy," said Jessi, "if you get your hair cut and your ears pierced, I'll really stick out. I'll look like such a baby at club meetings.

  "You don't look like a baby now," I said honestly.

  "Well, I'd still like to get my hair cut and my ears pierced. Just like you." "Talk to your parents," I suggested. "It worked for me. But be sure you don't say you want those things because I'm getting them. If you do - " "I know, I know," Jessi interrupted. "Then my parents will say, 'And if Mallory jumped off a cliff, would you do that, too?' " We both laughed.

  "They must learn that at Parent School," said Jessi.

  Jessi and I stayed on the phone until we both remembered we had homework to do. Then we got off in a hurry. But for the rest of the evening, the only thing I could really think about was The New Mallory Pike.

  Chapter 13.

  Shopping Day! I was as excited as the twins were. I couldn't wait to go downtown with them. I just knew we were going to have a totally super time. Not only was it going to be fun, but I couldn't wait to see what sorts of things the twins would actually buy. How different would they look? Marilyn had said she wanted to look more grown-up, and Carolyn had said she wanted to look more cool, but that didn't tell me much. The afternoon just might be full of surprises. Also, I had brought along some of my own spending money, in case I saw something that was perfect for The (Soon-to-Be) New Mallory Pike.

  Well, the afternoon was full of surprises (and fun), and I got my first surprise as soon as I reached the Arnolds' house. The twins were waiting for me outside again - and they were not dressed in matching outfits. They were wearing clothes that their mother had bought and that I knew the twins didn't particularly like, but at least the clothes didn't match. The funny thing was that just by wearing non-identical outfits, the girls suddenly seemed less like twins. Their hair and faces were the same as ever, of course, but getting them out of those matching outfits made a world of difference. They looked more like two little girls than two peas in a pod.