Hello, Mallory Read online

  “Could I push him around in his stroller?” asked Becca. “I’d stay on the sidewalk and the driveway. I wouldn’t go on the grass.”

  “Sure,” replied Jessi. “That’s fine. I’ll go get the stroller for you.”

  Jessi disappeared into the garage and returned a few moments later with Squirt’s stroller. “Here you go,” she said to Becca.

  “Thanks!” Becca heaved Squirt awkwardly into the stroller and began walking him proudly down the driveway.

  “Becca is awfully good with him,” I pointed out as Jessi and I watched them from the front steps.

  “It’s a recent thing,” Jessi replied. “Just since we moved here. I think it’s because she’s at home so much. In Oakley she was always off with Sandy or Kara or Raun or someone. But she doesn’t have any friends here in Stoneybrook.”

  I nodded thoughtfully. “How are things going for you?” I asked. “I mean in ballet class and at school?”

  “It’s funny. In my ballet class I’m the only black kid, but almost everyone has been really nice to me. Oh, there are a couple of girls who don’t speak to me, but, well, mostly the teachers and students are so wrapped up in dancing that they don’t notice what color you are. I mean, this is a serious school.”

  I smiled.

  “But at our school?” Jessi went on. “Where there are some other black kids?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Things are better, I guess, but not great.”

  “At least they are better, though,” I said positively.

  “That’s true. It’s been days since Benny Ott shot a rubber band at me.”

  “Well, that’s something. Boy, I’d sure like to shoot him sometime. Don’t you wish we were back in second grade so we could just give him cooties and that would be the end of it?”

  “Yeah,” said Jessi, laughing. “Hey, Becca! Not too close to the street, okay? Bring Squirt back here, or stick to the sidewalk,” she called.

  “Okay,” Becca called back.

  “Boy, does she need friends,” Jessi said quietly.

  “Yeah. I can’t believe no one will play with her.”

  “Mama could use some friends, too. It would be nice to meet the neighbors.”

  I nodded. And suddenly I remembered another sunny day about a year ago. It was a Saturday and a new baby-sitter was taking care of Claire, Nicky, Byron, and me. Her name was Stacey McGill, and she and her parents had moved to Stoneybrook just a month or two earlier. The five of us were sitting at the kitchen table eating a snack and, because I’d never moved, I’d asked Stacey how moving from New York to Stoneybrook had felt.

  “Well,” Stacey had replied, “it wasn’t easy. I didn’t want to leave New York, but everyone here has been so nice to us.”

  I remembered Stacey describing how people had come by with casseroles and cookies, with flowers and homemade fudge, with directions to the train station, beauty parlor, malls, and movie theaters, and even with tips on which was the best grocery store. “A lady from something called the Welcome Wagon came by,” she’d added. “She handed us coupons for special deals at restaurants, a listing of the doctors and dentists in Stoneybrook, some samples from this gourmet food store, and a lot of other Stoneybrook stuff.”

  I looked at the Ramseys’ empty yard and empty front porch (except for Jessi and me). I knew no neighbors had come by with gifts or helpful information. How mean.

  “I have a feeling this is a silly question,” I said, “but has a lady from the Welcome Wagon dropped by?”

  “Are you kidding?” replied Jessi.

  “I didn’t think she had.”

  “Why did you want to know?”

  “Oh, I was just remembering something,” I told her.

  “What?”

  “It isn’t important.”

  Becca had gotten tired of pushing Squirt around and had wheeled him back to Jessi and me. “Can I play with my bubble-maker?” she asked.

  “Sure, that’s a great idea,” Jessi answered. “Go on inside and get it. Do you remember how to mix the bubble solution?”

  “Yup!” replied Becca, and ran through the front door.

  “You should see this toy she’s got,” said Jessi. “It’s amazing. It makes bubbles that are almost as big as she is.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  Becca returned carrying a wand with a loop of flat rope attached to it, and a mixing bowl full of sudsy water. She set the bowl on the front lawn, held onto the wand, dipped the rope into the solution, then opened it into a circle as she swung her arm slowly around. An enormous bubble formed through the rope. Becca expertly closed it off and it floated away.

  “Look at that! Look at that one!” she cried. “It’s my biggest ever!”

  “Becca says that about every bubble,” Jessi whispered to me.

  But the bubble really was huge. It wasn’t quite as big as Becca, but it was certainly bigger than Squirt. He could easily have fit inside it.

  Becca made another bubble, and another.

  At the house across the street, the door opened and a face looked out.

  Becca made a fourth bubble.

  A little girl stepped onto the porch.

  Becca made a fifth bubble.

  The girl tiptoed down her front stoop and halfway across the lawn to watch Becca and her bubbles.

  “Look,” I said, nudging Jessi.

  “I know,” she whispered.

  The girl reached the street, crossed it carefully, and ran to Becca. “How do you do that?” she asked “Those are the biggest —”

  “Amy!” called a sharp voice. An angry-looking woman was standing on the porch across the street.

  Amy turned around. “Mom?”

  “Come here this instant,” said her mother stiffly. Then she went back in the house, slamming the door behind her.

  Amy reluctantly left Becca and her bubbles and crossed the street again.

  “You see what I mean?” said Jessi bitterly.

  But I didn’t answer her. I had just seen something else. Another little face was peeking at us, this time through a hedge at the side of the Ramseys’ house. I recognized the face.

  “Charlotte?” I called.

  Charlotte Johanssen pushed her way between two bushes in the hedge and stood timidly at the side of the yard, her hands behind her back. I knew Charlotte slightly. She was eight years old and lived nearby. The girls in the Baby-sitters Club sat for her, but Stacey McGill had been Charlotte’s favorite sitter.

  “Hi, Charlotte!” I said. “Come on over. You want to meet some new people?”

  Charlotte didn’t answer.

  “She’s shy,” I whispered to Jessi. I turned back to Charlotte. “Did you want to see what was happening at Stacey’s old house?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “My mom told me to come over,” she said. At last she stepped toward us. When she reached us, she went on quietly, “Mom said there was a girl here just my age who could be my new friend.”

  “She did?” said Jessi incredulously.

  Charlotte nodded. Then she looked at Becca, who was concentrating on making her bubbles. “Is that her? Is she eight years old?”

  “She sure is,” replied Jessi. “Her name’s Becca. I bet she could teach you how to make big bubbles, too.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. Hey, Becca!” Jessi called. “Come here. Someone wants to play with you.”

  Becca turned around. Her eyes widened when she saw Charlotte. “Hi!” she called. She ran over to us.

  “Hi,” said Charlotte, a little smile creeping onto her lips. “That’s neat, that bubble thing. Can you really show me how to use it?”

  “’Course!” cried Becca. “Come here. Come stand out in the middle of the yard.”

  “Okay,” replied Charlotte. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She took her hands from behind her back and held out a foil-wrapped package.

  “This is for you,” she said to Jessi. “I mean, for your whole fami
ly. It’s banana bread from my mom and dad. Oh, and my mom wants your family to come over for supper next Saturday, but she’s going to call your mom tonight so they can talk about the details.”

  “Hey, thanks!” said Jessi. “That’s really nice.”

  Charlotte joined Becca with the bubble-maker, and I pulled Squirt into my lap. Jessi looked down at the banana bread and then up at me.

  “Maybe,” she said, “it won’t be so bad here after all.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Some things just take time.”

  Okay, you guys. How are we going to solve our problem? (At least we all agree that there is a problem.) You know, in a way, this is a nice problem to have - being too busy. In the past when we’ve written about club problems in our notebook they were pretty bad ones, like we were all mad and not speaking to each other, or there was a member among us who seemed about ready to defect. At least this problem just means that we’re really successful. Still, we have to do something about it….

  When I read Mary Anne’s notebook entry a few weeks later, I almost laughed. The answer was so obvious. Ask me to join the club! But they had blown that with their stupid digestive-system test. And then they had gotten themselves in hot water. It wouldn’t be much longer, though, until they saw what they had to do. In fact, by the end of the meeting they were holding the day Mary Anne wrote about the problem, they were on their way to solving things.

  The meeting started off on the wrong foot because Kristy and Dawn were in bad moods and Claudia couldn’t find this package of Ring-Dings she’d hidden in her room.

  “Did one of you guys take it?” asked Claudia accusingly.

  “Are you kidding? That trash?” replied Dawn. “I wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole. You know, you’re going to rot your teeth, Claudia. Your face is going to break out and people will call you —”

  “They will call me happy,” Claudia interrupted her, “because that’s what I am when I eat Ring-Dings. So you can just stop lecturing me about food. If I ate health food, I’d probably turn into a rabbit like you. A skinny, pale rabbit. I’d —”

  “Shut up,” said Kristy. “You two are wasting our time. This meeting started five minutes ago and all we’ve done is crab at each other and go on a Ring-Ding hunt. But believe me, we’ve got a problem. Mary Anne, open up our notebook.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Mary Anne sarcastically. She’d come to the meeting in a good mood, but by now even she was feeling cross.

  Kristy held up the club’s appointment book, which was opened to the calendar pages. “See this?” she barked.

  “Yeah,” said Dawn, who was not happy about having been called a skinny, pale rabbit. “So?”

  “It is all full,” said Kristy flatly. “For two weeks.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought that was the point of this club,” said Claudia. “To sign up jobs. And when we do that, we fill up the calendar.”

  “Save the sarcasm,” Kristy told her. “Of course that was the point. But what happens if someone calls needing a sitter during the next two weeks?”

  “We ask Logan or Shannon to take the job,” said Mary Anne. “That’s what they’re there for. They’re our backups.” (Logan Bruno and Shannon Kilbourne are two associate club members, which means that they don’t come to meetings, but they’re called on to take jobs no one else can take.)

  “I guess so,” said Kristy. “I mean, I know so. It just seems to me that they shouldn’t be quite this necessary to us…. Boy, do we need Stacey back.”

  “Yeah …” the others said and fell silent. They all missed Stacey, especially Claudia, who had been her best friend.

  The phone rang then. Kristy, perched in the director’s chair, adjusted her visor and reached for the receiver. “Keep your fingers crossed that this is a call for at least a year from now.”

  That brought a smile to Claudia’s face, anyway. The girls listened to Kristy’s end of the conversation. “Hi, Mrs. Prezzioso … Oh, fine, thanks. How’s Jenny?… Good … Thursday afternoon? I’ll get back to you right away…. Okay … Sure. Good-bye.”

  Kristy hung up the phone. “Somebody around here wasn’t crossing her fingers,” she said. “Mrs. Prezzioso needs someone for this Thursday afternoon.”

  Mary Anne dosed the notebook she’d been writing in and took the record book from Kristy. “Let me handle this,” she said. “It’s my job.” She looked at the appointment calendar. “What’s the big deal, Kristy? You and Claudia are both free that afternoon.”

  “Claudia and I are both sitting that evening. You know our parents won’t let us take two jobs on the same day, at least not during the week. We’d never get our homework done.”

  “Well, I’ll call Logan,” said Mary Anne happily. She didn’t look the least bit upset. That was because Logan Bruno is Mary Anne’s boyfriend, and she loves any chance to call him.

  Mary Anne knew Logan’s number by heart. She dialed it, then pulled the phone into a corner and turned her back on the other club members. “Hello, Logan?” they could hear her say. “It’s me. Yeah … Mmphh, mmblmmbl.” She dropped her voice so low that even though Kristy, Dawn, and Claudia leaned over as far as they dared, they couldn’t hear what she was saying. And she didn’t raise it again until the only thing left to say was, “Good-bye.”

  “Well?” asked Kristy.

  “He’s free,” Mary Anne replied. “You can call Mrs. Prezzioso now.”

  As soon as Kristy had done so, another call came in for Thursday.

  “Shannon Kilbourne is our only hope,” said Kristy, who called her immediately. Luckily, Shannon was free, too.

  “That was close,” commented Claudia.

  “I’ll say,” agreed Kristy. “Too close. We’ve got to do something. At this point, even a sitter who was only available in the afternoons would help us.”

  “We have to find another club member,” said Dawn, “and that’s that.”

  “You know,” said Mary Anne, “when Stacey and I went to Sea City with the Pikes, Mallory was awfully helpful. She wasn’t even supposed to be a baby-sitter, but she automatically watched her brothers and sisters all the time, especially in the water. She remembered to see that they were wearing sunblock, and we knew that if we had to split up into groups, like when we were playing miniature golf, we could put her in charge of one of the groups and not have a thing to worry about.”

  “You know when we held the playgroup last summer?” began Kristy.

  “Yeah?” said Claudia.

  “Well, Mallory did more than just help out. When she walked the kids from her neighborhood over to Stacey’s house, she taught them about crossing the street. She didn’t have to do that, she just did it.”

  “And,” began Claudia, “when she and I baby-sat at the Perkinses’ she didn’t do anything really wrong. She was mostly clumsy, like when she spilled the milk and broke the glass. She did make a mistake with the snack and with Chewy, but that wasn’t so bad….”

  “I just remembered something,” spoke up Dawn. “Mrs. Pike called my mom last night to tell her about some PTA thing, and they started talking about Nicky’s hand. It turns out that it was a total accident. It happened so fast that no one could have prevented it.” Dawn explained what had happened. “So it wasn’t Mallory’s fault at all — and we blamed her for it,” she finished up.

  “Oops,” said Kristy.

  Claudia cleared her throat nervously. “Um,” she said, “I didn’t want to admit this before, but I didn’t know anything about the divestive system before we made up that test.”

  “It’s di-ges-tive,” Dawn told her, “and neither did I.”

  “Me neither,” added Mary Anne. She and Dawn and Claudia looked at Kristy.

  “Oh, all right, neither did I,” said Kristy. “Well, not much.”

  “Did you know about tourniquets?” Claudia asked her.

  “Only that you have to let a doctor remove them.”

  “You know, it took us hours to make up that test,” said Mary
Anne slowly, “and not because we had so many questions to choose from. It was because we had to look everything up.”

  Kristy hung her head. “I guess we were pretty unfair to Mallory.”

  “Yeah,” agreed the others.

  “But we do have to be careful,” Kristy went on. “Little kids are important. I mean, everyone is important, but we have a responsibility to the kids we take care of, and to their parents. We can’t sign up sitters who are going to let accidents happen or who wouldn’t know what to do if a kid got sick.”

  “That’s true,” said Dawn, “but I don’t think we should expect more from anyone else than we do from ourselves. And I think Mallory knows just as much about children as we do.”

  “You’re right,” said Kristy. She paused. Then she added, “Well, shall I call Mallory and ask her back?”

  “Yes!” cried Claudia, Dawn, and Mary Anne.

  When the phone rang in the hall outside my bedroom, Jessi and I hoped desperately that it was a job call. We hadn’t had a single sitting job since that Wednesday afternoon at the Ramseys’. Needless to say, I was pretty disappointed to hear Kristy Thomas’s voice on the other end of the line — that is, until I listened to what she had to say.

  “Mallory, we were unfair,” she began. “The test was unfair. We see that now. So the reason I’m calling is to find out if you want to try joining the club again as a junior sitter. You know, afternoons only. All you’ll have to do is go on one baby-sitting job with another club member. I promise she won’t make you nervous.”

  “You want me to join the Baby-sitters Club!” I cried. I glanced up and saw Jessi’s face. She looked stricken. “What about Jessi Ramsey?” I asked Kristy. And then I heard myself say, “Either both of us join or neither of us does. You have to take all of Kids Incorporated.”

  Jessi smiled broadly.

  I listened to the muffled sounds on the other end of the phone that meant Kristy had put her hand over the receiver and was discussing things with her friends. At long last she said, “Mallory? Can you and Jessi both come to the next meeting?”

  “We’ll be there,” I said simply and hung up the phone. Then I looked at Jessi. “I think we made it!” I told her.