Stacey's Problem Read online

  “Really? Because I could let you know all about what we did. I found some computer Web sites that were really useful.”

  “Definitely!” I said.

  As Mallory spoke, I realized that she was showing me a side of herself I hadn’t seen much of before. Before she left for Riverbend, she was hardly ever in the lead. That was probably because, at eleven, she’s younger than most of us. But I always assumed it was part of her personality to hang back.

  It was natural, though, for her to be a leader. After all, despite what Adam, Jordan, and especially Byron might think, she is the oldest of eight kids. That had put her in the leadership position almost from the beginning of her life.

  I could see it had been good for her to get away from us, especially from Kristy, who is so overpowering sometimes. And maybe even from Jessi, who was so accomplished at dancing that Mallory was a little in her shadow. At Riverbend Mallory had been able to shine.

  Only now she was expected to become Mallory the sidekick again, Mallory the follower, the one in the background. Even her role as oldest child was being challenged.

  “You know, I think I’m beginning to understand how you feel,” I told her. “You just can’t accept everyone’s idea of who you are. You have to let them know things have changed.”

  “Change is so hard,” she grumbled.

  I groaned and tossed my head back, thinking of all the changes in my life recently. “Tell me about it,” I said.

  Then I thought about Dad’s upcoming marriage, and my new, better relationship with Ethan, and I smiled.

  “But you can’t stop it,” I added. “And some things change for the better.”

  On Monday afternoon I was happy to see Mallory at our BSC meeting. She was there front and center. She had ideas about how we could organize a trip to the Stoneybrook Museum for the kids we sit for. And she’d printed out a list of things to do that she’d found on a Connecticut Web site.

  “Awesome,” Kristy murmured, nodding. I could see she was impressed.

  Mallory beamed. “Thanks. And this is something I could even do from Riverbend. I could e-mail you information I find on Web sites.”

  “Does the school give you total access to the Internet?” I asked.

  “No. But we can get into travel and informational sites without any problem.”

  The entire meeting had an upbeat feel to it, and Mallory was responsible for that. She had set the tone. I picked up a few sitting jobs for the coming week and headed home feeling good.

  To be honest, I also felt good about myself for having helped Mallory assert herself.

  Outside my house, I stopped for a moment and prepared to go in. I wondered if I should seem so cheery when Mom was in the dumps. Then I decided — what the heck — maybe being around a cheerful person was exactly what Mom needed right now.

  The radio was blasting in the kitchen, a rhythm and blues song sung by Aretha Franklin. It’s the one in which she spells out the word respect. On my way to the kitchen I had to pass by the dining room. It surprised me to see that the table was beautifully set for two.

  “Is someone coming over?” I asked Mom as I entered the kitchen. Something delicious-smelling was cooking in a big pot.

  Mom smiled at me as she tossed some chopped vegetables into it. “Nope. Just me and you. I was in the mood to have a nice dinner, that’s all.”

  I stared at her. Something about her was different. For one thing, she seemed awfully happy. And her hair looked as if it had been professionally blown-dry. But she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Usually at this hour she’s still in her work outfit. “Did you go to work today?” I asked.

  “Nope. I took the day off.”

  “Why?”

  “Felt like it.”

  This worried me.

  My expression must have told her I was concerned. “Don’t worry. I have personal days coming to me. I’m entitled to take some time off. It’s not a problem. I needed the day to think and to make some phone calls.”

  “What’s up?”

  She waved me away. “Not now. I’ve made some decisions, but I want to tell you at dinner.”

  “Okay,” I agreed cautiously.

  “You have a message from Ethan on the computer,” Mom went on. “I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

  “Want some help?”

  “Thank you, but I’m all set. Go see what Ethan wanted.”

  I sat down at the computer in the family room and went online to check my e-mail. There was Ethan’s message.

  Hi, Stace,

  School ends for me in two weeks and so does my artists’ studio class. I’ll be working at the gallery this summer, but I don’t think I’ll be taking summer classes. (Don’t have the cash right now.)

  I just picked up the schedule for the free concerts in the park and there are some awesome acts playing. Also, Shakespeare in the Park features some big names this summer.

  You’ll notice I’m tuned into free stuff right now (the same no-cash issue), but I think we can still have a pretty good time on the cheap.

  When you know your city schedule, send me a message and I’ll make some plans.

  Ethan

  I hit the reply button and wrote him back. I still wasn’t sure which weekends I’d be in the city, but I’d let him know as soon as I planned things with Mom and Dad. Then I wrote him about Mom’s date — how it was a bust, but that she was happy about something mysterious now.

  I’ll tell you what it is when I find out myself, I wrote. I sent the message and logged off.

  I went upstairs to do some homework. It was hard to keep my mind on it, though. I was too busy wondering what Mom’s big decisions might be. Maybe they were really, really big. What if she wanted to move to some place far away … such as Japan? Sure, it would be exciting, but it was the last thing I wanted.

  Or what if she’d decided to sell all our possessions and go off to India to aid the poor? It would be admirable, but I didn’t think I was unselfish enough to make that step.

  By the time Mom called me for dinner, I was plenty worried. Exactly what did she have in mind? But as I came down the stairs my mouth began to water. I found a gorgeous, fragrant chicken fricassee sitting in the middle of the table next to a green salad.

  Mom came out of the kitchen with a bottle of mineral water. “Mom, you have to tell me what’s going on right away or I’ll burst!” I exclaimed.

  “All right. Sit down.”

  I couldn’t. I was too anxious to sit.

  “Here’s my first decision, and I hope you’ll be okay with it.”

  I held my breath and waited.

  “I’m going back to my original name.”

  I didn’t understand. “What name?”

  “Spencer. My last name before I married your father.”

  I collapsed into the chair as relief rushed over me.

  “I know it’s a bit of a shock,” she went on. “We won’t have the same name and that might be a problem. Can you deal with it?”

  “Of course. Do you know how many kids at school have a different last name than one of their parents? Or both of them?”

  “A lot?” she asked, sounding hopeful.

  “A ton. It could be half, maybe even more. It’s sort of confusing, but everyone deals with it.”

  Mom placed her hand over her heart, smiling. “I am so relieved to hear that. It makes sense, of course, what with divorce, remarriage, and women keeping their own names to begin with.”

  “What made you decide to do it?” I asked.

  “A number of things. For one, soon there will be another Mrs. McGill.”

  I wondered if Samantha would change her name. Somehow I just couldn’t picture her becoming Mrs. McGill. She was so much Samantha Young.

  I suppose that was what Mom was after — she wanted people to think of her as Maureen Spencer, her own self, not Mrs. Somebody. Or Mrs. Anybody.

  “I don’t feel like Mrs. McGill anymore,” Mom continued. “It’s not who I am, it’s who I
was.”

  I remembered Mallory making the distinction between who she was before Riverbend and who she was now.

  “I think I understand,” I said.

  “It’s okay, then?” Mom asked.

  “Completely okay.” The aroma of the chicken was making me hungry. “Can we eat now?”

  “In a second,” she said. “I have another announcement, and this is really the bigger one.”

  My breath caught in my throat. Uh-oh. Here it came. I had relaxed too soon. I was about to go off to live in Japan with Ms. Spencer.

  “I’m seriously thinking of quitting my job,” said Mom.

  Cringing, I waited for the rest of the announcement.

  “And I’d like to open my own clothing shop here in Stoneybrook.”

  “Right here?” I cried excitedly. “Your own?”

  “Yes, I’m looking at some empty storefronts for rent. That’s one of the things I did today. I also went to the bank and spoke to a representative there about getting a new-business loan.”

  I leaped out of my chair, knocking it over. I felt as if springs were attached to the soles of my feet as I jumped up and down. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  “Calm down,” Mom said, laughter in her voice. “It might not even happen. I have to get approval on the loan, for one thing.”

  “You’ll get it.” Mom was meant to do this. I knew she could. It would be so much more fun than working in boring old Bellair’s.

  “I could work in the store with you after school and summers,” I volunteered immediately. “You could carry junior sizes as well as adult. All my friends would come.”

  “Wouldn’t that be great?” Mom said. “You know, Stacey, I want this a lot. It’s been on my mind for a long time.”

  “Is that what you were thinking about the night Claudia came over and we made pizza?”

  Mom’s eyes widened in surprise. “Yes, it was. How did you know I had something on my mind that night?”

  “I could tell,” I said. “You know, I always think that you know me better than anyone else does. I guess I know you too.”

  Mom reached for my hand and squeezed it. “It’s wonderful to have someone who really knows you, don’t you think?” I nodded. “You’ve been such a great support to me, Stacey,” Mom added. “I suppose that’s not the way it should be. A parent should be there for the child, not the other way around. I’ll try not to put you in that position again. But I want you to know that I appreciate how wonderful you’ve been through all this.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Mom leaned back in her chair. “I’m going to do this. No matter what it takes. The good times are about to start again, Stacey. I’m sure of it.”

  “Serious Clothing,” Kristy suggested. “There’s a name that says it all.”

  “No way!” Claudia cried, making a disgusted face. “I’d never go into a store with that name. How about Funky Petunia?”

  “No one over twenty would go into a store named Funky Petunia,” said Mary Anne. “I think she should call it Amazing Grace.”

  “That’s nice,” I agreed.

  I’d invited everyone to my house for a slumber party after our BSC meeting that Friday. Once again, we made a pizza, only this time we used store-bought pizza dough and jars of sauce. Mom was much too busy now to make those things from scratch.

  She’d had a hectic week since her announcement to me on Monday. Every night she came in late because she’d been scouting locations, or talking with someone at the bank, or meeting with clothing suppliers to see what kinds of deals she could make. Tonight she was seeing an accountant.

  There was a knock at the side door. Kristy answered it and let in Mallory and Jessi. They tossed their sleeping bags onto a kitchen chair. “Wow, that looks good. I’m starved!” Jessi said, catching sight of the two half-made pizzas on the table.

  Mom came in right behind them. “Hi, girls,” she said brightly.

  “Hi, Mrs…. um, Mrs….” Kristy let her voice trail off and shot me a puzzled look. I’d told my friends about Mom’s name change.

  “Spencer. Ms. Spencer,” I told her.

  “Sorry, I forgot your new name,” said Kristy.

  “That’s all right,” Mom told her. “Why don’t you all call me Maureen. It’s easier.”

  “Okay, Maureen,” I said.

  “Not you!” Mom said, laughing. “My name is still the same as far as you’re concerned. And it’s never changing. It’s Mom.”

  “Um … uh … Maureen,” Claudia said, “I know Stacey has first dibs on a job at your store, but if you need any more help I’d love to work for you.”

  “I’m glad you mentioned that, Claudia. My accountant says I can’t hire underage help in the store. It’s against child labor laws. Though since Stacey is my daughter, I might be able to let her work a limited number of hours. But I was thinking I might like to hire you in another way.”

  “How?” Claudia asked.

  “I’d like to contact local artists — jewelry designers, hand painters of clothing, clothing designers — and see if I can feature their products as well as more commercial clothing. I love the hand-painted shirts you make.”

  “And her jewelry is awesome,” Mallory added.

  “That too,” Mom agreed. “If you want to assemble some of your things, I could look them over. We’d come to an agreement about price. I’d take a percentage and give you the rest. If that’s all right with your parents, of course. I’d have to talk to them.”

  Claudia’s face shone. “Imagine me, with my own product line. An actual working artist.”

  “Claudia’s Funky Petunia Designs,” Mary Anne suggested.

  “That’s it! That is totally it!” Claudia cried.

  “Maureen, even if we don’t work in the store, I’d be glad to help,” Mallory said. “You should think about having your own Web site.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “I could help you,” Mallory said. “Setting up a Web site is something I’ve been wanting to learn. The Stoneybrook Community Center is offering a course in it this summer and my parents said I could take it.”

  Mom grinned at her. “I’m not even in business yet and I have my own computer consultant. Wonderful!”

  “We can make fliers for you and hand them out,” Kristy said.

  “Great! Now I have my own head of advertising too.”

  “I can bring the fliers to dance class with me,” Jessi volunteered.

  “You could also make up a computer mailing list,” Mary Anne said. “I could copy our client list right out of our club notebook.”

  “I could help you set it up on the computer,” Mallory offered. “There’s a program that helps you do all that.”

  “Thank you, girls,” Mom said. “It’s terrific to know I already have such a capable team behind me.”

  “Are you kidding?” Kristy said. “This is the most exciting thing that’s happened around here since … since … since we started the Baby-sitters Club.”

  We all laughed at that. “Mom, I bought you a special gift to celebrate.” I dug into the brown paper grocery bag I’d set on the counter. I pulled out a small can of anchovies.

  Mom laughed. “Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to. In fact, I’m going to have a piece myself. I’ll try it, anyway.”

  “Me too,” Claudia said.

  “So will I,” added Mallory.

  “I’m impressed,” said Mom.

  “Hey,” I said, pulling the lid off of the anchovy can, “you have to keep changing and trying new things, right? Otherwise you’ll never know what good stuff you might be missing.”

  The author gratefully acknowledges

  Suzanne Weyn

  for her help in

  preparing this manuscript.

  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 b
ook), 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 © 2000 by Ann M. Martin

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, THE BABY-SITTERS CLUB, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

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  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, 2000

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-87515-8