Dawn Schafer, Undercover Baby-Sitter Read online

  The first to show up were Matt and Haley. Haley hugged me and squealed over the decorations, while Matt grinned and showed me his Wiffle ball and bat. (I had asked each of the kids I’d invited to bring a favorite game.)

  Jenny Prezzioso arrived next. She’s four years old. The BSC has been sitting for Jenny for a long time, and we know her well. Jenny’s a good kid, although at times it’s been hard to remember that. When we first met her, we thought she was a spoiled brat. She never had a speck of dirt on any of her frilly dresses. She was a slow, picky eater, and needed lots of attention. She’s grown into a much nicer kid since then, though. She wears jeans and sneakers sometimes, and she’s not nearly as whiny as she used to be. (She had a bit of a relapse when her baby sister first arrived, but that was understandable.)

  “Dawn, I’m going to miss you,” said Jenny, hugging me.

  “I’ll miss you, too,” I said. “What’s this that you brought? Is this for a game?” I touched the stuffed monkey she held in her arms.

  “No, silly, that’s Monkey Matthew,” she told me. “Don’t you remember him? I used to always have to sleep with him.”

  “Oh, sure,” I said. “Hi, Monkey Matthew.” I pretended to shake his hand.

  “Monkey Matthew wants to go to California with you,” said Jenny. “He wants to fly on a big plane and keep you company so you won’t be lonely.”

  “Oh, Jenny, that’s so sweet,” I said. “I’d love to take Monkey Matthew.” She handed him over, and I hugged him, thinking that I’d have to check with Mrs. P. to make sure Jenny wouldn’t miss him too much if I really took him.

  “And here’s my game,” she said, pulling a deck of cards out of her pocket. “Go Fish. My favorite.”

  “Great,” I said. “Go on and put the cards on the game table, and as soon as everyone’s here we’ll start to play.” Mary Anne showed Jenny where the game table was, and just then the Barretts arrived.

  I smiled when I saw them coming, remembering the first time I’d met Buddy, Suzi, and Marnie. We used to call them “The Impossible Three.” Buddy’s eight now, Suzi’s five, and Marnie is two. They were such a handful! They still are, in a way, but things have changed so much for them. Their mom, who was divorced, has remarried, and the Barretts now live in a new house with a stepdad and four new stepsiblings.

  “We brung a game!” announced Suzi.

  “We brought a game,” Buddy corrected her.

  “I already told her that!” said Suzi.

  Marnie just looked up at me with her big blue eyes and grinned. Then she stuck her thumb in her mouth.

  “Let’s see what you brought,” I said.

  “Twister!” Buddy shouted. “It’s the best.” He produced the box from behind his back.

  “I want to call out the colors,” said Suzi. “That’s my favorite part.”

  “Then you can do it,” I told her, bending down to give her a hug. I showed the kids where to leave the game, and prepared to greet my next guests, the Pikes.

  Mal had come with a bunch of her siblings, since she’d offered to help out. Not all the Pikes were there. The triplets, Adam, Byron, and Jordan, had a soccer game that morning. But Vanessa (she’s nine) had come, and so had Nicky (eight), Margo (seven), and Claire (five).

  Suddenly, the yard seemed full of kids. The Pikes can have that effect.

  They all mobbed me with hugs and shouted greetings.

  “Dawn, Dawn, you we will miss, let me give you a great big kiss,” said Vanessa, who longs to be a poet and often speaks in rhyme.

  “Where’s the food?” asked Nicky, after he’d tossed me the Nerf football he had brought. “Are we going to have cupcakes?”

  “We brought all our musical instruments,” announced Margo, opening up her backpack to show me a jumble of kazoos, maracas, bells, whistles, and little drums. “We can have a parade!”

  “Dawn, silly-billy-goo-goo,” yelled Claire. “You are my favorite silly-billy-goo-goo!” She grabbed a kazoo and danced around goofily, hooting a tune. I couldn’t help cracking up.

  Finally, the Keats and Cornell kids showed up. I’d invited them because I felt we’d become close over the last couple of weeks. Plus, I knew they’d like the other kids, and it would be fun to introduce them around.

  Eliza and Hallie had brought Pictionary Junior, and Katharine was lugging a croquet set. Tilly and Jeremy looked a little overwhelmed by the sight of all those kids, but within five minutes they were playing tag with Suzi, Claire, Margo, and Jenny.

  “Is everybody here?” asked Mary Anne.

  “I think so,” I said, going over the guest list in my head. “I hereby declare this party officially started!” I announced, blowing a whistle I’d hung around my neck.

  We had a blast. We played every game the kids brought, plus badminton, volleyball, duck-duck-goose, and a new game we made up that combined Go Fish with Pictionary Junior. We twisted ourselves into pretzels for Twister, hammered one another’s croquet balls out of the yard, and put on the funniest, noisiest parade my neighborhood has ever seen (we must have gone up and down the street at least four times). The Wiffle ball championship of the world went to Nicky’s team, and Buddy’s team gave them a huge “Two-four-six-eight, who do we appreciate?” Then, the Nerf football championship of the world went to Buddy’s team, and Nicky’s team gave them a huge cheer.

  Mary Anne took pictures all morning, and promised to send me copies. Mal helped keep things organized. It was the most fun I’d had with a bunch of kids in a long time, and I knew I’d always remember it, with or without pictures.

  At noon, we put out a huge picnic lunch, with food Mary Anne and I had been working on for days. She’d insisted on real hot dogs, but I sneaked in some Tofu Pups as well. We had also made potato salad, coleslaw, and corn muffins (made with this special organic stone-ground cornmeal I love). And for dessert? A carved-out watermelon full of cut-up fruit — plus some cupcakes with chocolate frosting. Four-year-old Jamie Newton ate three cupcakes and then asked me to marry him.

  Soon after lunch, parents started to come by to pick up their kids. I hugged the kids as they left with their goodie bags, and promised to remember them always, and to write, and most of all to come back soon.

  I think almost every one of those kids probably went home and took a long nap after that wild morning. But me? No nap, no way. I just kept on partying!

  No sooner had the kids left than my BSC friends (all except Kristy, who had just left for a Hawaiian vacation with her family) showed up. So did a few friends from school. We sat down at the table again and polished off the leftovers from lunch. Claudia matched Nicky by eating three cupcakes.

  My friends had brought me little going-away presents, which almost made me cry. Stacey gave me a pair of silver barrettes in the shape of dolphins (my favorite animals), and Emily Bernstein gave me a very cool-looking pair of sunglasses. Mari Drabek gave me some vanilla-scented cologne.

  Jessi and Mal had chipped in on some stationery, and made me promise to write. Claudia gave me some seaweed candy she’d found in a health-food store. She held her nose as she passed it over, and shook her head when I offered her some, but she was laughing. “I’ll stick to Three Musketeers,” she said.

  Kristy had left a present with Mary Anne: a record-keeping book for the We Kids Club. (She’s convinced we need to be more organized; she’s probably right.) And Abby gave me a book on shells, so I could identify any I found while I was beachcombing.

  Mary Anne whispered that she’d give me my present later, and I was glad. I had something for her, too, but I didn’t want to give it to her in front of everyone else.

  I spent the day with my friends, and the evening, too. In honor of Friends Day, we’d skipped our regular BSC meeting, leaving the answering machine on to pick up any calls that came in. We had the greatest barbecue (I ate grilled vegetables), and then stuffed ourselves silly with Ben & Jerry’s ice cream (I may be a health nut, but once in a while I give in to temptation). Afterward, we watched a scary movi
e, and then we dragged sleeping bags out to the barn and had a slumber party.

  Friends Day was a complete success. I had a lot of memory pictures to take with me to California. And I had a feeling Friends Day might have to become an annual event.

  “See you! Don’t forget to keep the monkeys hopping!” Jessi giggled as she climbed into her dad’s car, tossing her sleeping bag into the backseat.

  I cracked up. I couldn’t even remember what joke that was the punch line to, since we’d told so many during our sleepover, but it was funny just the same. “See you!” I called back, waving.

  It was nice to say “see you” instead of goodbye. I knew I’d see all my friends one last time before I left, so we didn’t have to do the long, serious good-bye thing now. Jessi was the last of my friends to leave that Thursday morning. I waved as she left, and then I stood barefoot in the driveway for a few minutes, just looking around. It was one of those perfect Connecticut summer mornings. The lush, green grass sparkled with dew, the birds were singing, and the flowers were in full bloom. It was hard to believe how soon I’d be returning to the land of palm trees and beaches.

  I thought of sunset over the Pacific, and my heart beat a little faster. I love California, really I do. I know that it’s where I belong, and I couldn’t wait to be back there. Still, it wasn’t going to be easy to leave Stoneybrook, and all the people I love who live here.

  I looked back toward the house. I knew exactly what would be going on inside. Mary Anne would be tidying up the mess we’d left in the kitchen. (We hadn’t cleaned up after a midnight pig-out.) Richard would be checking his briefcase one last time before leaving for work. (I think he keeps its contents arranged alphabetically.) My mom would be running through the house, frantically searching for her keys, or her left shoe, or whatever it was that had turned up missing. (Something always does, every morning.) That’s my family!

  I took one last look around at the bright summer morning, then headed inside. I found Mary Anne and Richard in the kitchen. Mary Anne was putting away the last of the dishes she’d washed, and Richard was sitting at the kitchen table, sorting through some papers he’d taken out of his briefcase. So far I was right on target. I stepped to the kitchen door and listened for my mother. Sure enough, it was only a second or two before I heard her call out, “Has anybody seen my scarf? I’m sure I left it on the hall table.”

  Mary Anne looked up and smiled. “It’s in here, Sharon,” she called back. “In the drawer with the dish towels.” She pulled a red-and-purple scarf out of the drawer. My mom came in, grinning. “Like I said, I left it on the hall table,” she said a little sheepishly. She took the scarf and tied it around her neck. “Thanks, Mary Anne.”

  “Ahem,” I said, stepping forward to stand in the middle of the kitchen. “I have a little announcement to make.”

  Richard looked up. Mom smiled expectantly. Mary Anne raised her eyebrows. When I had their full attention, I started to talk.

  “You all know how busy I’ve been this summer,” I said. “And how I sometimes wasn’t very good at managing my time.” I gave Mary Anne an apologetic smile.

  “We know, honey,” said my mom. “It’s not easy for you, is it?”

  “Well, no,” I answered. “But that’s not what I wanted to say.”

  “I thought Friends Day worked out really well,” Mary Anne put in.

  “So did I,” I said. “Thanks a lot for all your help with it.”

  “Being organized takes practice,” Richard observed, nodding wisely. “You’ll become better at it over time.”

  I sighed. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m sure I will. Meanwhile, I still have an announcement to make.”

  They all leaned forward expectantly. “Well, go ahead, honey,” said my mom. “What is it?”

  “It’s this,” I said. “I hereby declare today Family Day. Because you’re all really important to me, and I want to make sure we spend some real, family-only time together before I go.”

  My mom’s face lit up. “What a great idea!” she exclaimed.

  Mary Anne and Richard applauded.

  “The day starts with me making everybody a big breakfast,” I said. “So clear out of the kitchen — just for a few minutes. I’ll be quick so you and Richard won’t be late for work,” I added, smiling at my mom, who is late for work almost every single day.

  Each of them gave me a big hug as they left. I created a breakfast that was (if I do say so myself) a true masterpiece. I made scrambled eggs with cheese and herbs (and salsa on the side for my mom, who likes it), whole wheat toast, tofu sausages (really, they taste good — just like the real thing), fresh-squeezed orange juice, and a simple fruit salad. I set the table with a brightly colored plaid tablecloth and all our best dishes. Then I called everyone in.

  Did they freak out when they saw all that great food?

  You bet.

  Did they eat every single bite of it?

  Absolutely.

  “This was a breakfast to remember,” said my mom, after she’d finished her last piece of toast. She smiled at me, a little sadly. I knew she would think of this morning long after I’d returned to California. So would I.

  Over breakfast, we had talked about where to go for dinner that night. I’d saved up some money, working so often at Livingston House, and I wanted to take everyone out. We discussed all the options, and ended up deciding that what we would like best would be pizza — at home, with each other.

  That settled, Richard and my mom headed off to work. I told Mary Anne to leave the kitchen cleanup to me, but she said she wanted to help. I have to admit it was nice to have her in the kitchen with me. We horsed around, singing and doing little dance steps and flinging soap suds at each other, and it made me remember how much fun it is to have a sister.

  After I’d put the last fork away, I turned to Mary Anne. “Can I give you your present now?” I asked. “I can’t stand to wait any longer.”

  “Definitely,” she said. “And I’ll give you yours. I’ve been dying to see how you like it.”

  We each ran upstairs to our rooms, then met downstairs in the living room. I handed her a tiny package wrapped in red-and-white striped paper, and she handed me an even tinier one wrapped in shimmery, silvery tissue. “You go first,” she said.

  “No, you,” I insisted. We looked at each other and laughed. “Okay, both at the same time,” I said. “Ready? One, two, three — go!” We tore into the wrappings.

  “Oh, Dawn,” breathed Mary Anne. “This is so pretty!” She held up a silver ring with a tiny opal set between two hearts. She slipped it onto her right pinky. “It fits perfectly, too!”

  “So does mine,” I said, slipping on the pinky ring she’d given me — also silver, with a tiny silver dolphin. It would match my new barrettes perfectly. “I can’t believe we gave each other the same thing!” Suddenly, I felt like crying.

  Mary Anne was way ahead of me. She was crying. “I’ll think of you every single time I look down at this ring,” she said, sniffling.

  “I’ll do the same,” I said. “Best friends — and sisters — forever?”

  “Forever,” she said.

  We hugged. Then, just so we wouldn’t sit around crying all day (who wants to be soggy?), I suggested that we go shopping.

  “Great!” she said. “Only — I’m supposed to meet Logan for lunch. I didn’t know you were planning this.”

  “That’s perfect,” I said. “I was hoping to surprise Mom by meeting her at work and taking her out for lunch. Let’s go downtown, shop a little, separate for lunch, and then shop some more. Deal?”

  “Deal!” she said happily.

  It was a terrific day. Mary Anne and I hit all our favorite stores in Stoneybrook. We went to Bellair’s to check out the back-to-school clothes, and to Sew Fine, where Mary Anne likes to buy yarn and embroidery thread. We stopped at In Good Taste, the gourmet food shop, to buy these whole-grain crackers I love, and then spent about an hour in the Merry-Go-Round, looking at barrettes, bracelets
, and keychains.

  At noon, we split up for lunch. Mary Anne met Logan at the Rosebud Café. I met Mom at work (she was totally surprised and happy to see me) and we went to Tofu Express for take-out, which we ate in the little park in the center of town.

  Mom and I talked a lot: about how the summer had been, about what the weather would be like in California when I returned, about her work and, most of all, about how hard it was not to live together all the time, and how much we’d miss each other when I was gone. It was an emotional talk, but a good one. I was glad I’d made the time for it, so we’d have a chance to say all those things to each other.

  In the afternoon, Mary Anne and I did some more shopping. We went to Zingy’s, to look at the wild clothes there, and to Stoneybrook Jeweler, to check out the diamonds and pearls (just for fun) and finally, to ZuZu’s Petals, a flower store, to buy flowers for the dinner table.

  Soon after we arrived home, Richard came home from work. Now, Richard is not my father by birth, but he’s a pretty good stepdad, and he’s become a real friend. I invited him to go for a pre-dinner bike ride, and he jumped at the invitation. We rode for over an hour, watching the shadows lengthen as afternoon turned to evening. It was a perfect ending to a perfect Stoneybrook day.

  Oh, I almost forgot to mention our pizza dinner. But what’s there to say? Pizza is the best — especially when you eat it with people you love. Family Day is definitely going to become a tradition, too.

  Early the next morning, just as I was finishing my tea, the phone rang. It was Mrs. Keats.

  “Hi,” I said, surprised. “Do you need a sitter?” I was about to tell her she should call the BSC number that afternoon, when we had a meeting.

  “No, that’s not why I’m calling,” she said. “I’m calling because it’s beautiful out and we’re planning to hang around the pool all day, and we’d like you to come over and join us. Eliza made a point of asking me to invite you.”

  “Sounds great!” I exclaimed. Finally, a chance to check out that fabulous pool! Plus, I wouldn’t mind seeing the Keats and Cornell kids one last time.