Jessi's Horrible Prank Read online

  Sometimes Mary Anne likes to take her charges back to her house. It’s this huge old farmhouse, built in 1795, and if has an enormous barn and an even more enormous yard. It’s a great place to sit for kids.

  But since Buddy and Suzi were starring in the BSC Follies, Mary Anne was planned to take them all to Charlotte’s.

  Until the phone rang.

  “Mary Anne, it’s for you!” her dad called from the kitchen.

  Mary Anne, who’d been washing up, went over to the phone.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Mary Anne, this is an extra-special emergency!” a girl’s voice said.

  “Charlotte?”

  “Yes. Oh, Mary Anne, it’s going to rain!”

  Mary Anne looked out the kitchen window. It was cloudy and gross-looking. “Uh-oh,” she said.

  “Can we please have the Follies at your house? That way, if it does rain, everybody can go into the barn!”

  “Hang on, let me ask.”

  After some negotiating, Mary Anne got the green light from her dad and stepmom.

  And that was how the Official First Annual BSC Follies, produced by Becca Ramsey and Charlotte Johanssen, ended up in the Spier-Schafer Yard.

  Mary Anne raced over to the Barretts’ and brought them to her house. Buddy and Suzi didn’t stop giggling the whole way. Marnie looked bewildered.

  Next came Charlotte. Then Becca and I arrived.

  Before long we had a packed house (packed yard?). All the BSC members were there, plus the Pikes, Mr. and Mrs. Arnold, Daddy and Mama, the Johanssens, and Kristy’s family. Even Aunt Cecelia came (although she looked very disapproving of all the noise).

  The sky was clearing up, so the kids decided to perform outdoors. Mary Anne’s dad and stepmom rushed in and out of the house with kitchen chairs, folding chairs, plastic cartons, anything they could find.

  The actors scrambled around, getting ready. Their “set” was a picnic table with a sheet over it, three chairs, and a broken clock on an old card table (borrowed from Mary Anne’s barn).

  Finally Vanessa Pike shouted out:

  “Attention please, attention please!”

  Everyone quieted down. The performers (except Vanessa) all disappeared into the barn.

  “And now, our intro.” Vanessa took a piece of paper from her pocket, unfolded it, and read:

  “Welcome to our BSC Follies.

  We hope you laugh and have some jollies.

  Listen up and follow me,

  To a meeting of the BSC.”

  Then she bowed and said, “Thank you.”

  Wild applause.

  “Boo!” Adam called out.

  Mr. Pike leaned over and scolded him. Vanessa stuck her tongue out.

  Then, one by one, the kids came out of the barn. First Marilyn Arnold, wearing a visor turned backward and a jogging suit. “Hi, I’m Kristy!” she said.

  “Oh, no …” Kristy hid her face as everyone burst out laughing.

  Vanessa walked out, toting a huge backpack. She had her hair pulled back and fastened by something that looked like a dog bone.

  She pulled out a Milky Way bar, stuffed it in her mouth, and said, “Hi, I’m Claudia!”

  “Aaaaaugh!” Claudia screamed.

  Carolyn followed her, pretending to cry. “I’m —”

  Sniff, sniff. “Mary Anne! Boo-hoo-hoo-hoo!”

  The real Mary Anne turned red as a beet.

  Buddy shuffled out of the barn, carrying a football. He walked up behind Carolyn with this embarrassed grin on his face. “Aw, it’s all right, Mary Anne,” he said in a monotone.

  “Hi, Logan,” Carolyn said. Then she whispered, “You’re supposed to put your arm around me!”

  Buddy scowled. “This is dumb!” he said, stalking away.

  Vanessa rushed over to him. It took some convincing, but Buddy walked back onto the “set” to a round of applause.

  The show was saved.

  Next came Margo, holding a bag of carrots. “I’m Dawn. Yummy, this is my dinner.”

  Becca came out in a tutu — then promptly ran back into the barn. (She’s loud at home, but very shy in public!) Finally she came back out as guess who? (I’ll give you a hint: She was walking on her toes.)

  Squirt broke loose from Mama’s arms and ran toward her, saying, “Baka baka baka!”

  When Becca gently handed him back, to a chorus of “Awww’s” from the audience, he threw a fit!

  Mama finally quieted him down, and the rest of the company emerged from the garage: Suzi with fake glasses (as Mal); Charlotte, in a very fancy outfit, as Stacey; and Haley, bouncing out as Shannon, singing “You-ee you-ee you-ee.”

  Marilyn/Kristy turned the hands of the rusty old clock to five-thirty and screamed at the top of her lungs, “ORDER! OR ELSE!”

  We were convulsing. Snorting with laughter. Kristy was on the ground.

  “NOW FOR OUR OFFICIAL THEME SONG!” Marilyn/Kristy barked. “NOW! COME ON, SING!”

  Then, together, in teeny little voices, they sang to the tune of the Seasame Street song:

  “BSC, that is we,

  BSC!”

  That was as far as they got before dissolving into giggles.

  They started again, and finally reached the “won’t you smell my Sesame Feet” punchline. Well, that made them crack up completely.

  “What does that have to do with the Baby-sitters Club?” Jordan Pike complained.

  “It was just funny, that’s all!” Vanessa snapped.

  “No, it’s not. It’s true,” Jordan replied. “About your feet.”

  “Kids …” Mrs. Pike warned.

  The show went on. How was it? Well, crude. It didn’t have much dialogue, and there weren’t any more songs.

  But it was one of the funniest plays I have ever seen.

  Marilyn/Kristy shouted everything she said. At one point she picked up a stick and wandered off to do some batting practice.

  Vanessa/Claudia kept stuffing her face the whole way through, constantly pulling snacks out of her backpack, mumbling all her words. At one point she picked up the clock and said, “This would make a fabulous hat!”

  Charlotte/Stacey sniffed disapprovingly. “N.O.M.H. — Not on My Head!”

  Margo/Dawn crunched on carrots until she began to look sick.

  Suzi/Mal pretended to write in a notebook that had MAL’S GRATEST STORY written on the cover. Carolyn/Mary Anne looked over her shoulder and burst into tears every few seconds.

  Becca did her imitation of my stretching exercises, breaking into giggles every time she saw me. And Haley/Shannon’s singing began to sound like a howling coyote.

  Then, after whispering something to Vanessa, Margo yelled, “Brrrring!”

  Vanessa picked up the phone and said, “Hello, Baby-sitters Club! Who? The Pike triplets? Sorry, you’ll have to call the Monkey-sitters Club.”

  “Hey!” three voices blurted out.

  Oops. I could tell it was going to be Lecture Night at the Pikes.

  Well, all the sib squabbling aside, the show was a huge success. We gave them a standing ovation.

  Afterward the kids gathered around us, beaming. “Did you like it? Did you like it?”

  “GREAT!” Kristy shouted in her best drill sergeant voice. “EXCELLENT!”

  “Do you have any more of that candy left over?” Claudia asked with a big grin.

  “It was so funny,” Mary Anne said, blushing. “I … I almost cried.”

  Logan put his arm around her and said, “Aw, shucks, it’s okay.”

  “Ooooooo!” Haley and Vanessa screamed.

  The kids were in hysterics. We were in hysterics.

  I only wish I had it on tape.

  I learned something from the BSC Follies. It wasn’t so horrible to be imitated in a show. It was kind of flattering, in a way. I’d have felt much worse if I had been left out.

  Even so, I could not stop thinking about you know who. Mr. Trout.

  On Saturday night I had a dream about him. He w
as standing on stage to receive some kind of award. He was smiling from ear to ear. Everybody was clapping. He had to take four or five bows. Mr. Kingbridge and the two Dollies were behind him, looking on admiringly.

  Then, just as he started to give an acceptance speech, the three grown-ups reached over and pulled off his toupee.

  The crowd started laughing at him. And his bald head started to grow and grow, swelling like a balloon. He burst into tears and screamed, “Jessssssiiiiii!”

  I woke up with a start.

  The smell of coffee and scrambled eggs wafted up from the kitchen. Mama was humming a song.

  I quickly got dressed and went downstairs.

  Daddy and Mama were both preparing breakfast. I could hear Becca, Squirt, and Aunt Cecelia in the den.

  “Hi, baby,” Daddy said. “Just in time. Interested in scrambled eggs?”

  “Yes, please,” I replied.

  I sat at the table. Daddy served me my breakfast, then he and Mama sat with me.

  “So, what’s the word this morning?” Daddy asked.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  Mama started talking about the BSC Follies, but that conversation soon fizzled. Soon the three of us were just muching away silently.

  Mama and Daddy exchanged a look.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” Mama said.

  I sighed. I cut my scrambled eggs into tiny pieces.

  “A dollar?” Daddy asked. “Inflation, huh?”

  I couldn’t help laughing. I hadn’t planned on dragging my family into the Mr. Trout mess. I’d told them a little about him, just that he was strange and wore a toupee, that’s all. I guess I’d been too embarrassed to admit what had happened in class.

  But right now I needed to talk to someone.

  I took a deep breath. “Well, remember that skit about the Klingon?” I began.

  I told them everything — the pranks, the Balding, Mr. Trout’s reaction. They listened carefully.

  “Poor guy,” Mama said when I’d finished. “You have some cruel classmates.”

  Daddy shrugged. “Sounds like he needs to get out of the teaching field.”

  “That was what Mr. Kingbridge said,” I remarked. “But I still feel so guilty about what I did in the show.”

  Mama and Daddy both looked surprised. “Jessi,” Mama said. “He was just an oversensitive man. That’s all. You didn’t do anything to him that wasn’t done to the other teachers.”

  “I know! Everyone always says that!” I blurted. “But don’t you understand? So what if it’s not my fault? I still made him feel bad! My imitation made him leave town! I just wish I could, like, talk to him.”

  My eyes were watering again. Mama took my hand. “What would you say if you could talk to him?” she asked.

  “Well … tell him I’m sorry, and I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings. Ask him to come back to the school. Say I was wrong. …”

  That did it. I buried my head in Mama’s shoulder, sniffling away.

  Mama rocked me reassuringly. I felt like such a baby — but it was exactly what I needed right then.

  “Jessi, honey,” Daddy said softly. “Does Mr. Kingbridge know where to reach Mr. Trout?”

  “I think so,” I replied.

  “Then why don’t you write to Mr. Trout? Tell him all those things you just told us. That way you’ll get it off your chest.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. It wasn’t a bad idea. “Okay,” I said.

  I went up to my room and began.

  It was not easy.

  How do you write to someone like Mr. Trout — someone who never even said hello to you in the hallway?

  I tried, Please forgive me for being so cruel, but that sounded too dramatic.

  I tried, I am writing to inform you that I did not intend to hurt your feelings, but that was too formal.

  I threw way at least ten sheets of paper.

  Finally I just give up. But I went back to it Monday night, and every night that week.

  By Thursday I had it. I read it aloud seven times, made tons of little corrections, then copied it over.

  It went like this:

  I showed the letter to my parents. Daddy said he’d run back to the school if he got asked as nicely as that.

  On Friday morning, I brought it to Mr. Kingbridge. He seemed a little surprised, but he agreed to sent it.

  * * *

  A week went by, and I didn’t hear a thing.

  To be honest, I didn’t expect to. But I was happy I had written the letter. And I thought a lot about Mr. Trout — and about what I had done.

  Little by little, I began to see that Mr. Kingbridge and Daddy were right. Mr. Trout was too sensitive to be a teacher.

  After a couple of weeks with Mr. Bellafatto as a teacher, I understood something else. Mr. Trout had brought a lot of his troubles on himself. He never yelled, never told us we were out of line. He let us get out of control. Mr. Bellafatto respected himself, and that made us respect him.

  So was I wrong to feel bad? Was it stupid to write Mr. Trout a letter?

  I knew that letter by heart. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized part of it was wrong. I hadn’t thought the skit “would be all right.” I had known Mr. Trout wouldn’t like it. That bald cap had made me feel creepy the minute I saw it. Why did I go ahead? Because Sanjita and Randy and Mara and all the others wanted me to.

  I wanted to fit in. I was worried what they would think of me.

  And those were the wrong reasons.

  Mr. Trout deserved that apology.

  * * *

  On Friday of that week, I came home to find a letter addressed to me in a tiny, neat handwriting I didn’t recognize. I ripped it open, and this is what it said:

  * * *

  Dear Reader,

  The pranks that Jessi and her classmates pull on Mr. Trout are truly mean and horrible. However, practical jokes can be funny — as long as nobody gets hurt or embarrassed. Sometimes I like to play practical jokes myself, a trait I got from my father. My father loves to play jokes and to give people funny presents. One of the best practical jokes he ever played was when he was an adult, but before he had married my mother, and he went to his parents’ house for Christmas. On Christmas Eve after the stockings had been hung, Dad snuck downstairs late at night and replaced his stocking with an enormous one that he had made himself — the size of a bed sheet. However, the joke was on him when he woke up the next morning and found that Santa had managed to fill the entire stocking. It was full of furniture, large presents, and anything else that Santa could find quickly.

  A number of years later, when I was about five years old, my parents woke my sister and me up late one night so that we could drive to the house of friends who lived in the country, and set a tacky pink flamingo on the front lawn for them to find in the morning. Maybe this is why my sister Jane and I loved April Fools’ Day when we were growing up. We always tried to find ways to trick our parents. I remember waiting until nighttime one April Fools’ Day and rearranging the living room furniture while our parents were at a party. It was a lot of fun, and boy, were our parents surprised when they returned.

  Practical jokes should never be cruel. They should always be fun and funny. Just ask my dad!

  Happy reading,

  * * *

  The author gratefully acknowledges

  Peter Lerangis

  for his help in

  preparing this manuscript.

  About the Author

  ANN MATTHEWS MARTIN was born on August 12, 1955. She grew up in Princeton, New Jersey, with her parents and her younger sister, Jane.

  There are currently over 176 million copies of The Baby-sitters Club in print. (If you stacked all of these books up, the pile would be 21,245 miles high.) In addition to The Baby-sitters Club, Ann is the author of two other series, Main Street and Family Tree. Her novels include Belle Teal, A Corner of the Universe (a Newbery Honor book), Here Today, A Dog’s Life, On Christmas Eve, Everything for a Dog, Ten R
ules for Living with My Sister, and Ten Good and Bad Things About My Life (So Far). She is also the coauthor, with Laura Godwin, of the Doll People series.

  Ann lives in upstate New York with her dog and her cats.

  Copyright © 1994 by Ann M. Martin

  Cover art by Hodges Soileau

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

  First edition, May 1994

  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.

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-76842-9