Claudia and the Genius on Elm Street (2 page)

Oh, one other thing we don't have in com-

mon. Stacey doesn't eat sweets. It's not because she doesn't like them, it's because she has diabetes. That means she has to be careful about sugar. If she eats too much (or too little), she can get really sick. There's a reason for it, something about not having a certain chemical in her bloodstream. (One of these days I'll understand it, but biology is not my strong point.) Every day she has to give herself injections of something called insulin. I'm glad I don't have to watch. I'd probably faint.

And Mary Anne Spier would probably plop right down next to me. She is Ms. Sensitive. Forget about inviting her over to watch a sad movie. You'll run out of Kleenex. I found that out one day when we saw a tape of E.T. together. You know the scene where the kids are smuggling E.T. away on their bikes, and they take off into the air? That scene makes me stand up and cheer. But Mary Anne bursts into tears. When I asked her why, she said, "I'm so ... happy for them!"

As you can probably tell, Mary Anne is a very caring person and a great friend. She's shy, too, and a little conservative, but she's getting more and more stylish. That afternoon, for example, she wore a loose-fitting open shirt over a teal turtleneck with off-white chinos and white sneakers.

I think it's funny that the two BSC members who are opposites — quiet Mary Anne and loud Kristy — are best friends. They do look similar, though. Like Kristy, Mary Anne has long brown hair, brown eyes, and friendly features.

I think it's also funny that the shyest one of us has the only long-term boyfriend. His name is Logan Bruno, and he's an associate BSC member (our other associate member is named Shannon Kilbourne). Mary Anne and Logan have been together for a long time, and they've even survived a breakup.

Fortunately, by the time they met, Mary Anne had stopped fixing her hair in braids and wearing babyish clothing. I hate to say it, but poor Mary Anne used to look positively prehistoric. Not that she wanted to. It was just that her dad was very strict about her appearance. You see, he had to raise Mary Anne by himself because Mrs. Spier died when Mary Anne was a baby. Don't get me wrong, Mr. Spier's a nice man — but he went overboard sometimes. Mary Anne's life was rules, rules, rules. Things have loosened up a lot, though, because her dad remarried. And, believe it or not, his new wife just happens to be the mother of ...

Dawn Schafer, another member of our club!

Dawn is the club's other blonde, a "California girl." She's laid-back and wears fun, colorful, casual clothes. She's a vegetarian, and she loves health food. Her idea of a snack is roasted corn nuts or bean sprouts-and-tofu sandwiches on pita bread with organic mayonnaise. I mean it. In our meetings, when the smell of chocolate would be enough to make anyone drool, Dawn is perfectly happy with a whole-wheat cracker.

Dawn was born and raised practically walking distance from Disneyland. But when her parents divorced, her mom moved Dawn and her younger brother, Jeff, to Stoneybrook. Mrs. Schafer grew up here and I guess she missed her old town.- Then, after a short time in Connecticut, Jeff decided he missed California, and Mrs. Schafer let him move back with his dad (that was a pretty stormy time in the Schafer house). Dawn was awfully sad when Jeff left.

Anyway, Mrs. Schafer soon got together with one of her old boyfriends from Stoneybrook High. His name was Richard Spier! That's right, Dawn's mom and Mary Anne's dad used to date in high school. When they met each other after all those years, they fell madly in love again and got married.

Mary Anne and her father moved to the

Schafers', this big old farmhouse on Burnt Hill Road. It was built in the 1700s, and Dawn thinks it's haunted. It's full of creaky floorboards and windows that whistle in the wind. But the best part is a secret underground passage that leads from the barn to ... Dawn's bedroom! Dawn is convinced that a ghost lives in the passage. She insists it's true. (You want to know what I think? I think she spent too much time at the haunted mansion in Disney-land when she was a kid.) Frankly, though, I have no idea how she manages to sleep at night.

Next are Jessi and Mal — that is, Jessica Ramsey and Mallory Pike. They're in sixth grade, two grades behind the rest of us. Both of them are really talented and great babysitters. Jessi dances like a pro. She studies ballet, and it really shows. She even carries herself like a dancer — her back straight, her feet turned out, her ankles usually covered with leg warmers.

Becca and Squirt are Jessi's younger sister and brother. Becca is short for Rebecca (she's nine) and Squirt is a nickname, too (Jessi's brother's real name is John Philip Ramsey, Jr.). Squirt is only a baby now, but I wonder if he'll use his nickname when he gets older.

One other thing about Jessi. She's the only

black member of the BSC. That's because the Ramseys are one of the very few black families in Stoneybrook. When they first moved here, some people gave them a rough time. But things are much smoother now. As far as us BSC members are concerned, that prejudice was absolutely stupid.

I think Mallory Pike may secretly like being one of our younger members. That's because in real life she's the oldest of — get ready — eight kids. Can you imagine? Her brothers and sisters are Vanessa, Margo, Nicky, the triplets (Adam, Jordan, and Byron), and Claire. No wonder Mal's favorite pastimes are writing and drawing. They're things she can do alone. Mal's dream in life, by the way, is to be a children's book author and illustrator.

Anyway, there they are, the Baby-sitters Club in person. (Or is it "in persons"? "In people"?) That Friday's meeting started out typically. We were noisy and excited (it was the start of the weekend, after all). I was explaining my project to the others. For some reason, it seemed to make everyone twice as hungry. The Milky Ways and M&M's were going like crazy (not to mention the pretzels for Dawn and Stacey).

Kristy was sitting in her official place, a director's chair by my desk. She was wearing her visor, and a pencil was tucked over one

ear. Her eyes were glued to the digital clock on my dresser, which read 5:29. At precisely five-thirty she called out, "Order!"

The Baby-sitters Club meeting had officially begun.

Chapter 3.

We were all in position. Mary Anne, Stacey, and I were cross-legged on my bed. Dawn had turned my desk chair around and was sitting in it with her arms resting on the back. Mal and Jessi were stretched out on the carpet.

"Any new business?" Kristy asked.

The answer to Kristy's question was the sound of jaws chomping. Everyone looked around silently.

"Guess not," Kristy said.

I noticed that Kristy and I were the only ones not eating. I reached into my night-table drawer, remembering a Kit-Kat I had hidden once. Sure enough, it was still there. I broke it in half and offered one of the pieces to Kristy.

"Save that half," Kristy said. "You can make a painting of it."

"Good idea," 1 said. But that wasn't how I felt. You know how hard it is to not eat the

other half of a candy bar? All I wanted to do was gulp it down.

I looked at it longingly. Maybe this project wasn't such a smart idea.

I decided to concentrate on the phone, which was right next to me. If I looked at it hard enough, it just might start to ring.

My phone, by the way, is the reason we use my room for BSC meetings. I'm the only club member who has her own private line. And the Baby-sitters Club couldn't be the Babysitters Club without a phone.

Here's how the BSC works. We meet from 5:30 to 6:00 every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoon. Our clients (neighborhood parents) call us during those times, asking for a baby-sitter for such and such a day. We check each member's schedule, then figure out who can cover the job. Someone js usually available — and if no one is, Logan and Shannon are our backups. With just one phone call, each client is assured of a reliable, experienced sitter.

Simple, right? It's really a great idea, and I'll bet you can guess who thought of it.

If you guessed Kristy, you were right. It all started one day when Kristy's mom needed someone to sit for David Michael (this was before she was married to Watson). She ended up making.about a million phone calls, and

no one was available. Kristy felt really bad for her. She wished there were some easier way to find a sitter. She began to think: Suppose you needed a taxi or an ambulance or a police officer? You wouldn't have to call each car separately to find a free one. You'd call a central number and . . .

BOIING! The lightbulb went on above Kristy's head. She called me and Mary Anne and suggested the idea of the Baby-sitters Club. We agreed to try it. I even invited Stacey, whom I had just met, to join. We put an ad in the Stoneybrook newspaper and tacked up fliers around the neighborhood — with my phone number and our meeting times.

Business was great right from the beginning. In fact, it was so good that we had to expand. That's where Dawn came in. She had just moved to Stoneybrook, and she was thrilled to join. Then, after Stacey moved to New York, we took on Mal and Jessi. (When Stacey returned we let her right back in, of course.) For good measure, we had added Logan and Shannon as associates.

Our meetings are fun. But, as Kristy says, "We're not only a club, we're a business." Each of us is an officer with special duties. Kristy, as president, runs the meetings. She also makes sure we write down our baby-

sitting experiences in the club notebook. That way we can tell each other about new clients, describe how we solved problems, stuff like that. Kristy was the one who thought up the idea of the notebook, and I have to admit it's really helpful. But it's sort of like brushing your teeth — a good thing to do, but not a whole lot of fun. Especially if you have horrible handwriting and can't spell, like me! I always think the other girls are going to laugh at my entries, even though they say they never do.

Another one of Kristy's great ideas is Kid-Bats. These are boxes we sometimes take on our jobs. They're filled with simple things kids can play with, like Magic Markers, paper, books, and small toys and games. They're not fancy but they really save the day sometimes. Kids love them.

Now, when a call comes in to the BSC, the first person we turn to is Mary Anne. She's our secretary, and she has to keep track of everyone's schedule. This is not easy, considering our club has seven members. You should see the record book she keeps. It's marked off in grids, with color-coded entries in this tiny, neat handwriting. She carefully writes down every one of Jessi's ballet classes, Mallory's orthodontist appointments, my art classes, Kristy's softball games. She also keeps an up-

to-date record of client information — names, addresses, phone numbers, special likes and dislikes, allergies, you name it. It's a lot of work, but you know what? Mary Anne never makes mistakes. I don't know how she does it. If I had her job, the club would fold in a week.

And it would fold in a day if I had Stacey's job. Stacey, the math whiz, is our treasurer. She keeps track of the club money. No, we don't hand over our earnings to her or anything like that. We get to keep whatever we make. So what does Stacey keep track of? Well, here's the only not-so-fun part about the BSC. We have to pay dues. Every Monday. No one likes to do it, but that's life. The money goes to our "overhead," as Stacey calls it. That means paying Charlie to drive Kristy to and from meetings, keeping the Kid-Kits stocked, and helping to pay my phone bill. If there's ever any leftover cash, we sometimes have a sleepover or a pizza party.

Dawn is our alternate officer. That means she substitutes for anyone who misses a meeting — for sickness, family vacation, babysitting appointment, whatever. She was our treasurer for a long time -while Stacey was living in New York, but she gladly gave that job back when Stace returned.

Jessi and Mal are our junior officers, since

they're not allowed to baby-sit late at night (unless they're watching their own brothers and sisters). They keep busy, though, sitting on weekend days and afternoons, which frees the rest of us to take nighttime sitting jobs.

Me? I'm the club's vice-president, which mostly means answering the phone during nonclub hours and keeping everyone's sweet tooth satisfied. That's fine with me!

Okay, getting back to Friday. I didn't eat the other half of the Kit-Kat, and it wasn't long before the phone rang.

I picked it up. "Hello, Baby-sitters Club," I said cheerfully.

"Uh, hello dear, Ginger Wilder here," a voice answered. "I got your number from the Barretts."

Ginger Wilder here? That was a strange greeting, I thought. Was I supposed to know who she was or something?

"Right," I said warmly, "we've all sat for the Barrett kids: Buddy, Suzie — "

"And dear little Marnie," Mrs. Wilder said, cutting me off. "Yes, Mrs. Barrett has mentioned that you girls are quite lovely and talented. Now, I'm looking for a sitter on a regular basis. Is this something you handle?"

"Regular?" I repeated. "You mean like a permanent job?"

"Oh, no, no, no," Ginger Wilder said with a chuckle. "You see, my mother has become awfully ill. She's seventy, never been sick a day in her life, and now all of sudden, bam! Thursday she tripped and broke her ankle, then she came down with the flu, and now shingles, of all things. She really needs someone to look after her for a few weeks, and my sister and I have worked out a caretaking schedule."

I noticed she pronounced schedule "shed-yool." Up till then, I'd only heard English actors on TV say it that way. And what on earth did she mean by shingles!

"My days," she continued, "are Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. My husband doesn't come home till eight, eight-thirty, so I'll need someone those three evenings to sit for my daughter, Rosie. She's seven."

"I think we can handle it — "I began.

"It will be frightfully easy," Mrs. Wilder barged on. "Rosie is quite occupied with her lessons after school. We've found the most marvelous private teachers who come to our house. Makes things very convenient. You know, it's tough enough to manage a daughter's career and be a good mother without having to traipse around town from teacher to teacher. . . . Anyway, I don't mean to chew