Ann Martin: The Truth About Stacey

The school year grew worse and worse. Ifainted twice more at school, each time causing a big scene and getting lots of attention, and every week, it seemed, I missed at least one morning while Mom and Dad took me to some doctor or clinic or other.Laine called me a baby, a liar, a hypochondriac, and a bunch of other things that indicated she thought my parents and I were making a big deal over nothing.

But if she really thought it was nothing, why wouldn't she come over to my apartment anymore? Why wouldn't she share sandwiches or go to the movies with me? And why did she move her desk away from mine in school? I was confused and unhappy and sick, and I didn't have any friends left, thanks toLaine .

I hatedLaine .

In June, Mom and Dad announced that we were moving toConnecticut . I didn't have any friends there, but I didn't have any left inNew York , either, so what did it matter? They said they were moving because Dad wanted to transfer to a different branch of the company he worked for, but somehow I knew they were

moving partly because of me — to get me out of the city, away from the sooty air and the dirt and the noise, away from all the bad times and bad memories. They were overreacting and I knew it. But I didn't care.

Chapter 3.

I might have continued to moon away all evening, except that my thoughts (all by themselves) suddenly turned to something much more interesting: boys. All boys are pretty interesting, but I like two in particular. One is Kristy's brother, Sam. He's the one who's fourteen, a freshman atStoneybrook High. I know he liked me the first time we met. I was baby-sitting for Kristy's little brother, and Sam came home, and his jaw nearly fell off his face when he saw me in the kitchen. I thought he was cute, too, and my own jaw nearly fell off. We had fun together that day, but not much has happened since. I don't know why. I look exactly the same, I haven't done anything to offend him, and although I go over to Kristy's sometimes, hoping to see Sam, I never bug him. Maybe I'm just too young for him.

I don't worry about him much, though. I have a sort of boyfriend in my own grade now. His name is Pete Black. He and I had been sitting at the same lunch table with Claudia, and the other kids in the group she introduced me to —Dori , Emily, Rick, andHowie — since almost the beginning of school, but nothing special had happened with Pete until a couple of weeks ago when he asked me to go to the Halloween Hop with him. Of course I said yes, and we went and had a wonderful time. Now we always sit next to each other in the cafeteria, and some evenings, Pete phones me just to talk.

"Knock, knock," called a voice from the other side of my bedroom door.

Mom.

I didn't really feel like talking to her.

"Can I come in?" she asked.

"Okay."

"Honey, are you feeling all right?" She asked the question even before she sat down on my bed.

"Yes.Fine." I hear that question about ten times a day.

"You didn't eat much dinner tonight."

"I wasn't hungry."

Mom began to look panicked. "You weren't snacking over at Claudia's, were you?"

"Mother.Of course not."The thing is,I am allowed a certain amount of sweet stuff each day. In fact, I have to eat a certain amount of sweets in order to maintain that delicate balance between food and insulin. My diet is so exact, though, that I can't just snack whenever I feel like it. I can't, for instance, suddenly decide to eat a Twinkie or something over atClaudia's, and then make up for it by giving myself extra insulin. It just doesn't work. In fact, it's a good way to make myself sick. So you can see why Mom panicked at the thought of my snacking. But for heaven's sake, doesn't she trust me? I don't want to get sick, either.

"Honey, I was just asking. . . . Are you really feeling fine?"

"Yes."

"But you've lost three pounds."

"I can't help it. Maybe I'm more active now that I have some friends. Maybe we need to increase my diet."

"Are you hungry all the time?"

"Not all the time. Not like I was before we knew I had diabetes. But sometimes it seems like an awfully long time from one meal to the next."

"You weren't hungry tonight, though."

"No. ..." I didn't want to talk about the Baby-sitters Club.

"Well, I'll call the doctor on Monday."

"Which one?"My main doctor, the specialist mypediatrician sent me to when the diabetes was first discovered, is inNew York . Her name is Dr. Werner. But of course I have to have a doctor here inStoneybrook , too, so Dr. Werner referred us to Dr. Frank. Both doctors are nice, but I like Dr. Werner better.

"I'll call Dr. Frank, I guess," said Mom. "I don't think we need to bother Dr. Werner."

I nodded.

Mom opened her mouth to say something,then closed it, hesitating. After a few more silent seconds she said, "Just so you're prepared, dear— "

I cringed. Whatever was coming didn't sound good.

" —I want you to know that you're going to be scheduled for a series of tests with a new doctor inNew York at the beginning of December."

I groaned.

"He's someone Uncle Eric heard about on a television program."

"We're going to a doctor because Uncle Eric saw him on TV?" I exclaimed.

"Honey, supposedly he's working miracles with diabetes. After Uncle Eric saw him, I found two articles about him in medical jour-

nals, and then Profiles magazine did a long interview with him. It was very impressive. He's getting a lot of attention right now."

"Did Dr. Werner say we should go see him?"

"No."

"Dr. Frank?"

"No."

"Have you even discussed this with them?"

"No."

"But Mom, why?Why do I have to see another new doctor? There's no way to treat what I've got except with the diet and the insulin, and that's just what we're doing."

"There are always new developments,Sta-cey ," said Mom quietly. "Your father and I want the best for you."

"We've got the best."

"It's only for three days."

"Three days! Three days? Do you know how much school I'll miss? And it'll all be for nothing. It always is. I spent sixth grade falling farther and farther behind, trying to keep up. Now I've started over in a new place, away fromNew York City , and you're going to keep dragging me back there and ruining my life? Mom, it's not fair."

"Hey, hey, hey.What's going on here?" Dad poked his head in my door.

"The doctors, Dad.More doctors.I don't

mindgoing toNew York to see Dr. Werner, but don't make me keep looking for a miracle. Miracles don't happen. If you want to look, fine, but don't make me search with you."

"Young lady," said my father. "I don't appreciate your tone of voice."

I didn't answer him.

"We're doing this because we love you," said Mom.

"I know."

"We want what's best for you," added Dad.

"I know."

"All right."Dad sounded tired.

"I'll tell you about the new doctor some other time," said Mom. My parents left the room.

As soon as they closed the door I heard the phone ring. A few seconds later, Dad called, "Stacey!For you."

"Coming!"I shouted.

I picked up the extension in my parents' bedroom, since Mom and Dad were downstairs. "Hello?" Half of me hoped the caller was Pete. The other half hoped for Sam Thomas.

It was Kristy. "Hi," she said glumly. "I've been thinking."

"Oh, good!About the club, I hope."

"What else? We didn't get nearly enough done at our meeting this afternoon. I thinkwe

needto hold a special planning session.""Great idea. I'll do anything for the club." "Hey, thanks!" said Kristy. She sounded slightly less grim.

"Sure," I said. "I don't want anything to happen to the club." Oh, boy. If she only knew how badly I didn't want anything to happen to it.

"Tomorrow morning,eleven o'clock , club headquarters," said Kristy. (The club headquarters, of course, are in Claudia's bedroom.) "I'll see you then," I said. We hung up. I thought about our club problem for a long time before I fell asleep that night.