Ann Martin - The Truth About Stacey

"Can you read what this says?" I asked, pointing to the words on the lid.

Charlotteleaned over for a better look. "Kid-Kit," she said promptly. "It's pretty." I had covered my box with blue flowered fabric and glued white rickrack along the borders. Then I had cut the letters for "Kid-Kit" from green felt.

"Thanks. I'll bring this with me every time I baby-sit." I lifted the lid. "There'sall sorts of fun stuff in here. And I'll change it once a month."

"Oh, neat," saidCharlotte softly as she pulled the things out of the box. "Chutes and Ladders . . . Spill and Spell . . . The Cricket inTimes Square . What's this book about?"

"Oh, you'll love it, I think. It's about a cricket namedChester who accidentally winds up in the middle ofNew York City , and makes

friendswith a mouse named Tucker, a cat named Harry, and a boy named Mario. We can read a little each time I baby-sit. And I can tell you aboutNew York ."Charlotte loves to hear about when I lived in the city. "And after we finish that book, we can read Tucker's Countryside and Harry Cat's Pet Puppy, which are more stories about those animals."

"Goody."Charlotte continued to look through the crayons and chalk and drawing paper, the jigsaw puzzle andColor -forms and jacks.

"We can do anything you want," I said, "but even though I brought the Kid-Kit, I have one other idea."

"What?"

"We could walk downtown. It's such a beautiful day. We could look in the store windows and find out what's playing at the movietheater , and maybe stop off at your school playground on the way home."

Charlottelooked as if someone were holding out two huge ice-cream cones, each made from one of herfavoriteflavors , and telling her she could have only one of them. She glanced out the window at the sunshine, pawed through the box once more, and then looked at me. "Downtown," she said at last, "if you promise to bring the Kid-Kit back."

I crossed my heart."Promise."

So we put our jackets on and walked toward town. Thecenter ofStoneybrook is about half a mile fromCharlotte 's house. We could run there in ten minutes or walk there (fast) in under twenty, but we dawdled along, taking our time.Charlotte kept stopping to pick up acorns.

"I should save these," she said. "Then if I ever got a pet squirrel, I could feed them to him."

"Now what would you do with a pet squirrel?" I asked her.

"Talk to him."

"But you have Carrot. You can talk to him." (Carrot is theJohanssens ' schnauzer.)

"It would be nice to have more than one person to talk to."

"Don't you have any friends, Charlotte? Imean, people-friends?"

Charlotteshook her head. She stooped down, picked up a particularly fat acorn, and stuffed it in her pocket as she stood up.

I looked atCharlotte . She's pretty — chestnut brown hair, big, dark eyes, and dimples in her cheeks when she smiles. She's smart, she's considerate, and she's sweet. So what was wrong with her? Why didn't she have any friends?

"The kids don't like me/' she said, "andI don't like them."

"The kids in your class?"I asked. "Why don't you like them?"

"Because they don't like me."

"All right, why don't they like you?"

Charlotteshrugged. Then she stuck one thumb in her mouth and put her other hand in mine. We walked in silence until we reached the town.

"What shall we do?" I asked.

Charlotteperked up. She took her thumb out of her mouth."The candy store!"

"Okay." Polly's Fine Candy is pretty spectacular as candy stores go. It's even better than a lot of candy stores inNew York . I could understand whyCharlotte wanted to go to it. It's a sort of fairyland. And in November, with the holidays just around the corner, it was more spectacular than usual.

The only thing I don't like about Polly's Fine Candy is Polly. She runs the store and is about a hundred years old. Her younger sister, who looks every bit as old as Polly, helps her. Any time kids go in thestore, they fasten their eyeballs on them, and don't take them off until the kids leave. But Charlotte and I were prepared to brave the sisters.

We approached the store. Long before we reached the doorway, we could smell chocolate. We breathed it in.

"Mmm, heavenly," I said.

"Yeah, heavenly," echoedCharlotte .

We looked in the windows. One was ready for Thanksgiving. The biggest chocolate turkey I'd ever seen was surrounded by smaller chocolate turkeys. They were standing in a bed of candy corn and gumdrops.

Charlotte and I looked at each other and smiled.

"Now the other window," saidCharlotte .

We crossed in front of the doorway and gazed at the second window.

"Christmas already?" askedCharlotte , staring at a tree and Santa and presents. She looked both perplexed and dreamy."Stacey, how long?How many days?"

"Pretty long,Char . About five weeks. The stores like to get ready early. Come on, let's go inside."

We walked through the doorway, and I was pleased to see that we weren't the only people in the little shop. Three other customers were there, and Polly and her sister were busy helping them — which meant that they were too busy to watch Charlotte and me.

The outside of Polly's Fine Candy had smelled

ofchocolate. The inside smelled of chocolate, and much more — ginger and cinnamon andlicorice and marzipan and cream and raspberry filling and roasted nuts and raisins and cherries and spun sugar. The air was heady and warm. It was almost more than I could stand. I tried to figure out how much it would hurt to have just one piece of white chocolate.

"Look, Stacey!"Charlotte cried. She ran to a display of elaborate gingerbread houses decorated with candies and white frosting."Oh, elves!And mice. Look at all the little creatures that live in those houses. . . . Oh!" She grabbed my hand and pulled me to the penny candy counter. We were facing bin after bin of candy: butterscotch drops and MaryJanes andGummi Bears andlicorice sticks and peppermints. . . .

"Please, Stacey, could we get just one thing? One thing each?" pleadedCharlotte .

I noticed bite-sized bars of white chocolate and thought I could actually taste one melting in my mouth.

I felt in my pocket. I had two quarters, more than enough for two pieces of candy.

"Please?"

I pulled the money out and put it on the counter. At that moment, Polly's cuckoo clock chimed. It was four-thirty. Slowly, I put the money back in my pocket, and let out my

breath. I couldn't believe what I'd almost done.

"Better not," I said. "It's too close to dinner. Your mom doesn't like you eating sweets, anyway."

"I know," saidCharlotte . "I just thought —"

"It's okay. I wanted a treat, too, but you're not the only one who's not supposed to eat sweets. Come on, let's go."

We left the store,Charlotte looking longingly over her shoulder.

"Hey!" I said. "We have enough time to go to the playground before we head home."

"Goody!"

It was growing dark, but I thought we could play safely for ten minutes. I felt cheered when we reached the school and saw a group of children hanging from the monkey bars. "Come on," I said. ButCharlotte had stopped in her tracks.

"No."

"It's okay. It's not dark yet. And there are other kids here."

"No. I want to go home. Let's go."

Too late.The children had spottedCharlotte .

"Hey, there's Char-Char," cried one.

"Hey, teacher's pet! Go away!"

"Yeah!Charlotte,Charlotte , go away, don't come back another day!"

"Teacher's pet, teacher's pet. . . ."

"lamnot the teacher's pet!" shoutedCharlotte . She turned and began running home.

"Hey! Wait up!Charlotte ?" I caught up with her easily.

"Go away."

"It's me, Stacey."

"I said go away."

"I can't. I'm your baby-sitter. I have to stay with you."

Charlottemarched straight ahead, chin held high, tears dripping down her cheeks.