Ann Martin - Stacey And The Mystery Of Stoneybrook

"Let me have the phone, Kristy," I said. "I bet my mom will say it's okay for Charlotte to stay with us." Mom is looking for a job right now (she hasn't worked full-time for years, but now that we're on our own she wants a job), and I knew she'd be glad to watch Charlotte any time I couldn't. Sure enough, she said it was fine, as long as she could have a talk with the Johanssens first.

I called Dr. Johanssen back and told her the good news. She said she'd call my mom right away. I was so excited. I couldn't believe it! I've always wanted a little brother or sister, and having Charlotte around for an entire week would be so much fun. I started to think about all .the things we'd do. Where would she sleep? I thought of the guest bedroom, and how nicely I could fix it up for her. I'd use those special sheets Mom had found at a garage sale, and —

"Meeting adjourned," Kristy said. It was six o'clock. I left Claud's house without really even saying good-bye to everyone and biked home. My head was full of plans.

Chapter 4.

By Thursday, I'd gotten the guest room all fixed up. I'd made the bed with these great Raggedy Ann sheets my mom had found. I knew Charlotte would love them. My old teddy bear, Goobaw, leaned against the pillow. He was missing one eye and most of his fur was rubbed bare, but he'd always been a comfort to me. I had filled a shelf with some other old dolls and toys that I thought an eight-year-old might like. There were a couple of books on the bedside table: Charlotte's Web and The Long Winter, two of Charlotte's favorites. I'd even picked some flowers and put them in a little vase on the windowsill.

I stood in the doorway, surveying the room. It looked great. I was sure Charlotte would feel right at home. I walked over to smooth the sheets one more time, but just then I heard a car honking in the driveway. I ran to the window and looked out. It was the Johanssens! I ran downstairs and out the door. My mom came out behind me.

Charlotte was struggling to get out of the backseat, which was piled high with suitcases and shopping bags. A suit of Mr. Johanssen's was hanging on one side of the car, and several of Dr. Johanssen's blouses were on the other. Finally Charlotte landed in the driveway. She was clutching a loaded shopping bag and a pillow. Her father pulled a small suitcase out of the space between the front and back seats.

"Is that everything, honey?" he asked.

Charlotte was looking down at the ground. She nodded without saying anything. Suddenly I realized that she was about to cry. I think my mom noticed, too.

"Charlotte, we're so happy to have you visit," she said. "Stacey tells me that spaghetti and meatballs is your favorite supper, and guess what? That's what we're having tonight."

Charlotte managed a tiny smile. I put my arm around her. "What did you bring, Char? Is this shopping bag full of your special stuff?" I asked.

She drew back from me and ran to her father's side. She grabbed him around the waist, and the tears began. "Daddy, please don't go!

I'm going to be so lonely," she cried.

I was surprised, and even though I knew I shouldn't take it personally, I was a little hurt. This was the old Charlotte, the shy, clingy girl she'd been when we first met. But she'd come so far since then. The Charlotte I knew now was confident, talkative, and friendly. She was independent, too — after all, she'd been separated from her parents for two whole weeks when we'd all gone off to Camp Mohawk.

Also, I don't mean to sound conceited, but Charlotte really loves me. I've always been her favorite sitter, but it's even more than that. I think she thinks of me as kind of a big sister. She was heartbroken when I moved away from Stoneybrook and thrilled when I came back.

I guess Dr. Johanssen noticed that I was looking a little crestfallen. She took me aside and told me not to feel too bad.

"Charlotte's having an especially hard time with this separation, Stacey. She's really worried about her grandfather — she loves him so much. And even though we've told her that he's going to be fine, she's still afraid. I think she'll be okay once she settles in with you. We are so grateful that she can stay here where we'll know she's safe," she said.

Then she walked over to give Charlotte a

hug. Charlotte really started crying then, but after both her parents had held her and said their good-byes, they had to leave. I held her hand as they pulled out of the driveway, and we waved until the car was out of sight. As we walked into the house and up the stairs, carrying all the stuff she'd brought, her sobs died down into sniffles interspersed with hiccuppy sighs.

When I opened the door of the guest room, Charlotte really stopped crying for the first time since she'd gotten out of the car.

"Oh, Stacey, this is so neat!" she said. She walked around the room, and I could tell that she was noticing all the little things I'd done to make her feel at home. Charlotte's a pretty thoughtful kid herself, so I knew she'd appreciate my efforts.

She sat on the bed and picked up Goobaw. "My grandpa's very sick," she told him. "He might die."

"Oh, Charlotte, he's not going to die," I said. "He's going to be just fine. And having your parents there with him will help him get better even faster."

I sat next to her on the bed, and this time when I put my arms around her she hugged me right back.-"I'm scared, Stacey," she said.

"Of course you are. But everything will be

all right, and we'll have lots of fun while you're here. Tell you what: How about a game of Clue before dinner?" I asked. "You can be Miss Scarlet."

We played and talked until Mom called to us that dinner was ready. By then I thought Charlotte had begun to feel at home. She still sniffed once in awhile, and she kept asking questions about her grandpa's operation ("Does it hurt him when they cut him open?" "But if he's asleep, what if he has a bad dream?"), but she seemed much calmer. (Obviously, Dr. Johanssen hadn't had time to explain the details of the operation to her.)

The spaghetti sauce smelled absolutely delicious. Mom was giving it one last stir as we walked into the kitchen.

"Charlotte, you can sit here, across from Stacey," she said. She filled our plates and brought them to the table. It's usually my job to set the table, but I guess I'd gotten a break on account of Charlotte being there. Then Mom brought her own plate over, along with a huge salad.

We all dug in. All but Charlotte, that is. She just sat there, looking down at her plate as if she didn't recognize what was on it. I knew something had to be wrong, since she usually loves spaghetti.

"What's the matter, Charlotte?" I asked. "Do you want me to cut up your meatballs?" Maybe she just needed a little babying.

"I guess I'm just not hungry," she said in a small voice. "It looks delicious, Mrs. McGill, but. . ." She looked like she was going to cry again.

"That's all right, Charlotte," my mom said. "If you get hungry later there'll be plenty left over." Mom must have been thinking the same thing I was: Charlotte was just feeling too nervous and upset to eat right now. There was no point in forcing her.

I finished my meal quickly while Charlotte waited. I'd told her she could go into the living room and watch TV, but she didn't seem to want to leave my side. She helped me clear the table, and she stuck right by me as I stacked the dishes into the dishwasher.

"Are my parents still on the plane?" she asked. I worked on figuring out the answer. Let's see, I thought. They left for the airport at around 4:30, their flight left at 5:30 and lasted . . . how many hours? But before I could finish my calculations, Charlotte came up with more questions.