Ann Martin - Stacey And The Haunted Masquerade

— count 'em, eight — kids, and she's been baby-sitting for ages. (Jessi's family is smaller, but she's a good sitter, too. She has a younger sister and a baby brother, and she's had lots of practice taking care of them.) Jessi and Mal both love to read, especially horse stories, and Mal wants to be a children's book author and illustrator when she's older.

And last but not least, we have two associate members: Logan Bruno (Mary Anne's boyfriend), and Shannon Kilbourne (a girl from Kristy's neighborhood, who goes to private school). (Associate members don't usually come to meetings. They just help out when we're overloaded with sitting jobs.)

Okay, ready for the quiz? Now that you've learned about every BSC member, this should be easy. Between calls at our meeting that day, the main topic of conversation was the Halloween dance and how to dress for it. All you have to do is try to guess which member was considering which costume to wear to the dance. (The answers will be revealed later on, for anyone who's still in the dark . . .)

1. Ballerina A. Mallory.

2. Lucy Ricardo (from B. Mary Anne I Love Lucy).

3. Dorothy (from The C. Abby Wizard of Oz)

4. Amelia Earhart D. Claudia.

5. Morticia Addams E. Stacey.

6. Cowgirl F. Jessi.

7. Giant Twinkie G. Kristy.

Chapter 3.

Stacey McGill.

"There. I'd done it. I stepped back and looked at my name, which I had just written near the top of an almost blank sheet of paper. Then I smiled to myself and stuck the cap onto my purple felt tip pen.

I'm not much of a joiner. The BSC is an exception, a big exception. But, for the most part, I usually like to go my own way. That's why what I'd just done was a big step. I had been thinking about it ever since Mr. King-bridge's announcement the day before. I hadn't talked to anybody else about it — not my friends, not my mom, not Robert, not anybody.

I looked back at. the sheet of paper. "Decorations Committee," it read at the top. "Faculty Advisor, Mrs. Hall." The only other writing on the paper was my name, signed with a flourish. I was the first person to join.

It may not seem like a big deal, signing up

for a decorations committee. And it's not, really. But for me, it was a symbolic step. See, lately I've been feeling as if I need something new in my life. I mean, I'm thrilled to be part of the BSC again, don't get me wrong. But lately I've wanted to be more active at school.

I need the chance to prove myself, to have fun, to be involved. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that working on the Halloween dance was the perfect opportunity.

It wasn't hard to figure out which committee to join. The tickets committee sounded totally boring, and being on the refreshments committee wouldn't be my thing either. The decorations committee would be fun, creative, and active, just what I was looking for.

I felt even better about my decision when I walked into school that morning and saw the sign-up sheets posted on the main bulletin board. The decorations committee definitely had the best faculty advisor. Claud has Mrs. Hall for English, and I hear she's pretty decent.

The first bell rang as I was standing there looking at the bulletin board. I needed to run for my locker if I was going to make it to homeroom on time. I skidded through the halls, feeling psyched. I couldn't wait to return at the end of the day and find out who else

had signed up for the committee.

I thought about ideas for decorations during homeroom (Ms. Levine had to call my name three times before I finally answered) and through all my morning classes. I was full of creative plans. For example, I thought we should steer away from the typical orange-and-black color scheme. Why be traditional? Why not use, say, red and purple?

It’s funny. Everybody (including me) is used to thinking of Claudia as the artist, the talented one. But I can be creative, too. It’s true that I can't draw or paint the way she can, but I know I have a strong sense of style. During social studies class, I suddenly remembered something that happened when I was in sixth grade, when I lived in Manhattan. My mom had a friend who was an interior designer, and one day she saw my room. She was very impressed when she found out that I had done all my own decorating (at that time I was into an Art Deco look), and she told my mom that I had a "good eye," and that I could be a designer like her when I grew up.

Maybe being on the decorating committee was going to be the start of a whole new direction for me!

I was still thinking about decorating ideas when I walked into English class, my second-to-last class of the day. I took my seat and

started to sketch out some plans for a fake gallows, which I thought would make a great set for the stage where the band would be playing. Mr. Fiske was taking attendance, so I didn't really need to pay attention yet. I was lost in my drawing when I felt somebody nudge me, and I turned just in time to see Amanda Martin toss a folded-up note onto my desk. I opened it and read it.

New guy? I hadn't noticed any new guy. But when I glanced around, I spotted him immediately. He was sitting right next to me, and when I looked at him he gave me a big smile. He was cute (but not nearly as cute as Robert), with straight blond hair and brown eyes. He wore a blue denim shirt and khakis, and he was leaning his chair back on two legs, looking totally mellow. I was impressed. I doubt I ever appeared that relaxed when I was new at SMS.

I turned Amanda's note over and wrote on the other side.

I tossed her the note just as Mr. Fiske was finishing up attendance. Amanda opened it,

read it, looked at me, and shrugged. I looked back at the new boy, and he smiled at me again. This time, he even added a wink. I felt myself blushing.

Just then, Mr. Fiske put down his attendance book and sat on the corner of his desk. "People, may I have your attention?" he asked.

"I can tell you want attention just by looking at your tie," cracked Rick Chow, who was sitting in the front row. Everybody laughed, including Mr. Fiske. He's the kind of teacher you can joke with.

"Like it?" he asked, looking down at his tie. Mr. Fiske is known for his silly ties, and this one was no exception. It was bright yellow, and it was covered with red punctuation marks: exclamation points, question marks, commas, you name it. Just the thing for an English teacher.

"Very tasteful," called out the new boy. "Simple, yet elegant."

Everybody cracked up again.

"Why, thank you, Gary," said Mr. Fiske. "You may be new in town, but obviously you've already spotted the best-dressed teacher at SMS." He gave the new boy a little bow. "Class, I'd like you to welcome Cary Retlin. Cary just moved here from — " he checked a card on his desk " — Oak Hill,

Illinois. Welcome to SMS, Gary."

Cary smiled. "Thanks," he said. "This seems like a cool school." He was still leaning back in his chair.

"Cool enough," said Mr. Fiske. "Now, for today we're going to do a little free reading while I meet with each of you privately to go over last week's quiz. Gary, if you need a book there are plenty on the shelves over there." He waved toward the back of the room.

Free reading time in Mr. Fiske's class is generally an excuse to hang out. Some kids really do read, but most of us use the time to trade gossip or talk about what movies we saw over the weekend. Mr. Fiske doesn't mind too much, as long as he knows we keep up with our reading at home.

I pulled out my book, but I couldn't concentrate with everybody around me talking. I noticed that Cary was already engaged in a whispered discussion about sports with some of the guys. He seemed completely at ease, talking and laughing and cracking jokes.

Mr. Fiske called me up to his desk and reviewed my quiz with me. I'd done pretty well — I missed only two questions — so it didn't take long. -As I returned to my seat, I saw that Cary was tipped back in his chair again. The kids around him were laughing as he read out