Ann Martin - Stacey And The Cheerleaders

"Logan adores the Hobart kids," Mary Anne said. "If he doesn't have track practice he might take your place, Kristy."

She picked up the phone and tapped out his number. After a short conversation, she hung up and said, "We're in luck!"

"Good," Kristy replied. "I'll sit for the Kil-bournes."

"Bring a suit of armor," Shannon remarked. "You would not believe Tiffany. She has become such a brat."

"Really?" I said. "She used to be so quiet."

Shannon nodded. "She missed the Terrible Twos. Instead she's having the Terrible Tens. Even her teachers are complaining."

Shannon and Logan, as I mentioned before, are our two associate members, and they're not required to come to meetings. Shannon has hair to die for — blonde and curly and incredibly thick. She goes to a private school called Stoneybrook Day School, and she's involved in a lot of extracurricular activities. Lately, though, she's been picking up some of the slack for Dawn and Mallory. Logan (who is cute with a capital Q) is Mary Anne Spier's boyfriend. He's on the football and track teams, and he works part-time as a busboy, so he's often unavailable to sit.

Doesn't it figure that the quietest, shyest BSC member would be the only one with a steady boyfriend? Well, I must admit Logan has good taste. Mary Anne is also about the nicest, most sensitive and caring person I've ever met. She cries at sad movies. She cries at happy movies. Logan says she cries at store openings.

She does not cry over the BSC record book, which is a good thing, because the book is filled to the brim with her neat, tiny handwriting. As BSC secretary, Mary Anne keeps track of our sitting jobs in that book. She writes down all our conflicts in advance — Jessi's ballet classes, Mallory's orthodontist appointments, and whatever else comes along for the rest of us. She also keeps an updated client list, including the rates they pay and the special likes and dislikes of our charges. And she never, ever makes a mistake.

I told you how sweet-toothed Claudia and diabetic me are best friends. Well, shy Mary Anne and loudmouth Kristy are best friends, too. They are very different. But I can think of two things they have in common. The first is looks. Mary Anne is pretty short too, and both girls have brown hair and brown eyes.

The second thing Mary Anne has in common with Kristy is an unusual family history. Mary Anne's mom died when Mary Anne was a baby. Her dad was so overwhelmed by this that he had to send Mary Anne away to her grandparents while he recovered. When he took her back, he tried hard to be a good father and mother. His rules were very strict. Mary Anne had to go to bed early every night. She had to wear old-fashioned little-girl clothes and keep her hair in pigtails.

Mr. Spier changed radically, though, when he met his high-school sweetheart, who just happened to have moved back to Stoneybrook after living for years in California. (Can you guess who she is? I gave you a hint earlier.)

Yup. Mrs. Schafer, Dawn's mom. She is the opposite of Mary Anne's dad. In other words, she's wild, funny, and absentminded. Mary Anne and her dad now live in what was the Schafers' house. (It's a two-hundred-year-old farmhouse with a barn and a secret passageway to Dawn's bedroom!)

Nowadays Mary Anne looks exactly her age. She's allowed to wear the clothes of her choice and experiment with her hair and makeup.

Okay, I've told you about everyone except our junior members. Mallory Pike and Jessi are both eleven years old and in sixth grade. (The rest of us are thirteen and in eighth grade.) They have weeknight curfews, so they take mainly afternoon jobs. Since Mal came down with mono, Jessi has really missed her in meetings. They're absolutely best friends. Both of them love to read, especially horse books. Both are the oldest among their siblings, and both are convinced their parents treat them like babies.

Those are the similarities. The girls are also quite different. For one thing, Mal is Caucasian and Jessi's African-American. For another,

Jessi has two younger siblings and Mallory has seven (yes, seven). Mal's not a ballerina, like Jessi. She loves to write and illustrate, and she wants to be a children's book author someday.

Oh. I forgot one important thing. I'm the BSC treasurer, which means I have to collect dues every Monday. It's the least popular job, and I got it because I'm good in math. (By now I'm used to the groaning and complaints on dues day.) I figure out what part of Claud's phone bill should be paid by the club, how much money to pay Charlie Thomas (he drives Kristy to and from meetings), and whether or not we have enough leftover money for special treats, like a pizza party. I also try to keep a reserve in case we need to buy things for Kid-Kits.

Rinng!

"Hello, Baby-sitters Club!" Claudia said into the phone receiver. It was 5:38. Our first call of the afternoon had come in. The phone calls continued, almost nonstop, until six o'clock. We hardly had time to talk about anything — including my upcoming date.

It was just as well, I thought. The school year was still young. Who knew what could happen? No use building it up.

I had a daydream, though. I imagined a championship game in the SMS gym, standing room only. I saw Stoneybrook behind by one

point and RJ scoring a basket with one second left in the game. I heard a deafening roar as RJ bounded off the court and lifted me into his arms.

I had to laugh. It was ridiculous. I didn't even know the guy.

Oh, well, a girl can dream, can't she?

Chapter 3.

On Friday I made myself three promises.

1. I would not mention my date to anyone at school or at the BSC meeting.

2. If I were asked about it, I would change the subject quickly.

3. If and when I saw RJ, I would remain cool and calm.

How did I do? A big, fat 0 for 3.

I blabbered about how excited I was to Sheila McGregor in homeroom. When Mary Anne asked me how I was feeling, I shrieked in the hallway. Then RJ decided to sit at our table during lunch, and I could hardly put a sentence together. It didn't help that I was eating a sandwich on a poppy-seed roll, so I looked as if I had gaps between my teeth. (Kristy made sure to let me know about it — afterward, of course.)

By the end of school I was a wreck. I almost forgot to go to the BSC meeting. I showed up

at 5:37 and guess what they were talking about?

My date. We ended up discussing the time RJ was picking me up (six-thirty), our destination (downtown), our "agenda" (a movie and then a bite to eat), and what I was going to wear (a black-and-white plaid unitard with a tankstyle top, covered with a black, oversized cotton knit jersey).

What else did we do at the meeting? Don't ask me. My mind was in the ozone layer. I think I agreed to take a sitting job, but I'm not sure. All I know was that at six on the nose, I was out like a shot.

Because of my diabetes, I have to eat meals at regular times. Since RJ and I were going straight to the movie, that meant I needed to have dinner beforehand. I arrived home at 6:06, so I had exactly twenty-four minutes in which to eat and get ready.

I was glad I'd decided what to wear in advance. I ran straight to my room, changed, and put on a little makeup. Mom and I wolfed down some salad and leftover lasagna.

As I was drinking a glass of juice, the doorbell rang.

I coughed. Some juice had caught in my throat.

"Take it easy, sweetheart," Mom said with a smile.

"I'm — " Cough. "I'm — " Cough. "I'm all right." I swallowed and took a deep breath. "I'll get it."

Calmly I stood up from the table. Mom was giving me a very patient smile. I went to the front door and opened it — not too eager, but friendly. "Hi, RJ!" I said.

Hie.

I tried to swallow the hiccup, but I couldn't. It just snuck up my windpipe. I was horrified. I wanted to melt into the carpet.