Ann Martin - New York, New York!

"Gosh, this apartment is beautiful.," I could hear Mallory say as we were stowing our stuff in out-of-the-way places.

"Yeah, look out the window," Jessi replied. "Look at all those trees and the grass. Who says New York is just a mass of buildings?" "That's Central Park!" I called from Laine's room. I thought I heard someone say something about a "talking guidebook," but I wasn't sure. Anyway, at that moment the doorbell rang. (Dawn screamed.) "Who's that, Mom?" yelled Laine.

"Probably the Harringtons," was the reply.

"Oh." Laine turned to Kristy and Dawn and me. "The Harringtons are going to be staying in the Baickers' apartment upstairs. Mr. and Mrs. Baicker are friends of my parents. They had planned a trip to England and Mrs. Baicker knew that her cousins, the Harringtons, were going^to be traveling over here, so they just traded apartments with the Harringtons. Isn't that cool?" "Chilly," replied Kristy.

Laine grinned. "Let's go meet them. I think Mom said the Harringtons have kids. I wonder if they brought them along." The Harringtons did have kids. When Laine and I and the members of the BSC trooped back into the living room, we saw Mr. and Mrs. Cummings talking to a couple — and a little boy and girl standing around, looking bored.

Introductions started all over again. In the middle of everything, Mr. Harrington rested his hand on the boy's head and said, "This is Alistaire." Alistaire smiled politely. "Hullo," he said, "I'm seven." "And this is Rowena," Mr. Harrington went on, placing his hand on the girl's head.

"I'm this many." Rowena held up four fingers.

Everyone smiled. I was absolutely enchanted. Rowena and Alistaire looked up at the adults from under perfectly combed, dark brown bangs. Their eyes were round and green. And they were dressed like . . . well, certainly not like many kids I know. Alistaire was wearing a white sailor suit with navy blue trim, white knee socks, and black shoes that buckled at the sides. They looked a little like Mary Janes, only they weren't shiny. And Rowena was wearing a white sailor dress, similar to Alistaire's suit, white tights, red Mary Janes, and a red hat. I don't remember the last time I saw a child wearing a hat that wasn't dripping with melted snow and smelling of wet wool. Perched on Rowena's head was a round straw hat, held in place by an elastic band under her chin. Red ribbons trailed from the back of the hat.

"We're visiting America for two weeks," Al-istaire announced proudly. "Only Mummy and Daddy have to work." It turned out that both Mr. and Mrs. Har-rington were dignitaries. Or maybe diplomats*. I'm not sure. They had something to do with the government, though, and apparently they were very important and extremely wealthy.

"We're lucky to have found a housekeeper while we're staying here," said Mrs. Harring-ton, "but we would really rather that the children weren't cooped up all day while we're busy. We'd like them to see New York. And anyway, we can't expect the housekeeper to be a nanny, too." "In fact," added Mr. Harrington, "we were wondering if you" (he meant Laine's parents) "would know where we might find someone who could not only entertain Rowena and Al-istaire, but who could show them New York. Take them to the zoo, go sightseeing — " "Go to the big toy store!" exclaimed Rowena.

"FAO Schwarz?" said Stacey. "Oh, that's a neat place." "Yes, Rowena has been asking to go to FAO Schwarz, and Alistaire would like to see the dinosaurs in the Museum of Natural History." "The dinosaur skeletons," Alistaire corrected his father. "Not dinosaurs." "Right," agreed Mr. Harrington cheerfully. He turned back to the Cummingses. "Do you know a good nanny service?" he asked.

Well, of course by now my friends and I were looking at each other excitedly. We would be perfect tour guides. And we know how to entertain kids. But did we dare suggest that? Laine took care of the problem for us.

"My friends are baby-sitters," she announced. Then she told the Harringtons about the BSC. They seemed impressed.

Mr. and Mrs. Harrington spoke briefly in the kitchen. When they returned, Mrs. Harrington said, "If you're interested, we would like to engage two of you to watch the children and to show them around the city." Then she added how much we would be paid, and the seven BSC members nearly fainted.

Even so, when we stepped into the kitchen to discuss the offer, not everyone jumped at it. Claudia and Mal couldn't take it because of their art classes. Jessi and Kristy wanted to sightsee, but not necessarily with kids. They both do their share of baby-sitting for their brothers and sisters, and they wanted a break from that while they were on vacation. Dawn never opened her mouth, but that turned out to be okay because Stacey said, "If you guys wouldn't mind, I'd kind of like the job. I know tons about New York." So 7 said, "I'll do the job with you, Stace. I can't believe the Har-ringtons are actually going to pay me to do one of the things I love the most — be a tourist!" "Is this okay with the rest of you?" asked Stacey. "I don't want you to think I'm abandoning you. Anyway, Laine will be around." "It's fine," chorused Claud, Jessi, Kristy, and Mal.

"Dawn?" I asked. She was sitting at the table, looking miserable. "Hey, are you feeling all right?" "Sure," Dawn answered quickly. "Go ahead and tell the Harringtons they've got two experienced nannies for the next couple of weeks." "Okay," I said, but I glanced at Stacey, because Dawn wasn't convincing me that she was happy with the arrangement.

Stacey just shrugged.

"Okay," said Kristy, taking charge (which she was born to do). "Let's go give the Har-ringtons the good news." So we did. Mr. and Mrs. Harrington asked us to begin the next day.

Dawn.

Chapter 4.

What on earth had I been thinking? The last time I visited New York (I mean, apart from day trips we'd taken to the hospital when Stacey was sick) I'd been scared to death. I don't know why I'd thought this time would be different. You know what's wrong? I keep remembering all those horror stories I read about crime and danger in New York City. Stacey says that's not fair. She says we can find crime and danger anywhere, even way out in the country (thanks a lot, Stace), but that New York has a bad reputation.

Well, I'm sorry. Maybe good old NYC wouldn't have such a bad reputation if so many awful things didn't go on there . . . and if newspaper reporters didn't eat up each grisly story as if it were a piece of candy. I just couldn't help reading news about New York for a few days before we left on our trip. I had to know what was going on in the city. And what did I read about? Robberies, snipers, muggings, bank holdups, that's what.

"Not fair!" exclaimed Stacey. "Didn't you read about any of the culture? The museums or the theater or street fairs — " "There was an article about a street fair," I interrupted her. "It said how this gang of pick- pockets ripped off fifty-nine people. They're just like the Artful Dodger in Oliver Twist. They can take a wallet out of your pocket, or even a watch off your wrist, without your feeling it." Sta'cey sighed. "I'm not going to argue with you, Dawn. I'll just ask you this. Did anything bad happen the first time you visited me in New York?" I grinned. "We all got into a huge argument." "How about when you visited me when I was in the hospital?" (Not long ago, Stacey was at her dad's for a weekend and got really sick with her diabetes and wound up in the hospital. That's when the rest of us came to visit her.) "Nothing happened," I admitted.

"Okay, then," said Stace, as if she had solved all my problems.

"But something could happen. Anytime. Anywhere." "You mean like something could fall off a building that's under construction and conk you on the head?" Kristy asked.

"Let's stay away from scaffolding and construction," I said.