Ann Martin - Mary Anne Saves The Day

"Honestly, sometimes people can be so unfair. . . . No, not unfair, unthinking. That's it, unthinking."

We were setting the table, getting ready for dinner.

"Dad — " I said again.

"Can you imagine letting someone go who so clearly was guilty of grand larceny?"

I shook my head. "I guess not. . . . Dad?"

"What is it, Mary Anne?"

Right then, I should have decided not to pursue the business of later hours, but I'd been planning on it all day. I'd rehearsed what I was going to say. I didn't know if it would work, but I was going to say, very rationally, "Dad, I've been thinking. I'm twelve years old now, and I feel that I could stay out until ten o'clock every now and then when I'm babysitting — not on school nights, of course, be-

cause I recognize that I need my sleep/ but just on some Friday and Saturday nights."

"Dad, I've been thinking," I said.

The phone rang.

Dad leaped for it. "Hello?. . .Yes, I know. . . . I know. . . . Right, an appeal. That's what I was think— What? . . . Oh, yes. Definitely. ..." The conversation went on for ten minutes while our frozen pizza finished baking and then began drying out in the oven.

Dad finally got off the phone, and immediately it rang again. When he got off the second time, I practically threw the pizza down in front of him.

"Dad, I want to stay out until ten o'clock when I baby-sit at night," I blurted out.

My father looked at me blankly. "What? . . . Oh. Mary Anne, no. I'm afraid that's out of the question."

"But, Dad, everyone else gets to."

"I'm sure not everyone does. You can't possibly be the only sixth-grader who has to be in by nine or nine-thirty."

"Dad, I'm in seventh grade, and I am the only member of the Baby-sitters Club who can't stay out till ten. You treat me like a baby, but look at me. I'm halfway through seventh grade. In a year and a half I'll be starting high school."

For a moment, my father looked taken aback.

Then a change came over his face. He rubbed his hands over his eyes tiredly. At last- he said softly, "It's not easy for a father to raise a daughter alone. I have to be both a father and a mother. On top of that, I'm not home much. I'm doing the best I can."

"But Kristy and Claudia and Stacey — "

"What Kristy and Claudia and Stacey and their parents do is not our concern."

"That's not fair! Don't you think Mrs. Thomas is a good mother? Don't you think Mimi and the Kishis care about Claudia?"

"Those are not the issues," my father said. "The issues are you and me and your bedtime."

"Dad, I am old enough to stay out until ten o'clock. I'm twelve, and I'm very responsible and mature. Don't my teachers always write that on my report card? 'Mary Anne is a joy to have in class. She's responsible and mature.' "

"You don't sound mature at the moment."

I knew I didn't. I was whining. But it was too late to stop. I was on a roll. "I'm also too old to wear my hair in these dumb braids, and my room looks like a nursery. It's a room for a five-year-old."

My father looked at me sharply. "Young lady, I do not like your tone of voice."

"You know, you're not the only parent who

isn't around much," I went on, ignoring him. "Mrs. Thomas is hardly ever home, either, and she has to raise Kristy and Kristy's brothers alone, and Sam and Charlie don't have Peter Rabbit all over their bedroom. I'd like to see a few changes around here. I'd like to be allowed to choose my own clothes. I'd like to take my hair out of these braids. I'd like to wear nail polish and stockings and lipstick. And if a boy ever asked me to go to the movies or something, I'd like to be able to say yes — without even checking with you first. You know what? Sometimes you don't seem like my father to me. You seem like my jailer."

It was at that exact moment that I knew I'd gone too far.

Sure enough, my father turned his back on me. Then, in the calmest voice imaginable, he said, "Mary Anne, the subject is closed. Please go to your room."

I went. I felt horrible. I knew I'd insulted him, and I hadn't wanted to do that. But what did he think was going to happen if I wore my hair loose or took down Humpty Dumpty? Did he think I'd run away or start hanging around with the wild kids at the mall? And what could happen between nine o'clock and ten o'clock while I was baby-sitting, that couldn't happen before nine?

I didn't have any answers, but I knew someone who might — Mimi. She was a patient listener and I often talked to her about things that I might have talked to my mother about. At any rate, I talked to her about things I couldn't discuss with my father.

I paid her a visit after school the next day. I had apologized twice to my father that morning, and he'd said he accepted my apology, but things were a little chilly between us.

"Hi, Mimi," I greeted her, when she answered the bell.

"Hello, Mary Anne," she said solemnly. "How is your scarf coming?"

"Fine. It looks really nice. I hope my father will like it. If I work hard, I could finish it in time for his birthday."

"That would be a nice surprise for him." I shrugged out of my coat, and Mimi hung it in the closet. "Well," she went on, "are you here to see Claudia? She is not at home. I believe she is baby-sitting for Nina and Eleanor Marshall."

"Oh. No, actually I came to see you. I wondered if we could talk. ..."

"Of course. Please come in. Would you like some tea, Mary Anne?"

"Yes. Thanks." I don't really like tea, but I

like drinking it with Mimi. She fixes it in a special pot and serves it in little cups that don't have any handles. Then she lets me put in all the milk and sugar I want.

I followed her into the kitchen, and Mimi set the tea things on the table and began boiling water. She took some crackers out of a tin and arranged them on a plate.

When everything was ready, we sat down across from 'each other. Mimi poured the tea, straining the leaves out of my cup, but letting them flow into hers and sink to the bottom. I began adding milk and sugar. Mimi took hers plain — and strong.

"It is very dreary weather," Mimi commented, looking out at the barren trees being lashed about by the wind and soaked by the chilling rain that had fallen all day.

"Yeah," I agreed, feeling sad.

"In this weather," Mimi continued, "I always think of spring. Snowy weather makes me glad for winter, but raw, gray weather makes me wish winter were over. Perhaps we will be lucky and the groundhog will see his shadow."

I smiled. "That would be great."

"And how are you surviving this dreariness?"

I looked at Mimi. Her black hair, which had long been streaked with white, was pulled

away from her face and fastened into a bun just above her neck. She wore no jewelry and no makeup, and her face was wrinkled and creased. I thought she was beautiful. Maybe it was because she always seemed so serene.

"I'm surviving the dreariness okay, I guess," I replied, "but I'm not surviving my father very well. . . . Mimi, do you think I act like a normal twelve-year-old?"

"Tell me what you mean by normal."

"You know — like other twelve-year-olds. Am I about as responsible and mature and smart as other twelve-year-olds, and do I have pretty much the same interests they do?"

Now, most adults might have said something like, "That sounds like a loaded question," or "What are you really asking?" But Mimi put her teacup down, sat back in her chair, and considered me. At last she replied, "Yes, you seem like a normal twelve-year-old to me. You do not wear the clothes that Claudia does, but I do not think that means anything. You are very responsible, and you also seem very mature. But you are serious, too, and I know it is not wise to confuse gravity with maturity."

She had almost lost me, but all that counted was that she thought I seemed like any other kid my age. "So, Mimi," I went on, "how come I'm not allowed to make my room more