Ann Martin - Mary Anne Saves The Day

She nodded. "A doctor will look in on her as soon as possible," she said. Then she parted the curtain and walked briskly down the hallway. A few moments later she returned with a cold compress, then disappeared again.

Dawn and I looked at each other. "Now what?" asked Dawn.

"Now we wait, I guess." I adjusted the compress on Jenny's forehead. "How are you feeling?" I asked her. She seemed a bit more alert, but as hot as ever.

"Hot," she replied. "And my throat hurts. And my head."

"Yuck," I said. "I'm sorry. The doctor will be here soon, though, and he'll help you feel better. He or she, I mean."

"Look what I brought," Dawn spoke up.

"Hey, who's that?" asked Jenny, finally noticing her visitor.

"That's my friend Dawn. Dawn Schafer."

"Hi, Jenny," said Dawn.

"Hi. . . . What did you bring?"

"This." Dawn held up Blueberries For Sal.

"Oh, goody," said Jenny.

I began to read. We were halfway through the story when a doctor poked her head through the curtain.

"Jenny Prezzioso?" she asked.

"That's Jenny," I said, pointing. "I'm Mary Anne Spier, her baby-sitter."

"Well, let's see what we have here."

The doctor examined Jenny gently.

"It looks like a nice case of strep throat," she said after a while. "I want to draw some blood and do a throat culture to be sure, but I don't think it's anything more serious than that. . . . Where are her parents?"

I explained. Then I looked at my watch. "If the people at the gym paged them right away, they could be at the hospital in a half an hour to forty-five minutes."

The doctor nodded. "Well, she can stay here

until her parents arrive. While we're running the tests, I'll have a nurse try to bring her fever down. I'd like to talk to the Prezziosos before Jenny leaves."

"Okay," I said.

A nurse entered. She drew some blood from Jenny, which made her cry, and took a throat culture, which made her gag. But when she began bathing her in alcohol, Jenny said, "Oh, that feels good."

Her temperature dropped a degree and a half.

By the time the Prezziosos arrived, Jenny was on the verge of a temper tantrum. I took it as a good sign.

Chapter 12.

Mrs. Prezzioso was nearly hysterical. She flew into Jenny's cubicle in the emergency room, sobbing loudly, then hugged Jenny to her, pressing Jenny's face against her cocktail dress. "Oh, my baby!" she cried. "Angel, how are you feeling?"

"I feel better, Mommy," Jenny said, "Nice and cool."

Her temperature was still 101°. I could only imagine how Jenny had felt when it was 104°.

The doctor returned and spoke briefly to the Prezziosos, assuring them that Jenny was already on the mend. "I want to give you a prescription and make an appointment to see her again on Monday," she added. "And I need you to fill out some forms."

"Why don't you take care of that, dear," Mr. Prezzioso said to his wife, "while I take

Mary Anne and Dawn home? Then I'll come back for you and our angel."

Mrs. P. agreed, so Dawn and I said goodbye to the angel and her mother, and followed Mr. P. out to his car.

"Actually, we need to go back to your house," I told him. "I left some things in the living room, and Dawn's bicycle is there."

"All right," he said.

On the way to the Prezziosos' Mr. P. told Dawn and me over and over what a wonderful job we had done, and how proud of us he was.

"I hope you don't mind that I called a friend," I said apprehensively. "I really needed help and I couldn't reach the neighbors or my dad."

"Or my mother," added Dawn.

"Not at all," said Mr. P. "You did just the right thing. Leaving a message at the gym was smart, too. Apparently, they started paging us right away and just kept paging until we arrived. The first thing we heard when we entered the gym was our names being called over the loudspeaker. . . . How did you get Jenny to the hospital?"

"I called nine-one-one and told the man I talked to how high Jenny's temperature was and said we couldn't find anyone to drive us to the hospital. He sent an ambulance over. . . .

Oh, and Jenny's doctor is probably going to call you back today. He was the first person I called and I left a message with his service. He hadn't called back by the time we left for the hospital."

Again Mr. P. looked impressed. "Thanks, Mary Anne," he said. "You, too, Dawn. I want you to know that I'll always feel at ease having Jenny in your competent hands."

Wow, I thought. Our competent hands. That was a real compliment.

When Dawn had gotten her bicycle from the Prezziosos' driveway and I had retrieved the Kid-Kit from the living room, Mr. P. paid Dawn and me ten dollars — each. "For a job well-done," he said.

"Thanks!" I exclaimed. "Thanks a lot!"

"Yeah," said Dawn. "You really didn't have to pay me."

"I know," said Mr. P., "but you deserve it." He headed back to the hospital.

"Want to come over for a while?" I asked Dawn. The day had turned gray and drizzly. I thought we could spend the rest of the afternoon fooling around in my room. I had found two more old photo albums in the den, and through incredible wUlpower, had managed not to peek at them until Dawn was with me.

"Sure," said Dawn. "Just remind me to call my mom and tell her where I am."

Dawn rode slowly over to my house, and I trotted along next to her. I let us in the front door and called for my father, but he wasn't home yet. Then Dawn phoned her mother, who also wasn't home yet, and left a message for her on their answering machine.

"Are you hungry?" I asked. I had just realized that, with the excitement over, I was starving.

"Famished," replied Dawn.

We made sandwiches and ate them in the kitchen, discussing our adventure. "Isn't Mrs. P. weird?" I said. "Did you see her fancy black dress? That's what she was wearing to a basketball game!"

"And she calls Jenny her angel."

I giggled. "Yeah. Mr. P. does, too. But he's all right. I like him."

"He's generous," added Dawn. "Gosh, ten dollars."

When we were finished with lunch, I said, "Let's go upstairs. I want to show you something."

We ran up to my room and, with a flourish, I pulled the two old photo albums out from under my bed. "We haven't looked through these," I told Dawn. "I have no idea what's in

them, but maybe we'll find prom pictures."

"Yeah!"

We sat side-by-side on my bed and opened one of the heavy albums. It was so big it spread across both of our laps.

"These pictures look old," Dawn said.

"Yeah, really," I agreed. They were yellowed with age. Not one face was familiar. "I don't recognize any of these people," I said.

"You know what would be funny? If these weren't your family's albums at all. If there'd been some kind of mix-up and they were, like, Joe Schmoe's albums, and we spent all afternoon trying to find pictures of our parents among the Schmoe family."

I threw my head back and laughed. And as I lowered my head, I looked straight in front of me — out my window and into Kristy's.

Kristy was staring back at me.

Since the day was dark, the overhead lights were on in our rooms and I knew that she had a perfect view of Dawn and me sitting side-by-side on my bed, laughing.

Kristy looked furious. (Good, she was jealous.) But she also looked . . . hurt? Or maybe betrayed. I couldn't tell. For some mean reason, though, I felt triumphant. I'd show Kristy. I was no longer the old Mary Anne who depended on her for friendship and who went

along with anything she said or did. I could take care of myself. I could make my own friends.

To be certain that she got the point, I put my arm around Dawn's shoulders. Then I stuck my tongue out at Kristy.

Kristy stuck her tongue out at me.

And Dawn looked up from the album just in time to see me with my tongue out. "Mary Anne, what — " she started to say. Then she followed my gaze out the window and across to Kristy in her window.