Ann Martin - Mary Anne Saves The Day

we're all mad at each other?" sug-

Kristy

. yes. I think Claudia and I are the speaking to each other, so yest— " Claudia are speaking?"

"Yes."

"Brother. Whatever happened to faithful friends?"

"What happened to them?" I cried. "They had doors slammed in their faces, that's what!"

"Okay, okay, okay. Well, how about if we take turns answering the phone in Claudia's room at meeting times? You go one day, I'll go the next. ..."

"What about offering the jobs around? If we have to call each member of the club to tell her about each job call that comes in, we'll end up talking to each other more than ever that way."

Kristy looked to the ceiling for help. "When a club member is on duty, she takes on as many jobs as she can. Then the only jobs she has to offer around are the ones she can't take herself. How does that sound?"

"Fair," I said. "I'll tell Claudia."

Kristy nodded.

"Hi, Mary Anne!" called a voice from down the hall.

It was Dawn.

I turned around and waved. She ran toward me. "How are you? Yesterday was fun, wasn't it?"

"Great," I agreed. "And I was wondering. Do you want to come over on Saturday? We

don't-have a VCR, but maybe we could make fudge or bake cookies." I glanced at Kristy. If she opened her eyes any wider, her eyeballs would roll out and land on the floor.

"Sure!" exclaimed Dawn.

"Good! See you at lunch?"

"See you at lunch." Dawn trotted happily down the hall.

Kristy was still staring at me. At last she managed to say, "You just invited her over to your house."

"Right."

"But you never ask anyone over except me. You don't usually even invite Claudia or Stacey over."

I shrugged. "Dawn's a good friend."

Kristy narrowed her eyes. I think she knew what game I was playing, because she chose that moment to say, "Oh, by the way, Mom extended my baby-sitting hours. Now I can stay out as late as Stacey: ten o'clock on weekends, nine-thirty on weeknights."

It was my turn to widen my eyes. Ten o'clock? Kristy could stay out until ten? That meant I had to be home earlier than any other club member.

I could feel my face flush. Kristy might just as well have pinned a sign to me that said

BABY, because that's what I was. The only baby in the Baby-sitters Club.

Kristy walked off, smirking.

I hung my head, mad at Kristy and mad at my father.

I knew I had to do something — but what?

Chapter 6.

According to our new emergency operating procedures, the Baby-sitters Club meetings were being handled by one club member at a time. Friday was my first day. Since Claudia and I were speaking, she stayed in her room with me, but we stuck to Kristy's new rules, and I took all but one of the jobs that afternoon.

The last call that came in was from a woman named Mrs. Prezzioso. I knew the Prezziosos slightly. They live on Burnt Hill Road not far from Dawn, and are friends with the Pikes, the eight-kid family our club members often sit for. I had met the Prezziosos several times at the Pikes'.

"Hello, the Baby-sitters Club," I said when I answered Mrs. Prezzioso's call.

"Hello. This is Madeleine Prezzioso over on

Burnt Hill Road. To whom am I speaking?"

To whom was she speaking? "This is Mary Anne Spier/' I said.

"Oh, Mary Anne. Hello, dear. How are you?"

"Fine, thank you," I replied politely. "How are you?" I should mention here that the Prezziosos, all three of them, look extremely prim and proper — but Mrs. Prezzioso is the only one who acts that way, too. She's fussy and fastidious, kind of like the neat half of The Odd Couple. She's always polite, and she usually appears to have stepped right out of the pages of one of those magazines that gives tips on getting out hard-to-remove stains and baking the perfect loaf of zucchini bread. She buys three-piece suits and monogrammed handkerchiefs for Mr. Prezzioso. And Jenny, their three-year-old daughter. . . . Well, Mrs. Prezzioso dresses her as if every day were Easter Sunday. She puts ribbons in her hair and lacy socks on her feet. I've never seen Jenny in pants or slacks, Mrs. P. probably thinks jeans is a dirty word.

Poor Jenny doesn't seem to be the prim, fastidious type at all. Neither does Mr. P. When I'm around him, I usually have the feeling that he'd rather be dozing in front of the TV in

overalls, a T-shirt, and mismatched socks. And Jenny tries hard, but she just isn't what her mother wants her to be.

Mrs. P. and I chatted for a minute or so and then got down to business. "I know this is last-minute, dear," she said, "but I need a sitter for Sunday afternoon. Mr. Prezzioso and I have been invited to a tea."

"What time does it start?" I asked.

"Four o'clock. I should think we'd be home by six or six-thirty."

"Okay, I'll be there."

"That's wonderful, dear. Thank you. I'll see you at four. Good-bye!"

I hung up the phone thoughtfully. The afternoon at the Prezziosos' could be pretty interesting.

On Sunday afternoon I rang the Prezziosos' doorbell promptly at 3:30. Jenny came flying to answer it. I could hear her calling hello and fiddling with the locks. After a few moments, she pulled it open — but the chain was still attached. CRACK!

"Jenny!" a voice exclaimed behind her. "Did you ask who was there before you opened the door?"

"No, Mommy."

"Well, what are you supposed to do when the doorbell rings?"

"Say, 'Who is it?' "

"Then please do that." The door closed. The locks slid back into place.

"Mary Anne," Mrs. Prezzioso called, "would you mind ringing the bell again, please?"

I sighed. Ding-dong.

"Who is it?" asked Jenny's voice.

"It's me, Mary Anne Spier."

"Are you a stranger?"

"No, I'm your baby-sitter."

"Now can I let her in, Mommy?"

"Yes, sweetheart. That was very good."

At last the door opened. I stepped inside and took off my coat. Both Mrs. P. and Jenny were all dressed up. Mrs. P. looked exactly as if she were off to a fancy tea. But Jenny seemed a bit overdressed for an afternoon of stories and games and fun. She was wearing a frilly white dress trimmed with yards of lavender lace and ribbon, matching lavender socks, and shiny black patent leather Mary Janes. Her hair had been curled, and was pulled back from either side of her face by barrettes from which long streamers flowed. Really, her mother ought to just pose her in a display case somewhere.

"Hello, Mary Anne/' Mrs. P. greeted me.

"Hi," I replied. "Hi, Jenny."

Jenny looked wistfully at the blue jean skirt I was wearing. "I like your skirt, Mary Anne," she said.

"Now, Jenny," Mrs. P. said briskly, "it's a very pretty skirt, I'm sure, but not as pretty as my little angel in her brand-new dress!" She pulled Jenny to her and covered her with loud kisses. "Who's my little angel?" she asked.

Jenny's face was smushed up against her mother's arm. "Mmmphh," she said.

Mrs. P. tried again. "Who's my little angel?"

Jenny drew away from her. "I am, Mommy."

"And what are you made of?"

"Sugar 'n' spice 'n' all that's nice."

Gag, gag. I remembered another nursery rhyme. That one went, "There was a little girl who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead; when she was good she was very, very good, and when she was bad she was horrid."

"Isn't our angel pretty today?" Mrs. Prez-zioso asked me.

Our angel? "Yes, she sure is," I replied.

Jenny smiled sweetly.

"All right, I'm ready, Madeleine," boomed a voice from the stairs. Mr. P. came thundering down from the second floor.

"Okay, angel, you be a good girl for your sitter. Will you promise me that?" He tossed Jenny in the air and she squealed with delight.

"Oh, be careful!" cried Mrs. Prezzioso. "Her new dress . . . and your new ascot. Nick, please."