Ann Martin - Mary Anne Saves The Day

(What's an ascot?)

Mr. P. returned Jenny safely to the ground. "Well, let's go. Thanks for coming over, Mary Lou."

"Mary Anne," Jenny corrected him.

Mrs. P. stood in front of her husband. She straightened his tie, adjusted his jacket, and arranged the handkerchief in his pocket so that it was absolutely straight and the monogram was perfectly centered.

Then she turned around and stood next to her husband. "How do we look?" she asked me.

I glanced at Jenny. Jenny was watching me.

I blushed. "You look. ..." Somehow "very nice" didn't sound like enough. "You look like a picture out of a magazine," I finally said. And they did, all posed and stiff.

Mrs. P. appeared confused, but recovered quickly. "Why, thank you, dear."

There was a pause. "You're welcome," I said, to fill the silence.

"Now, we'll be at the Elliot Taggarts' this

afternoon," said Mrs. Prezzioso. "Their number is written on the message board in the kitchen, and the emergency numbers are right next to the phone. If we're not home by six o'clock, you can give Jenny a sandwich for supper."

"Okay," I said. Jenny and I walked her parents to the back door. "Have fun!" I called, as they climbed into their car.

I closed the door and leaned against it for a few seconds. "Well," I said to Jenny, "what do you want to do first?"

Jenny flopped on the couch in the playroom and pouted. "Nothing."

"Oh, come on," I said brightly, "there must be something you want to do. We have two hours to play."

Jenny stuck out her lower lip and shook her head. "Unh-unh."

"Well, in that case," I said, "I'll just play with the Kid-Kit by myself."

Kid-Kits were something Kristy had dreamed up to make us baby-sitters as much fun as possible for our charges. Each of us had decorated a cardboard carton which we'd labeled KID-KIT. We kept the boxes filled with books and games (our own) plus activity books that we paid for out of our club dues. The kids we baby-sit for love the Kid-Kits and look forward

to our visits because of them.

But Jenny had never seen one. "What's a Kid-Kit?" she asked.

"Oh, just something I brought with me." I'd left it on the front porch so I could surprise Jenny with it after the Prezziosos left. I retrieved it and sat down on the floor in the middle of the playroom. I opened the box and began pulling things out: three books, two games, a box of Colorforms, a sticker book, and a paint-with-water book. I turned my back on Jenny and began peeling balloons off the back page of the sticker book.

After a moment, Jenny left the couch and edged toward me and the Kid-Kit. She watched me put stickers in the book. Then she glanced at the things I'd pulled out. She opened the box of Colorforms. It was an old set of mine called Mrs. Cookie's Kitchen. She touched the flat plastic pots and pans and food. Then she put the lid back on the box.

"I can play with this stuff?" she asked.

"Sure. That's why I brought it."

"I can play with anything I want?"

"Of course."

"Is this a painting book?"

I glanced up. "Oh . . . yes. Here, how about the stickers? Don't they look like fun?"

"I WANT TO PAINT!"

"Okay, okay." I looked at Jenny's pristine white dress. I looked at the paint-with-water book. Wasn't the point of painting with water that it wasn't messy?

I went to the kitchen and half-filled a paper cup with water. Then I brought it to Jenny, opened the paint book for her, and settled her on the floor. "Okay, go to it," I said. "All you have to do is brush water over the pictures, and the color will appear. Make sure you rinse the brush off pretty often so the colors don't mix together. Okay?"

Jenny nodded.

"And ... be careful," I added.

Jenny was sitting cross-legged, the book spread open in front of her. She dipped the paintbrush in the water and moved it slowly toward the book. Drip, drip, drip. Three wet spots appeared on her dress.

I closed my eyes. It was only water. Still. . . .

"Jenny, wouldn't you like to put on play-clothes while you paint?" I thought she must own something more casual than what she had on.

"No."

"No? Not even a smock? We could put it on over your dress."

"No."

"How about one of Mommy's aprons?"

"I DON'T WANT AN APRON!"

I watched Jenny smear the paintbrush over a big apple on the page. The apple turned red. Jenny lifted the brush and returned it to the cup. So far, so good.

I relaxed a little.

Then Jenny swung the wet brush back to the book. Two faint pink streaks appeared on her dress. Oh, well, I thought. It must come out with water.

But I wasn't sure. I decided that Jenny would have to wear an apron whether she liked it or not, and I dashed into the kitchen. I had just found one when I heard Jenny say, "Oops."

"Jenny?" I called. "What happened?"

There was a pause. "Nothing."

A nothing is usually the worst kind of something. I ran back to Jenny — and gasped. She had spilled the entire cup of water in her lap. A huge pinkish stain was spreading fast.

"Oh, Jenny!" I exclaimed.

Jenny stared at me with wide eyes. She looked as if she were daring me to do something.

"Okay. Off with your dress. Right now."

"NONONONONONONO!" Jenny threw herself on her stomach and began kicking her legs on the floor.

I took advantage of that to unbutton her

dress. "Off it comes/' I said. "Then I'll show you some magic."

Jenny stopped kicking and yelling. "Magic?"

"Yeah." I hoped the trick would work.

Jenny let me take her dress off. She followed me into the kitchen and sat on the counter while I held the dress under a stream of water from the faucet. She watched as the color flowed out.

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Does your mommy have a hair dryer?" I asked.

"Yup."

"Come show me where."

So Jenny, giggling, helped me blow-dry her dress. Then I told her that she would have to wear playclothes if she wanted to finish painting. She took me to her room, pointed to a drawer in her bureau, and said, "That's where the playclothes are."

I opened the drawer and found myself looking at three piles of neatly folded, spotless, almost-new shirts, blouses, and slacks. "These are your playclothes?"

Jenny gave me a look that plainly said, "I told you so."

I closed the drawer. "Okay, Jenny-bunny," I said. "Do you want to finish painting?"

"Yes."

"All right. Come on." We went back downstairs and Jenny spent the rest of the afternoon painting in her underwear. I got her dressed just five minutes before the Prezziosos came home.

"How was she?" Mrs. P. asked.

I glanced down at Jenny. "An angel," I replied. "An absolute angel."

Jenny smiled at me. Our secret was safe.

Chapter 7.

I couldn't stand it any longer. I decided to ask my father if he would extend my babysitting hours. If all the other members of the club were allowed to stay out until ten o'clock, I ought to be able to as well. After all, I was the same age as they were, I was just as responsible as they were, and I had just as much homework as they did.

The one job that I had had to turn down, when I was taking club phone calls the Friday after our fight, had been for a client who needed a sitter until ten o'clock on Saturday night. Kristy had taken the job.

I felt humiliated.

But I was nervous about facing my father. He wouldn't be angry; he just wouldn't see my side, unless I figured out exactly the right

way to approach him. And I wasn't sure I'd be able to do that.

But by Monday night, I was ready to talk to him — no matter what.

Unfortunately, he came home in a bad mood.

"We lost the Cutter case today," he told me. "I can't believe it. I thought it was open-and-shut. The jury was highly unreasonable."

I nodded. "Dad — "