Ann Martin: Mary Anne Saves The Day

Mary Anne Saves The Day

Ann M. Martin

Chapter 1.

"Kristy! Hey, Kristy!" I called.

It was Monday afternoon, almost five-thirty, and time for a meeting of the Baby-sitters Club. I had just stepped onto my front porch. At the house next door, I could see Kristy Thomas stepping onto her front porch.

Kristy is the president of the Baby-sitters Club. She's also my best friend in the whole world. We've grown up together. And since my mother died when I was really little, leaving just Dad and me, Kristy's been like my sister, and Mrs. Thomas is like my mother. (Kristy's parents got divorced a few years ago and her dad walked out, but my father has not been like a father to Kristy. He's not warm and open like Mrs. Thomas.)

"Hi, Mary Anne," Kristy answered.

We ran across our front lawns, crunching

through the remains of a January snow, and met between our houses. Then we crossed the street to Claudia Kishi's house. Claudia is the vice-president of the club. We hold our meetings at her house because she has a telephone in her bedroom.

The Baby-sitters Club is really more of a business than a club. This is how it works: On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons, the club meets from five-thirty untilsix o'clock . Our clients call us on Claudia's line to tell us when they'll need baby-sitters. Then one of us takes the job. It's simple — but brilliant. (It was Kristy's idea.) The great thing is that with four of us taking the calls, anyone who needs a sitter is bound to find one.

Of course, our club isn't perfect. For instance, the members — Kristy, Claudia, me (I'm the secretary), and Stacey McGill, who's our treasurer — are only twelve years old. The latest we can stay out isten o'clock . In fact, only Stacey is actually allowed out that late, although recently sometimes Claudia has been allowed to sit until ten, too. Kristy and I have to be home by nine-thirty on the weekends, andnine o'clock on weeknights. That nearly cost us our club. Recently, another bunch of girls copied us and set up a business called the

Baby-sitters Agency. They were older than us and could stay out until all hours. A lot of our clients started using them instead, but the agency folded because the kids who worked for it weren't great baby-sitters, so now we're back to normal, glad that the new year is starting off smoothly.

Kristy rang the Kishis' bell, and Mimi answered the door. Mimi is Claudia's grandmother. She lives with the Kishis and watches out for Claudia and her sister Janine, since both Mr. and Mrs. Kishi work.

"Hello, girls," said Mimi in her pleasant voice. The Kishis are Japanese. Claudia and Janine were born in theUnited States . Both of their parents came toAmerica when they were little. Mimi was in her thirties, I think, when she leftJapan , so she still speaks with an accent. I like her accent. It's soft and nice to listen to.

"Hi, Mimi," we replied.

"How is the scarf coming, Mary Anne?" she asked. (Mimi taught me how to knit. She's helping me make a scarf for my father.)

"It's fine," I said. "I'm almost done, but I'll need you to help me with the fringe."

"Of course. Any time, Mary Anne."

I kissed Mimi quickly on the cheek. Then

Kristy and I got prepared to run up the stairs and into Claudia's room. We have to do it fast. If Janine is home, we like to try to get by her bedroom without having to talk to her.

Janine is a genius. Honest. She's only fifteen and already she's taking classes atStoneybrookUniversity . She corrects absolutely everything you say to her. Kristy and I avoid her as much as possible.

That day, we were lucky. Janine wasn't even home. When we ran by her room, it was dark.

"Hi!" we greeted Claudia.

"Hi," she replied, her voice muffled. Claudia had her head in her pajama bag as she rummaged around at the bottom of it. In a moment she straightened up, proudly holding out three Ring-Dings.

Claudia is a junk-food addict. She buys candy and Twinkies and Yodels and other things and hides the stuff all over her room. She eats it at any time (and eats her meals, too) and never seems to gain an ounce, or to get so much as the hint of a pimple.

She handed us each a Ring-Ding, but I turned mine down. Dad gets upset if I don't eat a proper dinner (or breakfast or lunch), and I don't have a very big appetite. Claudia tossed the Ring-Ding back in her pajama bag. She wasn't going to offer it to Stacey when she

arrived, since Stacey has diabetes and can't eat most sweets.

"Any calls yet?" I asked. It was just barely5:30 , but sometimes our clients called early.

"One," replied Claudia. "Kristy's mom. She needs someone for David Michael on Thursday."

Kristy nodded. "Our regular two-day-a-week sitter finally quit. Mom'11 be calling more often for a while."

Kristy has two brothers in high school, Sam and Charlie, and a little brother, David Michael, who's six. Sam, Charlie, and Kristy are each responsible for David Michael one afternoon a week. Mrs. Thomas had had a baby-sitter lined up for him for the other two days, but I knew the sitter had been canceling a lot.

"Hey, everybody!" called a voice. Stacey entered Claudia's room, looking gorgeous, as usual.

If you ask Stacey, she'll tell you she's plain, but that's crazy. Stacey is glamorous. She moved toStoneybrook,Connecticut , fromNew York City last summer. She's very sophisticated, and is even allowed to have her hair permed, so that she has this fabulous-looking shaggy blonde mane, and she wears the neatest clothes — big, baggy shirts and tight-fitting pants — and amazing jewelry, like parrots and

palm trees. She even has a pair of earrings that consist of a dog for one ear and a bone for the other ear.

I'd give anything to be Stacey. Not to have diabetes, of course, but to have lived inNew York City and to be able to dress up like a model every day. My father lets me dress like a model, too — a model of a six-year-old. I have to wear my hair in braids (that's a rule), and he has to approve my outfit every day, which is sort of silly since he buys all my clothes. And what he buys are corduroy skirts and plain sweaters and blouses and penny loafers.

Just once, I'd like to go to school wearing skintight turquoise pants, Stacey's "island" shirt with the flamingos and toucans all over it, and maybe bright red, high-top sneakers. I'd like to create a sensation. (Well, half of me would. The other half would be too shy to want to attract any attention.)

Stacey often creates a sensation.

So does Claudia. Although she's not quite as sophisticated as Stacey (you can't top having lived inNew York ), she's pretty glamorous herself. Her black hair is long and silky, and she does something different with it almost every day. Sometimes she wears it in lots of skinny braids, sometimes she twists it on top

of her head. At the moment, she was wearing it loose, but had pulled the sides back with big yellow clips shaped like flowers.

Luckily, Kristy dresses more like me than like Claudia and Stacey. It's nice to have someone to feel babyish with. Mrs. Thomas doesn't put any dressing restrictions on Kristy; it's just that Kristy doesn't care much about her appearance. Her brown hair is usually sort of messy, and she wears clothes only because it's against the law to go to school naked.

"What's going on?" asked Stacey.

"One call so far," replied Kristy. "My mom needs someone for David Michael on Thursday afternoon."

I opened our record book. The Baby-sitters Club keeps two books: the record book and a notebook. The record book is just what it sounds like — a book in which we keep our club records. Not only does it have our babysitting appointments, it has the addresses and phone numbers of our clients, and records of things like what rates our clients pay, how much each of us earns at each job, and which of us has paid our club dues. Stacey keeps track of anything to do with money and numbers.