Ann Martin - Mary Anne And Camp

Although I'd always wanted a sister, my new family was a bit overwhelming at first (for Dawn, too, I found out). But we really care about each other. I like living in a big family. Well, compared to the Pikes it's not such a huge family, but you see what I mean. I wouldn't have it any other way.

"Huge," said Mal.

"Huh?" I said, wondering if she'd turned into a kind of mind reader.

"The chunk of time after school is out at the end of June."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, the camps that most of the kids go to don't begin for three whole weeks. And the

civic center won't start its summer activities until the middle of July."

I was beginning to see what Mal was talking about. "Three weeks of kids out of school, parents still at work — and lots of jobs for the BSC," I said.

"Maybe too many," said Mal. "Since we're, you know, a little short-handed."

I nodded. Neither Mal nor I particularly wanted to talk about it. We were short-handed because one of the members of the club had quit not top long before. Stacey McGill, our treasurer, had just left the BSC — and her friends — for her boyfriend and his group of "more sophisticated" friends.

It was true. They were more sophisticated than most of us in a way. But it still hurt.

Quickly I said, "So what're we going to do about it? Get a new member of the BSC?"

"We could, I guess," Mal said. "But who? And where?"

We were quiet for a moment, thinking it over. At last we looked at each other and shook our heads.

"I vote we make this club business," Mal said. "Bring it up at the next meeting."

"Good idea," I said.

"Come play!" Claire shrieked.

"Okay." Mal suddenly grinned. She jumped up.

"Hey," I said. "Wait for me!"

We played freeze tag until Mal's mother came home.

Maybe I wasn't all that sophisticated. And maybe, I thought, making a dive for Mal, I didn't care if I ever was.

We often eat dinner a little later than most people, because my father works late. He was almost too late for dinner that night. We were just sitting down at the table when we heard the back door open.

"I'm home and a happy man!" he announced, pausing in the doorway of the dining room. He leaned over to give Sharon a quick kiss. "Just let me hang up my coat and put my briefcase…"

His voice trailed off as he hurried down the hall.

He was back in a minute. "Hmmm. Smells good. What's the entree?"

"Three-cheese macaroni," said Dawn. "It's a recipe I made up."

"Sounds great," said Dad. He sat down. He smoothed his napkin onto his lap. He picked up his fork.

We'd all started eating by then. It was a great dinner, California-vegetarian-Schafer style, with some Spier touches thrown in, such as the double garlic and onion toast I'd made.

I put chopped up little chunks of garlic and onion on top of the toast and it looked pretty good.

I waited for my dad to taste everything and talk about how delicious it was—something he almost always does.

But he just sat there, holding his fork, looking around the table.

I knew something was up.

I put down my fork. Was something wrong? But my dad looked pretty cheerful. And hadn't he just announced that he was a happy man?

So now two of us were holding our forks and not eating. Dad met my eyes and he grinned. He cleared his throat.

At almost exactly the same time, Sharon and Dawn looked up. Sharon put her fork down, too. Dawn stopped in mid-macaroni bite.

"Richard?" said Sharon. "What is it?"

My father cleared his throat again. "Yes. Well. I have some good news. Some outstanding news. Some excellent news."

"Richard!"

"Our law firm is merging with another firm — "

Sharon immediately looked relieved. "Oh, yes. I remember you'd talked about that being in the works."

"Yes. It's all set. It's a great opportunity for

us." My father was using his "lawyer" tone of voice now. I had to smile.

"Congratulations, Dad," I said.

"Super, Richard," said Dawn.

"Thank you, both of you." My father looked pleased. "I'll be traveling more, at least at first." He cleared his throat for a third time. "Beginning with a two-week trip to Cincinnati in July."

"Two weeks!" Sharon smiled at Dad. "Sounds important."

"It is," Dad said.

Sharon looked at Dawn and me. "Well, we can bach it," she said. She pronounced it "batch."

Dawn and I gave her puzzled looks, but my dad let out a shout of laughter. "I haven't heard that term in a long, long time," he said. "I think my grandfather used it."

" 'Bach' it?" asked Dawn.

"Make like bachelors. Be bachelor girls," explained Sharon.

It sounded pretty old-fashioned to me.

"Cool," Dawn said. "We'll order take-out food every night and stay up late and..."

I was beginning to get the picture. "And have wild parties!" I added.

Dad and Sharon looked at each other. I could see them making all kinds of "eye conversation," if you know what I mean.

"Sounds good to me," Dad said at last. He looked down at his plate as if he'd just discovered it was there. "Dinner!" he said. "I'm hungry!"

We all started laughing then.

Chapter 2.

"This meeting of the Baby-sitters Club will come to order," Kristy Thomas said.

"Who ordered the sour cream potato chips?" asked Claudia Kishi from the back of her closet.

"Me," said Mal, who was sprawled across Claudia's bed.

"Me, too," said Jessica Ramsey, aka Jessi, who was sitting on the floor next to the bed.

"Ahem," said Kristy, clearing her throat. I gave her a startled look. For a moment, she'd sounded just like my father.

"Here," said Claudia, backing out of the closet. "Now where are those jujubes?"

We started laughing, because Kristy, who was the one frowning at Claudia for not paying attention now that the meeting had come to order, was holding the jujubes.

"Okay, okay," said Kristy good-naturedly.

"Dues," said Dawn and we groaned. We

always do. It's practically a requirement — along with paying the dues! The dues cover BSC expenses and the occasional pizza blast.

It was Monday (and dues day), and it was 5:31, and we were in Claudia Kishi's room. The BSC meets three days a week, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, from five-thirty to six. That's when our clients call us to set up appointments. That's also when we take care of club business.

There are eight of us in all: me, Mallory, Claudia, Kristy, Jessi, Dawn, Shannon Kilbourne, and Logan. We weren't all there, though. Logan is an associate member and doesn't come to many meetings. (He does help us out, though, when we can't fit a job into our schedules or have too many jobs to handle.)

Kristy is the president of the BSC. That's not only because she's the world's most organized person (more organized than my father, even) but also because the BSC was her brilliant idea.

It happened this way: one day Kristy was listening to her mother call baby-sitter after baby-sitter without success. That's when it hit her. What if a person could call just one phone number and reach several experienced sitters?

That's how the Baby-sitters Club got started. At first it was just four of us: Kristy, me, Claudia, and Claudia's new friend Stacey McGill, but the idea caught on and we soon had to expand. Now, even with eight of us, there's plenty of work. And plenty of room for Kristy's organizational talents. Today the BSC, tomorrow the world.