Ann Martin - Mallory On Strike

"I never seem to get any privacy at home, and the deadline for Young Authors Day is less than two weeks away. I've just got to fin-

ish my story. My schedule doesn't even allow me to take a phone call, let alone a baby-sitting job."

"What schedule?" Kristy asked.

"The one I made up on Tuesday."

At first I had thumbtacked the schedule to my bulletin board, but then I discovered I needed to carry it with me all the time so I would know what I was supposed to do next. It was in my back pocket.

"Here," I said, unfolding it and handing it to Kristy. "I've got something planned for every minute that I'm awake."

Kristy scanned it and then looked up at me. "Where's your time for baby-sitting?"

I pointed to the days and squares that I had marked. "It's all there. See? I scheduled the jobs I'm signed up for."

"What about new jobs?"

Uh-oh. "I guess I didn't think about new jobs." I refolded the schedule and stuffed it back into the pocket of my jeans.

Once again Kristy exchanged serious looks with Mary Anne and the others. "You know, Mal, it's really important that we all be available to take jobs," she said. "If no one's free, then people will stop calling."

"I know that," I mumbled. "But my story ..."

I didn't finish my sentence. I think my

friends knew how important the story was to me. But the BSC was also important, and they wanted to make sure I didn't forget it.

There was another one of those awful silences where no one, especially me, knew where to look. Then finally the numbers on the clock clicked over and Claud, who had managed to devour nearly an entire bag of M&M's, said, "Six o'clock!"

Kristy nodded her head. "Then this meeting of the Baby-sitters Club is officially adjourned."

"Monday is dues day, everybody," Stacey reminded us, as we gathered up our purses and notebooks. "Don't forget to bring your money next time."

Jessi and I walked down the hall. We didn't talk. I could tell she was waiting for me to tell her what was wrong, but I didn't know where to start.

I felt awful. I wasn't being a good club member. I had broken one of the first rules of the BSC by being late. Instead of apologizing, I'd been resentful that I'd had to go to the meeting. A little voice inside my head wondered if maybe I should take a leave of absence. Just for awhile, until Young Authors Day was over. But I was too afraid to bring it up. Kristy had not reacted well to my being late, and she'd been upset when I turned down the two jobs.

I was afraid she might suggest I quit the club altogether.

I decided to keep my mouth shut and not mention the thought to anyone. Not even to Jessi.

Chapter 7.

"Watch me ride the pony!" five-year-old Suzi Barrett cried, as she galloped past me into the Barretts' living room.

Her brother, Buddy, who is eight, followed close on her heels, shouting, "I'm the sheriff. And I'm going to arrest you for speeding!" Buddy was wearing his cowboy hat, a T-shirt, and jeans.

Mrs. Barrett had scheduled this sitting job two weeks earlier. Otherwise I would have been at home, working on my" story. Instead, I was spending the afternoon with the Impossible Three.

Dawn had given the Barrett kids that nickname when she first started sitting for them because they were so out of control. But the problem turned out to be Mrs. Barrett, who had gone through kind of a tough divorce. She was so busy trying to find a job and straighten out her own life that she didn't

have much time or energy for her children.

Actually, the Barrett kids are really nice, but when the three of them get excited and want to play, disastrous things can happen.

I was sitting on the bottom step of the stairs in their foyer, trying to put shoes on two-year-old Marnie. She was wiggling all over and calling, "Play!" every time her brother and sister ran by us. I had just managed to tie Mamie's left shoe when I heard a loud crash from the kitchen.

"Uh-oh," I heard Suzi say.

"You're going to get it!" Buddy yelled.

I raced for the kitchen. Suzi met me in the doorway, her round tummy sticking out from under her T-shirt. Her eyes looked huge. "Buddy knocked over that bag of white stuff."

"Did not!" Buddy shouted. "It was Suzi!"

"Did too!" Suzi shot back. "You hit the bag when you ran by."

"What bag . . . ?" My voice trailed off as I stepped into the kitchen. The floor was covered in a fine white powder. "Flour," I said with a groan. "It's everywhere."

Suzi grabbed my leg and cried, "I didn't do it."

I tried to hide my irritation by saying, "It doesn't matter who did it, Suzi. Why don't we just clean it up?"

Marnie toddled into the room then and clapped her hands together in glee. "Snow!"

Before I could stop her, she ran onto the flour, slid, and fell flat on her back. The fall took her by surprise, so for a second she didn't cry. Then she opened her mouth and a loud wail filled the room.

"Buddy!" 1 cried. "Get a broom and a dustpan, will you? Suzi, help your brother, please, while I take care of Marnie."

I skated my way through the slippery flour, picked up Marnie, then inched over to the nearest chair and sat down.

"That was pretty scary, wasn't it?" I whispered. She nodded her head, then rubbed her hand across her eyes, leaving behind a white streak.

"I'm a good helper!" Suzi exclaimed, as she entered the kitchen with Buddy. "Watch me clean up."

She and her brother were struggling with a large red plastic bucket. I realized, too late, that it was full of water. I tried to stand up, but Marnie, who was still on my lap, had grabbed the phone cord and I fell back on the chair.

"Don't put that water on the floor!" I cried feebly.

"Don't worry," Buddy reassured me. "We know what we're doing." Then he emptied

the entire bucket onto the linoleum. "This is how Mom scrubs the floor."

I gasped in dismay as the water spread like a miniature tidal wave across the spilled flour. Buddy began pushing the mop back and forth furiously, and within seconds the mop head was choked with clumps of thick, white paste.

A loud bark came from the back door and Suzi yelled, "Pow wants to come in!" She opened the door and the Barretts' droopy old basset hound charged into the kitchen. He promptly skidded into the mess and covered himself in goo. Then he lumbered to his feet and shook his floppy ears from side to side, spraying bits of flour paste everywhere.

I managed to untangle myself from the phone cord. Then I set Marnie firmly on the chair, stood up, and cried, "Buddy! Suzi! Stop that right now!"

I didn't mean to speak so loudly, but I had to stop them that instant. And I did. Buddy let go of the mop and it clattered to the floor. Suzi, who had been dancing around, trying to avoid getting her feet in the water, was so startled, she sat down in a big glob of sticky flour. Marnie stopped crying in midsob.

Buddy looked at me in confusion. "What'd I do wrong?"

I took a deep breath. "Buddy, you didn't do anything wrong. Neither did you, Suzi. You

were both being very good helpers, but you can't clean up flour with water and a mop."

Suzi just stared at me with a worried frown on her forehead.

"What I mean is," I explained, "maybe this is a job for me to do. You two have helped enough."

"We have?" Suzi's round face spread into a big smile. "Good."

"Can I go outside and ride my bicycle?" Buddy asked.

"Okay," I said, helping Suzi to her feet. "But be careful of cars, stay close by, and take Pow with you."

"All right!" Buddy was out the back door in a flash. I was relieved to have to deal with only two children and the gigantic mess.

Suzi agreed to take her clothes off in the laundry room, then go upstairs and change. Luckily Mamie hadn't gotten too much flour on her, so I was able to brush her off. I sat her in her high chair, put some Cheerios and some raisins on the tray, and then started working on the kitchen floor.