Ann Martin - Kristy's Great Idea

Well, I thought, as I went to bed that night with Louie curled at my feet, at least I've got a new client. On Wednesday I'll get to meet Pinky and Buffy McKeever. New clients are always interesting.

If only I'd had some idea just how interesting they were going to be.

o,

'n Wednesday afternoon, I was all set for my first job through the Baby-sitters Club. I couldn't wait to meet Pinky and Buffy. I'd never sat for twins before. I wondered what it would be like. Would they play tricks on me? And what could Pinky and Buffy be nicknames for? I'd find out soon enough.

I walked over to Quentin Court right after I got home from school. I left a little early, just in case I had any trouble finding the Mc-Keevers' house. Mrs. McKeever had said the address was 52 Quentin Court. So I found the side of the street with the even-numbered addresses on it and started walking. There was 22 Quentin Court, 28 Quentin Court, 34, 40, 46, and sure enough, there was number 52.

I stood and looked at the house for a moment. It was a perfectly nice split-level, painted white

with neat black shutters. But something was wrong. What was it? After a moment it came to me.

There were no signs of children.

There were no toys in the yard or tricycles in the driveway, no sneakers on the front stoop or artwork in the windows. I hoped Pinky and Buffy weren't going to be boring children who wanted to spend the afternoon learning about butterflies or food groups or something.

My enthusiasm was beginning to wane just a little, but I took a deep breath and marched myself straight to the front door.

Ding-dong.

Silence. No running feet or shouts like I would hear when I rang the Newtons' bell.

After a few moments, the door was opened.

A plump, pleasant-looking young woman stood on the other side of the screen, smiling. Well, I thought, at least Pinky and Buffy's mother doesn't look boring.

"Hello?" she said.

"Hi, I'm Kristy Thomas. I'm here to babysit for Pinky and Buffy, the twins."

There was a pause, and then the woman said, "Yes. Won't you come in?"

I stepped inside into a very pretty room. But again, something seemed wrong, and it took me a moment to figure out what it was. Then

I realized. Pinky and Buffy must have been not only very boring three-year-olds, but very careful three-year-olds. The reason the room was so pretty was because it was full of glass and china — big Oriental vases, little glass statues, even plates that were displayed on delicate stands. Everything was breakable. In our house, what with David Michael and footballs and baseballs and friends coming over all the time, breakable stuff is practically against the law.

Then I saw that the area we were standing in — the foyer and the living room — was blocked off with baby gates. That explained the china, but it didn't seem to be very nice for Pinky and Buffy.

It also occurred to me that I couldn't hear any children's voices or giggling. Suddenly I began to feel suspicious. What had I gotten myself into? The McKeevers were strangers to me. Maybe I'd been lured into — No, that was silly. At breakfast that morning, when I'd told my mother where I would be after school, she'd just raised an eyebrow. She hadn't said, Don't go, Kristy. We'll never see you again!

I smiled brightly at the woman. "So," I said. "Where are Pinky and Buffy?"

"Oh, they're in the laundry room," she replied.

The laundry room? Were they being punished? I'd gotten angry with David Michael a few times, but I'd never stuck him in the laundry room.

"Let me introduce myself," the woman went on. "I am Miss Hargreaves, Mrs. McKeever's niece. Mrs. McKeever is away for several days, which is why we need help with Pinky and Buffy. I have an important appointment this afternoon, and we find that we need someone with Pinky and Buffy at all times."

Well, if they were only three, what was she expecting?

"They're a bit unruly," Miss Hargreaves added.

"Ohhh," I said knowingly, wondering where the signs of unruliness were in the quiet house. "Well, that's okay. I know all about 'unruly.' I've got three brothers."

"Do you?"

I nodded. "Well, let's go let them out of the laundry room. They're probably ready to play. Maybe we could all take a walk to the brook."

"That would be lovely," replied Miss Hargreaves, "but it might be difficult for you to manage."

"Oh, I've had lots of experience."

"That's fine, then."

"Are Pinky and Buffy boys or girls?" I asked.

"Well, it doesn't much matter, of course — "

It doesn't?

"— but Buffy's a boy and Pinky's a girl."

"Oh, that's easy to remember," 1 said. I was trying to sound pleasant, but already I had a very bad case of the creeps.

"Here we are!" Miss Hargreaves announced. We were standing by a door next to the kitchen. "Now get ready. These two monsters of my aunt's will practically break the door down," she said affectionately.

My eyes opened wide. "They will?"

"Stand back."

I stood back. I wished I could stand all the way back at my house.

Miss Hargreaves opened the door. Two huge, fluffy, drooling, barking Saint Bernards hurled themselves into the hall, almost knocking each other and Miss Hargreaves over.

I shrieked. "Do I have to take care of them, too?"

"Too?" repeated Miss Hargreaves. "Who else is going to help you?"

"No, I mean, do 1 have to watch them plus Pinky and Buffy?"

"Oh, my dear! Those are Pinky and Buffy!"

"But —but —" I sputtered. "I'm a babysitter, not a dog-sitter!"

Miss Hargreaves looked confused. "I don't

know what arrangements my aunt made," she said at last, "but here are the dogs, and here you are, and I have to leave."

"But — but — "

"Oh, it's not so difficult," she went on. "They need to be outside as much as possible. Our yard isn't fenced in, so you may either take them out on their leashes, or stay with them in the backyard. If you play with them, they won't run away. Now, their footballs are in the box by the back door, their leashes are hanging on the peg above, and at four-thirty they need their chow — a can apiece — and they can each have one Mailman Cookie as a treat. The emergency numbers are posted by the phone in the kitchen, just in case. Do you have any questions?"

I shook my head dazedly.

Buffy and Pinky leaped around, galumphing after Miss Hargreaves as she put on her coat and went out to meet the cab that had come to pick her up.

Shaking, I let the dogs out in the backyard, remembering to bring their footballs. I tossed a red football gingerly toward them as they ran ahead of me. I wasn't sure what they'd do with it. Louie usually runs halfheartedly after a football and then sort of forgets to fetch it.

Not those two. They dove for the ball,

crashing into each other. One of them got it away from the other, but I couldn't tell which one. They looked identical.

I got down on my knees and clapped my hands. "Okay, boy, bring it here!" 1 called, not caring whether the dog was Pinky or Buffy.

Whichever one it was came barreling straight toward me. I knew that game all right. Louie likes it, too. He runs for you, then turns at the last second and veers around you. You can almost see him grinning.

But not this dog. He ran right over me. I was lost in a whirl of fur and claws and playful woofs. You really haven't lived until a dog has stepped on your face.

I sat up and rubbed my cheeks and eyes. Nothing seemed to be bleeding, so I stood up shakily. I looked around.

Oh, no. The dogs were gone! I thought Miss Hargreaves had said they would stay in the yard with me. Maybe they didn't stay with people they'd practically knocked unconscious.

"Pinky!" I shouted. "Buffy!"

Nothing.

"Pink-eee/ Buff-eee/"