Ann Martin - Kristy's Great Idea

Kristy's Great Idea

Ann M. Martin

CHAPTER ONE

The Baby-sitters Club. I'm proud to say it was totally my idea, even though the four of us worked it out together. "Us" is Mary Anne Spier, Claudia Kishi, Stacey McGill, and me — Kristy Thomas.

I got the idea on the first Tuesday afternoon of seventh grade. It was a very hot day. It was so hot that in my unair-conditioned school,StoneybrookMiddle School , the teachers had opened every single window and door and turned off all the lights. My hair stuck damply to the back of my neck, and I wished I had a rubber band so I could pull it into a long ponytail. Bees flew into the classroom and droned around our heads, and Mr. Redmont, our teacher, let us stop working to make fans out of construction paper. The fans didn't do much except keep the bees away, but it was

nice to take up ten minutes of social studies making them.

Anyway, that stifling afternoon dragged on forever, and when the hands of the clock on the front wall of our classroom finally hit2:42 and the bell rang, I leaped out of my seat and shouted, "Hurray!" I was just so glad that it was time to get out of there. I like school and everything, but sometimes enough is enough.

Mr. Redmont looked shocked. He was probably thinking he'd been so nice letting us make fans and there I was, not appreciating it at all, just glad the day was over.

I felt bad, but I couldn't help what I'd done. I'm like that. I think of something to say, and I say it. I think of something to do, and I do it. Mom calls it impulsive. Sometimes she calls it trouble. But she doesn't just mean trouble. She means trouble.

And I was in trouble then. I could sense it. I've been in enough trouble to know when it's coming.

Mr. Redmont cleared his throat. He was trying to think of a way to punish me without humiliating me in front of the other kids. Things like that are important to him.

"Kristy," Mr. Redmont began, and then he changed his mind and started over. "Class," he said, "you have your homework assign-

ments. You may go. Kristy, I'd like to see you for a minute."

While the rest of the kids gathered up their books and papers and left the room, talking and giggling, I made my way up to Mr. Redmont's desk. Before he could say a word, I began apologizing to him. Sometimes that helps.

"Mr. Redmont," I said, "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean anything. I mean, I didn't mean I was glad school was over. I meant I was glad I could go home. Because my house is air-conditioned. ..."

Mr. Redmont nodded. "But do you think, Kristy, that it would be possible, in the future, for you to conduct yourself with a bit more decorum?"

I wasn't sure of the exact meaning of decorum, but I had a pretty good idea it meant not spoiling Mr. Redmont's day by jumping up and shouting hurray when the bell rang.

"Yes, sir," I said. Sometimes being polite also helps.

"Good," said Mr. Redmont. "But I want you to remember this incident, and the best way for us to remember things is to write them down. So tonight, I would like you to write a one-hundred-word essay on the importance of decorum in the classroom."

Darn. I'd have to find out what decorum meant after all.

"Yes, sir," I said again.

I went back to my desk, gathered up my books very slowly, and then walked very slowly out of the classroom. I hoped Mr. Redmont was noticing the slowness because I was betting it was an important part of decorum.

I found Mary Anne Spier waiting for me outside the door to my classroom. She was leaning against the wall, biting her nails.

Mary Anne is my best friend. We live next door to each other. We even look a little alike. We're both small for our age and we both have brown hair that falls past our shoulders. But that's where the similarity ends, because 1 can't keep my mouth shut, and Mary Anne is very quiet and very shy. Luckily, that's only on the outside. The people who know her well, like Claudia and Stacey and me, get to see the inside of her, and the Mary Anne who's hiding in there is a lot of fun.

"Hey," I greeted her. I pulled her hand out of her mouth and looked at her nails. "Mary Anne! How do you ever expect to be able to wear nail polish if you keep doing that?"

"Oh, come on," she said with a sigh. "Nail

polish. I'll be seventy-five before my father lets me wear it."

Mary Anne's father is the only family she's got. Her mother is dead, and she has no brothers or sisters. Unfortunately, her father is pretty strict. My mother says it's just because Mr. Spier is nervous since Mary Anne is all he's got. You'd think, though, that he could let her wear her hair down instead of always in braids, or give her permission to ride her bike to the mall with Claudia and me once in a while. But, no. At Mr. Spier's house it's rules, rules, rules. It's a miracle that Mary Anne was even allowed to become a member of the Baby-sitters Club.

We walked out of school, and suddenly I began running. I forgot all about decorum, because I'd just remembered something else. "Oh, my gosh!" I cried.

Mary Anne raced after me. "What is it?" she panted.

"It's Tuesday," I called over my shoulder.

"So? Slow down, Kristy. It's too hot to run."

"I can't slow down. Tuesday is my afternoon to watch David Michael. I'm supposed to beat him home. Otherwise he gets home first and has to watch himself."

David Michael is my six-year-old brother.

My big brothers, Charlie and Sam, and I are each responsible for him one afternoon a week until Mom gets home from work. Kathy, this fifteen-year-old girl who lives a few blocks from us, watches him the other two afternoons. Kathy gets paid to watch him. Charlie and Sam and I don't.

Mary Anne and 1 ran all the way home. We reached my front yard, sweaty and out of breath. And there was David Michael, sitting forlornly on the front steps, his dark curls falling limply across his forehead.

He burst into tears as soon as he saw us.

"What's wrong?" 1 asked. I sat down beside him and put my arm around his shoulders.

"I'm locked out," he wailed.

"What happened to your key?"

David Michael shook his head. "I don't know." He wiped his eyes, hiccuping.

"Well," 1 said, "it's all right." I got my own key out of my purse.

David Michael burst into fresh tears. "No, it's not! It's not all right. I couldn't get in and I have to go to the bathroom."

I unlocked the door. When David Michael gets like this, it's best just to sort of ignore his tears and pretend everything is fine.

Mary Anne and I held the door open for him and I ushered him into the bathroom. Our

collie Louie tore outside as we went in. He was frantic to get outdoors after being locked in the house since breakfast time.

"While you go to the bathroom," I told David Michael, "I'm going to fix us some lemonade, okay?"

David Michael actually smiled. "Okay!"

I'm good with children. So is Mary Anne. Mom says so. Both of us get lots of afternoon and weekend baby-sitting jobs. In fact, I'd been offered a job for that afternoon, but I had to turn it down because of David Michael.

That reminded me. "Hey," I said to Mary Anne as I turned on the air conditioning, "Mrs. Newton asked me to baby-sit for Jamie this afternoon. Didn't she call you after she called me?"

Mary Anne sat down at the kitchen table and watched me put lemonade mix in a big glass pitcher. She shook her head. "No. Maybe she called Claudia."

Claudia Kishi lives across the street from me. She and Mary Anne and I have lived onBradford Court since we were born. We've grown up together, but somehow Claudia has never spent as much time with us as Mary Anne and I have spent with each other. For one thing, Claudia's really into art and always off at art classes, or else holed up in her room

painting or drawing. Or reading mysteries. That's her other passion. She's much more grown-up than Mary Anne and I. When we were little, Mary Anne and I were always playing school or dolls or dress-up, but we practically had to brainwash Claudia to get her to join us. A lot of the time, we just didn't bother, but Claud's always been good for a bike ride or going to the movies or the community pool. As far as I'm concerned, one of the best things about Claudia is that her father isn't Mr. Spier. Mr. Kishi can be strict about Claudia's schoolwork, but he doesn't faint if you suggest going downtown for a Coke or something.