Ann Martin - Jessi's Wish

back. That's okay, too. I don't want to leave the Baby-sitters Club permanently."

"I don't know what to say," exclaimed Mr. Katz. He paused. "How about a trial period to see how this works out? It has to be right for you, too."

"That sounds great."

Mr. Katz and I agreed that I would give him a hand at the next four meetings of the Kids Club. If we were happy — and if the kids were happy — then I would stay on until Ms. Simon returned, which might be as soon as a month.

And this was what prompted Becca to say I'd saved her life. She could barely believe that the Kids Club might survive after all.

"It's no guarantee," I warned her.

"I know. But it's two more weeks. Besides, you'll be great, Jessi!"

"It'll definitely be fun," I agreed.

I was prepared for the Saturday emergency meeting of the BSC.

Kristy had called the special meeting for two o'clock in the afternoon. I guess everyone was as excited as I was about what we were going to be doing, because by one-thirty, the entire BSC had gathered in Claud's room and Kristy had called the meeting to order.

I looked around at the faces of my friends.

Everyone was beaming — Kristy, poised in the director's chair; Dawn, sitting backward in Claud's wooden desk chair, her chin resting on the top rung of the back; Mary Anne, Claud, and Stacey, in a row on Claud's bed; and Mal and I, sitting cross-legged on the floor. I waited expectantly for Kristy to speak.

"Okay," she said, grinning. "I have a feeling I don't really need to ask this question, but did everyone here look into volunteering?"

"Yes!" we replied. (We wouldn't have shown up so early otherwise.)

"Great. Well, let's just take turns talking about what we found out. . . . I'll start. I mean, I am the president." (As if we could forget.) "Okay. There were so many things I could have done. Tutoring, teaching, I asked about the Big Sister organization. But then I remembered the day-care center in town. David Michael used to go there. Before he started school. It's a pretty nice place. It's for kids whose parents work. There's a program for babies, one for toddlers, one for preschoolers, and there's even an after-school program for kids up to ten. I remembered that they need volunteer helpers. So I signed up. I start next ·week."

"Cool," said Stacey. "What will you be doing?"

"I'm not sure exactly. I think I just observe

at first. Or maybe I help out wherever I'm needed. I'll know more on Wednesday." Kristy turned to Dawn. "Your turn/' she said.

Dawn straightened up. "I'm going to spend three afternoons each week at the Baker Institute. It's in Stamford, but that's okay. They provide transportation for the kids from Sto-neybrook who use the institute, so I'll just ride with them after school and come back with them at dinnertime. I can help out on the bus while I'm on it."

"What's the Baker Institute?" I asked.

"It's a program for kids who are physically disabled. Most of them are in wheelchairs. They have cerebral palsy and muscular dystrophy and stuff. When they're at Baker they get physical therapy and they can take part in lots of activities — art, creative writing, music, all kinds of things."

I had about a million questions (such as, "What's muscular dystrophy?"), but Kristy had already gone on to Stacey.

"Did you find out about the diabetes clinic?" she asked.

"Yup," said Stace. "I talked to my mom right away. She was really pleased that I want to volunteer. She gave me the name of the director, and I had a meeting with her the next afternoon. The clinic hasn't even opened yet, but already there's a long list of people who

have signed up for various programs. One of the programs is the one I told you about. Kids like me will talk with other kids who've recently found out they're diabetic. The director — her name is Miss Arnell — told me about two kids, an eight-year-old boy and a ten-year-old girl, who just got diagnosed. I'm supposed to phone them and talk to them and then spend some time with them. I think it'll be interesting but maybe hard. I remember how scared I was when the doctor first told me I had diabetes."

It came as no surprise to any of us that Claud was going to help teach an art class, as she'd hoped she might.

"It's at the community center," Claud explained. "They offer a lot of art classes. This is an after-school one for seven-year-olds — "

"Wait a sec," interrupted Mallory. "When does it meet?"

"Tuesday and Friday afternoons."

Mallory began to laugh. "I think Margo's taking that class."

"Great!" exclaimed Claud.

"Here's more good news," said Kristy. "I think Karen's signed up, too!"

"I'll be prepared," said Claud.

Mary Anne was going to be doing something different from the rest of us. "I won't be working at an organization or a community

center," she began. "See, my dad and Dawn's mom are friends with this couple who have a little boy who's brain damaged. They need people to come over to their house and work with their son, plus help out with their two other kids. I guess Frankie — that's the boy — is almost a full-time job."

Mal was next. "There's a recreation program at the park," she said. "It's free. Kids can be part of it whenever they want to — after school, on weekends. All they have to do is show up. The counselors offer sports, and arts and crafts. Sometimes the triplets go. It's really nice for kids to have something to do. But the counselors need help."

I only spoke briefly. Everyone knew what I was going to say. After all, the Kids Club was what had started our "mission."

"This is really great," said Kristy, after I'd talked about meeting Mr. Katz. "There's just one thing."

"Uh-oh. What?" said Stacey.

"What Dawn said before. Our regular clients. Club meetings. We still have to decide what we're going to do for the next month or so. I don't want to sound . . . you know. But we worked so hard to make our club successful. What if we put ourselves out of business?"

I almost told Kristy she was overreacting, until I thought about the problem. We had

worked hard to be successful. People counted on us. They expected to be able to reach us during meetings.

"Wait a sec," spoke up Claud. "I know we're going to be busy, but the club doesn't have to stop. We have associate members, you know. Plus, we won't all be working seven days a week. My art class is on Tuesdays and Fridays. I can answer the phone on Mondays and Wednesdays."

"I could answer it on Fridays," I said.

We agreed to continue our meetings. Whoever could show up, would show up. We'd just have to be extra careful about scheduling jobs. And we'd have to rely on Logan and Shannon more than usual. (Kristy called them to make sure they didn't mind. And they didn't.)

"Well," said Kristy, getting to her feet, "next week should be interesting. I think this change will be good for us."

"And for a lot of other people," I added.

Chapter 5.

The room was crowded. And noisy. Sixteen kids can be awfully loud. Especially when school has just let out, and they're hungry and excited and I don't know what else. I tried to remember how it felt to be eight years old and at the end of a school day.

Was I supposed to be doing anything? I looked around the room.

Nicky Pike was standing on a chair, yelling to another boy to toss him this sneaker they were playing with. (I don't know who the sneaker belonged to. All the kids were wearing their shoes.)

In the back of the room, Vanessa Pike and two girls were practicing cheers they'd seen the high school cheerleaders perform.

Two other girls were chasing a boy around the room. The boy tripped over a chair and fell — and the girls tackled him. "Cowa-bunga!" they yelled.

In the midst of all this, my sister was seated at a desk. Charlotte Johanssen was seated next to her. The two of them were poring over something in one of their schoolbooks. They weren't even aware of the pandemonium that surrounded them. They must have great powers of concentration.