Ann Martin - Jessi's Babysitter

"That's kind of the way it is with Jackie, too," I said thoughtfully. "He's not stupid. He's smart. And he's kind and funny and a lot of other nice things. But he's a klutz, and that's how most people see him. So he has to

work twice as hard to prove himself."

Silence. Then Aunt Cecelia, looking pained, said, "As long as we're bearing our souls, I confess something else. I was afraid I wouldn't be as good a sitter as you, Jessi."

"You were?" That was the last thing I'd expected to hear. "But you blamed me when Becca was stranded on the island."

"I know, but I shouldn't have. I needed something or someone to blame for that tragedy, and you were it. But I know you've been taking care of your brother and sister — not to mention all the kids you sit for — for quite awhile now, and you're an expert. I wasn't sure I could live up to you.

"On the other hand," Aunt Cecelia continued, her voice changing, growing stronger, "there's a little matter I need to mention to your parents. I think I've kept quiet about it long enough now, don't you?"

Dum da-dum dum. The practical jokes.

Becca and I nodded, but we couldn't look at anyone, not even at each other. We stared into our cups.

"What is it?" asked Daddy warily.

"Ever since I got here," Aunt Cecelia replied, "from the very beginning, I've found spiders — fake ones — in my bed, shaving cream in my shoes, and more, plenty more."

"Girls," said Mama warningly.

"Well, we were mad. She was already taking over. She was our &a&i/-sitter, ordering us around/ making up rules. I don't need a sitter!" I cried. "I am a sitter. And a good one . . . like Aunt Cecelia said," I couldn't help pointing out. This time I looked directly at my aunt and held her gaze.

"Okay. Obviously we've got some problems to work out," said Daddy. He turned to his sister. "Cecelia, I understand that you feel responsible for the girls, but they're used to certain things. For instance, Jessi never misses a meeting of the Baby-sitters Club. Not unless she has a special dance rehearsal or there's an emergency. We don't withhold that privilege as a punishment. I think that from now on, the girls should tell their mother or me about any plans they have. They can do this daily or weekly; we'll see what works best. We'll approve — or not approve — their plans, and then we'll tell you their schedules. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough," replied Aunt Cecelia. I could see her relax a little.

"Fair enough?" Daddy asked Becca and me.

"Yup," we agreed.

"Furthermore, the girls should be allowed to do the things we already trust them to do —

fix their hair, choose their own clothes, that sort of thing," added Mama. "And perhaps," she went on, "it might be helpful if Cecelia is referred to simply as the children's aunt, not their sitter."

Aunt Cecelia smiled. "That sounds nice."

"Now," said Daddy, "there's a little matter of a punishment."

"A punishment?" squeaked Becca. "For who?"

"For whom," Aunt Cecelila corrected her gently.

"For you and your sister," Mama said sternly. "For spiders and shaving cream and I don't know what all."

"Just a moment," interrupted my aunt. "Could I speak to you in private?" she asked my parents.

"Of course," they replied.

Becca and I escaped then. We didn't know what was going on, but we were glad to get out of there. That night, I slept like, well, like Squirt!

Chapter 15.

Monday afternoon. Five-twenty-eight. Time for another BSC meeting.

We were all gathered. Kristy was sitting in the director's chair, visor on, pencil over her ear, watching Claud's digital clock, waiting for it to hit five-thirty on the nose.

Claudia was foraging for junk food.

My friends and I were dressed in typical outfits. Typical, but not necessarily traditional. For instance, Stacey was wearing tight black pants that reached just above her ankles, and sported a column of four silvery buttons at the bottoms. (The buttons were just for show, I think.) Over the pants she was wearing a long (past her knees) blue jacket made of soft material. Under that she was wearing a sleeveless blouse. Now that was unusual.

Claud was wearing a fake leopard-skin vest, a fairly tame blouse, and blue leggings. She had made her jewelry herself — five papier-

mache bracelets that were painted in soft desert colors.

Mary Anne and Dawn had traded outfits, which they do pretty often. That's one nice thing about having a stepsister who's your best friend and also about your size. They were both dressed colorfully, and trendily, but not as wildly as Claud and Stace.

Then there was Kristy in her jeans and tur-tleneck. And finally Mal and me, also in jeans, but wearing (if I do say so myself) pretty fresh sweat shirts. And Mal had been allowed to buy high-top sneakers with beaded designs on the sides!

Click. The clock turned to five-thirty.

"Order, please," said Kristy. "Treasurer, it's dues day."

Groan, groan, groan. We all produced our dues. Stacey counted the treasury money and looked pleased.

Before Kristy could even say, "Any club business?" the phone rang.

"Good sign!" she exclaimed, as Dawn answered it.

"Good afternoon, the Baby-sitters Club," said Dawn. Then, "Hi, Mrs. Newton. . . . Friday? I'll check and call you right back."

We arranged that job plus two others before things calmed down.

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Then Mal said, "Did everyone survive the science fair?"

"Just barely/' I replied.

"David Michael is ecstatic/' reported Kristy.

"Over an Honorable Mention?" asked Dawn. "Anyone who didn't win got an Honorable Mention."

Kristy smiled. "I know. That doesn't matter to David Michael, though. He's just thrilled with the idea of a prize — any prize. He wouldn't even leave the ribbon on his project at the fair. He brought it home on Friday night, slept with it, and carried it around with him on Saturday until Watson suggested having it mounted. Now it's hanging over his bed. You'd think it was the Pulitzer Prize."

"That's sweet," said Mary Anne. "I'm glad David Michael is so happy. You know, it's funny what these fairs do for different kids."

"Yeah," said Mal. "Margo's proud of her project, but not the Honorable Mention. It doesn't mean much to her. She just wants everyone to see Barbie on the moon."

"What about Charlotte?" I asked Stacey.

Stacey rolled her eyes. "Oh, wow. You should see her. She is in science heaven. She found out that the names of the three winners will appear in the Stoneybrook News. She's gotten a huge boost of self-confidence."

"Jackie's reaction is a little different from everyone else's," I spoke up. "He doesn't care about the Honorable Mention, either. But once he got over being humiliated when he couldn't answer the judges' questions, he returned to his usual self. He doesn't want me to help him with next year's project, though."

"I don't blame him," said Kristy.

"Neither do I," I answered.

Then I told the BSC members what had happened Friday night when my family and I had gotten home from the fair.

"What did your aunt want to talk to your parents about in private?" asked Claud.

"I have no idea. That was three days ago and I haven't heard a word about it. I'm afraid to ask."

"You don't think she's leaving, do you?" asked Mal suddenly.

I paused. Then I said, "Gosh. ... I don't know. I thought we'd worked everything out. We talked about how sometimes people take over when they just want to show they care. The way I did with Jackie and his project. And we set up some rules. No. I don't think she's leaving."

You know what was weird? Just then, a little part of me hoped she wasn't leaving. If she did, what would we do about Squirt while Mama

worked? And who would be around to care about me (not for me) in the afternoons? The thought surprised me.