Ann Martin - Jessi's Babysitter

"What?" asked Becca.

"Aunt Dictator."

While Mama and Daddy were out, Aunt Cecelia left Squirt in his high chair (when I baby-sit, I play with him; it's much more stimulating for him) and prepared a salad for lunch, and also began preparing dinner. Aunt Cecelia was so busy cooking that she hadn't gotten around to cleaning up Squirt yet.

"Aunt Di — I mean, Aunt Cecelia," I said, entering the kitchen, "Becca and I are going to take Squirt for a walk." (After I wash his face and hands, I thought.)

I was all dressed. And my hair was tidy. Aunt Cecelia wouldn't be able to find anything to complain about.

"Where are you going to take him?" she asked.

"Just up and down the street like we always do." I paused, then added, "I put him in his stroller and strap him in, and I never let him lean over and touch the wheels because he might get hurt."

Aunt Dictator looked outside. "Too cloudy," she announced.

I nearly exploded, but instead I said, "Okay. Then I'm going over to Mallory Pike's house."

"Who's Mallory?" my aunt asked.

"You met her once," I told her. "She's my best friend."

"Where does she live?"

"Nearby. I can ride my bike to her house."

"I don't think so." Aunt Dictator shook her head slowly. "No, I don't think so. I'm in charge now, and it looks like rain. The roads will get too slippery for bicycles."

That did it. I turned around and stomped out of the kitchen.

"Walk like a lady!" Aunt Cecelia called after me.

I didn't answer her. (But I did stop stomping.) Who did Aunt Cecelia think she was? Oh, yeah. My baby-sitter.

I ran upstairs to Becca's room. My poor sister had followed me to the kitchen before, but when she saw how unreasonable Aunt Ce-celila was being, she had escaped back to her room. Becca is a little shy and very sensitive to criticism, so she wasn't about to face Aunt Cecelia until she thought the arguing was over.

"Becca," I said, "you can stop hiding out. I've got an idea. It's time to start our Aunt Cecelia project."

I whispered into Becca's ear, and she began to giggle. By the time Mama and Daddy returned, my sister and I had been hard at work. We had short-sheeted Aunt Dictator's bed. We'd filled one of her slippers with Daddy's

shaving cream. We'd arranged a realistic rubber spider on her pillow and covered it with the bedspread.

Her room looked normal, but we knew better. Our only worry: Mama and Daddy couldn't see what we'd done, but when Aunt Dictator put on her slippers or got into bed, what would happen?

Would Mama and Daddy see how unfair our new sitter was? Would they give Aunt Cecelia a talking-to? Or would Becca and I just be in an awful lot of trouble?

Surprisingly, none of the above happened. At eleven o'clock that night, Aunt Cecelia was reading in bed. Mama stuck her head into the room to thank her for making her life so much easier. And all Aunt Cecelia said was, "You're welcome," even though she must have found the shaving cream and the spider. And she must have had to make her bed up again.

I did not know what to think of that.

Chapter 7.

"Good-bye, Mama! Good luck!" I called.

"Have fun at work!" Becca added.

It was the next morning, and Mama and Daddy were leaving for their jobs together. I felt like I was sending Mama off to her first day of kindergarten.

My parents' cars rolled down the driveway. It was time for Becca and me to hustle or we'd be late for school.

"Take care of Squirt," Becca said seriously to Aunt Dictator, strapping her backpack on and picking up her lunch box.

"Yeah," I said. "Remember, he's allowed to watch Sesame Street, and he always needs an afternoon nap and usually a morning nap, too. And he likes to take a bottle of water to bed with him. Oh, and — "

Suddenly I stopped talking. Whoa. If looks could kill.

"Jessica," said my aunt crisply. "I raised children of my own."

You didn't raise Squirt, I thought.

I was not in a good mood by the time I left for school.

But when I came home that afternoon, I was in a much better frame of mind. I'd gotten an A- on a math test, I'd scored three baskets during gym, my creative-writing teacher had said he was impressed with the story I was working on, and I had a full (and Aunt Cecelia-free) afternoon ahead of me. I was supposed to baby-sit at the Rodowskys' and then go to the Monday BSC meeting.

I bounced through our front door. "Hello!" I called.

"SHHH!" was Aunt Cecelia's reply. "Your brother's asleep."

"Now?" I said. "He's usually awake by this time."

"Well, he isn't today."

Auntie Dictator, Auntie Dictator, Auntie Dictator, I sang to myself.

I put away my backpack, changed my clothes quickly, and dashed into the kitchen for a fast snack. I had to be at the Rodowskys' soon.

Aunt Cecelia was working at the stove when

I came in. I opened the refrigerator and surveyed the snack possibilities.

"Snack's on the table," said Aunt Cecelia, without turning around to look at me. (I think some adults actually do have eyes behind their heads. The eyes are just hidden by their hair, that's all.)

I looked at the table.

Milk and cookies. Kid stuff.

"I usually have a sandwich," I said, opening the fridge again.

"Not this close to dinner, you don't. You'll spoil your appetite."

"But I do get to eat a sandwich. Mama lets me. We eat lunch really early. Before it's even twelve o'clock."

"Two cookies," said Aunt Cecelia.

"I'll pass," I told her. "I'll eat at Jackie's house."

"Jackie? Who's Jaekie? Not a boy, I hope."

"As a matter of fact, Jackie is a boy."

"Well, you are certainly not spending the afternoon with a boy."

"Aunt Cecelia, he's seven years old. I babysit for him."

My aunt was about to protest when Becca came home, as starving as I was. She also requested a sandwich and got two measly cookies instead. Since she ate hers, I ate mine

after all. (Oh, I think I forgot to mention that the cookies weren't anything fun, like chocolate chip. They were oat-bran bars.)

"Okay," I said, jumping up from the table. "Gotta go! I'll be at the Rodowskys' until a little after five. Then I'll be at Claudia Kishi's for our Baby-sitters Club meeting."

"Wait a minute," said Aunt Cecelia. "Where are you going?"

"To the Rodowskys' and then to Claudia's."

"I don't know those people."

"But I do."

"But I can't let you go running off to strange places."

"They aren't strange!"

"They are to me."

"Aunt Cecelia, you don't understand. This sitting job is my responsibility. I baby-sit all the time. You have to let me go."

"I don't have to let you do anything," said Aunt Dictator. "Besides, you are my responsibility now. I'm in charge while your parents are out. If anything happens to you, I'm — "

"I know. You're responsible," I said. "But I have a commitment. I told the Rodowskys a week ago that I would baby-sit this afternoon. They're counting on me. And a good baby-sitter never lets her clients down. Unless there's an emergency," I added.

Aunt Cecelia looked thoughtful.

"You can call Mama or Daddy at work and tell them what my plans are. They'll say I can go. This is my schedule. And these are my responsibilities."

"All right/' said Aunt Cecilia at last. "What time will you be home?"

"Ten after six. Baby-sitters Club meetings always end at six o'clock. Then I ride my bicycle home."

Aunt Cecelia nodded. "Very well, then."

I made a dash for the door — for two reasons. 1.1 was about to be late. 2.1 didn't want Aunt Dictator to change her mind.

I had to speed to the Rodowskys'. I was glad Aunt Cecelia couldn't see me. I didn't break any laws, but I nearly broke my head riding over a curb. I arrived at Jackie's house in one piece, though.