Ann Martin - Jessi Ramsey, Petsitter

I took the leashes from the hooks and before I could even call the dogs, they came bounding into the kitchen.

"Okay, you guys. Ready for a walk?" I asked. (Dumb question. They were dying for a walk.)

I snapped their leashes on and they pulled me to the front door. "Come on!" I called to Becca and Mallory, who were still talking to Frank. "The dogs can't wait!"

Becca and Mallory clattered after me. As we ran through the doorway and down the steps, Mal asked, "Can we help you walk them? We could each take one leash."

"Thanks," I replied, "but I better do it myself. Besides, they're used to being walked together. You can hold onto them while I lock the door, though."

So Mallory took the leashes from me while I locked the Mancusis' door. Then she handed them back, and we set off down the street —

at a fast pace, thanks to Cheryl and her very long legs.

"Keep your eye on Pooh Bear," I told Becca and Mal. "She's the troublemaker."

"The little one?" exclaimed Becca.

"Yup," I said. "For instance, up ahead is . . . Oh, no, it's a cat! For a moment I thought it was just a squirrel, but a cat's worse. Pooh Bear might — OOF!"

Pooh Bear had spotted the cat, who was sunning itself at the end of a driveway. She jerked forward with a little bark, straining at the leash. Jacques spotted the cat next, and then Cheryl, although Cheryl doesn't care about cats. Anyway, the cat heard the barking, woke up, saw the dogs, and fled down the driveway.

"Hold it, you guys!" I yelled to the dogs. Pooh Bear and Jacques were practically dragging me down the street. Cheryl, too. She always likes a good run.

"We'll help you, Jessi!" I heard my sister cry. A few moments later, she and Mallory grabbed me around the waist. They pulled back so hard that the dogs stopped short, and all of us — dogs, Mal, Becca, and I — fell to the ground. When us humans began to laugh, the dogs started licking our faces.

It took several minutes to sort ourselves out

and stop laughing, but finally we were on our feet and walking again. Things went smoothly after that.

"I never knew dog-walking was so hard," commented Becca.

"It's only hard when you're walking Pooh Bear, Jacques, and Cheryl," I told her. "And when they're in the mood for cat-chasing."

We returned to the Mancusis' and I let the d6gs inside and hung their leashes up. "Okay," I said, "feeding time."

"Puh-lease can I feed some of the animals?" begged Becca. "Even though it's your job? I'll be really good and careful."

"We-ell . . . okay," I said, relenting. "You have to follow instructions exactly, though, okay?"

"Yes, yes, yes! Okay!" Becca was so excited she began jumping up and down.

"All right. You can feed the guinea pigs, the rabbits, and the cats. Let me show you what to do."

I gave Becca instructions, and then Mal came with me while I fed the other animals. I started with the dogs because they absolutely cannot wait, and they are gigantic pains when they're hungry.

"Well," said Mallory, as I spooned dog food

into Cheryl's dish, "What do you think about the elections?"

I groaned. "Please. Do we have to talk about them?"

"I think we better."

"I know. You're right. I was just trying to ... I don't know what. Oh well. Hey, Mal, you're not thinking of quitting, are you?" The idea had just occurred to me and it was an awful one, but if Mal and I refused to take sides, would we feel forced to quit the club?

"Thinking of quitting?!" exclaimed Mal. "No way. No one's going to get rid of me that easily. . . . But the meetings are pretty uncomfortable."

"I'll say," I agreed.

"And how are we going to vote Saturday?" wondered Mallory.

"Well, I guess," I began slowly. "Let me think. Okay, there are four offices — president, vice-president, secretary, and treasurer. And you and I are going to remain junior officers, so it'll be the same four girls running for the same four offices."

"Right," agreed Mallory.

I finished feeding the dogs, rinsed off the spoon I'd used, changed the water in their bowls, and moved onto the bird cages.

"Yesterday I was thinking," I told Mallory, "that if we vote Kristy out of her office — if we make her secretary or something — she'll be mad at us, which won't be good. I mean, I'll always think of the club as hers, whether she's president or not, because it was her idea and she started it. And I don't want her mad at us. On the other hand, if we vote for Kristy for president, all the other girls will be mad at us, and that won't be good, either. It almost doesn't matter how we vote for Mary Anne and Dawn and Claudia, but where Kristy is concerned, we lose either way."

"Wait a sec," Mal cut in. "Won't the voting be secret?"

"It should be, but even if it is, everyone will figure out who voted for whom. People always do."

"Oh, brother," said Mallory. "You're right. And I just thought of something even worse. If enough feelings are hurt by the voting, the club could break up. It really could. Then what?"

"I don't know," I said, heading for the hamster cage. "I hadn't even thought of that."

Mal and I peered in at the hamsters.

"Do they always sleep in a pile?" asked Mallory.

"Pretty much," I replied. "Except for that one. I pointed to the one in the corner. "He

sleeps by himself, and you know, I think he's fatter than he was a few days ago. I'm getting worried about him."

"Well, at least he's eating," said Mal.

"Maybe he's gotten too fat to move," I kidded, but I didn't try to smile at my joke. I was too worried. I was worried about the hamster, and worried about our special Saturday meeting.

Mal and Becca and I finished feeding the animals and changing their water. Becca played with the cats again and then it was time to leave.

"Good-bye, Cheryl! Good-bye, Ling-Ling!" Becca called. " 'Bye, Barney!' 'Bye, Fluffer-Nut!' 'Bye, Frank!' "

"Awk!" squawked Frank. "Tiny little tea leaves!"

Chapter 9.

Kristy might have been bossing Jackie around? I'll say she bossed him! The good thing is that I think she learned something from Jackie. Let me start back at the beginning of the afternoon, though, when Kristy first arrived at the Rodowskys'.

Ding-dong.

"Rowf! Rowf-rowf!" Bo, the Rodowskys' dog, skidded to a halt at the door and waited for someone to come open it so he could see who was on the other side. A moment later, the door was opened by Jackie himself.

"Hi, Kristy," he said gloomily.

"Good afternoon, Eeyore," Kristy replied with a smile.

"Huh?" said Jackie.

"You look like Eeyore. You know, the sad donkey from Winnie-the-Pooh."

"Oh."

"What's wrong?"

"I'll tell you later. Come on in."

Kristy stepped inside. She took a good look at Jackie's sad face. He's got this shock of red hair and a faceful of freckles. When he grins, you can see that he's missing teeth (he's only seven), so he looks a little like Alfred E. Neuman from Mad magazine. You know,

"What, me worry?" But not that day. Jackie wasn't smiling.

"My brothers are at their lessons," Jackie informed Kristy, "Dad's at work, and Mom's going to a meeting."

Kristy nodded. That often happens. Jackie doesn't take any lessons because he's too accident-prone. He's our walking disaster. When Jackie's around, things just seem to happen. Vases fall, dishes break, earrings disappear. Things happen to Jackie, too. He falls or breaks things or loses things. Which is why he doesn't take lessons anymore. He tried to, but there were too many accidents when he was around.

Mrs. Rodowsky came downstairs then, and Kristy greeted her and listened to her instructions for the afternoon. Then Mrs. Rodowsky kissed Jackie good-bye and left.

"So," said Kristy, "what's up, Jackie? You look like you have a big problem."