Ann Martin - Jessi And The Jewel Thieves

I smoothed my hair and followed her into the kitchen. We had sodas and talked to Mr. McGill for a little while, and then it was time for me to leave.

Stacey walked me downstairs and to the corner. "I'll get you a cab and give him Quint's address," she said. "When you get there, you pay him what it says on the meter, plus a tip, like fifteen percent."

I panicked. "How do I figure it out?" I asked.

"I usually just figure out what ten percent would be, like ten cents if it's a dollar. Then I add half again that much. So, like, another five cents would make fifteen cents, which is fifteen percent of a dollar. Get it?"

Math isn't my strongest subject, but I got the idea. I nodded.

"Then, when you're ready to leave, Quint

can put you in a cab back here. If you call me first I'll be waiting outside for you. Oh! There's a cab!" Stacey threw her arm up, and a cab veered out of the stream of traffic and stopped beside us. I was impressed. Stacey is so cool, she's chilly. (That's what my friends and I call anything that’s mega-cool.)

I hopped in and Stacey gave the driver Quinf s address. He pulled away before I even had time to say good-bye, so I just waved out the back window. As we drove along, I watched the scene on the street again, but I was a little distracted. It was getting awfully close to T-time: the time when I'd have my Talk with Quint. In my mind, so that the cab driver wouldn't think I was nuts, I started to rehearse the lines I'd worked out. "Quint," I'd say. "We need to talk. I like you a lot, and I'm glad we're friends, but — "

The cab screeched to a halt.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Isn't this the address your friend told me?" the driver asked.

I checked the building. "Oh, I guess it is," I said. I looked at the meter and was relieved to see a nice, even number. Six dollars. Ten percent of that would be sixty cents, and half again would make it ninety. I gave the driver seven dollars. "Keep the change," I said, feeling cosmopolitan and also a little pleased with my generosity, since I'd given him an extra dime.

"Thanks-have-a-nice-day," he droned, as if he said the same thing a thousand times a day and could hardly be bothered.

I stepped out, looked up at Quint's building, took a deep breath, and went inside.

The moment I saw Quint I felt less nervous. I really do like him a lot. He didn't kiss me or anything, either, which was a good thing since his little sister and brother, Morgan and Tyler, were standing right there. Morgan's six, and Tyler is nine. They would have teased the daylights out of us if Quint had acted like I was his girlfriend.

"Jessi," said Mrs. Walter, entering the room. "Nice to see you." She's soft-spoken and a little shy, but she seemed genuinely glad to see me. Quint's father came in, too. "Welcome," he said, smiling.

"Jessi! Jessi!" cried Morgan. "Watch what I can do!" She started to turn a cartwheel in the middle of the living room, which was not that huge. In fact, it’s both the living room and the dining room; a big dining table is in the back, near the kitchen. "Uh, Morgan," I said. "That’s nice, but — "I never know whether it’s a good idea to tell kids what to do when their parents are standing right there. I mean,

I don't want to act as if I'm in charge or anything, but I am used to taking care of kids and I know that things like cartwheels in the living room aren't a great idea.

"Not here, honey," said Mrs. Walter, to my relief. "That’s an outside trick."

Morgan looked pouty for a moment, but then she brightened. "I love your earrings," she said, looking at the fish-shaped silver ones I'd chosen to wear that night. "I have some jewelry in my room," she added, grabbing my hand. "Come on, I'll show you."

Tyler spoke up, too. "I have a new computer game," he said. "Want to see?"

I glanced at Quint, and he took over. "You guys," he said, "Jessi just got here. Anyway, 7 have something to show her, and she's my guest."

He led me to his room and showed me the program for his ballet recital. "Isn't this cool?" he said. "I feel like a real professional."

"I can't believe you almost didn't go to Juilliard," I said. Quint had had some doubts about being a dancer when I first met him. He loved ballet, but he didn't love all the teasing from boys who thought ballet was for sissies.

"I know," he replied. "If s the best thing that ever happened to me. And I owe it to you. You're the one who talked me into auditioning for the school." He smiled and

leaned toward me with a look in his eyes that made me draw in my breath.

I was about to say, "Quint, we have to talk — "

But just then, Mrs. Walters called to say that dinner was ready. Saved by the bell.

The table was beautifully set, the chicken stew we had was great, and the conversation at dinner was fun, but I still felt just a little uncomfortable around Quint’s family. I wanted them to like me, but I wasn't even sure whether I'd be having anything to do with Quint in the future. Maybe he'd hate me when I said what I had to say. Then his family would hate me, too. I tried to shrug off my nervousness, but it didn't go away entirely.

After dinner, Quint and I sat down in the TV room (which doubles as Mrs. Walters' study) to watch a Fred Astaire movie on the VCR. Tyler and Morgan followed us in, but the second they started to tease Quint about my being his girlfriend, he kicked them out. "We want to watch this movie in peace," he told his mother. "Isn't it their bedtime, anyway?"

We settled in, on opposite corners of the couch. Quint seemed a little shy — maybe because we hadn't seen each other in a while — and I was glad. I tried to pay attention to the movie, but once again I was distracted by the idea of T-time drawing near. I peered over at Quint. He looked distracted, too. Then he grinned at me. "I'm really nervous about tomorrow night," he confessed. "It's an important performance."

That was it. I decided that T-time could wait until after the concert. I didn't want to upset Quint.

The movie ended, and we sat quietly for a while. I started to gaze out the window at the building next door, which was only about six feet away. It was kind of cool how you could see into other apartments. I saw a homey-looking kitchen, a starkly modern living room, and a playroom full of toys. Some apartments were so close that I could even hear snatches of conversation drifting across the airshaft. (Everybody's windows were open since it was a warm night.) "Great dinner, honey," said a man in a kitchen to his wife. "How about Mozart?" asked a woman standing by a hi-tech stereo in a modern living room.

One room was just opposite "my" window, but it was empty. It was a cozy-looking living room, with big over-stuffed sofas and chairs. I was just thinking how nice it looked when two men walked into the room. One of them

sat down, and the other stood near him. Almost immediately, they started to talk in loud tones.

By now, Quint was looking over my shoulder. I guess we were being nosy together. We stared at the men, fascinated by being able to hear almost every word they said. Suddenly I turned to Quint. "Quint," I whispered, "I think they're fighting!"

Chapter 5.

Within two seconds, there was no doubt about it. The men were fighting, and fighting very loudly. We probably could have heard them even if the windows had been closed.

The man who was sitting in the chair had red hair and a straggly beard and looked scary. The other man had thick, black hair and looked strong.

"You double-crossing weasel!" the black-haired man said.

"I'm not double-crossing you, Frank," replied the red-haired one. "It's just that I'm not so sure about this plan of yours."

"What are you talking about? We've worked on this plan for three months. It's foolproof, Red!"