Ann Martin - Hello, Mallory

"Oh, I see," said Jessi.

"So the sitter takes down the information about the job; you know, how many kids they'll be in charge of, how old they are, how long the parents will be away, stuff like that. Then Mary Anne Spier — she's the secretary — looks in their appointment book to find out who's free, and when they figure out who's going to take the job, they call the client back with the information.

"They get millions of jobs that way. They're always busy. The parents around here really like them," I added wistfully. No matter how

hurt I was, I still wanted to be part of the Baby-sitters Club.

"Hmm," said Jessi. "Well, I don't see why we can't do that, too. There seem to be lots of kids around here. The Baby-sitters Club can't handle everything."

"You're right about that. That's why they asked me to join. They need someone to replace Stacey, I mean, really need someone."

"Well. . . let's get to work!" said Jessi. "First, we'll pick out a name for our club. I think the Baby-sitters Club is a dumb name. It's too plain. It's like naming a restaurant The Restaurant."

I giggled. "Yeah. Those older girls don't have any imagination. We could call our club ... um ..."

"Yeah. We could call it ... um ..."

We found that it wasn't easy to think of a better name.

"How about Sitters United?" suggested Jessi.

I shook my head. "Nah . . . How about, um, Sitters Incorporated?"

Jessi shook her head. "Nah. Boring. . . . Hmm. . . . Hey, how about Kids Incorporated?"

"Yeah!" I cried. "That's great! It sounds really cute. It's catchy."

"Much catchier than the Baby-sitters Club."

"Right."

"Now what?"

"Well, the other girls are always advertising themselves. Last year they put an ad in the newspaper, and every now and then they print up fliers and stick them in people's mailboxes, just to remind them of the club."

"Okay. Let's make fliers. . . . How do we do that?"

I thought for a moment. "My brother has a toy printing press that really works. I bet he'd let us use it."

"Great."

I leaned out into the hall and yelled, "Hey, Byron!"

"The triplets aren't home from school yet, Mallory," my mother called.

"Darn," I said. "We need to use his printing press. For something really important. Do you think he'd let us?"

"We-ell," said Mom. She likes to let us kids solve our own problems, so she doesn't barge into situations that don't concern her. But at last she said, "That printing press has been stuck up in the attic for over a year now. Byron never uses it, so I'll give you permission. If he gets upset, he can get upset with me."

"Oh, thanks, Mom!" I cried.

I retrieved the printing press from the attic

and brought it into my room. "Here it is," I said to Jessi. "Now we just have to figure out how to use it."

"And what to say on the fliers."

"Oh, yeah," I replied. "Right. Well, I guess we say when we're available to sit."

"After school," said Jessi. "Weekends."

"How about at night?"

Jessi shook her head. "I don't think I'm allowed to."

"Me neither. Unless I'm sitting right here at home."

"I wonder if anyone will really hire us. We are only eleven."

"I'm sure they'd hire us if we sat together. Two baby-sitters for the price of one."

"Yeah!" cried Jessi. "And that's what we should put on the fliers!"

So we did.

Setting up the printing press wasn't easy. The first flier read: Two gitters for eht brice at on9. But we kept working. When we had a good flier we ran off thirty copies. We paid Nicky and Vanessa twenty-five cents each to put the fliers in the mailboxes on our street and on Jessi's.

While they were doing that, I said, "Let's make a few phone calls. It can't hurt to tell people what we're doing. I could call Mrs.

Barrett. She lives right down the street and has three kids. I know them really well. And I could call Jenny Prezzioso's mom, and maybe Jamie Newton's mother."

We had just finished our phoning when we heard a knock on the door. Mom stuck her head in the room. "Is this the headquarters of Kids Incorporated?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied, wondering what was coming.

"Well, I'd like to hire you for Saturday afternoon."

"Okay, great," I said calmly.

Jessi and I waited until Mom had left before we began screaming and jumping up and down. "Our first job!" I shrieked. "Our first job!"

Kids Incorporated seemed to be off to a good start.

Chapter 10.

D'awn's sitting job at the Barretts' house was on a Saturday afternoon — the same afternoon that Mom had hired Jessi and me to sit for my brothers and sisters. I didn't know just what had happened on Dawn's job until a few weeks later when I read her notebook entry and asked her some questions. This is what I found out:

Dawn arrived at the Barretts' at two o'clock. The house was looking neater than usual because Mrs. Barrett had finally found a woman to help her with the cleaning. For a long time she'd been trying to juggle a job with being both mother and father to Buddy, Suzi, and Marnie. (The Barretts are divorced.) She hadn't had enough time to do anything right, so when Dawn first met them, their house was a mess and the kids were a worse mess.

But now things are better. Mrs. Barrett has become more organized. Before she left that day, she even remembered to tell Dawn where the emergency numbers are, that Marnie would be getting up from her nap around two-thirty, and that Suzi had a slight earache and needed medicine at three o'clock.

The afternoon started off quietly. Dawn and Suzi (who's four) built a playground out of Legos for Suzi's stuffed animals. They were just putting on the finishing touches when

Dawn heard Mamie calling from upstairs. Sometimes when she wakes up from a nap, she cries. Other times, she talks or sings. That afternoon she was calling, "Hi-ho, hi-ho, hi-ho! . . . Grape juice. Grape juice, please? . . . Hi-ho, hi-ho, hi-ho."

"Mamie's up," Dawn told Suzi. "I'm going to change her and bring her downstairs. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Dawn ran up to Mamie's room. She pushed the door open slowly and said, "Hi, Marnie-o," in a soft voice. (It's never a good idea to barge in on a kid who's just woken up from a nap, especially since the kid might be expecting to see her mommy and not a baby-sitter.) Mamie was in a great mood that day. She wrinkled her nose up into the "ham face" she makes when she's happy. Then she began to jump up and down in her crib, her blonde curls bouncing. "Hi-ho, hi-ho!" she called.

"Hi-ho!" Dawn replied. "Boy, are you a happy little girl today."

"Hi-ho," Mamie said again. (Mamie's not even two years old yet.)

"Time to change your diaper," Dawn said, picking Marnie up and carrying her to the changing table. She reached into the box of disposable diapers that was next to the table and pulled out the last one. Uh-oh, she thought,

but then she remembered that Mrs. Barrett usually keeps a big supply of diapers in the laundry room.

"No-no. No didy," said Mamie.

"Yes-yes. Sorry, kiddo," Dawn told her. "You're soaking wet."

Dawn sang "Baa, Baa, Black Sheep" to Mar-nie as she changed the diaper, and Mamie made the ham face again. Then Dawn snapped her into a pair of clean overalls, picked her up, and carried her downstairs.

"Suzi?" she called. "Do you want to have some juice with Marnie?"

No answer.

Dawn peered into the playroom.

Suzi wasn't there.

"Suzi!" Dawn called more loudly.

"What?" replied Suzi's voice.

"Where are you?"

"In the dining room."

Dawn carried Marnie into the dining room. She didn't know what she expected to find there — but it certainly wasn't the sight of Suzi wrapping diapers around the legs of the table and taping them in place with Band-Aids.

"What are you doing?!" exclaimed Dawn.