Ann Martin - Hello, Mallory

"It's a recent thing," Jessi replied. "Just since we moved here. I think it's because she's at home so much. In Oakley she was always off with Sandy or Kara or Raun or someone. But

she doesn't have any friends here in Stoney-brook."

I nodded thoughtfully. "How are things going for you?" I asked. "I mean in ballet class and at school?"

"It's funny. In my ballet class I'm the only black kid, but almost everyone has been really nice to me. Oh, there are a couple of girls who don't speak to me, but, well, mostly the teachers and students are so wrapped up in dancing that they don't notice what color you are. I mean, this is a serious school."

I smiled.

"But at our school?" Jessi went on. "Where there are some other black kids?"

"Yeah?"

"Things are better, I guess, but not great."

"At least they are better, though," I said positively.

"That's true. It's been days since Benny Ott shot a rubber band at me."

"Well, that's something. Boy, I'd sure like to shoot him sometime. Don't you wish we were back in second grade so we could just give him cooties and that would be the end of it?"

"Yeah," said Jessi, laughing. "Hey, Becca! Not too close to the street, okay? Bring Squirt back here, or stick to the sidewalk," she called.

"Okay," Becca called back.

"Boy, does she need friends," Jessi said quietly.

"Yeah. I can't believe no one will play with her."

"Mama could use some friends, too. It would be nice to meet the neighbors."

I nodded. And suddenly I remembered another sunny day about a year ago. It was a Saturday and a new baby-sitter was taking care of Claire, Nicky, Byron, and me. Her name was Stacey McGill, and she and her parents had moved to Stoneybrook just a month or two earlier. The five of us were sitting at the kitchen table eating a snack and, because I'd never moved, I'd asked Stacey how moving from New York to Stoneybrook had felt.

"Well," Stacey had replied, "it wasn't easy. I didn't want to leave New York, but everyone here has been so nice to us."

I remembered Stacey describing how people had come by with casseroles and cookies, with flowers and homemade fudge, with directions to the train station, beauty parlor, malls, and movie theaters, and even with tips on which was the best grocery store. "A lady from something called the Welcome Wagon came by," she'd added. "She handed us coupons for special deals at restaurants, a listing of the

doctors and dentists in Stoneybrook, some samples from this gourmet food store, and a lot of other Stoneybrook stuff."

I looked at the Ramseys' empty yard and empty front porch (except for Jessi and me). I knew no neighbors had come by with gifts or helpful information. How mean.

"I have a feeling this is a silly question," I said, "but has a lady from the Welcome Wagon dropped by?"

"Are you kidding?" replied Jessi.

"I didn't think she had."

"Why did you want to know?"

"Oh, I was just remembering something," I told her.

"What?"

"It isn't important."

Becca had gotten tired of pushing Squirt around and had wheeled him back to Jessi and me. "Can I play with my bubble-maker?" she asked.

"Sure, that's a great idea," Jessi answered. "Go on inside and get it. Do you remember how to mix the bubble solution?"

"Yup!" replied Becca and ran through the front door.

"You should see this toy she's got," said Jessi. "It's amazing. It makes bubbles that are almost as big as she is."

"Are you serious?"

"One hundred per cent."

Becca returned carrying a wand with a loop of flat rope attached to it, and a mixing bowl full of sudsy water. She set the bowl on the front lawn, held onto the wand, dipped the rope into the solution, then opened it into a circle as she swung her arm slowly around. An enormous bubble formed through the rope. Becca expertly closed it off and it floated away.

"Look at that! Look at that one!" she cried. "It's my biggest ever!"

"Becca says that about every bubble," Jessi whispered to me.

But the bubble really was huge. It wasn't quite as big as Becca, but it was certainly bigger than Squirt. He could easily have fit inside it.

Becca made another bubble, and another.

At the house across the street, the door opened and a face looked out.

Becca made a fourth bubble.

A little girl stepped onto the porch.

Becca made a fifth bubble.

The girl tiptoed down her front stoop and halfway across the lawn to watch Becca and her bubbles.

"Look," I said, nudging Jessi.

"I know," she whispered.

The girl reached the street, crossed it care-

fully, and ran to Becca. "How do you do that?" she asked "Those are the biggest —"

"Amy!" called a sharp voice. An angry-looking woman was standing on the porch across the street.

Amy turned around. "Mom?"

"Come here this instant," said her mother stiffly. Then she went back in the house, slamming the door behind her.

Amy reluctantly left Becca and her bubbles and crossed the street again.

"You see what I mean?" said Jessi bitterly.

But I didn't answer her. I had just seen something else. Another little face was peeking at us, this time through a hedge at the side of the Ramseys' house. I recognized the face.

"Charlotte?" I called.

Charlotte Johanssen pushed her way between two bushes in the hedge and stood timidly at the side of the yard, her hands behind her back. I knew Charlotte slightly. She was eight years old and lived nearby. The girls in the Baby-sitters Club sat for her, but Stacey McGill had been Charlotte's favorite sitter.

"Hi, Charlotte!" I said. "Come on over. You want to meet some new people?"

Charlotte didn't answer.

"She's shy," I whispered to Jessi. I turned

back to Charlotte. "Did you want to see what was happening at Stacey's old house?"

Charlotte shook her head. "My mom told me to come over," she said. At last she stepped toward us. When she reached us, she went on quietly, "Mom said there was a girl here just my age who could be my new friend."

"She did?" said Jessi incredulously.

Charlotte nodded. Then she looked at Becca, who was concentrating on making her bubbles. "Is that her? Is she eight years old?"

"She sure is," replied Jessi. "Her name's Becca. I bet she could teach you how to make big bubbles, too."

"Really?"

"Of course. Hey, Becca!" Jessi called. "Come here. Someone wants to play with you."

Becca turned around. Her eyes widened when she saw Charlotte. "Hi!" she called. She ran over to us.

"Hi," said Charlotte, a little smile creeping onto her lips. "That's neat, that bubble thing. Can you really show me how to use it?"

" 'Course!" cried Becca. "Come here. Come stand out in the middle of the yard."

"Okay," replied Charlotte. "Oh, I almost forgot." She took her hands from behind her back and held out a foil-wrapped package.

"This is for you," she said to Jessi. "I mean, for your whole family. It's banana bread from my mom and dad. Oh, and my mom wants your family to come over for supper next Saturday, but she's going to call your mom tonight so they can talk about the details."

"Hey, thanks!" said Jessi. "That's really nice."

Charlotte joined Becca with the bubble-maker, and I pulled Squirt into my lap. Jessi looked down at the banana bread and then up at me.

"Maybe," she said, "it won't be so bad here after all."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Some things just take time."

Chapter 13.

When I read Mary Anne's notebook entry a few weeks later, I almost laughed. The answer was so obvious. Ask me to join the club! But they had blown that with their stupid digestive-system test. And then they had gotten themselves in hot water. It wouldn't be much longer, though, until they saw what they had to do. In fact, by the end of the meeting they were holding the day Mary Anne wrote about the problem, they were on their way to solving things.