Ann Martin - Good Bye Stacey, Good Bye

We followed Kristy's instructions. I was beginning to feel like a teacher. I decided it was a nice feeling.

When the kids were standing quietly along the drive, Kristy and Mary Anne unrolled a long sheet of brown paper and handed out crayons.

"What's this for?" asked Gabbie Perkins, looking uncertainly at the paper.

"Well," Claudia replied, "Stacey's moving to New York, but we don't want her to forget Stoneybrook, do we?"

"No!" cried the kids.

"So we're going to draw her a big picture of our town. You can put in your streets and your houses and yourselves. Then Stacey will always remember us."

The kids set to work right away. The next fifteen minutes were filled with giggles and shouts and calls of, "I don't have green hair!"

and, "Hey, your house goes here, not there," and, "What did you draw a pond for? There's no pond in our yard!"

I have to admit that when the kids got tired of drawing, the mural looked nothing like Stoneybrook, but it didn't matter. It was a great picture. Kristy made a big deal out of rolling it up, tying it with a red ribbon, and having Hannie Papadakis present it to me. I knew I would keep it forever.

"And now," said Kristy, loving every second of being in charge, "back to the yard. And Charlotte, you blindfold Stacey, okay?"

Charlotte nodded importantly.

When we were gathered in the yard again and my eyes were bound so tightly that I couldn't even see the daylight, a hush fell over the party.

Then I heard singing. Twenty-eight little voices and six bigger voices were joined together singing a song to the tune of "Happy Birthday": "Farewe-ell to you, Farewe-ell to you. Farewe-ell, dear Stacey. Farewell and good luck!"

The blindfold was removed. As if by magic, a table had appeared, and on it were paper plates, napkins, cups, a pitcher of punch, and two cakes. One was a huge sheet cake deco-

rated with pink flowers. In blue frosting was written: GOOD-BYE STAGEY, GOOD-BYE. The other cake was tiny and said simply: STAGEY.

"The little one's for you," Claudia whispered to me. "The bakery makes a special no-sugar cake for people with diabetes. The other cake is for the rest of us."

"That's so sweet," I said, giving her a hug, and adding, "No pun intended. Seriously. You guys thought of everything. I really appreciate it."

So I ate my little cake and the kids and my friends gobbled up the big cake. Then Mary Anne found an excuse to award a prize to any kid who hadn't already won one (most original picture on the mural, neatest cake-eater, that sort of thing).

A few minutes later the parents started arriving to pick up their crayon-y, egg-smeared, cake-covered children. As each guest left the party, instead of receiving a "goody bag," he or she handed me a homemade card. Kristy had asked them to make the cards the previous week and bring them to the party.

I read all the cards many times that night. The funniest was Margo Pike's, which said:

GOOD LICK STASY. HAVE FUN IN NEW YURK. The

one that made me cry was Charlotte's (of course): GOOD-BYE, STAGEY, i WILL ALWAYS MISS

YOU. I WISH YOU WERE MY SISTER.

Well, I would always miss Charlotte and the other children and my Stoneybrook friends. I would never, ever forget them. After all, I had one mural, twenty-eight cards, and thousands of memories.

Chapter 14.

"Order, order! Come on, you guys," said Kristy, sounding cross.

I looked around Claudia's bedroom. The time was five-thirty. The day was Friday. It was the beginning of my last-ever meeting with the Baby-sitters Club. I wanted to remember my friends exactly as I saw them right then. They were all being so typical and normal.

Claudia was sprawled on the floor, halfway under her bed. She was rooting around in a shoebox and mumbling, "I know I have Fritos somewhere. I just know it." She was wearing a wonderful Claudia outfit — a purple-and-white striped body suit under a gray jumper-thing. The legs of the body suit stretched all the way to her ankles, but she was wearing purple push-down socks anyway. Around her middle was a wide purple belt with a buckle

in the shape of a telephone. And on her feet were black ballet slippers.

Dawn was standing by the window pulling a strand of her blonde hair as far out to the side as it would reach. "See?" she was saying to Mary Anne. "It is almost as long as my arm. I told you. By the end of the year, I bet it'll be much longer, even if I have to have the split ends trimmed off." She was wearing a very short kilt, an oversized red sweater, and yellow socks over red tights. On her head was a red beret with a sparkly initial pin attached to the side.

Mary Anne, looking wide-eyed at Dawn's hair, was saying, "That's amazing. How come my hair doesn't grow that fast? Maybe if I attached weights to the ends —"

"If you attached weights to the ends," Dawn interrupted her, "you would look like a Martian."

Mary Anne giggled. "How do you know what a Martian looks like?" she said. She was wearing an outfit that I had helped her choose. It was tame, but not dorky — a navy blue minidress with a pink sash, blue tights, and black slippers like Claudia's.

Kristy was wearing her uniform — jeans, a turtleneck (pale blue), a sweater (blue-and-white striped), and sneakers. She was sitting

in Claudia's director's chair, a pencil over one ear, her visor perched crookedly on her head. She wanted (badly) to start the meeting, and she was tapping a pen on our club notebook and calling for order.

I stood by the doorway to Claudia's room and just looked.

There was a good chance that I'd never be part of a scene like this one again. For about the eighty zillionth time since my parents had announced the move I wanted to cry. Instead I said, "Hi, guys!"

"Hi, Stace!" my friends replied.

And with that, Mary Anne burst into tears. "Your last meeting!" she wailed.

"Oh, please don't start that," I said. "I'm not kidding. I don't want us to spend our last meeting crying."

"Yeah, behave like big, grown-up babysitters," said Kristy, and we laughed. "Okay," she went on, "we have lots to do today, so let's get started."

I sighed and sat down on Claudia's bed.

Claudia had found the Fritos. They weren't under the bed at all. They were behind a spare blanket in her closet. She passed them around.

"First order of business," said Kristy, her mouth full, "is the notebook. Have you all read it?"

"Yes," we chorused, like little kids in school.

"Okay. Here's the second order of business. As we all know, Stacey will be leaving tomorrow. When she goes, we'll need a new club treasurer."

"Not to mention another club member," murmured Claudia, but I was the only one who heard her.

"And so it's time to make Dawn, formerly our alternate officer, the new treasurer of the Baby-sitters Club."

I gave Dawn a wavery smile, feeling sad, but I couldn't help thinking at the same time that Kristy was just using this occasion as an opportunity to show off. I mean, when we originally formed the club, we all just decided, okay, Kristy's president, Claudia's vice-president, and so forth. No big deal. But now Kristy called Dawn and me to stand on either side of the director's chair.

"Stacey McGill," she began, and then paused. "I want this to be official," she said thoughtfully. "Is Stacey your real name?"

"No, it's a fake one," I replied.

Kristy made a face. "Is it your full first name?"

I sighed. "No. My full first name is Anastasia. Anastasia Elizabeth."

"You are joking!" cried Kristy.

"No, I'm not. But you can see why I never

tell anyone that. Even my parents don't call me Anastasia."

"All right/' said Kristy. "Oh, wait. Dawn, what's your full name?"

"Dawn Read Schafer."

"Okay. Anastasia Elizabeth McGill," said Kristy, "as president of the Baby-sitters Club, I hereby thank you for all of your help, and for being responsible, and for being our treasurer."