Ann Martin - Good Bye Stacey, Good Bye

"Wahh," wailed Mary Anne, in tears again.

Everyone ignored her.

"You were our first treasurer and a good friend and we'll really miss you. Luckily," she went on, "our newest member can move up from her position as alternate officer to take over as treasurer. Dawn Read Schafer, I hereby make you treasurer of the Baby-sitters Club."

"Too bad she can't add," whispered Claudia.

Everyone ignored her, except for Dawn who said, "I heard that."

Kristy handed the manila envelope containing our club dues to Dawn. "You are now in charge of the treasury," she said.

Kristy probably would have gone on forever except that the phone started ringing with job calls then. We arranged sitters for the Perkins-es, the Rodowskys, Jenny Prezzioso (yick), and Jeff Schafer. It was the first time nobody asked

me about my schedule or whether I was interested in the jobs.

When things quieted down, Kristy said, "Wow, that was close. We had to do some juggling to fit in a sitter for Mr. and Mrs. Rodowsky."

* "Oh, Stacey," sobbed Mary Anne, "what are we going to do without you?"

I think Mary Anne meant What are we going to do without you as a friend? but Kristy was thinking of our business, as usual. "She's going to be tough to replace, but I know we can do it," she said.

"You know," spoke up Claudia, "there is Mallory Pike. We've always said she's a good sitter."

The rest of us nodded thoughtfully.

"She was a big help with our play group last summer," said Dawn.

"She was great at the beach," I added. "Really responsible. Didn't you think so, Mary Anne?"

Mary Anne gulped and nodded.

"She wants to baby-sit," said Kristy. "Um, but she's two years younger than we are."

"I had just barely turned twelve when we started the club last year," said Mary Anne, sniffling.

"I know," said Kristy, "but you were in

seventh grade, not sixth, and you were almost a year older than Mallory is now. That makes a big difference."

"Mallory is the oldest of eight kids," I pointed out. "She can probably diaper a baby better than any of us."

"True," said Kristy. "But I know for a fact that she'd only be allowed to baby-sit in the afternoons or on the weekends. Never in the evening."

"Maybe she could be a sort of junior sitter," said Dawn. "And, hey, if we found another junior sitter, the juniors could take a lot of the after-school jobs. That would free the rest of us for the evenings. It might make a big difference."

"Well, I don't know where we're going to find another junior sitter," said Kristy, "but I agree, that's a good idea. For now, should we at least find out if Mallory would be interested in joining the club?"

"Yes!" was our response.

Kristy reached for the phone.

"Wait," I said. "Can I call her? I'm the one whose place she'd be filling."

Kristy paused with her hand halfway to the receiver. "I," she said, "am the president."

"And I," I said, "am moving away and you might never see me again. I really want to call

Mallory. Couldn't this be my last official club duty?"

"Oh, all right/' said Kristy after a pause.

"Thanks," I said. I dialed the Pikes' number and asked for Mallory. Then I explained our idea. "You'd have to come to a couple of meetings first and see how things go, but are you interested?"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Mallory shrieked so loudly that I had to hold the phone away from my ear.

"She's interested," I told my friends after Mallory and I had hung up. "I'll leave the details to you."

We took a few more job calls. It was almost six o'clock. Two more minutes and my last Baby-sitters Club meeting would be over.

"What time do the movers come tomorrow?" asked Dawn.

"Eight," I replied. "We're completely packed. As soon as the van is loaded, Mom and Dad and I will leave in the car."

The room fell silent. From somewhere, Clau-dia produced a bottle of diet soda and five paper cups. She filled the cups and handed them out to us. Then she held hers in the air. "I'd like to make a toast," she said. "To Stacey. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Stacey," echoed Kristy, Mary Anne, and Dawn.

"Good-bye, you guys," I replied. We drank our sodas. The meeting was over.

Chapter 15.

I woke up six times during my last night in our house in Stoneybrook. Each time I did, I checked the digital clock that was still plugged in by my bed.

I woke up at midnight and had to go to the bathroom. Then I woke up at 1:33 after a dream about being chased by a bulldog. At 2:56 I leaped out of bed to make sure I'd remembered to put something important in my purse. (I had.) At 4:07 I woke up thinking about the moving men. They would arrive in three hours and fifty-three minutes. At 4:48 I had to go to the bathroom again. At 6:10 I just woke up. I don't know why. But I was mad because my alarm was going to go off in twenty minutes, and the night already seemed like a waste, sleep-wise.

Mom and Dad and I fixed a strange breakfast that morning. We were trying to eat up what little stuff was left in the refrigerator. I had

some yogurt, an apple, and a piece of bread. (The toaster was packed.) Mom and Dad had cottage cheese, bologna, and oranges. Yech.

Nobody was in a very good mood.

"Those movers better get here on time," said Dad. "They better not be late. If they're late . . ."I waited for him to finish his threat, but he didn't. He just rolled up a piece of bologna and stuffed it in his mouth.

Mom fluttered nervously around the kitchen, trying to stay organized.

"Put all your trash in here," she told Dad and me, pointing to an empty grocery bag. (We were eating off paper plates and using plastic spoons, forks, and knives. The kitchen was practically bare.) "Then, Stacey," she went on, "put anything that's left in the refrigerator and the freezer into this other bag and we'll give it to one of the neighbors. Oh, put the rest of the paper plates and things in, too."

Breakfast seemed to be over when Dad stopped rolling up bologna slices and Mom began pulling out drawers and opening cupboard doors, checking (for at least the tenth time) to be sure that they were empty. I filled up the grocery bags with our few leftovers and set the bag on a counter. Then I went upstairs to my room. I stripped my bed, folded the

sheets and blanket and spread, and placed them in the one carton that was still in my room. This is what my room looked like: stripped bed, empty bookcase, empty bureau, bare desk, two chairs without any clothes thrown on them. My closet was completely empty. The lone carton sat in the middle of the room next to my purse. I added my nightgown and the digital alarm clock to it. Even though I knew that nothing else was left in my room, I began doing what Mom was doing downstairs. I looked into every drawer and even under my bed to make sure I hadn't forgotten to pack anything.

When that was done, I sat down on the edge of my mattress. A tear slid down one cheek. I wiped it away with the back of my hand, but another tear followed, and then two more, and then a river. I hated the sight of my empty room, even though I knew that pretty soon my room in New York would look a lot like the way my room in Connecticut had looked. Except that outside the window would be a view of the apartment building across the street, the Blue Pan Coffee Shop, and a locksmith. (Mom and Dad had taken pictures from the window of the new apartment.) And the room would be smaller than this room. And we'd have to put roach traps in the corners

because you just have to do that in New York. It's part of city life.

I heard the movers arrive, but I didn't want to go downstairs yet. Instead, I stood up, crossed the room to the carton, reached inside, and pulled out the manila envelope that was at the very bottom. I sat on the floor and opened it. Inside were the farewell cards the kids had given me at the party.