Ann Martin - Good Bye Stacey, Good Bye

We were just deciding that Dorianne Wall-ingford is as big a jerk as Howie is when the doorbell rang and a few moments later, the rest of the club members came thundering

upstairs. Kristy was first. She was wearing what I've come to think of as her Kristy uniform — jeans, sneakers, a turtleneck, and a sweater. That's the only kind of outfit she wears these days. She was followed by Mary Anne (who's Kristy's best friend), dressed slightly better in a jean skirt and an oversized sweat shirt. Kristy and Mary Anne remind me of a pair of magnets. They stick together even though they are as different as the opposite magnetic poles. Kristy is loud and outgoing and Mary Anne is quiet and shy. (She's sensitive, a good person to talk to if you have a problem.) They do have their similarities, though. They're both small for their age, and they're both a little less mature than Claudia and I. And Mary Anne is just beginning to be interested in clothes. (Kristy still couldn't care less.) Also, Mary Anne has a boyfriend — Logan Bruno, our associate club member. Kristy has never had a boyfriend, or even really liked a boy.

Last to run up the stairs was Dawn. She's our newest club member. Her mother moved her and her brother here fromCalifornia after her parents got divorced. Dawn is an individual. She does things her way and doesn't care much about what other people think. She and Mary Anne are good friends, which is how

Dawn became a member of the club. Dawn has the longest, palest blonde hair I've ever seen in my life.

Since Kristy is a get-down-to-business sort of person, she immediately put on her visor, settled herself in Claudia's director's chair, and called our meeting to order. I announced how much money was in our treasury. Then, "Have you guys all been keeping up with the club notebook?" Kristy asked.

The club notebook is another of Kristy's big ideas. It's a good one, I guess, but it's kind of a pain, too. In the notebook, each of us is supposed to write up every single job we go on, and tell what happened and how the kids behaved and stuff. Then we're supposed to read the book at least once a week to find out what's happened on the jobs our friends have taken. This is helpful, but it sure uses up a lot of time.

We assured Kristy that we'd been reading the notebook. Then Claudia passed around some of the junk food she keeps hidden in her room, most of which I can't eat. I settled for some pretzels.

And then the phone began to ring — my favorite part of each meeting! People call us needing sitters, and we divide the jobs up according to who's free. It was a good day.

The phone rang six times, and we each got one job, except for Dawn, who wound up with two. My job was with Charlotte Johanssen.

Our meetings end atsix o'clock , but that evening we all sat around a few minutes longer. Even Mary Anne did, and she usually rushes right home to start dinner for her and her father. At6:05 , the phone rang again.

"A late job call?" I wondered aloud. "It's a good thing we're still here." I picked up the phone since I was sitting closest to it. "Hello, Baby-sitters Club. . . . Oh, hi, Mom." (Why was my mother calling?)

"Honey," said Mom, "would you please come on home? You're late."

"It's onlyfive after six ," I pointed out. I usually haven't even reached my house byfive after six .

"I'd like you to hurry home," she said firmly.

Something in her voice made my heart leap into my mouth, "Okay," I said, feeling scared. "I'll be right there. 'Bye." I hung up. "I have to go, you guys," I told my friends. "I don't know what it is, but something's wrong."

Chapter 2.

Needless to say, I was a nervous wreck by the time I got home. All sorts of horrible thoughts ran through my mind as I dashed fromBradford Court , where Claudia and Mary Anne live, to my own street. Maybe my grandfather was sick ... or worse. Maybe my dad had been in an accident driving home from his job inStamford . Maybe, maybe . . .

But when I burst through the front door of my house, I found both Mom and Dad in the kitchen, putting supper on the table. Whatever it was couldn't be too bad, or they wouldn't be folding napkins and filling glasses with milk.

"Here I am!" I exclaimed. "Mom, what's the matter? I thought someone had died or something!"

"Oh, Stace, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you." My mother kissed my cheek. "We have something important to tell you, that's all. Now sit down. Supper's almost ready."

"You're not making me go to another doctor, are you?" I asked warily as I slid into my seat.

When I'd first gotten diabetes, Mom and Dad had been scared to death. They'd dragged me from one strange doctor to another, trying to find a "cure," even though there is no cure for diabetes — just ways to control it. They'd nearly driven me bananas. As it was, all my friends thought I was either crazy or contagious. Things got so bad for us that when Dad's boss offered him a job heading up a new branch of his company inStamford,Connecticut , he took it, and we moved out ofNew York and up here to Stoneybrook. My parents finally calmed down about my disease, and I made friends with Claudia and the other members of the Baby-sitters Club. After a while, I even made up with Laine, myNew York best friend. (She was mad at me for keeping secrets from her, and we'd had a fight.) So I hoped Mom and Dad weren't going to ruin things by getting weird about my diabetes again.

"Another doctor?" my mother repeated, "Oh, no. Nothing like that." She set out a bowl of broccoli, a fresh green salad, and a plate of baked chicken legs, all foods I can eat. When we were done serving ourselves, I looked expectantly from my mother to my father. One of them had better start talking soon, I thought.

Before they did, something exciting occurred to me.

"Hey, Mom, are you pregnant? You are, aren't you?" I exclaimed. My parents always wanted to have another kid after they had me, but they hadn't been able to. Maybe I was* finally going to be a big sister.

Dad smiled ruefully. "I wish that were the truth," he said, "but it isn't. I think I better tell you what's really going on before you imagine us colonizing Mars or something."

I giggled.

"All right," he went on. "This is the truth. Do you remember when my company opened the branch inStamford ?"

"Yes," I replied. "Right before we moved here."

Dad nodded. "Well, the new branch isn't doing well at all. The company has decided to get rid of it —"

"Oh, no! You lost your job!" I cried. Frantically, I began to calculate how much money I had saved from baby-sitting jobs, and how far it could be stretched.

"Not quite," said Dad. "They're combining theStamford branch with theBoston branch. And I'm being transferred back toNew York ."

After I dropped my knife onto my plate, a silence fell over the room. The room, in fact,

became so silent that I could hear theMarshalls ' dog barking two houses away.

"Stacey?" said my mom gently. "We know this is a surprise, but think how much you've missedNew York ."

"I know, I know. I am thinking about that." I really had missed New York, even though my last few months there had been pretty unhappy, what with doctor visits, and friends who'd become former friends, and even a couple of stays in the hospital. On the other hand, I liked Stoneybrook a lot. I didn't have any former friends here, only true, good friends — except for Howie and Dori, the Jerk Twins. And I had the Baby-sitters Club and Charlotte Johanssen and a school I liked and a whole big house, instead of a not-so-big, tenth-floor apartment.

"Think of all the wonderful things we'll have when we move back to the city," said my father. "LincolnCenterand theMetropolitanMuseum of Art."

"Central Parkand the Donnell Library," added my mother.

"Bloomingdale's, Saks, Tiffany's, Benetton, Laura Ashley, Ann Taylor, Bonwit Teller, Berg-dorf Goodman, and B. Altaian's," I added, wondering if my parents would decide I was old enough to get some charge cards.