Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 094

"Because I'll never get this thing done otherwise." "Do it Sunday." "Can't," I told him. "I promised Claudia I'd go to this crafts fair with her." "Cancel that, then," said Robert.

"Robert, I made the plans with her weeks ago. I just can't cancel them now." "Then how come you can cancel your plans with me?" "Well . . ."I said in a quavery voice. "I made my plans with you after I made the plans with Claudia. At the time I thought I could do both, but I can't." "Stacey, I've hardly seen you at all in the last few weeks," Robert pointed out, getting to his feet.

I wanted to tell him that one of the reasons I was so busy was because I was earning money for his birthday present. That would have spoiled the surprise, though, so I kept quiet. "I promise we'll do something next weekend," I said.

"All right." He forced a smile. "I'll leave so you can finish your paper." He turned and left without looking back at me once. I felt terrible.

Once he was gone, I stared at the library door, thinking about Robert. Then I told myself to get back to work.

I read about Fitzgerald and took notes until the library closed at six o'clock. When I got home, Mom was making dinner. "Did you finish your paper?" she asked.

"Not yet," I reported as I gulped down my chicken. After dinner I hurried to my room to begin writing my paper from the notes I'd put on index cards at the library. The work went more slowly than I expected. Somehow the words just didn't flow out of me. I don't know, maybe I was too tired to think straight. Normally, I would have let the work go until Sunday, but I wouldn't be free on Sunday.

It was sometime in the middle of the night when I fell asleep on my bed with my research material spread out around me. Mom must have come in during the night because in the morning I awoke, still fully dressed, but under my covers with my index cards, books, and notebook neatly stacked on my night table.

I'd barely opened my eyes when Mom came into my room. " Claudia's waiting for you downstairs," she said. "Were you supposed to go to a crafts fair with her today?" "What time is it?" I cried, bolting out of bed. It was after noon. Still half asleep, I charged out of my room and down the stairs.

Claudia was at the bottom of the stairs. "What happened to you?" she gasped.

I realized I probably looked like a crazy person with my rumpled clothes, sleepy face, and tangled hair. "I overslept," I admitted. "Can you wait a few minutes?" Claudia glanced toward the door. "My father's waiting in the car, but I guess so. Hurry up, though." I staggered a few steps up the stairs, then stopped short.

"What's wrong?" Claud asked.

"My paper," I said. "It's still not written." I turned and faced her. "But that's okay," I said, backing up the stairs, "Don't worry. I can do it tonight." "Do you have much more to write?" Claudia asked.

"You could say that." "How much more?" "Half." "You'd better just stay home," Claudia said. "You're not in any shape to go out." "Yes, I am. I am," I assured her. "Just give me a minute." "Stacey!" "What!" "I'm leaving without you. You're a wreck. Go back to sleep." "I'm fine! Just wait for me." " 'Bye," Claudia said, waving to me from the bottom of the stairs. "See you tomorrow. Get some rest." I watched with mixed emotions as she went out the door. I felt bad about letting her down.

But I was not in the mood to go and I was glad to be let off the hook.

With sleepy eyes, I stumbled back to my room. And fell face first onto my bed. In an instant I was sound asleep.

Chapter 11.

The next day, I was still thinking about F. Scott Fitzgerald as I waited for Adam and Dana's bus to arrive. I'd handed in my paper, but I had no idea whether or not it was any good. I'd been so sleepy while writing it that I could barely remember what I'd written.

The bus pulled to a stop and I met Dana and Adam. As usual, Adam talked in a steady stream as we climbed the hill. Dana was unusually quiet, though. "Is something wrong?" I asked her while I unlocked the front door.

"No," she said with a shrug.

"Do you feel all right?" She nodded dully. "Yup." We walked into the house and I picked up Mrs. Cheplin's note. "I don't believe this," I muttered. It was two pages long.

"Okay, kids," I said, shrugging off my jacket. "I'll fix you a snack, then you have to go play until homework time. I have a lot to do today." As quickly as I could, I smeared peanut butter on some crackers for Adam and tossed an apple to Dana.

The kids took their snacks upstairs and I honestly didn't know what they were doing for the next hour as I swept the kitchen floor, unloaded the dishwasher, sorted a load of dirty laundry, shifted a load of wet clothes from the washing machine into the dryer, and put another load into the washing machine. Then I called to cancel Mrs. Cheplin's subscription to a magazine, confirmed Adam's dentist appointment, and called to find rates on the gymnastics lessons he wanted to take.

I was in the middle of peeling potatoes for dinner (the third to last item on my list) when Dana came into the kitchen. "I don't feel so good," she said.

I continued peeling potatoes over the sink. What doesn't she want to do this time? I wondered. "I don't have the time for this, Dana," I said with an edge in my voice.

"Fine!" Dana whirled around and stomped out of the kitchen.

Instant remorse. I shouldn't have been so crabby with her. Wiping my hands on a kitchen towel, I left the kitchen and found Dana lying on the loveseat in the living room.

"Sorry, Dana," I said. "What hurts?" "Forget it," Dana mumbled. "Don't bother." "Come on, Dana," I pleaded. "I said I was sorry." I noticed that Dana did look pale. I remembered how listless she'd seemed on the way home. "I'm going to get your kit and test your blood," I told her.

"Nooooo," Dana whined. "I hate that! I hate it! I'm not doing it!" She rolled over and buried her face into the back of the loveseat.

Upstairs, I found the glucose testing kit on top of Dana's dresser. "Dana's being a big crab," Adam called to me from his room.

"I know, but she's not feeling well," I told him. A glance into his room made me cringe. Over the weekend he'd managed to undo two week's worth of daily tidying (which was the second to last thing on my list that day): "Adam, start cleaning your room, okay?" I said.

"I'll wait for you," he replied. Oh, well, I hadn't really expected that to work, anyway.

"Get away from me with that!" Dana shouted when I returned to the living room. She'd never reacted this badly to having her blood tested. Her sudden unreasonableness worried me. Irritability can be a sign that a person's blood sugar is low.

"Dana," I said sternly. "I'm going to test your blood so you might as well cooperate and we can get it over with quickly." Dana covered her face with a pillow and shot her free arm out at me. I took firm hold of her finger, pricked it, and wiped away my tiny blood sample.

In less than a minute I had a reading.

Dana's blood sugar was dangerously low.

A wave of panic swept over me. What should I do? Calm down, I ordered myself. Think! Running to the kitchen, I flung open the refrigerator and grabbed an orange. I peeled it as I walked back to the living room, letting the peels drop on the floor. "Eat this," I ordered, handing Dana the orange.

Dana ate the orange, but five minutes later she looked just as listless as before. I had to do something quickly.

I ran back to the refrigerator and found the name and phone number of Dana's doctor. An answering machine picked up and said the doctor was on vacation. What could I do now?

"Dr. Johanssen," I said aloud. I could take Dana to her house. I knew she was home on Monday afternoons. Just then, the phone rang. I snapped it up, hoping it would be Mrs. Cheplin. "Hello?" It was Mrs. Kleinsasser calling to reschedule Dana's piano lesson. I was desperate. "Could you drive us somewhere?" I blurted out. "I need to get to a doctor." I explained what was going on and Mrs. Kleinsasser said she'd be right over.