Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 094

A heavyset woman with short brown hair and large blue-framed glasses opened the door. She was dressed casually in soft slacks and an oversized tunic top. "Yes?" she said with a puzzled expression. "What can I do for you?" "I'm Stacey," I said. "Sorry I'm late. I rode right past the turnoff on Burnt Hill Road and took a few other wrong turns." The woman blinked hard and seemed to study me.

"Are you Mrs. Cheplin?" I asked in a small voice, suddenly worried that I was at the wrong house.

"Yes, yes, I am," she said with a quick, embarrassed laugh. "Please come in, Stacey. I'm sorry. I don't mean to leave you standing in the cold. You just took me by surprise. I was expecting someone more . . . well . . . someone older." "I'm thirteen," I said, in case she thought I was younger than that.

"I was really hoping for a high-school girl." As I stepped inside the front hallway, I could see the small, narrow kitchen, which was set behind a brick wall. A sunny living room was off to the right, and in between the kitchen and living room was a hall with spiral stairs leading to the second floor.

It was a shadowy house, put together artistically with woven rugs, interesting cloth wall hangings, photographs, and original paintings everywhere.

It was also very cluttered. Magazines, stacks of papers, toys, blocks, videos, and notebooks were perched on every shelf and in every corner.

"I've had lots of sitting jobs," I told Mrs. Cheplin. "If you want, I can get you some references." "Let's sit in here," she said, ushering me into the living room off the hallway. It was as cluttered as the hall, but a big window looking out on the woods let in patches of sunshine and a view of the woods.

Mrs. Cheplin scooped a toy fire truck off an overstuffed blue chair and nodded for me to sit. She sat at the end of the gray loveseat to the side of the chair. Still holding the toy truck, she leaned forward as she spoke to me. "You see, Stacey, I need someone who can be very responsible. Up until now I've been freelancing from home. I'm a photographer and book designer. But I've just taken a job as an art director for a magazine in Stamford and I really must have someone I can rely on." "You can rely on me," I said confidently.

Mrs. Cheplin didn't look convinced. "I'm sure you're a terrific sitter, Stacey," she said. "But I really do need someone more mature. I'm sorry, but - " "Mrs. Cheplin," I interrupted. I wasn't going to let this great steady job slip out of my fingers so easily. Especially since I was sure I could handle it. "I bet I can get the job done for you. What exactly do you need?" "Dana and Adam go to the Miller School," she said. I'd heard of that. It was a private school just outside Stoneybrook. "They have to be picked up at their school bus stop at three-fifteen sharp every day," she continued. "If no one is there the driver won't let them off and they'd be very upset." "Believe me, I know about being punctual," I said, thinking of the excellent punctuality training I'd received from Kristy. "Our club meetings always start at five-thirty sharp. Our president, Kristy, insists that we're there on time." Mrs. Cheplin adjusted her glasses. "Well, that's good. I'd also need you to help the kids with their homework, and after that to keep them busy with games and projects until I get home at five-thirty. I don't want them sitting around in front of the TV." "No problem," I assured her. "I don't mind helping with homework. If they need math help, I'm in honors math at school. And I'll bring my Kid-Kit with me." I explained that a Kid-Kit is a box filled with art materials, books, games, puzzles, and lots of fun odds and ends. Every member of the BSC has her own and we use our club dues to keep them stocked.

Mrs. Cheplin nodded and I got the idea that the Kid-Kits had impressed her. "Your club certainly sounds well-organized," she commented.

"Oh, it is," I said. "You wouldn't believe how organized." "As you can guess from looking around, I could use some organization here," Mrs. Cheplin said. "How would you feel about some light housekeeping?" Instinctively, I could feel my nose start to wrinkle with distaste, but I forced myself to stop. "As long as it doesn't interfere with watching the children," I replied, which I thought was a lot better than making a disgusted face.

"That's true. It's hard to do both, which is why this place looks the way it does. But still ... I was hoping to find someone who could give me a hand with it. Maybe this just isn't going to work out. Besides, I think you're just too young to deal with Dana." "Why?" I asked. "Is she difficult?" "No. She's a sweet eight-year-old. But she's just been diagnosed with diabetes and - " "I have diabetes, too," I cut in.

Behind her glasses, Mrs. Cheplin's eyes widened in surprise. "You do?" I nodded. "I've had it for a long time." "But you seem so healthy and energetic. You must have the kind of diabetes you control simply through diet," she said, assuming I had a less severe form of diabetes than I have.

"Diet and insulin," I said.

Mrs. Cheplin folded her arms. "Really? And you rode your bike all the way up that hill?" "Sure," I said. "As long as I take care of myself I can do anything other girls do." "Then you know how important it is not to let Dana have sweets." "Absolutely," I said. "She should snack, though. You don't want her blood sugar to get too low." A thoughtful expression came across Mrs. Cheplin's face. "It might be good for Dana to get to know you," she said, leaning back and sliding her arms along the top of the couch. "It might be a very good thing for her. Why don't we try it for one week? If it seems to be working, we'll continue. If there are problems we'll chalk it up to experience and call it quits." "Great!" I said enthusiastically. "I'm sure I can do it." Then Mrs. Cheplin told me how much she was willing to pay me and I nearly slid off the chair. It was almost twice as much as most baby-sitting jobs pay! "When do I start?" I asked.

"I just had a thought," said Mrs. Cheplin, looking concerned again. "Do your parents know you're taking this job?" "Not this job, but they know I baby-sit and it's cool with them." "But this is every day," she pointed out. "Why don't you talk to them and give me a call tonight?" Now I was worried. What if Mom said no?

"All right, I'll call you tonight," I told Mrs. Cheplin as I got up from the chair. I noticed a black-and-white photo of two children hanging on the wall. The girl had blunt cut, straight blonde hair. The line of bangs across her forehead skirted large, expressive eyes. The round-faced boy had wispy brown hair. He, too, had big eyes that shone mischievously.

"Those are my cuties," said Mrs. Cheplin. "They're good kids but they can be a handful. As I mentioned, Dana is eight. Adam is six." "No problem. I'm used to kids, and they look really sweet," I said.

I left Mrs. Cheplin's house and climbed back on my bike. (Going downhill was definitely easier, but the turns were a little scary as the bike speeded faster and faster.) At the bottom of Burnt Hill Road I spotted Mary Anne and Kristy in Mary Anne's front yard. They looked as if they were just about to go into the house.

"Hi!" Mary Anne called to me.

Slowing the bike, I turned up Mary Anne's driveway. "I just saw Mrs. Cheplin," I reported as I stood in the driveway straddling my bike.

"What were the kids like?" Mary Anne asked.

"I don't know. It was just an interview, not an actual job." "Sounds serious," said Kristy. "Like more than just a baby-sitting job." "It's a big time commitment," I said. "But other than that, it isn't any different." Kristy shifted uneasily from side to side and shook her head. "I don't think you should take it." "Why not?" I asked, my voice rising a bit.

"Well, because it's like we're losing another member. And just when everything was settled, too," Kristy said.