Ann Martin: Baby-Sitters Club 094

BSC094 - Stacey McGill, Super Sitter - Martin, Ann M.

Chapter 1.

"Hurry! Run!" I told Robert. He grabbed my hand and together we raced down Slate Street.

As we ran hand in hand (or should I say glove in glove?), Robert smiled at me, which always just knocks me out.

Robert and I have been going together for awhile now, but I still can't believe it. He is the best. I enjoy every second we spend together.

We ran until we reached my front door. Panting, we stopped to catch our breath. The frozen winter afternoon was so cold that smoky mist puffed out of our mouths. "That worked," Robert said, laughing. "I'm not so cold anymore." I'd warmed up, too, which was why I'd suggested running in the first place. "Let's get inside," I said, fumbling in my bag for the keys to my front door. (It's so hard to find things while wearing woolen gloves!) When I finally unlocked the door, it felt good to be inside my warm house. With a shiver I peeled off my hot pink parka. "Oh, my gosh!" I laughed as I tried to pull off my pink beret. The hat tugged at my blonde permed hair.

"Wow," Robert said. "Your house is so quiet." I paused and listened. The only noise was the gentle thunk of the boiler as it kicked on. It was pretty silent. I guess I hadn't noticed before.

"Doesn't it give you the creeps?" Robert asked, taking off his jacket.

"No," I answered. "Why should it?" "I'm just not used to coming home to an empty house, I suppose," Robert replied. "When I get home there's always someone around." "Mom will be home at six," I told him. She works for Bellair's department store. She's a buyer, which means she decides what Bellair's will sell.

My dad was at his office in Manhattan. But I wouldn't see him for another week and a half. That's because my parents are divorced. Mom and I live here in Connecticut. Dad still lives in Manhattan, where I lived for most of my life.

As I led Robert into the kitchen, the phone rang. "Hello?" I said, snapping up the receiver.

"Stacey, it's Dad," my father's voice said from the other end.

"Dad, hi! What's up?" "I just thought I'd call to see how you are. I figured you might be lonely there all alone till your mother gets home." "Oh, I'm not alone. Robert's here with me," I told him.

There was silence on the other end of the phone. "Dad?" I asked. "Are you there?" Dad coughed. "I'm here. Uh ... is it all right with your mother if Robert's in the house when she's not around?" he asked in an anxious voice.

"Oh, sure," I told him honestly. "You've met Robert. He's cool. We're just going to do some homework here in the kitchen. That's Mom's rule. We stay in the kitchen." "All right, I suppose," said Dad. "That's probably all right." I opened the refrigerator and handed Robert a bottle of raspberry-flavored seltzer while Dad and I talked briefly about a Broadway musical he'd seen the night before. He loved it and said he'd be willing to see it again with me when I came down to visit. "Want to do Broadway with your old dad?" he teased.

"Absolutely. Get tickets!" I told him enthusiastically. I adore Manhattan, and my dad is really fun. So I love doing things in Manhattan with him. It's a great combination.

Don't get me wrong, I like Stoneybrook, Connecticut, where I live now. But it's not nearly as exciting as the city. I think I'll always be a city person at heart.

I said good-bye to Dad and hung up. "Yes!" I cheered, turning to Robert. "Broadway, here I come. Dad and I are going to see a musical. Broadway is so exciting. The last time we saw a show we had supper in this restaurant nearby and we sat next to these two men who were discussing what stars they wanted for a play they were producing. They were mentioning names like Keanu Reeves, Macaulay Culkin, and Winona Ryder. Dad and I didn't talk for the whole meal. We just sat there and eavesdropped. It was really cool." "You really love the city, don't you?" Robert asked as I opened the fridge again and pulled out a bunch of raw carrots.

"Sure I do," I replied, peeling a carrot over the sink. I wasn't really hungry but I knew I'd better eat. You see, I'm diabetic and I can't let myself get too hungry. Being diabetic means eating a lot of small meals and healthy snacks throughout the day. And I do mean healthy snacks. Sugar can send my body into orbit.

Serious stuff. I could go into a coma, even die, if I cheat on treats. So I watch what I eat, test my blood sugar level regularly, and give myself insulin injections every day.

There's no doubt about it. Having diabetes is a major drag.

Having divorced parents is a drag, too.

But, hey, those are the facts of my life, so I might as well make the best of things. Most of the time I don't let the divorce or the diabetes get me down.

"Want a carrot?" I asked, turning back to Robert.

"No, thanks." Robert sat at the kitchen table. "Do you think you'll move back to the city when you're older?" "I don't know," I admitted. "Maybe. Probably." Robert sighed comically. "You'll leave all us country folk behind and go for the glamour," he teased.

"You're not exactly Farmer Rob," I pointed out as I sat beside him.

"I know, but I wouldn't like living in the city. I've only been there a few times and it seemed so noisy and big." "Who cares about a little noise? And the bigness makes it exciting," I countered.

"No, the city isn't for me." "I bet I could make a city lover out of you," I said, lightly squeezing his hand. "You just haven't seen the good parts yet. You need someone like me to guide you. For example, during the day Broadway looks sort of seedy but at night, when it's all lit up, it's magic." "I've never even been to Broadway, Stacey." "Well, then someday we'll go. Together," I said. "You'll love it." "I don't know." Robert shook his head. "I don't think we'll ever agree about this one." "We could," I said optimistically. "Once I give you the Stacey McGill super city tour you'll be as big a fan as I am. Oh, Robert, I wish you could see the city the way I do. It's so amazing. Every corner has some interesting discovery. You know, we like almost the same things. That's why I'm so sure you'd like the city if you gave it a chance." "Oh, forget it," Robert said with a laugh. "I'll stay here in Stoneybrook and say that I once knew supermodel Stacey McGill." I smiled, embarrassed but pleased. "I doubt it." "You could be," Robert insisted. "You're pretty enough. You're more than pretty, you're beautiful. You already look like a model." "Thanks," I said.

I don't think I'd want to be a model. It sounds boring. I'll probably do something with math, which I'm really good at. But I was very happy that Robert thought I could be a supermodel if I wanted to be. "That's really nice to hear," I added.

Robert leaned forward, bringing his face closer to mine.

And then . . . the phone rang.

Robert laughed and pulled back away from me. "Better get it." Rolling my eyes, I stood up and answered the phone. "Hello?" "Can we afford more glue?" It was Kristy. I know her voice.

"Hi, Kristy. And how are you?" I teased.

"Sorry. Hi. Do we have enough money for glue? Mary Anne and I are at the mall. I was thinking it would be fun to make valentines with the kids but we need glue. Can we afford it?" "How much glue are you buying?" I asked.

"Let me ask Mary Anne," said Kristy.

I suppose I should explain. I'm treasurer of a business called the Baby-Sitters Club (or BSC, for short). Kristy is the president and Mary Anne is the secretary. I'll tell you more about it later.

Kristy got back on the phone. "Mary Anne says five bottles of glue should do it. They're a dollar fifty each." I did a quick mental tally of the dues I'd collected, and subtracted the club expenses we still had to pay out. I added the dues I'd collect next Monday to that sum. "Go for it," I told Kristy.

"Thanks," she replied. "See you tomorrow." "That was Kristy," I told Robert as I hung up. "She wanted to know if we could afford glue." "She's the president. Why doesn't she just go ahead and buy it?" Robert asked.