Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 090

I wonder if I would feel flattered if someone named a dog after me. Hmm. It would depend on the dog, I guess. Anyway, Shannon is really into school and is a member of all sorts of clubs, such as the astronomy club and the French club, which is why she's an associate member. Shannon can't come to every meeting of the BSC or take as many jobs.

And I can't leave out Dawn, although she's in California now and part of a new babysitting organization called the We V Kids Club. I've never met Dawn, but from what I've been told, she's very cool. She's supposed to be very easygoing except when it comes to causes about which she is passionate, such as the environment (my dad would have liked her for sure). I look forward to meeting Dawn.

But back to the meeting.

Kristy sat in the director's chair she sits in every meeting. She looked at her watch. She looked at Claud's clock. She cleared her throat. "This meeting of the Baby-sitters Club will come to order/' she announced.

Claudia pushed the BSC notebook toward Stacey. "Here. Your turn," she said. The notebook (another one of Kristy's great ideas) is sort of like a diary. In it, we write up a description of every job we take and also read each other's entries to keep up with what's going on with the many families we sit for. Very helpful, although I think I am in the majority when I say it is more fun to read the notebook than to write in it.

Stacey took the notebook and snagged a pen off Claudia's desk. She flipped open the notebook to a blank page and bent over it, her hair brushing her cheeks.

The phone rang almost immediately. Mal answered, took down some information, then said, "We'll call you back, Mrs. Papadakis." She turned to us. "For the day after tomorrow," she said. "Hannie, Linny, and Sari Papadakis from three-thirty until five." "Can't. Test" said Stacey.

"Me, neither," Kristy said. She made a face. "Killer homework." Mary Anne opened the record book, where she keeps the list of all our appointments, along with clients' names, addresses, phone numbers, and special info about the kids, such as who has allergies. (If I had a page in the record book for my allergies, it would be full.) She ran her finger down the pages. "Mal, you and Jessi are ..." "Sitting for my family." Mal grinned. "I know." The Pikes always hire two baby-sitters because there are so many kids.

Mary Anne studied the book and announced, "The only person free at this late date is you, Abby." "Sign me up," I said. "I like the commute." The Papadakises live across the street from Kristy and me.

Mary Anne looked a little confused, but she signed me up anyway.

Pushing her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose, Mal asked, "Have you heard that the art and music programs at all the Stoney-brook public schools might be cut back?" This was not the sort of question that inspired me to leap in with both feet. Neither, apparently, did it immediately inspire Kristy, who merely leaned forward, looking interested.

Claudia, however, practically levitated. She dropped the Dove chocolate she was unwrapping and cried, "No way! You're kidding! How could they possibly cut the money for art? Art is important! Art is ... we don't have enough money for art supplies as it is. I can't believe it!" Jessi added, "Not to mention that dance isn't even included at all in the arts piogram. It's just as important - as the baseball team. Or the soccer.team." I didn't know if I agreed with Jessi. But there was no doubt in my mind that she worked as hard as any athlete I knew. Hmmm. I'd have to think about that.

Then I thought of Anna. Anna was totally involved in the music program at school. She was not going to be happy about the cutbacks, to say the least.

Suddenly the issue became very much more important to me. "So what's the gory story?" I asked.

"It's not exactly gory," Mal said, then grinned. "Oh. Well, the story is, the Ston-eybrook public schools are organizing a weekend carnival at the end of the month to raise money for the arts program. Anyone who wants can have a booth, and all the money earned will be donated to the Arts Fund. My family's going to run a booth. We're collecting crafts from people, you know, asking them to donate handmade items, and we're going to sell them at the booth." The word carnival sent the interest level soaring. "A carnival!" exclaimed Kristy. You could see her brain working furiously on Great New Ideas.

"Crafts," Claudia said thoughtfully, pulling on one of her handmade, papier-mache earrings.

"I like it," I said. This was the sort of thing my family needed, I decided. It would pull Anna and Mom and me into the community. It would make new friends for all of us.

"We could ask all our families to have booths," said Jessi.

With a smile, Mary Anne held up the record book. "Not only that," she added, "but we have a list of people who have children - the perfect people for getting involved in a fund-raising carnival to support the school arts program." "We are there!" I exclaimed. "Write me down. I can see it now: a big banner, maybe some lights: Don't be Heartless . . . and leave us Art-less!" It took a minute, but everybody suddenly broke up.

Fabulous club. Fabulous audience.

Fabulous.

Chapter 3.

"Achoo!" I sneezed.

"Do you have a cold?" asked Nannie. "My dad makes us special tea for a cold. It has honey and lemon in it." "Or maybe you need a shot/' Linny suggested.

Two days after that BSC meeting I was babysitting for Hannie, Linny, and Sari Papadakis. Linny is nine, Hannie is seven, and Sari is two.

"Forget it, Linny," I said. "No shots. It's just allergies. Animals make me sneeze and you gotta admit, you've got an animal or two around here." I was referring to Pat the Cat, Noodle the Poodle, and Myrtle the Turtle.

"Dogs and cats and turtles make you sneeze?" asked Hannie.

"Well, maybe not turtles," I conceded. "And poodles don't make me sneeze as much as other dogs because they don't shed as much." I looked around. Inside, it was nice. But outside there was more space with fewer animals.

"What do you say we put Noodle in the backyard for a little while and shoot some hoops in the driveway?" I suggested.

"All rightl I'll get my basketball!" Linny disappeared in the direction of his room.

"I have to put on my sneakers," said Han-nie, sticking out one loafer-clad foot.

"You go do that and I'll put something extra on Sari to make sure she stays good and warm," I said, scooping up Sari. Like her cat, Pat, Sari clung to what she'd been sitting on, in this case the throw rug in the den.

I disentangled Sari and took her upstairs to put on her red jacket and matching red cap. Then I took out one of the baby-sitters' secret weapons: the . Bad-Kit. Another of Kristy's great ideas. Kid-Kits are medium-sized boxes filled with all kinds of things, from stickers to old books and games. Even though the kits contain mostly used stuff, they're a big hit when we take them along on jobs. That's because the toys and games inside are new to the kids we take care of.

We don't take them to every job, but so far, I hadn't left it home once, in case of an emergency situation. My Kid-Kit was a shoebox that my newest pair of soccer cleats had come in. I hadn't decorated it yet - the company's picture of the cleats on the side of the box looked good enough to me - but I had been filling it up.

"Mmm. Let's see, let's see," I murmured. "Let's find a toy for you to play with outside. Aha!" Sari pointed. "Cat!" she cried.

"Cat," I agreed.

It was an old wooden puzzle in a box, six big pieces in different shapes that fit into a bigger square of wood. When the pieces were all in place, a white cat with black and orange spots and green eyes was looking out at you.

I grabbed one of Sari's blankets and we went downstairs and out to the basketball hoop above the driveway on the side of the house. I settled Sari on the blanket on the grass in the corner of the fence with the puzzle. (I had hauled my Nikes out of my backpack in the house and put them on. I'd sort of dressed up for school that day, but I never leave home without my Nikes.) I started shooting baskets with Linny and Hannie.