Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 090

I pulled a book out of my backpack and read while Anna did her homework. Ms. Ramirez looked in on us once or twice. Finally we heard Mom's voice.

"And she's all right? You're sure?" Mom asked.

"A severe episode," said Ms. Ramirez, "but she responded promptly and we were able to head it off before it became anything more serious. What she needs now is rest and quiet." "And no school tomorrow?" I asked hope-· fully as my mom and Ms. Ramirez entered the cubicle.

"I'm sure you'll be fine for school, as long as you don't run there," Ms. Ramirez answered with a smile. "I think you're ready to go but let's do a little test to make sure. Can you sit up?" I could and did. Then Ms. Ramirez asked me to walk to the end of the corridor and back. She checked my respiration and heart rate. Then she said, "Can you say the first verse of 'Mary Had a Little Lamb' without taking a breath?" I was able to. I even threw in the second verse. Ms. Ramirez nodded. She signed the chart and said to my mom, "You'll need to make arrangements to check out at the front desk. And then you can go." "Great," I said.

Mom asked, "How are you feeling, Abby? No jokes." "Fine," I said. "Tired, I guess. But fine." We're not a very demonstrative family. Mom nodded and patted my arm. "Well then, let's get out of here," she said. She turned and went out to the desk to make the arrangements.

Soon we were on our way home (the hospital staff made me ride in a wheelchair to our car, for Pete's sake!).

I spent a quiet evening at home, doing homework and channel surfing in front of the television in the den. Anna came down from her room after she finished her homework and kept me company.

And you know what was cool? Every single member of the BSC called to see how I was doing. I mean, I don't know any of them all that well, but they all called. And whatever Kristy was thinking", she kept her conversation brisk and supportive.

Very cool.

Mom emerged from her study long enough to make me go to bed early. I argued, but secretly I was kind of glad. I was more tired than I cared to admit. I listened to the familiar and reassuring hum of the air purifier in my room and fell asleep almost immediately. I slept straight through the night.

The next morning I felt fine. Great, even. It had rained during the night and rain always washes a lot of the gook out of the air that makes me sneeze and wheeze. Standing at the bus stop I took a deep breath and said, "Ahh! Fresh air!" Anna rolled her eyes at me. Kristy walked over to join us and said, "Hi, Anna, Hi Abby . . . Abby. You're feeling better?" "I'm feeling great," I replied. "Thanks for calling last night. You know, everyone in the BSC called. I really appreciated that." "Of course we all called," Kristy said, giving me a strange look. She cleared her throat. "So, do these, um, things happen often?" "The asthma attacks? No. Not really. There it is! The Wheeze Wagon." The bus groaned up to us and we got on. Anna joined some of her new music maven friends and Kristy and I snagged a seat near the front (away from the bus fumes).

"Like how often?" Kristy persisted. "The asthma attacks, I mean. Once a week? Once a month?" "Not even that often," I said impatiently. I don't really like talking about my asthma. I'm still counting on outgrowing a lot of my allergies as I get older. People do, you know.

"Maybe a couple of times a year. I usually know when the attacks are coming on and I can head them off." Kristy said, "You couldn't yesterday." I shrugged. "Hannie panicked me, running out in the street like that," I said. I'd told Kristy the details of what had happened when she'd phoned the night before.

"But what if it hadn't been Hannie and Linny there with you and Sari? What if you'd been alone with a little kid? Or a baby? What would have happened then?" asked Kristy.

"It won't happen," I snapped. "Okay?" Kristy is not tactful, and neither am I. Tension hummed in" the air between us as we looked at each other. Kristy wanted to go on cross-examining me. I was daring her to.

At last Kristy said, "Okay. . . . Did you finish your homework?" Truce. I accepted it and we talked about school for the rest of the ride. I couldn't help but worry a little, though. I knew I was a good, responsible baby-sitter. I knew that I could handle any situation. In fact, you could argue that I'd managed to handle yesterday's situation, in a way.

But Kristy was not convinced. And I didn't know how to convince her, except to work twice as hard and prove I really was a world-class baby-sitter.

I put the thought out of my mind. I'd deal with it when the time came. Besides, I'd resolved to not worry and to take it easy, at least for the day. No more asthma attacks for me if I could help it.

I told the soccer coach what had happened and skipped soccer practice after school. I went home early and actually did my homework. Then I got out my lucky (and falling apart) soccer shoes and began to rebuild the cleats on the edges, which were wearing down the fastest, with some goo-stuff.

Anna came home and stopped in the doorway of my room. "I figured you'd come home early," she said. "What are you doing?" "Fixing my lucky cleats." I held up the one I was working on.

"I thought you just got new ones," said Anna.

"For practice," I explained. "These are for games." "Why are they wrapped in that silver tape?" "It, uh, helps hold them together," I answered.

"I don't understand it," said Anna.

"Most of my friends on the soccer team have lucky cleats. Or will only wear a uniform shirt with a certain number on it. Our goalie has a special pair of gloves that she inherited from her older sister who was also a goalie . . .

things like that/' I said. "My lucky cleats and I have scored a lot of goals together. Don't you and your music friends have lucky violins or tubas or something?" "I don't. I've gotta go practice." Anna turned abruptly and left.

I wondered if something was bothering her. Nah. I was probably imagining things.

A few minutes later I heard her tuning up. Since I don't like listening to scales, I put my headphones on while I finished working on my cleats. I danced over to the windowsill and put my shoes on it, cleats up, laces down to dry.

"I'm home!" a voice bellowed in my ear.

I jumped a mile.

"Mom!" She laughed. "How're you feeling?" "Great," I said.

"I stopped by Zabar's deli in Manhattan today," Mom said. "Tonight it's a deli picnic at the table." "Great," I said.

When we were sitting around the kitchen table I decided the time was right to bring up the carnival. I hadn't mentioned it the evening after the BSC meeting because I was already practically asleep by the time Mom got home. And I'd forgotten about it in the unwelcome excitement of the day before.

"Carnival?" said Mom absently.

"To raise money. For the Stoneybrook public schools' Arts Fund," I repeated. I turned to Anna. "Like for money for the music program at school. For new instruments. Things like that." "They shouldn't be cutting those funds," Mom protested.

"So maybe we could run a booth," I urged them. "At the carnival." "Maybe," said Mom. But her enthusiasm wasn't overwhelming.

Neither, to my surprise, was my sister's.

"What do you think?" I asked her. "I bet all your friends in the music class could get behind this. Maybe even perform at the carnival or something." "Maybe," said Anna. She stood and picked up her plate. "I better get to my homework." "We'll talk about it later, okay?" I said.

Mom murmured, "Mmm." Anna didn't answer.

"Great dinner, Mom," I said, clearing off my own plate. "Deli belly delicious." Mom laughed and shook her head.

I decided to zone out in front of the television for the rest of the evening. I'd just settled in with the remote when I heard Mom moan, "Owwwwww." "Mom?" I called.