Ann Martin: Baby-Sitters Club 060

CRASSHHH! came a noise from the basement.

Clonk! came a note from the piano.

Knock! Knock! Knock! came the sound of Marilyn's heels against the living-room floor as she stomped to the kitchen and yelled, "Stop it, Carolyn!" I ran to the top of the basement stairs and called down, "Are you okay?" "Don't come down yet!" was Carolyn's answer. I guess that meant she was all right.

"Will you guys please stop shouting?" Marilyn shouted. She returned to the living room.

"Sorry!" Carolyn shouted back.

More powder-face music began, and more tinkering noises came from downstairs.

I once read an article about identical twins who were separated at birth. They didn't meet until they were grown-ups - but they turned out to have the same personalities, to like the same things, weigh the same, and so on. Well, Carolyn and Marilyn have been together every day of their lives, and they couldn't be more different. And it's not only that one likes music and the other science. Marilyn is kind of bossy, she dresses simply and wears her hair long, and her bedroom is decorated in yellow. Carolyn wears trendy clothes and has short hair. Her bedroom is almost all blue, with a kind of "cat" motif.

Up till a year ago, their parents used to dress them completely alike. The girls slept in the same bedroom and shared the same toys and books. And boy, did they have problems getting along! They even ran masking tape down the center of the room to divide it in two, so each could have her own half. I ended up having a long talk with Mrs. Arnold, and she agreed to let them have separate rooms - and separate personalities. Now they're friends, more or less.

All of a sudden the music stopped, and I heard Marilyn's footsteps rushing toward the kitchen. "I'm done," she said.

"Great," I replied. "Want to do something fun?" Marilyn nodded. "Yeah, let's go downstairs." "Well, Carolyn's working on this project - " "The time machine," Marilyn said casually. "I know all about it." She ran to the top of the basement stairs, and called down, "Hey! Are you done yet?" "No way!" Carolyn replied.

"Well, can me and Mary Anne come down?" There was a pause. "What's the password, Marilyn?" Marilyn exhaled. "I forgot." "Warp movement!" Carolyn whispered loudly.

"Oh, yeah, warp movement," Marilyn repeated.

"Okay, come on," Carolyn replied.

I held back a laugh. Carolyn may have been a good scientist, but she was a terrible secret- keeper. We walked down the wooden steps to a large, unfinished basement. It had cinderblock walls and a concrete floor, with exposed pipes hanging from a low ceiling. I had to duck to avoid cobwebs.

There was a boiler against the far wall. To one of its pipes, Carolyn had tied ropes and wires. They fanned out in a kind of network, attached on the other side to a stack of wooden crates. Scraps of metal, tinfoil, crumpled-up paper, and tools were strewn around the floor. Nailed to the crates was a cardboard sign that looked like this: "What a mess," Marilyn mumbled.

"Hello?" I said.

Carolyn popped out from behind the crates. She was wearing a pair of cat's-eye sunglasses, and the "flux capacitator" was strapped to her forehead with a terry cloth headband.

"When I am finished, you will go where no girl has gone before," Carolyn said, in a voice like a TV announcer, "to enter the final dimension, through a warp of time - " Marilyn was practically shrieking with laughter. "Carolyn, you're warped!" she said.

At that moment, the boiler clicked and made a whooshing sound. Carolyn screamed and jumped away, knocking over some more crates that were off to the side. Marilyn laughed even louder.

Carolyn had landed on the floor, her glasses hanging from one ear, the headband over her eyes. I put my hand over my mouth, but it was too late. A little snort came out.

That was enough. Carolyn cracked a smile, then let out a giggle. And then, in the next instant, the three of us were rolling on the floor with laughter.

Chapter 2.

I left the Arnolds' house at 5:19. That gave me eleven minutes. Precisely. It's a pretty long walk to Bradford Court, so I mapped out the quickest route in my head. I had worn my Keds, because I knew I'd have to move fast. Slinging my backpack securely over my shoulders, I set off.

Sound like I was going to a meeting of some secret society? Some spy organization where latecomers were locked out? Well, not exactly. I was on my way to Claudia Kishi's house for a Baby-sitters Club meeting, and I hate to be late.

By the time I got there, I felt like a walking block of ice. Usually when I reach the Kishis', I slow down a little. I take a look at the house across the street, where my dad and I used to live. I remember all the fun times I had with Claudia and Kristy (Kristy used to live next door). All these warm feelings rush through me. Well, that afternoon I had only one cold feeling: Get inside. Luckily, Claud leaves her front door open on meeting days, so I barged right in.

A warm, gingery smell floated out from the kitchen. I called out, "Ha, Muzz Kush!" (It was supposed to be "Hi, Mrs. Kishi," but my jaw was frozen.) "Hello, Mary Anne!" came Mrs. Kishi's voice as I ran up the stairs. As usual, I could hear Claudia's older sister, Janine the Genius, clicking away at her computer in her bedroom. I dashed past the racket and into Claud's room.

"Hi," I said, stepping around candy wrappers, cut-up pieces of cardboard, and some string. (Claudia is very creative, and very messy.) I sneaked a look at the clock, which said 5:27.

Whew. Three minutes to spare. I had made it.

"Hi," everyone replied.

I took off my pack and sat on the bed between Claudia and Dawn. Jessica Ramsey, another of our members, was sitting on the floor. She was holding a box of Milk Duds and was tossing one up and trying to catch it in her mouth.

"Ow," Jessi said as a Dud bonked her under the nose.

"No, no," said Kristy Thomas. "Watch." Kristy was in her usual position, sitting on a director's chair, next to the clock. She took a Milk Dud from a box in her hand, threw it almost up to the ceiling, and caught it cleanly in her mouth. "Think of your mouth as a catcher's mitt," she said.

Ew. Can you imagine?

So, we had a couple of minutes in which to relax (and thaw out) before starting time. Claudia and Dawn were looking at fashion magazines, and Kristy was coaching Jessi in Dud-catching, so I decided to pick up our record book from the floor and prepare myself in case a client called right away. (As BSC secretary, I'm in charge of the records.) The club is a real business. Meetings begin at five-thirty sharp every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and they last till six. We take phone calls from parents who need sitters. Then we schedule the jobs among ourselves (there are seven regular members, and two associates). We also talk and eat and laugh and hang out. (That's why we call the BSC a "club" and not a "company" or something.) Each of us is an officer with special duties. In the record book, I keep a calendar of all our jobs, a list of clients' addresses and phone numbers, a record of how much we've been paid, and special information about our charges (problems, interests, favorite activities). It's a lot of work, but I like making lists and organizing things (I guess I get that from my dad).

By the way, there's also a BSC notebook, where we write descriptions of our jobs - funny stories, words of advice, anything that might help in the future.

When the BSC first started, we put fliers in supermarkets and other public places. But, as Kristy says, "Word of mouth is the best advertising," and she's right. By now, lots of Stoneybrook parents know about us. We're reliable and very convenient. Imagine if you were a parent. Would you rather call a bunch of sitters, one by one, hoping to find someone available - or make one call and reach seven eager, experienced sitters at once?