Ann Martin: Baby-Sitters Club 060

That was when I made my decision. I was going to get my hair cut. I owed it to myself. I owed it to my New Year's resolution. I would find a good hair salon, show them the picture, and go through with it.

But there was one big "if." If I could convince my dad.

My stomach sank. Convincing him to let me take my hair out of pigtails had been almost impossible. Sure, he wasn't as strict now as he used to be, but still . . .

I carefully ripped the page out of the magazine. Maybe if I showed him exactly what I wanted to do, he'd be more likely to give me permission.

But before I went downstairs, I'd have to do some homework. I didn't want him to say, "Now, young lady, you shouldn't be looking at magazines during your work time." At precisely nine o'clock, after some social studies and math, I shut my notebook, grabbed the magazine photo, and ran downstairs.

Dad was alone in the living room, reading the newspaper. I could hear Sharon on the phone in the kitchen.

"Hi," I said nonchalantly.

Dad looked up and smiled. "Hi! You look happier than before." "Oh! Yeah, I think the weather was getting me down," I said. Then I took the plunge. "Um, Dad . . . can I show you something?" "Sure." I held out the picture. "What do you think of this haircut?" Dad looked at it, scratching his chin. "Urn . . . very spiffy." (He's always using words like that.) "Why?" "Well, I was thinking ... it looks kind of pretty . . . and I need a trim anyway ..." "You mean, you want to get a cut like this for yourself?" Dad said, taking the magazine to look closer.

I nodded meekly. "Yeah. Don't you think it'd be a nice change?" Dad drummed his fingers against his chin. I had an awful feeling. A scary image popped into my head. He'd get so angry, he'd never let me cut my hair again. I'd be like Rapunzel. I pictured my hair growing down to my feet, with split ends that started at my waist.

But Dad exhaled and nodded. "I think you would look lovely." Huh?

I didn't think I was hearing right. My dad does have a kind of strange, quiet sense of humor. Sometimes I can't tell if he's joking. "You . . . you mean it?" Dad chuckled. "Yes, I mean it. I always thought short hair would suit you. I was under the impression you didn't like it." "Oh, Dad!" I cried, throwing my arms around him.

"Now, if you want it really short," he said with a sly smile, "there's a fellow at Frank's Barber Shop . . ." "Daaad," I replied. "I was thinking of that salon at Washington Mall, where Stacey got her perm." "Isn't that kind of far? What about the place in town?" "No!" I said. "They destroyed poor Karen Brewer's hair." (It's true, too. The place is called Gloriana's House of Hair, but it might as well be called Gloriana's House of Horror.) "Well, we wouldn't want that," Dad said. "What are you doing Saturday?" "Um . . . you know, nothing special." "How about a father-daughter day? We haven't done that in a long time. I'll take you to the salon, then we can browse around the mall, have some lunch, just . . . hang out." I can't help laughing when my dad uses expressions like hang out. He kind of wiggles his head awkwardly, like he's trying to be hip. But no matter. I was thrilled. "That would be so much fun!" "Let me just make sure Sharon doesn't need me to - " .

"Oh, Dad? One other thing. I want to keep the haircut a secret. Even from Dawn and Sharon." "Why?" "To surprise them. I can't wait to see the expressions on their faces!" Dad gave me a wink. "All right, my lips are sealed." "Thanks," I said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

I ran upstairs. Suddenly I felt great. I finished my homework in no time. I talked to Dawn a little about Carolyn's time machine, I talked to Logan on the phone about going to the January Jamboree together. And I never once mentioned my haircut.

The Official Countdown had begun. It was T minus three days until the New Mary Anne! Chapter 4.

Jessi was the perfect person to sit for the twins. Because of her ballet, she knows some classical music, which helps Marilyn. And Jessi's also read a lot of science fiction, so she could talk about time travel with Carolyn.

They were in the kitchen, having lunch, when Jessi mentioned Back to the Future. Well, forget it. Carolyn was off and running.

"Did you like the part where his mom calls him Calvin Klein, 'cause she sees that name on his underwear?" Carolyn said, laughing so hard a piece of lettuce shot out of her mouth.

"Say it, don't spray it," Marilyn mumbled.

"That was pretty funny," Jessi said, answering Carolyn. "How about the part where Dr. Brown laughs hysterically when Marty tells him Ronald Reagan will be President one day." "It's my favy-avy-avorite movie of all time!" Carolyn said.

Marilyn yawned. "We know that." "Well, you said you liked it, too," Carolyn insisted. Then she barged ahead, turning to Jessi. "I know a lot about time travel. You know what I started to read? The Time Machine." "Dad has to read most of it to her," Marilyn cut in.

"It's soooo exciting," Carolyn said.

"I read that," Jessi said. "It's by H. G. Wells." "Yeah, that's him!" "I've been reading this great book called Time and Again, by a guy named Jack Finney," Jessi said. "It's about a secret government project, where people go back in time to change history." Carolyn's eyes widened. "Wow! Is there really such a thing?" Jessi laughed. "I don't think so . . ." "There could be!" Carolyn insisted. "I saw a TV show that said there are, um, like warps in space that have these wormholes - " Marilyn squealed with laughter. "Worm-holes?" "Yeah!" Carolyn said with a pout.

"So that means worms can travel in space?" "Not in space. In time, dodo brain!" "You can't call me that!" "And not just worms - anything tan! Except maybe you, 'cause you're too - " Jessi the Peacemaker took over. "If you really could go back in time, what time would you go to?" The girls fell silent for a moment. "Back to when my mom and dad were kids," Carolyn said. "I could baby-sit for them." "And make them eat broccoli!" Marilyn added.

The girls giggled. Jessi could tell Marilyn was finally interested in the conversation. "How about you, Marilyn?" Jessi asked.

Marilyn thought deeply. "Oh, the late 1700s." "Why?" "Then I could, like, hide Mozart's pencils or something, so he wouldn't write such hard music." That wasn't what Jessi had expected. She laughed.

"How about you, Jessi?" Carolyn said.

"I'd go to Paris in the early 1900s," Jessi volunteered, "to see this great ballet dancer named Nijinsky. They say he was so exciting to watch that people would faint in the audience." "Wow," Marilyn said.

Carolyn had a mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, maybe you can see him!" She jumped up from her chair. "Follow me!" Carolyn led Jessi and Marilyn down to the basement. (No password was required.) There, in all its high-tech glory, was the time machine. According to Jessi, it looked exactly the way it had looked when I saw it - the crates, the ropes tied to the boiler, the sign with the bad spelling.

"Bet you don't know what this is," Carolyn said.

"It's a time machine," Marilyn piped up.

"Marilyn . . ." "That's exactly what I thought it was!" Jessi said. "It looks . . . great." "I still need a few parts," Carolyn said. She rummaged around on the floor and found a neatly folded piece of paper. "Here's my list." She held out the paper for Jessi to see. It looked like this: V-\"vi" -for TV- Old Tow/I "Some of these might be a little hard to find," Carolyn said.

Jessi' s baby-sitting instinct took over. A search would be a perfect activity. "I bet we can find these things," she said. "Let's go on a scavenger hunt!" "Yeah!" Carolyn and Marilyn cried.

They ran upstairs. "The dish towels are in the pantry!" Marilyn said, running into the kitchen.

"I'll get the toilet paper!" Carolyn called out.

Jessi stood in the kitchen, looking at the list. "Where do you keep old blankets?" Marilyn rushed over, holding a faded old dish towel. "Top shelf of the linen closet," she said. "I'll show you." She and Jessi ran to a narrow closet in the hallway between the kitchen and the living room. Sure enough, a moth-eaten woolen blanket sat on the top shelf. Jessi took it down and went back to the kitchen, to put it on the table.