Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 059

"Pike!" Ms. Walden barked, following me across the gym. "What are you doing?" "I'm benching myself," I told her.

"I don't think so," she said. "Get back onto that court." "Sorry, Ms. Walden," I told her firmly. "I'm not playing." Ms. Walden's eyes narrowed, but her cheeks only colored to that pink level of anger. "If you're not back on that court by the time Mr. De Young blows the whistle, you can count on detention." "Fine," I said.

With that, Ms. Walden returned to the game. For a moment I almost caved in and ran onto the court. But the moment passed. Mr. De Young blew his whistle and still I sat on the bleacher.

Detention.

I'd never had it before. Naturally, I was old enough to know it wasn't the end of the world. Some kids spent half their lives in detention. They didn't seem to care after awhile.

Still, it was a blemish on my perfect no-detention record. In my usual, over-imaginative way, I wondered if this was the beginning of my slide into a life of crime. I could see the movie of my life story opening with me sitting in detention. The next scene was me sitting in a police station. Really, though, once you stopped caring about getting into trouble, where did you draw the line?

I'd have to worry about that later. Right now, this was working out very well for me. No volleyball was the best reward anyone could give me.

It turned out that detention wasn't bad, either. I did my homework while I was there. Being "bad" was a breeze.

"Your parents will be receiving written notification of your detention," said Mr. Ziz-more, the detention monitor, just as we were about to leave.

Written notification! Maybe detention wasn't a total breeze.

Suddenly I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. My parents would be shocked. And upset. I wouldn't be able to bear their worried, concerned faces. I didn't want to hear their lecture, either. Especially since I couldn't promise it would never happen again. I fully intended to avoid volleyball until the end of the unit. When something works, you stay with it.

As I stepped out of the detention classroom, I was deep in thought, worrying about this. That's why I almost ran right into Ben.

"Hi. What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Waiting for you," he said. "I thought maybe you'd be feeling bad. You know, like you might want to talk to someone or ... you know. I heard what happened from a guy in my math class." "It's big news, huh," I said sourly.

"Not really. It's just that he knows you and I are friends, so he mentioned it. Are you okay?" "I guess so," I said as we walked down the hall. "But it has been a pretty rotten day. Now I have to worry about my parents finding out. The school is sending them a letter." "Will they be angry?" he asked.

"A little, but mostly they'll be concerned. That's almost worse." "I know what you mean," he agreed. "They'll look all crushed and sad. It's much worse. What started this, anyway?" I filled him in on how much I hated volley-ball and how Ms. Walden was picking on me. I left out the part about how annoying the boys are. I didn't feel right saying that to him since he is a boy.

Talking to Ben is so easy. He listens and always tries to understand. He even told me he isn't crazy about volleyball himself. "And playing with the girls is weird," he said. "I'm always afraid I'm going to step on them or something." "That doesn't bother some boys," I said bitterly.

"Yeah, well, now that you've told me what happened to you, I'm going to play differently in gym class. I know girls aren't delicate little flowers or anything like that. But most of them don't play sports the same way boys do. They have a different style. It's just as good, but different." Ben is so great.

It's hard to believe he's a boy.

We walked to my door and then stood around talking for awhile longer, until I suddenly realized what time it was. Detention had thrown me off schedule. I'd forgotten I was arriving home an hour later than usual. "Gosh!" I said. "I have to get ready for my Baby-sitter's Club meeting. Thanks for waiting for me." "No problem." "Ben," I said, "even though I'm glad you waited, you don't have to wait each time it happens." A look of confusion swept over Ben's face. "It's going to happen again?" "I'm afraid so," I said, sighing. "I'm not playing volleyball. I've made up my mind." "Don't you think it would be simpler to play? I mean, just sort of grin and bear it. It won't last forever." I shook my head. "No. I've made up my mind." "I think you're making a mistake," said Ben.

"Maybe. But I'm still not playing volleyball." Ben smiled sadly. "Then I'll wait for you to get out of detention every day until volleyball is over." "You don't have to." "It's okay," he said as he walked across the lawn. "See you tomorrow." "See you," I said with a wave.

Turning to go into the house, I thought of something. The mail. I wondered if anyone had picked it up yet.

Before this, I hadn't paid a lot of attention to the mail. But now I had a reason to. It occurred to me that if that notice from the school had been in the mailbox right now - as it would be in a few days - I could simply take it out of the mailbox and stuff it into my pocket.

Then a pang of guilt hit me. I envisioned my face on a Most Wanted Poster in the post office. Mallory Pike: Wanted for Mail Fraud.

I pushed the thought aside. I wasn't going to descend into a life of crime. As Ben had said, it was only for a short while. This just had to be done.

From now on, I would be checking the mail daily.

Chapter 8.

Logan was right. The kids seemed to have turned into monsters. But he missed one detail that I noticed right away. All the kids who were being difficult were boys! (Logan probably missed this since he, himself, is a boy.) Nine-year-old Kerry, Logan's sister, was as sweet as always. She hadn't changed. But five-year-old Hunter was like a wild child when Logan sat for him on Tuesday evening. First he threw his eight million Legos all over the living room floor and refused to pick them up. (Kerry picked them up for him.) Later, Hunter demanded that Logan make him a hamburger for supper, even though Mrs. Bruno had left a tuna casserole for Logan to heat up. Logan was nice enough to make the hamburger, but when it was ready, Hunter said it was salty and refused to eat it. (Kerry ate it for him and said it was delicious.) While Kerry was angelically doing her homework in her room, Hunter was throwing a fit because he didn't want to brush his teeth before going to bed. Logan relented and said he didn't have to brush, but just getting Hunter into bed was a major accomplishment. He got up five times, wanting everything from water to a different Teddy bear to sleep with, before he finally nodded off.

Logan was exhausted by the time his parents returned home.

He told us all this when he came by for a Wednesday BSC meeting. He and Mary Anne had been studying together again that afternoon. I guess as long as he was around, he figured he might as well come to the meeting.

To tell the truth, I wasn't particularly happy to see him. I was still down on boys. And, nice as he is, Logan is a boy. The meetings are different when he's there, too. Everyone is quieter. We hardly ever giggle. It's as if we're trying to act more mature just because Logan is there.

Also, I must admit that I was in a crabby mood that day anyway. Since it was Wednesday, I had once again had gym. And I had benched myself again. And I had gotten detention again. All through detention I was looking forward to the BSC meeting as the only bright spot in my dismal day, and I didn't want -a boy - not even Logan - interfering with that.

Anyway, like it or not, Logan was there and he told us about how tough Hunter had been to take care of. Everyone agreed with him that the kids have been especially difficult lately.