Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 059

Then I thought of Lbgan. I had to admit he wasn't a pain, either. But he's from Kentucky. And he hasn't been in Stoneybrook all that long. At least not long enough to turn into a pain.

So, here was my new theory: American boys from Stoneybrook were the biggest pains on earth.

There must be something about Stoneybrook that made boys particularly obnoxious. Look at my brothers. They've lived here all their lives and they were the ultimate pains. Was it the water? The school system? The teams they played on?

I knew! It was gym! Kids take gym from kindergarten on up. There must be something in the way Stoneybrook teachers conduct the boys' gym classes that made boys think they could do anything they pleased. It was a pretty clear connection. The teachers encourage them to play as if winning were the most important thing in the world. I wasn't sure exactly what it was, but something in the way they teach the boys gym was encouraging them to be incredible twerps.

But what about the little boys? They weren't taking gym yet. They must have been under the influence of the older boys. The little guys couldn't help but pick it up.

As farfetched as this theory might sound, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. The most revolting subject on earth - gym - would naturally produce the most revolting people on earth - boys.

Girls take gym, of course. But it isn't the same. Most girls didn't seem to me to be as serious about gym as boys were. There's probably only one girls sports event for every five the boys have. Take something like basketball: The girls have a team. But only a few kids and one or two parents come to the games. When the boys' team has a game, the benches are full.

That makes boys feel they're more important. And feeling more important must make them obnoxious.

I was glad that, at least, this wasn't a worldwide syndrome. Stoneybrook was simply the worst offender. That left some hope. When I was older, I could move to some place (like Australia or Kentucky) where the boys act more like human beings.

I pondered these things as the cookies baked and the boys helped me clean up the kitchen. When the cookies were done we let them cool a moment, just long enough to pour ourselves big glasses of milk. Then James looked at the clock and saw that it was time for a movie he wanted to watch on TV. It was Return of the Master Killer, one of those martial arts movies. We took our cookies and milk into the den and turned on the movie.

It was time for me to worry again. My brothers love these fighting movies, too. The minute one comes on, they're up, kicking, shouting, karate-chopping the air, right along with the guys in the movie. One of my brothers (usually Nicky or Byron) always gets hurt before the movie ends.

But I was in luck again. The Hobart boys were crazy about the movie, but they showed their enthusiasm by shouting things like: "Good one!" "Go, get him!" "All right!" Not by knocking over lamps and belting one another in the mouth as my brothers would have done.

We were an hour into the movie when Ben came home. "Return of the Master Killer, huh?" he said, standing in the doorway. "I like this one, but not as much as A Slice of Death. That's my favorite." "Master Killer is way better," James disagreed.

"I smell cookies," Ben observed.

"Should we give him his special cookie?" I asked the guys.

"You can give it to him," said Mathew, his eyes glued to the screen.

Ben and I walked into the kitchen and I gave him his B cookie.

"It looks like the monsters weren't being too bad for you," said Ben as he bit into the cookie.

"Bad?" I cried. "They're wonderful. You're so lucky." Ben laughed. "It must be you. They're not always so wonderful." "Whenever I see them, they are. They're angels!" "Ha!" Ben hooted. "They may look like angels, but believe me, they're not." "I don't believe you," I insisted. "I would give anything to trade brothers with you." "No you wouldn't." "I'm serious. I would." "You'd be sorry." Ben laughed.

"You're the one who would be sorry. If you got my brothers it would be like a bomb hit your house. You know what they're like." "They're not so terrible," said Ben, reaching for another cookie.

"Not so terrible!" I shrieked. "How can you say that?" Ben just laughed.

"Ben," I said, "what's gym like in Australia?" He looked at me, surprised. "I don't know.

Kind of like it is here. In my school we only had it once a week, though." "See! I knew it!" I cried.

"Knew what?" "Nothing. Nothing. It's just a theory I'm working on," I told him.

"Speaking of gym," he said seriously. "Did that detention notice ever come to your house?" I nodded. "I grabbed it before anyone saw it. I have another one in my pocket right now. I got it out of the mailbox before I came over today. In the nick of time, too. My mother came outside and saw me looking through the mail. Luckily I had just stuck the letter in my jacket pocket. It was a close call." "Mal, why don't you just play volleyball? It's better than lying to your parents," Ben said with a sigh.

"I'm not lying to them," I protested.

Ben cocked his head and looked at me like he wasn't buying my excuse.

"I'm not! I'm just sparing them from being upset." "Well, do what you like," he said. "But I think there's going to be trouble if they find out. Besides that, once you get on bad terms with a teacher, he - or she - can make your life miserable. And, the mark is going to appear on your report card. What are you going to say when your parents ask why you failed gym?" I turned pale. Fail gym! I hadn't thought of that. I've never failed a subject in my life. Would I have to go to summer school? For gym? What a perfect way to ruin a summer.

"Gosh, I hadn't thought about all that," I admitted, slumping onto a kitchen chair, my head in my hands. "It sounds like you've been thinking about it a lot." "Sure. Well, I think about you a lot." "Yeah?" "Sure." "Okay," I said. "Monday I'm going to play volleyball." "Good," said Ben, smiling. "I think that's a great idea." I sighed. "I'll try, anyhow." Chapter 10.

On Monday I entered gym class with the very best of intentions. Really. I did.

"Are you going to play?" Jessi gasped as I walked out toward my teammates.

"Yes," I replied, chin up, eyes straight ahead.

"Good for you," she said. "You'll be great." "Thanks, but I'll settle for being alive when this is over." With an encouraging pat on the shoulder, Jessi ran off to her team.

"To what do we owe this honor?" asked Helen Gallway as I tied on my pinny.

I gave her a tight little smile and said nothing.

Robbie Mara exchanged a quick glance with another boy on the team, Noah Fein. Noah rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. "We're doomed," he muttered.

I really couldn't blame my teammates for not being thrilled about my return, I think they may actually have won a couple of games while I was on the bleachers. But I couldn't worry about that. I was supposed to play, and I was going to play. That's all there was to it.

Ms. Walden noticed me, but she didn't say anything. Soon Mr. De Young blew his whistle and the game started. I don't know if it was intentional, but the girl serving on the other side gave me a break. She didn't send the ball directly to me. I was able to get away with looking like I was paying attention, hopping lightly on the balls of my feet with my hands half up in the air as if I were prepared to - even hoping to - slap the ball at any moment. (Truthfully, my hands were poised to cover my head in case the ball came flying at it. But no one else had to know that.) If the game had continued that way, everything would have been fine. But it didn't.

Chris Brooks came up to serve for the other team. He looked at me and remembered the one bright idea he'd probably ever had in his life. (I imagined him thinking in caveman talk: "Hit ball to Mallory. Win game.") In minutes, I felt like a character in a video game, one who has to keep darting and leaping to avoid being pulverized by some cosmic blast. Chris pounded serve after serve directly at me. I wanted to return the ball, but I couldn't. I'm sorry, it just goes against human nature - at least my human nature - not to duck when a flying object is heading straight at you.