Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 059

It was so demoralizing! It wasn't fair that I was under attack like this. The grunts and groans of my teammates didn't help. I felt bad enough about being such a clod. Having to deal with their annoyance just made me feel worse. I was sorry I was letting them down. But they could have had a little sympathy for what I was going through. They weren't being bombarded with a volleyball, after all. I was the one under attack.

Someone could have said, "Hey, leave her alone, Chris!" But no. They yelled: "Come on, Mallory!" "Don't just stand there!" "Hit it!" (Maybe they felt they had to fill in for Ms. Walden since she wasn't there at the moment to torment me.) Then came the last straw. "We were winning," said Helen, groaning loudly. Then she sighed as if she couldn't bear the pain of losing at volleyball.

That was all I could take. "Listen, Helen," I snapped, untying my pinny. "You don't have to worry anymore. Win your idiotic game. I'm leaving!" Throwing my pinny on the ground (and stepping on it just for good measure), I stomped over to the bleachers.

I'd tried. But it hadn't worked. Volleyball and I simply weren't a match. There was no way I was willing to subject myself to it for another minute.

After about thirty seconds on the bench, Ms. Walden was by my side. Today she took a different approach with me. Instead of biting my head off, she sat down beside me.

"Okay, Pike. Let's talk about this. What, exactly, is bugging you?" Looking down, I tried to think of a way to explain. But all I could do was notice how white Ms. Walden's sneakers were. And what thick ankles she had.

"Pike! I asked you a question," Ms. Walden pressed.

"I can't play volleyball, and I don't see why I should have to," was all I could think to say.

"Maybe if you tried, you'd learn how to play." "I just did try," I said, trying not to sound too disrespectful. "It didn't work." "Quitting isn't going to get you anywhere in life," said Ms. Walden. "This is a bad pattern. First you quit at volleyball, next thing you know, you'll be quitting college if it gets tough. Or you'll be quitting jobs you don't like. I'm telling you, don't start this quitting stuff now. Life eats up quitters." Okay. I know that, in theory, what she said was true. Quitting is not a good habit to get into. But I'm not a quitter! I've done lots of difficult things in my life.

I simply could not play volleyball.

It drives me crazy that sports people think life is like sports. Life is not sports! Life is life and sports is sports.

Ms. Walden's telling me that I would end up some huge failure in life just because I didn't want to play volleyball made me even madder and crabbier than I already was. "I'm not playing volleyball, Ms. Walden," I said calmly. "I don't care what you do to me. I'll go to detention every afternoon if I have to. But I'm not playing." "What do your parents say about this?" she asked.

I studied her sneakers. Did she have some secret for keeping them so white? Did she have many pairs? Maybe she threw her sneakers out the minute they got smudged and bought new ones.

"Your parents, Pike! What do they think of this?" "They say it's okay," I lied. "They don't think I should have to play if I don't want to." "Is that so?" Ms. Walden muttered. Then, without another word, she stood up and walked back to the volleyball games.

Now I was really confused. Had I won? Was she going to leave me alone? She hadn't mentioned detention or anything.

When gym ended, I headed for the locker. "Just a minute, Pike," Ms. Walden called, approaching me. "Instead of detention today, I have a different idea. See those pinnies?" She pointed to the pile of colored cloth that was growing as the girls filed by, each throwing her pinny on. "I want you to come by after school and pick them up. The boys' pinnies, too. They have to be washed. You can use the washing machine in the home ec room." My jaw dropped. This was inhuman.

"But . . . but ..." I stammered. It was no use. Before I could get any more words out, Ms. Walden was on her way into the locker room.

"What happened?" Jessi asked, from behind me.

"I have to wash all those stinky pinnies this afternoon," I said, still stunned by the news.

"Pew." She looked at me sympathetically. "I'd stay and help you, but I have a ballet class this afternoon." "That's okay," I told her as we trotted into the locker room. "It's not the end of the world." That's what I said. But when I was standing in the home ec room with a reeking, steaming, pile of sweat-stained pinnies, I decided the end of the world might have been preferable. They were so stinky I didn't even want to touch them.

"I'll be in the classroom across the way, doing some paperwork," Ms. Walden told me. "Keep this door open." I'm sure she would have claimed she wanted the door open for safety reasons. I think it was really part of her scheme to punish me, though. As I stood there tossing pinnies into the machine, everyone who passed by could see me. Since it's not usual to see someone doing wash in the home ec room after school everyone looked in.

With my head down, I pretended to be unaware of the kids gawking at me. And I was able to do some homework while the machine ran through its cycles. After a while, I had a bunch of clean but soaking wet pinnies. I began throwing them into the dryer.

When I looked up, I was face to face with a bunch of boys hanging in the doorway. Apparently they had been watching me work and were getting a huge kick out of it.

One of them was Robbie Mara. "Hey, Mal-lory. Don't get pinny-washer's elbow/' he ^teased. "You wouldn't want to throw off your volleyball game." "Ha, ha," I said with as much disdain in my voice as possible.

"Yeah!" Noah Fein chimed in. "It would break Chris Brooks's heart. He wouldn't have anybody to smash with the ball." "Get lost, jerks," I muttered.

That just made them laugh. "Hey, Mal, don't fall into the washing machine!" Torn Harold called as the boys moved on. "But maybe you should go soak your head. It might help." Yuck. Sports and Stoneybrook boys. I couldn't think of any two things I hated more! Chapter 11.

There's no arguing with evidence. And the evidence against boys was mounting. That's what Kristy discovered when she sat for her younger brothers and sisters.

Watson and Kristy's mom were going to some fancy black-tie awards dinner and they'd invited Nannie along. Kristy's older brothers were both busy, so Kristy was left in charge.

Since Karen and Andrew only live at their father's every other weekend, Kristy was glad to spend time with them. She was looking forward to an evening of playing board games, popping popcorn, and telling jokes. That's not what happened, though.

Emily Michelle, who you might expect to be the problem since she's so little, was great. She sat on the floor, stacking blocks or playing with her current favorite game, Shark Attack. (Emily doesn't really know how to play but she likes to fool around with the game pieces.) Karen, who adores Kristy, decided to be her baby-sitting helper.

But Andrew and David Michael acted like . . . like boys. David Michael hogged the TV. He insisted on watching G.I. Joe videos and threw a fit when Kristy insisted that he let Emily watch The Care Bears. After sulking, he dragged out his small plastic jets and began flying them across the family room.

"Stop it!" Kristy cried as a jet skidded off the top of the TV and crashed into the wall.

David Michael didn't listen. He was still mad about losing control of the TV. He hurled another plastic jet over Kristy's head.

"That's enough!" Kristy shouted, pulling the jets from his hands. "I think you better - " She didn't get a chance to finish her sentence. A blood-curdling scream from Emily Michelle stopped her cold. Andrew had taken away Shark Attack, which she was playing with while watching The Care Bears.