Ann Martin: Baby-Sitters Club 059

As Ms. Walden continued to review the rules of volleyball with the help of her blackboard drawings, I dropped my name in the basket. When she was done, Ms. Walden joined Mr. De Young in the center of the gym and they combined the names. Then came the long, drawn-out process of pulling out the names and separating everyone into different teams. I prayed it would take up the entire period.

Jessi scooted over beside me on the bleacher. "You look terrible. Do you feel all right?" she asked.

"I'm going to make a total jerk of myself," I told her. "And in front of all these boys!" "Everyone will be paying attention to their own game," she pointed out.

"Yeah, and the kids on my team will be paying attention to me, because I'll be the worst player on the team." Jessi gave my arm a friendly squeeze. "You're not that bad." I looked at her. How could she be. so calm? And why did her gym suit look so good on her? "Do you iron your gym suit?" I asked.

"Aunt Cecelia does. She irons everything. Even underwear/' Jessi replied with a laugh.

My outfit had the casual, rumpled look that can only be achieved by taking my shorts and shirt straight from the dryer and stuffing them into my knapsack. I made a mental note to iron my gym suit.

"Mallory Pike, green team," Ms. Walden called out.

"So long," 1 told Jessi as I slid off the bleacher.

"It won't be as bad as you think," she said, smiling. Good old Jessi. She had no idea.

The green team was to play at the net at the far end of the gym. 1 felt as if 1 were walking in slow motion, and everyone in the gym was staring at me. 1 had never been so aware of my arms before. Suddenly I had no idea what to do with them. 1 crossed them, but that felt dumb. Then 1 put them behind my back, but that made me look like I was in handcuffs. 1 placed them at my sides and felt like a robot.

"Move, Pike," called Ms. Walden, clapping her hands.

Thank you, Ms. Walden, I said to myself. Now everyone really is looking at me. 1 broke into a trot and that, at least, made me forget about my arms.

When 1 reached the net, a girl named Helen Gallway handed me a green pinny. Helen is one of those very athletic girls Ms. Walden just adores. Somehow it seemed to be understood that she was the team captain.

"Mallory, how's your serve?" Helen asked me.

"Not so hot," I admitted.

Helen sighed. "Okay then, stand in the middle over to the right." I did as she said, hoping I was in a nice, out-of-the-way spot that the ball would never reach. I looked around at my ten teammates, but didn't see anyone I knew very well. In a minute, Mr. De Young blew his whistle and the games began.

The other team chose a big guy named Chris Brooks to deliver their first serve. Obviously Chris was a good judge of nonathletes. He served the ball directly to me.

"Yaow!" I cried, jumping back. The ball came at me so fast it practically whomped my head off! (My fantasy of being rushed to the hospital had nearly come true.) "Ma-lor-reeeee!" Helen said huffily. "You're supposed to hit the ball, not run away from it." "Sorry," I said lamely.

But, too bad for me, Chris Brooks had realized he was onto a winning strategy. Here was his plan: Keep sending the ball to Mallory. Which is exactly what he did.

"Put your arms up," a boy named Glen Johnson coached from behind me. 1 tried that, but the next ball just flew right through them.

"It helps if you keep your eyes open, too," Glen added snidely as he tossed the ball back over the net to the other team.

"Right, yeah. I know that. Sorry," 1 mumbled.

After two more misses, I could tell my team was pretty annoyed with me. Hey! Don't look at me! I felt like shouting. 1 didn't ask to play this stupid game! "No matter what happens, let me get it," said a boy named Robbie Mara, who was standing next to me.

"Gladly," 1 replied sarcastically. I should have been relieved, but his superior tone of voice bugged me.

Once again, the ball came zooming at my head, like a missile aimed at its target. "Move, move, move," 1 heard Robbie say. But 1 didn't move fast enough.

The next thing 1 knew he was leaping in front of me, hurling himself at the ball. His arm jabbed me in the side. His foot came down hard on mine. Suddenly I lost my balance and went flying over backward. I landed with a thud on my behind on the gym floor.

And was anyone concerned about me? Oh, no! Everyone was cheering because we had finally made a point.

"Pike, are you okay?" asked Ms. Walden, who was moving from game to game.

I didn't know which was worse, the pain in my foot, or the embarrassment. Hot tears tingled in my eyes, but I didn't want anyone to see them. "I'm all right," I mumbled, staggering to my feet.

"Get in there after that ball," she .told me. "You're wimping out on your team." Thanks for making that so clear, I thought bitterly. Just in case anyone here wasn't aware of that.

Once my team had the ball the game wasn't so bad. At least every serve wasn't directed at me. And I discovered that if I hopped up and down with my arms in the air, I could pretend to be a functioning member of the team.

I didn't fool Ms. Walden, though. "Pike! Don't just flap your arms!" she'd yell. "This is your ball, Pike! Get it!" So, thanks to Ms. Walden's big mouth, all eyes were on me every time the ball flew past me.

The game seemed endless. I couldn't help but wonder what terrible thing I'd done to deserve this torture. Ms. Walden never let up on me.

The girls on my team weren't too bad. (With the exception of Helen.) But the boys were animals. You'd think they were engaged in a war, the way they yelled, leaped, pounded the ball, and spiked it over the net. Didn't they realize it was just a game?

After what seemed like a thousand years, the period ended. As 1 slunk off the court, 1 realized Jessi had been right. It hadn't been as bad as I thought.

It had been much worse.

Chapter 4.

After school, I dropped my books at home, then limped to my afternoon baby-sitting job on Bradford Court.

My foot still throbbed from when that jerk Robbie had stomped on it. And to say that I was in a bad mood would be an understatement. But I could feel my mood lift a little as I approached the Newtons' house. I like sitting for them. Four-year-old Jamie is lots of fun and Lucy is one of the most adorable babies in the world. She has the biggest, roundest blue eyes you have ever seen.

"Hi, Mallory," Mrs. Newton said as she opened the door and let me in. "Did you hurt your foot?" "Some guy stepped on it during gym." "Ouch," Mrs. Newton sympathized. "Well, I hope the kids don't give you too much trouble. I'm afraid Jamie has been acting up today." I smiled confidently at Mrs. Newton. "Jamie's never any problem. And Lucy's an angel." That seemed to make Mrs. Newton relax. To tell the truth, she did look frazzled, which usually isn't the case. "We'llbe fine," 1 added.

Mrs. Newton gave me the phone number of the hairdresser's where she'd be for the next two hours. "I'll try to get home earlier, if 1 can," she said. "1 know you have your meeting at five-thirty." "Thanks," I said. "If you get here by five-fifteen, I'll have just enough time to race over there." "Lucy is down for her nap and Jamie is upstairs in his room coloring," she continued as she pulled on her coat. "I finally got him settled down. He's been wild lately. 1 don't know if it's nursery school, or if he's competing with Lucy for attention or what." "Don't worry. Enjoy your haircut," 1 said.

"Highlighting." "Whatever." When she was gone, 1 quietly headed up the stairs. When 1 reached the second floor, I saw about a hundred crayons spread across the floor in the hallway. Jamie was busy peeling the paper off of them and then cracking each one in half.

"Jamie! What are you doing?" I cried softly, aware of the sleeping baby across the hall.