Ann Martin: Baby-Sitters Club 056

"Why not?" .

Twenty minutes later the yard was even more jam-packed. The twelve of us had been joined by Jessi with Becca, and Mal with Nicky, Margo, and Claire, the three youngest Pikes. Nicky is eight, Margo is seven, and Claire is five.

I explained the band to its four newest members, and now all I could hear were cries of, "I want to play the tambourine!" "I want to play a harmonica!" "I want to make lots of noise!" (That was Nicky.) "Does anyone have a tuba?" (That was Claire, who has never played the tuba. "You don't even know what a tuba looks like," Margo said witheringly to her sister.) Mary Anne, our dutiful club secretary, found a pencil and a memo pad in the New-tons' kitchen. She brought them into the backyard and began making notes: who wanted to sing, who wanted to play instruments, who needed instruments, and so forth.

"Someone should call Kristy and tell her what's going on," said Dawn.

"We should call the Rodowskys, too. After all, they gave me the idea for the band," I pointed out.

"We should probably call a lot of other kids," added Stacey. "We don't want to leave anyone out." Mary Anne flipped to another page on the memo pad and carefully wrote: KIDS TO CALL. We listed Kristy's younger brothers and sister, the Barretts, the Arnold twins, Jenny Prezzioso, Nina Marshall, and the Braddocks.

"Anyone else?" I asked during a lull in the activity.

"Maybe the Papadakis kids," said Dawn.

"How about the Lowells?" added Mary Anne. "Since they're new clients of the BSC, it might be nice to ask them to join. Anyway, I like the kids. For one thing, they're obedient. They'll be able to follow directions." I grinned. "Good idea. I'm sitting at the Lowells' tomorrow, so I'll ask them then." Mary Anne scribbled furiously on her pad.

Chapter 5.

Mrs. Lowell had asked me to arrive at three-thirty the next afternoon. I didn't want to be late for my new job, so I raced directly to the Lowells' as soon as school let out. I didn't bother to go home first. As a result I was standing on the Lowells' front doorstep at exactly 3:19. Good, I thought. It can't hurt to show up early for new clients.

I pressed the doorbell and heard chimes ring in the house. When the door opened, I put on a bright smile. "Hi!" I said.

The woman standing in the entryway did not smile. And she hesitated before saying, "Hello. I'm Mrs. Lowell. Claudia?" I nearly replied, "Yes, ma'am." Mrs. Lowell made me feel . . . formal. But my mouth had gone dry, so I just nodded.

Mrs. Lowell nodded back. "Well, come on inside." She walked away, leaving me to open the screen door and let myself inside. I followed her into the kitchen, trying to think of something to say.

The best I could come up with was, "Mary Anne really liked Caitlin and Mackie and Celeste. Um, are they here?" "Caitlin and Mackie aren't home from school yet. Celeste is napping," was the reply. Mrs. Lowell looked everywhere but at me.

Suddenly I knew what was wrong. I'd eaten a bag of cashews on the way to the Lowells' house. I bet bits of nuts were stuck between my teeth. And Mrs. Lowell was so embarrassed for me she didn't know what to say. But I ran my tongue over my teeth and felt nothing. Hmm. Maybe my mascara had smeared. Or my hair was parted strangely. Or I had arrived too early after all.

"Claudia? Are you paying attention to me?" snapped Mrs. Lowell.

"Yes, ma'am." (Actually, I wasn't.) "Our next-door neighbor is Mr. Selznick," she went on. "He's usually home during the day. You can call him in an emergency." "Does he work at home?" I asked. (Maybe he was an artist.) "What does it matter?" I know I blushed then. I just know it. My face grew hot. It must have turned the color of a fire engine.

I shrugged and looked down. As I did, I caught sight of my black leggings and high-topped sneakers, my fringed blue-jean vest and beaded Indian belt, my six silver rings and . . .

Uh-oh. That was it. Mrs. Lowell didn't approve of my outfit. She thought it was too wild. It wasn't appropriate for her kids. That must be it. Mary Anne had written about the Lowell kids' clothes in the club notebook, how neatly and properly they were dressed, especially Caitlin and Mackie in their school uniforms. Of course, Mary Anne would have been neatly and properly dressed, too. She always is, thanks to her father. No wonder Mrs. Lowell didn't like me. And no wonder she had liked Mary Anne.

As Mrs. Lowell was finishing up her list of instructions, the front door burst open and then a girl and boy rushed into the kitchen.

"Hi, Mom!" cried the girl.

"Hi, Mommy!" cried the boy.

Mrs. Lowell's face softened into a warm smile. "Hi, kids. How was school? Come have a snack." "But, Mom, who's that!" The girl was pointing at me.

"Caitlin, Mackie, this is your baby-sitter, Claudia Kishi," said Mrs. Lowell. She paused, then added, "Please be nice to her." I forced a smile. "Hi, Caitlin. Hi, Mackie," I said.

Mackie said nothing, hut Caitlin covered her mouth and giggled. I hoped that was a good sign.

"Well," said Mrs. Lowell presently, "I suppose I should go now." But she didn't. She couldn't seem to leave the room.

"Don't worry about Celeste," I said. "I mean, if you're afraid she'll be scared when she wakes up and finds a sitter here." "No, it isn't that," said Mrs. Lowell vaguely.

So what was it?

I didn't find out. Mrs. Lowell finally managed to leave. Whew. Oh, well. I would only have to face her for a few more minutes at the end of the afternoon. In between I would have fun with the obedient, curious, and well-behaved children Mary Anne had liked so much.

Wrong.

The afternoon started off badly.

Caitlin and Mackie ate four Oreos each and reached for more. "Wait!" I cried. "That's enough!" "We're hungry," said Caitlin, and grabbed a handful of cookies before I could put the package away.

She and her brother ate greedily, then jumped up and ran out of the kitchen, leaving a crumb-covered table behind. I began to clean the kitchen while they shrieked through the house.

"Quiet!" I hissed.

They shrieked around until I could hear someone crying.

"Who's hurt?" I called.

"Nobody!" Mackie replied. "Celeste's awake!" Well, no wonder. I dashed upstairs. "Caitlin, Mackie," I said, "please wipe the kitchen table while I get Celeste up." The kids disappeared downstairs, then returned quickly.

"We have to talk to Celeste," Caitlin announced. "We have to tell her about her new baby-sitter." Maybe that was a good idea. Celeste was still crying. She was probably confused. Her sister and brother would be able to calm her down. I stepped into the hallway, leaving the three kids in Celeste's room. Several minutes passed and the sound of crying faded away. I could hear only the low murmur of voices.

"Everything all right in there?" I called.

"Yup!" replied someone, probably Caitlin.

"Okay, then I'm coming in." When I returned to Celeste's room, she gazed at me from where she was sitting on her bed sandwiched between her brother and sister. And she didn't stop staring until Mackie nudged her in her side.

"Celeste, do you want a snack?" I asked.

She nodded. And Mackie cried, "Me, too!" "You just had one," I reminded him.

"Well, I want another." "So do I," added Caitlin.

"No way." "I'll tell Mom you were a mean sitter," said Caitlin, eyes narrowed.

I stood before the Lowell children, trying to decide how to handle the situation. I remembered the time Stacey had tried something she called "reverse psychology" on the two bratty Delaney kids who used to live across the street from Kristy's new house. How had that worked? Had she told them to do the opposite of what she really wanted them to do? That sounded right.

"Okay," I said, "I guess you guys didn't have enough to eat before. You better try to finish off that package of cookies." "The whole package?!" exclaimed Caitlin.