Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 056

She didn't. Each time the phone rang we looked at it expectantly. Once Dawn even said, staring at the receiver, "I will you to be Mrs. Lowell." The caller was Mr. Hobart.

"I guess I could phone Mrs. Lowell," said Kristy uncertainly. "In fact, I probably ought to. As club president, it's my job to find out if we have a dissatisfied client." "Hey!" exclaimed Jessi, brightening. "Wait a sec! We're making too much of this. Maybe Mrs. Lowell really did forget she didn't need a sitter. Her plans changed and she forgot to call us to cancel. So she was embarrassed." "I don't know," I said, not wanting to deflate Jessi, but wanting to be honest with her. "That doesn't explain why she never wants me to sit for her kids again." Jessi sagged. "True." For several minutes the seven of us sat in silence. At last Mary Anne sighed, then said, "Well, I'm supposed to sit for the Lowells again next week. Should we wait and see how that goes?" "Sure," Kristy answered. "Why not? I don't know what else to do." The clock turned to six and Kristy adjourned the meeting. My friends wandered quietly out of my room, through the hall, down the stairs, out the front door.

At dinner, I tried to be cheerful.

Chapter 8.

"You know what we need?" asked Jackie Rodowsky. "We need a name. That's what. And it should be, like, catchy." Jackie was talking about the band. My friends and I had managed to get the kids together several times and, by now, everyone had chosen whether to be a singer or a player, the players had decided on instruments, and the instruments had been either found or made. The band was heavy on kazoos and percussion (a lot of the littler kids had insisted on playing drums, tambourines, sticks, and cymbals), but we also featured a couple of piano players, a flute player, a trumpet player, a violin player, and Charlotte, our guitar player. Myriah, Gabbie, Buddy Barrett, and Margo Pike were our singers.

At our first band practice, the kids had unanimously voted to learn the song "Tomorrow" from the musical Annie.

Now, sitting for the Rodowskys one Saturday, the boys were rehearsing - and Jackie had decided the band needed a name.

"You know you're right," I replied. "Any suggestions, Jackie?" Jackie bit his lip and stared into space. He fiddled with his kazoo. "How about the Beatles?" "I think that's been taken." "The Little Beatles? The Baby Beatles?" "Your name should say more about you." "Jackie Rodowsky's All-Star Orchestra!" "It isn't your band, Jackie," said Archie indignantly.

And Shea added, "I think the name should be funny." "String Beans!" said Archie.

"Turtle Toes!" said Shea.

I giggled. "Come on, you guys." The Rodowsky boys grew quiet, thinking. After a moment Jackie said seriously, "You know what? I think we should call ourselves All the Children, like short for All the Children "of the World. Because we are all kids, and we're all different kinds of kids; different ages, different colors - " "Yeah!" said Shea, catching on. "And our families come from all different countries. We're Polish," he said proudly.

"And I'm Japanese," I added. "And Hannie and Linny Papadakis are Greek, and the Hobarts are Australian." "Did you know," spoke up Archie, "that Jamie Newton's great-great-great-grandfather was an Indian? So Jamie is a real, true American, because the Indians lived in America before anyone else did. And they're called Native Americans now. My teacher said so." "Well I like All the Children," I said. "It's a great name for the band." "I like it, too," said Shea and Archie at the same time.

Jackie grinned, pleased with himself.

"Okay, are you guys ready to rehearse?" I asked. "I think we should have our own practice before we go to Jamie's for the big practice." Our band had been rehearsing at the Newtons' because Mr. and Mrs. Newton had been nice enough to say that not only could our two piano players use their electric keyboard, but that we could set it up on their back porch, since it was easier for the band to play outdoors.

"Claudia?" said Jackie. "When we go to Jamie's, can we tell the other kids the name for our band?" "Of course," I answered. "Except I don't think we should tell the kids. I think they should vote on it. Just to be democratic. Now, are you guys ready to rehearse?" "We better warm up, first," said Archie.

The boys ran into the living room where I could see a tambourine sitting on the piano. Shea slid onto the piano bench, Archie grabbed the tambourine, and Jackie held up his kazoo.

"Scales!" ordered Shea. He placed his thumb on middle C and accompanied himself while he sang, "Do re mi fa sol la ti do." Jackie played along, humming off-key.

Archie beat the tambourine in time to the piano.

"Fantastic!" proclaimed Shea when they had finished. "Okay, everybody. Get ready for Tomorrow.' Claudia, you sing." "Me? Sing the song?" I asked, my voice squeaking.

"Yeah. It helps me keep my place. Besides, we're used to hearing Myriah and Gabbie and everyone sing while we play." "But I can't sing. I have an awful voice." (Actually, my voice isn't all that bad, but I hadn't memorized the words to the song.) "Oh, anyone can sing," said Shea.

"Not me." "I'll sing then," said Archie.

Shea looked suspiciously at his youngest brother. "Are you sure you know the words?" he asked.

"Sure I'm sure. Let's start." "Ready, guys? I'll count you off," I said. "One, two, three, four." Shea's fingers hit the keys, Jackie blew seriously into his kazoo, and Archie beat the tambourine and sang, "The sun'll come out tomorrow. Bet your bell bottoms tomorrow there'll be - " Shea stopped playing. "Excuse me?" "What?" said Archie.

Jackie cracked up. "You said 'Bet your bell bottoms'!" "All right, we won't have a singer," said Shea, sighing dramatically.

"Then can I have a tambourine solo?" Archie wanted to know.

"NO!" cried Shea.

He was clearly frustrated, but the rehearsal had to stop for awhile anyway when Jackie dropped his kazoo into the piano.

"You know what?" I said when the kazoo had been recovered. "It's time to go to Jamie's. Jackie, Archie, remember your instruments. Shea, remember your music." The Rodowsky boys and I set out for the walk to the Newtons'. We could hear our band long before we could see it. From several houses away drifted toots and beeps and jingles and crashes and plinks and shouts and laughs and giggles.

"Hello, everybody!" called Jackie as we stepped through the gate in the Newtons' fence. "We have great news!" "What is it?" asked Kristy and, one by one, heads turned toward us.

Jackie stepped forward. "I thought of a name for our band," he said. "I think we should call ourselves All the Children, because we are sort of like all the children of the world." For just a moment I thought some of the kids, especially the older ones, might give him a hard time. But they just began to smile. I glanced at Kristy and she was smiling, too. So were the other members of the BSC. I put my arm around Jackie.

"I guess that's settled," said Kristy. "Okay. Who are we missing today?" She gazed around the yard.

We ran our rehearsals loosely. Anyone who was free was expected to show up. Anyone who wasn't free was simply supposed to try to show up at the next rehearsal. That afternoon, the Lowell kids were missing. So were the Barretts, Linny Papadakis, and David Michael Thomas. Even so, we were left with a fairly impressive band and three of our four singers.

"Okay, kids," I said. "Places!" In the scramble that followed, Claire Pike fell and bumped her knees, Archie managed to sit on his tambourine (without breaking it), Hannie Papadakis lost her harmonica, and two kids announced that they had shown up for rehearsal without their drums. So Mal soothed her sister, Mary Anne helped Archie and Hannie, and Kristy said, "How could you come to a band rehearsal without your instruments?" The kids shrugged.