Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 033

"Yes. I know all about it. I found the clues. Everything makes sense. There are hardly any baby pictures of me and there are tons of Ja-nine. Tons," I added for emphasis.

"But - " said Dad.

"And I'm so different from you guys and Janine. You're all smart and you're sort of - what's the word? - conventional. And I do terribly in school and I'm a wild dresser and maybe a little boy-crazy. And I don't even look like the rest of you." "But - " said Mom.

"Plus," I rushed on, "I found the locked box. In there," I said, pointing to the desk. "I wasn't snooping. Honest. I was looking for more baby pictures when I couldn't find enough in the photo albums. I know my adoption papers are in that box." "But - " said Dad.

"And last of all, the final proof," I continued, "is that there's no birth announcement for me in the Stoneybrook News. I went to the library and I used the microfiche machine to check. So I know I wasn't born here. Or if I was, my birth mother gave me a different name. So now I want you to please tell me the truth. Come on. I can take it." My parents looked shocked. That's the only way to describe their faces. I bet they didn't think I was smart enough to figure things out.

"Come on," I dared them again.

"Claudia, dear," said Mom. "You are not adopted." She said it so simply that I believed her right away.

"I'm not?" "No," she and Dad replied at the same time.

"You mean I'm your real kid?" "Of course." Dad took my hand.

"But what about the pictures?" I asked.

Mom looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, honey, but we have no explanation for that except that you are our second child. It's just a sad fact that there are usually more pictures of a first baby than of a second one. Parents are awed by their first baby. They can't believe what they've created. So they can't stop taking pictures. But when the second child - or the third or fourth or fifth - comes along, they're more used to things. And they don't have as much time for picture-taking because the new baby isn't their only child. They're a lot busier." I relaxed a little.

"As for being different," said Dad, "believe me, everybody is different. And think how boring a family would be if all the people in it were alike." "Think of Peaches and me," added Mom. "Who would ever guess we're sisters? You know, you and Peaches are very similar." "And Janine may look like me," said Dad. "I know that's what you've been thinking. It's hard not to notice that, but you're a pretty good cross between your mother and me. And believe it or not, you look very much the way Mimi did when she was young." "I do?" I almost began to cry again.

"Yes," said Mom, looking teary herself. "I'll show you some old pictures of Mimi later." I relaxed even more.

"Now," said Dad, "would you like to know why your birth wasn't announced in the Stoneybrook News?" "Yes," I answered. "Very much." "Because it was announced in the Stoneybrook Gazette. So was Janine's birth." "The Stoneybrook Gazette? What's that?" "A local paper that went out of business about nine years ago." "If you went back to the library and looked at the Gazette on the microfiche machine, you'd find your announcement," said Mom. "But you won't have to bother with that, since I have a copy of the entire paper in the desk in my bedroom." "Oh, wow!" I said. I actually laughed. Mom and Dad smiled.

"Feel better?" asked my father.

"I'll feel completely normal as soon as you show me what's in that box in the bottom drawer of the desk." Dad didn't hesitate. He stood right up, strode to the desk, removed the box, took his keys out of his pocket, and unlocked the box. He held it open in front of me.

It was full of money.

"Oh, my lord!" I cried. "What's that for?" "Emergencies," Mom told me. "There are five hundred dollars in that box. And nothing else. We'd appreciate it if you wouldn't tell anyone that, though. We wouldn't want to be robbed. The money is there in case we ever need fast cash in the middle of the night." I slumped onto the couch. "I don't believe it," I said softly. "I feel so stupid. You must think I'm stupid." "Of course we don't," said Dad. "We think you're bright and sensitive and creative. And different." I smiled.

"And we like you just the way you are," added Mom. "We also know that thirteen is a difficult age. I guess you have an even tougher time than most kids, though - trying to keep up with a sister like Janine." "That's for sure." "Well, we want you to know," said Dad, "that in the future, we'll try to pay more attention to your feelings." "And 7 want you to know," I said, "that I'm really, really sorry I accused you of lying to me." Mom and Dad smiled. Then we hugged.

And then, of course, I had to go to my room to call Stacey.

Later, Mom found the pictures of Mimi. We compared pictures of Mimi at twelve to pictures of me at twelve.

We could have been twins.

That night, I slept with one of the pictures of Mimi under my pillow.

Chapter 15.

It was Friday, three days after I'd learned that I wasn't adopted after all. I was waiting for my friends to arrive for the day's BSC meeting. While I waited, I stared at the wall over my desk. Something new was hanging there. I'm always painting pictures or creating things to hang in my room, and I change them pretty often.

The new thing, though, wasn't one of my creations. Well, not really. What I had done was taken one of the pictures of twelve-year-old Mimi, and one of my seventh-grade school pictures, matted them, and framed them side by side in a single frame. I knew I would never take that down. It was something that would hang in my room until I went away to college (if I could get into any college), and then it would go with me so I could hang it over the desk in my dorm room.

I was so intent on gazing at the photos that I didn't hear Stacey come into my room.

"Oh, wow," she said softly, looking at the pictures. "That's you and Mimi, isn't it?" "Yes," I replied, trying not to let Stacey know that she'd just taken about ten years off my life by sneaking up on me.

"Well, I don't think there's any question that you're Mimi's granddaughter, do you?" "Nope. And if Mimi were alive, she probably would have found these pictures for me the very night I discovered the locked box, and then my search wouldn't have happened at all." "Probably," agreed Stacey. "I guess we just have to learn to get along without some of the people we love, though." (I knew she was thinking of her father and the divorce.) "Gee, this is a cheery conversation," I said.

Stacey laughed. Then she flopped onto my bed. "I am beat," she said. "All I did this afternoon was sit for Laura Perkins, and she slept most of the time. You'd think I just ran a marathon. Dawn's going to have to take the desk chair today, because I claim a place on the bed." I looked critically at Stacey. She was always tired these days. She was too thin, and half the time she didn't feel well. "Stacey - " I began, about to give her a lecture, but just then Kristy burst in.

"Hi, you guys!" she cried. She settled into the director's chair, put on her visor, and stuck a pencil over one ear.

During the next five minutes, Jessi showed up, then Mal, and finally Mary Anne and Dawn. All the BSC members were present.

Kristy called us to order. "Any club business?" she asked.

"I move that we have a snack," I said.

"I second the motion," added Mallory.

Kristy tried to frown, but couldn't. "Okay," she said. "Claud, pass around whatever you've got hidden in here, and then I have some news. Some dub news," she said pointedly.

I pulled a bag of mini-chocolate bars from under the quilt at the end of my bed, and a box of pretzels from behind my pillows. While my friends helped themselves, Kristy said, "Okay, here's all sorts of news. First, Mr. Papadakis - I mean, Hannie and Linny and Sari's grandfather - is leaving the nursing home tomorrow. He's over the pneumonia, and his hip is healing just fine." "That's great!" said Dawn and Mary Anne.