Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 033

"Again!" cried Sari, getting to her feet. "Again, Hannie!" She pulled at her sister's hand.

Dawn and the girls began the game again. The second time, Emily laughed readily as Dawn tugged her to the ground.

The third time, Sari chimed in with, "We all fall. . . DOWN!" And then fell, rolled onto her back, closed her eyes for a moment, and burst into giggles.

The game continued for several more rounds. Each time, Sari picked up more of the song, and then made a big production out of falling. Emily, however, never said a word. And she rarely remembered to "fall." Dawn usually had to pull her to the ground. Emily seemed to like the game, though. She smiled as she walked in the circle, and she giggled as she watched Sari's falls.

When Sari and Emily lost interest in the game, they let Hannie give them piggyback rides around the yard. Kristy stopped her coaching, and she and Dawn sat in the grass, keeping an eye on the kids and talking.

"I watched you guys playing the game," said Kristy to Dawn. "I saw Emily." "Yeah?" said Dawn, not sure what Kristy was leading up to.

"Emily didn't catch on very fast, did she?" "Not really," said Dawn carefully, "but I think she had fun." Kristy just nodded. After a moment she said, "You know what's happened now?" "What?" asked Dawn.

"Mom and Watson tried to enter Emily in a preschool program. Just for a couple of hours two mornings a week. But she was rejected." "What?" cried Dawn.

"The school wouldn't take her. They said she's not ready. She's too far behind the other kids. She has to be toilet-trained, and she has to catch up in other areas as well. I mean, you just saw her and Sari. They're about the same age. Look how fast Sari learned the new game. Emily didn't learn it." "You sound awfully worried," commented Dawn.

"I guess I am," said Kristy. "But I seem to be the only one. Everybody else - Mom, Watson, Nannie, Doctor Dellenkamp, even the teachers at the school - think Emily will catch up on her own. She just got off to a rotten start. I wish I could spend more time ·with Emily, but I'm all tied up with the Papadakises right now." "Well, don't worry so much," said Dawn.

"Trust me, it doesn't do any good. Worrying doesn't solve problems." Dawn's right, I thought later. Only taking action will solve problems. And that was what I planned to do myself.

Chapter 7.

Deciding to take action about finding my real parents - my birth parents - was easy. Deciding what kind of action to take was not. By the time we held our next club meeting, I still had no idea what to do - but something Kristy said forced me to decide to figure out a way to start my search immediately.

The meeting was half over. We were talking, eating popcorn, taking job calls, and - in between everything else - listening to Kristy tell us about Emily.

"We all love Emily to bits," said Kristy. "Even Andrew and Karen do, and they resented her at first. The thing is, she's so different from the rest of us. And I don't mean in the way she looks. I just can't help comparing her to everyone else in my family. She's slow. She's more like a baby than a two-year- old. When David Michael was two, he became fascinated with cars and learned to identify dozens of them. And Watson says that when Karen was two she was making up stories, and when Andrew was two he learned to answer the telephone. But Emily? Well, every now and then she'll pick up on something that really surprises us. But not often." I couldn't help it. I began to compare myself to Emily Michelle. She didn't look like anyone in her family, and neither did I. She didn't seem to be as smart as anyone in her family and neither was I. When Janine was in eighth grade, she took advanced science and math. She won first prize in the state science fair. Me? I barely squeak by in regular courses, I can't spell to save my life, and I can't fathom entering even a class science fair.

And Emily was adopted.

I was, too. I was sure of that. So - how should I begin my search?

That night, I finished my homework quickly (probably sloppily, too), so that I could think about how to find my birth parents. Emily, I knew, had been adopted through an agency called Love Bundles.

I looked up Love Bundles in the phone book. It was listed! It was a local business. I decided to call Love Bundles the next day.

I have never been so nervous about making a phone call. It was Thursday afternoon. I was free until dinnertime. I didn't even have a sitting job. I was alone at home.

With a shaking hand, I picked up the receiver of my phone. I glanced at the number in the telephone book beside me. I had to dial it four times because my fingers were sweaty and kept slipping.

"Love Bundles," said a pleasant-sounding voice, when I'd finally dialed correctly.

"Um . . . um . . . hello." I almost hung up. Then I gathered my courage and said, "I - I'm adopted and I'm looking for my birth parents. I was adopted about thirteen years ago - " "Excuse me," interrupted the woman. "I'm terribly sorry, but Love Bundles has only been operating for five years. We're a relatively new business. And we place Vietnamese children only," she added.

"Oh," was all I could think to say. Then I remembered to thank her, and hung up.

There was no way Mom and Dad could have adopted me through Love Bundles. I put away the white pages and took out Stoneybrook's slim yellow pages. No other adoption agencies were listed. So I went downstairs to the den and found the Stamford yellow pages. Under Adoption Services were listed a bunch of places, some of them not even in Stamford. Well, I couldn't start phoning agencies all over Connecticut. At least not at first. That would be a last resort. Besides, what if I'd been adopted privately (through a lawyer), and not through an agency?

Then a thought struck me. My birth certificate! Wouldn't it say where I'd been born? Of course it would! I had to see my birth certificate. Now, where did Mom and Dad keep it? Oh, yes. Our birth certificates are in the safety deposit box at our bank.

Frantically, I looked at my watch. Usually our bank closes at three. But not on Thursdays. On Thursdays it stays open until seven. Goody! I scribbled a note to my family in case someone came home before I did, dashed into the garage, climbed on my ten-speed, and rode downtown. When I reached our bank, I chained my bike to a lamp post outside, and pushed my way through the revolving door.

Now. Where to go? Where were the safety deposit boxes? I had to ask the guy at the information desk. He directed me down a short flight of stairs where I found a woman behind a sliding glass door. She buzzed me into her office.

"Hi," I said. "My name is Claudia Kishi. My father is Mr. John Kishi. I need to get into our safety deposit box." "Okay," said the woman. "Just give me the key - and some identification so I can check whether you're authorized to open the box." All I heard was, "Just give me the key." Key? What key?

"What key?" I asked.

"The key to the box," replied the woman.

"I thought you had it," I told her.

"I've got one. You - or your father - have another. I need both keys to get into the box," she explained, sounding impatient.

I felt incredibly stupid. For a moment, I didn't know what to do. Then I smacked my hand to my forehead and said dramatically, "Silly me! I can't believe I forgot to bring the key. It's at home. Sorry to have bothered you." I left the bank. My face was burning.

But I wasn't giving up. I was on a roll. I had another idea. Even though I don't go to a pediatrician anymore - I go to a doctor who specializes in "adolescent care" - who would know more about my birth and my history than my former pediatrician, Dr. Dellenkamp?

Her office isn't far from the bank, so I hopped on my bike and rode to Dr. Dellenkamp's. On the way, I began to worry. What if the next time my father wanted to get into our safety deposit box (with the key, of course), the lady at the bank told him that I had been there? What would my father think? What excuse could I give him if he asked what I'd been doing? Then it occurred to me that I couldn't just waltz into Dr. Dellenkamp's office and ask her if I was adopted. She wasn't my doctor anymore, but she had been until recently, and she might call my parents or something.