Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 032

BSC032 - Kristy and the Secret of Susan - Martin, Ann M.

Chapter 1.

"Kristy! Emily did it again!" "What? What did she do?" I asked.

My brother David Michael was yelling to me from the den, where he and our little sister Emily were playing. I was in the kitchen fixing an after-school snack for David Michael and a bottle of milk for Emily.

"She got the remote control," David Michael yelled. "She's changing channels on the TV. And I want to watch Gorilla Man." "Well, put the remote control up high where she can't reach it," I called back.

I was screwing the lid on Emily's bottle when I heard a shriek. It was Emily. When you're around kids as much as I am, you get to know whose shriek is whose.

"Now what's wrong?" I asked as I entered the den, carrying the bottle and David Michael's snack. Emily was jumping up and down and crying. Well, she wasn't exactly jumping, since she can't get her feet off the ground yet. She was just doing fast knee-bends. And her face was as red as a tomato.

"Wah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah," she wailed in frustration.

David Michael looked flustered. "I did exactly what you told me to do," he said. "I put the remote control up there," (he pointed to a shelf) "and Emily began crying." "Well, don't worry," I said. "You didn't do anything wrong. Look, here's your snack." I handed him half a sandwich. "You eat that and I'll calm Emily down." What a wild family I have. I love baby-sitting for my little brothers and sisters (there are four of them all together - I'll explain that in a minute), but sometimes things can get touchy.

David Michael sat at one end of the couch in the den, eating his sandwich, watching Gorilla Man, and occasionally casting wounded glances in my direction.

Meanwhile, I tried to calm Emily down. I sat her on my lap in the armchair and explained that the remote control is for bigger people who know what all the buttons do. Then I said that it was polite to ask somebody if you could change channels before you actually did it. I purposely said that, instead of saying that what Emily had done was rude or wrong or bad. With children - or with any one for that matter - it's much more helpful to tell them what to do instead of what not to do. Also, children are sensitive and I didn't want to hurt Emily's feelings.

All my talk was probably wasted, though. See, Emily is our adopted sister. She's two years old and she came to us from Vietnam. So first of all, she doesn't talk much, and second, she's just beginning to understand English.

I told you I have a wild family. Here are the people in it: Mom; my stepfather, Watson Brewer; my seventeen-year-old brother, Charlie; my fifteen-year-old brother, Sam; David Michael (he's seven); Emily; Karen and Andrew, who are Watson's kids from his first marriage (Karen is seven and Andrew is almost five); and Nannie. Nannie is Mom's mother, my grandmother. She moved in with us after we adopted Emily. Nannie's husband had died years earlier, Nannie was tired of living alone, and we needed someone to help care for Emily, since both Mom and Watson work.

As you can imagine, we need a pretty big house for all these people. Luckily, Watson just happens to be a millionaire. Honest. He really is. So after he and Mom got married, my family moved across town to live in his mansion. The house is so big that everyone has his or her own room, even Karen and Andrew, who only live with us every other weekend.

What happened to my real father? He walked out on Mom and my brothers and me not long after David Michael was born, and we hardly ever hear from him. He usually forgets our birthdays. Sometimes he even forgets to send us Christmas presents or cards. All I know about him now is that he's living in California somewhere. Or at least he was the last time he bothered to call. We live in Stoneybrook, Connecticut, so my father is about as far away from us as he can get without leaving the continental United States.

Oh! I almost forgot! My name is Kristy Thomas and I'm thirteen and in eighth grade And there are two other members of the Brewer/Thomas household - Shannon, who is David Michael's puppy (she's a Bernese mountain dog), and Boo-Boo, Watson's cat. Nobody except Watson likes Boo-Boo very much. Boo-Boo is old and fat and cranky. If you're not careful, he'll scratch or bite you. But for some reason, he likes Shannon.

On that particular afternoon, I was babysitting because everyone else was busy. Mom and Watson were at their jobs, Charlie and Sam were at after-school activities at Stoneybrook High School, and Nannie was at bowling practice. That is one of the things I just love about Nannie. She doesn't seem like a grandmother at all. Her hair is barely gray, she's got tons of energy and is always off bowling or visiting friends or something, and she drives this rattly old car, which she painted pink and named the Pink Clinker. Recently, she attached a fake tail to the back of her car so that it looks like a cat is stuck in the trunk. (Charlie and Sam are embarrassed to be seen riding in the Pink Clinker.) When David Michael and Emily had calmed down and been playing happily for awhile, I checked my watch. It was almost five o'clock. Soon Nannie would come home, and then Charlie and Sam would arrive from school. Charlie bought a used car not long ago so he can drive himself and Sam to school every day. The two of them think they are pretty cool.

A little while later I heard Emily's bare feet running through the house, and her cries of, "Nannie! Nannie!" ("Nannie" is an easy word to say.) Sure enough, Nannie was back. The Pink Clinker was sitting in the driveway. Five minutes later, another car pulled in and Sam ran into the house.

"Hello!" he called. "I'm home! Kristy, Charlie's waiting to drive you to your club meeting." "Okay! Good-bye, everyone!" I shouted. It was time for the changing of the guards. Nannie would begin fixing dinner, and Sam would watch Emily and David Michael.

I dashed out to Charlie's car. It is just as clunky as Nannie's. It isn't painted pink, but it's got a pair of sunglasses hanging from the rearview mirror and one of those yellow signs stuck on the back window. Charlie made the sign himself. It says "Baby-sitter on Board," since he drives me around so much and I am the president and founder of a business called The Baby-sitters Club (or the BSC). In fact, that was where he was driving me now - across Stoneybrook to my friend Claudia Kishi's house for a club meeting. Claud's bedroom is BSC headquarters.

When we reached the Kishis' house, Charlie pulled up in front, and I ran right inside and upstairs to Claud's room. The BSC members usually don't bother to ring the Kishis' bell. I feel especially comfortable barging into her house, since I lived across the street from her before my family moved to Watson's.

"Hi, everybody!" I said as I entered Claud's room.

"Everybody" was Dawn Schafer and Claudia. (Dawn is another club member.) The two of them were spying out the window.

"What's going on?" I asked. I joined them at the window.

"The new people are moving in across the street," replied Dawn.

"Oh, into Mary Anne's old house," I said. Another club member, Mary Anne Spier, who used to be my next-door neighbor, had moved recently. My old house had been bought by a really nice family, the Perkinses. Now someone had bought Mary Anne's house.

"Yeah, I noticed them when Charlie dropped me off," I continued. "Do they have any kids?" "Do they ever!" exclaimed Claudia. "Four boys, as far as we can tell. The oldest one looks like he's about eleven or twelve. He's kind of cute." "But that's not the best part," said Dawn, sounding terribly excited. "Guess what - they're Aussies!" "They're what?" I cried.

"Aussies. From Australia." "You mean Crocodile Dundee and all that stuff?" I asked, fascinated. Then I added, "Is 'Aussies' a nice word?" "I don't know," replied Dawn. "But you should hear their accents. They're wonderful." "Hear their accents?" I repeated. "How long have you guys been spying?" "About fifteen minutes," Claudia admitted guiltily. "We couldn't help it. Dawn came over early, and the boys were out front talking about crickets or something, and she heard their accents, and then we started watching their furniture come off the van, and - " "I wonder how they got their furniture here from halfway around the world," interrupted Dawn, looking puzzled. "Did they ship it on a boat and then transfer it to the van, or did - " Now it was my turn to interrupt. I'd been watching the Aussies, too, but my attention had been distracted. Walking down the street in our direction was a tired-looking woman leading a little girl by the hand. The girl looked like she was seven, maybe eight years old.