Ann Martin: Baby-Sitters Club 030

"Carolyn has gotten to be an awful pain. She spends all her time with Haley and Vanessa and some other girls around here. Haley and Vanessa aren't even in our grade. They're a whole year older." "Sometimes that doesn't matter," 1 told her. "I'm friends with Mallory Pike and Jessi Ramsey and I'm two years older than they are." Marilyn shrugged. She worked on the puzzle for awhile. Then she read to me from Pippi Longstocking. We were in the middle of a chapter about a very funny tea party when Carolyn came home.

"Hi, Mary Anne!" she cried.

"Hi, yourself," I said. "You look terrific." Carolyn, with her snazzy haircut and in her equally snazzy clothes, grinned broadly.

Marilyn scowled.

Then Carolyn said, "Me and Haley and Vanessa and maybe Charlotte Johanssen are thinking of forming a club. A club for girls. We will only let certain people be in it." "Certain snobs," I heard Marilyn mutter.

Carolyn heard her, too. "You take that back!" she cried. "My friends are not snobs. They're very nice. They're just . . . cool," she added tauntingly.

"They're jerks," Marilyn said, and stomped up to her room.

1 let her stay there for ten minutes. Then I went upstairs to make sure she was okay. 1 found her lying on her bed in her half of the identical room. She was just staring at the ceiling.

"Why don't you come back down?" I asked her. "I've got new crayons in the Kid-Kit. And a new pad of paper. You and Carolyn could make some pictures for your mom and dad." Reluctantly, Marilyn followed me. Then she and Carolyn sat at the kitchen table and colored. But not in a friendly way. They never spoke, except to say things like, "Daddy says I'm the best artist." Or, "Who cares if Daddy will like your old picture better?" Hmm. What had gone wrong? I wondered. I'd thought the twins would be happier once they were allowed to be individuals. But these were two very angry little girls.

Chapter 5.

I left the Arnolds' that night feeling disturbed. I was sorry to see the twins so unhappy. But as I walked home, my head cleared. I felt better by the time I reached my house.

The very first thing I did when I unlocked our front door and let myself inside was kiss Tigger.

"Hi, you little Munchkin," I said softly. (Tigger only has about a thousand nicknames.) Tigger turned on his purr right away. I just love it when he does that. He squinches his eyes closed and looks like the happiest kitten in the universe.

"I bet you're hungry, aren't you?" I said. "Well, so am I. I better start both our dinners." Starting dinner is my job. Dad usually gets home between six o'clock and six-thirty, and I'm usually home around six. So I get things going. That morning, we had decided to heat up this lasagna that we'd made a few weeks ago and frozen, and to toss a salad to go with it. So, as soon as I'd fed Tigger, I set the oven and then got out the makings for a really super salad: lettuce, carrots, mushrooms, red and green peppers, cucumbers, olives, celery, hard-boiled eggs, and these salty things my father likes called sun-dried tomatoes.

The lasagna was just beginning to make the kitchen smell nice, and a lot of the ingredients for the salad had been chopped up, when Dad came home. He kissed both Tigger and me on the tops of our heads.

"Mmm, I'm starved," he announced.

"Me, too," I replied. I was going to tell him about the Arnold twins when Dad sat down at the kitchen table with this particular look on his face which means he has something to say. So I kept my mouth shut.

"Guess what," Dad began.

"What?" I replied.

"Mrs. Schafer has to work late tonight." This was news? It was like saying, "Guess what. Tonight it will get dark." Mrs. Schafer works late lots of evenings. She knows she has to work hard if she's going to get anywhere in the company that hired her.

"Urn . . . oh," I said.

"Well, I was wondering," Dad went on, "if you'd like to invite Dawn over for dinner. We've got plenty of lasagna, there's no meat in it, and I'll help you make some extra salad." "Sure!" 1 replied. I love having Dawn over.

"Great," said Dad. "Go ahead and give her a call." So I did. And of course Dawn was thrilled with the invitation. Who wants to eat alone? Dad even gave us permission to do our homework together.

By seven o'clock, Dad had picked Dawn up (she could have ridden her bike over, but then she'd have had to ride it home in the dark later), and the three off us were sitting down to dinner.

For some reason, Dad had insisted that we eat in the dining room instead of the kitchen, which is where we almost always eat, even when Dawn or my other friends are over. Dad had even lit candles and used our good china.

I was beginning to think that my father had something on his mind.

1 was right.

After he'd politely asked us how school had been that day, he put down his fork and cleared his throat. "Ahem, ahem." Dawn and I glanced at each other, and Dawn raised her eyebrows.

"As you know," my father continued, "Dawn's mother's birthday is coming up." (7 didn't know that, but Dawn did, of course.) "And I was thinking that it might be nice to surprise her." My father was suggesting a surprise party? He'd die if anyone ever gave him one. What had gotten into him?

Dawn smiled but said tactfully, "That's a really nice idea, Mr. Spier, but I don't know how Mom would feel about being surprised." "Oh, I don't mean anything big," Dad assured us. "I'm not talking about a crowd of people jumping out from behind couches. I was just thinking that the three of us could surprise her with dinner at a restaurant." "I think she'd like that," said Dawn slowly. "I really do. But how would we surprise her?" "I'm not sure yet," Dad replied. "Maybe I could ask a client of hers to suggest a business dinner - " "On the night before her birthday," I interrupted.

Dad frowned at me. He can't stand being interrupted.

"Sorry," I said softly.

"I could ask a client," Dad repeated, "to suggest a business dinner. If she agrees, then I'll call and make the reservation. We'll show up a few minutes early, so when your mother arrives, Dawn, we'll already be there." "That's a good plan," said Dawn. "She wouldn't mind a surprise like that." "We could make the dinner really special, too," I added. "We could bring along her presents and order a cake." "But no waiters or waitresses singing 'Happy Birthday,' " said Dawn.

"Dad? Could you order a bottle of champagne?" 1 asked. "1 mean, just for you and Mrs. Schafer - Dawn and I wouldn't ask for any. And the waiter could leave it in one of those silver buckets by the table." "And we could bring her a red rose," said Dawn. "Well, you could, Mr. Spier. She would love it." Dad was smiling. "I'm certainly glad I consulted you two," he said. (I knew he'd forgiven me for interrupting him.) "You could hire yourselves out as party-planners." "Hey, good idea!" I said, before 1 remembered that Dad is not in love with the word "hey." But all he said was, "Don't even think about it. I was just kidding. You've got enough to do between school and baby-sitting." I knew he was right.

We talked about Mrs. Schafer's surprise for most of the rest of the meal. One thing seemed odd to me: This birthday wasn't going to be a big one for Mrs. Schafer. I know because I said, "So how old is your mom going to be, Dawn?" (I didn't even look at Dad. I was sure he would have disapproved of the question. Dad is so old-fashioned. He still thinks it's rude to ask "a lady" her age.) "Forty-three," Dawn replied, without blinking an eye.

Hmm. Why was Dad making such a big fuss over a forty-third birthday. Why not wait until her forty-fifth? Oh, well. Maybe he just wanted to do something nice. After all, it would be the first birthday Dawn's mom had celebrated since she and Dad started going out together.

When dinner was over, Dad volunteered to do the dishes so Dawn and I could start our homework. We didn't tell him that we had only a little homework that night. We wanted a chance to talk. So we did our math and science problems in a flash and just hoped we'd gotten the right answers.