Ann Martin: Baby-Sitters Club 028

So the kids colored while I cleaned up the kitchen. When their show was over, Grace said, "Could you please read to us, Stacey?" "Sure," I replied. "What do you want to hear?" Henry and Grace have a huge collection of books. That's because Mr. and Mrs. Walker like to read, and also because Mrs. Walker knows a lot about children's books since she illustrates them.

"We want to hear . . . The Snowy Day," said Grace.

"And The Owl and the Pussycat," added Henry.

"Great," I replied. "Pajamas first. And brush your teeth. Then I'll read to you in Grace's room, since she'll be going to bed first." When the kids were ready, we settled ourselves on Grace's bed in a row. I read The Snowy Day first and Henry said he wished New York would get more snow. Grace said she wished the snow would stay white. (In New York, the snow turns slushy gray and brown almost as soon as it falls.) Then we read The Owl and the Pussycat and Grace tried to recite the poem along with me, but she kept getting the words wrong. She called the runcible spoon a "crunchable spoon," and five-pound note a "five-pound goat." She made Henry giggle.

When the stories were finished, Henry and I said good night to Grace, and she snuggled under her covers. Then she raised her arms for a hug.

"Good night, Grace," I said softly as Henry and I left the room.

I closed her door, taking a long look at her walls as I did so. They were covered with her drawings and paintings.

Then 1 walked Henry to his room and we read one more book together, Angus and the Ducks, before Henry went to bed, too. And as I left Henry's room, I also took a long look at his walls. I felt almost as if I might not see those walls again.

Why did I feel that way?

With Grace and Henry safely in bed, I sat down in the Walkers' living room. My school-books were in a stack on the coffee table. I flipped through them. I had a ton of homework to catch up on, but I knew I wouldn't be able to concentrate.

I closed the books and leaned back against the couch to think. The first things that came to my mind were Judy's words from the day before. "Crying shame," she'd said about the divorce. What had she meant? If she were being sarcastic, maybe she'd had a right. After all, she had no family, no job, not even a home. My parents were getting a divorce; that was all. It sort of put things in perspective. I was not nearly in such bad shape as Judy was.

Still, I did have problems. Soon I was going to have to make some big decisions. If Mom left New York, could I really go with her? Could I leave New York again? How could I leave behind everything I love? I'd have to leave Laine, Grace, Henry, and the city itself - and I truly W New York. Every time I have to leave it, I have a hard time. Moving to Stoneybrook had been difficult and I'd been glad to get back. Even going to Camp Mohawk for two weeks had been hard. I'd been glad to get back then, too.

On the other hand, I had more friends in Stoneybrook than I did in New York. In New York I hung around with Laine and her friends at school, but Laine's friends really were her friends. Much more hers than mine. I always felt on the edges of things with Laine's crowd. In Stoneybrook, I was one of the coolest kids around, but not in New York. In New York, I had a lot of competition for the Queen of Cool. And I would never win the crown.

I knew that I was heading for a bad time in my life, a time when I'd have to adjust to a lot of things. Would that adjustment be easier in a nice safe place like Stoneybrook, where I was surrounded by good friends? Probably.

On the other hand, how could I leave New York for a second time? How could I leave Bloomingdale's and Broadway and shopping and The Last Wound-Up and great movie theaters and even greater restaurants, like the Hard Rock Cafe? Would I be bored silly in Stoneybrook, with only Washington Mall for entertainment? Maybe.

But I was missing two big pieces to the puzzle. If I went to Stoneybrook, 1 would have to leave my dad. How could I do that? If I stayed in New York, I would have to leave my mom. How could I do that? I might be mad at them now, but I still loved them. A lot.

Furthermore, I bet Dad would be hurt if I chose to live with Mom, and I bet Mom would be hurt if I chose to live with Dad. They'd said the decision was up to me, which was nice, but someone - Mom or Dad - was going to get hurt. And I was going to be the cause of the pain.

Maybe I could arrange to live with one parent during the school week when we wouldn't see each other much anyway, and the other parent all the rest of the time. That would work if Mom didn't move too far away. But what if she moved to Maine or someplace?

It was too much to think about.

I guess that was why Dawn had recommended taking one step at a time.

However, I wouldn't have any problems at all if my parents were not getting a divorce. Now that was something to think about.

Maybe, just maybe, I could do what that so-called marriage counselor hadn't been able to do. Maybe I could get my parents to quit thinking about a divorce and make them remember "till death do us part." It was certainly worth a try.

All I needed were a few good ideas and a little romance.

I took a piece of paper out of my notebook and began scribbling away - not at homework, but at a list of ideas. By the time the Walkers came home, I had filled up nearly a page. I could hardly wait to try my ideas! I was sure I could get my parents together again. They probably just needed encouragement from someone who knew them. And who was the "marriage" counselor? A stranger, that's who.

But I was Stacey McGill, their daughter.

And if anyone could fix things up for them, I could.

Chapter 9.

That next week was a busy one.

On Saturday afternoon, while my parents were seeing their lawyers, I went to a theater and bought three tickets (with baby-sitting money) to a movie I knew we all wanted to see. My plan was to wait until almost the last minute to give Mom and Dad the tickets, to ensure that we wouldn't be able to find three seats in a row once we got to the theater. Then I'd insist that my parents sit together while I found a single seat.

But when I gave them the tickets, Dad said, "Stacey, what a nice surprise, but I plan to spend the evening combing the paper for apartment ads. Why don't you and your mom take Laine instead?" So we did, and anyway we found three seats together.

On Sunday, I suggested a carriage ride through Central Park. This was particularly meaningful, since years ago Dad had proposed to Mom in one of those carriages. My new plan was to wait until my parents had already climbed into the carriage, and then say, "Uh-oh! I forgot to give myself my insulin. You guys go on without me." But we never even made it to Central Park. Mom liked the idea, but this time she was busy reading the real estate section of the paper and didn't want to leave the apartment.

On Monday when I got home from school I was delighted to find Mom out for the afternoon. Time for plan number three. I put our card table in the middle of the living room, covered it with a white tablecloth, set it for a romantic dinner for two, and cooked up a meal of chicken and vegetables. I even made two ice-cream parfaits for dessert. When my parents came home, I would tell them that I'd been invited to Laine's for dinner, and leave them to the romance. But Dad didn't come home. He phoned to say that he was going to spend the evening apartment-hunting and then sleep at his office. (He does that sometimes. There's a couch in his office and he ,81 keeps a clean suit hanging behind the door.) So Mom and I ate the dinner (but I saved the second parfait for Dad).

On Tuesday I was out of ideas. Ditto on Wednesday.

But by Thursday I was rolling again. I slipped each of my parents a note written on the official paper of my school, saying that I was behind in my work and that my guidance counselor wanted to meet them for dinner at the Silver Spur, a restaurant in our neighborhood. Unfortunately, Mom and Dad both smelled a trick and called the guidance counselor. Why did they have to be so smart? If they'd just followed directions, they would have had a nice, romantic dinner together and called off the divorce. Instead, I got in trouble with Mom, Dad, and my counselor, and was also given three weeks in which to catch up on my homework. I guessed the special treatment was over.