Ann Martin: Baby-Sitters Club 028

Groggily, I rolled out of bed, tripping over my sneakers, which were lying on their sides next to the bed. I turned off the power on my stereo and looked out my window. (I hadn't bothered to close the blinds the night before.) Outside I saw a chilly gray day.

Perfect, I thought. The day fit my mood.

I made my way to the door of my bedroom and listened for a moment. I wanted to put .off running into Mom or Dad for as long as possible. I didn't hear a sound. Had Dad already left for work? He usually left early - but not by seven o'clock.

I dared to open my door. Then I tiptoed into the hallway and peeked into the living room.

My father was asleep on the couch! He and Mom didn't even share their bedroom anymore. How awful. How long had that been going on? I wondered. And did Mom ever sleep on the couch or was it all up to Dad? I turned away, sure I had seen something I wasn't supposed to have seen. But it couldn't be helped. We'd all overslept a little that morning.

I retreated to the bathroom, where I locked myself in. (I seemed to feel more secure locked into places.) I took a long, hot shower and washed my hair twice. Afterward, I brushed my teeth two or three times, trying to get rid of the old-sock taste. While I was brushing, a knock sounded at the door.

"Morning, honey!" called Mom's voice. "Why don't you take it easy today? You don't have to go to school if you don't want to." In answer, I turned the water on as hard as it would go.

A few moments later I was locked in my room again, trying to decide what to wear. I was going to school, of course. There was no way I would stay at home with either Mom or Dad. (I was pretty sure they wouldn't both be there.) Another knock.

This time Dad's voice called, "Hi, Stace! How do bacon and eggs sound for breakfast? I'll cook. I'm going to the office a little later than usual this morning." I kept my mouth shut.

I had never, ever felt so angry at my parents. Not even when they had dragged me to this awful doctor who wanted to change my whole life around in order to help my diabetes.

Dad waited for my answer. When he didn't get one, he left. I heard his footsteps retreat into the living room on his way to the kitchen.

I dressed. I put on one of my better outfits - short red pants with purple suspenders over a bright yellow and black sweat shirt. On my feet I put my purple push-down socks and a pair of red hightop sneakers.

I added jewelry - a big necklace with wooden bananas and oranges strung on it, and dangly earrings shaped like sunglasses.

I fixed my hair. I brushed it until it was full and shiny. Then I rolled up a red scarf and tied it in my hair like a headband. My outfit was pretty colorful. I think I was trying to make up for the gray day.

After I had tied the scarf in my hair, I was ready for school. I wished I could just beam myself there like they do on Star Trek. That way, I wouldn't have to see my parents. But obviously, I couldn't beam myself anywhere. Even if I could have, what would have been the point? I'd have to face Mom and Dad sooner or later.

So I did. I unlocked my door and walked into the kitchen.

"Good morning!" said my parents.

Mom was setting the table. Dad was standing over the stove, turning bacon and stirring a pan of scrambled eggs.

I took my glass from the table, filled it with orange juice, got a bagel out of the refrigerator and a banana from the fruit bowl, and sat down to my own version of breakfast.

"No eggs?" said Dad at the same moment that Mom said, "No bacon?" I pulled an old trick. I reached over to the counter and picked up The New York Times. I opened it and pretended to read, but mostly I just concentrated on eating fast.

Mom and Dad tried several more times to talk to me.

"We know you're mad," said Mom. (No kidding.) "We understand," said Dad. (Do you? Do you really?) After that, they lapsed into silence.

As soon as possible, I left the table, gave my teeth another brushing, gathered up my schoolbooks, put on my blue-jean jacket, and walked out the door. For once in her life, my mother didn't call after me to have fun and be careful.

Even though I didn't have any time to spare, I dawdled on the way to school. I wanted to think about things. I hadn't done my homework the night before, so what did it matter if I got to school late, anyway? Besides, knowing Mom and Dad, one of them was calling my guidance counselor right now to tell her what was going on. I would probably get some special treatment for awhile, I thought, as I left our block and made a right onto a busy avenue.

Caitlin did. Keith did. Shayla did.

Who are Caitlin, Keith, and Shayla? They're kids in my grade whose parents got divorced earlier in the year. Think of it. Three other divorces right in the eighth grade. I sure wasn't the only divorced kid around. (That's what Caitlin and Shayla call themselves - divorced kids, meaning kids; with divorced parents.) But that didn't make me any less angry.

In fact, it made me more angry.

What was wrong with parents these days? Why couldn't they get married and stay married like parents did in olden times? Whatever happened to commitment? What happened to "forever"? To "till death do us part"? Really, someone ought to rewrite the wedding vows so that the bride and groom say, "Till divorce do us part." Even while I was thinking those things, though, I was remembering something I'd heard Caitlin say at the beginning of the year. She'd said, "I'm glad my parents are getting divorced. Now I won't have to listen to their fights." I'd thought she'd just been saying that, that she hadn't meant it. But now I wasn't so sure. I wouldn't mind an end to the arguing.

But I still didn't want Mom and Dad to get divorced.

I entered my homeroom five minutes after the first bell had rung.

Mrs. Kaufman, my homeroom teacher, looked up at me, smiled, then continued reading the morning announcements.

So one of my parents had called the school. Mrs. Kaufman knew. If she hadn't known, she would have stopped reading the announcements and asked why I was late. She always does that. And if a kid doesn't have a written excuse, she cooks up some sort of punishment. She never just smiles and continues with what she's doing.

I spent that day in a fog. I barely spoke to anyone. And I was constantly dreaming up ways not to have to see my friends. I just couldn't face telling them the news yet. I took different routes to my classes and to my locker. When I had to use the bathroom, I went to this old one on the first floor that's used mostly by teachers. I even hit on a way to avoid Laine in the cafeteria at lunchtime. See, we have sixth period lunch. So at the beginning of fifth period, I asked my science teacher if I could go to the library to work on a project. Then, instead of going to the library, I went to the cafeteria and ate a very fast lunch. As soon as I was done I really did go to the library. I stayed there right through sixth period, holed up at a desk in a remote corner behind shelves of books about sociology.

I did a lot of thinking and absolutely no work. This is what I was thinking: When Caitlin's parents got divorced, her father moved out and her mother stayed in their apartment.

When Keith's parents got divorced, his father moved out and his mother stayed in their apartment.

And when Shayla's parents got divorced, her father moved out and her mother stayed in their apartment.

Where, I wondered, would Dad go?

Then I thought of something else. I'd heard Mom say the day before that she wanted to leave the city. Had she meant that she wanted our whole family to move, maybe as a way of trying to save the marriage? Or did she still want to move, without Dad? If she moved, would I have to go with her? Did kids ever get to stay with their fathers? Would Dad keep our apartment or find another one?