Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 027

You know pretty much about me already, and you know that Mallory is one of eight Pike kids, so I'll just add that Mallory loves to read and that sometimes she even writes and illustrates her own stories. She has glasses and braces (which she hates), and pierced ears (which she loves), and she's just about the best friend I could have hoped for when I moved to Stoneybrook.

I think that's all you need to know about the dub members. Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. We also have two associate members, Shannon Kilbourne and Logan Bruno. (Logan's not just Mary Anne's boyfriend. He's also a great baby-sitter.) We call our associates to help us out if we get too many jobs to handle ourselves. Logan and Shannon don't come to the meetings or anything. They're kind of like our standby crew.

Anyway, I was telling you about that Monday's meeting, wasn't I? When I slipped into Claudia's room that afternoon, I found a place on the floor next to Mallory. Kristy waved that pencil of hers through the air like a baton.

"This meeting will now come to order," she said.

I always sit up straighter when Kristy starts a meeting.

"Any business?" she asked.

"Dues are due." Dawn smiled.

We all groaned. Really, none of us minds paying dues. The money goes for things we need, like Kid-Kits, which are these neat boxes of toys and games we sometimes bring on jobs with us. I think we just like to groan every week because it's fun.

"All right, all right," Kristy cut us off. "Any other club business?" she asked, after Dawn had collected our money.

"Anyone want M & M's?" Claudia asked. She fished a bag of candy out from under her bed and passed it around.

Kristy heaved a loud sigh. She doesn't consider Claudia's snacks to be "club business." (But I notice that she always takes something when the bag comes around.) Of course, I was dying to bring up the matter of Waldo, but I knew that if Kristy didn't consider snacks to be official enough business, she'd hardly approve of my bringing up Waldo. I knew that I'd have to wait until the end of the meeting for that.

Kristy flipped through the club notebook. We use the notebook to write down all the important things that happen on our jobs - things about the kids, the families, anything the other sitters should know. Then, once a week, we're supposed to read what everyone else wrote. That's Kristy's way of keeping us all informed.

I was still thinking about Waldo when the first couple of calls came in. Mary Anne scheduled some sitters. The phone rang a third time. Kristy took the call.

"Oh, hello, Mrs. Masters," she said. "Yes, I've heard of your family. . . . You're back in town? . . . Sure. . . . Sure. . . . We'd be delighted to sit for your boys." Mallory nudged me and grinned. I shot her a questioning look. I hadn't recognized the name.

Kristy hung up and gave us the news. Someone named Mrs. Masters was looking for an afternoon sitter for her two boys, Derek and Todd.

"Derek!" Now I got it. "Derek! You mean Waldo? Are you saying that that was Waldo's mother calling us for a baby-sitter?" Kristy shot me a look that said, Calm down, Jessi, this is a baby-sitting job, not a meeting of the Derek Masters Fan Club.

Mary Anne checked the appointment book.

"Someone for Wednesday?" she asked. "Well, it looks like the only one who's free is Jessi." Often on Wednesdays I sit for a family called the Braddocks, but the other club members had started to take over some of those jobs. That had left me with a little more free time.

"Me?" I squeaked. "You want to send me to baby-sit for Waldo?" "Derek," Kristy corrected me. "Derek and his four-year-old brother, Todd. Anyway, that would work out well, Jessi. The Masterses live only two blocks away from you." "They do?" I cried. How come I didn't know anything about that? I guess 1 thought the house should have a big neon star on top of it. Or Waldo's handprints pressed into the sidewalk outside, like at that famous Hollywood theater.

Well, this was more than I had bargained for. When I came to the meeting, I had only wanted to talk about Waldo. Now it turned out I was going to be baby-sitting for him.

Kristy called back Mrs. Masters and told her to expect me on Wednesday afternoon.

As you can see, things were already going awfully fast. That's what happens when you get involved with show biz.

Chapter 3.

The thing about my life is that my schedule is so crazy, I don't have time to dwell on any one thing for very long. After the meeting that day I rushed back to my house to dinner and homework. Then, the next day, right after school, I had dance class. . . . Or, as Mme Noelle would say, "donce closs." Mme Noelle is my ballet teacher and she's perfect for the role. I can't imagine her doing anything else. She's an older woman, and she teaches class in a leotard and a long rehearsal skirt. Instead of wearing ballet slippers she wears dance shoes with heels on them. Apparently, she was quite a beautiful ballerina in her time. You can still see it in the graceful way she moves her arms, and in her carriage in general. (I love that word "carriage." And I don't mean the horse-drawn kind. I mean the way she walks and moves and carries herself.) "Modemoiselle Romsey, point thot toe." That was Mme Noelle. Did I forget to tell you that she's a stern taskmaster? Well, she is. When you're there in class doing the exercises, she watches your every move.

"Modemoiselle Romsey, turn out the stonding thigh, if you please. Lead with your heel, and drop thot hip." There's no escaping the watchful eye of Mme Noelle. Now, the crazy thing about dance class is that part of you doesn't want a teacher to be scrutinizing you and giving you a zillion corrections, but then again, part of you does. When a teacher pays attention to you, it means she thinks your work in class is worth paying attention to. And, of course, the only way you get better is to find out what you're doing wrong.

"Modemoiselle Romsey, drop that hip!" (I know what I just said, but when I'm in class, sometimes it's hard to remember why it is I like corrections.) That day in class it seemed to take forever for my body to warm up and start to move the way it should. We started class with exercises at the barre and I just felt a little off. Then we moved into the room for what we call center work. We always start off slowly and work up to big leaps and things like that, Usually I like to stand in the front of class so I can correct myself from what I see in the mirror. But that day, Mme Noelle had already bombarded me with so many corrections that I decided to stay toward the back. It didn't matter, though. Mme Noelle saw me anyway.

"Modemoiselle Romsey! How many times do I have to say? Straighten thot back leg!" Oh, my head was swimming. In ballet, sometimes there're just too many things to remember at once.

I was starting to feel a little discouraged toward the end of class, but then, when we lined up in the corner to do the final leaps across the floor, the man who accompanies us on the piano struck up a really different and wonderful piece of music. Usually he plays a lot of classical themes, which I do enjoy, but all of a sudden he switched to a lively waltz from an old Broadway show. I looked at Katie Beth, one of my friends in the class, and we both grinned.

Mme Noelle .walked us through a series of steps and then we did them to the music. Something about that music gave me energy. The footwork Madame had given us was fast, and when it was my turn my feet practically flew and I felt myself soar into the air. I caught a quick glimpse of my reflection in the mirror while I was at the height of my leap. Good grief! I looked like . . . like a ballerina! I mean, I know that's what I'm supposed to be, but it really feels super when all the hard work comes together.

This may sound corny, but every once in awhile in class my overwhelming love for ballet just comes flooding into me. Nothing else gives me so much pleasure. And no other art form seems as beautiful or as moving.