Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 027

Chapter 3.

My dad used to be strict with me. Very strict. It wasn't so long ago that I had to fix my hair in braids and wear clothes he picked out, that I had to live in a little-girl room, wasn't allowed to ride my bicycle downtown, couldn't talk on the phone after dinner unless it was about homework, etc. I think my dad made up those rules because he was trying to be a good mother. That may sound funny, but I'm pretty sure it's true. He was nervous about raising a daughter by himself and he wanted me to turn out okay, so he decided he had to practically take over my life.

Luckily, he and I have both been changing lately. I've shown him that I'm more grown up and mature than he thought, and he realized that he doesn't have to live my life for me. So he let me take my hair out of braids and fix up my room so it isn't so babyish. Then came bigger changes. Now I can go places with my friends and talk on the phone after dinner. But Dad is still Dad. There's a ten-minute time limit on phone calls. And if Logan comes over when Dad isn't home, Logan has to stay outside. He is not allowed in.

Which is why the two of us were sitting outside one Friday afternoon that was so gray it was almost raining. But we had no choice. Well, I suppose we could have gone inside. How would Dad have known? But I just am not able to break one of his rules. I'm afraid he'll find out somehow. Magically, maybe. Anyway, a rule is a rule.

Besides, it wasn't raining, and it was fairly warm, so being outside wasn't actually unpleasant. How could it be unpleasant with Logan next to me, and Tigger playing at our feet?

Logan had untied one of his sneakers and was dangling the lace in front of Tigger. Tigger thought this was a great game. He batted at the lace. He tried to catch it. He stood on his hind legs and stretched out his round tummy, reaching as far as he could.

"Aw, look. He's so cute!" I said. (I say that, oh, sixty-five times a day.) Logan grinned. I had said it ten or twelve times just since he'd come over.

I changed the subject. "I'm glad today is Friday. I like school and everything, but . . ." "But there's nothing like two days off," supplied Logan.

"Right." "And think of it. This happens once a week. Boy, are we lucky. I'd like to thank whoever arranged things that way." Tigger got tired of playing with the lace then and darted away from us. He pounced on a bug. He ran after a seed pod that dropped from a tree.

"Aw, he's so cute," I said. Then I called, "Careful, Tigger!" Tigger has only been allowed outdoors for a couple of weeks now. Sometimes I even let him go out alone. He can stay happily in the yard for hours - playing and napping. I worry about him, being outside on his own. Then I remember how great it felt when Dad finally let go of me. I wonder - does Dad worry about me every day the way I worry about Tigger?

"You're sure quiet," said Logan suddenly.

I looked over at him. "I was thinking about how Dad treats me and how I treat Tigger and - " "Again?" said Logan sharply.

I paused. Logan hardly ever speaks like that. I decided to ignore it. "How's baseball practice going?" "Fine." "How's the coach? What's his name?" "Coach Blake." Conversational dead end. Okay. . . . Now what?

"Hi-hi!" called a little voice.

It could only belong to Jamie Newton. I glanced up and there he was, standing at the edge of our yard.

"Hi!" I called back.

Jamie's family lives nearby, so the members of the Baby-sitters Club, especially Claudia, sit for the Newtons all the time. Jamie is four and has a baby sister named Lucy.

Jamie ran across the lawn. "Oh, goody!" he exclaimed. "There's Tigger." Tigger looked like he might be tiring out. He was sitting in the grass - very neatly, with his tail curled around his front feet. But he wasn't doing anything. Nothing I knew about, anyway. Maybe he was doing some secret cat thing.

"Can I play with Tigger, Mary Anne? Please?" asked Jamie.

"Sure," I answered, "but carefully. I'm not sure he wants to play right now." Jamie lay on the ground near Tigger. He and Tigger looked at each other.

I glanced at Logan. Usually Logan and I would have turned to each other at a moment like that and smiled. But Logan was staring into the distance.

"Earth to Logan, Earth to Logan," I said, cupping my hands around my mouth. "Come in, Logan." "I am in, Mary Anne," he replied, without bothering to look at me.

I felt stung.

In the grass, Jamie inched closer to my kitten. "Tigger, Tigger, Tigger, Tigger, Tigger," he whispered. He swept one hand from side to side.

Tigger immediately fell into a crouch position. His head moved back and forth, following Jamie's hand. Suddenly - POUNCE! Tigger landed on Jamie's hand. (Luckily Tigger's little claws are only about as sharp as pine needles.) Jamie burst into giggles. "Tigger!" he squealed. He rolled onto his back and put Tigger on his tummy.

I glanced at Logan again. This time at least he was smiling. "Pretty cute," I commented.

"Boy," said Jamie, "I sure do wish I had a pet. I'd get a ... dog. No, a rabbit. No, a - a chicken. No, a cat. I mean, a kitten. That's it. I'd get a kitten just like Tigger. Gray and white. And pounsive." "Pounsive?" said Logan and I at the same time. I elbowed Logan as a way of telling him not to laugh. He didn't.

"Hi, Jamie!" "Hi, Jamie!" "Hi, Myriah! Hi, Gabbie! Hi-hi!" called Jamie. Standing in their yard next door were Myriah and Gabbie Perkins. The girls are good friends of Jamie's.

The Perkins family moved into Kristy's house when Kristy and her mom and brothers moved to Watson's. Considering I lost my best friend then, I feel lucky that such a nice family moved in. Us club members baby-sit at the Perkinses' a lot. Myriah is five and a half, Gabbie is two and a half, and their little sister Laura is an infant.

"Come on over!" Jamie called to the girls.

"Overrun with kids," I thought I heard Logan murmur, but I wasn't sure.

"No, come over here!" cried Gabbie. "Come on, Jamie. We have something to show you." "Okay." Jamie set Tigger on the ground. He called good-bye to us, and ran next door.

"Want something to drink?" I asked Logan.

"Sure," he replied.

I knew exactly what he wanted. That's how well we know each other. I didn't even need to ask him.

"Be right back," I said, as I got to my feet.

Logan didn't like having to wait outside (I could tell by the look on his face), but what could we do? I ran inside, opened two sodas, and ran back outside. I handed one to Logan as I sat down again.

"So," I said, as I settled myself on the stoop, "how are Kerry and Hunter?" "You mean, what are you getting yourself into when you sit tomorrow?" "No!" I said, even though I knew Logan was teasing me.

Logan smiled. "Well, Hunter's allergies are as bad as ever, and Kerry is going through a stage." "A stage?" "Yeah. She's been saying that we treat her like a baby. I think she wants to be, you know, more independent. She could also use a few friends. She hasn't really made any since we moved here." I nodded, staring down the street.

A few moments later I said, "I think we have more company." Charlotte Johanssen was headed our way. She's eight, another kid our club sits for. And she reminds me of myself - nice, but shy, trying hard to please people.

"Hi!" I called to Charlotte as she reached the end of our driveway. "Want to come see Tigger?" I turned to Logan and whispered, "It's all right with you, isn't it?" "Oh, sure." I couldn't tell what sort of tone was in Logan's voice, but I didn't worry about it. I watched Charlotte approach Tigger. Now he was a little livelier. He waited until Charlotte had almost reached him, then he jumped away.

Charlotte began to giggle. She sat down in the grass. She closed her eyes. "Oh, I can't see you, Mr. Tigger," she sang. "So come back to me. Come on back." Charlotte sat very still, peeking every now and then. Tigger crept toward her, right into her lap.