This book is for Alice,
my friend from around the world
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Letter from Ann M. Martin
About the Author
Scrapbook
Also Available
Copyright
I was thirteen years old before I became a sister, and guess what. My new sister was my age, thirteen. Were we long-lost twins, separated at birth and reunited thirteen years later? No. Although that’s much more interesting than the truth. The truth is that my sister is actually my stepsister. Earlier this year, my father got married again, and he happened to marry the mother of Dawn Schafer, who was already one of my best friends. So Dawn and I changed from best friends to best friends and sisters. Not many kids are that lucky.
My name is Mary Anne Spier. I’m an eighth-grader at Stoneybrook Middle School (commonly known as SMS) in Stoneybrook, Connecticut. I was born here and have lived here all my life. Before Dawn came along, I had a very small family. Two people. My dad and me. Of course, I had a mom in the beginning, but she died when I was really small. I don’t even remember her. After she died, Dad raised me. He did a good job, even if he was strict, but I always wished for a bigger family; at the very least for a baby brother or sister.
When I was twelve and in seventh grade, a new family moved to Stoneybrook — Dawn and Jeff Schafer and their mother. The Schafers had just been divorced, and Mrs. Schafer wanted to raise her kids in the town in which she’d grown up. That town was Stoneybrook. Unfortunately for Dawn and Jeff, they had grown up in California, so the move to cold, snowy Connecticut was something of a shock to them. Dawn was determined to make the best of things, though, and she adjusted to her new life fairly quickly. For one thing, she made new friends right away. I was her first friend, and I introduced her to my friends in the Baby-sitters Club, which is a business we run. (I’ll explain that later.) Right away, Dawn and I started spending a lot of time at one another’s houses, and guess what we discovered one day when we were looking through our parents’ high school yearbooks. We found out that a long time ago my dad had dated her mom. They’d been sweethearts. But then they graduated from high school, and Dawn’s mother went off to college in California and met Mr. Schafer and married him and eventually had Dawn and Jeff. Meanwhile, my dad had also gotten married, although he’d remained in Stoneybrook.
Well, Dawn and I knew just what to do with our secret. We arranged for our parents to meet again, and after awhile they began dating, then finally they got married. (In case you’re wondering, Jeff moved back to California to live with his father. That happened before his mom married my dad. He was simply never happy in Connecticut. He missed his old life too much. I love Jeff, but I hardly ever see him.)
“Dawn? How come the hedge clippers are in the bread drawer?” I asked one day. It was a Monday afternoon. School was over, and Dawn and I were prowling around the kitchen, fixing a snack.
Dawn shrugged. “Mom’s responsible, I’m sure. I’ll put them back.”
Dawn took the clippers from me and headed for the door to the garage. She was smiling.
Dawn’s mother, whom she calls Mom and I call Sharon, is just a teensy bit, oh, scatter-brained. Sharon is really nice, and I’m lucky she’s my stepmother, but I’m just not used to finding hedge clippers in the bread drawer, or my sweater in the freezer, or the TV remote control on a shelf in the bathroom. I grew up with a father who could have run for the presidency of the Neat People’s Society. Dawn grew up with a mother who wouldn’t have been allowed within miles of a meeting of the NPS. Actually, she isn’t so much messy as she is completely disorganized — as opposed to my father, who color-codes his socks. How they became friends is beyond me. How they became husband and wife is, I think, beyond even them, but they do love each other. And the four of us are learning how to live together without going batty. A few months ago, I might have freaked out if I found a pair of hedge clippers in the bread drawer. Now I can handle the situation calmly.
Dawn returned from the garage, and we sat at the kitchen table with snacks in front of us. Mine was a nice, normal after-school snack — an apple and a handful of chocolate chip cookies. Dawn’s was a salad bar — a carrot stick, a zucchini stick, a celery stick, a radish, a little square of tofu, and a small container of uncooked peas. This is an example of a difference between Dawn and me, and between her mom and my dad. Dad and I eat the kind of food we were brought up on, a little of everything — fruits, vegetables, dairy stuff, meat, sweets. Dawn and her mom think it’s practically a felony to eat meat. Or sugar. A really great dessert for Dawn is, like, some berries. Now, I am not, I repeat not, addicted to junk food the way our friend Claudia Kishi is, but excuse me, berries are not dessert as far as I’m concerned. Cake is dessert. Chocolate pie is dessert. A large brownie is dessert. Maybe berries are dessert, but only if a piece of cheesecake is underneath them.
Dawn poked around at her peas, and I bit into my apple.
“I saw the twins’ baby brother this morning,” said Dawn. (We have friends — not close friends, just school friends — who are twins. Their names are Mariah and Miranda Shillaber, and they have a brother who is just a year and a half old.)
“You did?” I said. “Where? Is he adorable?”
“Yeah, he’s pretty cute. He was with Mrs. Shillaber. They’d dropped off Mariah and Miranda at school.”
“The twins are so lucky,” I said. “I wish our parents would have a baby. They still could, you know. It isn’t too late.”
“And if my mom doesn’t want to give birth to another baby,” added Dawn, “then she and Richard could adopt one.” (Richard is my father.)
“I know. It worked for Kristy’s family.”
The parents of one of our close friends, Kristy Thomas (who’s also a member of the Baby-sitters Club), adopted a two-and-a-half-year-old Vietnamese girl. And they already had six kids between them.
“My mother wouldn’t even have to quit work,” said Dawn. “Kristy’s mother still works. Of course, her grandmother lives there now.”
“Yeah. I’m not sure we could convince a grandparent to pick up and move in with us. A baby is sort of a big job.”
“I guess. But who could take better care of a baby than us? We’re expert sitters, after all. I mean, we do belong to the Baby-sitters Club.”
“By the way, what time is it?” I asked.
“Four-thirty. Our meeting won’t start for an hour.”
“Okay. I just don’t want to be late. You know Kristy.”
Dawn rolled her eyes. She knew all right.
We went back to our snacks. After a few moments, Dawn said, “Do you believe that new course we have to take? Instead of career class?”
“What? Modern Living?” I replied.
“Yes! I’ve never heard of such a thing. We’re going to learn about marriage? And job hunting? And family finances? And divorce? I think I already know enough about divorce, thank you.”
“I guess it is sort of weird. At least Logan will be in my class.” Not to brag or anything, but Logan Bruno is my boyfriend. We’ve been going out together for a pretty long time — even though we have definitely had our ups and downs. I’m the only member of the Baby-sitters Club to have a steady boyfriend. If you knew Log
an you’d understand why I like him. He’s kind and caring and funny. He’s really gentle, but he also plays great baseball and football. Plus, he’s cute.
“My homeroom teacher,” Dawn spoke up, “said we have to take Modern Living because — and this is a direct quote — ‘it’s important that we explore and experience the realities of being an adult in today’s changing society.’ ”
“That sounds like an introduction to a really bad social studies filmstrip,” I said.
Dawn giggled. “I don’t think it’s fair that only the eighth-graders are subjected to this torture. Don’t the sixth- and seventh-graders need to know how to be adults, too?”
“Yes,” I answered, “but they’ll get their turns when they reach eighth grade.”
I finished the last of my cookies, swept the crumbs off the table, and stood up. Dawn cleared away our napkins. (Her mother may be messy, but Dawn is neat and organized.)
“We better go,” said Dawn.
“Okay. Oh, I have to feed Tigger first!” Tigger is my gray tiger-striped kitten. When Dad and I moved out of our house and into the old farmhouse Dawn’s mom had bought, Tigger came with us. He’s our only pet. I love him to bits. (I think Sharon is still getting used to him. I don’t know what’s taking her so long. He’s absolutely adorable.)
I scooped up some kibble into Tigger’s dish. Dawn looked at her watch again. “Now we really better go,” she said.
“Okay. I’m ready.” My sister and I left for Claudia Kishi’s house.
I still feel a little funny riding my bike to Claud’s. That’s because I used to live across the street from her. Riding my bike from one side of the street to the other would have been sort of silly. But my new house isn’t nearby. I can still run inside the Kishis’ house without bothering to ring the bell, though. Kristy and I did that when we were little. (Kristy also used to live across from Claud, next door to me, but she’s moved, too.) And we continue to do it. So do the rest of the members of the Baby-sitters Club (or BSC).
Dawn and I dashed upstairs and hightailed it past the door of Claud’s older sister, Janine the Genius. She wasn’t there, though. Then we ran into Claudia’s room, picked our way over the junk on her floor, and flopped onto her bed. I was pleased to see that we were not the last club members to arrive.
“Hi, guys,” Dawn greeted Claudia, Kristy, and Jessi Ramsey.
“Hi,” they replied. (If we didn’t sound overly enthusiastic, remember that we’d seen each other in school just a couple of hours earlier.)
Kristy Thomas was sitting in Claudia’s director’s chair, her visor perched on her head, a pencil stuck over one ear.
Kristy is the president. (Of BSC, I mean.)
Jessi, one of our junior officers, was leafing through the club notebook.
As I found a comfortable position on the bed, I glanced at Kristy. She was staring at Claud’s digital clock. That clock is the official club timepiece, and when the numbers flip from 5:29 to 5:30, Kristy begins a meeting, whether all the club members are present or not.
I guess Kristy has a right to do that. After all, she’s not just the club president, she’s the person who started the BSC. The club was her idea. What is the BSC? It’s really a business, and a successful one. This is how it works. Three times a week — on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, from five-thirty until six — my friends and I gather in Claud’s room and wait for parents to call us, needing baby-sitters. When a call comes in, one of us agrees to take on the job. This is great for parents. They make one phone call and reach seven people, seven expert baby-sitters. So they’re bound to line up a sitter quickly. They don’t have to call one person after another, trying to find someone available.
How do parents know when to call us? How do they know when we hold our meetings? Because we advertise — you know, flyers and posters. Also because we’ve been in business for awhile now. We have a good reputation.
Anyway, Kristy is the president, since she started the BSC. She is overflowing with fantastic ideas. Kristy is the one who thought of keeping a club notebook, which is like a diary. Each time one of us finishes a sitting job, we’re supposed to write about it in the book. Then, once a week, we read through the recent entries to find out what happened on our friends’ jobs. This has turned out to be really helpful.
Kristy also came up with the idea for Kid-Kits. Every member of the club has made a Kid-Kit. A Kid-Kit is a large box that has been painted, decorated, and filled with child-appealing items — our old games, books, and toys, art supplies, activity books, and so forth. Our sitting charges just love to see us show up with our Kid-Kits. They may have the most spectacular toys ever created, but show them something new (even if it’s old, it’s new to the kids), and suddenly it’s more interesting than anything they own. Somehow Kristy knew that.
Kristy seems to be a natural with kids. She’s certainly around them enough at her own house, although for the longest time only one of her brothers and sisters was younger than she was. Hmm — that’s pretty confusing. What I mean is, Kristy’s mom got remarried just like my dad, and when that happened, her family changed. A lot. When Kristy and I used to live next door to each other, her family consisted of her two older brothers, Sam and Charlie; her little brother, David Michael; and her mom. Her dad had walked out when David Michael was just a baby. Several years later, her mom began dating this guy Watson Brewer, who happens to be a millionaire. He also happens to be divorced, the father of two little kids. After Mrs. Thomas and Watson Brewer got married, the Thomases moved across town into Watson’s mansion. That was when Kristy’s family began to grow. The Brewers adopted Emily Michelle, the little girl from Vietnam. Nannie, Kristy’s grandmother, moved in to help care for her. Plus, Watson’s children, Karen and Andrew, live at their father’s every other weekend. Also, they acquired a dog and two goldfish, and Watson already owned a cat.
Did I tell you that Kristy is my other best friend? Actually, she’s my first best friend, since we grew up together, and I didn’t meet Dawn until the middle of seventh grade. A lot of people think Kristy and I make a pretty weird duo. That’s because we’re so different. Kristy is extremely outgoing and is known for her big mouth. (Well, she is.) Plus, she loves sports and even coaches a softball team for little kids. (Her team is called Kristy’s Krushers!) I, on the other hand, am shy. I’m whatever you call the opposite of outgoing. (Ingoing? Ingrown?) I think before I speak. I’m romantic (maybe that’s why I ended up with a steady boyfriend before any of the other BSC members did), I cry easily (nobody likes to go to the movies with me), and I do not enjoy sports. However, Kristy and I look sort of alike. Everyone says so. Our faces are shaped the same way, we both have brown hair and brown eyes, and we’re short for thirteen. We dress differently, though. Kristy’s happiest when she can just drag on a pair of jeans, a turtleneck shirt, a sweat shirt, her running shoes, and maybe a baseball cap. (Her uniform.) She never bothers with jewelry or makeup. (Well, hardly ever.) I wear clothes that are a little more trendy — as trendy as my dad will allow me to look. Mostly, I guess I’m on the preppy side. I don’t have pierced ears (neither does Kristy), but I do wear jewelry, including clip-on earrings. And I experiment with my hair sometimes. No major dos, though. So Kristy and I are quite different. Maybe that’s why we’ve been such good friends. We complement each other, personality-wise.
You know who’s the opposite of us in almost every way? Claudia. Yet she’s a good friend, too. We voted Claud the vice-president of the BSC. We thought that was fair, considering we meet in her room three times a week, mess it up (usually), take over her phone, and eat her junk food. The phone — that’s another reason we hold our meetings in her room. Claud has not only her own extension, but her very own phone number. That means that when job calls come in, we don’t tie up someone else’s line, just Claud’s. You may think Claudia’s job isn’t difficult. I know it sounds that way, until you realize that not everyone remembers to call the BSC during our meetings. When parents call during off-hours, Claud
has to deal with those jobs.
In what ways is Claud different from Kristy and me? All right, let me see. First, she comes from a smaller, less complicated family. It consists of her parents and Janine. No pets. And Claud’s interests are art, junk food, mysteries, baby-sitting, and fashion, although probably not in that order. Claudia is a fantastic artist, and she’s addicted to junk food and Nancy Drew mysteries. Candy, chips, and books are hidden all over her room. (They’re hidden because her parents disapprove of both addictions. They wish she would eat healthy foods and read the classics.)
Claud is also very fashion conscious, unlike Kristy and me. To begin with, she’s exotic-looking. No brown hair and brown eyes for her. Claud is Japanese-American. Her hair is jet black, long, and silky. Her dark eyes are almond-shaped. Her skin is creamy and clear (despite the junk food she consumes). She loves to experiment with her hair, braiding it, twisting it up, wearing ribbons and barrettes and ornaments in it. And her clothes are outrageous. Her parents let her dress in whatever style she likes. A typical Claudia outfit might include a sequined shirt, stirrup pants (maybe black), low black boots, dangly turquoise earrings, and ribbons woven through tiny braids in her hair. And she wouldn’t forget sparkly nail polish.
Another thing about Claud. She’s a terrible student. She could be a good one if she tried, but school doesn’t interest her. Sometimes her awful spelling drives me crazy — but I love her anyway.
“Hi, everyone!”
“Hey, Stace!” we replied.
Stacey McGill had dashed into club headquarters, followed closely by Mallory Pike. They had arrived just in time. As soon as they sat down (Mal on the floor with Jessi; Stacey backward in the desk chair), Kristy announced, “This meeting of the Baby-sitters Club will now come to order. Any important business?”
“Dues day!” cried Stacey. She’s the treasurer, and one of her jobs is to collect dues from the seven main club members every Monday. (Two more people belong to the club, but they do not attend meetings and don’t have to pay dues. They’re associate members, kids we can call on to baby-sit if a BSC call comes in and none of us can take the job. Guess what. One of the associate members is … Logan!) Anyway, Stace is great at math, so she’s the perfect choice for keeping track of the money in our treasury, which is a manila envelope. We use the money to cover our expenses: to help Claudia pay her phone bill, to buy new items to replace used-up ones in the Kid-Kits, and so forth.