Jessi and the Bad Baby-Sitter

  Special thanks to

  Beth Perkins

  for her creative input, too.

  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

  Acknowledgment

  About the Author

  Scrapbook

  Also Available

  Copyright

  “Squirt, no!” I cried as I raced into the living room. My two-year-old brother was about to totter off the end of the coffee table.

  He stood wide-eyed, flapping his arms wildly for balance. With a bound, I sprang across the room and caught him before he hit the floor.

  Whew!

  “Is he all right, Jessi?” asked my eight-year-old sister, Becca, rushing in from the kitchen.

  I soothed Squirt, who was now squirming in my arms. “He’s just scared. I forgot that he’s climbing on everything lately. I can’t take my eyes off him for a second.”

  Squirt’s Pokey Puppy video was still playing on the TV. Not long ago, he would have sat quietly on his big down pillow and watched it peacefully. But in the last few weeks he’d turned into a little mountain goat, scrambling up everything he could find.

  “He’s okay. Let’s finish the game,” said Becca as Squirt’s sobs faded. “I was just about to buy Boardwalk.”

  “Bring the Monopoly game in here,” I suggested. “That way we can keep an eye on Squirt while we play.”

  Becca sighed loudly. “Do we have to? I’ll have to move all that money and the cards and everything. The houses will slide around. Why can’t he come into the kitchen while we play?”

  “Because then he’ll pull the pots out of the cupboard and we’ll have to listen to him bang them,” I explained. Squirt loves to bang, and it’s hard on the ears if you’re trying to do something else.

  “Oh, all right,” Becca grumbled.

  Squirt looked at me, his long black lashes wet with tears. “Me boom.” He pouted.

  I smiled at him and nodded, stroking his soft hair. Baby-sitting for a toddler and an eight-year-old at the same time wasn’t easy. There wasn’t much you could do that would entertain both of them. I had to give Aunt Cecelia credit. She was out for a few hours today, but she usually takes care of them while my parents are out.

  Aunt Cecelia came to live with us when Mama went back to work. What a difficult time that was! At first I couldn’t get used to Aunt Cecelia. I thought she was too strict and old-fashioned.

  Adjusting to Aunt Cecelia was especially hard because I was still trying to adjust to living in Stoneybrook. That wasn’t easy at first.

  Some of our neighbors weren’t thrilled when a black family moved in. This shocked and upset me. Our old neighborhood had been integrated, and color just wasn’t a big deal. When we came to Stoneybrook it was the first time I’d ever felt different in any way.

  But we stuck it out and things are much better. Our neighbors know who we are as people now. If any of them are still bothered, they keep it to themselves. And I’ve made some super terrific friends. (Whom you’ll hear about very shortly.)

  Not only that, I’ve also come to love Aunt Cecelia. I also appreciate how much she does for the family. And I’m sure glad I don’t have to baby-sit for Squirt and Becca every afternoon after school.

  Not that I don’t like to baby-sit. In fact, I love to baby-sit. I even belong to a club called the Baby-sitters Club, which I’ll tell you about later. But maybe I have a little less patience with my own brother and sister. Or perhaps I was just feeling overwhelmed with everything I had to do that week. My schedule suddenly seemed to have hit complete overload.

  As it is, my schedule is plenty tight. I have school, ballet lessons twice a week, BSC meetings three times a week (BSC is short for Baby-sitters Club), and baby-sitting jobs all week long. (Since my best friend Mallory Pike and I are eleven, we only sit in the afternoons — or sometimes in the evenings for our own brothers and sisters. We’re junior BSC members.)

  All of this kept me busy enough, but then Dawn (one of the members) left just recently. Since then I’ve had to take more baby-sitting jobs than ever before. In fact, all the members have had to do that, and it’s been hard on everyone.

  Dawn was, and still is, a member of the BSC. The problem is that right now she’s in California. She’s living with her father and brother for the next six months. You see, Dawn is originally from California, but she and her brother came here with their mom when their parents divorced. Her brother then went back to California to live with their dad, so now Dawn’s original family is split between two coasts. Dawn’s mom remarried (she married her old high school sweetheart who happens to be the father of Mary Anne, another BSC member, but that’s another story which I’ll fill you in on later). Anyway, Dawn started missing her dad and her brother, Jeff, and California in general, so she went back to live with them for a while.

  Now we were one member short and swamped with work. Help!

  “There, the board is all set up again,” Becca announced as she lined up the land cards. “We can play now.”

  “Becca, what happened to all my houses?” I asked.

  “They got caught in an earthquake,” she said, biting her lower lip. “Actually, it was more like a tidal wave. I spilled the can of punch on the board when I was trying to move it. I told you it wasn’t a good idea to move the board.”

  At least that explained why the board had suddenly taken on a pinkish tint. “Squirt, stop that,” I said as Squirt began throwing the Monopoly money in the air. He just laughed and chewed on the property cards.

  “It’s no good!” Becca sighed, flopping over onto her back.

  Just then, the phone rang. “Make sure he doesn’t put any of the houses or hotels into his mouth,” I told Becca as I stood up to answer the phone in the kitchen.

  It was Wendy Loesser, a friend of mine from school. (I’m in sixth grade at Stoneybrook Middle School. So is Mallory, and so is Wendy.) “How’s it going?” Wendy asked.

  “A little crazy. I’m baby-sitting right now.” As I spoke, with the phone cradled between my shoulder and cheek, I knelt on the kitchen floor with a roll of paper towels, sopping up the punch that Becca had missed when she cleaned up.

  “I just called to say hi. Nothing important,” she said. “Want me to call you back later?”

  I got to my feet and peeked into the living room. Squirt was ripping Monopoly money, which Becca was trying to wrestle away from him. “This isn’t a good time for me to talk on the phone,” I said. “But would you like to come over?”

  “Sure,” said Wendy. “I don’t know where you live, though.”

  Wendy and I were sort of new friends. Lately we’d started walking to some of our classes together.

  “I know where that is,” said Wendy after I gave her my address. “I’ll be there in about twenty —”

  “Jessi!” Becca shrieked. “Come quick.”

  “Gotta go. ’Bye,” I said, quickly hanging up. I darted into the living room. Becca was on her feet, pointing at Squirt. “He’s got one, Jessi!” she cried. “I was watching him. I was! I don’t know how he got it into his mouth, but he did.”

  “What? What’s in his mouth?” I asked, trying to stay calm.

  “I don’t know. Something,” said Becca.

/>   Cautiously, I approached Squirt who sat with a mischievous gleam in his eye and his lips clamped shut. “Open up, Squirt,” I said gently. I didn’t want to excite him and have him swallow whatever was in his mouth. “Come on, open your mouth.”

  Squirt shook his head. He thought this was a funny game, but I knew that whatever was in his mouth could get stuck in his throat and choke him.

  “Squirt, please!” I pleaded.

  He shook his head again. Begging wasn’t going to work. I needed a strategy. “Look, Squirt! Look what Pokey Puppy is doing,” I said, pointing to the TV. Squirt looked, and his lips parted as he was distracted by the TV. Like lightning, my fingers were in his mouth fishing out the small silver Monopoly marker shaped like a boot. Squirt realized he’d been tricked and began to howl.

  “Thank goodness.” Becca sighed with relief.

  What an afternoon it was turning out to be! I put away the Monopoly game and prayed Wendy would arrive soon. I was looking forward to some help and company.

  As she’d been about to promise — before I so rudely hung up on her — Wendy rang the bell in about twenty minutes. By then, Becca and Squirt were watching a Flipper rerun on the cable channel.

  When I opened the door, she was standing beside her bike, her short brown hair ruffled by the autumn wind. “Where should I put this?” she asked, nodding toward her bike.

  “Around back,” I said. “Then just come on in.”

  “Cut it out, Squirt,” I heard Becca say as I returned to the living room.

  He was on his feet, slapping the TV screen, yelling, “Flippy! Flippy!”

  “Come on, I want to see this,” Becca complained as she dragged Squirt away, which caused him to start crying all over again.

  “Sounds pretty noisy in here,” Wendy said, laughing, as she let herself in the front door.

  Becca and Squirt stopped to stare at her. I think Wendy has a really pretty face. She has delicate features, big brown eyes, and a quick smile. “Hi, I’m Wendy,” she introduced herself to the kids.

  Becca gently set Squirt onto the carpet. “I’m Becca, which is short for Rebecca. This is pain-in-the-neck, Squirt. His real name is John Philip Ramsey, Junior.”

  Wendy walked to Squirt and knelt at his level. “Hi, there,” she said. “You look like a pretty sweet guy to me.”

  A smile spread across Squirt’s face as Wendy spoke to him.

  “Well, most of the time he is,” Becca admitted. “He’s just being a little difficult today.”

  “We all have difficult days, I guess,” said Wendy, scooping Squirt into her arms as she straightened up. “Hey, is the Flip-ster on TV?”

  “He’s trying to save someone’s life, as usual,” I filled her in.

  “Cool,” said Wendy. “We don’t get cable. I love Flipper. He is one way cool dolphin.”

  Becca sidled up to Wendy and pointed to a character on the screen. “See that boy? He got stuck in the Everglades and Flipper is trying to get help,” she explained.

  “Your nose is red from the cold, Wendy,” I noticed. “Want some hot chocolate?”

  “I do!” Becca shouted.

  “Sure, if you’re going to make it,” said Wendy. “I’ll watch Flipper with these guys.”

  I was glad for the break and felt fine about leaving Wendy in charge. The kids had taken to her instantly. To me it proved that she really was the nice person I thought she was. I think little kids (and animals) are good instinctive judges of people.

  I put three mugs of chocolate milk into the microwave and set it for two minutes. When the microwave beeped, I put the mugs on a tray and carried them into the living room. Wendy was lying on her back, holding Squirt over her head. He was giggling helplessly.

  “Do you think Flipper will get help in time?” she was asking Becca, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her.

  “He usually does,” Becca answered seriously.

  I handed out the mugs of hot chocolate and we finished watching the end of the show. Just as the credits were rolling, Aunt Cecelia came home. “Seems like everything is calm here,” she said happily.

  “All under control,” I replied. (Good thing she hadn’t walked in earlier.) Then I introduced Wendy to Aunt Cecelia.

  “Are you a Baby-sitters Club member, too?” Aunt Cecelia asked her.

  Wendy looked confused. “No. What’s that?”

  “You remember,” I said. “My club I told you about.”

  “Oh, right,” she replied, her face brightening. “No, I’m not a member. But I love to baby-sit. I do it all the time.”

  “You do?” I asked.

  “Sure. I like kids.”

  I could tell it was true. She had certainly settled Becca and Squirt down.

  With Aunt Cecelia back in charge, Wendy and I went upstairs to my room. We listened to my new CDs and talked about school. We also talked about horse books. It turns out that Wendy likes them as much as I (and Mal) do. But she hadn’t read any horse books by our favorite author, Marguerite Henry, so I lent her a few.

  The time passed quickly, and soon Wendy had to leave for supper. As I said good-bye, I realized I’d just spent the most relaxing hour and a half that I’d had in days. I was glad my busy schedule still allowed time for a new friend.

  “I’m sorry, the meeting hasn’t really started yet.” Kristy Thomas was speaking into the phone as I walked into Claudia Kishi’s bedroom for the Monday BSC meeting. “I can call you back in five minutes when it does. Okay. ’Bye.”

  “Who was that?” asked Claudia, who was using her teeth to tear open a bag of potato chips.

  “Mrs. Wilder,” Kristy replied. “But I told her I couldn’t talk until the meeting started.”

  “Wow!” I said. “The phone has started ringing already?”

  With a loud crinkle, Claudia’s potato chip bag split open. She offered the chips to Kristy and me. “I guess summer is really over,” she commented. “Everyone is back to PTA meetings and working overtime and being busy.”

  Cradling a handful of potato chips, I settled onto the floor in my usual spot. “Were you guys so busy this time last year?” I asked.

  Kristy pushed back the brim of her baseball cap and leaned forward in Claudia’s director’s chair. (That’s Kristy’s usual spot.) “No, but our business has grown a lot. We’re really well known now.”

  The fact that the Baby-sitters Club is such a big success is largely due to Kristy. For one thing, she thought of the club. The idea came to her one afternoon when she was in the seventh grade. Her mother needed a baby-sitter for her younger brother David Michael. Kristy and her two older brothers, Sam and Charlie, were busy, so they couldn’t sit. (Kristy’s father wasn’t around. He walked out on the family not long after David Michael was born.) So Mrs. Thomas was going crazy as she called a zillion numbers trying to find an available baby-sitter.

  That’s when Kristy was struck with her great idea. What if her mother could call only one number and get in touch with a whole bunch of sitters? That would be so convenient. Parents would love it!

  Kristy told her idea to her best friend Mary Anne Spier and they decided to form the Baby-sitters Club. Claudia joined them, which was great. Not only is Claudia a terrific baby-sitter and a fun person, she also has her own telephone and her own telephone number. That made it possible for people to call the BSC without tying up the main family telephone.

  Kristy, Mary Anne, and Claudia weren’t sure they had found enough members for a club, though, so they invited Stacey McGill to join. The four of them handed out fliers and put up signs advertising their new service. Parents wanting a baby-sitter could call Claudia’s number between five-thirty and six every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and reach four capable sitters at once. The business was an instant success!

  Then Mary Anne became friends with Dawn Schafer and she joined. Mallory and I joined next.

  Kristy didn’t stop with one great idea. They just kept coming. She was the one who thought of the BSC record book, which kee
ps all our appointments straight, and she thought of the BSC notebook, which is full of information, advice, and entries about our sitting clients. (It’s very helpful if you’re going into a new job to know a little about the kids in advance.) Kristy also thought up Kid-Kits, which are boxes filled with small toys, crayons, coloring books, and other odds and ends kids might like. They are a real hit with the kids we sit for (all kids like to play with new stuff) and make us very popular baby-sitters.

  If I were to list all Kristy’s great ideas, the list would take up pages. She’s a real dynamo. That’s why she’s the club president. The funny thing is, Kristy doesn’t look dynamic. She’s petite with shoulder-length brown hair and brown eyes. Most of the time she dresses in jeans and a sweatshirt. (She couldn’t care less about fashion.)

  However, nothing about Kristy is average. You’d know it within minutes of meeting her. Your first clue would be her big mouth. Kristy is very direct. (Some might even call her loud and bossy.) Kristy knows this about herself, but she doesn’t care. That’s how she is — take her or leave her — which is one of the things I admire about her.

  One thing you’d never guess when you first meet Kristy is that she’s rich. Her stepdad Watson is a millionaire! Her mom married Watson not long ago and Kristy’s life changed in a big way! For starters, she moved across town to live in Watson’s mansion. Now her brother Charlie has to drive her to club meetings. Her family also grew. She became an instant big sister to Watson’s son and daughter from his first marriage, Andrew and Karen. (Although they are only at Kristy’s house on weekends, some holidays, and part of the summer, Kristy has grown very close to them.) Then her mom and Watson adopted a Vietnamese girl named Emily Michelle who is now two and a half. And last but not least, Kristy’s grandmother came to live with them to help take care of Emily Michelle. Add a dog, a cat, and two goldfish to the list and you have one big household. Come to think of it, it’s a good thing they do live in a mansion!

  Kristy checked Claudia’s digital alarm clock. It said 5:27. “Where is everybody?” she grumbled.

  “They still have three minutes,” I said brightly. Kristy is what Aunt Cecelia calls a stickler for punctuality — which means she insists that every BSC meeting start at five-thirty sharp. And I do mean sharp! You should see the steely Look she gives you if you are even a minute late! It’s withering. All the members live in dread of getting one. Everyone tries like crazy to be on time.