“Okay, I’m coming,” said Lou. “Come on, girl. Come on.” She patted her leg and the puppy ambled over to her, panting. “Good girl. You are so smart.”
She gathered the puppy in her arms, and turned to face the Three Musketeers.
“Good-bye,” said Lou.
“Good-bye,” said Karen.
“ ’Bye,” echoed Hannie and Nancy.
“Good luck with your castle,” added Lou.
“You, too,” said Hannie. “I mean, good luck with your new house and everything.”
“Yeah.” Lou looked around with a little frown, as if she were trying to remember something. Then she said again, “Good-bye,” and turned and ran to the car. She didn’t scramble up the hood this time, but holding the puppy carefully, climbed in the back seat next to Jay.
A minute later, the car had backed out of the driveway and was pulling away.
We waved and waved until it was out of sight.
As the car disappeared, Mrs. Graves, who was standing next to me, said softly, “Lou is lucky. The stories of most foster children do not have such happy endings.”
I nodded. But I wasn’t sure it was such a happy ending. Lou had lost her father and her home, and she would probably never know the mother she longed for. Still …
Maybe the book I’d given her would help. I wondered what Lou would think of The Great Gilly Hopkins. After all, it was a story about a kid kind of like her.
I said good-bye to everyone, and headed across the street for home.
I almost didn’t check the mailbox. I’d almost given up. In fact, I’d been at home for twenty minutes before I remembered to check it. And even when I reached inside and pulled out a small, flat package addressed to me and saw a Hollywood agent’s return address, I didn’t believe it.
But it was true. As I walked back across the lawn and unwrapped the package (a dangerous thing to do — I was so excited I almost walked into a tree) I realized we had at least one super donation for the auction. Lorne Conners, whose album had won four Grammies the year before, had sent us an amazing T-shirt — with her autograph scrawled across the front.
I could hardly wait to call my friends and tell them the news. I was sure this was just the beginning.
And I was right. During the next few days, all kinds of things arrived from all kinds of people, complete with celebrity letters: Jessi received old toe shoes and a note from a famous prima ballerina; one of Mallory’s favorite authors sent a boxed set of her books, each one autographed; Stacey took a package notice into the post office and came back, in a daze, with a piece of registered mail — a baseball autographed with the names of the entire baseball team that had just won the pennant; Mallory received a second package. It contained the warm-up blanket belonging to the horse that had most recently won the Kentucky Derby, and a note from the horse’s trainer. But best of all was what Cam Geary sent Mary Anne.
I had to hold the phone away from my ear when she called me about it. “Cam!” she screamed. “Cam! Cam! Cam!”
“No, it’s me. Kristy.”
“Kristy! Cam!”
“You heard from Cam Geary?” I asked.
“Yes. And you’ll never guess what he sent!”
“I give up,” I said.
“The actual jacket that he wore in his movie!”
I screamed, too, then. “Cam Geary! I don’t believe it!”
“I’m wearing it right now. Cam Geary’s actual jacket that has actually touched him …”
The auction was going to be a success.
We had another success to celebrate, too.
A couple of days before Lou had left, my friends and I had mailed cards to her at her new address, so she’d have something waiting for her when she arrived. Now she’d written us back. The first letters said pretty much the same thing: “Thank you for your card. I liked it very much. How are you doing? I am okay. It is okay here.”
But then I received another letter from Lou:
I wouldn’t trade that letter for all the celebrity letters in the world.
I saw a television movie once where the heroine (in disguise) followed a murder suspect to an auction. It was in a huge, Victorian-looking old room filled with people in big hats and dark suits, and every time anyone, so much as twitched, the auctioneer said, “Thirty, thirty, who’ll make it thirty-five (twitch), thirty-five, do I hear forty?” He meant forty thousand dollars, not forty dollars, and of course the heroine sneezed, and ended up buying something enormously expensive.
Stacey said her parents took her with them to an auction at an art gallery in the East Village in New York once and it was sort of the same, except the people were dressed more like Claudia, including the auctioneer, who had seven pierced earrings, all diamonds, in one ear.
So I wasn’t quite sure what to expect at the SMS auction. One thing I did know: Even though this was for a good cause and even though it wasn’t a competition, we’d beat the socks off Cokie and her friends. Mary Anne and Logan had seen the evidence first hand.
Mary Anne had gone to the auction room at school with the Cam Geary jacket and letter. (The letter was to verify the jacket’s provenance. That means proving where it came from and that it really is genuine.) Logan had wandered over to check out an enormous aquarium built into an old television, made so that when fish were in it, they looked as if they were on a television program. Mary Anne was just folding up the receipt Ms. Garcia had given to her while she searched for Mary Anne’s other donation (we were replacing our ordinary donations with the celebrity items). Suddenly a certain well-known nasty voice said, “Oh, how sweet! You’re donating your old clothes. Isn’t that cute, Grace?”
Cokie and Grace were hovering in the doorway.
“Not exactly,” said Mary Anne. Ms. Garcia handed Mary Anne her original donation and smiled. “Such a wonderful donation,” she said.
Cokie interrupted. “It was easy. It’s all in who you know. And of course, you need to be creative …”
“Yes, dear, and that’s exactly what Mary Anne and her friends have done.”
Logan wandered back to Mary Anne as Ms. Garcia went on, “Creative and resourceful. These celebrity donations will be the hit of the auction.”
As Grace’s mouth dropped open and Cokie began to turn red and purple (and somewhere inside probably green with envy), Mary Anne said, “It’s Cam Geary’s old clothes, Cokie. You see, he donated this jacket — from his movie — for our auction.”
Logan couldn’t resist adding, as he and Mary Anne left, “It’s all in who you know, right, Cokie?”
The auction was held on Friday night at the SMS auditorium and we all got dressed-up for it. I put on my best jeans and favorite sweater, and if we didn’t look like we were ready for the auction in the movie, we looked pretty good. We sat together near the back of the room. I looked down the row and felt pretty proud of the BSC. And I felt even more proud as I looked at the program with the list of donations. There were a lot of great donations — including Cokie’s — but ours, listed last, like the grand finale of the auction, were definitely special.
A hush fell over the auditorium and I looked up.
The SMS student council had asked a professional auctioneer to run the program, and she’d agreed to donate her time. As the principal and the president of the student council walked onto the stage, I realized that the tiny, dark-haired woman with them had to be the auctioneer. She didn’t look like the auctioneer in the movie (he’d been dressed in a tuxedo) or the one Stacey had seen in the East Village in New York. This auctioneer was wearing diamond earrings, but just one in each earlobe, and a beige suit, a silky ivory wrap blouse, pale beige stockings, and dark brown pumps. She looked like a principal or a lawyer.
The principal made a speech of welcome. Then the student council president explained the purpose of the auction and introduced the auctioneer, whose name was Ms. Thames. She explained the rules of the auction: Things would be brought on stage in groups as listed in the program. After every item
in each group was sold, the group of items would be transported to the lunchroom behind the auditorium where buyers could pay for them and pick them up. I was relieved to hear that you had to raise your hand to signal a bid.
Ms. Thames lifted her gavel.
Another expectant hush fell over the auditorium.
Then the gavel fell and the auction began.
The auctioneer talked fast (just like in the movies) but not so fast you couldn’t understand her. It was pretty amazing to listen to her, especially when she actually did (without taking a breath) say things like, “Going once, going twice, SOLD! The oak breakfront with the beveled glass is sold to the gentleman in the pinstripe suit.”
I thought Mom and Watson would probably buy an antique. Still, I was surprised when the auctioneer said, “Going once, going twice, SOLD! The hand crank phonograph and collection of Cole Porter seventy-eight records …” and realized Mom and Watson had bought that.
“Guess they’re not going to bid on the trip to Power Records,” teased Claudia.
“Oh, brother,” I said.
A little while later, I saw a hand shoot up into the air, followed by someone jumping up and down. The arm waved frantically and a little ripple of laughter spread out in the crowd.
When the auctioneer said, “Sold!” a familiar voice cried out, “Gigundoly super!” and another familiar voice said, “Indoor voice, Karen.”
So I guess Karen’s goldfish would be getting a new home — the TV aquarium.
Then we had another surprise: Logan bid on a pair of pearl earrings donated by Klein Jewelers. When the auctioneer said, “Sold!” we all turned to look at Logan — except Mary Anne. She was staring down at her hands, blushing.
Logan looked back at us. “You never know when you can use a pair of earrings,” he drawled. Then he reached out and held one of Mary Anne’s hands and even though her head was still bent and she was still blushing, I could see she was smiling, too.
Guess who bought the three-minute shopping spree at Power Records?
Cokie’s father. He bid a huge amount of money right off the bat (in a bored sort of voice) and then no one else would bid.
“So much for that,” muttered Stacey. “What a flop.”
And it was, too. No one oohed or aahed or anything.
But then, I bid on something I had donated. When the celebrity items came up, I bid on an autographed photograph of J.C. Kalisi, one of the first women ever to win an Olympic gold medal in track. She went on to be one of the first women coaches. She’s retired now, but she does feature commentary on television sometimes for sports events.
She’s kind of a heroine of mine. I actually didn’t expect many people to bid on the photograph — but I ended up spending several hours worth of baby-sitting savings!
The rest of the celebrity items sold for a bit more. In fact, a lot more. The sight of Cam Geary’s jacket made the auditorium break into excited murmurings, and the bidding became pretty intense. When it reached a hundred dollars, I almost fell off my chair.
The girl who bought it (I think she was a high school senior) jumped up victoriously when Ms. Thames banged the gavel down and said, “Sold!”
The celebrity items were definitely the hit of the auction. And we all jumped up to cheer when, a few minutes after the end of the auction, the official tabulation was announced. SMS had reached its goal for the new computers.
“We did it!” cried Mary Anne, hugging me and Logan and everyone else within reach.
Cheers and applause and bursts of laughter filled the auditorium as the crowd dispersed to pick up purchases. “I better go get my genuine autographed photograph,” I said.
“Why don’t we go with you,” suggested Jessi.
Stacey, who hadn’t stood up and was making notes on the program, said, “Wait a minute.”
“What is it?” asked Claudia.
Stacey made one more note on her program, clicked her pen, and put it away. Then she looked up and grinned.
“I’m pleased to announce,” she paused, then held up the program and pointed, “that the Baby-sitters Club contributed the highest ticket item of the auction.”
We crowded around Stacey and leaned over to see what she was pointing at.
Item: Twenty-four (24) hours of baby-sitting to be scheduled at the convenience of the purchaser, donated by the Baby-sitters Club of Stoneybrook.
“We’re pretty valuable items,” said Mallory.
“We’re worth more than Cam Geary’s jacket,” said Jessi in an awed tone of voice.
“You know what?” I said. “In the future, we really should have a little more faith in ourselves.”
“Hurray for the BSC of SMS!” cried Claudia.
“Claudia,” said Stacey. “You’re learning how to spell!”
Laughing, we headed for the lunchroom.
* * *
Dear Reader,
For a long time I had wanted to write a story about foster children. One day my editors and I had a meeting and tried to figure out what the next year’s worth of Baby-sitters Club books would be about. We thought of ideas for twelve books, and decided that #35 would be the story about foster kids. We also decided that a great title for this book would be Stacey and the New Kids on the Block (the “new kids” being foster kids who move into Stacey’s neighborhood).
Now, keep in mind that it takes a year to make a book. The author has to write the story, of course, and the story has to go to the printer and be set in type. Also, an artist has to make a painting for the book cover. It’s a long process! I began to work on books #32, #33, and #34. At the same time, #35 had already been advertised as Stacey and the New Kids on the Block. Lots of kids saw the ad and thought the story was going to be about the singing group, which had suddenly become really popular. Readers were very disappointed when #35 was finally published and they discovered that the book did not star Jon, Jordan, Joe, Donnie, and Danny. In fact, it wasn’t about foster children, either. My editors and I had gotten excited about an idea for a mystery, and we decided to postpone the story about the foster child until this book, Kristy and the Worst Kid Ever. And I had to answer a lot of letters about what happened to the book involving the New Kids on the Block. See what can happen when you change your mind?
Happy reading,
* * *
The author gratefully acknowledges
Nola Thacker
for her help in
preparing this manuscript.
About the Author
ANN MATTHEWS MARTIN was born on August 12, 1955. She grew up in Princeton, New Jersey, with her parents and her younger sister, Jane.
There are currently over 176 million copies of The Baby-sitters Club in print. (If you stacked all of these books up, the pile would be 21,245 miles high.)In addition to The Baby-sitters Club, Ann is the author of two other series, Main Street and Family Tree. Her novels include Belle Teal, A Corner of the Universe (a Newbery Honor book), Here Today, A Dog’s Life, On Christmas Eve, Everything for a Dog, Ten Rules for Living with My Sister, and Ten Good and Bad Things About My Life (So Far). She is also the coauthor, with Laura Godwin, of the Doll People series.
Ann lives in upstate New York with her dog and her cats.
Copyright © 1993 by Ann M. Martin.
Cover art by Hodges Soileau
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC, THE BABY-SITTERS CLUB, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
First edition, March 1993
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New
York, NY 10012.
e-ISBN 978-0-545-76792-7
Ann M. Martin, Kristy and the Worst Kid Ever
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