Mary Anne vs. Logan

  The phone rang then, and Dawn answered it. “Hello, Baby-sitters Club…. Oh, hi, Mr. Ohdner…. Friday night? … Okay. I’ll check and call you right back.” Dawn hung up the phone and turned to me. “Mr. Ohdner needs a sitter next Friday night from seven until about ten-thirty. Who’s free?”

  I checked the appointment pages in the record book. “Let’s see. You’re free, Kristy, and so are you, Stace,” I said.

  “You take the job,” Kristy said to Stacey. “You live much nearer to the Ohdners than I do. Besides, Andrew and Karen will be with us that night. I want to spend some time with them.”

  That’s how we usually handle job calls — no squabbling over who gets one if several of us are free. We know there will be other jobs.

  Dawn called Mr. Ohdner back to tell him that Stacey would be sitting on Friday.

  As soon as she hung up the phone, it rang again. Then two more times. The meeting was pretty busy. One of the last calls to come in was from Mr. Prezzioso, Jenny’s father. He hardly ever calls, so Jessi was surprised when she picked up the phone. “It’s Mister Prezzioso,” she mouthed to the rest of us. Then she went back to the phone call. She was saying, “Three of us? … Well, we don’t usually take on jobs like that, but this sounds fun. Let me check with the others and call you right back…. You’re at work? Oh, that makes sense.” Jessi jotted down a phone number, said good-bye to Mr. P., and hung up.

  “What was that all about?” asked Kristy.

  “Mr. Prezzioso,” Jessi said, “is planning a surprise baby shower for Mrs. P. He wants three of us to give him a hand that day — one to watch Jenny, and two to decorate the house while Mrs. P. is being taken out to lunch or something, and also to serve food, clean up, and stuff like that.”

  “Well, I think we should take the job,” said Kristy. “The Prezziosos are good clients, and besides, there is some baby-sitting involved.” She turned to me. “Are three of us free that day?”

  Jessi gave me the date and time of the shower. I checked the appointment pages. Claudia, Stacey, and I were free, so we took the job.

  When the meeting was over, Kristy announced, “Good one, you guys!” and sent us all home.

  Ahhh.

  I had been looking forward to this for a long time. It was a snowy Saturday afternoon, and I had already finished my weekend homework. I didn’t have a baby-sitting job or anything to do. I mean, anything I had to do. In other words, I was free, free, free. And with the snow falling outside, I felt that this was the perfect afternoon to do cozy indoor things. Let’s see. I could work on the sweater I was knitting. Or I could start a present for the Prezzioso baby — maybe a knitted blanket, or a hat and booties.

  Or I could read.

  That was what I really wanted to do. Dad had built a fire in the living-room fireplace, and I was just dying to lie in front of it and reread Wuthering Heights. I’d read it about three times, but Wuthering Heights is like To Kill a Mockingbird. You simply can’t read it often enough. In fact, I think both books get better every time you read them.

  So I found my copy of Wuthering Heights, grabbed the comforter off my bed, and ran downstairs. Then I sat in front of the fire, the comforter around my shoulders, and began the book once more. “1801. I have just returned from a visit to my landlord….” As soon as I read those words I was transplanted from our living room to old England, the moors, Heathcliff, Cathy, and romance.

  The house was quiet except for the crackling fire. Dawn had gone over to Claudia’s to learn how to make jewelry (she likes beaded jewelry), Dad was in the den doing some work (he’s a lawyer), and Sharon was running errands.

  I was gigundo happy, as Karen Brewer would say.

  I had been enjoying the book, the fire, and the quiet for about ten minutes when the doorbell rang. I sighed, then called, “Dad, I’ll get it!” and walked reluctantly to the front door.

  I peeked through one of the side windows. Guess who was standing on our steps.

  Logan.

  He hadn’t said anything about coming over that day. At least, I didn’t think he had.

  I opened the door.

  “Surprise!” said Logan, grinning, except that with his gentle accent it sounded more like he’d said, “Supprazz!”

  I just stood there. Half of my mind was back in 1801 with Heathcliff and Cathy and the moors. The other half was trying to figure out what Logan was doing here.

  After a few seconds, Logan said, “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

  “Oh! Oh, sure.” I stepped aside.

  Logan entered our front hall, but he didn’t bother to take off his coat. “Let’s go out,” he said. “It’s a perfect snow day in the park. Bring your ice skates.” (Logan’s skates were slung over his shoulder.) When I didn’t say anything right away, Logan went on. “I know you’re free. Dawn told me you were looking forward to this afternoon.”

  “I — I was.”

  “So come on,” said Logan. “Ice-skating, a walk in the snow …”

  I looked over my shoulder at the fire and my open book. Then I looked back at Logan. He seemed so excited and happy. He added that he had planned a romantic afternoon, just for us.

  How could I turn him down?

  I couldn’t. “Dad?” I called. “Logan’s here. We’re going to go to the park for a few hours, okay?”

  “Okay,” replied my father.

  So I found my skates, bundled up, and set off with Logan. I had to admit that walking through the light snow that was falling was nice. Romantic, too.

  The walk to the park took about ten minutes, and Logan talked most of the way there. That was okay with me. I didn’t feel much like talking.

  When we reached the park, my body still half at home by the fire, Logan said, “Boy, it’s crowded today.”

  Stoneybrook’s little park was crowded. It was colorful, too. Kids wearing bright ski jackets were playing everywhere. They looked like confetti against the sharp, white snow.

  “Now, I’ve got everything planned,” Logan informed me. “Ice-skating first.”

  “Okay,” I replied, beginning to feel even better about the afternoon.

  Logan and I sat next to each other on a bench by the frozen pond. Laughing, I laced up Logan’s skates for him, while he laced up mine. Then we tottered arm-in-arm to the edge of the pond and stepped gingerly onto the ice. In a flash, Logan was flying me around the pond, holding tightly to my hand. Or maybe I was gripping his. I am not a good skater. In fact, unlike Kristy the tomboy, I’m no good at sports at all.

  I think something is wrong with my coordination.

  “Logan!” I said, gasping. “Slow down!”

  “Oh, you want a leisurely turn around the ice? That’s a good idea. Then everyone can see what a great couple we make.”

  Logan dropped my hand, and we linked arms again. We skated around and around. Sometimes we had to dodge little kids, and twice I almost fell, but still skating was pleasant…. Until my toes began to freeze.

  I skated slower and slower. I could barely feel my feet.

  “Mary Anne?” said Logan questioningly.

  “Can we stop now?” I asked. “My toes are —”

  “Sure. I’m tired of skating, too,” said Logan.

  Whew! What a relief.

  Logan and I glided back to the bench, untied our laces, and pulled our skates off. “Ahh,” I said, rubbing each foot between my hands. A little feeling began to come back. I wriggled my toes. That was more like it.

  As soon as I’d put my boots on, Logan jumped up, skates slung over his shoulder again. “Next we’re going to be kids!” he exclaimed. “Look over there.”

  I turned in the direction that Logan was pointing and saw a group of children building a snowman.

  We didn’t know a single one of them, but Logan trotted over to them anyway, and I followed him.

  “Need a little help with that?” Logan asked two girls who were valiantly trying to lift the snowman’s head onto his body.

  The girls looked up at Logan.
“Sure!” they said.

  Logan plopped the head onto the body.

  “Thanks! Will you help us find some sticks and pebbles and things so we can finish our snowman? We want him to look just right.”

  “Of course,” Logan replied. “Come on, Mary Anne.”

  Logan wandered happily around the park, looking for twigs. I limped after him. Once again my feet were starting to freeze. “Logan, I’m —”

  But Logan didn’t hear me. He was too busy putting a face on the snowman. When the snowman was finally finished, Logan grabbed my hand and pulled me to a quiet area of the park. I could hardly move. You need your toes for balance, and I couldn’t feel mine.

  “Let’s make snow angels,” Logan said, and flopped faceup onto the snow.

  “Logan —”

  “Come on. We’re kids again today, remember?”

  “But Logan, I’m cold.”

  “Oh. Well, let’s go over to the snack bar and get some hot chocolate. My treat.”

  I hobbled to the snack bar and allowed Logan to buy two hot chocolates with whipped cream on top. He carried them to a bench and handed me one of the steaming cups. I had taken my mittens off, and for a moment, I just held the cup, trying to warm my hands.

  By now, my feet weren’t the only frozen parts of my body. The rest of me was pretty cold, too. In fact, my teeth were chattering, which made drinking sort of interesting.

  We finished our hot chocolates and then walked slowly through the park. Logan kept admiring the white-frosted tree branches, the mounds of snow that were actually buried bushes, and icicles that hung from unlikely places. Once, we saw a male cardinal fly from one tree to another, a splash of red against the gray sky.

  Even I was enchanted by that and let out an “Ooh.”

  Logan looked at me happily.

  I think he was going to tell me something, but I just had to say, “Logan, I’m really sorry, but I’m freezing.”

  “You can’t be too cold, Mary Anne. I don’t feel cold.” (Logan wasn’t even wearing his gloves.)

  Why couldn’t I feel cold? I was cold. I get cold easily.

  Logan was heading for the pond again. “One more time on the ice?” he said.

  The ice? No, no, no …

  It was time to speak up — and be forceful. This was not going to be easy. I have trouble being forceful with anyone. But since my body was turning into an iceberg, I said, “Logan, can we go home now? I really am freezing.”

  Logan took a hard look at me. At last he said, “Okay,” in a sort of huffy voice, and marched toward the park entrance, leaving me to follow him.

  All I could do was sigh.

  Right after lunch on Saturday, Kristy’s grandmother was picked up by some friends who were taking her to the movies, Watson and Kristy’s mom left to go shopping in a nearby town, Charlie went off somewhere in the Junk Bucket (his car), and Sam headed for school to attend a special meeting.

  So Kristy baby-sat for David Michael, Emily, Andrew, and Karen. David Michael and Andrew were wound up. The day was gray and sloppy, so they’d been cooped up all morning and had no chance of going out in the afternoon, either. They ran screaming through the house. They could make a circle by starting in the front hall, tearing through the dining room, into the kitchen, through another hallway, through the living room, and back to the front hall. They looked as if they were chasing each other, but Kristy couldn’t tell who was chasing whom. Sometimes Andrew was just in front of David Michael, and sometimes it was the other way around. Neither of them was tagging or tackling the other. Kristy guessed they were just having a let-your-energy-out-however-you-can chase.

  The chase had been going on for about five minutes when Emily joined in. She’s a bit unsteady on her legs, so she couldn’t keep up with the boys very well, but she can scream along with the best of them. And she figured out the circle through the house that her brothers were making. So she chugged along, giggling, while David Michael and Andrew kept passing her. The “chase” reminded Kristy of that story about the tortoise and the hare.

  Ordinarily, Kristy would have put a stop to the running around. (It was the kind of indoor activity that could lead to tears, or to a knocked-over-and-broken something.) But the kids were having so much fun that Kristy let them go for awhile. Besides, she was worried about Karen.

  Karen had been sitting on the bottom step of the stairs since before everyone had left. Her chin was resting in her hands, and she seemed oblivious to the three children who kept roaring by her. She just sat, looking thoughtful. No, Kristy decided. Not thoughtful, sad. Karen looked truly sad.

  “Karen?” said Kristy.

  Karen didn’t answer. She didn’t move, except for her eyes. She looked up at Kristy. And her eyes seemed to say, “Everything in my life is wrong.”

  “Come on, Karen,” said Kristy, reaching for one of Karen’s hands. “Let’s have a talk. We’ll go into the den, so we can escape your brothers and sister.”

  Karen stood up wordlessly and let Kristy lead her into the den. Kristy pushed the door closed — but not all the way. She needed to keep her ears open for the other kids.

  “So what’s going on?” Kristy asked Karen. “I’ve hardly ever seen you look like this.”

  “Like what?” asked Karen. She was curled into a tight ball at one end of the couch. Kristy was sitting at the other end, but Karen wouldn’t look at her.

  “As sad as a rain cloud,” Kristy replied, trying to get a smile out of Karen.

  No such luck. All Karen replied was, “I feel as sad as a rain cloud.”

  “Why?” asked Kristy. “What’s wrong?”

  Karen shrugged. Then tears filled her eyes. “It’s Ricky,” she finally managed to say.

  “Ricky Torres?” asked Kristy, who tries to keep up with Karen’s and Andrew’s lives, even though she doesn’t see them too often.

  Karen nodded miserably. Her eyes were red, but no tears had fallen.

  “Is he teasing you again?” Kristy demanded.

  Karen shook her head. “It’s much worse than that.”

  “What, then?”

  “Ricky and I were supposed to get married. He asked me, and everything. I even have a ring for him. But we had a fight and now we’re not talking to each other.”

  “What was the fight about?” Kristy wanted to know.

  Karen squirmed. “It was kind of silly, I guess.”

  “Most fights start out that way,” Kristy told her sister.

  At that moment, she and Karen heard a thud. In less than a second (well, maybe I’m exaggerating) Kristy had flung open the door to the den and was racing along the kids’ chase route. She was relieved not to hear tears.

  “What happened?” she called.

  “Emily lost control,” David Michael called back. “She slipped on a rug and fell, but she’s okay.”

  Kristy had reached the living room by then and saw Andrew helping Emily to her feet. Emily was smiling. “More!” she cried.

  Kristy smiled, too, but had to say, “Sorry. No more. No more of this game, Emily. Or for you two, either,” she added, looking at Andrew and David Michael.

  “Aww,” said Andrew.

  “Bullfrogs,” said David Michael. Then he added, “What are we going to do now?”

  “Well,” Kristy began thoughtfully, “a certain holiday is coming up.”

  A pause. Then, “Valentine’s Day!” shrieked David Michael.

  “How about making cards for the kids in your class?” suggested Kristy.

  “Okay,” said David Michael.

  But Andrew said, “I already made cards. Karen and I made them with Mommy. We made a lot.”

  “Maybe you could help Emily, then,” said Kristy. “She’s never made a valentine before. I’m sure she’d have fun if you worked with her.”

  So it was settled. Kristy spread newspapers over the kitchen table and got out the stash of art supplies that are kept in the den. (By the way, Kristy walked into the den, loaded up the supplies, left — and Karen
never budged. She was still a little ball in the corner of the couch.)

  Kristy left Karen there. They would finish their talk later. She put the supplies on the kitchen table and let David Michael, Andrew, and Emily go to work.

  David Michael immediately reached for red construction paper and the pair of safety scissors. He cut out a heart, took a black felt-tipped marker, and wrote on the heart:

  “David Michael!” exclaimed Kristy. “Who are you giving that to?”

  “Blair D’Angelo. He’s a bully. He teases all the girls.” David Michael paused. Then he went on. “Hmm. Maybe I better not sign this one.”

  Kristy just shook her head. Then she went to the den to try to pry Karen out. “Come into the kitchen with the rest of us,” she said. “I know you’ve already made valentines, but I need to keep an eye on the others, especially Emily, and I want to talk to you, too.”

  Karen heaved a great sigh and then got up. She followed Kristy into the kitchen. Since the boys and Emily were working on one side of the table, Kristy pulled the empty bench a little away, for privacy, and then straddled one end. Karen sat facing her. Now Kristy could keep an eye on the card-makers and talk to Karen at the same time.

  “Okay,” Kristy began. “What was your stupid fight about?”

  “My fight with Ricky? Well …” Karen looked down at her hands. “Everyone in our class got invited to Pamela Harding’s birthday party. And you know she doesn’t like Hannie or Nancy or me or Ricky — or most of the kids. But her parents made her invite the whole class, and our parents made us go to the party. But,” Karen continued, “Ricky and I decided to do mean things to Pamela to ruin the party. Ricky even said he would give Pamela a snake as her present.

  “But he didn’t. He didn’t do one mean thing. He gave her a really nice present. And he even smiled at Pamela.”

  “Maybe you’re a little jealous,” said Kristy gently.

  “Maybe. I don’t know. Anyway, we stopped talking to each other, and then Ricky poured ink on a drawing I was making. He did it on purpose. So I put chewed-up gum in his desk, and … everything’s awful. I guess we won’t be getting married now. But I don’t know for sure, since we aren’t speaking.”