Karen's Witch

  “Hi, Bart! Hi, Bart!” I heard Andrew cry. Andrew sounded very excited to see Bart. Too bad he did not know better.

  When Mommy left, Bart and Andrew sat down at the kitchen table for a snack. “Come join us, Karen,” said Bart.

  “No, thank you,” I replied. I plopped in front of the TV. I stared at it for awhile.

  Soon I heard Bart say, “Okay, Andrew. We have to clean up the kitchen before we play outside.”

  Ha. Now I was glad Mommy had scolded Bart about leaving messes. Bart deserved to be scolded. He was a mean person.

  After Bart had cleaned up the kitchen, he said to me, “Andrew and I have decided to play outside. We are going to start the Winter Olympics again.”

  “I do not want to play,” I told him.

  “Well, I cannot leave you inside,” said Bart.

  I sighed very loudly. “Oh, all right.” I stood up. I put on my snow clothes. When Bart tried to help me with my scarf, I jerked away from him. “I can do it myself,” I told him.

  “Karen?” said Bart. “Is something — ”

  I did not let him finish his sentence. “Come on, Andrew,” I said. “Do not be a slowpoke. Let’s go.”

  But when we got outside, I sat on the front stoop. I let Andrew and Bart run into the yard. I was not going to play with them no matter what. (Well, I was not going to play with Bart.)

  I wished I could go over to the Daweses’ house and play with Nancy. But I couldn’t. The Daweses were not at home.

  After awhile, Bully Bobby came over. When Andrew saw him, he said, “I will go get Willie and Kathryn. We need them for the Olympics, too.”

  Soon Andrew and Bobby and Kathryn and Willie were running around. “Come play with us, Karen!” called Andrew. “We need more people for the Olympics.”

  “No, thank you!” I called back.

  “Pleeeease?”

  “I said no, thank you.”

  Andrew stuck his tongue out at me. I ignored him.

  Later, when the kids were busy seeing who could throw a snowball the farthest, Bart sat next to me on the stoop.

  “What is wrong, Karen?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you sure? Because — ”

  “I said nothing is wrong.”

  “Okay.”

  Bart left me alone after that. When our friends went home, Andrew and Bart and I went inside. But this time, Bart was smart. He asked us to take our boots off at the door so we would not make puddles in the house. Then he hung up our clothes instead of leaving them in a pile on the floor. After that he checked the kitchen and the living room to make sure we had not left any messes.

  When Mommy and Seth came home they looked very happy. They smiled at Bart.

  “Good job,” said Seth.

  Bart smiled back.

  Getting Even

  On Tuesday morning, I woke up feeling grumbly. I realized I was still mad at Bart.

  Grumble, grumble, grumble. I was rude to Mommy at breakfast. I snapped at Andrew when he asked me to help him put his boots on. On the way to school, I sat in the car with my arms folded. I did not say a word to Seth.

  But when I saw Hannie and Nancy in Ms. Colman’s room, I decided I needed to talk to somebody. I needed my two best friends.

  “You guys?” I said. “Can I talk to you?”

  “Sure,” they answered.

  “Remember what I said when you asked me how my date with Bart was?”

  “You said it was fine,” replied Hannie.

  I nodded. “But that was not true. I kind of told a lie. The date was awful, but I was too embarrassed to say so.”

  “It was awful?” repeated Nancy. “What happened?”

  I sighed. “Bart invited other people on our date. He invited Kristy and David Michael. They watched the movie with us, too. And Bart and Kristy sat together and held hands. I sat on the floor with David Michael. Plus, no one else was dressed up. I was the only person wearing party clothes. Bart lied about our date.”

  “Oh, Karen,” said Nancy. “That is too bad.”

  “Too bad,” echoed Hannie.

  “I know,” I replied.

  “Bart must be a creep,” said Nancy.

  “A jerk,” said Hannie.

  “Thank goodness for my husband,” I went on. “Ricky would never do something like that to me. Now I know why I married him.”

  “What are you going to do about Bart?” asked Hannie.

  My answer was ready. “Get even,” I replied.

  “How?” Nancy wanted to know.

  “That is what we have to figure out,” I said. “I need you to help me. But I do not think we have time to do that right now. Ms. Colman will be here any minute. Let’s have a meeting on the playground again.”

  So that is what we did. After lunch, we gathered at our tree. In the warm weather, we can sit on the ground under the tree. Sometimes we climb its branches. But that Tuesday was cold and snowy, so we just stood by the tree trunk and talked.

  “Okay,” began Hannie. “What do you want to do to Bart?”

  “Embarrass him,” I replied. “That is what he did to me.”

  “Hmm,” said Nancy. “You mean like make his pants fall down?”

  My friends and I giggled. “I guess so,” I said. “That would be embarrassing, all right. Especially if a lot of people saw. But I do not know how I could make his pants fall down.”

  “Well then, you could trip him,” suggested Hannie. “That is always embarrassing.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Not embarrassing enough, though.”

  We thought for a few minutes. “Okay,” said Nancy finally. “What kinds of things embarrass Bart?”

  “Well … I think he was embarrassed when Mommy told him he was a sloppy baby-sitter. She had to ask him to keep the house neater while he is in charge,” I said.

  Hannie and Nancy frowned. I could tell they were not getting any ideas. But I was getting one. A good idea. A good and mean idea.

  “I know!” I cried. “I know just the thing!”

  My friends leaned in closer and I told them my good, mean idea.

  The Bad Baby-sitter

  This was my idea: I planned to make Bart look like a bad baby-sitter. By the time Mommy and Seth came home from work, the little house would be one big mess. Mommy and Seth would not be happy about that. They would probably yell at Bart, and then Bart would feel embarrassed.

  And I would feel happy again.

  On Tuesday afternoon, as soon as Mommy left Andrew and me with Bart, I said, “Let’s go outside.”

  Bart grinned at me. “You are going to play with us today, Karen? That is great. I’m glad to have you back.”

  I nodded. “First let’s have a snack, though. Can we make chocolate milk?”

  “Sure,” replied Bart.

  I took a carton of milk out of the refrigerator. Then I got out glasses, a spoon, and the chocolate powder. “Okay. Here goes,” I said. I poured the milk into the glasses. (I sloshed it over the table.) Then I dumped some chocolate into each glass (and over the table). Then I stirred up the chocolate milk. (I left the sticky spoon on the table.)

  While Bart wiped off the table, Andrew and I drank our milk. And — uh-oh — I spilled mine. Chocolate milk ran down my shirt and onto the floor. “Oops,” I said.

  “Hey,” said Andrew. “I know. Instead of going outside, can we bake a cake? Please, Bart?”

  “Yeah, can we?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” replied Bart. He had just cleaned up the table. Now the floor was a mess. “Karen, go upstairs and change your shirt. I will think about the cake,” he said.

  “Sorry about the mess, Bart,” I called as I ran out of the kitchen. “Here, let me put my shirt in the washing mach — uh-oh.”

  “Now what?” cried Bart.

  “Um, I just spilled the laundry detergent.”

  “Bart! Someone is at the door!” shouted Andrew from the hallway.

  “I’ll answer it!” I shouted back.

&nb
sp; Kathryn and Willie were on the stoop. They ran inside with their snowy wet clothes on. They left footprints from the front door all the way to the kitchen.

  “We are going to bake a cake,” I told them, even though Bart had not said we could bake the cake.

  “I am going to bake it in my bathing suit,” said Andrew.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “In case I spill. I will not have to change my shirt. And I can take a bath with my bathing suit on.”

  An hour later, the cake was finished. It was a chocolate cake. Bart said there was so much frosting on the floor, he wondered how we had enough left over for the cake. Then he sent Kathryn and Willie home.

  “Yikes,” said Bart. “It is almost six o’clock.”

  “Boy, what a mess,” I added, looking around the house.

  “Hey, Andrew! Do not leave the kitchen before you — ” Bart began to say. Too late. Andrew flashed by in his tropical fish bathing suit. He was covered with chocolate. Bart ran after him into the hall. I ran after Bart. And as Bart ran by the plant stand, I knocked it over. I just reached out and — clunk — knocked it over.

  Bart could not catch it in time. Miss Fern crashed to the floor. Her pot smashed. A leg fell off the plant stand.

  “I don’t believe it,” said Bart. “I finally knocked it over.”

  I glanced behind me at the chocolatey kitchen. I looked into the powdery laundry room. Then I looked at the hallway, with its dirty snow puddles, the broken plant stand, and the dirt balls and pieces of pottery.

  The doorbell rang.

  You’re Fired

  A palm tree was standing on our porch. Honest. Bart opened the door, and there was a giant palm tree. A man’s face peeked out of the top of the trunk. Sprouting from his head were palm fronds with coconuts.

  “Good evening,” said the tree.

  “Aughhh!” shrieked Andrew. “A talking tree!”

  “No, Andrew,” I said. “It is a man dressed like a tree…. Isn’t it?” I asked Bart.

  “Yup,” agreed Bart. He was holding poor Miss Fern in one hand, and the leg from the plant stand in the other.

  The palm tree smiled. “Congratulations!” he said. “Karen Brewer has won the Winter Blahs Trip to Bermuda. Is she at home?”

  Bart grinned. “Hey, this isn’t such a bad day after all. Karen, you won a trip!” Bart turned to the palm tree. “That’s Karen,” he added, pointing at me. (He pointed with Miss Fern.)

  The palm tree frowned. “That cannot be Karen Brewer,” he said. “Contestants must be eighteen or older. She is not eighteen.”

  I had been all set to jump up and down, and cry, “I won! I won! I won!” (I still wanted to go to Bermuda, even if I would not go with Bart.) Instead I said, “Um, you must mean Mommy.”

  “Karen,” said Bart, “he could not mean your mother. Your mother is named Lisa. Your are the only Karen Brewer here.”

  I glared at Bart. “Bart — ” I said.

  But I was interrupted. Mommy and Seth came home then. They came into the house through the garage door. When they entered the front hallway, they stopped. They stood still. They looked around at the messy house. They looked at Andrew in his bathing suit. They looked at the palm tree at the door. They looked at the palm tree at the door. They looked at the broken plant stand, and Bart holding Miss Fern.

  “What is going on here?” asked Seth.

  Everyone turned toward Seth and Mommy.

  “Are you Karen Brewer?” the palm tree asked Mommy.

  “No. I am her mother,” replied Mommy.

  “Then I am afraid we cannot give her the prize. It will have to go to someone else. I’m sorry, Miss Brewer.”

  I was still glaring at Bart. And now Mommy was glaring at me.

  “I entered a contest,” I tried to explain. “The palm tree came to tell me I won the grand prize. A trip to Bermuda. But now he won’t give it to me. That is not fair.”

  “Contestants are supposed to be at least eighteen years old,” the tree said to Mommy.

  “What on earth happened here today?” Seth asked Bart.

  “Well,” began Bart, “we had a few accidents. And then — and then I ran into the plant stand. I am really sorry. I do not know exactly how it happened. But Miss Fern fell on the floor, and … I will pay for everything,” Bart went on. “I think Miss Fern is okay. She just needs a new pot.”

  “And a new stand,” I added.

  Mommy sighed. “We appreciate the offer. I have to ask you not to come back, though, Bart. We will find another baby-sitter.”

  “Do you mean Bart is fired?” I asked.

  “I am afraid so,” answered Seth.

  “I better be going,” said the palm tree.

  “Why is Andrew in his bathing suit?” asked Seth.

  No one answered him. Bart just said he was sorry again. Then he left.

  I was still angry. But a little tiny part of me wanted to smile.

  Trouble

  On Wednesday our new baby-sitter arrived. It was Kristy! Mommy had said the new sitter would be a nice surprise, and she was right.

  “So what do you guys want to do this afternoon?” Kristy asked Andrew and me after Mommy had left.

  Andrew shrugged his shoulders. But I knew what I wanted to do. “Nancy is coming over today,” I replied. “We are going to make valentines.”

  Sure enough, a few minutes later the doorbell rang. Nancy came inside carrying a bag of stuff. The stuff was for our valentines — ribbons and buttons and bits of lace. And of course red paper. We were going to look through my collage box, too.

  Nancy and I went upstairs. Kristy and Andrew stayed downstairs. They were going to make a city out of Legos.

  “Karen,” said Nancy when we were sitting at the table in my room. “Tell me again why you cannot go to Bermuda.”

  I sighed. “Because Bart ruined my trip. I could have won it. They had drawn my name for the grand prize. But the winner is supposed to be eighteen.”

  “Why?” asked Nancy.

  “I don’t know. I do not understand. Anyway, I tried to say that Mommy is Karen Brewer, since she is more than eighteen. But Bart kept pointing at me. So the palm tree knew. And he took my prize away to give to somebody else. Mean old Bart.”

  “Yeah, mean old Bart,” agreed Nancy.

  Nancy and I worked quietly for a few minutes. We were very busy gluing and coloring and cutting things.

  Finally I said, “I am glad I knocked over that plant stand. I am glad I got Bart in trouble.”

  “Ahem.”

  I glanced up. Kristy was standing in the doorway to my room. “You knocked over the plant stand, Karen?”

  “Well, I — ”

  “Your mother thinks Bart knocked it over. That is one of the reasons she fired him. Karen, is there anything else I should know about yesterday?”

  I looked at Nancy. She was looking at me. “Um,” I began to say.

  “I think Nancy better go home,” Kristy went on.

  Nancy stood up. “Okay,” she said. She gathered up her valentines and left.

  Kristy sat in the chair Nancy had been using. “Karen?” she said.

  I sighed. “I was running through the hall behind Bart,” I said. “When he passed the stand, I knocked it over.”

  “By accident?” asked Kristy.

  I shook my head. “No. Because I was mad at Bart.”

  Kristy was frowning. “Begin at the beginning, Karen. Tell me the whole story.”

  “All right.” I told Kristy everything. I told her about the date and about why I was mad. I told her about the messes I made, and even about entering the contest. “So when Mommy and Seth came home,” I finished up, “the house was a mess. Andrew was wearing his bathing suit, Miss Fern had no pot, and a palm tree was at the door.”

  “Karen, you made those messes on purpose,” said Kristy. She looked very serious. “And you knocked the plant stand over on purpose.”

  “But Bart — ” I began.

  “Uh-uh,” Kristy int
errupted me. “Bart did not do anything wrong. He did not know you thought he was asking you for a date. And he did not know about the contest. He was telling the palm tree the truth. You were unfair to Bart, Karen.”

  I nodded. “I guess so.”

  “And you will have to tell Seth and your mom what you did.”

  The Honest Truth

  I played quietly that afternoon. I worked on my valentines a little. I read a little. But mostly I thought about Bart.

  When Mommy and Seth came home, Kristy said to them, “Karen has something to tell you. Don’t you, Karen?”

  I hung my head. “Yeah.”

  “It sounds important,” said Mommy. “Okay. We will talk about it after dinner when we will not be rushed.”

  When dinner was over that night, Mommy and Seth and I sat in the living room. We sat in a row on the couch. I sat in the middle.

  “All right,” said Seth. “Shoot.” (He meant start talking.)

  I told my story again. I told Mommy and Seth just what I had told Kristy. When I finished, they did not look very happy.

  Seth shook his head.

  Mommy said, “I cannot believe I fired Bart. I feel terrible.” Then she said, “Karen, you are in Very Big Trouble.”

  “I thought so,” I replied.

  “First of all,” began Seth, “you must help us to pay for a new pot for Miss Fern. No allowance for four weeks. I can fix the plant stand myself, though.”

  “And,” said Mommy, “you are grounded for the next two afternoons. When you come home from school, you will go straight to your room and stay there. You may come downstairs for dinner, though.”

  “Okay,” I said. (I really was in Very Big Trouble.)

  “Now,” Mommy went on, “I am going to call Bart. I am going to offer his job back to him. He can baby-sit for the last two afternoons. If he wants to. After I have talked to him, I want you to get on the phone, Karen. I want you to apologize. And sound as if you mean it.”

  “Okay,” I said again.

  Mommy and I went into the kitchen. Mommy picked up the phone. She told Bart what I had done. Then she said, “And so, Mr. Engle and I would be very happy if you would come back and finish your job here.” Bart must have said he would, because then Mommy said, “Oh, that is wonderful. Thank you for understanding. Now I think Karen has something to say to you.”