“Can I bring the letter over after supper? Sure. I don’t know how long I can stay, but I’m dying to know what’s in this envelope…. That is, if you’ll let me see. You will let me see, won’t you?”
“I guess so.” (Crackle.) “I mean, it’ll de —” (crackle) “what the letter, or whatever it is, says. It might be very personal.”
“KRISTY!” That time Sam was calling me. He’s got the world’s loudest voice. It’s like a sonic boom.
“I really have to go now,” I told Shannon. “See you later. And thanks.”
Shannon and I hung up. I pushed down the antenna on the cordless phone, burst out of the closet, and flew into the kitchen. I knew I was late for dinner.
“Sorry,” I said, as I slid into my place on the bench. (We eat at a long table with a bench at either side and Emily’s high chair at one end.) “I had to talk to Shannon. She’s going to come over after dinner. She won’t stay long,” I added quickly. “We both have homework.” We hadn’t said that over the phone, but we always have homework, so why should that night have been any different?
* * *
Somehow, I got through dinner. I really don’t know how I did it. All I could think of was the envelope and the hearts and flowers.
I am not the hearts-and-flowers type.
At seven-thirty, our bell rang.
“I’ll get it!” I screeched. I half expected Watson to say, “Indoor voice, Kristy,” to me, which is what we have to say to Karen a lot. She tends to get noisy.
By now, David Michael was as curious as I was about what was going on. He’d taken the messages from Shannon. He knew I’d called Shannon from inside the closet. And now he saw that I couldn’t wait for Shannon to come inside. So he was right next to me when I answered the door.
“Hi,” I said breathlessly.
There stood Shannon. She has thick, curly, blonde hair (similar to Stacey’s) and blue eyes, but I wouldn’t call her gorgeous like Dawn or even attractive like Stacey. She’s more … interesting-looking. I once heard someone say that being called “interesting” is practically a curse. It’s the word people use when they don’t want to say someone’s ugly. But I don’t agree. At least not in Shannon’s case. She really is interesting-looking. She has high cheekbones, like that actress Meryl Streep, and wide eyes. Her lashes are very pale, but she’s allowed to use makeup, so she puts on black mascara every morning. And she has a ski-jump nose, the kind that’s almost too cute. (Shannon told me once that she wants a nose job — to straighten it out — but her parents say no. They aren’t strict. They just think she should wait until she’s an adult before she makes a decision like that.)
I let Shannon inside. She was still wearing her Stoneybrook Day School uniform. Shannon, Bart, and about half the kids in our neighborhood go to Stoneybrook Day School. Karen, Andrew, and a lot of other kids go to another private school called Stoneybrook Academy. My brothers and I are practically the only kids around here who go to public school.
“So?” I said eagerly to Shannon.
She pulled the envelope out of the pocket of her school uniform and handed it to me. I was so excited I could hardly breathe. Then I realized that David Michael was at my elbow.
“Let’s go to my room,” I said hastily. Shannon and I thundered up the stairs. David Michael was at our heels.
When we reached the door to my room and I realized that we were still a trio, I had to say, “David Michael, this is private. You can’t come in.” (I couldn’t help being blunt. I was nearing hysteria.)
“But I want to know what’s going on,” he said.
“Maybe I’ll tell you later,” I replied “Maybe. Anyway, this is girl stuff.” I knew that would get him.
“Girl stuff! Gross. Forget it. I don’t want to know after all.”
I grinned at Shannon. David Michael had taken off like a shot.
Shannon and I darted into my room and I closed the door behind us. We flopped on my bed, and I let the envelope dangle between my thumb and forefinger.
Then we examined the envelope together. The front said simply KRISTY. The word was typed but the “I” had been dotted with a tiny heart sticker. A flower sticker had been placed carefully in each corner of the envelope.
“Maybe it’s not for me,” I said. “It doesn’t say ‘Kristy Thomas.’ It just says ‘Kristy.’”
“Well, there aren’t any Kristys at my house,” Shannon replied. “And I can’t think of any other Kristys in the neighborhood — and I know practically everyone around here.”
I turned the envelope over. On the back were more hearts and flowers. All I could do was stare at the envelope.
“Well, open it before I die!” cried Shannon.
I ripped the envelope open. Suddenly I felt shy. “Let me read it first,” I said to Shannon. “It might be embarrassing.”
Shannon understood. “Okay.” She rolled over and closed her eyes.
I read the note inside. Compared to the envelope, it was very plain. It was typewritten (or maybe word-processed) on white paper. The note said, “Dear Kristy, I think you are beautiful. And you’re the nicest girl I know. I would like to go steady with you. I wish I could tell you this in person. Love, Your Mystery Admirer.”
I sat up. “Well, it’s not too bad,” I said. “Here.” I handed the note to Shannon. “What do you think?”
Shannon read the note and smiled, saying, “You’ve got a mystery admirer! That is so romantic.”
I was surprised. Shannon is almost as sophisticated as Stacey. She’s had millions of boyfriends and gone out on plenty of dates. Plus she gets to wear that makeup. It’s hard to believe we’re the same age. And here she was, all gooey over a little note.
“I bet it’s Sam,” I said. “It’s one of his practical jokes.”
“Why would he put the note in our mailbox?” asked Shannon.
“To throw me off the track,” I replied. “That’s why he couldn’t use his own handwriting.”
“You are such a dweeb,” she said. “You know it’s from Bart.”
“Bart! Why wouldn’t Bart tell me those things in person?”
“They aren’t so easy to say,” Shannon told me. She sounded as if she were speaking from experience.
“But you just said I have a mystery admirer. Why are you so excited if you think you know who the mystery admirer is?”
“Because. It’s still romantic.”
“Okay. Then why are there hearts and flowers all over the envelope? Stacey McGill is the only person I know who dots ‘I’s’ with hearts. Boys don’t do that. This looks like it’s from a girl.”
“A girl who wants to go steady with you? Kristy, grow up. Bart just wanted to make the envelope look nice.”
“All right. How about this? Why did Bart, who knows perfectly well where I live, put the envelope in your mailbox?”
Shannon frowned. “That one I can’t answer. But anyway, who else would send you a note like this? Can you think of anyone?”
I couldn’t. Except for Sam.
“Listen, I have to go,” said Shannon. “I have a huge history paper due next week. Why don’t you call Bart? Maybe he’ll drop a hint about the note.”
“Okay,” I answered. I walked Shannon downstairs. Then I got on the phone in the kitchen. I figured that if I made another cordless-phone-in-the-closet call, it would arouse suspicion.
Bart’s little brother answered the phone. When I asked for Bart, he yelled, “BART!” and dropped the phone and walked away.
“Sorry about that,” said Bart. “We’ve got to work on Kyle’s manners. What’s up?”
“Not much,” I replied. “How’s the band?”
“It’s fine. We still don’t have a place to practice, though.”
Bart and I talked for about fifteen minutes. We talked a lot about his band. Then we talked about a teacher at my school that I don’t like much, and about a couple of other things.
But Bart did not mention the mystery note and neither did I. When we got off the p
hone, I was not at all convinced that Bart was my mystery admirer, even if Shannon thought so. But if he wasn’t, then who was?
What a day Tuesday was for me. Stacey’s afternoon was pretty tame, judging from her notebook entry, but my whole day was, well, surprising.
It started when I leaned out of our front door very early in the morning to bring in the newspaper and found another envelope addressed to me. It was lying on the doormat, right next to the paper. (We have a very accurate paper girl. She hits the front steps every time. Either she has fantastic aim, or she walks the paper to the door.)
I grabbed the paper and the note, dropped the newspaper on the kitchen table, and then ran to my room with the envelope. I wasn’t even dressed yet, but I read the letter right away, then thought it over while I got ready for school.
The envelope wasn’t as fancy as the first one had been. It just said KRISTY on the front, and the back flap was sealed with a pink heart sticker. I kind of wished the “I” in my name had been dotted with a heart again. Anyway, inside was another typed note. This one said, “Dearest Kristy, I can’t stop thinking about you. Maybe I’m in love with you. I don’t know. I’ve never been in love before. You are as beautiful as a snow-covered mountain. Love, Your Mystery Admirer.”
Well, that last part was a little flowery (overwritten, my English teacher would say), but I didn’t care. I’m not sure anyone had ever called me beautiful, except maybe Mom, and that doesn’t count, because all mothers say their children are beautiful.
Of course, I told my friends about the notes while we ate lunch in the cafeteria that day. And, like Shannon, they were all sure Bart was my mystery admirer. I seemed to be the only one with any doubts.
Okay, so I had gotten a letter in the morning. Imagine my surprise when I found another one in our mailbox that afternoon. It said simply, “Dear Kristy, I love you, I love you, I love you. Love (get the picture?), Your Mystery Admirer.”
I was floating on air by the time Shannon and I got to the ball field for the Krushers practice that day. And that was only the beginning of my excitement.
* * *
Stacey, meanwhile, went straight to the Perkinses’ after school. She was greeted at the door by an exuberant Myriah and Gabbie. (Myriah is five-and-a-half, and Gabbie is almost three. Guess what. Their family moved into our house when we moved into Watson’s house!)
“Toshe me up, Stacey McGill! Toshe me up!” cried Gabbie. (That’s Gabbie-talk for “Pick me up and give me a hug.”) So Stacey toshed her up. When she set her down, Myriah grinned and said, “I’m learning how to ride a bike with no training wheels!”
She was very proud of herself.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Perkins left.
“Ready for your Krushers practice?” Stacey asked Myriah and Gabbie.
“Yes!” they cried. They were wearing pants, sneakers, and their special Krushers T-shirts.
“You need hats,” Stacey reminded them. “You’re going to be in the sun all afternoon.” The girls dutifully found two old baseball caps, while Stacey tied a little pink hat on Laura and put her very distant fedora on her own head. Then they set off.
Gabbie and Myriah took turns helping Stacey push Laura’s stroller. When they reached the practice field, the older girls ran to me. Stacey took Laura to a grassy spot under a tree and sat next to the stroller.
“Do you want to sit on my lap?” she started to say to the baby, when she realized that Laura had fallen sound asleep. Well, thought Stacey, this will be an easy sitting job.
She was settling down with a book she’d brought along in case this happened, when I left my Krushers and ran over to her.
“Stacey!” I cried. “I got a third note this afternoon.” I told her what it said, and Stacey just grinned.
“Hey, Kristy,” a voice said.
Stacey peered around me and saw Shannon Kilbourne. She’d met Shannon a few times, so she knew her slightly. “Hi!” said Stacey.
“Hi,” Shannon replied. “Listen, Kristy, your kids are getting a little zooey. I think you ought to start the practice.”
So I did. I left Shannon and Stacey together under the tree with Laura. I hoped they would talk. I wanted Shannon and the other BSC members to know each other better.
They did talk.
“I’ve never seen you at a Krushers practice before,” said Stacey amiably to Shannon. (She checked on Laura, who was still asleep.)
“I usually don’t have time to come,” Shannon replied. “Just like I can’t come to the Baby-sitters Club meetings. I’m either at school in the afternoons — I’m in a lot of clubs — or I have to watch Maria, my youngest sister, or I’m baby-sitting somewhere else. But today I’m free! So I thought I’d come support the Krushers. A bunch of the kids I sit for are on the team. Kristy’s great with them.”
“How old is Maria?” Stacey asked. “Is she on the team?”
“Maria’s eight. And no, she’s not on the team. She hates anything athletic. Can you believe it? She likes doing homework.”
Stacey smiled. “I know someone like that. Charlotte Johanssen. She’s eight, too. But she’s one of the Krushers cheerleaders, so she’ll try athletic stuff sometimes. She’s right over there.” (Stacey pointed.) “I love that kid. She’s almost like a sister to me.”
Practice had begun and it was going well, from the actual playing to the cheerleading. Jamie Newton even put his hand out when the ball sailed toward him instead of ducking. He didn’t catch the ball, but at least he tried. Claire struck out and did not have a tantrum. Overall, the kids on both of the teams into which I had divided the Krushers, hit very well. Plus, the two main pitchers, David Michael and Nicky Pike (one of Mal’s brothers) were really improving.
When practice was over, Stacey and Shannon stood up and cheered, along with Charlotte, Vanessa, and Haley.
“Good game,” said Shannon to Stacey and Mal (who was sitting for the Kuhn kids).
I trotted over to my friends as the Krushers started to leave. “You know what?” I said breathlessly. “I think we could beat the Bashers again — even without handicaps.”
“The kids are improving, that’s for sure,” said Stacey, as Gabbie and Myriah ran to her and checked on their little sister.
“Ooh, she’s sleeping,” said Gabbie in a hushed voice. “Quiet, everyone.”
I could tell that Stacey and Shannon and Mal wanted to laugh (I did), but instead we just lowered our voices.
“I better get going,” said Shannon. “I’m supposed to start dinner tonight.”
“I’m glad you guys had a chance to talk,” I said.
“Me, too,” replied Stacey. She smiled at Shannon. Then she left with the Perkins girls, Gabbie tiptoeing across the grass so as not to disturb Laura.
Later that afternoon, Stacey received a call from me.
“Hi,” I said. “How was the rest of your sitting job?”
“Oh, fine. The girls were angels,” Stacey reported. “Laura woke up on the way back and Myriah and Gabbie entertained her with songs until we reached their house. Mrs. Perkins was already home, so I left then.”
“Well, guess what. Just as you guys were heading away from the ball field, Bart showed up. He walked me home again. And you will never guess what we have decided to do.”
“Elope?” said Stacey.
“No!” I was horrified.
“I was just kidding. I mean, because of the mystery admirer stuff.”
“Oh. Well, anyway, we decided to hold a World Series between the Krushers and the Bashers.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“How many games will you play?”
“Well, we had sort of a fight over that,” I admitted. “I wanted to play three games, but Bart said one was enough for little kids. He thought three would be too much pressure, especially for kids like Claire Pike. I still don’t agree with him, but I gave in. At least our fight is over.”
“That’s good,” said Stacey. “Did Bart give away anything about bei
ng your mystery admirer?”
“Not a thing. That’s why I’m so sure he’s not the one.”
“But he has to be,” said Stacey.
“You sound like Shannon.”
“I can’t help it. Bart makes the most sense.”
I started to tell her all the reasons why I knew Bart wasn’t my mystery admirer, but I was tired of repeating them. Instead, I said, “I did something you won’t believe.”
“What?”
“I asked Bart to the Halloween Hop at our school and he said he’d come.” That announcement was greeted by such a long silence that I said, “Stacey? … Stace? … Are you there?”
Finally she burst out laughing. “I’m here,” she replied. “I really can’t believe you did that! That’s great. The Hop’s coming up in just a couple of weeks — but you’ll have to find something to wear, and fix your hair, and …”
Stacey was off and running. I think she was more excited than I was.
“This,” I said, “is completely gross.” I poked at something yellowy-brown on the plate of food I’d just bought in the hot-lunch line in the cafeteria.
“Then why,” said Claudia, “did you buy the hot lunch? You could buy a sandwich or a salad, you know.”
I shrugged.
Claud, Stacey, Mary Anne, Dawn, Logan, and I were sitting at our usual table in the school cafeteria. (Mal and Jessi eat during another period since they’re not in our grade.)
“Besides,” I said, stabbing the unrecognizable thing with my fork, holding it up, and letting it dangle in front of me, “I like to gross out Mary Anne.” I aimed my fork in her direction.
“Put it down!” shrieked Mary Anne, and Logan gave me a dirty look, which wasn’t really very dirty.
“Of all the people at this table,” said Dawn, “who would think that she” (Dawn pointed at me) “would have a mystery admirer?” Dawn looked as grossed out as Mary Anne.
“Or that she’d be the president of the BSC,” added Stacey. “Kristy, either put that thing down or eat it.”
I put it down. I certainly wasn’t about to eat it.
We talked about baby-sitting for awhile. Mary Anne said that prissy Mrs. Prezzioso had actually bought Jenny a pair of pants. Until now, it had been hard to distinguish Jenny from lace curtains. Then Dawn said that Matt Braddock was going to be in a play in his special school. The entire performance would be done in sign language. It was going to be a Halloween play.