Get Well Soon, Mallory!

  As I watched them leave, two tears rolled down my cheeks. My plan had worked. Soon I’d be getting a call telling me that I wasn’t needed in the club and would be replaced, and it would be all over.

  I’d never go to another BSC meeting. I’d probably never see any of the members again. And Jessi, who was my best friend in the whole world, would stop calling me, too. I wanted to bury my head under the covers and stay there. Forever.

  I managed to stay in bed for the rest of the night and all the next day. In fact, my lack of enthusiasm about everything was starting to worry my parents. I heard them murmuring outside my bedroom door Friday morning and again Friday afternoon. But I didn’t care. I just wanted to be left alone in my misery.

  Ring ring.

  I was sitting in bed reading when the phone startled me. I looked at the clock. Five forty-five.

  Ring ring.

  I wasn’t about to answer. I was sure it wasn’t for me. I didn’t have any friends. Not anymore. I went back to my book.

  Ring ring.

  Adam stuck his head in my room. “The phone’s ringing,” he said.

  “I know,” I answered, not looking up from the page.

  Adam dashed into the room, picked up the phone, and said, “Pikes’ Place.” Then he handed the receiver to me. “It’s for you.”

  I sighed heavily and said, “Hello?”

  “Mallory, it’s Jessi.”

  Before I could say anything, more voices came on the line. “And Kristy.”

  “And Claudia —”

  “And Mary Anne —”

  “And Stacey —”

  “And Logan.”

  Jessi’s voice came back on the line. “We’re calling you from the meeting at Claudia’s.”

  “Oh.” This was it. They’d probably just voted to kick me out of the club, permanently. I gritted my teeth and waited for the bad news.

  “Mal,” Jessi said sternly. “We know what you’re doing and it won’t work.”

  This took me totally by surprise. “What do you mean?”

  Kristy took the phone. “We’ve just spent an incredible fifteen minutes arguing with each other over things you said.”

  Then it was Claudia’s turn. “Jessi and I were getting really miffed with each other before we figured out that you had started our fight by inventing stories about me.”

  Jessi took the phone back. “Then we realized that everything you’ve said and done lately was completely unlike you.”

  I could hear Mary Anne speaking over Jessi’s shoulder. “We decided you were trying to make us angry with you so we’d kick you out of the club.”

  Kristy took the phone. “And you did a pretty good job of it, too. I was ready to replace you.”

  My voice sounded awfully tiny when I asked, “Why didn’t you?”

  A chorus of voices answered me. “Because we love you!”

  Stacey came on the line. “And no matter how sick you get, you can’t get rid of us.”

  A huge lump formed in my throat. I felt frustrated and happy all at once. “Oh, you guys …” was all I could manage to say before I burst into tears.

  After I blew my nose, and took several sips of water, I finally was able to talk. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt anybody too badly. I was just trying —”

  “You were trying to help us out by leaving,” Kristy finished for me. “But we need you to stay.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. The fact of the matter is that Thanksgiving is less than a week away and we need you to help man the phones for our project. Would you do that, Mal? Please?”

  I smiled for the first time in at least five days.

  “You can count on me!”

  Friday evening I lay on my bed in my clothes — not my pajamas. I had changed into a pair of jeans and a sweat shirt and felt like a human being once more. It’s amazing how a phone call from your friends can change your outlook on life. I still felt dragged out but I was happy.

  I flipped to a new page in my journal and made a list of the things Kristy told me had to be done for the Thanksgiving Project by next Tuesday. I wrote:

  “Phew,” I said, as I set down my pen. “That’s a lot of work. We’d better get cracking.”

  After dinner that night I sent an announcement to my family. “I’m holding a meeting of all of the Pike kids in my room, right now.”

  Minutes later my brothers and sisters were sitting on the floor in a half circle around my bed.

  “Okay,” I began, opening my journal, “how much money do you still need to raise so Kristy can go shopping tomorrow afternoon?”

  Vanessa tilted her head. “Well, I heard today that we were short about a hundred dollars.”

  “A hundred!” I gasped. “That’s a lot!”

  Margo slumped against the bed. “We’ll never raise that much money,” she groaned.

  “Not by tomorrow,” Byron said.

  “Yeah, it’s hopeless,” Adam added.

  “Now just a minute.” I held up my hands for silence. “There are a lot of kids involved in this project, right?”

  Jordan nodded. “I think there are about twenty of us, plus the Baby-sitters Club members.”

  I made some quick mental calculations and said, “That works out to about three dollars and fifty cents per person. That’s not so terrible.”

  “It is if you don’t have even one dollar,” Nicky muttered.

  “What have you already done to raise money?” I asked the group.

  “I emptied my piggy bank,” Margo said.

  “Me, too,” Claire added.

  “And all of the kids on the project donated this week’s allowance,” Vanessa said.

  “I found two quarters and five pennies under the couch cushions,” Nicky said. “And Buddy Barrett found a whole dollar in his couch.”

  “Claudia suggested that everybody search their coat pockets, so we did,” Adam said. “I came up with almost two dollars.”

  “My teacher gave a dollar,” Vanessa said. “And Mom and Dad gave five dollars.”

  “Most of the kids have asked their parents to sponsor baskets,” Byron said, “and Bill and Melody Korman even got advances on their allowances.”

  “Yikes,” I muttered. “You guys have done quite a bit. What’s left?”

  “Promises,” replied Vanessa.

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  “Promises,” she repeated, raising up on her knees and resting her elbows on my bed. “We could promise Mom and Dad — or other people — that we’ll do jobs for them, like rake leaves or wash their car. Then they pay us for them now and we do the work later.”

  “You mean, like those car commercials?” Jordan joked. “You know, the ones that tell you to buy now and pay later?”

  Vanessa nodded. “Exactly.”

  I tossed my pen in the air and squealed, “Excellent!”

  My outburst was so startling that Nicky and Margo shrieked. “What? What’s excellent?”

  “The promises campaign.” I hopped off the bed and wrapped my arms around my sister. “Vanessa, you’re a genius!”

  Her cheeks flushed a deep pink. “Well, I wouldn’t say that …” she started to murmur but I didn’t let her finish. I was too excited. I paced back and forth across the room in front of my brothers and sisters, thinking out loud.

  “All this would involve is lots of phone calls.” Suddenly I stopped. “What time is it?”

  Claire held up her Mickey Mouse wristwatch. “It’s thirty o’clock.”

  Adam tried to read the watch over her shoulder. “I think she means it’s seven-thirty,” he declared.

  “Hmmmm.” I tapped my lips with my finger. “That gives me about two hours to make calls. You guys go work on Mom and Dad.”

  “What do we say?” Nicky asked.

  “Tell them you’d like to sell them a promise, and then offer to do a chore next week,” Vanessa replied.

  At that moment, Dad walked past my bedroom and down the hall. Nicky raced to the d
oor. “Dad, wait! I have to promise you something.”

  “Promise me what?” he asked.

  Nicky thought fast. “Uh … I promise not to play with your golf clubs if you’ll give me a quarter.”

  “That’s not the way it works,” Adam said, stepping in front of Nicky. “Dad, I promise to polish your shoes and clean out the inside of the car if you’ll give me a dollar.”

  “A dollar? For all of that?” Dad said with a smile. “It’s a deal.”

  Nicky put his hands on his hips. “My offer was better and would’ve cost you a lot less.”

  Dad reached into his pocket for change. “Tell you what. I’ll take both of your offers.”

  That did it. Suddenly Dad was swarmed by seven kids all promising to do him a favor — for a fee.

  I was giggling when I made my first phone call.

  “Jessi, it’s Mal. I’ve got the most wonderful idea. Well, actually, it’s not my idea, it’s Vanessa’s.”

  I told Jessi about the promise campaign. Her reaction was just like mine.

  “That’s excellent! I think I’ll promise to make breakfast for a week. Mom would love that. And Becca can promise to help fold laundry. That’s her favorite chore.”

  “My brothers and sisters are selling Mom and Dad every promise they can think of,” I added. “And I just heard Adam say he was going to run next door and promise to rake leaves for the neighbors.”

  Jessi chuckled. “Seven Pikes selling promises could make a big dent in a hundred dollars.”

  “I hope so.”

  “What else can I do to help?” Jessi asked.

  “Well, I think I can call most of the kids on the project, but I don’t know if I’ll have time to call Kristy and Claud and everyone and tell them what we’re up to. Would you mind doing that?”

  “Of course not,” Jessi replied. “What are friends for?”

  “Thanks, Jessi,” I said warmly. “I’m glad you don’t hate me for being so rotten all week.”

  “Of course I don’t hate you.” There was a long pause and then Jessi added, “But don’t let it happen again.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” I cried. “Now let’s get going. We’ve got to raise a hundred dollars by tomorrow morning!”

  I spent the next two hours furiously dialing all of the kids on the Thanksgiving project, and every client and friend of my parents that I knew. This may sound silly but my ear ached from being on the phone for so long. And my index finger was sore from punching so many buttons. But it was worth it. On Saturday morning, Kristy called with the good news.

  “Mal, you did it!” Kristy’s voice rang in my ear. “Your promise campaign raised over a hundred dollars.”

  “You’re kidding!” I gasped.

  “Here, I’ll let Stacey give you the exact details.”

  I heard a lot of shuffling and giggling and then Stacey got on the phone. “Mal, kids have been calling here all morning. According to my calculations, we raised one hundred and forty-two dollars and fifty cents.”

  I heard some other voices murmur in the background and Stacey said, “No, wait a minute, make that fifty-three cents. Buddy found some more pennies in his couch.”

  “Stacey, this is great news,” I said. “You guys must be really proud.”

  “You’re the one who should be proud. If you hadn’t made those calls, we never would have done it.”

  I can’t tell you how great I felt. I hopped out of bed and ran to the top of the stairs.

  “Mom! Dad! Everybody!” I shouted. “Come quick!”

  Mom and Margo were still clearing the breakfast dishes. They hurried out of the kitchen to the foot of the stairs. The triplets peeked out of the living room and Dad, who was trying to fix the bathroom sink, ran into the foyer with a wrench in his hand.

  “Mallory, are you all right?” he called anxiously. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, Dad.” I giggled. “For once, something is right!”

  My family stared at me, waiting for my announcement.

  “We did it!” I cried. “We needed to raise a hundred dollars overnight. So I made about a jillion calls, telling everyone about Vanessa’s promise campaign — and we did it!”

  “Oh, Mallory,” Mom said, hurrying up the stairs, “that’s wonderful.”

  “You bet it is,” I said as Mom wrapped her arms around me in a big hug. “We’ll have our program at Stoneybrook Manor. Then on Wednesday morning, we’ll head for New York to celebrate.”

  The smile faded from Mom’s face and she glanced nervously down at Dad. “Mallory, about New York …”

  I suddenly got this topsy-turvy feeling in my stomach. I asked quietly, “We’re going, aren’t we?”

  “Well —”

  “We found a hotel. The reservations are all made, and we have those parade tickets. We have to go!”

  Dad set the wrench on the table in the foyer and joined Mom on the stairs. “Mallory, your mother and I have talked about this,” he said slowly. “And we just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go to New York.”

  “But why? I feel a hundred times better than I did even two days ago.”

  “That’s just the point. You’re finally recovering.”

  “The doctor’s concerned that all the activity and excitement might cause a relapse,” Mom added.

  “What does a relapse mean?” Margo asked from the bottom of the stairs.

  “It means if Mallory overdoes it, she could get sick again,” Dad explained.

  “I won’t overdo it,” I promised. My voice cracked as I spoke and my eyes started to brim with tears. “Please let me go.”

  “I’m sorry, Mal,” Dad said. “But we’re staying home.”

  “What!” the triplets cried. “We? We’re not going to New York?”

  “Now don’t you three start,” Mom said sternly. “We can’t make it this year, and that’s that.”

  “But we’ll miss the parade.” Nicky’s chin was quivering. “And the balloons and floats.”

  “They’ll be there next year,” Dad said.

  I realized that me and my stupid cooties were ruining Thanksgiving for everyone. I couldn’t let that happen.

  “Look, Dad,” I said, trying to calm my shaky voice, “the parade will be there next year but you may never get bleacher seats again. Why don’t you guys go without me?”

  Dad held up one hand. “That is out of the question.”

  “No, really,” I continued. “I’ll be fine here. You can even get a baby-sitter for me if you want. I’ll watch the parade on TV. Maybe I’ll see you.”

  “Now don’t be silly.” Mom waved her dish towel at me. “Thanksgiving is a time when families are supposed to be together. I could never have a good time knowing you were all alone.”

  “I wouldn’t be alone,” I protested. “I’d be with some sitter. Or I could stay with Jessi.”

  “No.” Dad shook his head firmly. “We’ll be spending Thanksgiving Day in Stoneybrook, and that’s final.”

  I saw the crestfallen looks on my brothers’ and sisters’ faces and felt terrible.

  “Well, that’s great. Just great,” I moaned. “Now I’ve ruined Thanksgiving.”

  “Listen up, everybody!” Kristy called to the kids gathered on Jessi’s driveway. “We’ve got a ton of shopping to do, and very little time.”

  That morning the kids had drawn names out of a hat to see who would go on the shopping trip. Nicky, Vanessa, Charlotte, Becca, Karen, and David Michael were the lucky ones chosen. Claud and the others stayed behind to bake cookies.

  “Where are we going to shop?” Vanessa asked, as Kristy gave each of them their car assignments. “The mall?”

  Kristy shook her head. “The mall has great things but not enough of each item. We’re not buying just one apple, we’re buying fifty-five. And we’re not buying just one book or tape, we’re buying lots.”

  “Boy, it’s a good thing I know how to count,” Nicky murmured to Becca. “Or else we’d be in big trouble.”

 
Charlotte raised her hand. “Where are we going that we can get that many apples and books?”

  Kristy smiled. “Cost-Club. It’s a discount shopping mart. And it’s huge.”

  “But don’t you have to be a member to get in?” Vanessa asked.

  “Watson’s a member. He lent me his membership card. And Cost-Club agreed to be a sponsor by giving us an extra five percent discount.”

  Mary Anne consulted her list and said, “Okay, everybody, when we get to Cost-Club, we should divide up. I’ll take David Michael and Becca to the food section.”

  “And I’ll take Vanessa and Charlotte to the book section,” Jessi said.

  “That leaves Nicky and Karen to come with me to look for special presents,” Kristy finished up.

  “But I want to shop for presents,” Becca protested.

  “Me, too!” David Michael added.

  “Me, three,” said Vanessa.

  Kristy thought fast and said, “Okay. After you buy the food and books, we’ll all meet in the gift area of the store.”

  “All right!” David Michael and Nicky gave each other high-fives.

  Cost-Club was a gigantic place, bigger than anyone had imagined. It was so vast that some shoppers not only used regular shopping carts, they pulled big wagons down the aisles.

  The grocery section took up nearly half of the store. Luckily for Mary Anne, the produce department was close to the main entrance. She let Becca and David Michael push their cart down the rows of fruits and vegetables.

  “I’ve never seen so many apples,” Becca gasped as she stared at a bin piled high with gleaming Macintosh apples. “There must be a million just on that table.”

  “And two million oranges.” David Michael’s eyes opened wide as he stood in front of a pyramid of oranges.

  But Mary Anne was the one who gasped the loudest. “Look at the prices! At this rate we can get an apple and an orange for the baskets. Go ahead, you two, pick them out.”

  “Don’t you want to help us?” Becca asked politely.

  “No,” Mary Anne said. “This is your project. I want you to choose.”

  David Michael and Becca took their job very seriously. They deliberated over each apple and orange, muttering things like, “Too mushy. Too small. Nice and shiny. Perfect.”