Kristy and the Mother's Day Surprise

  Then I cried out, “Where, where, where?” I couldn’t help it.

  “To a carnival,” Claud began. “See, I was sitting at the Newtons’ this afternoon, and on their refrigerator was a flier advertising something called Sudsy’s Carnival. It’s going to be in Stoneybrook the weekend of Mother’s Day. There’ll be all sorts of things kids will like — games, rides, even a sideshow. But the best thing is, guess where the carnival will be set up?”

  “Where?” asked all the rest of us club members.

  “In the parking lot near Carle Playground.”

  “Oh, wow!” I exclaimed. “We can walk there easily!”

  “Right,” said Claud. “And it seems like a nice, small carnival. I mean, it wouldn’t be overwhelming for the littlest kids, and we’d have an easy time keeping track of everyone.”

  “I wonder how expensive a carnival would be,” said our treasurer. “Any idea what it would cost per kid?”

  I looked at Claudia.

  “It’s hard to say,” she replied slowly. “The flier didn’t mention a fee to get in — you know, the way you pay one big price to get into Funland, and then you can go on the rides as often as you want. I guess one fee wouldn’t make sense at a carnival anyway, since so much of it is games that you have to pay for separately.” Claud paused. She drew in her breath. “I’m guessing the carnival wouldn’t be too expensive per kid. There’s an awful lot just to look at, and if we limit the kids to, say, three things each, that wouldn’t be too bad.”

  We asked Claudia a few more questions, but everyone in the room was smiling. We knew we had the solution to our problem, and what a solution it was!

  “Jamie is going to faint!” exclaimed Claudia. “He’s dying to go to Sudsy’s.”

  “I don’t think David Michael has ever been to a carnival,” I added.

  “Becca has,” said Jessi, “and when she gets to this one, she’ll think she’s died and gone to heaven.”

  “I wonder if the kids will be able to spend all day at a carnival,” I said suddenly. “That just occurred to me.”

  “Hmm,” said Mary Anne. “Maybe not. Especially if they can only do a few things each.”

  “I don’t think I could spend all day at a carnival,” spoke up Dawn. “I was just at one when I visited Dad and Jeff in California. It was fun, but … ”

  “All day at anything is too long for little kids,” I pointed out. “They need to rest. They get bored.”

  “Maybe,” began Mallory, but she was interrupted by the phone.

  We arranged several sitting jobs. Then Mallory started again.

  “Maybe we should just go to the carnival in the morning when everyone is fresh and awake,” she said. “Then we could eat lunch somewhere else, like at the playground, since the kids are bringing their lunches anyway, and we’ll be right next to the playground. There are tables and benches everywhere at Carle. Our family has taken a lot of picnic lunches there.”

  “That’s a good idea,” I said. “Really good. Then the kids could play in the park for awhile, and then we really should give them a chance to rest before they go home.”

  “Well,” said Claudia, “they could come to my house. Remember last summer when we ran the play group in Stacey’s backyard? We could do something like that here. It would probably be for just an hour or two. We could read stories and maybe do an art project. The kids could make Mother’s Day cards or little gifts or something. It would be a nice way for them to unwind after all the excitement.”

  “Great!” I exclaimed. “I think we’ve got our Mother’s Day surprise.” Then I remembered about being bossy and added, “Everyone who thinks this is a good plan, raise her hand.”

  Five hands shot up, including mine.

  “Dawn? What’s wrong? You didn’t raise your hand.”

  Dawn grinned. “I don’t think it’s a good plan,” she said. “I think it’s an awesome one.”

  Everyone laughed, and Claudia threw a pillow at Dawn.

  “Okay,” I said, when we had quieted down, “I know we don’t have much time left today, but I think we should make a list of kids to invite so we can get the invitations out soon. There really isn’t that much time until Mother’s Day.”

  “I’ll take notes,” said our secretary. Mary Anne turned to a blank page in the back of the record book. “All right. I’m ready.”

  “Let’s start with our little brothers and sisters,” I began. “Karen, Andrew, and David Michael will be invited. And Becca Ramsey. And … Mal, who in your family?”

  “I guess everyone except the triplets. Claire, Margo, Nicky, and Vanessa. I’m really not sure Vanessa will come, though. She’s funny about big group things sometimes. She’d rather stay in her room and write poetry.”

  Mary Anne nodded. “Well, if she comes, that’s eight so far.”

  “Jamie Newton,” said Claudia.

  “The Barretts,” said Dawn. “Buddy and Suzi, anyway. Marnie’s too little.”

  “Myriah and Gabbie Perkins,” added Mary Anne, writing furiously. “And, of course, Laura is much too little.”

  “The Rodowsky boys,” spoke up Jessi. “Oh, and the Braddock kids. How could we forget them?”

  “I hate to say this,” said Mary Anne, “but Jenny Prezzioso. We just have to ask her if we ask the Barretts and Mal’s brothers and sisters.”

  “Oh, ew!” I cried. “Ew, EW! Jenny is so spoiled.” But I knew Mary Anne was right. So Jenny’s name was added to the list.

  We kept on thinking of kids to invite — Charlotte Johanssen, some kids in my new neighborhood. When we couldn’t come up with another name, I said to Mary Anne, “What’s the grand total?”

  Mary Anne counted up. “Oh, my gosh! Twenty-nine!”

  “Twenty-nine!” exclaimed Claudia. “We’re good baby-sitters, but the six of us cannot take twenty-nine kids to a carnival.”

  There was a moment of silence. Then Jessi said, “Well, they won’t all be able to come. Mal said Vanessa probably won’t want to, and some people are bound to be away that day, or to have plans.”

  “True … ” I replied slowly. “Even so. Let’s say twenty kids want to go on the outing. There are six of us. Some of us would have to be in charge of four kids all day. That’s pretty many. And what if we end up with more kids than we think?”

  “Well, how about calling our associate members?” suggested Mary Anne, grinning. (You could tell she was just dying to call Logan.)

  “Maybe we better.” I handed the phone to Mary Anne. She called Logan. His family was going to be out of town that weekend.

  Mary Anne handed the phone back to me. I called Shannon Kilbourne. Her family would be having weekend guests. Shannon was supposed to stick around and be polite.

  “Uh-oh,” I said when I’d hung up the phone.

  “Wait a second!” cried Claudia. “Oh, my lord! I’ve got a great idea. Let’s call Stacey and invite her to Stoneybrook for the weekend!”

  As if you couldn’t tell from Claudia’s excitement, she and Stacey McGill used to be best friends. (Well, they still are but it’s difficult with Claud living in Stoneybrook and Stacey living in New York City.) Anyway, I knew we all wanted to see Stacey, and she’s a terrific baby-sitter.

  Claudia made the call. “Stace? It’s me,” she said. A whole lot of screaming and laughing followed. Then Claudia explained about the Mother’s Day surprise. “So could you come?” she asked. “We aren’t getting paid or anything. It would just be fun. And you could stay for awhile on Sunday before we put you on the train back to the city.”

  Stacey had to check with her parents, but guess what — she got permission!

  “You can come?” shrieked Claudia. She turned to us club members. “She’s free! She can come! … Stace? We’ll make the arrangements later. Oh, I’m so glad! This will be your first trip back to Stoneybrook.”

  Well, it had been your basic red-letter club meeting. By the time Claud got off the phone, it was just after six, so we had to leave, but all of us felt as if w
e were floating instead of walking. We agreed to return to Claudia’s the next day, Saturday, to make the invitations.

  The arrangements for the Mother’s Day surprise were falling into place. Claudia’s parents had spoken to Stacey’s parents, and the adults had decided that Stacey would take the train to Stoneybrook on Friday after school. With any luck, she’d reach the Kishis’ in time for our club meeting that day! Then she would stay with Claud until Sunday afternoon — and help us out on Saturday, of course.

  Also our invitations had been designed, made, and mailed out. They were pretty cute, if I do say so myself. Claud had drawn two pictures on them. In the upper lefthand corner was a totally dragged-out looking mom. She was holding a briefcase in one hand and a vacuum cleaner in the other, and a baby was strapped to her chest. Her hair looked frazzled and there were bags under her eyes. In the lower righthand corner was a rested mom. She was sitting in a lawn chair with a book in one hand and a glass of iced tea (or something) in the other. She was smiling, and the bags were gone.

  In the middle of the page, we had written: “SURPRISE! Happy Mother’s Day! The members of the Baby-sitters Club would like to give our special moms a special gift.”

  (I thought that part was corny, but no one agreed with me.)

  Then the invitations went on to say who was invited, what we would do, where we would meet, and that sort of thing.

  I was at home on the Saturday my own mom received her Mother’s Day surprise. It was one of those gorgeous spring days when you look at the sky and think, Could it possibly get any bluer? It was also unusually warm, so David Michael, Andrew, Karen, and I were out in our yard with no jackets or sweaters.

  “It’s summer! It’s just like summer!” exclaimed Karen.

  We still had a good two months before vacation, but I didn’t say anything.

  The kids were doing the outdoor things they missed during the winter, like skipping rope, tossing a ball around, and turning somersaults. Mom and Watson were inside. They were on the phone. They’d been making an awful lot of phone calls lately. And Sam and Charlie, as usual, were off with their friends.

  Sometimes I feel … I don’t know … left out of my own family. I love everybody, but I’m too young to hang around with Sam and Charlie, and too old for Andrew, David Michael, and Karen. They’re fun, but they are just kids.

  Anyway, David Michael’s game of catch with Andrew was beginning to get out of hand.

  “David Michael,” I said, “you don’t have to throw it so hard. Andrew’s not that far away from you.”

  “But, he keeps missing the balls.”

  “Maybe he’s afraid of them. They’re coming at him like freight trains.”

  “I’m not afraid!” protested Andrew.

  I sighed. Since I wasn’t baby-sitting, I didn’t feel like getting involved in this argument. “I think I’ll take Shannon on a walk,” I said.

  Shannon was playing in the yard, but I knew she’d want to take a walk. Any change of scenery was fine with her. I clipped her leash to her collar and we set off. I chose one particular direction. It was the direction in which Bart Taylor’s house lies.

  Bart Taylor is nice. Oh, okay, he’s gorgeous and wonderful and smart and athletic. We sort of like each other, even though we don’t go to the same school. Bart coaches a softball team called Bart’s Bashers, and I coach one called Kristy’s Krushers. So Bart is my rival, too. We try not to think of that. But we hardly ever see each other anyway.

  Which is why I walked Shannon by his house that day. I tried to glance at it casually every few steps, but I couldn’t see a thing that way. So finally I just stared. The front door was closed, the shades were drawn, the garage door was pulled down.

  No one was home.

  I walked Shannon sadly back to my house, feeling lonely and a little depressed. But the warm weather and the thought of the weekend stretching before me cheered me up again.

  “Hey, you guys!” I called when I reached our yard. “How about some batting practice? The Krushers have another game coming up!”

  Andrew, David Michael, and Karen are on my softball team. That ought to give you some idea of what the team is like. It’s a bunch of kids who are either too young for Little League or even T-ball, or who are too embarrassed to belong to one of those teams — but who really want to learn to play better. The first time the Krushers played Bart’s Bashers we almost beat them. That’s how much spirit we have.

  “Batting practice?” echoed Karen. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  We found several bats and two softballs.

  “I’ll be the pitcher,” I said. “We’re going to work on your technique. David Michael, show me your batting stance, okay?”

  My brother demonstrated.

  “Good!” I cried. “That’s really terrific.” No doubt about it, my brother had improved since I’d started coaching him. I don’t mean to sound conceited, but it was true.

  I tossed the ball — underhand, easy.

  David Michael missed it by a mile.

  I take it back. Maybe he was still a klutz.

  “Karen?” I called. “Your turn.”

  Karen was testing the weights of the bats when Mom dashed into the backyard, waving a paper in her hand.

  Oh, darn, I thought. Which one of us messed up? What was she waving? A math test with an E on the top? A report with the words “See me” in red ink? (I swear, those are the worst words teachers ever invented.)

  “Kristy!” Mom called.

  Yikes! It was me! I had messed up!

  “Honey, thank you,” said my mother breathlessly as she reached me.

  Thank you? Well, I couldn’t have done anything too bad. I dared to look at the paper. It was the Mother’s Day surprise. Whew.

  “You’re welcome,” I replied, smiling.

  Mom put her arms around me.

  “It’s your Mother’s Day surprise,” I said unnecessarily.

  Immediately, Mom began to cry. It wasn’t that sobbing, unhappy crying that mothers do when they’re watching something like Love Story or Brian’s Song on TV. It was that teary kind of crying where the voice just goes all wavery. “Wha-at a lo-ovely invita-ation,” she managed to squeak out. She wiped at her eyes. Then she found a tissue stuffed up her sleeve, so she blew her nose.

  (Well, I knew the invitations were nice, but I hadn’t expected this. I would have to call Jessi and Mallory to find out if their mothers had freaked out, too.)

  “Um, Mom,” I began, gathering my nerve to ask the question that so far only Sam had dared to ask, “are you pregnant?”

  My mother shook her head. She blew her nose again. “No.”

  “Are you positive?”

  “Positive…. But if you were to have a new brother or sister, how —”

  “Well, you know how I feel about kids, Mom,” I said. “It would be fine.”

  But suddenly it didn’t seem quite as fine as it had seemed in the past. I love babies. I really do. But what would it be like if Mom and Watson had a baby of their own? That would be different from Mrs. Newton or Mrs. Perkins having a baby. It might draw Mom and Watson closer together — and shut us kids out, just when us kids need to be drawn closer to everyone in the family. Why hadn’t I thought about that before? But all I said was, “Fine, fine.”

  Mom smiled. The two of us sat down in the grass. “So tell me more about this invitation,” said my mother. “Who planned the surprise?”

  “Everyone in the Baby-sitters Club,” I answered, “only, the basic idea was sort of mine. Well, it was all mine.”

  “I’m sure it was. You always did have big ideas.”

  “Remember when we lived in the old house, and I worked out the flashlight code so Mary Anne and I could talk to each other from our bedroom windows at night?”

  “Of course. And your big idea to marry me to the mailman?”

  “David Michael wanted a father,” I reminded her. “I was only ten then.”

  Mom and I laughed. We watched Andrew, Karen, and David
Michael practice their pitching and catching.

  “Well, anyway,” I said, “we sent out invitations to twenty-nine kids.”

  “Twenty-nine!” squawked Mom.

  “Don’t worry. They won’t all be able to come. Besides, Stacey is going to be in town that weekend. She’s going to help us. So there’ll be seven sitters. If we wind up with, let’s say, twenty kids, that’s only about three kids per sitter. We can handle that.”

  “And you’re taking the children to a carnival?”

  “Yup. It’s called Sudsy’s. It’s just a little one. It’ll be set up in that big parking lot near Carle Playground. We’ll spend the morning at Sudsy’s, go to the playground for lunch and some exercise, then walk back to Claudia’s house for stories and stuff, so the kids can rest. We figure we’ll have the kids from about nine until four. That’ll be a nice rest for you, won’t it, Mom?”

  “A wonderful one.”

  The phone rang then. We could hear it through the open kitchen window. A moment later, Watson called, “Elizabeth? This is an important one.”

  My mother leaped to her feet like an Olympic athlete and dashed inside.

  I went back to my sister and brothers.

  “How are you guys doing?” I asked. I asked it before I saw the scowls on the kids’ faces.

  “He is a klutz,” said David Michael with clenched teeth, pointing to Andrew.

  “Am not.”

  “Are too, you little wimp. And you’re Watson’s favorite.”

  “No, he isn’t,” cried Karen indignantly. “Daddy loves us both the same.”

  “What about me?” David Michael threw his bat angrily to the ground.

  Karen and Andrew did the same thing. Softballs, too.

  “Well, I guess it figures,” my brother went on. “Of course he loves you guys more than me. He’s your real father. He’s just my step.”

  “Your mom loves you more than us,” spoke up Andrew, to my surprise. “She’s our step.”

  “Hey, hey, HEY! What is this talk?” I cried. “Everybody loves everybody around here.”

  “No,” said David Michael. “Sometimes Thomases love Thomases more, and Brewers love Brewers more.”