Contents
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Letter from Ann M. Martin
Acknowledgment
About the Author
Scrapbook
Also Available
Copyright
I stared down at the page in my journal, trying to grasp the reality of the words.
In two days, instead of going back to Stoneybrook Middle School with my friends, I’d be heading to Riverbend Hall, a private, all-girls boarding school, to finish out my sixth-grade year. And hopefully to stay through high school. I was excited, and terrified, and happy, and sad — a big tangle of emotions.
See, I’ve lived all eleven years of my life in Stoneybrook, Connecticut. I love the nine other members of my family (I have seven siblings!), and I have the best friends anyone could imagine. Including Jessi Ramsey, my very best friend. (She and I are junior members of the Baby-sitters Club, or BSC. More about that later.)
It wasn’t going to be easy to leave my home and family and friends, but I’d thought over my decision for a long time, and I was as sure as I possibly could be that I was doing the right thing.
It was Thursday night, and quiet in the Pike house for a change. My parents had taken my brothers and sisters to the movies in order to give me some time on my own. I’d been packing all day and I was worn-out. It wasn’t easy to decide what to take with me, and it definitely wasn’t easy to fit everything into one big trunk and a small suitcase.
Finally, I decided I’d done enough for one day. I plopped down on my bed and pulled out my journal from under my mattress.
Writing in my journal is essential to me. It’s something I do nearly every day, and it’s almost as if the day isn’t complete until I’ve recorded my thoughts and feelings about what’s happened. I’ve always loved to write. In fact, I plan to be a writer when I grow up — a writer and illustrator of children’s books, to be exact. (I love to draw too.)
As I sat on the floor, leaning against my bed with the journal in my lap, I stopped writing and began to daydream. I was imagining life in Stoneybrook without Mallory Pike. It was as if I were floating invisibly through a day sometime in the future, watching my family and friends go on with their lives while I was at Riverbend.
“Mom, tell Nicky to stop chewing with his mouth open! I’m going to barf if he doesn’t quit.”
“Go, Nicky! Show her more!”
Ah, yes. A family dinner, Pike-style. That was the first thing I imagined. And so far, nothing much had changed. Nicky, who’s eight, was doing his best to gross everyone out. Margo, the one who said she’d barf, is seven. She’s always had a weak stomach. And who was encouraging Nicky? Adam, of course. He’s one of the triplets, my ten-year-old brothers. Jordan and Byron are the other two. In my daydream, Byron was playing with a long strand of spaghetti, sucking it in and squirting it back out, sucking it in again and squirting it out. Jordan was counting as he watched. “Eight, nine, ten! You’re going for a world record, man!” he said, pounding Byron on the back.
“Ew,” said Claire, my youngest sibling. She’s five. “Boys are so gross. Spaghetti is for eating, you silly-billy-goo-goo Byron!” She sucked in her own strand of spaghetti so fast that tomato sauce splashed on her face.
“What rhymes with spaghetti?” my sister Vanessa asked as she dreamily twirled a few strands around her fork. “Petty? Letty?” she tried. “That’s a tough one.” Vanessa, who’s nine, wants to be a poet. She loves to think up rhymes.
My mom and dad were basically ignoring the whole scene. Oh, they threw in an occasional “Use your napkin, Claire,” or “Chew with your mouth closed, Nicky,” but mostly they tried to act as if this were a civilized dinner with civilized people, just as they’ve always done.
It’s a losing battle.
But I could have helped. I would have wiped Claire’s face and helped to cut up her spaghetti so she wouldn’t have made such a mess of herself. I would have offered several rhymes to Vanessa (“Betty” came to mind), distracted Margo so Nicky would have no reason to show off and Adam would have no reason to egg him on. And I would have informed Byron that he was nowhere near creating a world’s record. (The spaghetti-sucking record was set years ago by my friend Kristy’s brother Sam, who did it twenty-seven times.)
My family. There they were, all of them around the table. Nine Pikes, all with brown hair and blue eyes. I’m the only one who doesn’t quite match, since my hair is reddish-brown and much curlier than anyone else’s. Vanessa and Nicky wear glasses, like I do (I’m dying for contacts, but my parents say I have to wait until I’m fifteen), but nobody else wears braces (yuck).
There wasn’t even an empty chair for me; instead they’d put mine away and spread out so everyone had a little more space. I couldn’t blame them. In a family as big as ours, we’re always looking for more space.
Suddenly, in my daydream, Byron looked up at my dad. “I wonder what Mal’s doing right now,” he said thoughtfully.
“Having a nice, quiet dinner, probably,” my dad answered jokingly.
“I miss Mal,” said Claire. “When will she be back?”
“Not for a while,” said my mom, patting Claire’s hand. “And I miss her too. We all do.” She looked sad.
“Right,” said Nicky. “So, can I have her dessert tonight?”
I burst out laughing. My daydream had seemed so real. I knew that’s just how it would be. My family would miss me, but they’d go on as they always had.
School. That was another matter. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to daydream about school. I hadn’t been happy there recently. In fact, imagining life at SMS was more like a day-nightmare. Still, I let myself drift off, picturing myself floating through the school, invisibly observing the place I was leaving behind.
The halls were filled with kids. Homeroom was over, and everyone was on their way to first period. People were jostling one another as they rushed to class. Lockers slammed and kids shouted to each other.
“Hey, where’s Spaz Girl?” I heard a boy call. “I haven’t seen her in awhile.”
“Spaz Girl?” someone answered. “She’s probably spazzing around somewhere.”
A girl laughed uproariously at his remark.
Ugh. They’re talking about me.
You see, I am Spaz Girl.
I was Spaz Girl.
That was the nickname some eighth-graders gave me after a disastrous episode in which I tried my hand at student teaching. It was a special program at SMS, and if I’d been smart I would have avoided it. Instead, I wanted to be part of it, but some stupid things happened, and a couple of jerks started to call me Spaz Girl. Soon the word spread, and the nickname stuck. Before long, kids were scrawling it on my locker and yelling it at me in the halls. I hated it, hated it, hated it.
There were other problems too. In my daydream, I pictured one of my teachers talking about me.
“She stopped trying,” said Mr. Zizmore, my math teacher. “She used to get such good grades, but now …”
I lost confidence and stopped being able to focus on my schoolwork. Spaz Girl wasn’t an A student anymore.
School had become a place I didn’t want to be in. Even the classes I liked weren’t fun anymore. SMS had started to seem too big, too impersonal. I wanted attention, but not the kind I was attracting from some of the
other kids.
That’s why I was so happy to be accepted at Riverbend as a full-scholarship student. Now I could leave SMS behind and all the bad memories with it.
But what about the good memories? I knew there were some. I went back into my daydream and pictured them.
Like the time I wrote a play for an English-class project. My teacher, Mr. Williams, said it was the best project in class. Plus, the play — it was called The Early Years, and it was about my family — was put on at the elementary school. It was a smash hit.
Then there was the time I won an award on Young Author’s Day for best overall fiction, sixth grade. That was a huge thrill.
So was the time I was elected sixth-grade class secretary, and the time I helped our class raise enough money to help pay for a student lounge in the library. I hoped my classmates would remember me for that.
Instead, I’d probably go down in history as Spaz Girl.
Daydreaming about school was not pleasant. But at least it reminded me that going to Riverbend was the right choice. It would be easy to say good-bye to SMS.
But what about leaving my friends?
That wasn’t so simple.
It was a relief to turn my thoughts away from school and toward the BSC. The Baby-Sitters Club has been one of the best things in my life ever since I joined it. To tell you the truth, I don’t know how I would have made it through the Spaz Girl episode without the support of my friends in the club.
Maybe I should explain what the club is and how it works. It’s pretty simple. We’re a group of seven responsible sitters who meet three times a week, on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons, from five-thirty until six. During those times, parents can call to arrange for a sitter and be certain of finding someone available. I know my parents think the BSC is the greatest thing since sliced bread (my mom said that once). I sit for my own family a lot, but if all my siblings are home it’s better to have two sitters. (In fact, it’s a BSC rule that we send two sitters to any job involving more than four kids.) My parents never have trouble lining up the help they need, since there are seven regular sitters in the club. We even have two associate members who help out when we’re swamped. That’s partly why we’re so successful.
We’re also successful because we’re really good sitters. We’re not just in it for the money. We love kids and love to do things with them. We play games, plan special events, and host parties for our charges. We keep track — in our club record book — of allergies and food preferences, along with information such as client names and addresses. And in our club notebook, we each write up every job we go on. That means we’re always up-to-date. If Charlotte Johanssen needs help studying for a big test, or if Jackie Rodowsky has a cold, we’re aware of it. In Charlotte’s case, we’d make sure to remember to spend some time brushing up on third-grade math. For Jackie, we’d remember to bring along a Kid-Kit. Kid-Kits are boxes stuffed with toys and games (mostly hand-me-downs), stickers, and markers. Each of us has one, and they’re great for entertaining bored or sick kids.
As I imagined a BSC meeting in the near future — sometime after I had left Stoneybrook — I saw Kristy Thomas, our president, looking worried about my absence. Without me on hand, there might not be enough sitters to go around at busy times. Kristy and the other club members had decided not to replace me for now. At first that had hurt my feelings. Was I dispensable? Didn’t it matter whether I was there? But my friends assured me that it was more a matter of not being able to find anyone to fill my shoes.
Still, I knew Kristy would probably worry about having to turn down clients. That’s just Kristy. She takes the BSC seriously. And she has reason to. After all, it was her idea. That’s why she’s president.
Kristy’s a true idea factory and a born leader. She’s outspoken and opinionated. She’s on the short side, with brown hair and brown eyes and no sense of style whatsoever (her daily “uniform” consists of jeans and whatever turtleneck is on top of the stack in her drawer). But even if her appearance is low-key, she’s a dynamo. I think it’s partly because of the way she grew up.
Kristy’s dad walked out on her family years ago, leaving Kristy and her three brothers (two older, one younger) in their mother’s care. Everyone had to take responsibility for keeping the family running, and they pulled together and made the best of it. Kristy’s mom is a strong woman who never gave up. Now she’s happily remarried, to a great guy named Watson Brewer. Watson has two children of his own, a son and daughter who are both younger than Kristy. (They live part-time with Watson and part-time with their mom.) He also has major money. In fact, he’s a millionaire. When he and Kristy’s mom married, Kristy moved across town to live in Watson’s mansion.
Soon after that, two more people moved in: Emily Michelle, a Vietnamese orphan adopted by Kristy’s mom and Watson, and Nannie, Kristy’s extremely energetic grandmother. As you can imagine, it’s a full house — even if you don’t count the assorted pets running around the place.
You’d think Kristy would be busy enough keeping up with her family, but no. She also coaches a kids’ softball team, runs the BSC, and stays involved with school activities. As I said, she’s a dynamo.
Kristy’s best friend, Mary Anne Spier, is the club’s secretary. I closed my eyes and visualized Mary Anne. What would she be doing at a meeting after I’d gone?
I smiled.
“I miss Mallory so much,” she’d say in her quiet voice. “How about if we send her a care package? You know, some cookies, a book, stuff like that.”
That’s Mary Anne. Shy, sensitive, and always a thoughtful friend. She and Kristy are very different; in fact, sometimes it seems that all they have in common is their looks. Mary Anne also has brown hair and brown eyes, and she’s not particularly tall. She does dress a little more interestingly than Kristy, though.
Mary Anne grew up as an only child in a single-parent family. Her mom died a long time ago, when Mary Anne was just a baby. After her dad struggled through the worst of his grief, he turned his attention to bringing up Mary Anne. He paid her almost too much attention. He was overly strict and didn’t seem to want to let her grow up.
Now he’s much more easygoing. We all think that has to do with the fact that he’s married again, to his high school sweetheart, no less. Her name is Sharon. She grew up in Stoneybrook, like Mary Anne’s dad did. But she moved out to California, married, and had two kids. When the marriage ended, she came back to Stoneybrook, bringing the kids (Dawn, who’s Mary Anne’s age, and Jeff, who’s younger) with her. Dawn and Mary Anne met and became best friends. Soon enough, their parents fell in love again and wedding bells rang.
Mary Anne was happy to be part of a bigger family. But Jeff had decided he was happier living in California, and then Dawn came to the same conclusion. So they both live with their dad. Dawn was a BSC member, and now she’s an honorary member. She returns to Stoneybrook for vacations and holidays. I know Mary Anne misses her a lot. Even though Mary Anne has a steady boyfriend (Logan Bruno, one of our associate members) and an adorable kitten named Tigger, nothing is quite the same as a sister and best friend rolled into one.
Abby Stevenson would probably agree with that. She’s the newest member of the BSC. She took over Dawn’s old job, alternate officer. That means she fills in for any other officer who can’t make a meeting.
I’d say Abby’s twin sister, Anna, is the closest thing she has to a best friend. Abby and Anna have dark, curly hair and wear glasses (or contacts — I’m green with envy). But they’re not carbon copies of each other. Abby is boisterous and full of fun. She’s an athlete too, despite her asthma and allergies. Anna is quieter, and her love is the violin. She’s always practicing, and it shows. I’ve never heard anyone her age play nearly as well.
Abby and Anna moved here only recently, when their mom was promoted at work (she’s a high-powered editor at a big New York publishing house) and wanted to live in a new neighborhood. They used to live on Long Island. They were there when Mr. Stevenson
died a few years ago in a car crash. That must have been horrible for them. Abby doesn’t talk about him much, but when she does she gives the impression that he was a great dad. I think the girls were sad that he couldn’t be present for their Bat Mitzvah, which is a ceremony that welcomes Jewish girls into adulthood.
Still daydreaming, I pictured Abby reading through the club notebook. She’d probably notice that there was a lot less to read now that I had left. (I was probably the only club member who actually enjoyed writing up my jobs.) I knew she’d also miss me as the perfect audience for her jokes. While other BSC members sometimes groaned at her terrible puns, I would always laugh.
In my daydream, everyone was laughing now. Not because of one of Abby’s jokes, but because of something Claudia Kishi had said. Claudia’s the club’s vice-president. Meetings are held in her room because she happens to have her own phone — and a separate line. (She’s so cool.) Anyway, I pictured her agreeing with Mary Anne’s idea about sending a care package to me. “We can send her some of those gourmet jelly beans,” she said. “And some Oreos, and some Pringles —”
Junk Food + Claudia = Love.
That’s what cracked everybody up. Trust Claudia to see a box filled with cookies and candy as the best thing to send me.
She’d probably also want to throw in the latest Nancy Drew book. Claudia’s a big fan of those mysteries. But, shhh! Don’t tell her parents. They’ve forbidden junk food and junk reading (which is what they call Nancy Drew mysteries). They’d rather have her eating carrots and reading Dickens.
Claudia is Japanese-American, with long, shiny black hair and beautiful dark eyes. And while her parents are strict, they’re also very loving. They try hard to accept Claudia for what she is: an artistic genius. Claudia is the most talented artist at SMS. She draws, she paints, she sculpts, she makes her own jewelry … there’s no limit to her creativity. She’s also creative when it comes to her spelling — maybe a little too creative. School doesn’t interest her much. In fact, she even had to spend some time repeating seventh grade not too long ago. Now she’s back in eighth, but she’s still dating a seventh-grader.