Mary Anne's Bad-Luck Mystery

  The two other girls in the club are junior members. They’re eleven years old and in the sixth grade, so they’re only allowed to sit after school and on weekends, not at night (unless they’re taking care of their own brothers and sisters). Their names are Mallory Pike and Jessica Ramsey, and they joined the club pretty recently, right after Stacey left, as a matter of fact. I really like both Mal and Jessi, even if they are a little young. What’s important is that they’re good, responsible baby-sitters, and furthermore, they’re just plain nice.

  Mallory used to be someone our club sat for. She’s the oldest of eight children, so she knows a lot about taking care of kids. Mal is going through sort of an awkward stage. She has freckles and curly hair, neither of which Mrs. Pike will let her do anything about. She wants pierced ears but isn’t allowed to have them yet; wants contacts but isn’t allowed to have them yet, either; and doesn’t want braces but is getting them, anyway. Mal loves to read and write and draw, and she might become an author when she grows up.

  Like Kristy and me, Jessi and Mal are best friends who are alike in a lot of ways and different in a lot of ways. They’re alike in that it’s just plain awful to be eleven. Jessi also wants pierced ears but isn’t allowed to get them yet, and is facing a mouthful of metal. And she also loves to read, especially horse stories. She’s not a writer, though. Instead, she’s a very talented ballet dancer. (As well as a good joke-teller.) Jessi has a younger sister, Becca, and a baby brother, Squirt. The Ramseys moved to Stoneybrook very recently. (In fact, they moved into Stacey’s house after the McGills moved out of it.) And, boy, did they have a tough time at first. The Ramseys are black, and there aren’t many black families around here at all, and none in Jessi’s neighborhood. Jessi is the only black kid in the sixth grade, if you can believe it. However, things are settling down and getting easier for her family. I think the Baby-sitters Club is important to Jessi because it gives her a feeling of belonging.

  Before I tell you about the memorable meeting we had that day, there’s just one other thing you need to know about the running of our club: the club notebook. This is a sort of diary that Kristy makes us keep, which no one likes writing in except Mallory, and maybe Kristy. In it, we describe every single baby-sitting job we go on — which kids we sit for and what goes on. Once a week we’re supposed to read the past week’s entries so that we all know what’s happening with our clients. I have to admit, it’s pretty helpful, even if writing in it can be a great big bore.

  All right. Back to the meeting.

  I rushed to Claudia’s front door with the letter tucked in my pocket. I rang the bell but went right on inside. I’ve lived across the street from Claudia forever, so it’s okay to do that.

  “Hi, Mimi!” I called to Claudia’s grandmother as I ran upstairs. Ordinarily, I would have stopped to talk to her, but I was on the late side that day, and Kristy likes us members to be on time.

  When I reached Claudia’s room, I saw that I wasn’t the last person to arrive. Jessi was still missing. She’s usually late because after school she either goes to her ballet class, which is all the way over in Stamford, or goes to her steady sitting job for this family, the Braddocks.

  I joined Claudia and Dawn, who were draped across Claudia’s bed, looking through our seventh-grade yearbook. The six of us almost always sit in the same places during meetings: Claudia, Dawn, and me on the bed; Jessi and Mal on the floor; and Kristy in the director’s chair.

  Get this. Our president holds meetings with a pencil stuck over one ear, wearing a visor. She says she feels more official that way. I haven’t mentioned this to her, but I’ve never seen the President of the United States sitting in a director’s chair, wearing a visor.

  As I was settling down on the bed, Jessi ran into the room.

  “Good. We’re all here,” said Kristy. “Let’s begin.”

  Darn. I was just about to open my letter.

  I didn’t get a chance to do that until about fifteen minutes later, when we hit a lull. All official business had been conducted and the phone wasn’t ringing, for a change.

  I pulled the letter out of my pocket and tore it open.

  “What’s that?” asked Kristy.

  “I got a letter today!” I said. “But I don’t know who it’s from. There’s no return address.”

  I unfolded the paper that had been in the envelope.

  “Oh, darn!” I exclaimed. “Darn, darn, boring darn!”

  “What?” asked Mallory.

  “It’s a dumb old chain letter, that’s what. I hate chain letters. You have to send them to everyone you know, and then they have to send them to everyone they know.”

  “What kind of chain letter is it?” Dawn asked. “The kind where you send a postcard to the name at the top of the list and a few weeks later you supposedly get a million cards yourself?”

  “I don’t think so,” I replied. “There’s no list of names on this letter.”

  I read the letter quickly. I began to feel chills. Then I read the letter again, more slowly. When I finished, I was covered with goose bumps.

  “This is really weird,” I told my friends. “With this letter, you don’t get anything for not breaking the chain — except good luck. But if you do break the chain, the letter says, ‘Bad luck will be visited upon you, the recipient of this letter, and your friends and loved ones. Harm will come your way.’”

  “Yikes,” said Mal.

  “Ho-hum,” said Kristy.

  “I wish I knew who sent it,” I mused.

  “Do you recognize the handwriting?” asked Claudia.

  “There’s no handwriting. The letter’s typed.” I looked at the envelope. “So’s the address.”

  “Oh, well,” said Kristy. “That stuff’s just stupid, anyway. Who believes in causing bad luck by not mailing out a bunch of letters? How many are you supposed to send anyway, Mary Anne?”

  “Twenty,” I replied.

  “Well, don’t bother sending one to me. I’ll just break the chain.”

  “Don’t worry,” I told Kristy. “I’m not going to send any. Everyone would hate me because then they’d have to send out twenty letters, and besides, I don’t think I even know twenty people.”

  “What?” screeched Mallory. During all this, Mal and Jessi had been staring at me, terrified. “You mean you’re going to break the chain? That’s crazy! Thanks a lot!”

  “Yeah!” exclaimed Jessi. “If you break it, bad luck will be visited upon us, our friends, and loved ones.”

  “Oh, it will not,” said Claudia. “At least, I don’t think so. Do you, Dawn?”

  “Of course not…. I mean, I guess not.”

  “Well, do you want me to send letters to you?” I asked Claudia and Dawn.

  They looked at each other. Finally, Dawn said, “We want you to send the letters — but not to us.”

  I giggled. “See? You don’t want to have to deal with them. And neither do I. You know how much it costs to use the copy machine at the library? Fifteen cents a page. I’d have to have, um, let’s see … well, a lot of change. Plus twenty stamps, plus twenty envelopes. And what would I wind up with? Twenty enemies.”

  “I wouldn’t mind getting the letter, Mary Anne,” said Mallory.

  “Me neither,” said Jessi nervously.

  “Oh, you guys,” Kristy admonished them. “It’s just superstition. Forget it. But if you’re so worried, why don’t you take care of Mary Anne’s letter for her?”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” Mallory replied. “The letter was addressed to Mary Anne. She’s the one who has to answer it.”

  “Well, anyway,” I said. “Kristy’s right. This is just superstition. I think.”

  I wasn’t positive about that, but I was pretty sure. In fact, I was so sure that when the meeting was over, I tossed the letter in Claudia’s wastebasket as I left her room.

  I may be sort of a klutz, but I swear, I haven’t fallen out of bed since I was four years old. However, that was exactly how I began t
he next day.

  It was 6:45. I was dreaming about climbing a mountain (I haven’t been mountain climbing in my entire life), the alarm clock rang, and I fell off the mountain.

  How embarrassing.

  What was even more embarrassing was that my father heard the crash and rushed into my room. He found me on the floor, tangled up in the blankets. Plus, I scared Tigger. He slunk underneath my desk and wouldn’t come out.

  “Mary Anne?” said my dad. “Are you all right?”

  A reasonable question.

  “Yeah,” I replied, shaking my head and wishing for the floor to swallow me up. Or at the very least, wishing to die, which would put an end to the embarrassment.

  I stood up. “I was having this dream,” I tried to explain. “I was climbing a mountain, and then the alarm rang and —”

  “And you fell off the mountain?” asked Dad.

  “Yes! How did you know?”

  “I’ve had some strange dreams myself,” he replied. “Okay now?”

  “Fine. Just embarrassed,” I admitted.

  Dad smiled. “You get dressed. I’ll make pancakes for breakfast.”

  “Oh, super!” I exclaimed.

  My dad used to be this incredibly strict, stiff person. He had all sorts of rules for me, like I had to wear my hair in braids, and he had to approve of the outfits I chose for school, and I couldn’t ride my bike downtown with friends. But then we started the Baby-sitters Club, and I found out some important things about myself. Mostly, I found out that I was much more grown-up and responsible than Dad thought I was. When I proved that to him, he started to change. He relaxed his rules, he relaxed around me, he relaxed in general. Things are so different than they were a year ago.

  Don’t get me wrong. I’m not blaming Dad for the way he used to be. Remember, he’s raising me alone. He has to be both mother and father, and I think that before, he was just trying too hard.

  We are both much happier.

  Dad left to start breakfast. He closed my door behind him.

  “Tigger, Tigger,” I called. I got down on my hands and knees and peered under the desk. “Come on out, Tigger, you ’fraidy cat,” I said. “It’s safe. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

  Tigger began to creep out. I could see his yellow eyes moving toward me.

  “Good boy,” I said. But as I straightened up, I banged into the chair.

  CRASH.

  Tigger dove back under the desk.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I told him. Too late. I knew he’d stay there until he was so hungry he would have to come out for his breakfast.

  I opened my closet and managed to get dressed without killing myself. Except for my shoes. I couldn’t find them. I looked everywhere. They were the same shoes I’d worn yesterday. Since I hadn’t come home from school barefoot, I knew they were around somewhere. Oh, well. I could search for them later.

  I made my bed, washed my face, called to Tigger again, and ran downstairs. Dad had breakfast waiting. He’s an early riser, and he actually likes to rush around and get things done before seven-thirty in the morning.

  “Mmm,” I said as I slid into my chair. “Pancakes and bacon!”

  I reached for my orange juice and knocked over the glass. Juice ran across the table. Dad was standing by the refrigerator, so he was safe, but the juice cascaded into my lap.

  I was wearing a white dress.

  “Oh, no!” I cried, leaping to my feet. “Dad, I’m sorry! Really I am. I know you said a white dress wasn’t practical for school, but I’ve worn it five other times and nothing happened to it be —”

  “Mary Anne, it’s all right,” Dad told me. He handed me some paper towels. “Here. Mop up. Then fill a basin with cold water and soak your dress in it. Just leave it there. I’ll keep your breakfast warm in the oven while you change your clothes … and find your shoes.”

  Boy, some morning I was having.

  I changed my clothes and ate my breakfast. Then I looked for my shoes. I found them on top of the TV set. I had no idea why they were there. I didn’t stop to wonder, though. If I didn’t leave right then, I’d miss walking to school with Claudia.

  So I put my shoes on and ran out the door. Claudia was standing around on the sidewalk in front of her house.

  “Hi,” she greeted me. “What were you doing?”

  “Looking for my shoes, changing my clothes, and comforting Tigger,” I replied. I told her about the morning I was having.

  I made a big deal out of it, hoping that, magically, this would put an end to things. You know how when you have a complaint about something — like a teacher who’s being mean to you, or the rubber bands on your braces that keep snapping — and you finally tell someone about it, then that’s the end of the problem? Well, I was sort of hoping that would happen with my bad day. That if I complained to Claudia, not a single other thing would go wrong.

  It didn’t work.

  We reached school okay, but when I got there, I couldn’t open my locker. Finally, I had to find Mr. Halprin, the janitor, and ask him to do it for me.

  In math class I realized I’d left my homework right where I’d done it: at home.

  In the cafeteria I spilled a plate of macaroni and cheese. Not on me, on the floor. Mr. Halprin had to come again. We were getting to know each other.

  One of the worst things about that day happened right after Mr. Halprin left. Logan turned to me and said, “So, is Mr. Halprin a close, personal friend of yours?”

  Since I’d just been thinking that Mr. Halprin and I were sort of getting to know each other, I’m not sure why that remark drove me crazy, but it did. Logan had meant it to be funny. I snapped at him. “Ha. Ha.”

  “Hey, lighten up,” said Logan.

  “Easy for you to say,” I grumbled.

  “Mary A-anne.” That was Kristy. Our usual group was crowded around our usual table.

  “Wha-at?” I replied testily.

  “Geez,” said Logan under his breath. “Touchy, touchy.”

  “Well how would you feel if you dropped a plate of macaroni and cheese in front of the whole cafeteria?”

  “Not that many people saw,” Logan told me quietly.

  “Oh, no. Only about three hundred, that’s all.”

  And having said that, I got up and stalked off to the school library, where I went looking for Little Women. It’s one of my favorite books, and I thought that reading some familiar passages might be comforting.

  The book was not on the shelf.

  I walked home from school by myself that afternoon. I didn’t bother to look for any of my friends, but I was sure they wouldn’t have wanted to walk with me.

  At home, I breathed a sigh of relief. I felt safer somehow, even though home was where I had fallen out of bed, scared Tigger, and knocked over my orange juice. At least I hadn’t done those things in front of three hundred kids.

  “Oh, Tigger,” I said as I settled myself on my bed with my own copy of Little Women. “You stay here with me.”

  Tigger cuddled up against me, purring like an outboard motor. I opened the book to the scene where Beth dies. Maybe I would feel cheered up if I read about someone who was having a worse time than I was.

  That was when the phone rang.

  I had to disturb Tigger in order to answer it.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Hello, Mary Anne? This is Mrs. Newton.” Jamie’s mother. Jamie and his sister Lucy are two of my favorite baby-sitting charges.

  “Hi!” I said.

  “Is everything okay?” asked Mrs. Newton.

  “Sure,” I replied. “Why?”

  “Well, it’s just that you’re never late,” she began.

  I clapped my hand to my forehead. I’d completely forgotten. I was supposed to sit for Jamie that day. The appointment was written in the record book and everything. How could I have been so stupid?

  “I’m sorry!” I cried. “I’ll come right over!” And I did.

  What a day. It was a good thing I d
idn’t believe in superstition. If I did, I might have blamed the day on the chain letter. And then I would really have worried — wondering what sort of bad luck was going to be visited upon my friends and loved ones….

  (By the way, if you’re wondering, I called Logan that night and we made up. Also, the orange juice came out of the dress and didn’t leave a stain.)

  Wednesday

  Don’t laugh everybody. Looking back on it, I can see that it wasn’t a very bright idea.

  I baby-sat for Jackie Rodowsky and he and I tried to make his Halloween costume. Dumb idea, huh? You got it.

  It was one of those days when I was sitting for just Jackie because his brothers were off taking lessons (piano for Shea, and tumbling for Archie, I think). Anyway, as you know, Jackie alone is about as much trouble as all three boys together. But for some reason, I wasn’t remembering that, so when Jackie asked to make his Halloween costume, I agreed to it. And the rest goes down in baby-sitting history….

  Jackie didn’t even wait until his mother and brothers were in the car before he suggested to poor Dawn that they make his costume. The door to the garage was just closing as he said, “Dawn? I want to be a robot.”

  Dawn didn’t catch on right away. “You want to play robots?” she asked.

  “No, I want to be a robot. For Halloween. Can we make my costume this afternoon? We’ve got everything we need.”

  “Well,” said Dawn, who hadn’t brought her Kid-Kit and didn’t really have anything planned, “I don’t see why not.”

  “Goody!”

  “What are you going to make your costume out of?”

  “Boxes and jar lids and springs and buttons and googly eyes. Then we’ll paint it.”

  Dawn felt a bit overwhelmed, but she said, “Okay, do you know where everything is?”

  “All over the place,” he replied.

  “Well, let’s start rounding it up. And if we’re going to paint, we better work in the basement.”

  “Aw,” said Jackie, “it’s too cold down there. Let’s make the robot here in the family room. When he’s ready to be painted, then we’ll move him to the basement.”

  “All right,” said Dawn.