No, she didn’t win the lottery. Her mom married this millionaire named Watson Brewer. You see, Kristy grew up across the street from Claudia in a normal, non-rich house. She has two older brothers named Charlie and Sam. When her younger brother, David Michael, was born, her dad took a hike. I mean it. ’Bye-’bye, I’m history, don’t-call-me-I’ll-call-you. Talk about thoughtless. Well, Mrs. Thomas did a fantastic job raising the kids and working full-time. Then she met Watson and — whoosh! — off went the Thomas family to live in a mansion. I’m serious, that place is huge. Now it’s also pretty crowded. Watson has two kids from his previous marriage (Karen and Andrew), who live there on alternate weekends. Then there’s Emily Michelle, an adopted Vietnamese girl. Kristy’s grandmother, Nannie, lives there to help run the house, which includes caring for all the pets.
Kristy lives across town now, so her brother Charlie has to drive her to meetings. He always gets her there on time. Kristy is extremely punctual, and Charlie knows enough to stay on her good side.
“This meeting will come to order!” Kristy announced as the clock by Claudia’s bed turned to 5:30. “Any new business to discuss?”
“Yes,” Claudia said. “I made a major discovery.” She ran into her closet and disappeared behind a very full rack of clothes.
Mallory Pike gasped. “Uh-oh, a secret world. Like the one in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.”
No such luck. Claudia emerged holding two huge bags that said “Holiday M&M’s,” decorated in green, silver, and red. “Ta-da!”
“But those are from last winter!” Kristy said.
“So?” Claudia replied. “Chocolate doesn’t spoil.”
I should explain something. Claudia Kishi lives for junk food. She thinks the four food groups are candy, chips, pretzels, and popcorn. If I ever invited her over for Tofu Garden Delight, she’d turn blue and faint. Honestly, I don’t know how she stays healthy. And guess what? She has a fabulous figure and her skin doesn’t even have the slightest hint of a blemish.
To tell you the truth, Claudia could probably be a model. She’s Japanese-American, and she has the most gorgeous almond-shaped eyes and silky black hair. She also has style with a capital S. She can throw together funky bargain-basement clothes and look sooooo cool.
How someone so stylish can live in such a pigsty of a room is beyond me. There are clothes all over the place. Plus she is an excellent artist, so here’s what else is lying around: easels, poster board, jewelry-making tools, paints and brushes, markers, sketch paper, and plaster of paris. Not to mention Ring Dings, Chunkies, pretzels, Milk Duds, and chips. Claud’s room is like a junk food Where’s Waldo? Her parents are strict about good nutrition and fine literature, so Claudia has to hide all her junk food and her Nancy Drew mysteries (she’s addicted to them, too). She pulls them out from between sweaters, under her bed, inside shoes, everywhere. So it’s no surprise that she sometimes loses track of things, like the holiday M&M’s.
How do we fit in Claud’s room? She manages to shove everything away before meetings. (If she didn’t, Kristy would probably nag her forever.)
Anyway, so there we were in Claud’s room. Most of us were popping red and green M&M’s into our mouths and getting into the holiday spirit about three months early (or nine months late). But not Stacey McGill and me. However, being a very thoughtful person, Claudia had squirreled away some sesame crackers for us.
No, Stacey’s not on a diet. She’s also not a health-food fan like I am. She has diabetes, which means her body can’t control the level of sugar in her blood. If she ate too many candy bars she could end up in the hospital. Every day she has to take injections of something called insulin. Can you imagine?
Like me, Stacey moved to Stoneybrook permanently after her parents divorced. Also, like me, she’s blonde (although a darker shade). Other than those things, we’re pretty different. Her clothes are cool and sophisticated (mine are more casual). And she is super-smart in math (I’m not).
The math part is the reason Stacey became our club treasurer. She collects dues from us every Monday and puts them in our official treasury (an old manila envelope). Dues are the only bad thing about the BSC, but they’re necessary. They help pay Claud’s phone bill and Charlie Thomas’s driving fee. They also buy supplies for Kid-Kits, and pizza for us (if there’s a surplus).
Stacey grew up in New York City. I don’t know how she did it. The last time I visited I was petrified to leave the apartment I was staying in. I was convinced I’d be mugged, flattened by a falling brick, or attacked by an army of giant cockroaches. Well, somehow Stace lived her life there and turned out pretty normal. After moving to Stoneybrook, her family actually moved back to NYC (both moves were because of her dad’s job). That was when her parents divorced, and she and her mom moved back here.
I’m so happy Stace is in the BSC. She’s easy to talk to, and she’s the only member who understands what a divorce feels like. But I have to admit I envy her sometimes. She’s only a short train ride away from her dad.
“Um, Jessi?” Mary Anne said after carefully swallowing her M&M’s. “Did you say you were going away?”
“Oh. Yeah,” Jessi replied. “I’m going to Oakley this weekend to visit Keisha.” (Oakley is where Jessi grew up, and Keisha is her cousin.)
“That’s great,” Claudia said. “You haven’t been back in —”
“Months!” Jessi was smiling so hard I thought her cheeks would break. “I am totally excited. I can’t wait to see Keisha, and I’m going to try to see some of my friends. I’m dying to visit my old ballet school, too. My teacher’s going to be shocked to see me.”
Mary Anne was entering Jessi’s trip in the BSC record book, in her neat handwriting. She’s the club secretary, which is the hardest job. She keeps track of our sitting schedules, making sure to remember all our conflicts — doctor and orthodontist appointments, ballet classes, and after-school activities. Plus she constantly has to update our client list, complete with current rates (they vary from client to client). On top of that she keeps a detailed description of the likes and dislikes of all our charges.
Know how many mistakes she’s made? Zero. And knowing her, she probably never will.
Jessi, by the way, is really into ballet. You should see her perform. Incredible! She practically glides in the air. She takes lessons in Stamford and has danced major roles in various productions. Someday she’s going to be a pro. And you heard it here first.
I can’t mention Jessi without mentioning Mallory Pike. They’re best friends, and our junior members. Junior because they’re eleven years old and in sixth grade, two years younger than the rest of us. They both have early curfews, so they mainly take on afternoon jobs. Here’s what they have in common: they love to read (especially horse books), they’re convinced their parents treat them like babies, they’re the oldest kids in their families, and they’re extremely creative. Mallory’s talents are writing and illustrating. She wants to be a children’s book author someday.
Here’s what they don’t have in common: Jessi’s black and Mal’s white, Mal wears glasses and braces (Jessi doesn’t), and Jessi has a much smaller family than Mal’s. There are eight Pike kids altogether (yes, eight). Jessi has only two siblings: an eight-year-old sister named Becca and a baby brother named John Philip Ramsey, Jr. (Squirt, for short).
We have two associate members, Logan Bruno (yes, Mary Anne’s boyfriend) and Shannon Kilbourne. They’re our backups when we get busy. They don’t come to most meetings, but they’re both excellent sitters. Shannon is the only member who doesn’t go to SMS. She goes to a private school, Stoneybrook Day School.
Then there’s me. I’m the alternate member. That means I take over whenever anyone can’t make a meeting. I became the club treasurer when Stacey moved back to New York. (Boy, was I glad she returned to Stoneybrook.)
Back to the meeting. The more Jessi talked about seeing her old friends, the more my heart sank. Don’t get me wrong. I was glad she was so excited, but it mad
e me think of my old friends in California.
Then Stacey talked about how much she loves to visit her old friends.
I kept picturing a map of the United States in my head. I saw a dot marked STONEYBROOK with three lines sticking out from it. One short line connected it to New York City, another short one connected it to Oakley, New Jersey — and a humongously long one stretched clear across to my dad’s house in Palo City, California.
“You guys are lucky to be so close to your old neighborhoods,” I finally said. “I miss mine so much.”
Clunk. That stopped the conversation flat.
Kristy spoke up first. “Well, what can you do about it?”
Change the subject, that’s what. And hope that someday Kristy would develop plans for a magic carpet or something. “Oh, I’m going there for Thanksgiving,” I replied with a shrug. Then I said, “Anyone read about Run for Your Money?”
“Our family already entered!” Kristy said.
“I read that athletics can be harmful for your health,” Claudia remarked, stuffing a Ring Ding in her mouth. “But we’re going to go anyway. Probably just to watch Janine win all the IQ games.” (Claudia’s sister, Janine, is a certified genius.)
“I hope they have pinball machines,” Mallory said.
“I hope they have foosball,” Stacey added.
Claudia looked at her. “What?”
“You know, a table with these long poles attached to players, who kick a ball when you rotate the pole.”
“Table hockey!” Mallory said.
“Whatever,” Stacey replied.
“Well, you can all cheer me and Charlie in the three-legged race,” Kristy added.
It turned out all my friends’ families were going to enter. That was cool. It gave me something to look forward to in the long trudge toward Thanksgiving.
“Oh, this is absurd!” Richard was struggling with his zipper on his pants. “And where am I supposed to drop this?”
None of us could answer. We were sick with laughter, sprawled out on the grass of our yard.
It was Saturday morning, and we were practicing for Run for Your Money. Now, if you told me an alien had landed in my backyard, I probably wouldn’t believe you. But if you told me Richard Spier would agree to participate in an underwear race in Run for Your Money, I’d think you were crazy.
Well, that was exactly what Mom had managed to do — convince Richard. Don’t ask me how. She had even bought him a Simpsons tank top undershirt and an oversized pair of boxer shorts with red hearts on them, just for the occasion.
The hearts showed through his pants, which made us laugh even more. Plus his belly jiggled beneath his undershirt.
“I’m really not sure about this….” Richard was now hopping on one foot, trying to pull his pants over his big, clunky shoes. His face was redder than the hearts.
“You look so sweet, Richard!” Mom blurted out, still clutching her stomach.
She was wearing lightweight long johns. I was down to a two-piece bathing suit. Mary Anne was wearing a modest one-piece with a skirt.
I should probably explain. In an underwear race you peel off your clothes as you run. The first person to get to the finish line in his or her underwear wins. (It doesn’t have to be actual underwear. Mom says people sometimes wear outrageous things. It’s the spirit that counts — the spirit of silliness and fun.)
“Oh, honestly, I give up,” Richard finally said in a huff. He was standing there in his heart boxers, with his pants gathered around his ankles and his clodhopper shoes poking out. We were screaming. We couldn’t help it.
Richard was not amused. He started trying to walk back to the house — and you can imagine what that looked like.
That was when he gave up. He just sat on the ground and started chuckling. “You don’t suppose there’s another event we might try to enter instead?” he asked.
“No!” Mary Anne and I replied.
“Waaaaiit!” said Mom. “What about tug-of-war? We have a rope, don’t we?”
“Oooh, great!” Mary Anne said.
“I’ll get it,” I volunteered.
As I ran into the barn, Richard stood and began hiking up his pants in a major hurry. So fast, in fact, that he pushed the heart boxers upward so they bunched over the top of his belt.
I found a rope on the barn wall, grabbed it, and ran out. “How should we do this?” I asked.
“Girls against boys,” Mom said.
Richard looked at her blankly. “Girls against —”
“Or is that going to be too tough for you, dear?”
“Too tough? We’ll see about that!” Richard took one end of the rope and walked away from us, his boxers billowing over the top of his pants.
I don’t know how we kept from cracking up. Instead, we all dug in until the line was taut.
“Ready?” Mom announced. “Set? Go!”
“Wait, I —” Richard seemed suddenly uncomfortable about something, but it was too late. We girls had already begun pulling.
Richard pulled back. He’s stronger than I thought. His biceps were bulging.
It was unfair, I know. We had caught him off guard. And there were three of us. He began staggering forward, losing his balance. And it soon became clear why he’d been uncomfortable. His pants were slipping down again.
“Heave … ho!” Mom grunted. We gave a strong yank, and — whomp! — down went poor Richard.
He landed on his hands and knees, his pants down around his thighs.
“Mr. Spier?”
We all turned to see Marilyn and Carolyn Arnold staring at Richard. They’re identical twins who live around the corner from us. They were dressed in tennis whites, on their way home from a lesson. Their parents were behind them, gently nudging them onward. I could tell the grown-ups were trying hard not to laugh.
Well, you have never seen a grown man spring to his feet faster. He pulled himself together, trying to look nonchalant. “Hello, there,” he called out. “The girls sure are giving me a workout. This Run for Your Money is quite a lot of fun.”
Oh, was his face red. Mr. Arnold nodded and said, “Yep. Looks like a good time. Maybe we’ll enter, too.”
Carolyn Arnold shot a glance at her father. “We will?”
“Uh, come on. It’s almost lunchtime,” Mrs. Arnold said to her daughters.
“Well, see you folks later!” Mr. Arnold called. “Have fun!”
“Oh, we will! Ha, ha!” Richard replied, with a very forced laugh.
Mary Anne was giving her dad a sympathetic look. “Are you okay?” she asked.
Richard raised one eyebrow. “I have an idea for an event. A family wrestling match — boys against girls!”
“Aaaaaagh!” we screamed, giggling like crazy as he tore after us. For a few minutes we all dodged him. I could tell he was loosening up and having a good time.
Before long we all collapsed on the ground, panting. Mom nuzzled up against Richard, who gave her a kiss on the forehead. Then he looked at Mary Anne with a fond smile and put his arm around her shoulders. “I expect the Arnolds will be trying to move to another neighborhood soon,” he remarked. “To get away from their weird neighbors.”
Mom and Mary Anne laughed. They both looked happy. Richard looked happy, too.
Me? I was staring at the grass. I wasn’t feeling happy. I should have been. It was a gorgeous day, warm and summery. We were having a great time. But something was wrong.
At first I couldn’t figure out what. Then a weird memory popped into my head. It was a TV show I’d seen, about how computers could completely change photographs by replacing images. You could, like, put yourself in a photo from the Civil War.
Well, when I looked at Richard I imagined putting my dad in his place. And me in Mary Anne’s.
And maybe throw in a beach and some smog in the background.
My California homesickness was getting worse by the day. And it made me feel sooo guilty. I mean, I love my life in Stoneybrook, with my mom and my friends. Ric
hard was always sweet to me. Mary Anne was the best sister I could imagine having.
So I didn’t want to say anything. Everyone was having a fabulous time that day, and it wouldn’t be right to burst the bubble.
“Dawn?” Mary Anne said gently. “What’s wrong?”
“I want to go home!” The words just tumbled out of my mouth. I couldn’t hold them back.
Fsssssht! The bubble was burst. Richard’s smile faded, and he glanced at Mom. Mary Anne shifted herself so she could sit next to me.
I hung my head lower and played with a few strands of grass.
“You’ve been thinking about your dad and Jeff a lot lately,” Mary Anne said.
I nodded. I could barely force the word Yes out.
Mom sighed. “Well, I suppose I should call Dad and figure out a good weekend for a visit. It’ll be hard to get tickets, you know —”
“I don’t mean go back, like, go back for a weekend,” I interrupted. “I mean really go back. To stay. For six months or so.”
“A few months?” Mom looked shocked.
Even I was surprised at what I’d said. But it was true. I just hadn’t wanted to admit it. Not even to myself.
My stomach was flopping all around. Not to mention my brain. I had no idea what was going to come out of my mouth now. “I — I just miss my old life, Mom. I can’t help it. I miss my friends, the weather … but mostly I miss Dad and Jeff. I mean, I’ve been living away from them for so long.”
“I thought you liked it here,” Mom protested.
“I do! I love it. But I have two families. I love my Stoneybrook family. Really. But I love my California family, too.”
“And you want equal time,” Mom said.
“Well, I don’t know about equal —”
“Then what do you mean?”
“I don’t know what I mean! I just want to be with them, that’s all.”