“You know,” said Stacey, “you guys have worked really hard this afternoon. I think we should do something fun for now.”
“Like what?” asked Amanda.
“Do you know how to play hopscotch?” asked Stacey.
“Hopscotch is boring,” said Amanda.
“It’s for girls,” added Max witheringly.
“Would you relax? I just asked if you knew how to play. I didn’t ask if you wanted to play. Now. Do you know how to play hopscotch?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any chalk?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Do your parents let you draw on the driveway with chalk?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Good,” said Stacey. “Because I’m going to teach you how to play Snail, and it helps to know how to play hopscotch first.”
“Snail?” replied Amanda, intrigued. “What’s that?”
“It’s a very cool game,” Stacey replied, “and I guarantee that if you show it to your friends, they will all want to play Snail with you. Now let’s put our glasses in the dishwasher and go.”
Without so much as a complaint, Amanda and Max marched their glasses to the sink, rinsed them out, and put them in the dishwasher. Stacey did the same with her glass. Then Max found a box of chalk and he and Stacey and Amanda went outdoors to the driveway where they found Priscilla sitting primly in a patch of shade.
Priscilla and the Snobs watched as Stacey drew a gigantic spiral on the driveway. Then she blocked the spiral off in boxes about a foot long, like this:
“Okay,” said Stacey, “the object of Snail is to hop from the outside to the center of the snail shell, one foot in each square. If you make it all the way to Home without stepping on any lines, you get to choose one square for yourself. You write your initial on it. Later, when you hop to one of your own squares, you can land in it with two feet and rest there. But everyone else has to jump over it. When so many squares are taken that we can’t play anymore, the person with the most squares is the winner. Understand?”
The Snobs nodded. They were actually smiling. They even let Stacey go first so she could demonstrate.
Stacey and the Delaneys played Snail until Mrs. Delaney came home. Stacey said she actually had fun — and she thinks Amanda and Max did, too. They giggled and shrieked, groaned when they missed, cheered when they earned new squares. The only sign of the old Delaneys was when Amanda ordered Stacey to get her a piece of chalk. “Maybe I better take your next turn for you, too,” said Stacey.
“No, no,” replied Amanda hastily, but a giggle threatened to escape. “Sorry. I’ll get the chalk myself.”
The game continued.
Mrs. Snob paid Stacey very well for the afternoon. She was especially pleased to see the tidy playroom. When the Delaneys dropped Stacey off at her house, she called good-bye to Amanda and Max, who answered cheerfully, but as the door was closing behind her, Stacey heard Amanda say, “Mom, no kidding, she was the weirdest baby-sitter we’ve ever had.”
Apparently, Mrs. Snob didn’t mind. She called the Baby-sitters Club again very soon.
And I got the job.
I read Stacey’s entry in our club diary, and while I had to admit that she’d certainly handled the Snobs well, I also had to admit that I didn’t quite understand what her method had been.
“I don’t get it,” I said to Stacey at lunch one day. “What were you doing? Just weirding them out by giving them unexpected answers?”
“Not exactly,” replied Stacey. “I started out by going along with everything they said — but taking an extra step. Like when Amanda told me she liked a messy playroom, I not only agreed with her, I added to the mess.”
“I wonder why that made her clean it up?” I said slowly.
“Well, actually,” Stacey answered, “I think two things were going on then. First of all, the Snobs like to be contrary, which I was counting on — that was the psychology part — but second, I think I did sort of weird them out. I was like Mary Poppins gone crazy, and they just wanted some normalcy. So cleaning up the playroom seemed a lot more normal than letting me do what I was doing.”
I nodded.
“But later,” said Stacey, “something else happened which I hadn’t planned on at all. I realized that Max thought I was accusing him of being a baby. You know, by hinting that he wasn’t able to mop up his spill or do other things by himself. Then I used that against both him and Amanda and it seemed pretty effective. No kid likes to think that anyone else thinks he or she is a baby.”
“Pretty smart, Stace,” I said. “I hope I can remember all this tomorrow.”
I was going to sit at the Snobs’ the next day, and I intended to be prepared for anything and anyone — fires, emergencies, Shannon, and especially the Snobs’ behavior.
As I crossed the street to the Delaneys’ the next afternoon, I kept repeating to myself, “Go along with everything they say, and take it one step further.” It sounded easy enough, but I knew I’d have to think quickly.
Mrs. Delaney left as soon as I arrived, and I found myself facing the Snobs again. Well, not exactly facing them, since Amanda was up in her room and Max was out in the garage, but you know what I mean.
Amanda was in her room because she had been assigned to re-work some math problems that her teacher thought she could do a better job on. As soon as she saw me in her doorway, she said, “Kristy, come here. Do this problem for me. I hate fractions.”
“Sure,” I replied. “It’s unfortunate that I’m so bad at fractions, though. I mean, I like them and everything, but I always make mistakes. Oh, well. Here. Give me your book.” I held out my hand.
“That’s okay,” said Amanda, hugging her math book to her chest. “I’ll do it myself. No problem.”
“No problem!” I cried. “Hey, that’s a pretty good pun. Problem? As in math problem? Get it?”
Amanda managed a smile.
“Come downstairs when you’re finished,” I told her. “Maybe we could play Snail. Stacey taught me the game, and she said she taught you, too.”
I went to the garage to see what Max was up to. I found him swinging back and forth on a rope that had been tied to a beam in the eaves. He was singing, “Oh, I’ve never, never, never in my long-legged life seen a long-legged sailor with his long-legged wife!”
I giggled. “Where’d you learn that song?” I asked him. “It’s funny.”
“Our music teacher taught it to us today,” he replied, slowing down. “He taught us another song, too. About a cat. But I don’t understand something. What kind of cat is a hysle cat?”
I frowned. “I don’t know. Why don’t you sing me the song? Maybe we can figure it out.”
Max sang three verses of the song. Each time he came to the chorus, he would sing, “My hysle cat, my hysle cat,” and touch his head the way his music teacher had shown the class.
In the middle of the fourth verse, I began to laugh. “Max!” I exclaimed. “This isn’t a song about a cat. It’s a song about a hat. Try saying, ‘My high silk hat’ instead of, ‘My hysle cat.’”
“What? … Oh!” Suddenly Max understood. He began to laugh, too. Then he jumped off the swing and ran around the garage singing, “My hysle cat! My high silk hat!”
“What are you guys doing?” a voice demanded.
Amanda was standing in the doorway to the garage.
“Oh, sorry,” I said. “Are we being too loud?”
“No,” replied Amanda crossly. “I’m done with my homework. Now Max and I want a snack. Right, Max?”
“Right,” he replied, even though I’m sure he had been thinking about hats and cats, not snacks, before his sister showed up.
“Fix us a snack, Kristy,” Amanda demanded.
“Okay,” I said. “But from your tone of voice, I can tell you’re very hungry, so I think I’ll fix you dinner instead. Your mom won’t mind if I use the kitchen, will she? Now let??
?s see,” I rushed on. “My specialties are monkeys’ liver, braised goat’s tongue, and rabbit brains. You know Mrs. Porter across the street?”
“Morbidda Destiny?” whispered Max. (My stepsister, Karen, has all the kids around here thinking that lonely old Mrs. Porter is a witch whose real name is Morbidda Destiny.)
“Right. I get all my herbs and spices from her,” I told the Snobs.
Both Max and Amanda were staring at me incredulously. Suddenly Amanda’s face broke into a smile. “That’s a joke, right?” she said.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It’s a joke.”
“You’re funny,” Amanda said. “Come on. Let’s play Snail.”
“I thought you wanted a snack.”
“Nah. We already had one.”
“Monkey’s liver!” cried Max, giggling. “Hey, did you ever hear that gross song? It goes, ‘Great big globs of greasy, grimy —’”
“Max!” Amanda shrieked. “Don’t sing that! It makes me sick…. I’ll race you to the chalk.”
Amanda and Max and I were halfway through our game of Snail, and the Snobs had run indoors for drinks of water, when a white van drove up the Delaneys’ driveway. Large red letters on the sides spelled PIZZA EXPRESS. The driver jumped out and approached me with a flat white box.
“You Kristy Thomas?” he asked. “Here’s your pizza.”
“My pizza?”
“Yeah. You and your friend called about half an hour ago. The gigglers?”
It took a second for this to sink in. Then, in a flash, I realized what had happened. “Oh,” I said, with a little laugh. “You want Kristy Thomas. Right. Well, I’m — I’m just the baby-sitter. Genevieve. Kristy is next door. With her, um, giggly friend. You’ll recognize her right away. She’s got long, wavy blonde hair. She wants the pizza over there. Really,” I added when the deliveryman looked at me skeptically.
“You’re sure about this?” he said as he climbed back into the truck.
“Positive,” I replied, glad the Snobs hadn’t heard me telling lies.
I watched the truck back down the driveway, turn into the street, and head for the Kilbournes’. I ran to the front of the Delaneys’ house for a better view, and hid behind a shrub just in time to see Shannon and Tiffany answer their door, argue with the poor pizza guy, and then crossly shove some money into his hand as he gave them the pizza.
The next thing I knew, Shannon and Tiffany were marching angrily over to the Delaneys’, followed by Astrid of Grenville.
“Uh-oh,” I said. I dashed around the corner of the house and into the garage, where I bumped into Amanda and Max. “Indoors,” I hissed, and pushed them inside before they could say a word. As soon as the door was shut behind us, we heard a ding-dong.
“I’ll get it!” cried Max.
“No, don’t —” I started to say, but it was too late.
Max was racing to the front door. He threw it open. Shannon, Tiffany, and Astrid were standing on the Delaneys’ steps. Shannon was holding a wobbly PIZZA EXPRESS box. Grease stains were appearing on the sides.
“You owe me money” was the first thing Shannon said.
“Who, me?” I asked innocently.
“Yes, you. The deliveryman said someone named Genevieve sent him over to our house with a pizza for Kristy Thomas, and then he described me.”
“So why do I owe you money?” I asked. “My name isn’t Genevieve.”
“Why?” Shannon spluttered. “You know very well why. You told him your name was Genevieve and my name was …”
“But you started this whole thing. You ordered the pizza. I just outsmarted you,” I said maddeningly.
Shannon narrowed her eyes. “You horned in on my baby-sitting territory. My sister and I used to be the only sitters around here.” She opened the box and began to ease a gooey slice away from the rest of the pie. “How’d you like pizza in your face?”
“No! Don’t throw it!” shrieked Amanda. “Mommy and Daddy just had the hall painted. And the fish fountain cost two thousand dollars!”
Shannon hesitated long enough for me to say, “You throw that at me and I’ll throw it back at Astrid. You’ll have a pepperoni mountain dog.”
Shannon dropped the slice back into the box. She pressed her lips together. Was she crying? No, a giggle escaped. Then Tiffany stifled a laugh. Then Amanda and Max and I let out giggles of relief.
“A pepperoni mountain dog!” exclaimed Shannon.
We all laughed more loudly.
“Why don’t you guys come in?” I said.
So the Kilbournes, including Astrid of Grenville, came inside. The five of us sat around the kitchen table and picked at the pizza. Astrid ate all the pieces of pepperoni.
Shannon asked me about the Baby-sitters Club and I told her a little about it. She seemed impressed.
When Max demanded, “Get me a napkin, Shannie,” all she had to do was raise an eyebrow at him and he got it himself. Then I was impressed. Before the Kilbournes left, I offered to pay for half of the pizza. Shannon grinned. I felt as if, maybe, we were on the way to being friends.
Saturday
Chicken pocks! The only way your going to apreciat what I wright here is if you rember how it felt to have the chicken pocks. I do sort of. I was seven when I had them and it was not plesent. I itched and had a feever and my mom said Don’t scratch but it was the only thing I wanted to do. So keep that in mind.
OK so Malory pike and I sat for her brothers and sisters. The triplets and Margo and Claire were all rek recov getting over the chicken pox. They were not felling very good. What a night we had. Orders, orders, oders. I felt like there maid….
I know this sounds mean, but I’m glad it was Claudia, not I, who had to sit for the Chicken Pox Brigade. There are eight Pike kids, including the triplets, and five of them were sick. I think I’d rather have sat for the Snobs than for kids with chicken pox. (Well, the Snobs don’t seem so bad anymore.) Anyway, I did feel sorry for Claudia and Mallory. (Mallory, the oldest Pike, often helps us as a sort of junior baby-sitter when one of us has a job with her family.) They really earned their money that night. They weren’t in any danger of catching the chicken pox themselves since they’d both had it, but there were five itchy, unhappy children to take care of, plus Nicky and Vanessa, who seemed unusually cranky.
Mr. and Mrs. Pike had decided to go out to dinner and a movie simply to escape from the chicken pox for a while. They’d been nursing sick kids all week. Now the five patients were just enough better to be bored. They weren’t running fevers, but they were still uncomfortable and had to stay in bed. Mr. and Mrs. Pike needed a break.
“I’ve set some trays out,” Mrs. Pike told Claudia before she and Mr. Pike left. “I’m afraid you’ll have to give the triplets, Margo, and Claire their dinners in bed. Either you or Mallory can eat upstairs with them. The other one can eat downstairs with Nicky and Vanessa.”
“Do we have to keep Nicky and Vanessa away from the kids upstairs?” Claudia asked. “I mean, so they don’t catch the chicken pox?”
“Oh, no. Don’t worry about that,” Mrs. Pike replied. “They’ve been exposed all week. Now, try not to let the sick kids scratch. They’re pretty good about it, except for Margo, who scratches every time she thinks we’re not looking. Poor thing, she’s got a worse case than the others. If any of them complains of a headache, you can give them one children’s Tylenol. It’s in the medicine cabinet on the very top shelf. Otherwise, just try to keep the kids happy. The portable TV is in the boys’ room right now. At seven o’clock, it’s the girls’ turn to watch it. Mallory can help you with anything else. And the phone numbers are in their usual spot. Okay?”
“Okay,” replied Claudia, who was beginning to feel a little apprehensive. Eight Pike kids were one thing; five cases of chicken pox were another.
As soon as Mr. and Mrs. Pike left, Claudia heard a strange little sound, sort of a tinkling noise. “What’s that?” she asked Mallory.
She and Mallory were setting up dinner trays for
the sick kids.
“What’s what?” replied Mallory.
Tinkle-tinkle.
“That,” said Claudia.
“Uh-oh! It’s the triplets. Mom gave them a bell to ring when they need something. She gave Margo and Claire a triangle.”
Ding-ding.
“That wouldn’t be the triangle, would it?” asked Claudia.
“Yup,” said Mallory, rolling her eyes.
“Well, let’s go.”
Claudia and Mallory dashed upstairs. Mallory looked in on her brothers while Claudia went to the girls’ room. “Hi, you two,” she greeted Claire and Margo.
Claire, who is five, put a pitiful expression on her face. “Hi,” she said soberly.
“What’s the matter?” Claudia asked, concerned.
“We’re sick,” Claire told her.
“I know. It’s too bad.”
It really was too bad. Claudia told me that the girls looked pathetic. Their faces and hands — any part of them that wasn’t covered by their nightgowns — were a sea of spots. Some of Margo’s looked awfully red, and Claudia suspected that she’d been scratching them.
“We itch,” added Margo, who’s seven. “Mommy gave us a bath and she put starch in the water to take away the itching, but now it’s back again.” Her hand drifted toward a spot on her neck, and she touched it so carefully that Claudia couldn’t tell whether she was scratching.
“I’m really sorry,” said Claudia sympathetically, “but we’re going to have fun tonight, and that will take your minds off the itching. In a little while, I’m going to bring your supper upstairs. First I’ll eat dinner with you, and then I’ll have dessert in the triplets’ room — but I’ll bring the TV in here. How does that sound?”
“Good,” replied Margo and Claire together.
“And now,” said Claudia, holding an imaginary microphone to her lips, “for your entertainment pleasure … ta-dah! The Kid-Kit!”
Claudia had brought her Kid-Kit to the Pikes’ and left it outside the doorway to the girls’ room. She carried it in with a flourish and set it on the table between their beds.