Kid Power

  “I don’t see why you can’t sit,” Mom said. “I think you’re old enough to now.”

  “That’s not fair!” Carol said. “You didn’t let me sit when I was eleven.”

  “Janie’s proven she can handle herself in an emergency,” Mom said.

  “I could have handled an emergency, too,” Carol said. “I just didn’t happen to run into any the way Janie did.”

  “I’m not really opposed to Janie babysitting,” Dad said. “But does she really need the extra work?”

  “Not really,” I said. I’d been planning on dismantling Kid Power anyway. I’d do those yard sales because they were kind of fun, but I didn’t see any reason to take on any new jobs. “I don’t mind not doing it.”

  “Why don’t you call that lady back and tell her I’ll babysit?” Carol said.

  I got mad for a moment, and then decided to calm down. “Sure,” I said. “For ten percent.”

  “Ten percent!” she screeched. “I’ll be doing all the work.”

  “Ten percent,” I said. “Those are my final terms. If you don’t want it, I’ll take the job.”

  “Daddy?” Carol said, trying to look pathetic.

  Dad tried not to smile. “Ten percent seems reasonable to me,” he said.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll call the lady back right now and tell her what we’ve decided.”

  Carol’s mouth stayed open while I made the call. I explained that I was booked solid for a while, but that Kid Power would be happy to supply her with another babysitter, my older sister. The lady paused for a moment, and then said common sense usually ran in a family, and if I had it, my sister probably did too, so it was a deal. I hung up and told Carol she had a job for that Friday night. To sweeten her disposition, I also asked her for my standard yard sale order of six dozen oatmeal cookies at our regular rate. I could see Carol computing how much money she’d be earning from me in two days if she stayed on good terms with me, and she smiled to show it was a deal. I smiled, too. It was nice having Carol act nice to me when it wasn’t her birthday.

  The next morning Mom and I went to the bank to start my account. I had fifty-seven dollars stuffed into my envelope. I’d never seen so much money in my life, let alone had it.

  We went to the new-accounts desk and explained the situation. The lady asked me what my name was and I told her.

  “You’re the girl who rescued Mrs. Edwards!” she exclaimed. “I read about you in the paper yesterday.”

  I blushed and nodded. Mom grinned.

  “Mr. Rivers, come here,” the woman said, and a man walked over. “This is Janie Golden, the girl who rescued Mrs. Edwards.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said. “I read about you in the paper yesterday. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I thought my cheeks were on fire.

  “Jane wants to start an account with us. From the money she earned from Kid Power, I bet,” the woman said.

  “I was most impressed with Kid Power,” the man said. “So many children start things and then drop them. It sounds like you have a fine organization going.”

  “It’s expanding,” I choked out. I hadn’t seen Mom smile so much in months.

  “We’re honored to have your account,” the man said. “I hope this is just the start of a long and profitable relationship for both of us.”

  “Thank you,” I said. The man walked away, and the woman started filling the forms out. Mom and I supplied all the information she needed and signed where we were supposed to. I took the forms to the line and handed them to the teller along with my envelope of money. In return, I got a bank book that listed my savings at fifty-seven dollars. It wasn’t a bad start.

  Mom decided to treat me to lunch, so we went to a luncheonette and I ordered franks and beans. Mom got a roast beef sandwich. After that we walked around town window-shopping. It had been a long time since we’d done anything together outside the house and we both enjoyed it. I liked knowing that I was earning money without having to do anything, too.

  We didn’t get home until after two. I found Carol in the kitchen taking a tray of cookies out of the oven.

  “I thought you’d never get back,” she said. “You’ve gotten a half-dozen phone calls since you left.”

  “I did?” I asked, grabbing an apple. “Who from?”

  “Lisa called just to say hello,” Carol said, wiping her forehead. “So did Ted. Mrs. Edwards called from the hospital to say she got your card and she was feeling much better and she wished she could see you so she could thank you properly. And the other ones are written down on the pad.”

  I walked over to the pad to check the messages. “Carol, what did you do?” I asked. “These are people who called with jobs for me.”

  “I said you’d take them,” Carol said. “The first one is a lady who needs someone to babysit on Saturday. And one of those people needs someone to help her pack some boxes. I thought that might be an interesting change of pace. And some lady wants you to walk her Great Dane. I told her animal care was one of your specialties.”

  “But I can’t do all that,” I said.

  “Why not?” Carol said. “Mom and Dad said you could babysit, so that’s no problem.”

  “You know big dogs scare me,” I said, thinking of Sugar. “And I can’t pack those boxes. I have a yard sale Saturday. I can’t possibly do both.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just assumed you could.”

  “Call them back and say you can’t make it,” Mom said.

  “I will,” I said, just as the phone rang. I picked it up. “Hello?” I said.

  “Is this Kid Power?”

  “Yes it is,” I said.

  “This is Harrison Dowell,” the voice said. “I’m calling to confirm that you’ll be over on Saturday to help my wife with her yard sale.”

  I checked my calendar frantically. As far as I could tell, my Saturday yard sale was with a Mrs. Schwartz.

  “Your wife didn’t call me, did she?” I asked, trying to sound mature.

  “No,” the man said. “I spoke to your father about it. We take the train together, and I mentioned I’d seen the article about you. Congratulations, by the way.”

  “Thank you,” I said, trying to think fast.

  “I thought it would be a pleasant surprise for my wife if you were there to help out. Your father assures me you’re quite a competent worker, and I have great faith in your father’s judgment.”

  “Oh,” I said. I didn’t want to let my father down. Good grief, this was the first I’d heard that he thought I was a competent anything, or that he approved of what I was doing.

  “I don’t know if I’ll be able to be at your yard sale myself,” I said. “I have another appointment my father didn’t know about.”

  “Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “But Kid Power represents a number of workers,” I said. “I’ll supply someone else for the sale if that’s all right with you.”

  I could tell he was thinking. “All right,” he said. “Could you have someone over by nine o’clock Saturday morning at 11 Smith Street?”

  “I guarantee you’ll be satisfied,” I said, writing down the information. “Thank you, Mr. Dowell.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “You sound like a very mature young woman.”

  I didn’t want to thank him again, so I just made a mature noise and repeated his address. We said goodbye.

  “Carol, can you bake me another batch of cookies?” I asked. “Regular rate?”

  “Okay,” Carol said. “I guess I owe you that much.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “What’re you going to do now?” she asked, layering the cookies on sheets of wax paper.

  “I’m not quite sure,” I said. “I think I’m going to try to be an organizational genius.”

  “Good luck,” she said. “You’re going to need it.” I couldn’t even argue.

  Chapter Ten

  I took all the messages Carol had written
down and went up to my room. I took a calendar with me, and a pencil. Then I took a piece of loose-leaf paper and wrote down every job I had scheduled and when I was supposed to do them.

  To get everything done I would have needed five extra arms, seven new legs, and a fondness for Great Danes, none of which I had. Of course I could have called half those places back and said I couldn’t make it, but that didn’t seem right. Dad would be sure to say I’d bitten off more than I could chew if I did, even though he was responsible for part of the mess I was in.

  So then I thought about Carol and the babysitting and Lisa and the Townsends’ garden and Lisa’s mother and the ten percent, and I knew with a little bit of luck I’d be able to get everything done and make some money on it on the side.

  First I called Ted, since after all he’d called me. “Hi, Ted,” I said, when he picked up the phone. “How’re things going?”

  “Okay,” he said. “I pitched a no-hitter yesterday and hit three home runs.”

  “That’s pretty good,” I said. It had been a long time since I’d played baseball. All work and no play … “Say Ted, how would you like to earn a little money?”

  “Sure,” he said. “I could use a new pitcher’s glove.”

  “You have dogs, don’t you?” I asked. I knew he did, but I was favoring the casual approach. Great Danes terrify me, almost as much as German shepherds and scotties.

  “Two Saint Bernards,” he said. “Waldo and Evangeline.”

  “I thought so,” I said. “You see, this woman called Kid Power and she needs someone to walk her Great Dane. I thought I should give the job to someone with dog experience.”

  “I thought you did all the jobs in Kid Power,” Ted said.

  “I’m expanding,” I said. “Would you be interested in the job?”

  “I guess so,” he said. “If I could fit walking the dogs in with my baseball schedule. What’s the pay?”

  “I’ll have to get back to you on that,” I admitted. “I take ten percent though.”

  “That sounds fair,” Ted said. “Call me back when you know what’s going on, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said, and hung up. I called the Great Dane lady and explained that I had a young man who was used to big dogs and would therefore be perfect for the job. The woman said that sounded just fine; she had broken her ankle and couldn’t walk the dog in the morning, or afternoon. She asked me what the rates were.

  I said a dollar for two walks a day, for a five-day week. That meant Ted would be earning $4.50 and I’d be earning fifty cents for doing nothing. It sounded reasonable, and the lady said fine. I promised I’d send Ted right over, so I called him back and told him the terms. He agreed to them and I gave him the woman’s name and address. Dog walking now sounded like a good area of expansion for Kid Power.

  That took care of the Great Dane, thank goodness. Now all I had to work out were two yard sales, a babysitting job, and box packing all on the same Saturday.

  “Carol!” I hollered downstairs.

  “What is it?” she hollered back up.

  “Are you busy Saturday night?”

  “No!”

  “Want to babysit?” I asked. “I get ten percent.”

  “You money-hungry little skinflint!” she called back.

  “Ten percent. Take it or leave it.”

  “I’ll take it,” she said, so I called the babysitting lady and told her Kid Power Agency would be happy to supply her with a sitter at a dollar an hour. The lady agreed. If Carol sat for four hours, I’d earn forty cents without ever leaving my home. I could understand why Lisa’s mother enjoyed being an agent so much.

  Of course that still left the problem of having to be three different places at the same time, but I was starting to feel no problem was unconquerable. So I called Margie. Margie’s my third best friend. She’d be my second best friend if she didn’t talk about kids all the time. She has a real thing for them.

  “Hi, Margie,” I said. “Do you have anything going on on Saturday?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “Why, what’s up?”

  “Well, I know how good you are with kids,” I said. “And I have this job that calls for someone really talented with them.”

  “For money?” she asked. Margie’s a lot shrewder than I think she is sometimes.

  “A dollar an hour minus ten percent,” I said. “You’ll probably make four dollars out of it. Maybe more.”

  “Doing what?” she asked.

  “Looking after kids at a yard sale,” I said. “The kind of thing I’ve been doing.”

  “Why don’t you want the job?”

  “Because I already have a yard sale scheduled for myself,” I said. “Kid Power’s expanding and I need people to help out. Are you willing?”

  “Okay,” she said. I gave her Mr. Dowell’s name and address. “The way I take care of the kids is with oatmeal cookies. I give them away for free,” I told her.

  “That’s a good idea,” she said. “I’ll bake chocolate chip though. People like chocolate chip cookies more than oatmeal.”

  I thought of Carol downstairs baking a second batch of oatmeal cookies and how I was going to have to pay for them. But Margie can get really stubborn about things, and besides, I didn’t feel like figuring out if she should pay for the cookies or if I should give them to her. So I just said, “That sounds good. It doesn’t matter what kind of cookies Kid Power offers, just so long as we have some. It’s our trademark.”

  “Thanks for the job,” Margie said. “Taking care of kids is fun. And getting paid for it, too? What a racket!”

  The real racket was getting ten percent of whatever she earned, but I didn’t tell her that. Instead I hung up with one less problem to solve. Of course, now I had to worry about what to do with all those oatmeal cookies, but I knew if worse came to worse we could eat them as dessert every time we had tuna noodle casserole. At that rate, they’d be gone in no time flat.

  I had a couple of choices for box packing. Lisa would be free to help out; Mrs. Townsend’s garden didn’t take all day, after all. Or Carol might do it. Or even Ted, although it probably would have interfered with his baseball. But I decided to try Sheila first. Kid Power might as well have as many employees as possible. So I dialed the sacred unlisted number and got Sheila on the first ring. It was always a relief when her mother didn’t answer the phone, and cross-examine me about how I got the number.

  “Hi, Sheila,” I said. “You busy on Saturday?”

  Sheila wasn’t, and packing boxes sounded good to her. So I called the box-packing lady and arranged for Sheila to go over there at one and work until four for a dollar an hour. I did a little mental arithmetic then and decided I’d have to go to the bank on Monday; I’d have earned so much money over the weekend. And earning money felt good to me again.

  I made out a chart then, on another piece of loose-leaf paper, with all the days of the week on it and all the jobs I had scheduled and who was going to be doing what. It looked impressive, so I took it downstairs to show Mom and Carol.

  They were sitting in the kitchen waiting for the cookies to finish baking. I showed them the piece of paper, and they agreed it looked good. I was just starting to work my nerve up to explain to Carol that her second batch of cookies wasn’t necessary after all when the phone rang. I picked it up.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Is this Kid Power?” the woman asked.

  “Yes it is,” I said, almost dreading the thought of another job for the weekend. I’d run out of space on my chart.

  “This is Hortense Carson,” the woman said. “I purchased your oatmeal cookies at a yard sale.”

  It was the Oatmeal Cookie Lady! “Yes, I remember you,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I just found out my church is having a cake sale,” Ms. Carson said. “And I hate baking. I was wondering if I could have a rush order on some oatmeal cookies.”

  “I think we could manage that,” I said. “How many cookies would you like
?”

  “I thought three dozen would be enough,” she said. “And another dozen for me if you could. These cookies remind me so much of my childhood.”

  “Four dozen,” I said thoughtfully, looking at all the cookies Carol was taking out of the oven. “I can bring them over right now if you’d like.”

  “That would be wonderful,” she said. “I live at 12 Oakcrest Drive.”

  “I know where that is,” I said. “That’s $2.40 for four dozen cookies.”

  “I know,” she said. “It’ll certainly be worth that to have homebaked cookies for the sale that I didn’t have to bake.”

  So I agreed to come right over, and bring the cookies with me. I took Carol’s first batch, since they were already cool, and I walked over very carefully. Ms. Carson gave me my money, and we thanked each other. It was the easiest $2.40 I ever made, even if $1.50 of it was Carol’s.

  While I was out, I walked over to the five-and-ten and bought some oak tag and a couple of brand-new magic markers. I took the stuff back with me to my house.

  “Hi, Carol,” I said, and handed her her $1.50.

  “You owe me more than that,” she said. “You owe me for all these cookies.”

  “I do indeed,” I said. Luckily, I hadn’t deposited all the money I’d earned, so I gave her the rest of the money for the cookies. I had 96 cookies to get rid of on Saturday, but that was a lot better than having 144. That many oatmeal cookies could really make you sick.

  “I have another job for you,” I said, fingering the oak tag.

  “More baking?” she asked. “Forget it.”

  “Not baking and not babysitting,” I said. “Sign making.”

  “But you already have your sign,” she said.

  “I need a new one,” I said. “I need a lot of new ones and I want you to make them.”

  “Okay,” she said. “For fifty cents a sign.”

  It was too hot to argue. “Deal,” I said. “I need a new one for the supermarket, and one each for the two yard sales. Three altogether.”

  “What do you want them to say?” she asked, and we walked out to the back porch. There was a slight breeze blowing.

  “Kid Power Agency,” I said. “I’m bigger than I used to be.”