First impression? I thought she was pretty and had great clothes, and that there wasn’t a lot more to her. Boy, was I wrong. There’s much more to Stacey than meets the eye. She has a certain mature attitude. Partly, this is because she grew up in New York and is a little more sophisticated than most Stoneybrook kids, but it also has to do with the fact that Stacey has diabetes. Diabetes, in case you don’t know, is a lifelong disease which prevents a person’s body from processing sugars correctly. Stacey can never forget, even for one day, that she is diabetic. It’s something she has to deal with all the time, by being ultracareful with her diet, for example, and also by testing her blood sugar frequently and giving herself shots of insulin (which a healthy body produces and regulates naturally) every day.
Because of my asthma and allergies, I can relate to what Stacey has to deal with, and I admire and respect the way she copes. She’s definitely more than just a pretty face.
Okay, you’ve met the president, the v.p., the treasurer, and the secretary of the BSC. I bet you’re wondering what my role is in the club. Well, I’m the alternate officer, which means I step in for any other officer who can’t make it to a meeting. Dawn, Mary Anne’s stepsister, was the alternate officer until she moved back to California for good. I’ve barely met Dawn, but I have a strong impression of her: she’s very mellow, very together, and very health-conscious (she doesn’t eat red meat). She has long blonde hair and blue eyes and she belongs to a West Coast baby-sitting club called the We ♥ Kids Club. I’m looking forward to getting to know her better.
There are two junior members of the BSC, a pair of best friends named Jessi Ramsey and Mallory Pike. They’re called junior members because they’re eleven, while the rest of us are thirteen, and they’re not allowed to sit at night except in their own homes.
My first impression of Jessi was that she had a one-track mind, that all she cared about was ballet. Now, it’s true that Jessi is a dedicated — and talented — ballet student, and that dance is important to her, but she also has plenty of other interests. Jessi, who is African American, is very close to her family: her parents, her baby brother Squirt, her younger sister Becca, and her aunt Cecelia, who lives with the Ramseys. She and Mal both love horses, books (especially horse books!), and kids.
It’s a good thing Mal loves kids, because she lives with seven of them. There are eight kids in her family, including a set of identical triplets! Mallory has curly reddish-brown hair, glasses, and braces (the clear kind). When I first met her I thought she was very serious. She wants to become an author and illustrator of children’s books when she grows up, and she spends a lot of time writing and drawing. But Mal is full of fun, too, and we’ve had some great times sitting together for her siblings.
Finally, there are two associate members of the BSC: Shannon Kilbourne and Logan Bruno. They don’t come to meetings regularly, but they help out whenever we’re swamped with sitting jobs. Shannon lives in my and Kristy’s neighborhood, but she attends a private school, so I haven’t spent much time with her. She and Anna have become friends, partly because they both love music. My first impression of Shannon was that she was very studious, which she is. It turns out, though, that she’s also very funny.
As for my first impression of Logan, who is Mary Anne’s boyfriend, it was this: wow! He’s cute. That’s my second impression, too. He’s an unusual guy in that he loves sports (he’s a good athlete), but is also a world-class baby-sitter.
Neither Logan nor Shannon was at that Wednesday’s meeting, and as a matter of fact, I was barely there myself. I was so busy thinking about how much better I now knew each of the BSC members that I hardly noticed when Kristy called the meeting to order. I remember hearing the phone ring a few times, and I know some jobs were assigned. I munched absent-mindedly on some Pringles Claudia passed my way, but other than that I did not participate much in that day’s meeting.
Until the end, that is. Just as Kristy began to adjourn the meeting, I remembered the job board. I couldn’t believe I had almost forgotten about it. “Wait!” I cried. “I have something to tell you about.”
“Where were you when I asked if there was any new business?” Kristy asked, frowning a little.
“On Mars, I think,” I said, grinning at her. She lost the frown. “Anyway,” I continued, “did you guys check out that new job board at school? There’s a posting on it that would be perfect for us. It’s at the Greenbrook Club, and they’re looking for all kinds of help, including child care. We could work there together. Wouldn’t that be cool?”
“The Greenbrook Club?” asked Mary Anne. “Didn’t that used to be called the Dark Woods Country Club?” She shook her head. “I don’t know about working at that place. I seem to remember hearing some bad things about it.”
“Like what?” I asked, confused. I had thought Greenbrook was a brand-new club. Now I was hearing things about a murky past.
“I’m not sure,” admitted Mary Anne. “I’ll have to ask my dad and Sharon.”
I felt a little let down, and my spirits dropped even further when Kristy said she was worried about our regular BSC clients being shortchanged if we all took on work at Greenbrook.
“That won’t happen, I promise!” I said. “Look, why don’t I just call the place? I have the number right here.” I pulled a slip of paper out of my pocket. “We don’t have to commit to anything. We can just find out more about the work.”
Claudia shrugged and passed me the phone. “Personally,” she said, “I’d love the chance to do something new and different. There’s been so little sitting lately, and I’m bored.”
That was all I needed to hear. I dialed the number I’d copied down and spoke to a woman — I didn’t quite catch her name — who invited the BSC members to visit Greenbrook the next day. My first impression of her? She sounded terrific, and right away I knew that working at Greenbrook would be a sure cure for my February blahs.
“I’m lucky Dad let me come,” said Mary Anne, who was breathing hard as we pedaled up a small hill.
“What could be so bad?” I asked. I was a little short of breath myself. “After all, Dark Woods closed twenty years ago. And the new owner is starting over again.”
It was Thursday afternoon, and we were on our way to Greenbrook, on bikes. It was a bit too chilly for a pleasant ride, but it still felt good to be outdoors. Kristy and I had walked home from school with the rest of our BSC friends, instead of taking the bus to our neighborhood. Then Kristy had borrowed Dawn’s bike, which is still stored in the big barn at Mary Anne’s house, and Claudia had arranged for me to borrow Janine’s. Mal and Jessi brought their bikes out of storage and joined us for a quick snack at Stacey’s house, and then the BSC bike squad headed out.
As we rode along, Mary Anne filled us in on what her father and Sharon had said the night before, when she’d asked them about the job at Greenbrook. “They said there used to be all kinds of rumors about the Dark Woods Country Club, but they couldn’t remember any of them specifically,” she said. “Supposedly, it was incredibly exclusive. Only certain types of people were allowed to join. It just wasn’t a very nice place. And then it up and closed, without any warning.”
“Strange,” Stacey commented.
“Yes, but my dad said he wasn’t surprised. Something was wrong there.”
“But now it’s reopening, with new management,” I pointed out, trying to sound optimistic.
“That did surprise him,” said Mary Anne. “He couldn’t imagine why anybody would want to be involved with that place, considering its history. I still don’t know what happened there, but I do know it wasn’t easy to talk him into letting me check out this job.”
“I’m with Abby,” said Claudia. “What could be so bad about the place now that it has a new owner and everything?”
“Well, we may find out very soon,” said Kristy, taking a hand off her handlebars to point toward a sign we were rapidly approaching. It said, in freshly painted white letters on a dark green background, GR
EENBROOK CLUB.
We turned down the winding drive and rode to the imposing main building, which was built of stone and overlooked the open, rolling space of the golf course. There were tennis courts to the right of the building, and an outdoor pool (drained, for now) lay to the right of the courts. The area looked carefully landscaped, with shrubs and trees and formal garden areas complete with fountains and benches.
“Wow,” breathed Jessi.
“Decent,” Kristy said, sounding impressed in spite of herself.
“Looks like a cool place,” I agreed. “Now, how do we find the owner? Maybe she knows.” I nodded toward a blonde woman (who looked a little younger than my mom) walking toward us along one of the gravel paths. A boy of about seven walked with her, holding her hand. Just as I was about to call to her, she surprised me by waving and smiling.
“You must be the girls from the club,” she said as they approached us. “The BSC? Is that what you call yourselves?” The little boy looked up at us shyly. His sandy brown hair was cut short except for one longer tail down the back. His brown eyes had a slightly Asian look to them. He didn’t look anything like the woman, and I wondered if they were related. I smiled at him.
“I’m Nicole Stanton-Cha,” said the woman. “Everyone calls me Nikki. This is my son Stephen — he’s seven. I’m the new owner of Greenbrook. Which of you did I speak to yesterday?”
I got off Janine’s bike, put down the kickstand, and, after taking off my bike helmet, shook her hand. “That was me,” I said. “I’m Abby Stevenson. And these are my friends from the BSC.” I introduced everyone, and they said hello to Nikki and Stephen. Claudia and Stacey were trying to fluff up their hair, which had been flattened by their helmets. Stephen smiled at everyone, but he stayed close by his mother’s side.
Nikki seemed friendly and very matter-of-fact, and I liked her right away. “Why don’t we head into the main building for our interview?” she suggested.
We stowed our bikes near the side of the building and followed her inside. She led us down a hall (I caught a glimpse of a large, airy-looking dining room to the left) and into a cozy sitting room with library shelves and a fireplace. Nikki helped Stephen find a couple of books to look at and sent him into another room so we could attend to business.
Then Nikki asked us to tell her more about the BSC and how it operates, and Kristy jumped right in and gave her the whole story. I could tell that Nikki was impressed.
“Well, you girls certainly seem like responsible, hard-working kids, and that’s exactly what I am looking for. We have all kinds of work available. For example, the decorator who’s helping us redo the club needs an assistant. And we need people to do inventory, outdoor work, and help with child care for visitors who come to tour the club. I hope a lot of people from town will do that.” She smiled hopefully, and went on. “I’ll arrange for a van to pick you and any other interested SMS students up after school and drive you here, and you’re welcome to work anytime you want. You’ll need to keep track of your hours yourselves.” She looked around at us. “Any questions?” she asked.
Mary Anne cleared her throat, but she looked too shy to speak. She gave Kristy a nudge. Kristy exchanged glances with her and nodded. “We heard some bad things about the old club here,” she said. “Dark Woods?”
Nikki winced and shook her head. “Whatever you heard is probably true,” she admitted. “Dark Woods was not a very nice place. It was discriminatory and elitist, which means,” she added, apparently noticing our confused looks, “that they only let certain types of people join.”
“Is that why it closed?” asked Stacey.
“Partly,” said Nikki. “Some people sued, and since the club was already in debt, the legal bills were the last straw. The place was shut down just as it was, and all its possessions were frozen, in legal limbo, for years and years. Finally, some other investors and I bought the club, and we inherited everything. Fortunately, nothing was too run-down, because Mr. Kawaja, the caretaker, stayed on. His wages were paid throughout the legal battle, and he took care of the buildings and grounds.”
“So, with a little redecorating, it will be ready to open up again?” asked Jessi.
“Well, not exactly,” answered Nikki. “I want to change as much as I can. I don’t want Greenbrook to bear any resemblance to Dark Woods.” She frowned. “I want Greenbrook to be open to anyone in the community, and I want the membership fees to be low. I want this to be a pleasant, open place where families can enjoy good times together.” She paused, and I noticed a faraway look in her eyes, as if she were remembering something. “My family once belonged to Dark Woods,” she said slowly. “And actually, I spent some of the happiest days of my life here.”
“You used to live in Stoneybrook?” Mal asked.
Nikki nodded. “I grew up here,” she said. “And I was here at the club all day, every day, every summer. I swam, I played tennis, I lay under the trees and read.” She looked down at her hands, which were clenched in her lap. When she looked up again, her eyes were hard. “It wasn’t until I was older that I realized what a sheltered world the club was, and how you had to come from a certain background to belong there. One day, when I was fourteen, I brought a new friend from school — her name was Rachel — to the club for a swim. We were having a terrific time, practicing our swan dives, when suddenly, I noticed that all the club ‘regulars’ were giving me strange looks.” Nikki raised her eyebrows. “Can you guess what was wrong?”
None of us said a word, but I had a feeling we were all thinking the same thing. Nikki didn’t seem to notice that we hadn’t answered. Absorbed in her story, she went on.
“Finally, one of my father’s friends pulled me aside and told me it wasn’t appropriate to bring ‘such a guest’ to the club. I was confused, since I’d brought other friends there before. Then I realized that Rachel was Jewish.”
I drew in a sharp breath. My family is Jewish, too. That means I wouldn’t have been welcome at Dark Woods, either. Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach. “That’s awful!” I cried.
Nikki nodded. “I thought so, too. I vowed never to return to the club. And I didn’t. I left Stoneybrook when I finished school, and I didn’t come back until I learned that the club was up for sale. Now Stephen and my husband and I are eager to make a life here.”
“Your parents must be thrilled to have you back,” I said, without thinking. (I do that a lot.)
Nikki shook her head, looking sad. “My mother passed away five years ago. And I haven’t talked to my father in almost ten years. He does still live in Stoneybrook, but he wants nothing to do with me. The day I told him I was marrying a Korean man was the day he stopped speaking to me.” Nikki held her chin up, but I could see that she was very upset. “He won’t see his grandchild, either.”
A Korean man. That explained Stephen’s looks. How could Nikki’s father be so awful?
“Has — has your father ever met your husband?” asked Mary Anne softly.
“No,” replied Nikki. “And the funny thing is, I’m sure they’d like each other. Thomas is an excellent businessman. He’s in Korea on business right now, in fact. I know my father would admire him.”
“Maybe some day —” Mary Anne began.
Nikki shook her head. “No, it’s too late. It’s been this way for so long now that I’m used to it. Anyway,” she said, jumping up and brushing together her hands, as if she were trying to rid them of dirt, “I think it’s time for me to head back to work. I’ve enjoyed our interview, and I hope to see you all here soon.” She spoke brightly, but her eyes still looked troubled.
“If you ever need a baby-sitter for Stephen, please call us,” said Kristy. “He seems like a nice kid.”
Nikki smiled gratefully. “He is,” she said. “And I might — call you, that is. I’m sure I will need a sitter for Stephen, since I’ll be spending every day here. Soon he’ll be bored wandering around Greenbrook all afternoon while I work.”
Kristy gave her the BSC phone number,
and asked where she and her family lived. They had just moved into Mallory’s neighborhood.
A few minutes later, Nikki and Stephen waved to us as we rode off down the long drive. We waved back. It looked as though the BSC and the Greenbrook Club were going to be a good match.
Cokie Mason folded her arms. She looked peeved. “I don’t see what’s so strange about it,” she said. “Why do you think it’s strange?” She sounded more angry than curious.
“Oooh, Cokie’s mad,” teased Alan Gray, who was sitting in the seat behind her. He grinned at Kristy. “What is so strange?” he asked. “Go ahead, Kristy. Let’s see you find your way out of this one.”
Kristy shot Alan a nasty look, and he grabbed the guy sitting next to him. “Protect me, Cary,” he cried in a high voice.
Typical back-of-the-bus behavior. I glanced at Rick Chow and Stacey, who were sharing the seat across from where Kristy and I were sitting. Stacey rolled her eyes at me. It was Monday afternoon, and we were on our way to Greenbrook for our first day of work. (We’d be finished in time for our BSC meeting.) I’d been looking forward to it, but I’d forgotten one thing: the job was open to all SMS students, which meant I wouldn’t be able to choose my coworkers. Or my cocommuters. If I had been able to choose, you can bet I wouldn’t have been sitting on a bus with Alan, Cokie, and Cary.
Alan is, as Kristy often points out, “the most immature boy in eighth grade.” She’s known him for years, and judging from her stories, he still acts exactly the way he did when they were in fifth grade. I can see for myself that he still jokes about boogers and thinks the best way to let a girl know you like her is to punch her in the arm.
As for Cary Retlin, nobody at SMS has known him long. Like me, he moved here just recently. But remember what I said about first impressions being lasting? Well, Cary made quite a first impression at SMS, as a practical joker and a mischief-maker, mostly. He’s kind of a puzzle, and nobody in the BSC has had much luck figuring out what makes him tick. Mary Anne and Logan are both especially curious about him, since they suspect he was the one responsible for some disruptive notes the two of them received not long ago: notes to Mary Anne in what looked like Logan’s handwriting (but wasn’t), and vice versa. They were never able to confirm their suspicions, and since the notes eventually stopped, they let it go.