Kristy's Big Day (7 page)

“There are
no Martians,”
Dawn added. “Just me. And I'm getting mad.”

The blue group crawled sheepishly out of a storage shed.

“Come on,” said Dawn. “We have to leave.” She wondered if she should tell Karen to apologize to Fran, but Fran looked busy and annoyed. Dawn hustled the three kids away.

As they walked home, she gave them a talk about telling stories and scaring children, and Karen became grave and concerned. She promised not to mention the Martians again. David Michael and Berk promised, too.

The bluebirds were the first group to return to my house that day, even beating Mary Anne and
the babies. They were on their best behavior all afternoon, and Tuesday passed quickly.

Late that night, after my lights were out and I was in bed, something occurred to me. Wedding presents were starting to arrive at our house. The wedding was then just about three days away. I would have to get a present for Mom and Watson, but what? What do you get for your mother and a millionaire? They already had everything they needed and could buy anything they wanted.

I lay awake thinking. My present had to be just right.

Wedding Countdown:
Wednesday—three days to go

 

Stacey didn't mention it in her notebook entry, but one o'clock on Wednesday marked the halfway point of the Baby-sitters Club's adventure taking care of fourteen children. Two and a half days were behind us. Two and a half days were ahead of us.

Of course, we'd had our share of problems.

There was Dawn's experience at the playground, for instance. “I keep thinking of all those scared children,” she said. “Especially the ones who ran home. I hope they found mommies or daddies or big brothers or sisters who told them not to worry. And Karen can't ever show up at
that playground again, at least not as long as Fran is the counselor.”

Then there was the problem with bathrooms. We have three: one downstairs and two upstairs. One of the upstairs ones is Mom's and off-limits, which left two bathrooms for nineteen people, two of whom were in diapers and needed to be changed a lot, and one of whom (Maura) had only recently been potty trained.

It seemed as if somebody always had to use the bathroom. Since the little kids were more urgent about it (“Kristy, Kristy! I have to go
now
!”), we decided that the yellow group, green group, and pink group would use the downstairs bathroom, which was nearer; and the five baby-sitters, the red group, and the blue group would use the upstairs bathroom. We stuck a yellow sun, a green dinosaur, and a pink heart on the door of the first-floor bathroom, and a red star and a bluebird on the door of the second-floor bathroom as reminders. But there were always mix-ups.

“Kristy, which bathroom do I use?” David Michael asked me as I was rummaging through the refrigerator, getting the lunches out on Wednesday.

“What group are you in?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, look at your nametag,” I told him. “I lost it.”

“You're a bluebird. Go upstairs.”

“I was just up there. Somebody's in it.”

“Then wait.”

“I can't.”

“Then go downstairs.”

“Someone's in there, too.”

“David Michael, you're going to have to wait, or else go across the street and ask Mimi to let you use the Kishis' bathroom.”

“No way!”

At that moment, Luke and Andrew walked out of the house and into the backyard.

“I think the bathrooms are free,” I said.

“Which
one do I use?”

I groaned. “It doesn't matter. Just go.”

The kids had almost as much trouble keeping their groups straight. The baby-sitters knew who their charges were, but even with the nametags, the kids were never sure. If Stacey, for instance, called for the red group, eight children would run to her.

But none of that mattered much. As long as we could be outside, we were fine. The kids were having fun.

Wednesday afternoon was the special showing of
Mary Poppins.
Stacey had known about it for several days, and on Tuesday she asked my aunts and uncles for permission to take the red group to the Embassy and for money to buy tickets.

The Embassy was all the way downtown, but Nannie was going to take me shoe shopping that afternoon (while Mary Anne watched the nappers again), so she planned to drop Stacey and the red group at the theater on our way to the mall and pick them up on our way back.

The Pink Clinker was loaded down as Nannie pulled out of the driveway. “I'll drive very slowly,” she told Ashley, who was sitting next to her in the front seat. “I don't want to jar your leg.”

“I hope she doesn't drive
too
slowly,” Stacey whispered to me. “I don't want to miss the beginning.”

Nannie did creep along, but we reached the theater in plenty of time for the show.

Luke and Emma hopped out of the car, while Stacey helped Ashley out.

“Good-bye!” Nannie called as the Pink Clinker roared to life. “Have fun! I'll be back in two hours.”

Stacey led the three kids to the ticket window. “Now, do you all have your money?” she asked.

“Yup,” said Luke. “Yup,” said Ashley. “Nope,” said Emma.

“Nope?”
Stacey repeated. “Emma, where is it? I told you three kids to make sure you brought your money.”

“I
did
bring it,” Emma whined.

“Mine's in my pocket,” said Luke.

“Mine's in my knapsack,” said Ashley.

Emma looked blank. “I don't
know
where mine is.”

“I'd pay for you,” Stacey told her, “but I've only got about a dollar extra. Emma, think. What did you do with your money?”

“I don't
kno-ow.”
(She was a good whiner. Very good.)

“Do want me to call Kristy's house and see if you left it there by mistake? Maybe Claudia's grandmother could drive it over here,” she said uncertainly.

“All right,” agreed Emma, scuffing the toe of her sneaker along the sidewalk.

“Stacey, I'm going to sit down on that bench,” said Ashley.

“Okay. This'll only take a sec. I hope.” Stacey fished some change out of the pocket of her
overalls and called my house.

Mary Anne answered the phone.

Stacey could hear crying in the background. “What's going on?” she asked.

“The phone woke the babies.”

“Oops.”

“What's up? I thought you were at the movies.”

“We're almost there. Emma can't find her money. She thinks she might have left it at Kristy's…. Would you mind looking?”

“Well, no. Let me just quiet Tony and Beth down. Then I'll look around. Hold on.”

Mary Anne looked so long that Stacey's money ran out and the pay phone clicked off.

“Darn!” exclaimed Stacey. She didn't have much change left. She put more coins in the slot and called back.

The line was busy. It was still off the hook.

Stacey was growing impatient. The movie would start in five minutes. She tried again.

“Stacey?” said Mary Anne. “Where were you?”

“We got cut off. Did you find the money?”

“No, and I looked everywhere. Dawn and Claudia looked, too.”

“Oh, brother. This is great, just great.”

Emma was tugging on Stacey's sleeve.

“Stacey?” she asked.

“Just a minute,” Stacey told her.

“Stacey, it's important.”

“Not now, Emma.”

“But, Stacey, I found my money.”

Stacey looked at Emma, who was holding her money out triumphantly. “Mary Anne?” she said. “Never mind. We found it.”

Stacey thanked Mary Anne and hung up. “Where was it?” she asked Emma.

“In my shoe.”

Stacey shook her head. “Well, hurry up, you guys. The movie's starting.”

She helped Ashley over to the ticket window. Then, to save time, she collected the money from her group, gave it all to the man in the booth, and said, “One adult and three children, please.”

The man handed four tickets to Stacey, who in turn handed them to a young woman at the entrance to the lobby, while Emma, Luke, and Ashley filed in ahead of her.

“Go right into the theater. Hurry, you guys,” said Stacey. “The lights are about to …”

But the kids weren't listening to her. They were standing at the candy counter, looking like
they hadn't eaten in weeks.

“I want Junior Mints,” said Emma.

“I want M&M's,” said Luke.

“I want popcorn,” said Ashley.

“We don't have enough time—or money,” Stacey said. She glanced into the theater. The lights were dimming. “Besides, you just ate lunch.”

“But we have room for a snack,” said Emma, who was on the verge of whining again. “And our moms gave us extra money for a movie treat.”

It took five minutes to buy the candy and popcorn. When the children were ready, they tiptoed into the dark theater.

“We need four seats together, with one on the aisle for Ashley,” Stacey whispered loudly to them.

“Shhh!”
said a woman nearby.

They walked up and down the aisles. Finally, they found seats in the balcony.

Toward the end of the movie, Emma spilled the last of her sticky Junior Mints over the railing. Below her, someone shrieked. Emma began to giggle and couldn't stop. Ashley began to giggle, too, and after a while even Luke joined in.

Finally, the theater manager came along and ushered them outside.

Stacey stood on the sidewalk, her cheeks
flaming, and was never so relieved as when she saw the Pink Clinker cruising down the street.

She climbed into the car, her eyes blazing.

“What happened?” I asked, not sure I really wanted to know.

“Ask
her,”
Stacey said, glaring at Emma.

Emma tried to tell me, but she began giggling again. Before I knew it, Ashley and Luke were giggling, too.

Their laughter was contagious. Nannie and I caught it. When I dared to look at Stacey, I found that even she was laughing.

“Oh, well,” she said as Nannie pulled into our driveway, “I can always see
Mary Poppins
at home.”

That was Wednesday. I now had my wedding shoes—low with a little heel—but no idea about a gift for Mom and Watson.

Wedding Countdown:
Thursday—two days to go

 

Well, Mary Anne may not have been prepared for the trip to the barbershop, but I've gone there with David Michael many times, so I had a dim idea of what could happen. You just take David Michael's tears and whining and complaining and multiply them by six. That's what I thought. But there must have been something wrong with my calculations, because the boys definitely caused more than six times the trouble my brother causes by himself.

After the adults left that morning, the members of the Baby-sitters Club turned the children loose in the backyard and held a quick
meeting on the porch while we kept an eye on things.

“Six boys will be going to Mr. Gates's,” I said, “and the seven girls plus Tony will stay behind. How should we divide ourselves up? Should three of us go to the barber?”

“That sounds like too many,” said Dawn. “Doesn't Mr. Gates have an assistant? Two boys can get their hair cut at once. Then there'll only be four to watch.”

“That's true,” I said. “Okay, two of us will go and three will stay here. I better be one of the ones to go, since I'm related to most of those boys.”

Mary Anne giggled.

“Who else wants to go?” I could tell that the other baby-sitters wanted the easy job of staying at my house with the girls and Tony.

At last Mary Anne spoke up. “I'll go with you, Kristy,” she said. “I've been stuck here with Beth and Tony all week.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked her.

“Positive,” she replied, sounding entirely unsure of herself.

“All right,” I said just as uncertainly.

You've probably never taken a ten-year-old, a seven-year-old, a six-year-old, a four-year-old, and two three-year-olds to the barber. I certainly never had. Mary Anne and I waited until the kids had eaten lunch before we rounded the boys up. After lunch, the kids were full and the younger ones tended to be sleepy.

When the trash had been cleared away and the picnic tables wiped off, I stood bravely in the backyard and announced, “Okay, barber time.”

“No-no-no-no-no!” shrieked Andrew.

Peter and Patrick joined in. “No-no-no-no-no!”

Luke, David Michael, and Berk were too old for no-no's. They climbed a tree instead.

“We're not coming down!” David Michael shouted.

“Fine,” I said. “Mary Anne, will you get Nannie on the phone, please, and tell her to bring the Pink Clinker over here? Tell her the boys are—”

“Wait! Wait! Here we come!” cried Berk. The boys jumped out of the tree.

Nannie is a terrific grandmother, but she expects kids to do what they're told, and when it's time for discipline, she is very firm about things.

“Thanks,” I said to the older boys.

They didn't answer. David Michael scowled at me. At last he said, “You want me to look like an owl, don't you? That's what I looked like after I went to Mr. Gates the last time. An owl. A horned owl. My hair just got normal, and now you and Mom are going to make me look like an owl again.”

“David Michael, for heaven's sake, calm down. After all, it's Mom's wedding. She wants you to look good. If she thought Mr. Gates was going to make you look like a horned owl, I'm sure she wouldn't send you to him.”

“No barber,” Peter spoke up piteously.

“Sorry, guys,” I said. “Haircuts all around. Let's get going.”

“I'll go find a wagon,” Mary Anne offered. “Peter and Patrick and Andrew can ride in it.”

As the boys filed out of the yard, the girls watched them.

Nobody said a word for the longest time. Finally, Emma couldn't stand it any longer.

“Ha-ha. Ha-ha. You guys—”

Ashley hobbled forward and clapped her hand over Emma's mouth.

Emma tried to bite her.

“
Ow
! Quit it!”

“Well, leave me alone!” exclaimed Emma.

Mary Anne whispered to me, “The girls may be harder to handle than the boys!”

We loaded the little guys into the wagon, and in no time were ushering the boys into Mr. Gates's place.

Now, if I'd been Mr. Gates and had seen six unhappy boys come in for haircuts, I might have had a nervous breakdown. But not Mr. Gates. He simply finished up the customer he was working on, then turned to Mary Anne and me. “Well, what have we here?” he asked pleasantly.

“Isn't it obvious?” murmured Luke.

Mary Anne shot Luke a hideous look and he quieted down.

I stepped forward. “Hi, Mr. Gates,” I said. “My mom's getting married on Saturday—”

“Well, congratulations!”

“Thanks. And my brother's going to be
in
the wedding, and the rest of these guys are going to be
at
the wedding, and they all need their hair cut.”

“But not too short,” said David Michael. “Not over my ears,” said Luke. “Not too long at the sides,” said Berk. “Leave my part alone,” said Andrew.

“I don't
want
a part,” said Peter.

“Do you have lollipops?” asked Patrick.

“One at a time, one at a time,” said Mr. Gates calmly. “Do you know Mr. Pratt? He's the other barber here.”

A skinny, jumpy-looking man stepped in from the back room, and right away I sensed trouble. He must have been new. I didn't remember seeing him before. He laughed nervously.

“Mr. Pratt,” said Mr. Gates, “these young men need haircuts.”

“All of them? Heh-heh.”

“That's right.” Mr. Gates turned back to the boys. “Okay, which two will be first?”

“Not me!” said six voices.

Mary Anne made a quick decision.

“Luke and David Michael,” she said. It was a good idea. They were the two oldest.

“No,” said both boys.

I took them aside. “There's a phone in the corner,” I told them, pointing to it. “And I've got change in my pocket. I can get hold of Nannie easily.”

“Okay, okay,” said Luke.

“David Michael, you go with Mr. Pratt. And be
good.”

Meanwhile, Mary Anne had taken the four younger boys to some chairs by the front door. She was trying to get them to sit down, but they were climbing over everything like monkeys.

“Come
on
,” Mary Anne urged them.

“I'm Rocket Man!” cried Peter.

“Not in here you aren't.” Mary Anne picked Peter up and sat him in her lap.

I didn't know whether to help her or to watch Luke and David Michael. I decided I better keep an eye on the boys, and especially on my brother and Mr. Pratt.

David Michael climbed into the barber chair as if he were on his way to a funeral.

“Well, heh-heh,” said Mr. Pratt.

“Don't make me look like a horned owl,” said David Michael rudely. He caught sight of me glaring at him in the mirror and stuck his tongue out.

Mr. Pratt thought it was meant for him.

“Oh, goodness, heh-heh.” He patted his pockets, searching for something, then walked into the back room.

Luke leaned over from the next chair and whispered to David Michael, “He probably forgot his brain.”

“Now, now,” said Mr. Gates. “Hmm. It seems to me I've got a box of lollipops over by the cash register. But I only give them to my well-behaved customers.”

“I'm too old for lollipops,” said Luke.

“Me, too,” said David Michael, who had asked for two the last time he'd had his hair cut.

That did it.

“Excuse me a sec, Mr. Gates,” I said. I stepped between the chairs and said to the boys, “You two are being plain rude. Who taught you to speak this way to adults? I can't believe it. I want you to know that I am now walking over to that phone and calling Nannie. I guess I just can't take care of you guys after all. My friends and I tried to make things fun for you, but you're too much to handle. I'll have to turn the job over to Nannie.”

“No, Kristy! Please don't!” David Michael cried. “We'll be good. All of us. I promise.” He turned to his cousin. “She means it, Luke. She's my sister. I know her.”

“All right,” said Luke sulkily.

Luke and David Michael's haircuts went fine after that. They even seemed reasonably satisfied with the results. David Michael made no references to owls.

Then came Berk's and Andrew's turns. They protested as they climbed into the chairs but behaved nicely after Mr. Gates promised them lollipops.

Peter and Patrick were last. Peter tried to kick Mr. Pratt in the shin, and Patrick cried the entire time. I sang seventeen verses of “Old MacDonald” to him, but it didn't help much, and Mr. Gates looked pained.

However, by the time we left, the barbershop and both barbers were still pretty much in one piece.

“We did it!” Mary Anne exclaimed as we were putting the littler boys in the wagon. “Somehow we did it!”

“I know! Now if I could just think of a wedding present to give Mom and Watson, this would be a perfect day.”

“How about a toaster oven?” asked Mary Anne.

“Too expensive. Besides, Watson's got three.”

“A tray,” Luke suggested.

“We've got dozens.”

“A picnic basket,” said Berk.

“We've got one and Watson's got one.”

“A fire engine,” said Peter.

“A robot,” said Patrick.

“Do I have to give them a present, too?” asked David Michael.

“It would be nice,” I replied.

“Help me think of one, Kristy.”

Oh, brother.
Two
presents?