"Here it is," said Claudia, handing Mallory the notebook.
"Where's that Abby?" Kristy bellowed.
As I mentioned, Abby is the newest member of the club. She's slim with long, curly brown hair and brown eyes. I like her because she's sharp and very funny.
Just then Abby rushed in. Usually she gets a ride here with Kristy, but today she must have come from somewhere else. Her walk is always brisk and energy-charged, but she wasn't breathless. She didn't instantly check the clock like the rest of us do.
"Abby, it's five-thirty-three," Kristy pointed out.
"Oh, good, I made it on time," Abby said with a smile.
I took a deep breath. I had to admire her nerve. She knows full well that Kristy doesn't consider five-thirty-three on time.
Kristy shot her the dreaded Look.
We all cringed.
Abby didn't even seem to notice. She flipped back her curls and sat at the edge of Claudia's bed.
"Try to be here exactly at five-thirty next time," Kristy said in an icy voice.
Abby raised her eyebrows quizzically. "Are you sure that clock is exactly right? I mean, maybe it's a minute fast." "It's not," Kristy said confidently.
"Well, I think you should call Greenwich, England, and check," Abby insisted. "That's where they set the exact time, isn't it?" "This clock is right," Kristy grumbled.
I tried hard not to smile. Abby is originally from Long Island, which is close to the city. She has a lot of that big-city attitude my other city friends have. That attitude says, "No one is pushing me around." She has that same dry sense of humor, too.
Luckily, the tension was broken by the sound of the ringing phone. "Hello. Babysitters Club," Claudia answered, since she happened to be sitting nearest the phone. From the way she was talking, I could tell it wasn't one of our regular customers. She wrote information on a pad, then said, "I'll see who's available and call you right back." (That's how we always handle calls.) Mary Anne already had the record book open on her lap.
"I'd like the job," I said before I'd even heard who it was for or when.
Mary Anne looked at me with a puzzled expression. "How do you even know you're free?" she asked.
"I don't care," I replied. "I'll cancel whatever I'm doing. I just really need to earn enough money to take Robert to a Broadway show for his birthday." "It's a new family who just moved in," Claudia told Mary Anne and me. "Their name is Cheplin. Mrs. Cheplin wants a regular babysitter who can pick up her kids after school every afternoon and take care of them until she gets home from work at five-thirty." "For how long?" asked Kristy.
"I don't know. Regularly, I guess," replied Claud.
"Well, I can't do it every single day, I have too much to do," said Abby.
"And I have art club," Claudia said.
"I'll have to coach the Krushers soon," said Kristy, who is the coach for a little kids' softball team called Kristy's Krushers.
"I have ballet," Jessi said.
"My parents wouldn't let me do it every day," Mallory said.
"Neither would mine," added Mary Anne. "And I wouldn't want to make that kind of commitment. Why don't we split the job up among us?" "Wait a minute!" I cried. "I can do it. Call her back and say I'll do it. It doesn't sound hard and I want the money." "All right," Mary Anne said with a worried expression. "If you're sure." "Sure, I'm sure," I told her enthusiastically. I couldn't believe how lucky I was. I'd wanted a lot of work and I got it. Just like that. Unbelievable! Great! At least, I thought it was great at the time.
Chapter 3.
The Cheplins weren't easy to find. They live on Acorn Place, one of those twisting roads over by Burnt Hill Road, where Mary Anne lives. Near my house, the blocks all rail into straight lines, but over there they twist and turn and don't have any particular order that I can figure out.
By the time I reached the house that Thursday afternoon, I was fifteen minutes late. Despite the biting cold, I felt overheated and breathless from pedaling my bike up the steep hill leading to Acorn Place. The Cheplins' small house was brick with bright blue shutters. It was set on a thickly wooded hillside that led down to a stream. It looked cozy, like a house from a fairy tale.
Leaning my bike against a slate rock walkway at the front of the house, I walked down several stone steps and banged the brass front door knocker that was shaped like a woodpecker.
A heavyset woman with short brown hair and large blue-framed glasses opened the door. She was dressed casually in soft slacks and an oversized tunic top. "Yes?" she said with a puzzled expression. "What can I do for you?" "I'm Stacey," I said. "Sorry I'm late. I rode right past the turnoff on Burnt Hill Road and took a few other wrong turns." The woman blinked hard and seemed to study me.
"Are you Mrs. Cheplin?" I asked in a small voice, suddenly worried that I was at the wrong house.
"Yes, yes, I am," she said with a quick, embarrassed laugh. "Please come in, Stacey. I'm sorry. I don't mean to leave you standing in the cold. You just took me by surprise. I was expecting someone more . . . well . . . someone older." "I'm thirteen," I said, in case she thought I was younger than that.
"I was really hoping for a high-school girl." As I stepped inside the front hallway, I could see the small, narrow kitchen, which was set behind a brick wall. A sunny living room was off to the right, and in between the kitchen and living room was a hall with spiral stairs leading to the second floor.
It was a shadowy house, put together artistically with woven rugs, interesting cloth wall hangings, photographs, and original paintings everywhere.
It was also very cluttered. Magazines, stacks of papers, toys, blocks, videos, and notebooks were perched on every shelf and in every corner.
"I've had lots of sitting jobs," I told Mrs. Cheplin. "If you want, I can get you some references." "Let's sit in here," she said, ushering me into the living room off the hallway. It was as cluttered as the hall, but a big window looking out on the woods let in patches of sunshine and a view of the woods.
Mrs. Cheplin scooped a toy fire truck off an overstuffed blue chair and nodded for me to sit. She sat at the end of the gray loveseat to the side of the chair. Still holding the toy truck, she leaned forward as she spoke to me. "You see, Stacey, I need someone who can be very responsible. Up until now I've been freelancing from home. I'm a photographer and book designer. But I've just taken a job as an art director for a magazine in Stamford and I really must have someone I can rely on." "You can rely on me," I said confidently.
Mrs. Cheplin didn't look convinced. "I'm sure you're a terrific sitter, Stacey," she said. "But I really do need someone more mature. I'm sorry, but - " "Mrs. Cheplin," I interrupted. I wasn't going to let this great steady job slip out of my fingers so easily. Especially since I was sure I could handle it. "I bet I can get the job done for you. What exactly do you need?" "Dana and Adam go to the Miller School," she said. I'd heard of that. It was a private school just outside Stoneybrook. "They have to be picked up at their school bus stop at three-fifteen sharp every day," she continued. "If no one is there the driver won't let them off and they'd be very upset." "Believe me, I know about being punctual," I said, thinking of the excellent punctuality training I'd received from Kristy. "Our club meetings always start at five-thirty sharp. Our president, Kristy, insists that we're there on time." Mrs. Cheplin adjusted her glasses. "Well, that's good. I'd also need you to help the kids with their homework, and after that to keep them busy with games and projects until I get home at five-thirty. I don't want them sitting around in front of the TV." "No problem," I assured her. "I don't mind helping with homework. If they need math help, I'm in honors math at school. And I'll bring my Kid-Kit with me." I explained that a Kid-Kit is a box filled with art materials, books, games, puzzles, and lots of fun odds and ends. Every member of the BSC has her own and we use our club dues to keep them stocked.
Mrs. Cheplin nodded and I got the idea that the Kid-Kits had impressed her. "Your club certainly sounds well-organized," she commented.
"Oh, it is," I said. "You wouldn't believe how organized." "As you can guess from looking around, I could use some organization here," Mrs. Cheplin said. "How would you feel about some light housekeeping?" Instinctively, I could feel my nose start to wrinkle with distaste, but I forced myself to stop. "As long as it doesn't interfere with watching the children," I replied, which I thought was a lot better than making a disgusted face.
"That's true. It's hard to do both, which is why this place looks the way it does. But still ... I was hoping to find someone who could give me a hand with it. Maybe this just isn't going to work out. Besides, I think you're just too young to deal with Dana." "Why?" I asked. "Is she difficult?" "No. She's a sweet eight-year-old. But she's just been diagnosed with diabetes and - " "I have diabetes, too," I cut in.
Behind her glasses, Mrs. Cheplin's eyes widened in surprise. "You do?" I nodded. "I've had it for a long time." "But you seem so healthy and energetic. You must have the kind of diabetes you control simply through diet," she said, assuming I had a less severe form of diabetes than I have.
"Diet and insulin," I said.
Mrs. Cheplin folded her arms. "Really? And you rode your bike all the way up that hill?" "Sure," I said. "As long as I take care of myself I can do anything other girls do." "Then you know how important it is not to let Dana have sweets." "Absolutely," I said. "She should snack, though. You don't want her blood sugar to get too low." A thoughtful expression came across Mrs. Cheplin's face. "It might be good for Dana to get to know you," she said, leaning back and sliding her arms along the top of the couch. "It might be a very good thing for her. Why don't we try it for one week? If it seems to be working, we'll continue. If there are problems we'll chalk it up to experience and call it quits." "Great!" I said enthusiastically. "I'm sure I can do it." Then Mrs. Cheplin told me how much she was willing to pay me and I nearly slid off the chair. It was almost twice as much as most baby-sitting jobs pay! "When do I start?" I asked.
"I just had a thought," said Mrs. Cheplin, looking concerned again. "Do your parents know you're taking this job?" "Not this job, but they know I baby-sit and it's cool with them." "But this is every day," she pointed out. "Why don't you talk to them and give me a call tonight?" Now I was worried. What if Mom said no?
"All right, I'll call you tonight," I told Mrs. Cheplin as I got up from the chair. I noticed a black-and-white photo of two children hanging on the wall. The girl had blunt cut, straight blonde hair. The line of bangs across her forehead skirted large, expressive eyes. The round-faced boy had wispy brown hair. He, too, had big eyes that shone mischievously.
"Those are my cuties," said Mrs. Cheplin. "They're good kids but they can be a handful. As I mentioned, Dana is eight. Adam is six." "No problem. I'm used to kids, and they look really sweet," I said.
I left Mrs. Cheplin's house and climbed back on my bike. (Going downhill was definitely easier, but the turns were a little scary as the bike speeded faster and faster.) At the bottom of Burnt Hill Road I spotted Mary Anne and Kristy in Mary Anne's front yard. They looked as if they were just about to go into the house.
"Hi!" Mary Anne called to me.
Slowing the bike, I turned up Mary Anne's driveway. "I just saw Mrs. Cheplin," I reported as I stood in the driveway straddling my bike.
"What were the kids like?" Mary Anne asked.
"I don't know. It was just an interview, not an actual job." "Sounds serious," said Kristy. "Like more than just a baby-sitting job." "It's a big time commitment," I said. "But other than that, it isn't any different." Kristy shifted uneasily from side to side and shook her head. "I don't think you should take it." "Why not?" I asked, my voice rising a bit.
"Well, because it's like we're losing another member. And just when everything was settled, too," Kristy said.
"How can you possibly look at it that way?" I asked.
"When will you be free to take baby-sitting jobs?" Kristy countered.
"I'll be baby-sitting every single day until five-thirty," I reminded her. "How much more of a baby-sitting club member can I be than that?" "But you won't be able to take other jobs," Kristy argued.
"What's the difference?" I retorted.
"You're sitting until five-thirty?" said Mary Anne. "You won't be able to come to meetings then." I grimaced. Meetings. "Oops, I forgot about meetings," I admitted sheepishly.
"You forgot about meetings!" Kristy exploded.
"For the moment," I said quickly. "Just for the moment. I could be there by quarter to six." "Why bother? You won't be free to take any baby-sitting jobs anyway." "Yes I will," I protested. "There's always Saturday and Sunday, which are our busiest times anyway." "Will you want to baby-sit on weekends after sitting all week long?" Mary Anne asked doubtfully.
Probably not, I thought, but I didn't want to upset Kristy any more than she already was. "Sure," I said. "If you need me I'll just have to do it. That's all." "We'll need you," said Kristy. "I guess it's all right if you come late to meetings. I hope everyone doesn't start doing it, though." "Don't worry," Mary Anne told her. "She's coming late for a good reason." "I'll be baby-sitting and I'll be at meetings, so you're not losing a member," I told Kristy.
"I hope not," she said sulkily. In a way, I couldn't blame her for worrying. With all the shifting around of club members lately she probably just wanted things to settle down and run smoothly for awhile.