baby-sitting club! And they're not just any girls, they're older girls! No kidding. There are four of them and they live in my neighborhood. (Well, most of them do.) Their names are Kristy Thomas, Claudia Kishi, Mary Anne Spier, and Dawn Schafer. They used to have a fifth member, Stacey McGill, but she moved away. That's why the girls need me — to take Stacey's place. The way they know me is that they sit for our family all the time. Although lately, instead of being sat for, I've helped with the sitting. And as I said, I know a lot about kids.
I am so flattered that the girls want me to join their club. But I'm nervous, too. What if they decide I'm not good enough or not grown-up enough or something? Oh, well. I'll know on
Monday. That's when I go to my first club meeting.
Right now it's Saturday. Two days to wait. But I've got plenty to do. I'm reading three books — Dr. Dolittle, The Incredible Journey, and this really funny one called Freaky Friday. I love to read, and I don't believe that you have to finish one book before you start another. I like to write, too. I keep journals, and I write stories, stories, stories. Sometimes I illustrate them.
Plus, this afternoon, I have to baby-sit. In fact, I better go downstairs now. Dad is taking the triplets to the barber for haircuts, and Mom is taking Margo and Vanessa shopping for sneakers. That leaves me in charge of Nicky and Claire. I guess I'm lucky that my parents pay me for taking care of my own brothers and sisters.
It was time to hide my journal (not easy, since I share a room with Vanessa). I put the book in its usual spot under my mattress. (I bet Vanessa knows where I keep it.) Then I ran down the stairs.
"Oh, there you are, honey," said Mom. "Good. Your father and I are just about to leave. Nicky's in the backyard with Buddy Barrett. You know where we'll be, right?"
"At Mr. Gates' and at Bellair's," I replied.
(Mr. Gates is the barber; Bellair's is a department store.)
"Right," said Mom.
"Moozie-silly-billy-goo-goo, I want shoes, too," whined an unhappy voice. It was Claire. She was slogging up the stairs from the rec room, looking dismal.
My mother turned around and took Claire's chin in her hand. "You don't need sneakers, sweetie," she said. "When you've outgrown your red ones, then you can have a new pair."
"Not fair," grumbled Claire, heading back down the stairs. "Silly-billy-goo-goo."
"Don't worry, Mom," I said. "I can handle her."
And I could. Dad drove off with the triplets, Mom drove off with my sisters, and I took Claire into the backyard with a bottle of soap bubbles. Claire blew bubbles and forgot about shoes, and Nicky played volleyball with his friend Buddy (Buddy is Pow the dog's owner) and forgot about us girls, which seemed to be a perfect arrangement for everyone.
"Foo, foo," went Claire, making bubbles stream from the plastic wand. "Look, Mallory-silly-billy-goo-goo!" N
Slam, slam went the volleyball as the boys pounded it back and forth over the net. They
weren't fooling around. Their game was serious.
The boys were still playing when my father came back with the triplets. The car pulled to a stop in the driveway. The doors opened slowly. Claire and I looked on with interest. My brothers hate getting their hair cut.
"You look like a nerd," said Adam, punching Jordan on the arm and laughing riotously.
"Me! You're looking in a mirror," retorted Jordan. "You look just the same . . . only worse."
The boys tried to sneak into the house without being noticed, but Buddy caught sight of them and let out a howl of laughter. "Ha-ha! Ha-ha!" The volleyball game didn't stop, though.
"Pay attention, Buddy!" Nicky yelled. He slammed the ball over the net.
Since Buddy was laughing at the triplets, he wasn't really ready. But he managed to return the ball. "Oof!" he groaned. "There you are, you show-off. I hit it anyw—"
"Owl Ow, ow, owl" Now Nicky wasn't ready. He hadn't expected Buddy to return his shot, and he'd caught sight
I am so flattered that the girls want me to join their club. But I'm nervous, too. What if they decide I'm not good enough or not grown-up enough or something? Oh, well. I'll know on
Monday. That's when I go to my first club meeting.
Right now it's Saturday. Two days to wait. But I've got plenty to do. I'm reading three books — Dr. Dolittle, The Incredible Journey, and this really funny one called Freaky Friday. I love to read, and I don't believe that you have to finish one book before you start another. I like to write, too. I keep journals, and I write stories, stories, stories. Sometimes I illustrate them.
Plus, this afternoon, I have to baby-sit. In fact, I better go downstairs now. Dad is taking the triplets to the barber for haircuts, and Mom is taking Margo and Vanessa shopping for sneakers. That leaves me in charge of Nicky and Claire. I guess I'm lucky that my parents pay me for taking care of my own brothers and sisters.
It was time to hide my journal (not easy, since I share a room with Vanessa). I put the book in its usual spot under my mattress. (I bet Vanessa knows where I keep it.) Then I ran down the stairs.
"Oh, there you are, honey," said Mom. "Good. Your father and I are just about to leave. Nicky's in the backyard with Buddy Barrett. You know where we'll be, right?"
"At Mr. Gates' and at Bellair's," I replied.
(Mr. Gates is the barber; Bellair's is a department store.)
"Right," said Mom.
"Moozie-silly-billy-goo-goo, I want shoes, too," whined an unhappy voice. It was Claire. She was slogging up the stairs from the rec room, looking dismal.
My mother turned around and took Claire's chin in her hand. "You don't need sneakers, sweetie," she said. "When you've outgrown your red ones, then you can have a new pair."
"Not fair," grumbled Claire, heading back down the stairs. "Silly-billy-goo-goo."
"Don't worry, Mom," I said. "I can handle her."
And I could. Dad drove off with the triplets, Mom drove off with my sisters, and I took Claire into the backyard with a bottle of soap bubbles. Claire blew bubbles and forgot about shoes, and Nicky played volleyball with his friend Buddy (Buddy is Pow the dog's owner) and forgot about us girls, which seemed to be a perfect arrangement for everyone.
"Foo, foo," went Claire, making bubbles stream from the plastic wand. "Look, Mallory-silly-billy-goo-goo!" N
Slam, slam went the volleyball as the boys pounded it back and forth over the net. They
weren't fooling around. Their game was serious.
The boys were still playing when my father came back with the triplets. The car pulled to a stop in the driveway. The doors opened slowly. Claire and I looked on with interest. My brothers hate getting their hair cut.
"You look like a nerd," said Adam, punching Jordan on the arm and laughing riotously.
"Me! You're looking in a mirror," retorted Jordan. "You look just the same . . . only worse."
The boys tried to sneak into the house without being noticed, but Buddy caught sight of them and let out a howl of laughter. "Ha-ha! Ha-ha!" The volleyball game didn't stop, though.
"Pay attention, Buddy!" Nicky yelled. He slammed the ball over the net.
Since Buddy was laughing at the triplets, he wasn't really ready. But he managed to return the ball. "Oof!" he groaned. "There you are, you show-off. I hit it anyw—"
"Owl Ow, ow, owl" Now Nicky wasn't ready. He hadn't expected Buddy to return his shot, and he'd caught sight
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