started to fall asleep.
"I'll call you later/' said Claud as she left.
"Okay. Thanks." I drifted off to sleep, thinking, There's no place like home. There's no place like home.
I slept for several hours. When I woke up, I felt well enough to eat dinner in the kitchen with Mom. But after that, I was tired again.
"I think I'll go to bed soon," I told my mother. "But first, can you come upstairs so we can talk?"
"Of course." Mom followed me back to my room, where I crawled under the covers again. She sat on the edge of my bed.
"This is something I've been-trying to tell you and Dad for a long time now," I began. I drew in a deep breath. "Okay. Here's the thing. I am not going to be the monkey for you guys anymore."
"The monkey?"
"Yeah. I feel like the monkey in monkey-in-the-middle. Dad's always trying to get information about you from me. And you try to find out about Dad from me. And both of you send nasty messages through me. That's not fair. So from now on, I'm not talking about you to Dad or about Dad to you, and I'm not
delivering any messages. I'll call Dad in a few minutes and tell him all this, too."
"Okay," said Mom, nodding her head. "So far what you've said seems reasonable."
"I also want to apologize," I went on. "I know I've been crabby lately, but I wasn't feeling well. Plus, I guess I've been mad at you guys."
"Apology accepted. And my apologies to you for making you feel like a monkey."
I smiled. "Thanks. When I call Dad, I'll also tell him that I'll visit him more often, and without any arguments. I'll be happy to go to New York when I'm feeling better and when I know I won't be the monkey."
"Fair enough," said Mom.
"One last thing. I have to make a confession." I paused because I could feel tears coming to my eyes. "Um, I'm really sorry about all this, but I think the reason I went into the hospital was that I stopped following my diet." I told my mother about the fudge and the candy and everything.
Then I began to cry.
Mom put her arms around me. "Honey," she said softly, "you shouldn't have done that, but the doctors are pretty sure your diet didn't have much to do with the change in your blood sugar level. You haven't been feeling well for a long time now, have you?"
I shook my head. "No, I haven't." I was still crying.
"And you know that being a diabetic, especially with this kind of juvenile-onset diabetes, you're much more susceptible to infections than other people are. Plus, because diabetes can be a mean disease, once you've gotten an infection, then you're more open to problems with your insulin. It's a vicious cycle. We've been lucky so far, but lately you've had the flu and a sore throat — "
"And bronchitis, remember?"
"That's right. I'd forgotten. Furthermore, you've been incredibly busy. So I'm sure that eating the sweets didn't help anything, but I'm also sure that that's not why you got sick."
I had stopped crying. I pulled away from Mom. "Maybe I should slow down a little," I told her.
"Good idea."
"I need to catch up on my schoolwork anyway. And the next time I'm not feeling well, I'll tell you. That way I can see the doctor before I get so sick."
"Another good idea."
"Thank you," I said again. I kissed Mom. "I'm really tired," I told her, "but I have to do one more thing before I go to bed."
I stood up. Then I went into Mom's room. It was time to talk to my father.
About the Author
ANN M. MARTIN did a lot of baby-sitting when she was growing up in Princeton, New Jersey. Now her favorite baby-sitting charge is her cat, Mouse, who lives with her in her Manhattan apartment.
Ann Martin's Apple Paperbacks include Yours Turly, Shirley; Ten Kids, No Pets; With You and Without You; Bummer Summer; and all the other books in the Baby-sitters Club series.
She is a former editor of books for children, and was graduated from Smith College. She likes ice cream, the beach, and I Love Lucy; and she hates to cook.
"I'll call you later/' said Claud as she left.
"Okay. Thanks." I drifted off to sleep, thinking, There's no place like home. There's no place like home.
I slept for several hours. When I woke up, I felt well enough to eat dinner in the kitchen with Mom. But after that, I was tired again.
"I think I'll go to bed soon," I told my mother. "But first, can you come upstairs so we can talk?"
"Of course." Mom followed me back to my room, where I crawled under the covers again. She sat on the edge of my bed.
"This is something I've been-trying to tell you and Dad for a long time now," I began. I drew in a deep breath. "Okay. Here's the thing. I am not going to be the monkey for you guys anymore."
"The monkey?"
"Yeah. I feel like the monkey in monkey-in-the-middle. Dad's always trying to get information about you from me. And you try to find out about Dad from me. And both of you send nasty messages through me. That's not fair. So from now on, I'm not talking about you to Dad or about Dad to you, and I'm not
delivering any messages. I'll call Dad in a few minutes and tell him all this, too."
"Okay," said Mom, nodding her head. "So far what you've said seems reasonable."
"I also want to apologize," I went on. "I know I've been crabby lately, but I wasn't feeling well. Plus, I guess I've been mad at you guys."
"Apology accepted. And my apologies to you for making you feel like a monkey."
I smiled. "Thanks. When I call Dad, I'll also tell him that I'll visit him more often, and without any arguments. I'll be happy to go to New York when I'm feeling better and when I know I won't be the monkey."
"Fair enough," said Mom.
"One last thing. I have to make a confession." I paused because I could feel tears coming to my eyes. "Um, I'm really sorry about all this, but I think the reason I went into the hospital was that I stopped following my diet." I told my mother about the fudge and the candy and everything.
Then I began to cry.
Mom put her arms around me. "Honey," she said softly, "you shouldn't have done that, but the doctors are pretty sure your diet didn't have much to do with the change in your blood sugar level. You haven't been feeling well for a long time now, have you?"
I shook my head. "No, I haven't." I was still crying.
"And you know that being a diabetic, especially with this kind of juvenile-onset diabetes, you're much more susceptible to infections than other people are. Plus, because diabetes can be a mean disease, once you've gotten an infection, then you're more open to problems with your insulin. It's a vicious cycle. We've been lucky so far, but lately you've had the flu and a sore throat — "
"And bronchitis, remember?"
"That's right. I'd forgotten. Furthermore, you've been incredibly busy. So I'm sure that eating the sweets didn't help anything, but I'm also sure that that's not why you got sick."
I had stopped crying. I pulled away from Mom. "Maybe I should slow down a little," I told her.
"Good idea."
"I need to catch up on my schoolwork anyway. And the next time I'm not feeling well, I'll tell you. That way I can see the doctor before I get so sick."
"Another good idea."
"Thank you," I said again. I kissed Mom. "I'm really tired," I told her, "but I have to do one more thing before I go to bed."
I stood up. Then I went into Mom's room. It was time to talk to my father.
About the Author
ANN M. MARTIN did a lot of baby-sitting when she was growing up in Princeton, New Jersey. Now her favorite baby-sitting charge is her cat, Mouse, who lives with her in her Manhattan apartment.
Ann Martin's Apple Paperbacks include Yours Turly, Shirley; Ten Kids, No Pets; With You and Without You; Bummer Summer; and all the other books in the Baby-sitters Club series.
She is a former editor of books for children, and was graduated from Smith College. She likes ice cream, the beach, and I Love Lucy; and she hates to cook.
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