The Truth About Stacey by Ann M. Martin Page A

would—”
    â€œNo way. You just hide in one of the stalls and stand on the toilet. No one knows you’re there. You could hear everything.”
    â€œWell, what about the playground?” I said. “We’ll go off by ourselves, but we’ll stand out in the open. That way no one can sneak up on us, and we can move away if anyone comes too close.”
    That was what we decided to do. We ate lunchquickly and gathered on the playground. Since no one was using the baseball diamond, we stood in the middle of it. It had snowed the night before and there were about three inches covering the ground. My feet were blocks of ice before we even started talking. (In New York City, three inches of snow wouldn’t bother to stick. The flakes would melt as soon as they touched the pavement.)
    â€œOkay, Stacey,” said Kristy. “So why did you call this meeting?”
    â€œBecause we’ve got a problem.”
    â€œAnother one?”
    â€œA big one. But it might end up working out well for us,” I said.
    â€œThat would be a switch,” Claudia commented.
    â€œWhat happened,” I began, tucking my mittened hands under my arms in an effort to thaw out my fingers, which were as cold as my toes, “was that I baby-sat twice yesterday. Remember, I told you at the meeting that I had sat for Jamie and he was upset about his new sitters?”
    The girls nodded.
    â€œWell, I forgot to tell you that I told Jamie to tell his mother if he doesn’t like the sitters. I mean, we can’t say anything to the parents, but the kids we sit for can.”
    â€œOh, good idea,” remarked Kristy.
    â€œAnd in the evening I sat for Charlotte, and she was upset, too. So I told
her
to talk to
her
parents. I think that from now on, we should watch for signs that the kids we take care of aren’t happy with the Baby-sitters Agency. Then we should encourage them to speak up. They have the right.”
    The other club members agreed with that wholeheartedly.
    We also agreed that agency sitters were inferior to club sitters. We were quality, and they were … well, they were not. But we weren’t prepared for what we saw on our way home from school that afternoon.
    The weather was awful. The sky was gray, and the air was still cold and windy. It was a raw day. The unplowed streets had turned to beds of icy slush. We were all freezing cold and my teeth were chattering. As we rounded the corner to the street that Kristy, Claudia, and Mary Anne live on, we almost bumped into Jamie Newton. He was standing by himself on the narrow strip of grass that runs between the sidewalk and the street.
    â€œHi-hi!” Jamie called.
    â€œJamie!” Kristy exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
    â€œPlaying,” he replied.
    â€œWell, you’re much too near the street. Aren’t you supposed to be in your backyard?”
    She looked at the rest of us as if to say, what is
wrong
with Mrs. Newton?
    â€œAnd where are your mittens, Jamie?” I added. “And your hat? It’s freezing out here. Is your mother very busy with Lucy today?”
    Jamie shook his head. “She’s at a meeting. Lucy is asleep.”
    A car came whizzing down the street then. It sprayed us with slush. I shivered, trying not to think about what might have happened if Jamie had been playing
in
the street.
    â€œJamie,” Mary Anne said suddenly, “do you have a baby-sitter today?”
    â€œYup.”
    â€œWhat’s her name?”
    â€œBarb—no, Cathy.”
    â€œCathy Morris?” I asked.
    â€œYup.”
    â€œDoes she know you’re out here?” Kristy asked.
    Jamie shrugged. “She said I could play outside.”
    I turned to the club members. “What do you think we should do?” I asked them.
    â€œI’m not sure,” Kristy answered slowly.
    â€œLook,” I said, kneeling down to Jamie’s level. “Can you do two special things?