The Truth About Stacey by Ann M. Martin Page B

Just for us?”
    â€œYes,” he replied solemnly.
    â€œGood boy. The first thing is to go inside and find your hat and mittens. If you can’t reach them, ask Cathy for help. But don’t go outdoors without them, okay?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThe second thing is to play out back if you want to be outdoors. It’s dangerous here by the street. Play on your swing, okay?”
    â€œYes.”
    We watched Jamie run across his lawn and through his front door before we went on our way.
    â€œWow,” said Kristy. “This is serious. That baby-sitter, whoever the so-called agency found for the Newtons, lets
three
-year-olds play outside on their own. Do you know what could have happened to Jamie?”
    â€œHe could have been hit by a car,” said Claudia.
    â€œHe could have wandered off,” said Mary Anne. “You know, the brook’s not frozen over yet. What if he fell in?”
    â€œThere are worse things,” I added. “Whatabout all the missing kids these days? Someone could have driven by and just scooped him into a car. On a day like this” (I waved my hand around to indicate the disgusting weather) “there probably wouldn’t be anyone around to see it happen. The person wouldn’t even have to bother trying to
lure
Jamie into the car. He could just—kidnap him.”
    â€œThat’s
awful,”
exclaimed Kristy.
    â€œI know.”
    â€œWell, I think now we have to do something about the agency. Something more than just telling kids to talk to their parents. The question,” Kristy said gravely, “is what? Maybe we should talk to our own parents. My mom usually knows what to do.”
    â€œI don’t see what the problem is,” said Claudia. “If I knew where Mrs. Newton was I’d call her right now and tell her about Jamie. Then I’d call everyone else I could think of.”
    We had reached Kristy’s house and were standing in front of it, shivering and talking.
    â€œNo,” I said. “I know what Kristy means. If we start calling parents who use the agency, they’ll just think we’re poor sports, and that we’re trying to make the agency look bad because they’re taking our business away.”
    â€œOh,” said Claudia. “Right.”
    â€œWell, let’s just go home,” Mary Anne suggested. “Maybe we
should
talk to our parents. The important thing is that Jamie’s safe for now.”
    â€œAll right,” Kristy agreed uncertainly.
    Claudia, Kristy, and Mary Anne went into their houses, and I walked the rest of the way home. I found my mother in the kitchen, reading the paper and having a cup of coffee. “Hi, sweetie,” she greeted me. “How was school?”
    â€œFine…. Mom?”
    â€œYes?”
    I had hung up my coat and was pouring myself a glass of milk. I sat down next to her at the table. “If you knew that someone was doing something that could put someone else in danger, what would you do about it?”
    Mom looked at me thoughtfully. “I think I need a little more information,” she said.
    â€œWell, what if the someone who would be in danger was a little kid, and the someone putting him in danger was someone his parents trusted, but if you told, you would look bad?”
    â€œStacey Elizabeth,” my mother said sharply. “You’re not talking about child abuse, are you?”
    â€œOh,
no.
Nothing like that.”
    I could see the relief in Mom’s eyes. “And,” sheasked, “are you talking about any of the girls in your baby-sitting club?”
    â€œNo. I swear. I mean, the person
causing
the trouble isn’t in the club.”
    â€œAll right. Well, what do you mean about making someone look bad?”
    â€œMaking someone look like a poor sport or a tattletale. What’s that expression Dad uses?”
    â€œSour grapes?”
    â€œYeah. That’s it.”
    â€œThis is