Here Come The Bridesmaids (2 page)

"Did you take your medicine, sweetheart?" Mom called out.

"Yes, Mom."

"Bundle up!"

"Yes, Mom. 'Bye!"

My medicine, by the way, is insulin. It regulates the sugar in my bloodstream. Most people's bodies make their own insulin, but diabetics have to inject it daily. (Please don't barf. It's not as gross as it sounds.)

"Hi!" Buddy Barrett greeted me as I opened the door. "Lindsey was blowing the car horn. She's in big* trouble."

Buddy is eight. Lindsey DeWitt is eight. Put them together and you get . . . big trouble. (Did you think I was going to say sixteen? Faked you out.)

Behind Buddy I heard squealing voices:

"I want to sit with Suzi!"

"Close the windows!"

"Ryan's drooling!"

By the curb in front of our house, kids were running back and forth between the Barrett sedan and the DeWitt station wagon. Mrs. Barrett and Franklin were standing outside, directing them like traffic police.

As Buddy and I walked toward the cars, I heard Suzi Barrett cry out, "Stacey sits with us!"

"Uh-uh! No way!" Taylor DeWitt retorted.

Suzi's five and Taylor's six. Usually Suzi is sweet-natured, but Taylor brings out her competitive side.

The other kids are Madeleine DeWitt (four), Marnie Barrett (two), and Ryan DeWitt (two).

From the expressions on the faces of the two grown-ups, I could see it had already been a long day.

"Hi, Stacey," Mrs. Barrett said with a tired

smile. "I hope you have a lot of energy today." "Hop in," Franklin said, holding open the

passenger door of the station wagon. "No fair!" screamed Buddy.

I have never seen kids so noisy and excited. The new house was only about a half mile away, but I felt as if we were driving to Chicago.

As we pulled up in front of the house, the car doors flew open. Before I could unbuckle my seat belt, Buddy, Lindsey, Taylor, and Madeleine were running across the front lawn.

Next Suzi emerged, dragging a sleeping bag.

"What’s that for?' I asked.

'To test the bedrooms," she replied. "So I know which one's best."

As she marched toward the house, I looked at Mrs. Barrett. She shrugged.

"It's locked!" Buddy shouted.

"Ee! Ee! Ee! Ee!" Marnie was shrieking with excitement in her car seat. I took her out, Franklin unbuckled Ryan, and Mrs. Barrett unlocked the front door.

Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp! Footsteps echoed against the bare wood floors inside.

The house looked smaller than I'd remembered. It had two stories, a little patio out back, and a tiny front yard.

Marnie and Ryan seemed to find the pebbles on the driveway fascinating. I could hear Buddy making ghost noises in the attic. Lindsey and Taylor were opening and closing all the windows.

"The painters are due in fifteen minutes," Mr. DeWitt said. "The kids have to be out of their way."

"Okay," I replied.

Well, fifteen minutes passed by. Their twenty. Then a half hour.

I ran in and out of the house. I broke up a fight between Buddy and Taylor. I tried to explain to Suzi why she wouldn't be able to sleep in the kitchen. I supervised the two toddlers when they decided to walk up and down the front steps a million times.

The workers arrived forty minutes late. Mrs. Barrett had this tight little smile on her face. I recognized it. I had seen it in Sea City when she was about to fly into a rage.

I was glad I wasn't one of those workers.

"Come on, guys!" I called into the house. "Time to go outside."

Buddy came running up from the basement, just as Suzi was walking through the

living room. "I saw a rat downstairs!" Buddy announced.

"A what?" Mrs. Barrett, Mr. DeWitt, one of the workers, and I asked all at once.

Suzi was goggle-eyed. Buddy approached her, holding his fingers to his mouth like fangs. "It had these sharp, sharp teeth, and it said, 'Where's Suzi? Where's Suzi?' "

Suzi burst into tears and ran out of the house. "Mo-o-o-om!"

"Hamilton Barrett, you come over here this instant!" Mrs. Barrett commanded.

The next few hours passed in a blur. The workers marched in and out of the house with paint supplies, wallpaper, and ladders. I set up games of red light-green light, tag, duck-duck-goose, and anything I could think of. We went on a backyard treasure hunt and found a golf ball, an interesting rock, and an empty film cannister.

Franklin nearly exploded when one of the workers accidentally put a hole in the kitchen wall. Mrs. Barrett hated the new living room wallpaper and insisted on switching it. Madeleine managed to sneak inside and came out screaming, with a hand covered in plaster.

Lindsey yelled at Madeleine. Mrs. Barrett yelled at me. Franklin yelled at Mrs. Barrett.

The workers yelled at each other. When I tried to take Madeleine into the basement to wash her hands in the industrial sink, she freaked out. "I hate rats!" she screamed. Buddy thought this was hysterical.

By lunchtime, I felt like an overcooked lasagna noodle, limp and flat.

Mr. DeWitt walked out the back door, white flecks of paint in his hair. "Who wants to go to Burger Town?"

The kids ran to the cars, yelling with excitement. Me? I kept my cool. I followed them quietly. I helped them settle in the car.

But I could not wait to sit indoors with a nice, big, greasy cheeseburger.

"The kitchen is too dark, sweetheart," Mrs. Barrett said, taking a french fry from her bag.

"More mee-oke!" Ryan demanded. (Translation: more milk.)

"But we decided on the color long ago," Franklin protested.

"It’ll cover up food stains better," Lindsey suggested.

"Oh? Do you plan to fling food at the wall?" Franklin asked.

"I do!" Buddy piped up.

"Eat your burger," I urged him.

"Did you call the tux rental place?" Mrs. Barrett asked Franklin.

His face fell. "Oops."

"We have to be on top of these things, Franklin," Mrs. Barrett said.

"I know, I know," he said sheepishly.

"I've ordered all my bridesmaids' dresses except Stacey's."

I nearly choked on a pickle slice. "Huh?"

"What are you, a size six?" Mrs. Barrett asked.

I swallowed. "You want me to be a — a — bridesmaid?"

"Oh, dear . . . You mean, I didn't tell you?"

A grin slowly spread across Franklin's face. "Harrumph," he said. "On top of things?"

Mrs. Barrett blushed. "I'm awfully sorry. We've been so frantic! You see, Stacey, one of my college friends had agreed to be. a bridesmaid, but the other day she canceled. Would you like to take her place? You've been like part of our family."

My mind was in the ozone layer. The kids

could have been pelting each other with

chicken nuggets and I wouldn't have noticed.

I love weddings. I cry just thinking about

them. My eyes were starting to water already.

Me? A bridesmaid? I would be part of their

most precious memory. Every time they opened up their wedding album, there I'd be, forever thirteen.

Would I?

"Of course I will!" I replied. "I mean, if my mom lets me."

Mrs. Barrett was grinning. "Have her call me if there's any problem."

Buddy and Lindsey were arguing. Straw wrappers flew around me. Seven rambunctious kids were turning Burger Town into a war zone.

I didn't mind at all.

The whole crazy day was worth it.

Chapter 3.

Jessi.

"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire ..." warbled Mallory Pike.

"Aw-rooooo!" howled Kristy Thomas.

"Auughhh!" Claudia Kishi picked up two pillows and pressed them against her ears.

Mallory was unfazed. "Jack Frost nipping off your nose ..."

"At," Shannon Kilbourne reprimanded gently. " 'Nipping at your nose,' Mal, not off."

"That's disgusting," Kristy said.

The rest of us were giggling uncontrollably.

"Yuletide carols being flung in the fire. . . ."

"Okay, okay." Shannon could barely keep a straight face. "I take it back. You were right. You can't sing."

Mal was blushing, but she had this sly smile on her face.

Shannon had asked for it. She'd been trying to get us all to sing carols, which is a little like trying to get rhinos to tap dance. Reluctantly we joined in — except for Mallory, who claimed her voice was too awful. So Shannon made it her mission to convince Mal she could really sing.

Did Mallory shrink away? No. She put on a comedy act.

"They know that Santa's on his way; he's

loaded
 
lots
  
of
  
poison
  
goodies
  
on
  
his sleigh. . . ."

Where was she getting this stuff? We were laughing so hard, we were snorting.

Welcome to a meeting of the Baby-sitters Club.

Believe it or not, we can be serious. We were just in a silly mood that day. Holiday spirit, I guess. Besides, eleven minutes had gone by and not one parent had called.

Eleven minutes may not sound like a long time, but our meetings only last half an hour: 5:30 to 6:00 (on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays).

At 5:43, the phone finally rang.

"Sshhhh!" Claudia urged. We held in our giggles as she lifted the receiver. "Hello, Babysitters Club. Oh, hi, Mrs. McGill. . . . She's right here."

Stacey's mom works at a department store called Bellair's. Sometimes she calls during the BSC meeting to tell Stacey she'll be late. "Hi, Mom," Stacey said cheerfully into the receiver. "Is everything okay? . . . You're looking for a what? When? Okay, I will. . . . Thanks."

We all stared at Stace as she hung up. She looked totally confused. "That’s weird. She called to say they lost their Santa Claus."

Huh?

"Disappeared between men's shoes and home appliances, huh?" Claudia said solemnly. "I know that area. If s like the Bermuda Triangle."

"No." Stacey smiled. "The guy who's playing their Santa is this actor, and he got cast in a movie, so he has to leave town right away. Mom tried calling some backups, but they're all busy playing Santa in other places."

Kristy's mind went to work. "Well, I'm sure if they put an ad in the paper, maybe checked with some employment agencies — "

"It's too late for the ad," Stacey interrupted. "And I don't think an agency would help because if s a volunteer job. She asked if one of us wanted to do it, starting a week from Saturday."

Claudia nearly choked on a Cheez Doodle. "You're joking."

"Better keep eating," Kristy remarked. "You may need a big belly."

"Very funny," Claudia replied. "Like a thirteen-year-old girl is really going to be a Santa."

"Mom says it doesn't matter," Stacey insisted. "The most important thing is caring about kids."

"I don't know," Mary Anne said. "I mean, what about our height, our voices — "

"Santa doesn't have to be super-tall. And you can lower your voice," Mallory suggested.

We stared at each other for a moment.

"Uh, don't all volunteer at once," Claudia murmured.

"If 11 be four hours next Saturday and Sunday," Stacey said. "If s not a big deal, like Macy's. All you do is ring a bell and walk around the third floor, talking to kids."

Kristy chimed in, "Check the schedule. See who's available."

Mary Anne flipped through our calendar. "Well, I'm going to California, and so are Kristy and Claudia. Mal's got the Prezziosos Sunday afternoon. Shannon has the Papadakises…"

I knew this was going to happen. I could feel it. Everyone was looking at me. My stomach began to rumble.

I was trapped.

"Uh, guys, I can't," I squeaked.

"Why not?" Kristy demanded.

"Three small things," I replied. "I'm eleven years old. I'm a girl. And I'm black. Remember?"

"So?" Claudia said. "I'd do it if I could."

I raised my eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Right."

I should mention that when my family first moved to Stoneybrook, we felt like aliens.

Some people did not accept us at all.

"You shouldn't think about race," Claudia went on. "Kids aren't prejudiced the way grown-ups are."

"Besides, who says Santa can't be black?" asked Shannon.

"That’s true," I said. Besides, / always liked seeing African-American Santas in Oakley, New Jersey, where I grew up. Sure, that was a racially mixed town compared to Stoneybrook, but why shouldn't children of color here have someone to look up to? Not necessarily me, but —