Mary Anne Saves the Day (5 page)

I couldn't stand it any longer. I decided to ask my father if he would extend my baby-sitting hours. If all the other members of the club were allowed to stay out until ten o'clock, I ought to be able to as well. After all, I was the same age as they were, I was just as responsible as they were, and I had just as much homework as they did.

The one job that I had had to turn down, when I was taking club phone calls the Friday after our fight, had been for a client who needed a sitter until ten o'clock on Saturday night. Kristy had taken the job.

I felt humiliated.

But I was nervous about facing my father. He wouldn't be angry; he just wouldn't see my side, unless I figured out exactly the right way to approach him. And I wasn't sure I'd be able to do that.

But by Monday night, I was ready to talk to him — no matter what.

Unfortunately, he came home in a bad mood.

“We lost the Cutter case today,” he told me. “I can't believe it. I thought it was open-and-shut. The jury was highly unreasonable.”

I nodded. “Dad —”

“Honestly, sometimes people can be so unfair…. No, not unfair,
unthinking
. That's it, unthinking.” We were setting the table, getting ready for dinner.

“Dad —” I said again.

“Can you imagine letting someone go who so clearly was guilty of grand larceny?”

I shook my head. “I guess not…. Dad?”

“What is it, Mary Anne?”

Right then, I should have decided not to pursue the business of later hours, but I'd been planning on it all day. I'd rehearsed what I was going to say. I didn't know if it would work, but I was going to say, very rationally, “Dad, I've been thinking. I'm twelve years old now, and I feel that I could stay out until ten o'clock every now and then when I'm baby-sitting — not on school nights, of course, because I recognize that I need my sleep, but just on some Friday and Saturday nights.”

“Dad, I've been thinking,” I said.

The phone rang.

Dad leaped for it. “Hello? … Yes, I know…. I know…. Right, an appeal. That's what I was think — What? … Oh, yes. Definitely …” The conversation went on for ten minutes while our frozen pizza finished baking and then began drying out in the oven.

Dad finally got off the phone, and immediately it rang again. When he got off the second time, I practically threw the pizza down in front of him.

“Dad, I want to stay out until ten o'clock when I baby-sit at night,” I blurted out.

My father looked at me blankly. “What? … Oh. Mary Anne, no. I'm afraid that's out of the question.”

“But, Dad, everyone else gets to.”

“I'm sure not
every
one does. You can't possibly be the only sixth-grader who has to be in by nine or nine-thirty.”

“Dad, I'm in
seventh
grade, and I
am
the only member of the Baby-sitters Club who can't stay out till ten. You treat me like a baby, but look at me. I'm halfway through seventh grade. In a year and a half I'll be starting high school.”

For a moment, my father looked taken aback. Then a change came over his face. He rubbed his
hands over his eyes tiredly. At last he said softly, “It's not easy for a father to raise a daughter alone. I have to be both a father and a mother. On top of that, I'm not home much. I'm doing the best I can.”

“But Kristy and Claudia and Stacey —”

“What Kristy and Claudia and Stacey and their parents do is not our concern.”

“That's not fair! Don't you think Mrs. Thomas is a good mother? Don't you think Mimi and the Kishis care about Claudia?”

“Those are not the issues,” my father said. “The issues are you and me and your bedtime.”

“Dad, I am old enough to stay out until ten o'clock. I'm twelve, and I'm very responsible and mature. Don't my teachers always write that on my report card? ‘Mary Anne is a joy to have in class. She's responsible and mature.' ”

“You don't sound mature at the moment.”

I knew I didn't. I was whining. But it was too late to stop. I was on a roll. “I'm also too old to wear my hair in these dumb braids, and my room looks like a nursery. It's a room for a five-year-old.”

My father looked at me sharply. “Young lady, I do not like your tone of voice.”

“You know, you're not the only parent who isn't
around much,” I went on, ignoring him. “Mrs. Thomas is hardly ever home, either, and she has to raise Kristy
and
Kristy's brothers alone, and Sam and Charlie don't have Peter Rabbit all over their bedroom. I'd like to see a few changes around here. I'd like to be allowed to choose my own clothes. I'd like to take my hair out of these braids. I'd like to wear nail polish and stockings and lipstick. And if a boy ever asked me to go to the movies or something, I'd like to be able to say yes — without even checking with you first. You know what? Sometimes you don't seem like my father to me. You seem like my jailer.”

It was at that exact moment that I knew I'd gone too far.

Sure enough, my father turned his back on me. Then, in the calmest voice imaginable, he said, “Mary Anne, the subject is closed. Please go to your room.”

I went. I felt horrible. I knew I'd insulted him, and I hadn't wanted to do that. But what did he think was going to happen if I wore my hair loose or took down Humpty Dumpty? Did he think I'd run away or start hanging around with the wild kids at the mall? And what could happen between nine o'clock and ten o'clock while I was baby-sitting, that couldn't happen before nine?

I didn't have any answers, but I knew someone who might — Mimi. She was a patient listener and I often talked to her about things that I might have talked to my mother about. At any rate, I talked to her about things I couldn't discuss with my father.

I paid her a visit after school the next day. I had apologized twice to my father that morning, and he'd said he accepted my apology, but things were a little chilly between us.

“Hi, Mimi,” I greeted her, when she answered the bell.

“Hello, Mary Anne,” she said solemnly. “How is your scarf coming?”

“Fine. It looks really nice. I hope my father will like it. If I work hard, I could finish it in time for his birthday.”

“That would be a nice surprise for him.” I shrugged out of my coat, and Mimi hung it in the closet. “Well,” she went on, “are you here to see Claudia? She is not at home. I believe she is baby-sitting for Nina and Eleanor Marshall.”

“Oh. No, actually I came to see you. I wondered if we could talk….”

“Of course. Please come in. Would you like some tea, Mary Anne?”

“Yes. Thanks.” I don't really like tea, but I like drinking it with Mimi. She fixes it in a special pot and serves it in little cups that don't have any handles. Then she lets me put in all the milk and sugar I want.

I followed her into the kitchen, and Mimi set the tea things on the table and began boiling water. She took some crackers out of a tin and arranged them on a plate.

When everything was ready, we sat down across from each other. Mimi poured the tea, straining the leaves out of my cup, but letting them flow into hers and sink to the bottom. I began adding milk and sugar. Mimi took hers plain — and strong.

“It is very dreary weather,” Mimi commented, looking out at the barren trees being lashed about by the wind and soaked by the chilling rain that had fallen all day.

“Yeah,” I agreed, feeling sad.

“In this weather,” Mimi continued, “I always think of spring. Snowy weather makes me glad for winter, but raw, gray weather makes me wish winter were over. Perhaps we will be lucky and the groundhog will see his shadow.”

I smiled. “That would be great.”

“And how are you surviving this dreariness?”

I looked at Mimi. Her black hair, which had long been streaked with white, was pulled away from her face and fastened into a bun just above her neck. She wore no jewelry and no makeup, and her face was wrinkled and creased. I thought she was beautiful. Maybe it was because she always seemed so serene.

“I'm surviving the dreariness okay, I guess,” I replied, “but I'm not surviving my father very well…. Mimi, do you think I act like a normal twelve-year-old?”

“Tell me what you mean by normal.”

“You know — like other twelve-year-olds. Am I about as responsible and mature and smart as other twelve-year-olds, and do I have pretty much the same interests they do?”

Now, most adults might have said something like, “That sounds like a loaded question,” or “What are you
really
asking?” But Mimi put her teacup down, sat back in her chair, and considered me. At last she replied, “Yes, you seem like a normal twelve-year-old to me. You do not wear the clothes that Claudia does, but I do not think that means anything. You are very responsible, and you also seem very mature. But you are serious, too, and I know it is not wise to confuse gravity with maturity.”

She had almost lost me, but all that counted was that she thought I seemed like any other kid my age. “So, Mimi,” I went on, “how come I'm not allowed to make my room more grownup? You know what's on my walls? Alice in Wonderland and Humpty Dumpty … Do you know who Humpty Dumpty is?”

“Oh, yes. He is the shattered eggman.”

I giggled, then remembered the reason for our discussion and became serious again. “Right, but he's from a Mother Goose nursery rhyme. A
nursery
rhyme, Mimi. Nursery rhymes aren't for twelve-year-olds. They're not even for little kids. They're for
babies
. But Dad won't let me take Humpty down. He won't even let me leave Humpty where he is and put new posters up next to him. He won't let me wear my hair down or put on nail polish or stay out past nine-thirty at the absolute latest. And Claudia, Stacey, and even Kristy are allowed to do all those things — and a lot more. Every time I turn around, I'm facing another one of my father's rules: You can't ride your bike downtown, you can't wear pants to school, you can't do this or this or this.”

I paused to catch my breath.

Mimi raised her eyebrows slightly. “I know it is not easy for you,” she said slowly. She sipped
her tea. “And I suppose you have heard people say that your father is doing the best he can.”

I nodded. It seemed as if everyone in the
world
had said that at some time or other.

“Well, I will tell you something that I have often told my Claudia. If you do not like the way things are, you must change them yourself.”

“But I've tried!” I exclaimed.

“Perhaps you have not found the right way yet. If this is truly important to you, then there is a right way to change it. And I know that you, my Mary Anne, will find that way.”

At that moment, Claudia burst into the kitchen.

“What did you just say?” she asked accusingly.

“Claudia, you are finished baby-sitting already?” said Mimi.

Claudia ignored the question. “I heard you!” she cried, glaring at Mimi. “You called
her
,” she switched her glare to me,
“my Mary Anne
.
”

“Why, yes I did,” Mimi said quietly.

“But I'm the only one you call yours. You don't even say ‘my Janine.' … I thought I was the only one.”

I had rarely seen Claudia so upset. Not when she got bad grades, and not when we thought the
Baby-sitters Agency was going to put our club out of business. But she was standing in front of us with tears running down her cheeks.

Then she turned and ran. I could hear her feet pounding up the stairs and along the hall to her bedroom.

“Oh, no,” I said to Mimi.

“Please do not worry,” she told me. “That was my fault. I was not thinking. I will talk to Claudia and repair our misunderstanding.” Mimi stood up.

I rose, too. “Thank you, Mimi,” I said.

Mimi gave me a hug, then headed upstairs. I let myself out the front door.

What was the right way to change things? I wondered. I knew that I would have to discover it myself.

Tuesday, January 10

I am so made! I know this notebook is for writing up our siting jobs so we can keep track of club problems. Well, this is not a sitting job, but I have a club probleme. Her name is Mary Anne Spier or as she is otherwise know MY MARY ANNE. Where does Mary Anne get off being so chummy with Mimi? It isn't fair. It's one thing for Mimi to help her with her
nitting
k nitting but today they were sharing tea in the special cups and Mimi called her MY MARY ANNE. NO FAIR. So there.

Wow. Was Claudia ever mad. Mimi had apologized and tried to explain things to her, but
Claudia stopped talking to me anyway, which meant that once again, not one of the members of the Baby-sitters Club was talking to the others.

Twice recently, I had tried waiting for Kristy at my window with the flashlight after my father said good night to me. The first time, Kristy's room stayed dark, and the second time, she didn't bother going to the window. Her shade was up, and I could see her in her room — doing her homework, talking to her mother, and playing with Louie, the Thomases' collie. But she never once even looked toward her window. How long would our fight go on?

I considered telling Dawn about it, and decided not to.

The next time it was my turn to answer the Babysitters Club phone calls, I didn't have nearly as easy a time as I'd had before. For one thing, Claudia was at home, and she was not pleased to have me in her room. She turned on some music and played it so loudly that the first time the phone rang I almost didn't hear it.

“Hello!” I shouted into the receiver. “Babysitters Club!” I'm sure the person on the other end of the phone said something, but all I could hear
was: “DUM-DE-DUM-DE-DUM DUM. CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT YOU-OU-OU-OU-OU.”

“What?” I yelled.

“DE-DOOOO. DE-DOOOO. MY LIFE IS YOU-OU-OU-OU-OU.”

“CLAUDIA, CAN YOU PLEASE TURN THAT DOWN?” I shouted.

Claudia ignored me. She began singing along. “DE-DOOOO,” she sang, “DE-DOP. IT'S LIFE AT THE TOP, THE TOP!”

I tried putting my finger in one ear. “HELLO?”

Very faintly, I could hear a voice say, “Why are you shouting? Is everything all right?”

“MRS. NEWTON? I MEAN, Mrs. Newton, is that you?”

“Yes. Mary Anne? What's all that noise?”

“Oh … just some music.”

“Well, listen, I need a sitter Wednesday afternoon for Jamie. I'm going to visit a friend for a couple of hours and I'll be taking the baby with me. Is anyone available?”

Claudia's music was between songs, so I could hear a lot better. “I'll have to check,” I said. “I know I'm not free.”

“Could you check with Kristy first? I think Jamie would like to see her.”

“All right,” I agreed — reluctantly.

Darn. I would have to phone Kristy.

“I'll call you right b—”

“OH, MY, MY. OH, MY, MY. MY BABY'S SAD AND SO AM I.” The next song blasted on.

Mrs. Newton and I hung up.

Just as Claudia's song was picking up pace, Mimi stuck her head in the room. I'm sure she had knocked, but of course we hadn't heard her.

She signaled to Claudia who turned the volume down — slightly.

“Claudia,” she said, “I must ask you to play your music more softly. It is much too loud. Also, I was wondering if you would like to come downstairs and have a cup of tea with me while Mary Anne is answering the phone.”

Claudia considered the offer. At last she turned off the music and left with Mimi. On her way out the door, she stuck her tongue out at me.

I stuck mine out at her.

She slammed the door shut.

With shaking fingers, I dialed the Thomases' number.

Kristy answered the phone.

“Hello,” I said, “it's Mary Anne Spier.”

There was a pause. “Yes?”

I'd thought she'd at least say “hello” back.

“Mrs. Newton needs a sitter for Jamie on Wednesday. He wants you. Can you make it?”

“Yup.”

“All right, I'll tell her.”

“Hey, don't hang up!”

No? Oh, boy. Kristy was going to make the big apology. I couldn't believe it. After all this time, bossy Kristy was going to be the one to give in first, while I, timid Mary Anne, had managed to wait the fight out. Our fight was finally over! I felt so happy at the idea, that I practically hugged myself. “Yeah?” I said.

“What time does she want me?”

“Ask her yourself,” I said, and hung up. Then I called Mrs. Newton back.

The next phone call was from Watson, needing a sitter for Karen and Andrew the following Saturday afternoon. “I know it isn't your club policy,” said Watson, “but could you check with Kristy first? I'd sort of like Andrew and Karen to keep seeing her since she
is
going to be their stepsister soon.”

“Sure,” I replied dully. What else could go wrong? I dialed Kristy's number again. David Michael answered.

“Hello, this is David Michael speaking. Who's calling, please?”

“It's Mary Anne,” I told him.

“Hi!” he cried. “When are you going to come over and baby-sit for me again? Remember the last time you came? We bowled paper cups down the stairs.”

“Yeah, that was fun, wasn't it?”

“Yeah!”

“David Michael, can you call Kristy for me, please? I have to talk to her.”

“Sure.”

When Kristy got on the phone, she didn't say a word. I just guessed that she was there because I heard light breathing.

“Kristy?”

“WHAT?”

“Watson wants you to sit on Saturday — from two-thirty until five,” I added pointedly.

“Fine.”

“I'll call him back. Good-bye.”

We hung up.

The phone rang again. “Hello, the Baby-sitters Club,” I said.

“Hi, Mary Anne. It's Mrs. Newton again. I forgot to ask you whether you and Kristy and Claudia and Stacey want to come to Jamie's fourth birthday party. It's in about two weeks, and I'd like you girls to be there as helpers as well
as guests. We've invited sixteen children, so I'm going to need lots of help.”

“Sure!” I exclaimed. “I mean, if we can make it. It sounds like fun. I'll have to call the other girls.”

Mrs. Newton gave me the information about the party, and I began to call the club members. Luckily, Stacey wasn't home, so I left a message with Mrs. McGill for Stacey to call Mrs. Newton.

One down, two to go. I didn't want to call Kristy a third time, but I didn't want to talk to Claudia in person, either.

I flipped a coin. Claudia.

I walked slowly downstairs and found her drinking tea from the special cups with Mimi.

“Claud?” I ventured.

Claudia put her cup down and covered her ears with her hands. “HMM, HMM, HM-HM.” She closed her eyes and hummed loudly. “I CAN'T HEAR YOU.”

I glanced helplessly at Mimi.

Mimi reached across the table and touched Claudia lightly on the arm. That was all it took for Claudia to act human again. She opened her eyes and uncovered her ears.

“Mrs. Newton wants all the members of our
club to be helpers at Jamie's fourth birthday party,” I said. I told her when it was. “Do you want to go?”

“Yes,” she replied coolly. “I'll go.”

“Fine,” I answered just as coolly.

But I was beginning to wonder how fine an idea it really was. How could the four of us help out at a party when we wouldn't even talk to each other? Nevertheless, I returned to Claudia's room to call Kristy for the third time.

“What
is
it?” she asked crossly.

I told her about Jamie's party.

Kristy sighed. “Oh, all right. I'll go, too.”

“Don't strain yourself,” I said. “I can call Mrs. Newton and tell her you're busy.”

“Don't you dare!”

“I was just trying to help out.”

“Oh, sure.”

We hung up again.

It was almost six o'clock by then, but I received two more Baby-sitters Club calls. The first was from Mrs. Prezzioso, wanting me to sit for Jenny. I checked our record book, saw that I was free, and told her I'd be glad to sit.

The second call was from Mrs. Pike, the mother of the eight kids. The Pikes are good customers, even though they usually just need a sitter for
Claire and Margo and the younger children. The older ones can take care of themselves. However, Mrs. Pike's call was not one of her usual ones.

“Hi, Mary Anne,” she said. “Listen, Mr. Pike and I have been invited to a cocktail party over in Levittown. It'll be an early evening — we'll be back by nine — but we don't want to leave the kids alone while we're out of town, so we need someone to sit for all of them. Actually, we need two someones.”

“Okay,” I said. We'd done that before — sent two sitters over to the Pike brood.

Mrs. Pike gave me the information and I said I would call her back in a few minutes when I had found out who else was available. I checked our record book. I couldn't believe it.

The only person free was Kristy.

I didn't bother to sigh or get nervous. I just picked up the phone and dialed.

Kristy answered.

“Hi, it's Mary Anne again,” I said in a rush. “The Pikes need two sitters on Friday while they go to a party in Levittown. You and I are the only ones free. We'd be sitting for all the kids. Do you want to do it?”

“With you?”

“Yes.”

“Not really.”

“Fine. I'll get Dawn Schafer to sit with me. I don't want to let Mrs. Pike down.”

“You wouldn't dare.”

“I'll have to.”

“Mary Anne Spier, for someone who's so shy, you sure can be —”

“What? I can be what?”

“Never mind. I'll sit with you.”

“We'll have to be mature about it, you know.”

“Look who's talking.”

“I'm serious, Kristy. We don't want the Pike kids telling their parents that we were fighting or anything.”

“I think that would be impossible.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm not speaking to you.”

“Good,” I said. I hung up on her. Then I noted our job in the record book and called Mrs. Pike back.

I was not looking forward to baby-sitting with Kristin Amanda Thomas.