Welcome Back, Stacey! (3 page)

One thing that helped Mal a lot was making her first best friend. Guess who her best friend is - Jessi Ramsey. Mal and Jessi found each other when they both needed a best friend pretty badly. Mal was going through a hard time trying to grow up, and Jessi and her family had moved to Stoneybrook (right into my old house!) from a little town in New Jersey after the company for which Mr. Ramsey works transferred him to their Stamford, Connecticut, office. Boy, did Jessi have a hard time adjusting to the move. The Ramseys are black, and their neighborhood in New Jersey was pretty integrated. So was the school that Jessi and her younger sister Becca had gone to. But Stoneybrook is almost all white. There are only a few black kids in Stoneybrook Middle School, and none except for Jessi in the sixth grade. I have to say that the people of Stoneybrook did not exactly accept the Ramseys right away. They didn't look closely enough to see what a nice family they are. They only saw their dark skin. (Well, that was at first. Things are better now.) But in the beginning, it would have helped if they'd kept their minds open. If they had, they would have found two parents who care about their kids very much. They would have found Becca, who is eight and extremely shy, but a loyal friend and a good student. They would have found Squirt, the baby of the family, who is adorable. His real name is John Philip Ramsey, Jr., but when he was born, he was so tiny that the nurses in the hospital nicknamed him Squirt. (He's caught up to other babies his age now.) And they would have found Jessi. Jessi loves kids, horses, and dancing. She's a great baby-sitter, she and Mal read horse stories nonstop (especially the ones by Marguerite Henry), and boy, can Jessi dance. Jessi has taken ballet forever. When her family moved to Connecticut, she was accepted by this really good dancing school in Stamford where she goes for lessons twice a week. She has these long, long legs and she practices, practices, practices. She has even danced onstage in front of big audiences. So those were the people I knew I'd be reaching when I picked up the phone in Laine's room - Claudia, Kristy, Mary Anne, Dawn, Mal, and Jessi. Some of them were closer friends than others, but they were all my friends.
The phone rang twice.
A familiar voice answered it.
"Hello, Claud?" I said.
Chapter 4.
I was a little nervous about calling right in the middle of a BSC meeting. Kristy likes the meetings to be strictly meetings - since they are only half an hour long - and she doesn't like to tie up the phone with nonclub business. But nobody seemed to mind my call too much (especially not Claudia).
"Stacey?" Claudia replied, after I'd said hello.
"Yeah, it's me." Right away, Claudia's emotional antennae must have gone up. Mary Anne's are always up (that's why she's so sensitive to people), but Claud's come up instantly when someone she cares about is having a hard time. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Something's wrong, isn't it?" "Yes. Can you talk for a minute? I know I called during a meeting, but ..." "Just a sec," said Claudia hurriedly.
I heard some funny sounds. First a muffled one that was probably Claud putting her hand over the receiver, then some scufflings and murmurings that were probably Claudia and Kristy arguing over whether to allow a personal call during a meeting. Claudia won quickly.
"Hi, Stace," she said, a bit breathlessly. "Okay, go ahead. What's wrong?" "Well," I began, "it's - it's my parents." This was hard to talk about over the phone. I wished my friends were right there with me.
"Your parents?" Claudia repeated. "Is one of them sick or something?" "Oh, no. Nothing like that." (I knew Claud was thinking of Mimi, the hospital, and the funeral.) "It's just that they fight so much. And the fights are getting bigger. Today I came home and Dad was already there and I stood out in the hallway and listened to them yell at each other. They were yelling awful things, Claud." "What kinds of things?" she whispered.
I told her about the jewelry bills and Mom calling Dad a workaholic and everything else I could remember.
"Gosh," said Claudia when I'd finished. "That sounds serious." "I know," I replied. I could feel the tears starting again, but I don't like to cry over the phone, so I put a stop to them.
"I'm not sure what to say," Claud went on. "My parents have never had a fight like that. They always just try to discuss things. You know what? Maybe you should talk to Dawn.
Her parents fought a lot before she left California. Nobody else's parents have big problems." Claudia paused. "What?" she said to somebody in the background. Then, "Oh." She got back on the phone. "Kristy says to tell you that when her real father was living with them the Thomases fought an awful lot, but Kristy was too little to remember much of it. Here, let me put Dawn on." There were more scufflings and murmurings in the background, and I pictured Kristy looking at Claud's clock and tapping her fingers on the arm of the director's chair I was sure she was sitting in. (She always sits in the director's chair, wearing a visor.) But after just a moment, Dawn was on the phone.
"Hi, Stace," she said. "I'm really sorry you're having some problems." "Thanks," I replied, "but it's my parents, not me." "When they make you feel bad, it's your problem, too. Believe me, I know. So what's going on?" "What isn't?" I answered bitterly. I wanted to tell Dawn everything, but suddenly I just couldn't. That mental picture of an impatient Kristy kept creeping into my mind. Plus, I felt funny telling Dawn my parents' business. In fact, I felt pretty funny knowing that the entire club already knew my business. I wanted their comfort and support - but I didn't necessarily want to turn myself inside out for it. Maybe calling during a meeting hadn't been such a good idea after all.
I cleared my throat. "Well, Mom and Dad are just fighting all the time," I told Dawn. "Over everything." "Money and stuff?" "Yeah," I said.
"Their relationship?" "Yeah." "You?" "Yeah." "Oh, that's a bad sign." Okay, enough of this. I changed the subject immediately. "So how's Jeff?" "Jeff? My brother?" "Who else?" We giggled. Maybe the conversation had been getting too heavy for both of us.
"He's fine," said Dawn. "Mom and Dad let us call each other whenever we want, but it's hard because of the time difference. I can't call too early in the morning because then it's really early in California, and Jeff can't call after eight at night because it's after eleven here. Still, he's back in California with Dad, which is great for him. . . . What?" (Another conversation with someone at the meeting.) Then, "Stace? Mary Anne wants to say hello, okay?" "Sure." I turned to Laine while I waited for Mary Anne, and said, "I'll pay you back every penny of this call. I promise." Laine smiled. "No problem," she said.
"Stacey?" I heard an excited voice in my ear. It was Mary Anne's, and it occurred to me that the last time I'd spoken to any of my Stoneybrook friends, except for Claudia, had been on the day of Mimi's funeral. I wished we could talk or get together under ordinary circumstances.
"Hi, Mary Anne!" I tried to liven up a bit.
"You want to talk?" she asked gently.
"Yes," I replied, "but not about Mom and Dad anymore." "Okay." (This is one thing I love about Mary Anne. She doesn't press issues, and she respects people's wishes.) "So how's Logan?" I asked.
"Oh, he's fine. Or, as Logan would say, he's 'fan.' " We laughed. Logan is from Louisville, Kentucky, and has this neat southern accent.
"And Tigger?" "He's fine, too. He caught a mouse yesterday." "In your house?" I asked, aghast. Sometimes roaches get into our apartment, but I've never seen anything with a tail.
"No! Outdoors. The mouse was outdoors. Although Tigger brought it inside and dropped it in his food dish." "You're kidding!" "Nope. It was so disgusting. Oh, wait. Kristy wants to say hello." I looked at my watch. It was six o'clock. I'd wasted the rest of their meeting. Oh, well. Kristy couldn't be too mad if she still wanted to say hi to me.
"Stace?" said Kristy's voice.
"Hi. Sorry about tying up the club phone." "Oh, that's all right. How are you doing?" "Okay, I guess. How are the Krushers?" Kristy coaches a softball team for little kids in Stoneybrook. The team is called Kristy's Krushers.
"Not bad, considering. We get closer and closer to beating Bart's Bashers." "How's our walking disaster?" "Jackie Rodowsky? Just the same. I baby-sat for him last week and he rode his bike right into the garage wall, skinned his knees, broke a flowerpot, and later dropped a pizza on the floor. At least he didn't drop it on a rug." "Poor kid," I said, but I couldn't help laughing a little.
"I know," answered Kristy. "Listen, Jessi and Mal both want to say hi and then we'll have to go. Well, except for Claudia. If s after six." "Okay," I replied. So I talked to Jessi and asked about her dancing, and about Becca and Squirt. "Hey, how's Charlotte?" I wanted to know. Charlotte Johanssen is Becca Ramsey's best friend, and my favorite Stoneybrook kid to sit for. She's eight years old, and she's shy and creative, just like Grace and Henry. Sometimes I really miss her.
"Charlotte just got over tonsillitis, but - " "Tonsillitis! Is she going to have her tonsils out?" "Nope. Not yet anyway. Don't worry. She's fine now. She and Becca dressed up like grown-ups yesterday and spent the afternoon playing office. It looked horribly boring, but they kept it up for hours. . . . Oh, here's Mal. 'Bye, Stacey." " 'Bye, Jessi. ... Hi, Mal." "Hi, Stacey. Guess what. Claire was asking about you the other day." "Claire was?" (Claire is the youngest kid in Mal's family. I got to know all the Pikes pretty well when I went on two vacations with them as a mother's helper.) "What did she say?" "She said, 'I miss Stacey-silly-billy-goo-goo.' " Mal and I both laughed. And at that moment, I missed Claire and my Stoneybrook friends a lot. But I knew it was time to get off the phone. The BSC meeting was over, and if I didn't get home by six-thirty my parents would probably call the police.
I had to hang up the phone. I couldn't put it off any longer. The only good thing about leaving Laine's apartment was that no one yelled, "Have fun and be careful!" as I walked out the door, which is what my mother used to do every single time she let me out of her sight in New York.
There was just Laine saying, "I know things will be okay." And on the way home I managed to convince myself that Laine was right and that I was being melodramatic.
Chapter 5.
As right as I hoped Laine was, I still approached my apartment apprehensively. At least I managed to be civil to James and the guys at the desk.
"Hi, James," I said. "Hi, Isaac. Hi, Lloyd." The three of them looked relieved to find me acting normal again.
I rang for the elevator. It crashed to the ground floor, the doors jarred themselves open, I pressed the button for the 12th floor, the doors closed with a bang, and up I flew. When I was little, I used to jump around on the elevator while it was moving, which made my body feel heavier or lighter (depending on whether I was going up or down). Then Laine told me that jumping could make the cable break and the elevator crash, so I stopped, even though I think she made that up.
The doors opened on my floor. I stepped into the hallway and paused, listening. The only sound was the TV blaring in 12C.
I walked to my apartment on tiptoe, stopping every few feet.
Still I heard nothing but the sounds of Z Love Lucy.
At 12E I listened especially carefully. Nothing.
I found my key, slipped it in the lock, and let myself inside. A tiny part of me was afraid that something had happened, that Mom or Dad had stormed off. But, no. They were sitting in the living room. They didn't look like they were doing much of anything, so they must have been talking.
Whew. If they were talking, that meant they weren't fighting.
"Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad," I said casually, as if I'd just left the Walkers' apartment, hadn't heard the fight, and hadn't been to Laine's.
"Hi, honey," they replied at the same time.
Another good sign. Speaking in unison.
But then Mom said, "Stacey, we need to talk to you." Whoa, bad sign.
"You do?" I desperately hoped that they were going to accuse me of not sticking to my diet. I even hoped that my English teacher had called up personally to tell my parents about the D I'd gotten on a quiz.
No such luck. I sat down on the edge of a couch and looked at Mom and Dad, who were glancing at each other as if to say, "You go first." "No, you go first." Finally, Mom went first. "I guess it's no secret," she said, "that your dad and I have been having some problems." No secret? The whole building probably knew.
"Well, I have heard you, um, arguing a lot lately," I admitted.
Mom nodded. "And we've decided to do something about it. Stacey, your father and I are getting a divorce." "What?" I whispered.
"We're getting a divorce," Dad spoke up.
I felt as if someone had slapped me across the face. I actually put my hand up to my cheek. Mom must have thought I was going to cry, because she rushed to my side and started to put her arms around me. I pushed her away, though. I was angry, not upset.
"Why?" I demanded. "You don't need a divorce." But I think I knew that they did.
Otherwise, I wouldn't have shouted, "Can't you work things out like two adults? That's what you always say to me when I'm having a fight with a friend." I was protesting too much. Isn't that how the saying goes?
"Honey, we are working things out," Mom told me. "The divorce is our solution." "We've been having trouble for a long time now," Dad added. "Ever since I got the news that I was being transferred to Stoneybrook." For that long? Why hadn't I noticed earlier? Because I'd been too busy baby-sitting and making friends and taking vacations and going to camp and shopping and doing homework, I guessed.
"My job has been on shaky territory since the first transfer," said Dad.
That much I knew.
"I guess the shakiness spread to our marriage," he went on. "I feel as if I've got to work harder than ever just to keep from being fired. Your mother thinks I should look for a new job." I thought she thought Dad was a workaholic.
"There are other problems," added Mom. "Money, that sort of thing." They were being vague to protect me, I decided. If only they knew what I already knew, but this wasn't the time to admit I'd been eavesdropping.
"Those problems sound big, but not - not unworkable," I said hopefully. "Can't you reach some compromises? I know! You could see a marriage counselor!" "We have seen one," said Mom.
"And?" "And she was very helpful. We've been seeing her for three months. She was the one who suggested we get the divorce." "Oh. So you saw a divorce counselor," I snapped.