after we'd lined up jobs with the Marshalls and the Perkinses. "When we started this club, it was so that we could baby-sit in our neigh-
borhood, and the four of us — " (Kristy pointed to herself, Claudia, Stacey, and me) " — all lived in the same neighborhood. Then Dawn joined the dub, and we found some new clients in her neighborhood. Now I've moved, but I, um, I — I haven't, um ..."
It was no secret that Kristy had resented moving out of the Thomases' comfortable old split-level and across town to Watson's mansion in his wealthy neighborhood. Of course she liked having a big room with a queen-sized bed and getting treats and being able to have lots of new clothes and stuff. But she'd been living over there for about two months and hadn't made any effort to get to know the people in her new neighborhood. Her brothers had made an effort, and so had her mother, but Kristy claimed that the kids her age were snobs. She and the Thomases' old collie, Louie, kept pretty much to themselves.
I tried to help her through her embarrassment. "It would be good business sense," I pointed out, "to advertise where you live. We should be leaving fliers in the mailboxes over on Edgerstoune Drive and Green House Drive and Bissell Lane."
"And Haslet Avenue and Ober Road, too," said Claudia.
"Right," said Kristy, looking relieved. "After
all, I know Linny and Hannie Papadakis — they're friends of David Michael and Karen. They must need a sitter every now and then. And there are probably plenty of other little kids, too."
"And," said Stacey, adding the one thing the rest of us didn't have the nerve to say, "it might be a good way for you to meet people over there."
Kristy scowled. "Oh, right. All those snobs."
"Kristy, they can't all be snobs," said Dawn.
"The ones I met were snobs," Kristy said defiantly. "But what does it matter? We might get some new business."
"Well," I said, "can your mom do some more Xeroxing for us?"
10181/8 mother (who used to be Mrs. Thomas and is now Mrs. Brewer) usually takes one of our fliers to her office and Xeroxes it on the machine there when we need more copies. The machine is so fancy, the fliers almost look as if they'd been printed.
"Sure," replied Kristy, "only this time we'll have to give her some money for the Xerox paper. We've used an awful lot of it. What's in the treasury, Stacey?"
Stacey dumped out the contents of a manila envelope. The money in it is our club dues. We each get to keep anything we earn baby-
sitting (we don't try to divide it), but we contribute weekly dues of a dollar apiece to the dub. The money pays Charlie for driving Kristy to club meetings and buys any supplies we might need.
"We've got a little over fifteen dollars," said our treasurer.
"Well, I don't know how much Xerox paper costs," said Kristy, "but it's only paper. How many pieces do you think we'll need?"
"A hundred?" I guessed. "A hundred and fifty?"
Kristy took eight dollars out of the treasury. "I'll bring back the change," she said. She looked at her watch. "Boy, only ten more minutes left. This meeting sure went fast."
"We couldn't come early and we can't leave late," said Dawn. "Summer's over."
There was a moment of silence. Even the phone didn't ring.
"I found a picture of Max Morrison," Clau-dia said finally. "It was in People magazine. I'm going to bring it to school on Monday."
"Where is it now?" asked Stacey.
"Here." Claudia took it out of her desk drawer and handed it to Stacey.
"Look at his eyes," said Stacey with a sigh.
"No one's eyes are more amazing than Cam's," I said. "Except maybe Logan Bru-
no's." I'd seen Logan several more times since lunch the day before. Each time I'd thought he was Cam Geary at first. I wished I'd had an excuse to talk to him, but there was none. We didn't have any classes together, so of course he didn't know who I was.
"Logan Bruno?" Claudia repeated sharply. "Hey, you don't . . . you do! I think you like him, Mary Anne!"
Luckily, I was saved
borhood, and the four of us — " (Kristy pointed to herself, Claudia, Stacey, and me) " — all lived in the same neighborhood. Then Dawn joined the dub, and we found some new clients in her neighborhood. Now I've moved, but I, um, I — I haven't, um ..."
It was no secret that Kristy had resented moving out of the Thomases' comfortable old split-level and across town to Watson's mansion in his wealthy neighborhood. Of course she liked having a big room with a queen-sized bed and getting treats and being able to have lots of new clothes and stuff. But she'd been living over there for about two months and hadn't made any effort to get to know the people in her new neighborhood. Her brothers had made an effort, and so had her mother, but Kristy claimed that the kids her age were snobs. She and the Thomases' old collie, Louie, kept pretty much to themselves.
I tried to help her through her embarrassment. "It would be good business sense," I pointed out, "to advertise where you live. We should be leaving fliers in the mailboxes over on Edgerstoune Drive and Green House Drive and Bissell Lane."
"And Haslet Avenue and Ober Road, too," said Claudia.
"Right," said Kristy, looking relieved. "After
all, I know Linny and Hannie Papadakis — they're friends of David Michael and Karen. They must need a sitter every now and then. And there are probably plenty of other little kids, too."
"And," said Stacey, adding the one thing the rest of us didn't have the nerve to say, "it might be a good way for you to meet people over there."
Kristy scowled. "Oh, right. All those snobs."
"Kristy, they can't all be snobs," said Dawn.
"The ones I met were snobs," Kristy said defiantly. "But what does it matter? We might get some new business."
"Well," I said, "can your mom do some more Xeroxing for us?"
10181/8 mother (who used to be Mrs. Thomas and is now Mrs. Brewer) usually takes one of our fliers to her office and Xeroxes it on the machine there when we need more copies. The machine is so fancy, the fliers almost look as if they'd been printed.
"Sure," replied Kristy, "only this time we'll have to give her some money for the Xerox paper. We've used an awful lot of it. What's in the treasury, Stacey?"
Stacey dumped out the contents of a manila envelope. The money in it is our club dues. We each get to keep anything we earn baby-
sitting (we don't try to divide it), but we contribute weekly dues of a dollar apiece to the dub. The money pays Charlie for driving Kristy to club meetings and buys any supplies we might need.
"We've got a little over fifteen dollars," said our treasurer.
"Well, I don't know how much Xerox paper costs," said Kristy, "but it's only paper. How many pieces do you think we'll need?"
"A hundred?" I guessed. "A hundred and fifty?"
Kristy took eight dollars out of the treasury. "I'll bring back the change," she said. She looked at her watch. "Boy, only ten more minutes left. This meeting sure went fast."
"We couldn't come early and we can't leave late," said Dawn. "Summer's over."
There was a moment of silence. Even the phone didn't ring.
"I found a picture of Max Morrison," Clau-dia said finally. "It was in People magazine. I'm going to bring it to school on Monday."
"Where is it now?" asked Stacey.
"Here." Claudia took it out of her desk drawer and handed it to Stacey.
"Look at his eyes," said Stacey with a sigh.
"No one's eyes are more amazing than Cam's," I said. "Except maybe Logan Bru-
no's." I'd seen Logan several more times since lunch the day before. Each time I'd thought he was Cam Geary at first. I wished I'd had an excuse to talk to him, but there was none. We didn't have any classes together, so of course he didn't know who I was.
"Logan Bruno?" Claudia repeated sharply. "Hey, you don't . . . you do! I think you like him, Mary Anne!"
Luckily, I was saved
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