Stacey And The Cheerleaders Read Free

Baby-sitters Club was born. It started with four members and grew to seven. (Nine if you include our associate members, Logan Bruno and Shannon Kilbourne, who fill in during emergencies.) At the beginning, we did some heavy advertising, with fliers and posters in public places. Now most of the Sto-neybrook parents know about us and we have lots of regular clients.
    We meet on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from five-thirty to six in Claudia Kishi's bedroom. (She's the only one of us who has her own phone line, separate from the rest of her family.) It's fun, because we're close friends, but we also take sitting very seriously. For one thing, we are always busy with jobs. Plus we organize events for our charges, we
    pay dues to help cover club expenses, and we each have a title and duties.
    Kristy is president. She was born to be a president. Don't be surprised if you see her name in a voting booth someday. She runs our meetings, she solves problems, and she thinks up most of the club events. Honestly, I don't know where she stores all her ideas. When she heard some kids complaining they were too young (or too clumsy) for T-Ball, she organized them into a softball team of her own. When she realized some of our charges had trouble adjusting to new sitters, she invented "Kid-Kits" for us to take on jobs. Kid-Kits are boxes full of our old toys, games, books, and assorted other things we scrounge up. Who would have expected kids to go crazy over them?
    Kristy would.
    It's easy to recognize Kristy. She's the shortest BSC member, and she's always dressed super casually. Jeans, a T-shirt or turtleneck, and sneakers — "neat and simple" is her motto. The funny thing is, her stepdad's extremely rich so she could buy the most expensive clothes around.
    Kristy wasn't always rich. Until she was about seven, she lived across the street from Claudia with her parents and two older broth-
    ers (Charlie is now seventeen and Sam — yes, my old boyfriend — is fifteen). But her dad deserted them not long after her younger brother, David Michael, was born. (Kristy hates talking about her real dad.) So Mrs. Thomas raised four kids by herself and held down a full-time job.
    Then came Watson. Watson Brewer the millionaire, that is. He fell in love with Kristy's mom and married her. Life suddenly became easier — in a way. On one hand, the Thomases moved into a mansion. On the other hand, Kristy's family doubled in size. Watson already had two kids from a previous marriage (Karen and Andrew), who live with him on alternate weekends. Then Watson and Mrs. Thomas adopted a little Vietnamese girl (Emily Michelle), and Kristy's grandmother moved in to help take care of the house and kids. Add a zoofull of pets, and you have a busy household.
    "This meeting will come to order!" Kristy bellowed at the stroke of five-thirty (actually, it's more like the click of five-thirty on Clau-dia's alarm clock).
    Jessi had already hung up the phone. She took her usual position on the floor. Shannon Kilbourne sat next to her. I was cross-legged on the bed, between Claudia and Mary Anne. Kristy sat forward in her director's chair. "All
    present and accounted for?" she asked.
    "Puh-Zeeze," Claudia said with a giggle. "This isn't the army."
    Kristy shrugged. "I just like the way that sounds. Any new business?"
    The room fell silent for a moment. Jessi stretched out her long legs on the carpet. (She's a fabulous ballerina, so she's always stretching.) Her right foot disappeared under the bed, and . . . crnunch!
    "Oops," she said.
    "The blue corn chips!" Claudia cried out. "I almost forgot about them."
    Jessi pulled back her leg, and Claudia leaned down to pull a huge bag from under the bed.
    "Blue chips?" Kristy did not look impressed. "Are they moldy?"
    "No, they're made from blue corn," Claudia answered, ripping open the bag. "Try some." She gave a chip to Kristy, who held it as if it were a dead mouse.
    Mary Anne reached in for some. "Dawn loved blue chips," she