The Truth About Stacey Read Free

good-bye.”
    â€œSo?” I asked.
    â€œShe actually found three available sitters,” said Kristy. “She gave me a choice. I didn’t know any ofthe names, but two were thirteen years old, and one was fifteen years old. One was even a
boy.
I chose the fifteen-year-old. People are going to
love
the agency. I’m not kidding. We don’t offer a range of ages like they do. There are no boys in our club. And we can’t stay out past ten, even on the weekends.”
    We looked at each other sadly.
    At last, Mary Anne stood up. “It’s after six. I’ve got to go home.” Mr. Spier likes Mary Anne home on the dot. I was surprised she was letting herself be even a few minutes late. It just showed how upset she was.
    â€œI might as well go, too,” I said.
    â€œYeah,” said Kristy.
    The three of us said good-bye to Claudia and left. “See you guys!” called Mary Anne when we reached the Kishis’ stoop. She was suddenly in a hurry. Across the street I could see her father standing at their front door.
    â€œWell,” I said to Kristy.
    â€œWell.”
    â€œKristy, we’ll make it. We’re good baby-sitters.”
    â€œI know,” she said. But that was
all
she said. I kind of expected Kristy to be a little more positive. I mean, the club was really more hers than anybody else’s. I thought she’d do anything for the club. I would.
    But maybe that was because the club was more than just a project or a business to me. It was my friends. It was the only good thing that had happened to me in the last horrible year.
    I ran home.
    Somehow, I managed to eat dinner that night. It wasn’t easy. For one thing, ever since I developed the diabetes and I’ve had to watch what I eat so carefully, food simply isn’t much fun anymore. Often when I’m hungry, I don’t care
what
I eat. I eat just to fill up. And since I was upset about the Baby-sitters Agency that night, I wasn’t even hungry. But Mom watches my food intake like a hawk, particularly since I’ve lost a little weight recently. So I forced down what I thought was a reasonable dinner.
    As soon as I could, I escaped to my room. I closed my door and sat down in my armchair to think. It had been just a year earlier that I had started to show the symptoms of diabetes. At first, we didn’t think anything was wrong. I was hungry all the time—I mean,
really
hungry, nothing could fill me up—and thirsty, too. “Well, you’re a growing girl,” Mom had said. “I expect this is the beginning of a growth spurt. Let’s measure you.” Sure enough, I’d grown an inch and a half.But then, even though I was eating and eating, I began to lose weight. I didn’t feel well, either. I grew tired easily and sometimes I felt weak all over. Twice, I wet my bed. (The second time, I happened to be sharing a double bed with my former best friend, Laine Cummings, at a sleepover.) When that happened, Mom forgot about my growth spurt and decided I was having a psychological problem. She took me to a fancy New York psychiatrist. During my first session with him, he asked me about the bed-wetting, heard that I was losing weight, and watched me drink three sodas. He was the one who realized what was going on and told Mom to make an appointment with my pediatrician. Mom did. Two weeks later, I was learning how to give myself insulin and monitor my blood sugar level.
    Diabetes is a problem with a gland in your body called the pancreas. The pancreas makes insulin, which is a hormone. What insulin does is use the sugar and starch that your body takes in when you eat to give you heat and energy and to break down other foods. When the pancreas doesn’t make enough insulin to do the job, then glucose from the sugars and starches builds up in your blood and makes you sick. And not just alittle sick. If you don’t treat diabetes properly, you