bsc_squee

“Well, it all started last night,” I began. I told them how Mom had had to call nearly everyone in Stoneybrook, looking for a babysitter, and how long it had taken, and how bad David Michael had felt. “So I thought we could sort of join together. We all baby-sit anyway. We could advertise ourselves and get more customers. We should meet a few times each week and tell our customers what those times are. Then they can make one call and reach a whole bunch of us at once. And if, like, Mrs. Pike wants two sitters, she’ll only have to make one call.” I explained everything else I had thought of, and wound up with, “Okay, here are two things to think about: One, where should we hold our meetings; and two, who else could we ask to join the club?”

“I can answer both questions,” said Claudia. “We should hold the meetings here, because I have a phone in my room.”

“Oh, terrific!” I exclaimed. (I’d been hoping Claudia would suggest that.)

“And I know someone who might want to join the club.”

“Who?” Mary Anne and I asked.

“She’s new. She just moved to Stoneybrook. She lives right over on Fawcett Avenue, and she’s in my class. Her name is Stacey McGill.”

“Well, okay …” I said slowly. “Of course, we’ll have to meet her.”

“Oh, sure. You’ll really like her. She’s from New York City,” Claudia added.

I was impressed. I could tell Mary Anne was, too. She opened her eyes wide. “I wonder why her family wanted to leave there to come here,” she said.

Claudia shrugged. “Don’t know. But I’m glad they did. Stacey’s really cool.”

Mary Anne and I glanced at each other, not sure that this was a good sign.

“What’s everyone doing tomorrow afternoon?” asked Claudia. “Can we meet then?”

“If it’s at five-thirty again,” said Mary Anne. “I have to baby-sit before then.”

We agreed to meet late the next afternoon. And that was how the Baby-sitters Club officially began.

With my father, you can’t just jump into things. I didn’t say a word about Dawn’s mother until dinner had been made and we were sitting at the table eating.

I asked how his day was.

He asked how mine was.

I asked how his cases were going.

He asked how school and the Baby-sitters Club were going.

Then I said, “Dad? Did you ever know someone named Sharon Porter?”

Dad choked on a mouthful of carrots and had to drink some water before he could answer.