Logan Likes Mary Anne! by Ann M. Martin
“Ahem, ahem. Please come to order,” said Kristy.
Every now and then our president becomes zealous and tries to run our club meetings according to parliamentary procedure.
We couldn’t come to order, though. The rest of us were still laughing over the story of Chewy and the orange cones.
“Well, I guess I’ll just have to decide about Logan by myself,” said Kristy.
That brought us to attention. I’d been sprawled on Claudia’s bed. I sat up straight. Stacey and Dawn stopped giggling. Claudia even forgot to look around her room for hidden junk food.
“Okay,” said Kristy more casually. “We’ve all talked to Logan. He’s come to one meeting. And now, he’s gone on a job. Mary Anne, what did you think?”
“Well, for awhile, I wasn’t too impressed,” I admitted. I told them about the shower rod incident. “But he was great with Mrs. Rodowsky, and getting along with the parents is always important. Plus, he’s good in a crisis, really level-headed, and he’s good at distracting kids from things they shouldn’t be doing.” I added the stories about the grape juice, the stuck jar, and the cannonball off the couch.
“Jackie Rodowsky sounds like a real handful,” said Stacey incredulously when I was finished.
“Well, he is, but he doesn’t mean to be,” I told her. “He’s just sort of accident-prone. He’s really a nice little kid. You could tell he loved Elizabeth. He was very gentle with him.”
“Would you say Logan is a responsible baby-sitter?” asked Kristy. “Could we safely send him to our clients?”
“Definitely,” I replied, and I wasn’t just thinking of being in love when I said that.
“And we all like him, right?” Kristy went on.
“Yes,” we agreed. It was unanimous.
Kristy paused. “But do we want to ask him to be a member of the club?”
Silence.
Even I couldn’t say yes to that. I had visions of one uncomfortable meeting after another, each of us trying not to talk about boys, trying not to mention things that were unmentionable, and of poor Lennie the rag doll spending the rest of her days under Claudia’s bed.
“I thought so,” said Kristy after awhile.
We all began to talk at once:
“I really like Logan.”
“Logan’s great, but …”
“The Rodowskys need Logan.”
“I was so embarrassed when …”
“Logan was so embarrassed when …”
“Okay, okay, okay,” said Kristy, holding up her hands. “We’ve got a little problem here.”
The phone rang and I answered it. I heard Mrs. Rodowsky’s voice on the other end. “Hi,” I greeted her. “How’s Jackie?”
“Oh, he’s fine. As a matter of fact, he hasn’t stopped talking about you and Logan. He had a wonderful time with you. And Mr. Rodowsky and I need a sitter next Saturday night for all three boys. We have tickets to a play in Stamford.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll have to check our schedule. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.” I hung up the phone. “That was Mrs. Rodowsky,” I told the others. “She needs a sitter next Saturday.” I flipped through the record book to the appointment calendar.
“Who’s free?” asked Kristy, leaning forward.
“Uh-oh. No one is,” I said.
Kristy exhaled noisily.
“What about Logan?” asked Dawn.
“He really isn’t a club member yet,” Kristy replied.
“He might be free, though,” spoke up Stacey.
“But we can’t count on that,” said Kristy. “And I don’t want to start recommending him if he isn’t a club member.”
I didn’t quite follow Kristy’s reasoning on that, but I said, “Well, look, I’m busy that Saturday, but I’m not baby-sitting. These clients of Dad’s are going to be visiting. He asked me to go out to dinner with them, but I know it’s going to be really boring. I think Dad will let me baby-sit if I explain that we’re in a tight spot. That way, I can call Mrs. Rodowsky back now, tell her that either Logan or I will be able to sit, and after we decide what to do about letting Logan in the club, we’ll tell her which one of us will be coming.”
“Fine,” agreed Kristy.
So I did that, and then Kristy said, “Okay, what about Logan?”
We all looked at each other. We just couldn’t decide what to say.
Finally Claudia found some Doritos and passed the bag around. The munching didn’t help us make a decision, though.
“Well, look,” said Stacey after awhile. “I think Logan was embarrassed at the meeting, too. Maybe he doesn’t even want to be part of the club.”
“He went on the sitting job, though,” I pointed out. “He must still be interested.”
“He probably felt like he had to go,” said Claudia.
“All right,” said Kristy. “Here’s what I think we should do. Call Logan and be completely honest with him. Tell him we think he’s a great baby-sitter, but that the meeting was a little … awkward. Then just see what he says.”
“I think that’s a good plan,” said Stacey. “Who should call him?”
“Well,” Kristy said, and very slowly four heads turned toward me. Kristy, Claudia, Stacey, and Dawn were grinning mischievously.
“Me?” I exclaimed.
“Who else?” said Kristy.
“Well, at least let me call him in private.”
I left the meeting a few minutes early that day. I wanted to make sure I got done with the phone call before Dad came home from work. It was going to be a tight squeeze. Our meetings are over at six, Dad usually gets home between 6:15 and 6:30, and I’m responsible for having dinner started by then.
If I’d had any extra time at all, I would have delayed calling Logan. I might have put it off for a day, a week, a decade. But I was pressed. And I had an entire business to be responsible to.
I used the phone upstairs, just in case Dad should come home early. I sat in the armchair in his room holding a slip of paper in one hand. Logan’s number was written on the paper. I took ten deep breaths. I was trying to calm down, but the breaths made me dizzy. I think I was hyper-ventilating. I stretched out on Dad’s bed until I’d recovered.
All right. Okay. Time to dial.
K-L-five-one-zero-one-eight.
Maybe no one was home. Maybe the line would be busy.
Ring.
“Hello?”
Someone answered right away! I was so flustered I almost hung up.
“Hello?” said the voice again. It was a woman.
I cleared my throat. “Um, hello, this is Mary Anne Spier. Is Logan there, please?”
“Just a moment.”
There was a pause followed by some muffled sounds. Then, “Hello?”
“Hi, Logan. This is Mary Anne.” My voice was shaking.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Well, we just had a club meeting,” I began, “and we agreed that you’re a good sitter, someone, you know, we could recommend to our clients. So about joining the club —”
Logan interrupted me just as I was getting to the most difficult thing I had to tell him. “Mary Anne,” he said, “I don’t know how to say this, but I — I’ve decided not to join the Baby-sitters Club.”
He had? A funny little shiver ran down my back. I wanted to ask him why he’d decided that, but I was afraid. Hadn’t we laughed together as we’d left the Rodowskys’? Hadn’t Logan told me I had a pretty smile? Had I misunderstood everything?
I must have been quiet longer than I’d thought because Logan said, “Mary Anne? Are you still there?”
I found my voice. “Yes.”
“I was wondering something, though. Would you come to the Remember September Dance with me?”
(Would I?!)
“Sure!” I exclaimed, without thinking of all sorts of important things, such as I don’t like crowds of people, I don’t know how to dance, and my father might not even let me go. “I’ll have to check with my
I got off the phone feeling giddy. Logan liked me! Out of all the girls in Stoneybrook Middle School, he’d asked me to the Remember September Dance. I couldn’t believe it. I’d have to learn to dance, of course, but no problem.
I was so excited, I just had to call someone and spread the news. I called Dawn. When we got off the phone, I started dinner. I was walking on air. I was almost able to ignore the voice in the back of my mind that kept saying, “Why doesn’t Logan want to join our club?”
Tuesday
Boy, is the Charlotte Johanssen I baby-sat for today different from the Charlotte I used to sit for last year. She has grown up so much! Skipping a grade was the right thing to do for her. She’s bouncy and happy and full of ideas, and she even has a “best friend” — a girl in her class named Sophie McCann. (Last week her “best friend” was Vanessa Pike. I remember when “best friend” meant almost nothing — just whoever your current good friend was. Do you guys remember, too?)
Oh, well. I’m off the subject. Anyway, there’s not much to say. Charlotte’s easy to sit for. I brought the Kid-Kit over, and we had a great afternoon.
Actually, there was more to say, but Stacey couldn’t write it in the club notebook because she didn’t want me to read it! Something had happened that day that I wasn’t going to find out about until my birthday, which was quickly drawing nearer.
Stacey showed up at the Johanssens’ after school with her Kid-Kit. A Kid-Kit is something us baby-sitters invented to entertain the kids we sit for. We don’t always bring them with us (because the novelty would wear off, as Kristy says), but we bring them along on rainy days or sometimes in between as surprises. A Kid-Kit is a box (we each decorated our own) filled with games and books from our homes, plus coloring books and activity books that we pay for out of the club treasury. Charlotte, especially, likes the Kid-Kits.
When Stacey rang the Johanssens’ bell, it was answered by a bouncy Charlotte. “Hi, Stace, hi! Come on in! Oh, you brought the Kid-Kit! Goody!”
Dr. Johanssen appeared behind Charlotte and smiled as Stacey walked through the doorway. “Charlotte’s speaking in exclamation points these days,” she said fondly.
“Did you have a good day at school, Char?” asked Stacey.
“Yes.” (Bounce, bounce, bounce.) “We’re learning fractions! And map skills. I love map skills!” (Bounce, bounce.)
“And how are you doing, Stacey?” asked Dr. Johanssen. (Charlotte’s mother knows about Stacey’s diabetes. She’s not her doctor, but she’s helped her through some rough times. She’s always willing to answer any questions Stacey has.)
“I’m fine, thanks,” replied Stacey. “I was getting a little shaky before, but my doctor adjusted my insulin. Now I’m feeling okay again. And I gained a little weight.”
“Well, that’s a good sign, hon.”
“Stacey, is Paddington Takes the Air in the Kid-Kit?” Charlotte interrupted.
“Yes,” replied Stacey. “And Tik-Tok of Oz, too.”
Dr. Johanssen smiled at her daughter. “I better get going,” she said. “I’ve got a couple of patients to look in on at the hospital, and some work to do in the children’s clinic. Mr. Johanssen will be home around six, Stacey. You know where his office number is. Oh, and if you don’t mind, could you put a casserole in the oven at five o’clock? You’ll see a blue dish in the refrigerator. Just set the oven to three-fifty, okay?”
“Sure,” replied Stacey.
As soon as Dr. Johanssen was out the door, Charlotte took Stacey by the hand, led her into the living room, and pulled her onto the floor. She opened the Kid-Kit eagerly and began pulling things out: a coloring book, a connect-the-dots book, crayons, Magic Markers, drawing paper, Candyland (“Too babyish,” remarked Charlotte), Spill and Spell, a Barbie doll, and at last the Paddington book and the Oz book. Underneath them she found one more book, a Dr. Seuss story called Happy Birthday to You.
“Hey, what’s this?” asked Charlotte, opening the cover. “I never saw it before.”
“I just added it to the Kid-Kit,” Stacey told her. “I liked that book a lot when I was younger.”
Charlotte glanced at the busy pictures and the funny words. “Let’s read this instead,” she said.
“Instead of Paddington?” asked Stacey.
“Yes. I like birthdays.” Charlotte settled herself in Stacey’s lap, even though she’s almost too big to do that, and Stacey began to read.
Now, Charlotte is perfectly capable of reading to herself. After all, she skipped a grade. She’s incredibly smart, but she loves to be read to. So Stacey read her the long, silly story.
When she was done, Charlotte leaned her head back and sighed. “That’s just the way I’d like my birthday to be.”
“When is your birthday?” asked Stacey.
“In June. I’ll be nine. I can’t wait.”
“But you’ve just turned eight.”
“I know. But nine sounds like a good age to be. It sounds so grown up.”
Stacey smiled. She remembered when she longed to be nine. “It’s almost Mary Anne’s birthday,” she told Charlotte. “She’s going to be thirteen.”
“Really?” squealed Charlotte, twisting around to look at Stacey.
“Yup.”
“Gosh. Thirteen is old.”
“She’ll be a teenager.”
“Is she going to have a party?”
“You know, I don’t know,” said Stacey. “Probably not.”
“How come?” asked Charlotte.
Stacey shrugged. “Well, maybe she’ll have a little party. Us baby-sitters will go over to her house or something.”
“You guys should give her a party.”
Stacey thought about that. But before she could say anything, Charlotte rushed on, “No, no! Hey, I’ve got it! You should give her a surprise party!”
“Oh, I don’t know, Char.”
But Charlotte was so excited that she didn’t hear Stacey. She stood up and began jumping up down. “Really, Stacey! A surprise party. You invite all of Mary Anne’s friends to come at one time, and you invite Mary Anne for half an hour later. Then everybody hides in the dark, and when Mary Anne comes over, you switch the lights on,” (Charlotte made a great flourish with her hand), “and everybody jumps out and yells ‘surpri-ise’!”
Stacey smiled. “Charlotte, that’s a really terrific idea, but Mary Anne is shy. I don’t think she’d like to be surprised that way.”
“She wouldn’t?”
“No. She doesn’t like being the center of attention — you know, having everyone look at her.”
“Oh.” Charlotte sat down again. “How’d she like just a little surprise?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, maybe you could have a regular party but bring out a surprise cake for Mary Anne.”
“You know, that’s not a bad idea. I’ve been wanting to give a party anyway. I don’t think Mary Anne would mind a surprise cake. After all, we’re only doing it because we like her. She should feel flattered.”
“Yeah,” said Charlotte. “What kind of party would you tell Mary Anne it was?”
“Just a party, I guess. Back-to-school, or something like that. A chance for all our friends to get together after the summer.”
What Stacey didn’t tell Charlotte was that she was already thinking about the guest list — and the list included boys.
At home that night, Stacey began to make plans. My birthday was on a Monday, so Stacey asked her parents if she could have a party at her house the Friday before. Her parents gave her their permission. They especially liked the idea of the surprise cake.
Stacey started her guest list: Kristy, Claudia, Dawn, and me (of course), Dori Wallingford, Pete Black, Howie Johnson, Emily Bernstein, Rick Chow. She didn’t worry about whether there were an equal number of boys and girls. She was going to tell each person to bring a date! Stacey’s party would be one of the first boy/girl parties our class ever had!
&
Food — potato chips and dip, pretzels, Doritos, M&M’s, pizzas, soda, a big salad (more for Stacey and Dawn than anyone else) and a large birthday cake to be ordered from the Village Bakery.
Supplies — paper plates, cups, napkins, etc.
To do — start calling guests, check tape collection, buy me a birthday present.
Stacey’s plans were elaborate. She told each guest except me that she was giving a party and was going to surprise me with a cake. The guests were supposed to buy a present and keep quiet about the cake. Stacey told me only that she was giving a party. She hinted (not very subtly) that I’d probably want to ask Logan.
I got so caught up in the idea of inviting Logan that it never dawned on me that the party would have something to do with my birthday.
And that, of course, was just what Stacey had been counting on.
The Remember September Dance was on a Friday. Dad had not only given me permission to go with Logan, he’d seemed happy about it. In fact, he’d given me his Bellair’s Department Store charge card and told me I could buy a new outfit.
When he handed me the card, his eyes looked sort of teary. I hugged him tight.
A few days later, the entire Baby-sitters Club went to Bellair’s to find an outfit for me. We descended on the store after school. Everyone began pulling me in different directions.
“Shoes,” said Claudia.
“Juniors,” said Dawn.
“Underwear,” said Stacey.
“Sportswear,” said Kristy.
“Sportswear!” the rest of us exclaimed.
Kristy shrugged. “This isn’t the prom, you know. You might find a nice sweater in Sportswear. Or an accessory.”
“We’ll keep it in mind,” said Dawn. “Let’s go to Juniors first. You can find a dress there, Mary Anne. Then we’ll buy shoes to go with it.”
“And underwear,” said Stacey.
“If necessary,” I added.
In the junior department I tried on a green sweater dress that made me look like a mermaid, and a yellow sweater dress that made me look as big as a house. Then Claudia handed me a full white skirt with the words Paris, Rome, and London, and sketchy pink and blue pictures of the Eiffel Tower, the Tower Bridge, and other stuff scrawled all over it. She matched it up with a pink shirt and a baggy pink sweater. I would never, ever have tried on that skirt, but with the shirt and sweater it looked really cool.