Logan Likes Mary Anne! by Ann M. Martin
“The game is over.”
Kristy’s patience had worn thin, although she kept her temper. A half an hour later, the three children were in bed, and Dawn and Kristy were seated side by side on Kristy’s big bed. Louie was sacked out at the end. The portable color TV that Watson had given Kristy was on, but neither Dawn nor Kristy was paying attention.
“Clothes?” Dawn was saying.
“Tapes, maybe,” Kristy suggested. They were trying to decide what to get me for my birthday.
“It has to be something she wants, but that she won’t be embarrassed to open in front of boys.”
“I really wish Stacey hadn’t decided on a boy/girl party,” said Kristy woefully.
“How come?” asked Dawn.
“Well, who are you going to invite?”
Dawn’s eyes widened. “Gosh, I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Even if I could think of a boy I wanted to go with, I wouldn’t know how to ask him,” confessed Kristy.
“You know who I like?” Dawn said conspiratorially.
“Who?”
“Bruce Schermerhorn. He’s in my math class. You know him?”
“I think so.”
“He’s really cute.”
“I could ask Alan Gray,” said Kristy. “He’s a pest, but we always end up doing stuff together. At least I’d know what to expect from him … I think.”
Kristy and Dawn looked at each other, sighed, and leaned back against their pillows. Louie sighed, too. Eighth grade came complete with problems nobody had counted on.
Ring, ring, ring.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mary Anne.”
“Logan! Hi.” (I was always surprised to hear his voice on the phone.)
“How’re you doing?”
“Fine. How are you?” (It was four o’clock on a weekday afternoon. We’d just seen each other an hour earlier.)
“Fine. Guess what’s on TV tonight.”
“What?”
“Meatballs. Have you ever seen it? It’s really funny.”
“I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t think I’ve seen it.”
“It’s on at eight. Try to watch it.”
“I will.”
“So? What’s going on?”
“I’m going to baby-sit for Jackie Rodowsky tomorrow. The last time I sat for him, he fell out of a tree, fell down the front steps, and fell off the bed. But he didn’t get hurt at all.”
Logan laughed. “That kid should wear a crash helmet,” he joked.
“And carry a first-aid kit,” I added.
There was a pause. I had no idea how to fill the silence. Why did this always happen with Logan? There were hardly any pauses when I talked to the members of the Baby-sitters Club. I knew I was blushing and was glad Logan couldn’t see me.
“Want me to tell you about Meatballs?” asked Logan.
“Sure,” I replied, relieved. A movie plot could take awhile to explain.
And Logan took awhile. In fact, he took so long that we reached my phone conversation limit. My dad still has a few rules that he’s strict about, and one of them is that no phone conversation can last longer than ten minutes. Even though Dad was at work, I felt I had to obey the rule. For one thing, what if he’d been trying to call me for the last ten minutes?
Logan reached a stopping place, and I knew I had to interrupt him.
“Um, Logan?” I said.
“Yeah?”
“I hate to say this, but —”
“Your time’s up?” he finished for me.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. So are you going to watch Meatballs?”
“I’ll try. If I get my homework done.”
“Great. Well … see you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.”
We hung up.
Whewwwww. I let out a long, slow breath. I love talking to Logan, but it makes me nervous.
Ring, ring.
Aughh! Dad had been trying to call! And I’d been on the phone for over twelve minutes.
“Hello?” I said guiltily. Excuses began flying around in my head: I’d needed a homework assignment explained. Someone else had needed homework explained. The phone had accidentally fallen off the hook.
“Hi, Mary Anne!” said a cheerful voice.
“Oh, Stacey. It’s only you!” I exclaimed.
“Only me! Thanks a lot.”
“No, you don’t understand. I thought you were Dad. I mean, I thought you were going to be Dad. See, I’ve been on the phone for — Oh, never mind.”
“More than ten minutes?” asked Stacey, giggling.
“Yeah.”
“Well, listen. I just wanted to make sure you were coming to my party — and that you’d invited Logan.”
“Well …” The thing is, I’d been putting that party off a little. I was nervous about asking my father if I could go to a boy/girl party, and even more nervous about inviting Logan. How do you go about inviting a boy to a party?
“Mary Anne?”
“What?”
“Are you coming and have you invited Logan?” she repeated.
“I don’t know, and, no, I haven’t.”
“Mary A-anne.”
“Okay, okay. Sorry. Really I am.” (I didn’t know then why Stacey sounded so exasperated. I was the guest of honor at her party, but I had no idea.)
“Get off the phone and call Logan.”
“I, um, have to call my father, too. I have to get permission to go to the party first.”
“So call him, then call Logan.”
“I’ve been on the phone since four.”
“The rule is ten minutes per call. Just keep these calls short. It’s the easiest rule in the world to get around. My mother put a five-minute limit on my calls to Laine Cummings in New York. So I just keep calling her back. If I call six times we can talk for half an hour.”
I laughed. “All right. I’ll call Dad.”
“Call me back after you’ve talked to Logan.”
“Okay. Bye.”
I depressed the button on the phone, listened for the dial tone, and called my father at his office.
His secretary put me through right away.
“Hi, Dad,” I said.
“Oh, hi, Mary Anne. I’m in the middle of something. Is this important?”
I was forced to talk fast. “Sort of,” I replied. “Stacey’s having a party at her house. It’s for both boys and girls. We’re supposed to ask guests. Can I go? And can I invite Logan?”
“Will Mr. and Mrs. McGill be at home during the party?”
“Yes,” I said, even though I hadn’t asked Stacey about that. I was sure they would be at home, though.
“What time is the party?”
“It starts at six.”
“You may go if you’ll be home by ten, and if you meet Logan at the party.”
“Oh, thanks, Dad, thanks! I promise I’ll be home by ten! I promise everything!”
I called Logan with a bit more enthusiasm than I’d felt before. I punched his phone number jauntily — K-L-five-one-zero-one-eight.
Logan answered right away.
“Hi,” I said. “It’s me again. Mary Anne Spier.”
“I know your voice!” he exclaimed.
“Oh, sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
The call was already going badly. I wished I could rewind time and start over.
“Um …” I began.
“Hey,” said Logan, more softly. “I’m really glad you called. You never call me. I always call you. I’m glad you felt, you know, comfortable enough to call.”
(This was better, but still not the conversation I’d imagined.) “Well, I have to ask you something. Not a favor. I mean … Stacey’s having a party. I wanted to know if you’d — you’d go with me. If you don’t want to, that’s okay,” I rushed ahead. “I’ll understand.”
“Slow down, Mary Anne! Of course I want to go. When is it?”
I gave him the d
“Great,” he said. “I can’t wait.”
As long as I was doing so well, I decided to ask Logan one more question. “Have you thought anymore about joining the Baby-sitters Club?”
Pause. “Well, I said I didn’t want to join.”
“I know, but …”
“I’ll think about it some more, okay?”
“Okay.” (After all, the rest of us hadn’t decided that we wanted Logan to join.)
There was some muffled whispering at Logan’s end of the phone, and then he said, sounding highly annoyed, “Mary Anne, I have to get off the phone. I’m really sorry. My little sister has a call to make that she thinks is more important than this.”
“It is!” cried a shrill voice.
I laughed. “I better get off, too,” I told Logan.
So we hung up. But I had one more call to make. “Hi, Stacey?”
“Hi!” she said. “Did you call Logan already? Did you call your dad?”
“Yes and yes.”
“And?”
“And I can come and Logan’s coming, too.”
“Oh, great! Awesome! Fabulous! I can’t believe it!”
Stacey was so excited that her excitement was contagious. My heart began pounding, and I was grinning.
We hung up.
Ring, ring.
“Hello?”
“Mary Anne! What on earth have you been doing? What happened to your ten-minute limit? I’ve been calling you forever!”
“Kristy?”
“You ought to get call-waiting or something. Did your dad take away your limit? … Oh, yeah, this is Kristy.” (Click, click.) “Oh, hold on, Mary Anne. We’ve got another call coming in over here.” (Kristy put me on hold for a few seconds.) “Mary Anne?” she said, when she was back on. “That was Stacey. I better talk to her. Call you later. Bye!”
The plans for the birthday surprise were in full swing — and I suspected nothing.
I dressed carefully for Stacey’s party, even though I didn’t have much choice about what to wear. My best-looking outfit was the one I’d worn to the dance, so I decided to put it on again.
By six o’clock I was ready and had to kill time. Stacey had originally said that the party would start at six, but that afternoon she’d called to say that everything was going wrong and could I come at six-thirty instead?
“Sure,” I’d replied. “I’ll call Logan and let him know.”
“Oh, no. Don’t bother,” said Stacey quickly. “I’ll call him. I have to call everyone else.” She was talking very fast. I decided she must be nervous about the party.
So at 6:15 that night, dressed in my famous-cities skirt, the pink sweater, and the lethal white shoes, I was standing around in the kitchen while my father started his dinner. At 6:25, I flicked on the TV and watched the news. At 6:35, I decided not to leave quite yet because I didn’t want to be the first to arrive at the party. Finally, at 6:40, I left for Stacey’s. I wished I could have walked with Claudia, but she had told me that she and her mom were going to pick up Austin Bentley first. I kind of got the feeling that I wasn’t wanted.
When I rang Stacey’s bell at 6:45 I could hear an awful lot of voices inside. Stacey flung the door open. “Oh, you’re here!” she cried. “Come on in!”
I stepped inside.
“Let’s go downstairs. Everyone’s in the rec room,” she said giddily.
“Gosh,” I replied, “it sounds like everyone else has already arrived.” I glanced at my watch. “I’m sorry I’m so late.”
“Oh, you’re not — not late,” said Stacey. “I guess the others were early.”
All of them? I wondered. “Is Logan here?” I asked.
“Yup. You’re the last to arrive.”
That made me feel a little uncomfortable, but I tried to shrug the feeling off. I still wasn’t suspicious. After all, I was used to feeling uncomfortable in a crowd.
Stacey and I descended the stairs to the rec room. On the way down, I thought of something important. “Stacey, your parents are home, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” Stacey answered, “but I made them promise not to come into the rec room. I think they’re in the kitchen. That way, they can keep an eye on the food and an ear on the party.”
From my vantage point halfway up the stairs, the start of Stacey’s party looked a lot like the start of the school dance. Although the tape deck was playing loudly, no one was dancing. The girls were bunched up in a corner, and the boys were bunched up by the table where Stacey had put out pretzels, potato chips, M&M’s, soda, and salad.
Austin Bentley was tossing pretzels in the air and trying to catch them in his mouth. Mostly, he missed.
Alan Gray had put yellow M&M’s in his eyes and was going around telling the boys he was Little Orphan Annie.
Pete Black was dunking potato chips in his Coke before eating them.
Across the room, Dori Wallingford was showing her new bracelet to Claudia, who was pretending to be impressed, but who was really watching Austin toss the pretzels in his mouth.
Kristy was whispering to Dawn, who was giggling.
Emily Bernstein was saying loudly, “Alan Gray is so immature,” and glaring at Kristy — for having invited him, I guess.
As Stacey led me down the stairs it seemed — for just an instant — that everyone stopped talking, that the entire room paused. But I decided it was my imagination. The room was as noisy as ever when I reached the bottom of the steps.
I looked for Logan. Before I found him, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and there he was.
“Hey,” he said, giving me his wide, warm grin. “How ya doin’?”
“Great,” I replied.
“Boy, you look nice.”
“Thanks, but this is the same outfit I wore to the dance.”
“You still look nice.”
A phone on the wall nearby began to ring. “Mary Anne, can you get that?” yelled Stacey from across the room.
I picked up the receiver. “Hello, McGills’ residence.”
With all the music and talking, it was hard to hear the person on the other end of the line, but I thought the voice said, “Hello, this is the Atlanta Pig Corporation. When would you like your pig farm delivered?”
“What?” I shouted.
“We have a pig farm reserved in the name of Stacey McGill. When would you like us to ship it to you?”
“Just a sec.” I paused, putting my hand over the mouthpiece. “Stacey!” I yelled. “Come here!”
Stacey edged through the rec room. “What?”
“It’s for you. Something about … a pig farm?”
Stacey got on the phone, frowning. “Hello … A pig farm? … Justin Forbes, is that you? You are so immature!” Clunk. She hung up. Stacey turned to Logan and me. “Justin’s all bent out of shape because he wasn’t invited to the party,” she informed us. She went back to Claudia and the other girls.
Immediately, the phone began to ring again.
“I’ll get it this time,” said Logan, reaching for the receiver. “Hello, Disneyland. Goofy speaking. How may I help you?”
I giggled.
“He hung up,” said Logan, pretending to look surprised. “I can’t imagine why.”
Nobody was dancing and only the boys were eating. Logan steered me toward a couch. “Let’s sit down,” he said. “Wait, I’ll be right back.”
I sat, and a few minutes later, Logan returned with two cups of soda and a bag of pretzels. We sipped our sodas in silence for a few moments but for the first time, our silence seemed comfortable, not uncomfortable. Then Logan asked me a question and we began to talk. We talked about school and our families. Logan told me about Louisville, and I told him about wanting a cat. We talked for so long I lost track of the time. I didn’t even hear all the noise around me, except for when Alan Gray shouted, “Let’s play Spin the Bottle!” and Emily Bernstein shouted back, “You are so immature, Alan!”
It was as if Logan and I were in our own
“You know,” said Logan, polishing off his Pepsi, “I’m glad to be getting to know the real Mary Anne. This is the real Mary Anne, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when I first met you, I liked you okay, but you were so quiet and shy. I’ve never known anyone as shy as you.”
“Believe it or not, I’m better than I used to be.”
“You’re kidding!”
“No, really…. Well, maybe I’m still not very good around boys.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Logan considered that. “If you could just open up more — I mean, be the way you are right now — people would have a much easier time getting to know you. I almost didn’t ask you to the dance, you know.”
“Why did you ask me?”
“Because you’re different from other girls. More … something.”
“More what?” I asked, puzzled. I really wanted to know.
“More serious. Not serious like some old professor, but serious about people. You listen to them and understand them and take them seriously. People like to be taken seriously. It makes them feel worthwhile. But you have a sense of humor, too, which is nice. The only thing is, sometimes you’re too sensitive. I really wasn’t sure things would work out between us.”
“I’ve always been too sensitive,” I told him.
“AUGHH! AUGHH! HELP!”
The room was slowly darkening and everyone was screaming.
“Oh, would you guys grow up,” said Stacey’s impatient voice as the lights brightened again. “I was dimming the lights. I just wanted to make things more romantic.”
I smiled at Logan and we looked around. While we’d been talking, the boys and girls had started to mingle. Claudia and Austin and some other kids were dancing. Alan was torturing Emily with his Little Orphan Annie eyes. Most of the food was gone.
“I’m sending Dad out for pizza now,” Stacey informed me.
Mr. McGill returned later with three pizzas (which he wasn’t allowed to bring into the rec room) and they were eaten in no time. After Logan and I finished our slices, we sat on the couch again.
For the second time that night, the lights began to dim. Only this time, they went all the way out and nobody screamed. In the darkness, I heard only some muffled whispering and sensed that someone was coming down the steps.