The Baby-Sitters Club #5: Dawn and the Impossible Three by Ann M. Martin
I took a quick head count to make sure we were all accounted for, and came up with fifteen.
“Hey, Stacey,” I said. “Come here.”
“What is it?” Stacey trotted over to me, looking as fabulous as always. She was wearing a simple pink T-shirt under a baggy jumpsuit with big pink and red flowers all over it. Her shiny hair bounced over her shoulders. I was wearing blue jean shorts and a white T-shirt that said GENIUS INSIDE. I looked ordinary next to Stacey.
“How many Pike kids are there?” I asked.
“Eight,” Stacey replied. “You know that.”
“Right, and there are three Barrett kids. That makes eleven. Plus you and Claudia and me — fourteen.”
“Yeah?”
“Now count the people in the backyard.”
Stacey counted. “… thirteen, fourteen, fifteen … Fifteen?”
“That’s what I just realized,” I said.
“Well, let’s see who doesn’t belong here.”
“All right,” I replied. “There are Buddy, Suzi, and Marnie.”
“And there are Mallory, Byron, Adam, Jordan, Vanessa, Nicky, Margo, Claire, and Jenny.”
“You just counted nine Pikes,” I informed Stacey.
“Jenny!” cried Stacey. “What’s Jenny Prezzioso doing here?”
“Oh,” I groaned. Jenny the brat. She lived right around the corner. “I wonder why we didn’t notice her earlier.” Jenny was the only kid in the backyard who appeared to be dressed for a wedding. She had on a pink pinafore over a spotless white dress, white tights, and pink Mary Janes. Her mother had braided her hair and tied pink ribbons at the ends.
Claudia was carrying food out of the house and setting it on the blankets. The picnic was almost ready. “We might as well ask Jenny to stay,” said Stacey.
I made a face, but said, “I guess you’re right.”
“I’ll go inside and call Mrs. Prezzioso,” Stacey offered. She returned a few minutes later saying, “It’s okay.”
Claudia and Stacey and I settled the kids on the blankets. We passed out sandwiches and poured cups of lemonade and milk. For two and a half minutes, the twelve children were as good as gold. Then something very small happened. Jordan put his sandwich down, turned to Nicky, aimed his index fingers at him, and went, “Bzzz.”
The result was astonishing. Nicky yelped and said, “Claudia, Jordan gave me the Bizzer Sign!”
“What’s the Bizzer Sign?” I whispered to Stacey.
“Something the Pike kids made up. It’s like an insult or something. They use it when they want to annoy each other. Or their friends.”
“Ignore him,” Claudia told Nicky.
“But he gave me the Bizzer Sign!”
“Ignore him.”
“But he gave me the Bizzer Sign!”
Claudia sighed. She glanced at Stacey and me. I shrugged.
The next thing we knew, Adam was giving Jenny the Bizzer Sign, and Buddy was giving Suzi the Bizzer Sign.
Both Jenny and Suzi began to cry.
Then Mallory, who is usually quite well behaved, gave Byron the Bizzer Sign, and he began to cry.
Within the next thirty seconds, seven kids were crying and seven were bizzing and grinning. (Marnie was making the ham face.)
This may be how a war gets started. One day, a world leader pokes another world leader in the ribs and says, “Nyah, nyah, nyah.” The second world leader begins to cry, and suddenly their countries are fighting each other.
Our picnic had gone from a dream to a disaster in under five minutes.
Luckily, I had a brainstorm. In the midst of the pandemonium, I stood up and shouted, “Who wants brownies?”
“I do!” shouted every single kid, except Marnie.
“Great,” I said, “but you can’t have any until you stop teasing each other, finish your sandwiches, and behave yourselves. And the next person who gives somebody the Bizzer Sign will have to go inside.”
Silence reigned. Then laughter. Then some elephant jokes. Fifteen minutes later, the sandwiches were gone and I was passing around brownies. I broke off a piece of one and handed it to Marnie, wondering whether she would eat it.
“Hey!” shouted Mallory. “Don’t give her that!” She dove over Vanessa and Buddy and snatched the brownie out of Marnie’s fist.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I said crossly. “You’ll get a brownie in a minute, Mallory.”
Mallory looked at me with wounded eyes. “She’s allergic,” she said quietly. “Marnie can’t eat chocolate. She’ll get sick.”
“Are you sure?” I exclaimed. “Mrs. Barrett never told me that.”
“I’m positive. You can ask my mom.”
I apologized to Mallory four times. Then I began to feel angry. The Barrett kids were great and they needed me, but their mother was a problem. She never gave me instructions. She hardly paid any attention to her children. She was totally disorganized. Plus, I was doing all her housework, and she was only paying me regular baby-sitting wages.
I planned to talk to Mrs. Barrett about every single one of my grievances, but when she blew through the front door late that afternoon, her perfume trailing behind her, she started praising me right away. She looked around at the tidy house, the tidy children, and the plate of leftover brownies, and said, “Dawn, I swear, you’re a wonder. I don’t know how you do it. Thank you so much. Mrs. Pike said you were a real find, and she was right.”
What could I say? All my complaints flew out of my head. So I kissed the kids good-bye and left.
Wednesday, May 20
This evning I babysat for Dawn Shafers brother Jeff. I could tell he thoght he was to old for a baby-sitter but Dawn was sitting at the Barretts and her mom had suddenly gotten tickits to a Concert and Mrs. Shaffer didn’t want to leave Jeff alone at night. She called me at the last minute and luckily I was free. Sitting for Jeff was an easy job.
But! Dawn I noticed this is the second night in a row you’ve sat at the Baretts. And I looked in our apontment book and you were their four times last week. Maybe you are over doing it?
I am telling you this as a freind.
And I listened to Claudia as a friend. I knew she wasn’t jealous because I had so many sitting jobs. The truth was that I was practically living at the Barretts’. Mrs. Barrett constantly needed someone to watch the kids, and she constantly called me. A couple of times I hadn’t been available, so Kristy or Mary Anne had gone, but Mrs. Barrett said the children, especially Buddy, liked me best.
It was flattering — but I was so busy! Once I had even missed a meeting of the Baby-sitters Club. Mrs. Barrett had promised me she would be home by 5:30, and she didn’t get back until 6:05. If she’d been somewhere important, say at a job interview, I wouldn’t have minded so much. But she’d just been out shopping with a friend.
On the Monday after the picnic at the Pikes’, I finally asked Mrs. Barrett about Marnie’s chocolate allergy. I waited until she’d returned for the evening, so she couldn’t rush off.
After she’d paid me, I said, “Mrs. Barrett, could I talk to you for a sec?”
Something passed over her eyes then. It was a look — just the briefest look — of fear? Annoyance? I couldn’t tell.
Anyway, we sat down in the living room and before I could lose my nerve, I said, “How come you didn’t tell me Marnie’s allergic to chocolate?”
“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Barrett. Sitting cross-legged on the couch in her beautifully tailored suit, she looked chic and fashionable and oh-so-put-together — from the neck down. From the neck up, she looked weary and worried. There were lines around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth, and I caught sight of a few gray hairs. But I knew that she was only thirty-three years old.
She rubbed her eyes tiredly. “I didn’t tell you about Marnie’s allergy?”
“No,” I replied. “And I almost gave her a piece of brownie the other day. Mallory Pike stopped me just in time.”
“Thank goodness,” said Mrs. Barrett. And
“Does she have any other allergies?” I asked.
“Not that we know of.” Mrs. Barrett kissed the top of Marnie’s head.
“What about Buddy and Suzi? I mean, is there anything else I should know?”
Mrs. Barrett’s face softened and I thought I was going to hear all about nightmares and childish fears and favorite foods. Then it hardened again, and she said crisply, “Just one thing. If my ex-husband ever calls, don’t let him talk to the children, don’t tell him he can see the children, and don’t tell him I’m out. Say you’re a mother’s helper and I’m busy.”
Mrs. Barrett looked as if she was going to say more, but a crash sounded in the playroom, followed by a shriek from Suzi.
“Uh-oh,” said Mrs. Barrett. She hoisted Marnie onto her hip and hurried into the playroom. I followed.
A horrible sight met our eyes. When we had left Buddy and Suzi, they’d been watching a rerun of The Brady Bunch on TV. But while Mrs. Barrett and I had been in the living room, they had transformed the playroom into a disaster area. A bowl of water sat in the middle of the floor, surrounded by half-full paper cups and jars — and bottles of food coloring. They had been experimenting with the colors, but it had gotten out of hand. Little puddles of pink and blue and yellow water were everywhere. The kids’ clothes were streaked, and several stuffed animals now had greenish fur. The shriek had occurred when Buddy had spilled pink water over Suzi’s head.
He said it was an accident.
Suzi disagreed.
Mrs. Barrett looked ready to fall apart. She hugged Marnie to her and closed her eyes. I thought she might even cry. Since my mother is a big crier, I know the signs well.
“I’ll take care of it,” I told Mrs. Barrett. “Why don’t you dry Suzi off? Buddy, go get the paper towels. We’ll clean up.”
“How come Suzi doesn’t have to clean up?” whined Buddy. “She made a mess, too.”
“I know, but she’s all wet. Besides, if you get the towels, I’ll show you a trick.”
Buddy hesitated for just a second. “Okay!” he agreed.
Mrs. Barrett took the girls upstairs, and Buddy returned with the towels. I placed one square over a puddle, soaked it up, and then held the towel out for Buddy to see.
“It’s pink!” he exclaimed. “Let me try!” So Buddy went around wiping up puddles, and I emptied the jars and cups into the bowl and returned everything to the sink in the kitchen. Then I scrubbed at the stuffed animals, but even after several minutes they still had a greenish cast to them.
Buddy finished with the puddles and we hung several of the colorful paper towels up as artwork.
Then Mrs. Barrett returned with Marnie and a smiling Suzi, and peeped into the playroom.
“Oh, thank goodness, Dawn,” she said. “It looks wonderful in there. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She began to usher me toward the front door. As I put my sweatshirt on, she handed me an extra tip. “For averting a crisis,” she explained. “You’re a lifesaver. Each time you sit, the house looks better when you leave than it did when you arrived. I used to be such an organized person, but since the divorce, everything seems overwhelming. Money is a little tight, too. If the children’s father would — Oh, well. Anyway, I hope you know how much I appreciate you. I think you’re the glue that’s holding us together.”
The glue that was holding them together? That was a little scary. It sounded like an awfully big responsibility.
At that moment, the phone rang. “I’ll get it!” Mrs. Barrett yelled, but she was too late. We could already hear Buddy on the extension in the kitchen saying, “Hello?”
“Buddy, I told you, you are not to answer the phone!” Mrs. Barrett shouted.
“It’s Dad, Mom,” Buddy shouted back.
Mrs. Barrett clenched her teeth.
“He says where are we? He says you were supposed to drop Suzi and me off at his apartment by five-thirty, and he’s been waiting for half an hour.”
“Oh-my-goodness-I-completely-forgot!” Mrs. Barrett exclaimed. “Dawn, I’ll see you on Wednesday afternoon, right?”
“Right,” I replied. “At three o’clock.” But Mrs. Barrett didn’t even hear my last words. She was already rushing for the phone.
Over the next couple of weeks, I baby-sat for the Barretts an awful lot. This did not escape any member of the club. They didn’t mind, of course, except when it cut into meetings.
But I minded a few things. Mrs. Barrett’s disorganization caused a number of problems. One afternoon when I was sitting, Suzi said she didn’t feel well — and immediately threw up all over the kitchen floor. I cleaned up the mess, then held my hand to her forehead and realized she had a fever.
I dialed the number Mrs. Barrett had left by the phone. It was for an employment agency where she had gotten a temporary afternoon job.
The gruff voice that answered the phone said, “Hurley’s Garage.”
Hurley’s Garage? “I guess you don’t have a Mrs. Barrett working there, do you?” I asked.
“Sorry, kid,” replied the man.
“Great,” I said to no one in particular as I hung up the phone. “Mrs. Barrett left the wrong number.”
At that moment, Suzi threw up again.
As I cleaned up the second mess, I racked my brain trying to remember whether Mrs. Barrett had mentioned the name of the agency where she was working. I didn’t think she had.
Just in case, I opened the yellow pages of the phone book and scanned the firms listed under EMPLOYMENT AGENCIES, but nothing sounded familiar. Then Suzi began to gag again. That time I managed to rush her to the kitchen sink before she got sick.
I put Marnie in her playpen, sent Buddy over to the Pikes’, rolled up the rug in the bathroom, and spent the rest of the afternoon there with Suzi, reading to her, and holding her head over the toilet every time she had to throw up.
She was miserable. I was angry at her mother.
When Mrs. Barrett came home, I told her, rather crossly, about the mixed-up phone number. She apologized, but it was a little late for that.
If Suzi hadn’t needed her so badly, I might have said more to her.
Two days later, I came down with Suzi’s bug and spent hours in the bathroom. Mom and Jeff caught the bug from me, and the Pike kids caught it from Buddy, who had been spreading it around the afternoon I sent him to their house while I was taking care of Suzi.
Another day, as Mrs. Barrett rushed out the door, Buddy called plaintively after her, “Hey, Mom, my homework …”
“I’ll look at it tonight,” she called to him, and continued down the walk.
Buddy burst into tears and ran to his room.
I ran after him, pausing in his doorway. “Hey, old Buddy. What’s the matter? Can I come in?”
He was lying facedown on his bed, but I saw him nod his head.
I sat next to him and patted his back. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?” I asked.
He hiccupped. “My homework.”
“Do you need help with it?”
“I need Mom’s help.” He rolled over and looked at me mournfully.
“Are you sure I won’t do? I’m pretty smart,” I told him. “I’m in seventh grade.”
Buddy managed a smile. “It’s not that. We’re studying families. We’re supposed to make a family tree tonight, starting with our grandparents. You won’t know their names. I don’t know them. They’re just Gram and Gramps and Gee-ma and Gee-pa. And I have to bring it to school tomorrow and it’s our first homework ever and I want it to be good.”
“Oh, I see.”
“And Mom said she’d help,” Buddy moaned, “but she won’t. Not really. She’s always too tired at night to do anything.”
“Well, let’s make it easy on her,” I suggested. “Why don’t we make the tree part, and then she can tell you the names to fill
Buddy nodded uncertainly.
So I busied the girls with some toys, and then Buddy and I set to work. It took a lot of questioning and two phone calls to Mrs. Pike, but we finally figured out where the Barrett relatives belonged on the tree. Then I showed Buddy how to make boxes and lines and spaces. When he was finished, he had a beautiful blank tree. I just hoped it was accurate. If it wasn’t, he’d have a lot of erasing to do.
A week later, Buddy showed up at my house after school. He’d never done that before. When I opened the door, he didn’t say a word — just held out a large piece of paper. It was his completed family tree. A gold star was glued to the top.
“My teacher loved it,” he told me. “Thanks for helping me, Dawn.”
“You’re welcome, Buddy,” I replied, and gave him a hug. But all the while, I was thinking that Mrs. Barrett should be hugging Buddy for his good work.
Thursday, May 21st
This afternoon I baby-sat for David Michael. Poor kid. I bet it’s hard being the youngest in a big family. Kristy, Sam, and Charlie were all off doing other things, and Mrs. Thomas was at work, of course. So that left David Michael.
When I came over, he looked kind of sad. As soon as Kristy left the house, he said, “Stacey, let’s have a snack and a talk.” Little kids today have a lot to worry about.
You guys should know that David Michael is getting very worried about moving into Watson’s house. That was why he wanted to talk to me. Because I moved recently. It turns out that he watched the men unloading our furniture from the van last August. He saw them drop a lamp and break it. And he saw something or other covered with a drop cloth that looked like a ghost to him. He’s pretty scared, all right.
Apparently, David Michael was more interested in talking than in snacking. Stacey fixed him a plate of crackers and peanut butter and poured him a glass of juice, but he hardly looked at the food.
“Stacey,” he said, “when you moved, did the men pack up everything in the van?”
“Oh, yes,” she said reassuringly. “Every last thing. Nothing was left behind.”