BSC10 Logan Likes Mary Anne (3 page)

no's." I'd seen Logan several more times since lunch the day before. Each time I'd thought he was Cam Geary at first. I wished I'd had an excuse to talk to him, but there was none. We didn't have any classes together, so of course he didn't know who I was.

"Logan Bruno?" Claudia repeated sharply. "Hey, you don't . . . you do! I think you like him, Mary Anne!"

Luckily, I was saved by the ringing of the telephone. I took the call myself, and Stacey ended up with a job at the Newtons'.

By the time I had called Mrs. Newton back and noted the job in our appointment book, my friends were on to another subject.

"Kara Mauritio got a bra yesterday," said Dawn.

I could feel myself blushing. I cleared my throat. "I, um, I, um, I, um — "

"Spit it out, Mary Anne," said Kristy.

"I, um, got a bra yesterday."

"You did?" Kristy squeaked.

I nodded. "Dad came home early. He took me to the department store and a saleswoman helped me."

"Was it awfully embarrassing?" asked Dawn. "At least my mother helped me get my first one. She kept the saleswomen away."

Kristy was gaping at me. We've both always

been as flat as pancakes, but I'd begun to grow a little over the summer. Kristy must have felt left out. She was the only one of us who didn't wear a bra now.

But suddenly she was all business again. She doesn't like us to get off the subject of the club for too long during meetings. "Let's try to get these fliers out next week. Business will really be booming. Who can help me distribute them?"

We looked at our schedules. A few minutes later, the meeting was over. Little did we know what we were getting ourselves into.

Chapter 4.

"Emergency club meeting at lunch! Tell Kristy!" Claudia flew by me in the hall, her black hair flowing behind her. I caught a whiff of some kind of perfume.

"Wait! What — ?" I started to ask, but Claudia had already been swallowed up by the crowd.

I thought over what she had just said. Emergency meeting . . . tell Kristy. That meant Kristy didn't know. But our president was usually the one to call emergency meetings. So who had called it? And what was going on? It was only the beginning of third period. I'd have to wait more than an hour and a half to find out.

I snagged Kristy at the beginning of social studies class. "Emergency meeting at lunch today," I said urgently, leaning across the aisle to her desk.

"Who called it?" Kristy asked immediately,

but before I could tell her that I didn't know, our teacher walked in the room.

I snapped back to my desk like a rubber band.

When the class was over, Kristy and I shot out of the room and ran to the cafeteria. We dumped our stuff on our usual table, staking out five chairs at one end. Then we joined the hot-lunch line.

"I wonder what it is today," I said, breathing deeply.

"Smells like steamed rubber in Turtle Wax."

"Kristy, that is so disgusting. What is it really?"

Kristy stood on tiptoe, trying to see over the tops of kids' heads. She jumped up and down a few times. "I don't know," she said finally. "Maybe macaroni and cheese. I can't really see."

She was right. It was macaroni and cheese. Plus limp broccoli, a cup of canned fruit salad, and milk. Kristy and I each bought a chocolate eclair Popsicle, since we don't like macaroni or canned fruit salad. Kristy even considered buying two Popsicles since she doesn't like broccoli, either, but I stopped her. As it was, Dawn was going to die when she saw our lunches.

But when we got to our table we didn't have much time to talk about food. Stacey and Claudia had been not far behind us on the line, and Dawn was already there. So as soon as we had settled down, Kristy said abruptly, "Who called this meeting?"

"I did," said Claudia. "I'm going crazy. I can't handle everything. I've been getting nonstop phone calls ever since that FT A meeting, and since we advertised in your neighborhood, Kristy. I don't mind if people call during our meetings, of course, or once or twice in the evenings, but they're calling all the time. Look at this." She pulled a list out of her notebook. "These calls came last night. And this one came at seven-thirty this morning."

We leaned forward to look at the paper. It was a list of seven names with phone numbers, and notes that said things like "3 kids, 2b, Ig" or "allergic to pets" or "6 yrs, 4 yrs, 3 yrs." None of the names was familiar.

"I would have phoned you guys last night to offer the jobs around as they came in, but that would have meant more than twenty calls. Mom and Dad would have killed me. I'm already behind in my math and English homework." (Claudia is a fabulous artist, but she's not a very good student. In fact, she's only

allowed to be in the Baby-sitters Club if she keeps her grades up, which for her means C's.)

"Anyway," Claudia continued, "my social studies teacher assigned a big project this morning, and I guess I just panicked. That was when I called the meeting. I really don't see how I can take art classes, go to school, babysit, and be vice-president of the club, too."

Claudia looked near tears, which was unusual for her.

Stacey must have noticed, because she put her hand on Claudia's arm and said, "Hey, Claud, it's okay. Really. We'll work everything out."

"Sure we will," said Dawn.

"We'll take it step by step," added Kristy. She forced down a mouthful of macaroni and cheese. "First things first. What did you tell these people when they called?"

(Kristy really was feeling sorry for Claudia, but you could tell that, underneath, she was thrilled with all the new business we were getting.)

"I told them they would definitely have a sitter, but that I'd have to call them back to say who'd be taking the job."

"Perfect," said Kristy. "That was a good idea."

"Excuse me," I interrupted, "but we can save Claudia a little time if the sitter calls back. Claudia shouldn't have to do that."

"Right," said Kristy. "Now let's just hope we can schedule all those jobs."

"I brought the record book with me," said Claudia. She pulled it out from between her math book and a reading book. "I know we're not supposed to bring it to school, but I wanted to get this straightened out today, even if we didn't have an actual meeting." (Once, months and months ago, we'd been bringing the record book to school, and Alan Gray, this big pest, had stolen information out of it and used the information to torment Kristy and Claudia.)

"That's all right," said Kristy. "Just be careful with it. Now let's see." She peered at Claudia's list, trying to read her sloppy handwriting. "The first job is on Friday, from six until eight, right?"

Claudia nodded. "A cocktail party."

We turned to the appointment calendar and began assigning jobs. It took some doing but we were able to take care of all of them. Stacey only had to miss one meeting of the dance committee, and Claudia only had to switch around a pottery class.

"Whew," I said, when we were finished.

"You know, that wasn't easy. I'm beginning to wonder if . . ."I paused and unwrapped my Popsicle thoughtfully.

"If what?" asked Dawn.

"If we're in over our heads. Maybe we have too much business. What happens if we start getting a lot of jobs we can't handle? What do we tell our clients?"

"Tell them we're busy," suggested Claudia.

"Once or twice, yes. But what if it happens a lot? We shouldn't advertise that we can babysit — and then not be able to do it," I pointed out.

"That's true," said Kristy, looking worried for the first time.

"And," I said, starting to feel a little annoyed with her for not having thought about these things in advance, "we definitely shouldn't do any more advertising. We were already pretty busy as it was."

Everyone looked at me. It wasn't the first time I'd criticized Kristy, but I don't do things like that very often.

Kristy bristled. "If you remember, we advertised in my neighborhood so I could get some jobs nearby. Our regular clients would rather have one of you sit than me, because somebody has to drive me back to your old neighborhood each time I have a job there."

Kristy stuck her fork viciously into a spear of broccoli but couldn't bring herself to take a bite.

"Okay, okay," I said grumpily, "but we didn't have to advertise at the PTA meeting." Nobody could argue with that.

After an uncomfortable silence, Claudia, who had calmed down, said practically, "Well, we can't un-advertise, so we better just figure out what to do. We're too busy. How are we going to handle the problem?"

"I've done a lot of baby-sitting," spoke up an unfamiliar male voice.

The five members of the Baby-sitters Club swiveled their heads toward the opposite end of the long table.

"In Louisville," the voice continued. "I've had plenty of experience."

I froze. I froze into an ice statue of Mary Anne. I couldn't even blink my eyes. The voice belonged to Logan Bruno, the wonderful, amazing Cam Geary look-alike.

He really did have a southern accent, too. It sounded as if he'd just said, "In Luevulle. Ah've haid plainy of expuryence."

My friends began to fall all over each other.

"Really?" asked Stacey, as if it were the most interesting thing anyone in the history of the world had ever said.

"You're a sitter?" exclaimed Claudia, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"I don't believe it!" cried Dawn.

"Why don't you come talk to us?" asked Kristy.

(I was tongue-tied. My mouth was still frozen.)

Logan was out of his chair in a flash, as if he'd been waiting for the invitation since the beginning of lunch period. The boys he'd been sitting with said (loudly) things like, "Go, Logan!" and "Whoa!" and punched him on the arm, grinning, as he walked to our end of the table. He sat down next to me.

If anything should have made me melt, it was Logan, but I was frozen solid. I couldn't even turn my head to look into his dark eyes. I was dying.

"Hi," said Logan lightly, as if he were used to plopping himself down with a bunch of strange girls. "I'm Logan Bruno." He looked around at us. "Oh, hi, Stacey," he added, and a little wave of jealousy washed over me.

"Hi," replied Stacey. "Logan, these are my friends." She pointed to each of us in turn. "Claudia Kishi, Dawn Schafer, Kristy Thomas, and Mary Anne Spier."

Logan smiled warmly at me, but I couldn't return the smile.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," he said, "but I did overhear you say that you were sort of in a jam."

"We are," said Kristy. "See, we run this business called the Baby-sitters Club." Kristy explained how the club had started and how it works. "So you've really done a lot of sitting?" she added when she'd finished.

Logan nodded. "I've got a nine-year-old sister and a five-year-old brother, and I sit for them a lot. And I used to baby-sit for our neighbors, too, when we lived in Louisville. I haven't found anyone to sit for here, though." Logan paused. "I've even taken care of babies. I don't like changing diapers, but . . ."He shrugged as if to say, "It's just part of the job."

"How late can you stay out at night?" asked Kristy.

(We were all staring at Logan. Not one of us could take her eyes off him.)

"Oh, I don't know. I guess about ten-thirty on a weeknight. Maybe midnight on Fridays and Saturdays."

"Super!" exclaimed Stacey.

We all nodded. (I was thawing out.)

"Want to come to our next meeting?" asked Kristy abruptly. "I mean, just to see what the club's all about?"

"Sure," replied Logan. Kristy told him when it was, and then he unfolded his long legs from under the cafeteria table and returned to the boys he'd been sitting with.

"Way to go!" exclaimed one of the boys.

"Yeah," added another. "All those girls. Are you ever lucky."

Suddenly I found myself beaming. The boys were jealous of Logan because of MS. Not only that, Logan was going to attend our next meeting!

Chapter 5.

Needless to say, I was a nervous wreck before the next meeting of the Baby-sitters Club. I was sitting for Jamie and Lucy Newton, and Mrs. Newton had said she'd be back between five and five-thirty. When she showed up at 4:45,1 had never been so glad to make an early getaway. I ran home, locked myself in the bathroom, and studied myself critically in the mirror. My hair is mouse-brown, but it looks okay if I let it flow down over my shoulders. My dad used to be really, really strict, and he made me wear it in braids, but not anymore. Now I wear it loose. If I just brush it and leave it alone, it ripples nicely, kind of as if I'd had a body wave, which I haven't.

I brushed my hair one hundred times. I don't have any makeup, but I do have some jewelry, so I put on a pair of small hoop earrings and a gold chain bracelet that used to belong to my mother. Then I took off the sweat shirt I'd

been wearing and put on a bright vest over a short-sleeved white blouse. I looked . . . not bad.

When it was only five-fifteen I ran to Clau-dia's. I was not the first one there. We were all excited about Logan Bruno. I met Stacey and Kristy at the front door, and when we reached our club headquarters, we found Claudia and Dawn already lying on the bed. They were eating popcorn.

"I can't wait!" Claudia was squealing.

"I know," said Dawn. "He is so adorable."

They were talking about Logan, of course.

Kristy practically bounced into the director's chair. I trailed after her, the last one into the room.

"Hey!" exclaimed Claudia. "You look nice, Mary Anne!"

"Thanks," I replied, blushing.

There was dead silence.

I didn't think I looked too different, but I must have, because all at once, everyone realized what I was doing.

"It's for Logan, isn't it," said Stacey softly, not even asking a question. She knew she was right.

"Of course not," I replied.

"Oh, come on, Mary Anne. You can tell us. We're your friends."

But just then the doorbell rang. Claudia sprang off her bed and dashed out of the room, through the hall, and down the stairs. A few seconds later, we heard the front door open. Then we heard two voices, one male and one female.