BSC10 Logan Likes Mary Anne (4 page)

Logan had arrived.

Now, I don't know about Claudia, but there has never been a boy in my bedroom. (I mean, a boy who counts. Kristy's little brother doesn't count.) What would a boy have thought of my horse books and Snowman, my white teddy bear? What would a boy have thought of my lacy pillow sham or Lila, my antique doll?

I looked around Claudia's room. There were the four of us, the bowl of popcorn, and this rag doll of Claudia's named Lennie. Before Claudia and Logan reached the top of the stairs, I stuffed Lennie under the bed. Then I checked Claudia's bureau to make sure there was no underwear sticking out of drawers or anything. Her room wasn't too neat, but it seemed safe.

I cleared a spot on the floor for Logan.

I cleared it next to me.

"Hey, everybody," drawled Logan's familiar voice.

There he was, framed in Claudia's doorway.

He looked more handsome than ever.

Claudia was settling herself on the bed again. "Come on in," she said. "Pull up a patch of floor." She began to giggle.

Logan grinned and sat next to me. "Mary Anne, right?" he said.

I nodded. But my tongue felt as if someone had poured Elmer's glue on it and then covered it with sawdust.

"Let me make sure I have this right/' Logan went on. He looked at each of us in turn. "Claudia, um, Kristy . . . Dawn?" (Dawn nodded.) "And Stacey. You, I know."

Stacey smiled charmingly.

"So," said Logan. "What do we do here?"

(I loved his southern accent. I loved it!)

Kristy, Claudia, Stacey, and Dawn all began to talk.

"We answer the phone."

"People call in."

"We find the record book."

"We look in the treasury."

Logan glanced at me. "What do you do?"

The glue and sawdust just wouldn't go away. I tried clearing my throat. Ahem. Ahem. "I — " I croaked. "I, um — "

Stacey handed me the record book. "She's our secretary," she spoke up. "Mary Anne sets up our appointments."

"Oh/' said Logan. "I see." But he gave me a funny look.

At last the phone rang. The five of us jumped for it. Dawn got there first. "Hello, Baby-sitters Club/' she said. "Oh, hi! ... Yes. . . . Monday? . . . Okay, I'll get back to you." She hung up. "That was Mrs. Perkins. She has a doctor's appointment next Monday afternoon. She needs someone to watch Myriah and Gabbie from three-thirty till five-thirty." Dawn turned to Logan. "The Perkinses live right across the street. They've got two little girls, and Mrs. Perkins is expecting another baby. That's why she has to go to the doctor."

"Okay," said Logan.

"Well, who's free?" asked Dawn, looking at me.

Why was she — ? Oh, right. The appointment book. I picked it up, dropped it, picked it up, and dropped it again. Finally Logan handed it to me. I turned to the appointment calendar.

"What day did you say?" I asked Dawn.

"Next Monday."

"Um . . . I'm free and Claudia's free."

"You take it," said Claudia. "I've got to have a little time for my pottery."

"Thanks," I murmured, and penciled myself in.

Dawn called Mrs. Perkins back to tell her who the sitter would be.

"And thaf s how we work things," said Kristy to Logan as Dawn was hanging up.

"That's great," said Logan. "And you really get a lot of calls?"

As if in answer to his question, the phone rang three more times — Mrs. Pike, Mrs. Prezzioso, and a new client, a Mr. Ohdner, who needed a sitter for his two daughters. We assigned the jobs — but just barely. Claudia and Stacey were now busy with something every afternoon after school next week.

Claudia passed around the popcorn. Suddenly she burst out laughing. "You know what this reminds me of?" she said, patting the bowl.

"What?" we all asked.

"You know Dorianne Wallingford? Well, last weekend Pete Black takes her to the movies, and about halfway through, he reaches around behind her and snaps her br —" Claudia stopped abruptly.

I knew what she'd been about to say. Her bra strap. (Pete was always doing that, just to be mean.) Claudia had almost said bra strap in front of a boy.

Claudia began to blush. So did I. So did everyone in the room including Logan.

It was an awful moment. Logan tried to cover up. "Here, have some," he said, passing me the popcorn.

I don't know how it ended up upside-down, but it did.

"Oh, no!" I cried. I scrambled around, trying to put the kernels back in the bowl.

Logan and Stacey leaned over to help and knocked heads.

Somebody better do something fast, I thought. Bring up a new subject. . . anything.

Claudia must have been a mind-reader because she turned to Logan then and said, "What was your worst baby-sitting experience ever?"

"Well," said Logan (only it sounded like way-ull), "let me see. There was the time Tina Lawrence flushed one of her father's neckties down the toilet." (We laughed.) "And there was the time my brother got into Mom's lipsticks and colored the bathroom pink and red. But I think the worst time was when I was sitting for this little kid named Elliott. His mother was trying to toilet-train him and she showed me where his special potty was and everything. All morning after she left I kept asking Elliott if he needed to go, and all morning he kept saying, 'No, no, no.' So finally I took him into the bathroom and ..."

"And what?" I dared to ask.

Logan was blushing again. "I just realized. I can't say that part. ..."

"Oh," I said lamely.

A horrible silence fell over Claudia's room.

I looked at my watch. Ten more minutes before the meeting was over.

"Anyone want some soda?" asked Claudia.

"I do!" we all said instantly.

Claudia got to her feet. Logan jumped up and followed her out the door. "I'll help you/' he said.

As soon as they were downstairs, the other members of the Baby-sitters Club began moaning horribly. "Oh, this is so embarrassing," cried Stacey.

"I know," said Kristy. "Can we really ask a boy to join the club? I didn't think about stuff like this. We're not even having a regular meeting. At least, it sure doesn't feel like it. We're hardly talking about club stuff at all."

My head was spinning. I wanted Logan to be in the club, but if he joined — would I ever speak again? Or would I have a sawdust-covered tongue for eternity? And would we ever have another nice, normal, businesslike meeting?

When Claudia and Logan returned, Logan sat down next to me and handed me a glass

of Diet Coke, while Claudia handed glasses to the others. He smiled at me. "What was your worst baby-sitting experience?" he asked.

I'd had several pretty bad ones, but they all flew right out of my head. "Oh ... I don't, um, know," I mumbled.

Logan nodded. What could he say to that? He turned to Kristy the chatterbox.

"Stacey told me the club was all your idea," he said.

Kristy nodded. "It just sort of came to me one evening," she replied loftily.

Ring, ring.

Kristy reached over and picked up the phone, somehow managing not to take her eyes off Logan. (The things a cute boy did to our club. . . .)

"Hello, Baby-sitters Club." We all listened to Kristy's end of the conversation. From the questions she was asking, I could tell the caller was another new client. When she hung up the phone, she said, "Okay, that was someone named Mrs. Rodowsky. She has three boys. They're nine, seven, and four. They live way over on Reilly Lane. She picked up one of our fliers at the PTA meeting."

"Reilly Lane?" interrupted Logan. "Isn't that near where I live?"

"Yup," said Kristy. "A few streets over. And

I'd like you to take the job. They'd be good clients for you, living nearby with three boys and all. The only thing is — I hope you don't mind — I'd kind of like one of us to, you know, see you in action first. I mean, I know you've done a lot of baby-sitting, but ..."

"That's okay," said Logan. "I understand."

"Oh, good," said Kristy. "Well then, even though there's only going to be one of the Rodowsky boys to sit for next week — the seven-year-old — I want two baby-sitters to go on the job. Logan and someone who's free. Mary Anne?"

For once I was on my toes. I picked up the record book. "What day?" I asked.

"Thursday. Three-thirty till six."

I looked at Thursday. I gasped. Then I cleared my throat. "I'm the only one free," I croaked.

Logan smiled at me. "I guess we've got the job," he said.

I nearly fainted. "I guess so," I replied.

Chapter 6.

Kristy had called Mrs. Rodowsky back and explained why two sitters would be coming for the price of one. Mrs. Rodowsky had been very impressed and said we sounded responsible and mature.

Maybe that's how we had sounded, but I felt like I had spaghetti for bones. I'd felt that way ever since the club meeting. Now it was the day Logan and I were supposed to baby-sit.

I met him in front of the Rodowskys' at 3:25. As soon as I saw him, my legs and arms felt all floppy. The sawdust returned to my tongue. It was like this every time I got within a mile of him. Or even if someone mentioned his name.

"Hi!" Logan called.

I was going to have to shape up. I really was. This was a job. This was business. I

couldn't have spaghetti-bones and a sawdust-tongue while I was trying to baby-sit.

"Hi!" I replied brightly. I smiled. (There. That hadn't been so bad.)

"Ready?" asked Logan. He smiled, too.

"I hope so," I said. "How much trouble can one little kid be?" (Obviously, I wasn't thinking straight. Otherwise, Jenny Prezzioso would have come to mind, and I'd have kept my mouth shut.)

Logan and I walked to the Rodowskys' front door and Logan rang the bell. It was answered by a tall, thin woman wearing blue jeans and a jean jacket. She didn't look like most mothers I knew.

"Hello," she said. "You must be Mary Anne and Logan. I'm Mariel Rodowsky. Call me Mariel. Come on in." She held the door open for us.

Logan and I stepped inside.

"Jackie!" Mrs. Rodowsky called. (I just couldn't think of her as Mariel. It's hard to call adults by their first names.) "Your sitters are here."

We heard footsteps on a staircase, and in a moment, a red-haired, red-cheeked, freckle-faced little boy bounded into the front hall.

"This is Jackie," saidMrs. Rodowsky. "Jackie,

this is Mary Anne, and this is Logan."

"Hi," Logan and I said at the same time.

"Hi," replied Jackie. "I got a grasshopper. Wanna see him?"

"Honey," his mother said, "let me talk to Logan and Mary Anne first. Then you can show them the grasshopper." Mrs. Rodowsky turned back to us. "Jackie's brothers have lessons at the Y today and I have a meeting. I've left the number of both the YMCA and the Stoneybrook Historical Society by the telephone. We should be back at six or a little before. I guess that's it. Jackie's used to sitters. You shouldn't have any problems. Just . . . just keep your eye on him, okay?"

"Oh, sure," said Logan. "That's what we're here for."

"Great," said Mrs. Rodowsky with a smile.

(One point for Logan, I thought. He was good with parents.)

A few minutes later, Mrs. Rodowsky left with two other redheaded boys.

Jackie began jumping on the couch in the rec room.

"Boing! Boing! Boing!" he cried. "I'm a basketball! Watch me make a basket!"

Jackie took a terrific leap off the couch, his knees tucked under his chin as if he were

going to cannonball into a swimming pool. Logan caught him just before he crashed into the piano.

I'm not sure what I would have done if I'd caught Jackie, but Logan raised him in the air and shouted, "Yes, it's the deciding basket, fans! The Rodowsky Rockets have won the Interstellar Championship, and it's all due to Jackie, the human basketball!" Then he carried him away from the couch and the piano. (Another point for Logan.)

I hung back. This was really Logan's job, not mine. I was just along to watch.

Jackie giggled. He squirmed out of Logan's arms. "I gotta show you guys my grasshopper," he said. "His name is Elizabeth."

"You've got a grasshopper named Elizabeth?" said Logan.

"A boy grasshopper?" I added.

"Yup," replied Jackie. "I'll go get him for you. Be right back."

Jackie dashed up the stairs.

Logan glanced at me. "Whoa," he said. "That kid's got energy."

I nodded, feeling shy.

Logan wandered into the living room and waited. I followed him.

"Mr. and Mrs. Rodowsky must have their hands full," Logan commented.

"Probably," I managed to reply.

"Maybe they'll need sitters often," he added. "I wouldn't mind."

I gazed at the walls of the Rodowskys' living room. They were covered with the boys' artwork, professionally framed. Logan wandered over to one of the pictures — a house formed by a red square with a black triangle sitting on top of it. A green line below indicated grass, a blue line above indicated sky. A yellow sun peeked out of the corner.

"Well, what do you know," said Logan. "We've got a painting just like this at our house. Only it says Logan at the bottom, not Jackie. And all these years I thought it was an original."

I giggled. We had one of them, too. Why couldn't I say so? I looked at the other paintings. Logan picked up a magazine.

"It's, um, it's — it's taking Jackie an awfully long time to — " I was stammering, when suddenly we heard a noise from upstairs.

KER-THUD!

The crash was followed by a cry.

Logan and I glanced at each other. Then we ran for the stairs. Logan reached them first. We dashed to the second floor.

"Jackie!" Logan bellowed. "Where are you?"

"Ow! ... I'm in the bathroom."

Logan made a sharp left and skidded to a stop. I was right behind him. Jackie was sitting on the floor. The shower curtain was in a heap around him, and the rod that had held the curtain was sticking crazily out of the tub.

My first thought was to run to Jackie, give him a hug, and find out what had happened. But I hung back. This was Logan's job.

"Are you hurt?" exclaimed Logan.

"Nope," said Jackie. He stood up.