Mary Anne Saves the Day (8 page)

“That the little girl?” asked one man, pointing to Jenny.

“Yes,” I replied, “and she has a high fever, but she's not hurt. I don't think you need the stretcher.”

They agreed. Dawn grabbed her jacket and mine as the man picked Jenny up gently and carried her out to the ambulance. I ran along
behind him. “Lock the front door!” I called over my shoulder to Dawn as she dashed out with our jackets.

The attendants settled the still-sleepy Jenny in the ambulance, and I rode in back with her while Dawn rode up front next to the driver. I'd never been in an ambulance before, but I was too concerned about Jenny to be nervous.

As we zipped along (no siren or lights, but plenty of speed) the attendants took Jenny's temperature (steady at 104), checked her pulse and blood pressure, listened to her heart, and looked at her ears. The man attendant kept talking to her and asking her questions. I looked at him, puzzled.

“Just trying to keep her awake,” he told me.

I nodded.

We reached Stoneybrook General Hospital and pulled up to the entrance to the emergency room. One of the attendants carried Jenny inside, Dawn and I following, and spoke to a nurse. The nurse hustled us into a little curtained-off room. Then the attendant left and the nurse, clipboard in hand, started asking questions about Jenny. I answered them as well as I could. “Her parents will be here later, and they can fill you in,” I told her finally.

She nodded. “A doctor will look in on her as
soon as possible,” she said. Then she parted the curtain and walked briskly down the hallway. A few moments later she returned with a cold compress, then disappeared again.

Dawn and I looked at each other. “Now what?” asked Dawn.

“Now we wait, I guess.” I adjusted the compress on Jenny's forehead. “How are you feeling?” I asked her. She seemed a bit more alert, but as hot as ever.

“Hot,” she replied. “And my throat hurts. And my head.”

“Yuck,” I said. “I'm sorry. The doctor will be here soon, though, and he'll help you feel better. He or she, I mean.”

“Look what I brought,” Dawn spoke up.

“Hey, who's that?” asked Jenny, finally noticing her visitor.

“That's my friend Dawn. Dawn Schafer.”

“Hi, Jenny,” said Dawn.

“Hi … What did you bring?”

“This.” Dawn held up
Blueberries for Sal
.

“Oh goody,” said Jenny.

I began to read. We were halfway through the story when a doctor poked her head through the curtain.

“Jenny Prezzioso?” she asked.

“That's Jenny,” I said, pointing. “I'm Mary Anne Spier, her baby-sitter.”

“Well, let's see what we have here.”

The doctor examined Jenny gently.

“It looks like a nice case of strep throat,” she said after a while. “I want to draw some blood and do a throat culture to be sure, but I don't think it's anything more serious than that…. Where are her parents?”

I explained. Then I looked at my watch. “If her parents got their messages already, they could be at the hospital in a half an hour to forty-five minutes.”

The doctor nodded. “Well, she can stay here until her parents arrive. While we're running the tests, I'll have a nurse try to bring her fever down. I'd like to talk to the Prezziosos before Jenny leaves.”

“Okay,” I said.

A nurse entered. She drew some blood from Jenny, which made her cry, and took a throat culture, which made her gag. But when she began bathing her in alcohol, Jenny said, “Oh, that feels good.”

Her temperature dropped a degree and a half.

By the time the Prezziosos arrived, Jenny was on the verge of a temper tantrum. I took it as a good sign.

Mrs. Prezzioso was nearly hysterical. She flew into Jenny's cubicle in the emergency room, sobbing loudly, then hugged Jenny to her, pressing Jenny's face against her cocktail dress. “Oh, my baby!” she cried. “Angel, how are you feeling?”

“I feel better, Mommy,” Jenny said. “Nice and cool.”

Her temperature was still 101 degrees. I could only imagine how Jenny had felt when it was 104 degrees.

The doctor returned and spoke briefly to the Prezziosos, assuring them that Jenny was already on the mend. “I want to give you a prescription and make an appointment to see her again on Monday,” she added. “And I need you to fill out some forms.”

“Why don't you take care of that, dear,” Mr. Prezzioso said to his wife, “while I take Mary
Anne and Dawn home? Then I'll come back for you and our angel.”

Mrs. P. agreed, so Dawn and I said good-bye to the angel and her mother, and followed Mr. P. out to his car.

“Actually, we need to go back to your house,” I told him. “I left some things in the living room, and Dawn's bicycle is there.”

“All right,” he said.

On the way to the Prezziosos', Mr. P. told Dawn and me over and over what a wonderful job we had done, and how proud of us he was.

“I hope you don't mind that I called a friend,” I said apprehensively. “I really needed help, and I couldn't reach the neighbors or my dad.”

“Or my mother,” added Dawn.

“Not at all,” said Mr. P. “You did just the right thing. I can't believe our phones were off. Leaving a message at the gym was smart. Apparently, they started paging us right away and just kept paging until we arrived. The first thing we heard when we entered the gym was our names being called over the loudspeaker…. How did you get Jenny to the hospital?”

“I called nine-one-one and told the man I talked to how high Jenny's temperature was and said we couldn't find anyone to drive us
to the hospital. He sent an ambulance over…. Oh, and Jenny's doctor is probably going to call you back today. He was the first person I called, and I left a message with his service. He hadn't called back by the time we left for the hospital.”

Again Mr. P. looked impressed. “Thanks, Mary Anne,” he said. “You, too, Dawn. I want you to know that I'll always feel at ease having Jenny in your competent hands.”

Wow, I thought. Our competent hands. That was a real compliment.

When Dawn had gotten her bicycle from the Prezziosos' driveway and I had retrieved the Kid-Kit from the living room, Mr. P. paid Dawn and me twice what he owed —
each
. “For a job well done,” he said.

“Thanks!” I exclaimed. “Thanks a lot!”

“Yeah,” said Dawn. “You really didn't have to pay me.”

“I know,” said Mr. P., “but you deserve it.” He headed back to the hospital.

“Want to come over for a while?” I asked Dawn. The day had turned gray and drizzly. I thought we could spend the rest of the afternoon fooling around in my room. I had found two more old photo albums in the den, and through
incredible willpower, had managed not to peek at them until Dawn was with me.

“Sure,” said Dawn. “Just remind me to call my mom and tell her where I am.”

Dawn rode slowly over to my house, and It rotted along next to her. I let us in the front door and called for my father, but he wasn't home yet. Then Dawn phoned her mother, who also wasn't home yet, and left a message for her on their answering machine.

“Are you hungry?” I asked. I had just realized that, with the excitement over, I was starving.

“Famished,” replied Dawn.

We made sandwiches and ate them in the kitchen, discussing our adventure. “Isn't Mrs. P. weird?” I said. “Did you see her fancy black dress? That's what she was wearing to a basketball game!”

“And she calls Jenny her angel.”

I giggled. “Yeah. Mr. P. does, too. But he's all right. I like him.”

“He's generous,” added Dawn. “Gosh, this is a lot of money.”

When we were finished with lunch, I said, “Let's go upstairs. I want to show you something.”

We ran up to my room and, with a flourish, I pulled the two old photo albums out from under
my bed. “We haven't looked through these,” I told Dawn. “I have no idea what's in them, but maybe we'll find prom pictures.”

“Yeah!”

We sat side by side on my bed and opened one of the heavy albums. It was so big it spread across both of our laps.

“These pictures look
old
,” Dawn said.

“Yeah, really,” I agreed. They were yellowed with age. Not one face was familiar. “I don't recognize any of these people,” I said.

“You know what would be funny? If these weren't your family's albums at all. If there'd been some kind of mix-up and they were, like, Joe Schmoe's albums, and we spent all afternoon trying to find pictures of our parents among the Schmoe family.”

I threw my head back and laughed. And as I lowered my head, I looked straight in front of me — out my window and into Kristy's.

Kristy was staring back at me.

Since the day was dark, the overhead lights were on in our rooms and I knew that she had a perfect view of Dawn and me sitting side by side on my bed, laughing.

Kristy looked furious. (Good, she was jealous.) But she also looked … hurt? Or maybe betrayed. I
couldn't tell. For some mean reason, though, I felt triumphant. I'd show Kristy. I was no longer the old Mary Anne who depended on her for friendship and who went along with anything she said or did. I could take care of myself. I could make my own friends.

To be certain that she got the point, I put my arm around Dawn's shoulders. Then I stuck my tongue out at Kristy.

Kristy stuck her tongue out at me.

And Dawn looked up from the album just in time to see me with my tongue out. “Mary Anne, what —” she started to say. Then she followed my gaze out the window and across to Kristy in her window.

She looked from me to Kristy and back to me again. “Who is that and what are you doing?” she asked.

Kristy crossed her eyes at us, then yanked her window shade down.

“What's going on?” Dawn demanded. “That girl looks familiar. I've seen her around school, haven't I?”

“Oh, that's just Kristy Thomas. She's nobody.”

Dawn looked skeptical. “If she's nobody, how come you guys are bothering to stick your tongues out at each other?”

I took a deep breath, but before I could say anything, Dawn went on, “And how come you put your arm around me just now? Was that something you wanted Kristy to see?”

“Well, the thing is,” I began, “Kristy and I
used
to be friends.” (The truth was going to have to come out sometime.)

“And you had a fight, right?” asked Dawn. She put the album aside and got to her feet.

“Yes …”

“Mary Anne, the first day we met — when we were eating in the cafeteria — you told me you were sitting alone because your friends were all absent. Was Kristy one of those friends?”

“Yeah …”

“And then you kept on saying your friends were absent,” Dawn continued thoughtfully. “It seemed kind of weird, but I needed a friend of my own so much, I guess I just tried to forget about your other friends. How come you said they were absent?”

“Well, see, we'd just had this big fight, and we were all mad at each other….” I trailed off.

Dawn nodded her head. She looked really disgusted. “So you lied to me,” she said.

“I guess,” I replied uncomfortably.

“From the first day of our friendship you lied to me.”

I didn't know what to say to that.

“You know, not bothering to tell a person the real truth,” Dawn went on, “is just as bad as telling lies. You've been lying to me the whole time we were friends, you know that?”

“Hey, that is not true!” I cried, jumping up.

“Why should I believe that, coming from a liar? I'll tell you what I do believe, though. I believe I was pretty convenient when you needed a new friend…. No, don't say anything, Mary Anne,” she rushed on when I started to protest. “I know the rest of
this
story. See you later.” Dawn stomped down the stairs.

I jumped up and ran after her. “Watch those steps,” I said sarcastically. “Hope you have a nice
trip
.”

“Have a nice
life
,” Dawn shouted over her shoulder. She let herself out the front door. I ran back to my room and stood at the window that faced the front of the house.

I watched my last friend pedal her bicycle furiously down the street.

Then I flung myself on my bed and cried.

I spent the rest of the afternoon moping around my bedroom. My father called to say that he'd stopped in at the office, wouldn't be home until six, and could I please start dinner?

I did, numbly.

When Dad came home, we sat down to hamburgers, peas, and French fries. Dad tried hard to make conversation, but I just didn't feel like talking. We were both relieved when the phone rang.

“I'll get it,” said Dad. “I think it's a client.” He reached behind him and picked up the phone. “Hello, Richard Spier … Pardon me? What antibiotics? … Oh, really? … No. No, she didn't…. Well, I'm flattered to hear that. I'm proud of her, too…. I'll give her the good news.” Dad raised his eyebrows at me.

“What?” I mouthed.

He shook his head, meaning
I'll tell you in a minute
. “Yes. I certainly will,” he said. “All
right … Thank you very much. Good-bye.”

Dad hung up the phone, looking somewhat puzzled. “Mary Anne?” he asked. “Did anything … out of the ordinary happen today?”

I was so upset over my fight with Dawn (which was pretty out of the ordinary) that it was all I could think about. How could Dad possibly have heard about it, though? That couldn't have been Mrs. Schafer on the phone. Dad had said he was proud of me. (He
had
meant me, hadn't he?)

Then in a flash I remembered Jenny Prezzioso. The trip to the hospital seemed like a million years ago. “Oh, my gosh!” I said. “How could I have forgotten to tell you? Yes, I — Who was that on the phone?”

“Mrs. Prezzioso. She was calling to tell me what a good job you did this afternoon, and to let you know that Jenny does in fact have strep throat but is feeling much better. I was a little embarrassed to admit that I didn't know what she was talking about. I still don't think I know the whole story. Mrs. Prezzioso was speaking very fast. She kept mentioning an angel.”

I smiled. “That's Jenny. The Prezziosos call her their angel.”

“Well, tell me what happened. It sounds rat her exciting.”

“It was, I guess, only I was so concerned about Jenny I hardly had time to feel excited or scared or anything. What happened was I was babysitting, and I noticed that Jenny seemed cranky and quiet, but at first I didn't think much of it. She gets cranky a lot. Then she fell asleep right in the middle of reading a book, and I realized she felt awfully warm, so I took her temperature. And, Dad, it was a hundred and four!”

“A hundred and
four
!”

“Yes. I couldn't believe it, either. So I called her doctor, but I only got his answering service. Then I started calling neighbors, trying to find someone who could drive us to the doctor or the hospital, but no one was home —”

“Including me,” added Dad.

“Including you. And including Dawn's mother. But Dawn came over, and she suggested dialing nine-one-one, so I did, and I explained everything to the man who answered, and he sent an ambulance over.

“You know,” I went on, “now that I think about this afternoon, I'm surprised at everything I remembered to do. I remembered to call the gym in Chatham that the Prezziosos were driving to, so they could be paged to come home; I remembered all the instructions the man told
me over the phone; and I remembered to lock the Prezziosos' front door as we left with the ambulance attendants.”

Dad smiled at me. “Mrs. Prezzioso said she was proud of you.”

“So did her husband,” I added.

“And so am I,” said Dad.

“You are?”

“Very.”

“Thanks,” I said.

Dad sighed.

“What is it?”

“You're growing up,” he said, as if it was some sort of revelation to him. “Right before my eyes.”

“Well, I
am
twelve.”

“I know. But twelve means different things for different people. It's like clothes. You can put a certain shirt on one person and he looks fabulous. Then you put the shirt on someone else and that person looks awful. It's the same way with age. It depends on how you wear it or carry it.”

“You mean some twelve-year-olds are ready to date, and other twelve-year-olds still need babysitters?”

“Exactly.”

“But isn't that a double standard?” I asked.

“No, just the opposite. An example of a double
standard would be that just because a boy or girl had turned fourteen he or she would automatically be encouraged to date, no matter how mature he or she was — but absolutely no thirteen-year-old would be encouraged to do so.”

“Oh … Am I …” I hardly dared to ask the question. “Am I more mature than you realized?”

“Yes. Yes, I think you are, Mary Anne.”

“Am I …” (Oh, please, please,
please
let him say yes.) “… old enough to stay out a little later when I baby-sit?”

For a moment, Dad didn't answer. At last he said, “Well, ten o'clock seems a bit late for school nights. How about nine-thirty on school nights and ten o'clock on Friday and Saturday nights?”

“Oh, Dad, that's perfect! Thank you!” I started to get up, wanting to hug him, but we're not huggers. I sat down again. Then I had a great idea. “Dad, I want to show you something,” I said. “I'll be right back.” I ran upstairs to my room, pulled the rubber bands off the ends of my braids, shook my hair out, and brushed it carefully. It fell over my shoulders, ripply from having been braided when it was still damp that morning. Then I ran down to the kitchen and stood in front of my father. “How do I look?” I asked.

I watched Dad's face go from serious to soft. “Lovely,” he finally managed to say.

“Do you think I could wear it this way? I mean just sometimes, not every day.”

Dad nodded.

“And maybe,” I went on, hoping I wasn't pressing my luck, “I could take Humpty Dumpty off my wall and put up a nice picture of Paris or New York instead?” I could ask him about Alice in Wonderland some other time.

Dad nodded. Then he held his arms out. I crossed the room to him and he folded me into his arms.

“Thank you, Dad,” I said.

Before I went to bed that night, I wrote two letters, one to Kristy and one to Dawn. Both were apologies.