The Truth About Stacey by Ann M. Martin Read Free Book Online Page B

glumly, kicking a pebble with the toe of her sneaker. “For all we know, Liz and Michelle have someone recruiting sitters over at the high school, too. They could be getting twelfth-graders. I bet a senior in high school could stay out until two in the morning—or even spend the night.”
    â€œOr sit for a whole darned weekend,” I said.
    â€œBut how does the agency know what kind of sitter they’re giving their clients?” asked Mary Anne. “They could give someone a really irresponsible kid who just wants to make a few bucks.”
    â€œRight,” said Kristy, “but why should Liz and Michelle care, as long as they get their cut of the money earned?”
    We walked dejectedly into the building, carefully not looking at Liz as we went by her. I remembered something my father had said to me the year before. He’d said it when I was in the hospital after one of the times I’d gone into insulin shock in school—in the cafeteria, where absolutely
every
one had seen me fall forward into a bowl of tomato soup—and had been takenaway in an ambulance. “Stacey, look at it this way, honey. The worst has happened,” he’d told me. “Now things can only get better.” It was a good philosophy, and I’d repeated it to myself many times since then.
    â€œWell, you guys,” I said to the members of the Baby-sitters Club as we entered the school building, “look at it this way. The worst has happened. Now things can only get better.”
    â€œWrong,” said Kristy flatly.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œShe said ‘wrong,’” Claudia repeated. “Look.”
    We were rounding a corner. I glanced up. In the main intersection of Stoneybrook Middle School a counter had been set up. A large sign on the wall behind it screamed: THE BABYSITTERS AGENCY, and in smaller letters: SIGN UP HERE .
    Michelle Patterson and two eighth-grade girls were sitting behind the counter. Each was holding a clipboard and looked very official. A large group of girls from every grade, as well as three boys, was standing around the counter, asking questions and talking to Michelle and her helpers. I couldn’t tell how many of them were signing up, but it didn’t matter.
    â€œI wonder who gave them permission to do
that,”
I said.
    Claudia shrugged.
    â€œBathroom,” said Kristy urgently. We left the hall and piled into the nearest girls’ room, checking to make sure the stalls were empty. Then Kristy, glaring furiously at Claudia and Mary Anne, opened her mouth to speak.
    Claudia beat her to it. “Don’t say it. I know what you’re going to say. Okay. So we were wrong and you were right. What do you want to do about the agency? We’ll do anything.”
    â€œAnything?” asked Kristy. She looked at each of us in turn.
    â€œAnything,” said Claudia.
    â€œDitto,” said Mary Anne.
    â€œDouble ditto,” I said.
    â€œGreat,” said Kristy, “because I have another idea. A new one.”
    â€œY-you do?” asked Claudia.
    Kristy nodded grimly.
    Claudia glanced sideways at Mary Anne.
    She poked at a drop of water on a faucet. “What? I’m afraid to ask.”
    At that moment, the bell rang.
    Kristy rolled her eyes. “No time now. I don’tcare what
any
of you is doing after school. I’m calling a triple-emergency club meeting.”
    â€œWhy not at recess today?” asked Mary Anne.
    â€œToo risky,” replied Kristy. “No more club business at school. For all we know, the agency has spies watching us. Anyone sitting this afternoon?”
    We shook our heads. “I haven’t even spoken to Dr. or Mr. Johanssen in a week,” I murmured.
    â€œI thought as much,” said Kristy. “Well, today’s my regular afternoon with David Michael, so we’ll have to hold the meeting at my house, okay?”
    â€œOkay,” we agreed.
    The meeting that afternoon