BSC08 Boy-Crazy Stacey (2 page)

I rang the bell.

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. Feet were running toward us.

Thump, thump, thump, thump. Thud, thud, thud, thud.

Crash.

The inner door was flung open. There stood Claire, Margo, Nicky, Vanessa, and Jordan. They looked flushed and breathless.

"Hi!" squealed Claire. Claire is the youngest Pike. She just turned five. Margo just turned seven, Nicky is eight, and Vanessa is nine. Jordan is ten, but he's not an ordinary ten-year-old — he's a triplet. Byron and Adam are his identical brothers. The oldest Pike is Mal-

lory, who's eleven. She's a really good kid and usually gives us baby-sitters a hand. She even helped out at our play group last month.

I opened the screen door, and Claire grabbed my hand. "Come inside," she said urgently, tugging at me.

Not to be outdone, Margo grabbed Mary Anne's hand. "Yeah, come on in."

Vanessa, who is usually quiet, began jumping up and down. "Tomorrow, tomorrow, we go to Sea City!" she cried. "We'll see the beach and the shells so pretty."

Nicky rolled his eyes. "Do you have to rhyme everything?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Vanessa. "Because I'm going to be a poet."

"You didn't rhyme that," Nicky pointed out maddeningly, and Vanessa stuck out her tongue at him.

"Mo-om!" yelled Nicky. "Vanessa stuck her tongue out at me!"

We were standing in the narrow front hallway. Mary Anne and I were pinned against a closet door.

"Okay, kids," called Mrs. Pike, as she ran in from the kitchen. "Give Mary Anne and Stacey some breathing room."

The Pikes backed off.

Mrs. Pike had invited us over that afternoon

to discuss the trip and to explain our responsibilities. She ushered us into the living room and shooed the children outdoors. Then she began talking.

"Mostly," she said after a while, "you'll just be giving Mr. Pike and me a hand since, of course, we'll be there, too. But we would like some time to ourselves. So there will be afternoons or evenings when we'll go off to do things on our own. Then you'll be in charge."

Mary Anne and I nodded. I was beginning to think that "mother's helper" was a pretty funny term, since Mary Anne and I were going to be helping Mr. Pike as much as Mrs. Pike. Maybe we should be called parents' helpers.

"Have you ever been to the Jersey Shore?" asked Mrs. Pike.

"Nope," said Mary Anne.

"Once," 1 replied.

"Well, Sea City is a medium-sized town. There's a lot to see and do and you'll be perfectly safe on your own. Just keep a careful eye on the children. There's traffic to watch for, but there's also the ocean."

Mary Anne and 1 nodded again.

"As you know, Mr. Pike and I don't believe in making rules for the children or forcing them to do things they don't want to do. But we do make one beach rule which we expect everyone

to stick to: Absolutely no going in the ocean — not even wading — before nine A.M. or after five P.M. Between nine and five the lifeguards are on duty, unless ifs raining. Then you can swim as much as you want as long as you stay in front of the lifeguard station. Is that dear?"

"Yes," we said.

"I don't mean to sound harsh. It's just that the ocean can be so dangerous. But believe me, there are plenty of other things to do in Sea City. There's Trampoline Land and miniature golf. There's the boardwalk with an amusement park. There's a movie theater and shops and so many places to eat you can smell Sea City before you see it!"

I giggled.

"It's a great place for kids," Mrs. Pike added. "We've been going there for nine years. I know you'll have a good time."

Mrs. Pike went on to tell us about the house they always rented, food shopping, dividing up chores, and stuff like that. Then I told her about my diet and about the injections of insulin I have to give myself every day. Although the Pike kids don't know I have diabetes, Mr. and Mrs. Pike do, and they wanted to be sure I'd feel comfortable on the trip, and

that they had the right kind of foods on hand for me. It was very nice of them.

Mrs. Pike had had to do a lot of fast talking to convince my parents to let me go to Sea City. It would be the first time I'd been away from Mom and Dad longer than overnight since I'd gotten diabetes almost two years ago. They didn't even think about letting me go until they'd looked up a couple of doctors in Sea City and spoken to them over the phone.

Mary Anne and I left the Pikes' that afternoon practically crackling with excitement. We were to leave at eight o'clock the next morning. It was time to go home and pack.

"I already packed," Mary Anne confided. "I couldn't wait. I'm scared, but I'm really looking forward to this. If s my first time away from my father, my first trip to the beach — and my first bikini! Dad said I could get one as long as the bottom part was decent."

Mary Anne's father used to be really strict with her. He's still a little strict, but he's much better. It's because Mrs. Spier died a long time ago and he's raised Mary Anne by himself. He loosened up a lot, though, when Mary Anne finally began standing up to him.

When I got home, I went to my room, opened

my suitcase on my bed, and began carefully laying my clothes in it — last year's bikini, the new bikini, two bright sundresses, sandals, shorts, tops, a nightshirt. Then I snuck over to my bottom bureau drawer, removed a bottle labeled SUN-LITE, and buried it under my clothes. I was determined to come home with lightened hair. My hair is already blonde, but I wanted it Sun-Lite blonde. However, if Mom saw the bottle, I'd be dead.

I hid it just in time, because the next thing I knew I heard my mother's footsteps on the stairs.

"Honey?" Mom called.

"In my room," I replied. "I'm packing."

Mom came in and perched on the edge of my bed. She watched me toss things into the suitcase. "Do you have everything?" she asked.

"I think so. Mary Anne and I asked Mrs. Pike about clothes and stuff this afternoon. She said no one dresses up in Sea City. A sundress would be fine if we went out to dinner."

"Do you have something to do down there?"

"Something to do?! I've got eight kids to watch."

"I know, but I'm sure you'll have a little

time to yourself. Do you have a book or some needlepoint?"

I held up both — an Agatha Christie mystery, and this swan I'd been needlepointing for about five years.

Mom nodded. "What about stamps? Do you have stamps so you can write postcards?" She was looking more and more nervous.

"No. But I'm sure there's a post office in Sea City."

"I'll get you some stamps," Mom said suddenly. "Be right back." She dashed into her bedroom and I could hear her rummaging around in her desk. When she returned, she handed me a strip of postcard stamps.

"Thanks," I said. I tucked them into my purse.

Next Mom asked about toothpaste. But I knew what she really wanted to ask me. She wanted to know if I'd been responsible enough to get together everything I'd need for two weeks of insulin injections. Finally I gave in and showed her. I opened the special travel kit she'd bought for me.

"See?" I said. "Everything's there."

"What about — "

"The doctors' numbers are in my purse. Mrs. Pike wrote them down, too. And she

knows all about my diet. We talked about it today."

"Oh, Stacey/' said Mom suddenly. "I'm so worried. I'm going to worry for the next two weeks."

"You really don't have to," I told her. I sat next to her on the bed. "The Pikes have a phone, remember? You can call if you want. And Mrs. Pike would call you if anything did happen — not that it's going to," I added quickly. "And don't call a lot, okay? I don't want the Pike kids to think I'm a baby. Then they'd never listen to me."

Morn looked at me for the longest time. Finally she opened her arms. I leaned over and we hugged. Mom cried. I cried a little, too. It's awfully hard helping your parents grow up.

But it has to be done.

Chapter 3.

The next morning, I discovered the meaning of the word madhouse.

Mary Anne and I arrived at the Pikes' early. My dad drove us over. If you think Mom and I had been tearful the day before, you should have seen Mary Anne and her father. It was like Niagara Falls — for both of them. I've hardly ever seen a man cry.

But Mary Anne's tears were dry by the time we reached the Pikes'. My father pulled up in front of the house. He started to help Mary Anne and me with our suitcases.

"Just drop us off, Dad," I said. "Okay? You don't need to come with us or anything."

Dad was understanding. He simply gave me a hug, waved to Mr. Pike, then turned around and drove off.

Mr. Pike was struggling with the luggage rack. Actually, with two luggage racks. So many of us were going to Sea City that we had to drive down there in both of the Pike station wagons.

While Mr. Pike tried to fit suitcases into the luggage racks, Mrs. Pike and Mallory kept carrying boxes and things out of the house and depositing them by the cars.

"Hi, Stacey! Hi, Mary Anne!" cried Margo.

Claire ran out of the house and joined her

sister. I'd never seen anybody so excited. She looked as if she'd just had about ten cups of coffee.

"Hi, hi, Stacey-silly-billy-goo-goo!" Claire screeched. "Hi, Mary Anne-silly-billy-goo-goo!" She was galloping around in circles.

I rolled my eyes at Mary Anne. Claire was going through this incredibly silly stage. It could drive you crazy.

Mr. Pike finally finished hefting all the suitcases onto the luggage racks and securing them with rope. He turned around. Seven cartons were at his feet. "What's all this?" he demanded.

"Bedding," replied Mrs. Pike.

"Toys," added Nicky.

Mr. Pike groaned.

Forty-five minutes later, everything was loaded into or on top of the cars, including the people. I was sitting in the backseat of the car Mr. Pike was driving. Next to me was Nicky. Between us was a carton. At our feet was a large thermos. Sprawled out in the very back were Claire and Mar go. Mallory was sitting up front with her father.

"You guys comfortable back there?" I asked the girls.

"Yup," replied Margo. "We have everything we need."

"So I see," I said. "Coloring books."

"Crayons," added Claire.

"Pillows," Nicky pointed out, turning around.

"Crackers," I said. "Barf Bucket. . . . Barf Bucket? What on earth is that?" Between the girls was a red plastic sand pail. It was carefully labeled PIKE BARF BUCKET in big letters.

"In case we get carsick," said Claire.

"Be sure to drink a lot of grape soda this morning," said Nicky, grinning wickedly. "That'd look neat coming up. Purple puke."

Claire and Margo laughed hysterically.

I dosed my eyes. I absolutely can't stand it when someone gets sick. When I opened them, I caught sight of Mr. Pike looking at me in the rearview mirror.

"Don't worry," he said. "We rarely have to use it. We've only had a few emergencies that I can remember."

I smiled with relief.

Everyone was settled in the two cars. Mr. and Mrs. Pike had rolled down their windows and were calling last-minute instructions to each other. Things like, "If s the Garden State Parkway, not the New Jersey Turnpike," and, "Ice-cream stop at Howard Johnson's," and, "Try to follow me, but if we get separated, remember the real estate agent in Sea City is Ellen Cooke."

At last we backed out of the driveway.

"Good-bye, house!" called Nicky.

"Good-bye, house-silly-billy-goo-goo!" called Claire.

"Good-bye, Stoneybrook. Sea City, here we come!" added Mallory.

"Hey, Daggles-sifly-billy-goo-goo," Claire said to her father. "Guess what."

"What, sweetie?" replied Mr. Pike, trying to cross an intersection with a four-way stop.

"Thaf s what!"

Mr. Pike made it through the intersection and noticed a rope from the luggage rack flapping against the windshield. He pulled to a stop and got out to fix it.

"Are we there already?" asked Claire.

"We're still on our own street, stupid," Nicky said in disgust.

"Don't call her stupid," said Mallory, without even turning around.

"Stacey-silly-billy-goo-goo?" asked Claire.

I hesitated, not wanting to fall into the trap Mr. Pike had fallen into. "What?" I said at last.

"How much longer?"

"Several hours," I replied as Mr. Pike got back in the car. "It's a long drive. Why don't you and Margo open your coloring books? You can each make a picture to give to your mom when we get to the beach."

The girls opened their books and began sorting through their crayons. Nicky took a horrible-looking green monster out of his pocket and started to play with it. In the front seat, Mallory was reading The Secret Garden. We pulled onto the highway.

Everything was peaceful for about half an hour — until Mrs. Pike edged forward and passed us in the next lane. For some reason, we all happened to look up as the car went by. So we all saw that Jordan was holding up a big piece of paper in the side window that read BARFMOBILE. Jordan was pointing his finger at us and grinning. Obviously, he meant we were the Barfmobile.

"Barfmobile!" yelped Nicky. He sounded highly insulted. "You guys have any paper back there?" he asked, turning to his little sisters.

"Sure," replied Margo. "Paper, scissors, crayons — "

"Give me a piece of paper, quick," said Nicky. "And a red crayon."

Margo handed them to him. Nicky rested the paper against the carton and began scribbling.

"What are you writing, Nicky-silly-billy-goo-goo?" asked Claire about twelve times.

Nicky held up his masterpiece.

The paper read VOMIT COMET.

"That'll show them," remarked Mallory.

"Hey, Dad," said Nicky, hanging his arms over the front seat. "§peed up."

"Why?" asked Mr. Pike.

"I want you to pass Mom."

"Sorry, Nick-o. The traffic is too thick. Maybe when it clears up a little."

"Okay." Nicky flopped back into his seat, pouting.

The little girls went back to their coloring. Mallory returned to The Secret Garden.

But Nicky kept peering out the window, trying to spot his mother's car. "Jingle bells," he sang softly, "Batman smells, Robin laid an egg." He turned to me. "Get it, Stacey? Robin laid an egg?"