Good-bye Stacey, Good-bye (4 page)

Mary Anne put the doormat and screwdriver in the garage, and the spinach in the kitchen, and returned to the living room with a plastic garbage bag. She began tossing the papers in the bag. About halfway through the job, she glanced idly at one piece of paper that was hardly scrunched up at all. This is what she saw:

really want to come stay with you...california is my home... about Mom and Dawn anymore...I, please? It would be great...

"What do you think you're doing?"

Mary Anne jumped and turned around. She found Jeff standing behind her, his face red with anger.

"I was just — just cleaning up," Mary Anne replied guiltily, but she knew it didn't look that way to Jeff.

"You were not just cleaning up. You were reading my stuff. I was trying to write a letter. Mail is private, you know. It's a federal offense to read someone else's mail."

Jeff's mouth twitched and Mary Anne thought he might cry. Between that and his blond hair hanging in his eyes, he suddenly looked like a very little boy.

"I'm sorry if I upset you," Mary Anne said. "I guess I was reading your letter, but I didn't mean to snoop. These papers were just lying here on the floor."

Jeff reached over and snatched the letter out

of Mary Anne's hand. He started to stomp back up to his room.

"You know," said Mary Anne, thinking fast, "Stacey McGill is moving back to New York City. That's where she used to live before she moved to Stoneybrook."

Jeff stopped in the middle of a stomp. He turned around and ran back down the stairs. "Really?" he said. "How come? Her parents aren't divorced, are they?"

Mary Anne shook her head. "Nope. Her father's company is transferring him. He has to move because of his job."

"Oh." Jeff dropped onto the couch, the picture of disappointment.

"Stacey really likes New York," Mary Anne went on. "She'll miss her friends here, but, well, I think deep down she's glad she's going back."

"I don't blame her," said Jeff miserably.

"You'd like to go back to California, wouldn't you?" Mary Anne asked him.

Jeff nodded.

"Do you really hate it here?"

Jeff was quiet for a long time. At last he said, "My dad needs me and I need him."

"Your mom and Dawn need you, too. And you need them."

"That's different. We left Dad all alone out in California. Besides, Mom and Dawn are girls. Dad and I are boys. ... I hate girls! They treat me like a baby. Dad doesn't do that. And if I lived with Dad, Mom and Dawn would still have each other." Jeff looked at Mary Ann and then looked away quickly.

"My dad used to treat me like a huge baby," Mary Anne confided, "but I think he just did that because he loves me."

"Maybe," said Jeff slowly.

"Families belong together," said Mary Anne.

"Well, we're not together now. Dad's not with us."

"That's what happens when parents get divorced. But your family is more together now than it would be if you went back to California."

"I don't see how," said Jeff. "Apart is apart. Dad needs me. Mom has Dawn. She doesn't need both of us."

Mary Anne wasn't sure what to think. She could see Jeff's side of the problem, and Dawn's, too. She and Jeff talked for a long time that night.

The next day, Mary Anne and Dawn discussed everything in a whispered conversation during study hall. When the bell rang at the

end of the period, Dawn looked at Mary Anne and shrugged. "I really don't know what's going to happen," she said, "but whether Jeff goes or stays, it's not going to be good. Somebody is going to get hurt."

Chapter 6.

"I can't — oof — jam these in ... any . . . further!"

"Here, let me help you." I ran into the den, where my mother was trying to close up a carton of books she'd just packed, and flung myself on the box.

"Stacey, that works with suitcases full of clothes, but not cartons full of books," my mother said. "I'll just have to take some of these out and start a new carton. Honestly, I thought twenty boxes would be more than enough to pack up the stuff in here. But I underestimated. I bet I've underestimated for every room in the house. How did we acquire so much stuff?"

I frowned, looking around the half-empty den. "When we moved here," I reminded Mom, "we thought the house looked empty, so we bought some things to fill it up. I guess we did a pretty good job."

"Far too good/' Mom replied. "There is no way we're going to be able to fit everything we own into our new apartment."

"I thought the new apartment was bigger than the old one," I said.

"It is. But not big enough to hold a whole houseful of furniture and books and . . . and junk."

My mom was going a little crazy with the packing. She and Dad had found a nice, big apartment in New York, and we could move into it whenever we were ready, but we had run into a slight problem — how to cram a house into an apartment. Mom was right. There was no way.

"You know," I said, "there's probably a lot of stuff we don't really need. There's that old ironing board that doesn't work —"

"I don't know why I kept it after we got the new one."

"— and the crutches from the time Dad broke his foot —"

"I hope we'll never need those again."

"— and all the clothes I outgrew this year —"

"Somebody could use them. You grew so fast you barely wore them."

"— and all the stuff in the attic."

"Junk. Pure junk."

"Why don't we have a yard sale?" I suggested.

"I don't think so, honey."

"But everyone in Connecticut has yard sales. You see the signs all over the place."

"Oh, I know. But how can I possibly arrange for a yard sale when I have to pack and send out change-of-address cards and call the real estate people, the phone company, the electric company, the —"

"What if I ran the sale?" I interrupted. "I bet my friends would help me. It would be fun."

"We-ell," said Mom slowly. "It's a big job, you know. You have to price everything and tag all the items and organize them and set them up in the yard. And advertise."

"Mom, Mom, relax. You're giving me a headache. My friends and I could do it. I know we could."

My mother, who had been crouching on the floor, rocked back on her heels. She blew a strand of hair out of her face, then glanced around the room at the overflowing cartons and the cupboards full of stuff we hadn't even looked at yet. "Stacey," she said at last, "I would love to weed out the things we don't need anymore. If you and your friends will

organize and run the entire sale, you can keep whatever money you make."

"Are you kidding?!" I cried. "Oh, thanks! It might be a lot of money, though, Mom. All those little things add up."

"It's yours. It'll be worth it to your father and me. If we don't get rid of this stuff now, we'll just have to do it after we get to New York and find that there's no room for it. And we won't be able to hold a yard sale in the middle of the city."

"Oh, wow! Thanks! Great! Fantastic! Can I call the club members and tell them?"

Mom grinned. "Go ahead."

I dashed out of the den and up to my bedroom, where I grabbed the telephone. Who should I call first? It was a Saturday. My friends might be home, they might not.

I dialed Claudia.

"Guess what! Guess what!" I shrieked into the phone. "Oh. . . . Mimi? Sorry. It's Stacey. Didn't I dial Claudia's number? . . . Oh, okay. . . . Over at Mary Anne's? All right. I'll call her there. Thanks. 'Bye."

I called Mary Anne's house.

"Mary Anne! Mary Anne! Guess what. I've got amazing news!"

"You're not moving after all!" she cried.

In the background I could hear excited shrieks."She's not moving? She's staying here?"

"Who's over there?" I asked. "I mean, besides Claudia?"

"Kristy," Mary Anne replied. "So how come you're not moving after all?"

"Oh, we're moving," I told her. "That's not the news."

"She's still moving," Mary Anne said to the others.

The shrieking stopped.

I told Mary Anne about the yard sale. "So even if we earn a whole lot of money, we get to keep it and divide it up five ways." I finished up.

"Wow, that's terrific," said Mary Anne.

"Tell the others," I instructed her. "I'll call Dawn."

"Oh, you don't have to do that. She's on her way over. Why don't you come over, too?"

"Okay!" At the time, I was so excited about the sale that I didn't even bother to wonder why the members of the club were getting together without having invited me to join them. I just hopped on my bike and rode over to the Spiers' house.

Mary Anne let me in and we ran up to her room. I was greeted by the sight of Kristy and

Claudia, both wearing visors and blowing pink bubbles, and Dawn over in a corner, standing on her head. Her hair had fallen in a blonde pool around her head, and her face was turning red. At the sight of me, Kristy and Claudia popped their bubbles and Dawn dropped to the floor.

"Your mom really said we could give a yard sale?" she cried.

"Yup," I replied, as Mary Anne and I sat on her bed.

"And keep the money?" Kristy asked.

(I saw Claudia elbow Kristy in the ribs.)

"Yup," I said again. "All of it. We'll split it five ways."

"I feel kind of funny taking money for selling your things," Mary Anne admitted. "Not that I couldn't use the money, but, I don't know. . . ."

"Listen, it's a favor to my parents," I insisted. I told them about the conversation I'd had with Mom.

"It would be fun," said Claudia. "I love yard sales. We can make posters to put up in the neighborhood. Everyone will come over."

"Yeah, I just love selling stuff," added Kristy.

"Oh, this is terrific!" I squealed. "I better go home. The only thing I'll need Mom's help

with is weeding out the items for us to sell. Maybe she'll want to start right now. I'll see you guys later!"

I left Mary Anne's house, but the others stayed. Claudia told me later (after I'd moved, during one of our many marathon phone conversations) that the others had gathered at Mary Anne's to talk about the party (what else?), and where they were going to get enough money to give a good one.

"Well, I've been thinking and thinking," Claudia said, gazing out the window and watching me cross the Spiers' front yard, "and I just can't come up with an idea that's really special. You know, for a party that Stacey will never forget, and that will really mean something."

"Me, neither," said Kristy, Mary Anne, and Dawn.

"And now we've got another problem," said Mary Anne.

"What?" asked the rest of the club members.

"Well, don't you guys feel funny about taking money for selling the McGills' things? I do."

"I know what you mean," agreed Dawn, "unless . . . oh, we are so stupid! This solves two problems!"

"Unless what?" asked Kristy excitedly. "What solves which problems?"

"Unless we take the money we earn from the yard sale and use it to give Stacey her party! That solves the problem of getting enough money to give a good party and the problem of feeling like we're taking the McGills' money. I mean, because in a way we'll be giving it back to Stacey."

Kristy clapped her hand to her forehead. "You're right! We really are stupid! The answer to our money problems was practically staring us in the face!"

"Now," said Claudia, "the only problem left is — what kind of party should we give?"

"Yeah ..." said Mary Anne.

And the four of them fell silent, thinking.

While they thought, I returned home and talked to my mother about the yard sale. She promised to help me sort through closets, the attic, and the basement the next day. Since I didn't have anything else except homework to do then, I got on the phone with Laine.

"Hi!" she cried. "Guess what! As a welcome-back present, my dad got tickets for you and me to go see Mad About Millie]"

"No!" I shrieked. "Really? Oh, that is fan-

tastic!" Mad About Millie is this Broadway musical we've been dying to see. "What's going on in school?" I asked. "I'll be there with you in just a few weeks. Oh, and my math teacher is getting me ready to take algebra."

"Super. We'll be in the same class then. There's only one eighth-grade algebra class. . . . Allison Ritz is in it, too."

"She is? Has, um, she said anything about my coming back?"

"Well..." Laine cleared her throat. A long pause followed. "She sort of said, 'Oh, great, Barf-mouth is returning.' "

"Barf-mouth?"

"Yeah. From that time you got sick in the cafeteria. You know, when you were having those spells? Before you were on the insulin? You kind of threw up a little."

I groaned. I must have been really out of it when that happened. I didn't even remember it. But Allison sure did. Val Schirmer probably did, too. And all the rest of the kids I used to go to school with. "Maybe I should play dumb," I said, "so Mr. Zizmore will keep me out of algebra. Better yet, maybe I should ask Mom and Dad to put me in a different school."

"Stace, no. I want you in Parker Academy. And algebra."

"Oh, Laine." Just a minute ago, I'd felt happy and excited. Now I was sad and worried. Did I or didn't I want to leave Stoneybrook? Did I or didn't I want to go back to New York? I couldn't tell. It was all part of moving. Some good feelings, some bad ones, some happy, some sad.

I wished I could divide myself and live half in Stoneybrook, half in New York City.

Chapter 7.

All us club members love to sit for the Pikes, even though there are eight of them and sometimes they get out of hand. In case you've forgotten about them, let me give you a rundown on the Pikes. The youngest is Claire. She's five. Then there's seven-year-old Margo, eight-year-old Nicky, nine-year-old Vanessa, the ten-year-old triplets (Byron, Jordan, and Adam), and last of all, Mallory, who's eleven.

Mallory has been a sort of junior baby-sitter for a while now. When us club members held a play group last summer, Mallory gave us a hand. And lately she's been the "second" sitter almost every time there's a job at the Pikes'. (Since there are eight children, Mrs. Pike usually likes to have two sitters in charge.)