said.
"Thanks," replied Jessi. She sounded both pleased and surprised.
"Help yourselves to a snack," offered Mom.
I glanced around the kitchen. Nicky was awkwardly lathering mustard onto baloney slices, rolling them up, and biting into them, making the mustard ooze out the other end. Margo was untwisting Oreos, scraping out the filling, and saving it in a pile to eat after she'd eaten the cookie parts. Claire was a sticky mess from a banana, and Vanessa was grinning at everyone with an orange peel stuck in her mouth.
"We'll eat upstairs," I told my mother.
She nodded understandingly.
Jessi and I each took an apple and a cookie and went to my room.
"Oops," said Jessi as soon as we were sitting on my bed. "I better call Mom and tell her where I am."
She called her from the phone in the hall and then came back into my room. "You sure do have a lot of books," she said, looking around.
"They're Vanessa's and mine. She shares the room with me. That shelf is hers, this one is mine," I told her, pointing.
Jessi stood in front of my shelf. "Horse stories," she murmured. "Fantasy, mystery. I
see lots of books I'd like to borrow. You and I could switch back and forth forever. It would be like having our own library."
"Yeah!" I said. "I like that idea."
Jessi sat next to me on the bed. "So," she said, "how do we start a baby-sitting club?"
"Well, let me tell you how the other club works. We can sort of copy it. The girls meet three times a week from five-thirty until six. And the people they sit for know they meet at those times, so they call during the meetings and say when they need sitters. The good thing is that when people call — the babysitters call them clients — they're almost guaranteed a sitter, since they've reached four people at once. Somebody is bound to be free."
"Oh, I see," said Jessi.
"So the sitter takes down the information about the job; you know, how many kids they'll be in charge of, how old they are, how long the parents will be away, stuff like that. Then Mary Anne Spier — she's the secretary — looks in their appointment book to find out who's free, and when they figure out who's going to take the job, they call the client back with the information.
"They get millions of jobs that way. They're always busy. The parents around here really like them," I added wistfully. No matter how
hurt I was, I still wanted to be part of the Baby-sitters Club.
"Hmm," said Jessi. "Well, I don't see why we can't do that, too. There seem to be lots of kids around here. The Baby-sitters Club can't handle everything."
"You're right about that. That's why they asked me to join. They need someone to replace Stacey, I mean, really need someone."
"Well. . . let's get to work!" said Jessi. "First, we'll pick out a name for our club. I think the Baby-sitters Club is a dumb name. It's too plain. It's like naming a restaurant The Restaurant."
I giggled. "Yeah. Those older girls don't have any imagination. We could call our club ... um ..."
"Yeah. We could call it ... um ..."
We found that it wasn't easy to think of a better name.
"How about Sitters United?" suggested Jessi.
I shook my head. "Nah . . . How about, um, Sitters Incorporated?"
Jessi shook her head. "Nah. Boring. . . . Hmm. . . . Hey, how about Kids Incorporated?"
"Yeah!" I cried. "That's great! It sounds really cute. It's catchy."
"Much catchier than the Baby-sitters Club."
"Right."
"Now what?"
"Well, the other girls are always advertising themselves. Last year they put an ad in the newspaper, and every now and then they print up fliers and stick them in people's mailboxes, just to remind them of the club."
"Okay. Let's make fliers. . . . How do we do that?"
I thought for a moment. "My brother has a toy printing press that really works. I bet he'd let us use it."
"Great."
I leaned out into the hall and yelled, "Hey, Byron!"
"The triplets aren't home from school yet, Mallory," my mother called.
"Darn," I said. "We need to use his
"Thanks," replied Jessi. She sounded both pleased and surprised.
"Help yourselves to a snack," offered Mom.
I glanced around the kitchen. Nicky was awkwardly lathering mustard onto baloney slices, rolling them up, and biting into them, making the mustard ooze out the other end. Margo was untwisting Oreos, scraping out the filling, and saving it in a pile to eat after she'd eaten the cookie parts. Claire was a sticky mess from a banana, and Vanessa was grinning at everyone with an orange peel stuck in her mouth.
"We'll eat upstairs," I told my mother.
She nodded understandingly.
Jessi and I each took an apple and a cookie and went to my room.
"Oops," said Jessi as soon as we were sitting on my bed. "I better call Mom and tell her where I am."
She called her from the phone in the hall and then came back into my room. "You sure do have a lot of books," she said, looking around.
"They're Vanessa's and mine. She shares the room with me. That shelf is hers, this one is mine," I told her, pointing.
Jessi stood in front of my shelf. "Horse stories," she murmured. "Fantasy, mystery. I
see lots of books I'd like to borrow. You and I could switch back and forth forever. It would be like having our own library."
"Yeah!" I said. "I like that idea."
Jessi sat next to me on the bed. "So," she said, "how do we start a baby-sitting club?"
"Well, let me tell you how the other club works. We can sort of copy it. The girls meet three times a week from five-thirty until six. And the people they sit for know they meet at those times, so they call during the meetings and say when they need sitters. The good thing is that when people call — the babysitters call them clients — they're almost guaranteed a sitter, since they've reached four people at once. Somebody is bound to be free."
"Oh, I see," said Jessi.
"So the sitter takes down the information about the job; you know, how many kids they'll be in charge of, how old they are, how long the parents will be away, stuff like that. Then Mary Anne Spier — she's the secretary — looks in their appointment book to find out who's free, and when they figure out who's going to take the job, they call the client back with the information.
"They get millions of jobs that way. They're always busy. The parents around here really like them," I added wistfully. No matter how
hurt I was, I still wanted to be part of the Baby-sitters Club.
"Hmm," said Jessi. "Well, I don't see why we can't do that, too. There seem to be lots of kids around here. The Baby-sitters Club can't handle everything."
"You're right about that. That's why they asked me to join. They need someone to replace Stacey, I mean, really need someone."
"Well. . . let's get to work!" said Jessi. "First, we'll pick out a name for our club. I think the Baby-sitters Club is a dumb name. It's too plain. It's like naming a restaurant The Restaurant."
I giggled. "Yeah. Those older girls don't have any imagination. We could call our club ... um ..."
"Yeah. We could call it ... um ..."
We found that it wasn't easy to think of a better name.
"How about Sitters United?" suggested Jessi.
I shook my head. "Nah . . . How about, um, Sitters Incorporated?"
Jessi shook her head. "Nah. Boring. . . . Hmm. . . . Hey, how about Kids Incorporated?"
"Yeah!" I cried. "That's great! It sounds really cute. It's catchy."
"Much catchier than the Baby-sitters Club."
"Right."
"Now what?"
"Well, the other girls are always advertising themselves. Last year they put an ad in the newspaper, and every now and then they print up fliers and stick them in people's mailboxes, just to remind them of the club."
"Okay. Let's make fliers. . . . How do we do that?"
I thought for a moment. "My brother has a toy printing press that really works. I bet he'd let us use it."
"Great."
I leaned out into the hall and yelled, "Hey, Byron!"
"The triplets aren't home from school yet, Mallory," my mother called.
"Darn," I said. "We need to use his
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