The Truth About Stacey by Ann M. Martin

was the picture of depression. The Baby-sitters Club sat around Kristy’s dining room table while David Michael built a house out of wooden blocks for Louie. Kristy had served herself and Claudia and Mary Anne a snack and had poured each of us a diet soda, but the food remained untouched. We stared at our hands. Claudia shredded a paper napkin and arranged the strips in a tidy pile. Nobody spoke except Kristy.
    â€œWe can talk about my other ideas later,” she said, “but the new one is to recruit more members—eighth-graders—for our club. That waywe’ll have some older sitters, but we won’t have to copy the agency by working the way they do.” She looked around the table. “Agreed?”
    Claudia, Mary Anne, and I nodded silently.
    The Baby-sitters Club was going to increase its numbers.

Thanksgiving vacation was not a lot of fun that year. It came just two days after the Baby-sitters Club decided to take on new members. I didn’t really mind asking other people to join our club—I figured it would be a chance to make more friends—but I didn’t like the
reason
we were adding members. I was hopping mad at Liz and Michelle for hurting our club.
    That was pretty much all I could think about on Thursday and Friday of Thanksgiving vacation. We had a four-day weekend, and I spent the first half of it mad at the Baby-sitters Agency.
    I spent the second half of it mad at my parents.
    For starters, they had said way back over the summer that we could go to New York for Thanksgiving, but the weekend before Thanksgiving they had suddenly changed their minds.
    â€œWe thought it would be nice to make our first Thanksgiving in Connecticut a true old-fashioned,New England holiday,” Mom said. “I’ll cook a meal that you can eat”—I scowled—”and we’ll spend the day by ourselves. Dad will build a fire in the fireplace. We’ll just enjoy being cozy and together in our new home.”
    That didn’t sound so bad. In fact, I managed to enjoy our day. It even snowed a little. It was late the next day, when Mom and Dad told me the real reason for not going to New York, that I got angry at them.
    They had taken me to Washington Mall, which is about half an hour away from Stoneybrook. For some reason, the day after Thanksgiving is the biggest Christmas shopping day of the season. I don’t know why. But I love to shop, so I thought the excursion would be fun and would help take my mind off the Baby-sitters Agency. Kristy had told me all about Washington Mall. It’s the biggest one around, with five levels of stores, a zillion restaurants and food stands, four movie theaters, a videogame arcade, a petting zoo, and an exhibits area.
    I had taken some of the money I’d earned babysitting out of my savings account, and I left Mom and Dad to explore the mall on my own. I bought two Christmas presents—a pair of striped leg warmers for Claudia and a book about New Yorkfor Mary Anne—and a dinosaur pin for me. I planned to attach it to my beret.
    At one o’clock, I met Mom and Dad and we ate lunch in a sandwich shop. After lunch, we went to a movie. Two hours later, as we filed back into the mall, Dad said brightly, “Well, how about one more treat before we head home? We could go to that little French café on the top level.”
    â€œOoh, goody,” I said.
    When we were settled, Dad with a cup of coffee, Mom with a glass of wine, and I with diet ginger ale, Dad glanced at Mom and said, “Now, honey?”
    â€œWhat?” I asked, immediately suspicious.
    â€œWe have some news for you.”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    Mom and Dad kept looking at each other as if they couldn’t decide who should tell me the news. I knew it must be pretty important. Furthermore, I had a feeling that whatever it was, I wasn’t going to like it one bit.
    â€œWe aren’t moving again, are we?” I