"Babysitters Club 122 Kristy In Charge" - читать интересную книгу автора (Babysitters Club)

went back to California.) The Schafer-Spiers were doing pretty well as a new family until Dawn decided she missed California too. She moved back there to live with Jeff, her father, and his new wife.
We all were sad when Dawn left, but Mary Anne took it the hardest. I think she felt deserted. But she had me, her other best friend, and she also had Logan.
Logan Bruno is Mary Anne's boyfriend. He's also an associate member of the BSC. That means he doesn't come to meetings, but we call him for a job if no one else is available. I'd assign him to teach a gym class, since he's athletic and loves sports.
Our other associate member is Shannon Kilbourne. She could teach any class she wanted, since she's a real brain. In fact, we invited her become a full-time BSC member, but she is so involved with after-school activities that she couldn't give the time to the club.
After Dawn left for California (and Shannon turned down our offer to join), Abby moved to town. She lives two houses down from me, which is how we met. Almost immediately, we invited her to join the club. We also invited her identical twin sister, Anna, but she said no. Luckily, Abby said yes.
That shows you how different they are, de-
spite the fact that they both have curly dark hair, dark brown eyes, and the same even, slightly pointy features. Abby's hair is long, while Anna's is short. Abby prefers to use contact lenses, and Anna wears glasses. Abby is athletic. Anna is musical. Abby has asthma and lots of allergies. Anna doesn't, but she does have to wear a brace for the next few years because of a curved spine condition called scoliosis. (She wears it under her clothing and you hardly notice it.)
Abby's class could be gym. But she could also teach a class in comedy. She's always making wisecracks and puns.
Things haven't always been so funny for Abby, though. When she was nine, her father died in a car accident. She says she barely even smiled back in those days. That was when the Stevensons lived on Long Island.
After Mr. Stevenson's death, life was hard for everyone in the household. But slowly, Anna and Abby began to laugh and enjoy things again. Their mother kicked her career as an editor into high gear, worked super-hard, and was promoted to an important executive editorial position. People call her a workaholic. Personally, I think that's an unfair label to put on someone who loves his or her job and gives everything to it. Abby complains, though, that
she doesn't see as much of her mother as she'd like to.
"Hello . . . Kristy?" Stacey was waving her hand in front of my face.
I'd been so involved in my thoughts that I hadn't been paying attention, which isn't like me. "Sorry. What?" I said.
"I asked you if you thought it would be all right to spend the club dues on a new notebook. This one's full. And we need new Kid-Kit supplies."
The BSC notebook is a journal in which we write down what happens on each sitting job we take. It was my idea, and a lot of the members wish I hadn't thought of it. They think it's a chore, except for Mallory. But it's important that everyone knows what's going on with all our clients. Say, for instance, a kid is afraid of the dark. A sitter can read the notebook before going to the job and she might think to bring along a special night-light or to play flashlight tag. Little things like this make us very popular and effective sitters.
"Definitely get a new notebook," I agreed.
"What about the Kid-Kits?" Stacey asked. Each of us has a box of fun stuff - art supplies, stickers, little toys, etc. - that -we bring on sitting jobs that might be difficult.
"Is everybody low on supplies?" I asked.
"Pretty much," Stacey reported. "We can afford to give everyone five dollars toward new stuff."
I nodded. "Okay. I don't need anything, though. I still have enough."
The phone rang again. It was Dr. Johanssen, looking for a sitter on Thursday afternoon for her daughter, Charlotte. "There's no one who can do it," Mary Anne said without having to check the record book. 'Abby, Jessi, and Claudia are busy, and the rest of us will be at TOT training."
"Better call Logan or Shannon," I suggested.
"Okay," Mary Anne said. "But I'm pretty sure Logan wants to do TOT too. We should call Shannon first." Thank goodness Shannon doesn't go to SMS. She attends a private school called Stoneybrook Day School. Hopefully, they weren't doing TOT there this week.
It turned out that Shannon was at the Steven-sons' house, since Anna and Shannon are good friends. Abby phoned her there and she agreed to sit for Charlotte. (There's nothing I hate more than having to turn down a client, especially a steady one like Dr. Johanssen. I always worry that the client won't call back again.)
"I can't wait until Monday to sign up for TOT," Mallory said eagerly. "I'd love to teach a class on poetry. Maybe I'll be able to do Emily Dickinson. Lately I've been reading her poems and they're so amazing."
"Slow down," Claudia said with a laugh. "What if you have to teach an algebra lesson?"
Mallory giggled. "I'll write a poem about it." She put her hand over her heart and a dreamy expression came over her face as she began to recite. "The value of XT/What could it be?/This I'll say/Don't ask me."
Everyone laughed. "Oh, I'm sure the math teacher will adore that," Stacey teased.
"You're right," Mallory agreed. "It might not be the best thing to do. Keep your fingers crossed that I get to teach an English class."
Chapter 3.
On Monday morning I spotted a sign in the school lobby that read TOT VOLUNTEER SIGN-UP
IN CAFETERIA TODAY.
"See you later," I said to Abby, who takes the bus with me to school. "I'm going in right now."
"I can't believe you're so psyched about this," she said, shaking her head.
"I can't believe you're not," I replied as I headed for the cafeteria. I entered it and found the sign-up table to my right. Mallory was already there. "Hi," I said. "Where's everyone else?"
"They wanted to get to their lockers first," she explained, "but I couldn't wait."
"Me neither."
Behind the table were Mr. Zizmore, a math teacher, and Mrs. Amer, a guidance counselor. "They're the TOT coordinators," Mallory told me.
We stood together, watching, as kids filled
out the forms on the table. Cokie Mason was there. So was her friend Grace Blume. Alan Gray was filling out a form - the head lunatic, eager to take over.
"I can't believe those kids want to do this," I commented in a low voice. "They barely do their own schoolwork. Why would they want to teach?"
"Extra credit," Mallory reminded me.
"Yeah. They probably need as much of it as they can get. Besides, I know Cokie views this as a chance to miss her own classes."
A boy with dirty blond hair approached the sign-up table. "Gary Retlin!" I gasped. "Oh, no! Can you imagine him as your teacher?"
"You probably wouldn't have to do much work," Mallory observed.
Gary Retlin and the BSC have a bit of a history. In his cool, mellow way, Gary has decided that it's his role in life to keep the BSC from becoming "complacent and boring." As if he even has a clue about what we do and how boring we are not.
Mallory clutched my arm. "What if I'm in a class Gary Retlin is teaching?" she asked, her eyes wide with horror.
"Just hope you're out teaching another class," I replied.
Gary must have sensed that we were talking
about him. He looked up from the form he was filling out and grinned.