"Martin, Ann M - Baby-sitters Club Super Special 12 - Here Come The Bridesmaids!" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin Ann M)

I tried it on and emerged from the dressing room to a chorus of oohs and aahs.
"It's gorgeous," Sunny said.
"Stunning," Maggie agreed,
"I was a bridesmaid once," Jill added, "with my sister. She picked the dress and it was sooo ugly. The worst thing was that she spent all this money on a dress she never wore again."
"Oh," I replied. Suddenly I wasn't so sure I wanted to buy it.
"But this one's different," Jill quickly said. "You could wear it a lot."
Sunny and Maggie nodded in agreement.
A saleswoman walked over to us and asked, "May I help you?"
I fingered the material. I was falling in love.
"I think she'll take it," Sunny said to the woman.
I wondered what Mary Anne would think. I spotted the same dress in her size on the rack. I wanted so badly to buy one for her. But would that be right? Shouldn't my co-bridesmaid be in on the decision? What if she hated it?
She couldn't.
"It's on sale, twenty percent off," the saleswoman said. "And it's returnable if you're not satisfied." That did it. I took both dresses off the rack.
"I'll take two," I said to the woman.
"Yea!" Maggie exclaimed.
"Let's celebrate," Jill said.
"Lunch at Tito's Burritos!" Sunny suggested.
"No, Health's Angels," Maggie replied.
I let them fight it out while I paid for the dresses. All I could think about was the look on Mary Anne's face.
She was going to love it.
Chapter 2.
Stacey.
"Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way. Time to eat, have a seat, who wants scrambled eh-eggs?"
As I bounded into the kitchen, poor Mom was shuffling toward the coffee pot. She stopped and looked at me as if I'd gone completely crazy.
"Nine o'clock, time to rock, open up the fridge . . ."I sang.
I am not usually like this. Really. Snow does this to me. Besides, it was a Saturday. I had nothing to do except sit for the Barrett and
DeWitt kids. And THE SEASON had begun!
When we first moved to Stoneybrook, I thought the holidays would be bo-ring. No offense, but my old hometown is pretty amazing at this time of year. New York City, that is. The tree at Rockefeller Center, the department store windows, the smell of roasting chestnuts at every corner. . . .
I thought I'd never adjust to the "country." But you know what? I had a chance to live in New York again. After my family moved to Stoneybrook, we had to move back because of my dad's job. That’s about when Mom and Dad started heading toward a divorce. Then I was faced with a choice — stay in NYC with Dad or return to Stoneybrook with Mom. And I chose Stoneybrook.
So the holidays aren't as flashy here. But hey, the snow on the ground stays white much longer. I never get stuck in the subway. Movie theater lines are shorter. And I get to hang out with my best friends in the world.
Plus I love baby-sitting, and as a Baby-sitters Club member, I do a lot of it.
That day, for example, I had been hired to keep the Barrett and DeWitt kids out of their parents' hair. The two families were going to visit their future house, to watch while the painters and decorators started work.
I was looking forward to it. I feel very dose to the Barretts. I had been with them and the DeWitts when they picked out the house to begin with. I also spent two weeks last summer with the Barretts in Sea City, New Jersey (I was hired as mother's helper), where we all went through a hurricane together.
"Dutchess," mumbled Mom, with a mouthful of the omelette I'd made.
I assumed she was saying "Delicious," so I answered, "Thanks."
I was halfway through my own omelette when I heard a horn honking outside.
Mom scowled. "So early in the morning?" she grunted.
Ding-dong went the front door bell.
"Time to go!" I cleared my plate, grabbed my coat from the outside hallway, and ran to the front door.
"Did you take your medicine, sweetheart?" Mom called out.
"Yes, Mom."
"Bundle up!"
"Yes, Mom. 'Bye!"
My medicine, by the way, is insulin. It regulates the sugar in my bloodstream. Most people's bodies make their own insulin, but diabetics have to inject it daily. (Please don't barf. It's not as gross as it sounds.)
"Hi!" Buddy Barrett greeted me as I opened the door. "Lindsey was blowing the car horn. She's in big* trouble."
Buddy is eight. Lindsey DeWitt is eight. Put them together and you get . . . big trouble. (Did you think I was going to say sixteen? Faked you out.)
Behind Buddy I heard squealing voices:
"I want to sit with Suzi!"
"Close the windows!"
"Ryan's drooling!"