"Babysitters Club 028 Welcome Back, Stacey!" - читать интересную книгу автора (Babysitters Club)

"And Tigger?"
"He's fine, too. He caught a mouse yesterday."
"In your house?" I asked, aghast. Sometimes roaches get into our apartment, but I've never seen anything with a tail.
"No! Outdoors. The mouse was outdoors. Although Tigger brought it inside and dropped it in his food dish."
"You're kidding!"
"Nope. It was so disgusting. Oh, wait. Kristy wants to say hello."
I looked at my watch. It was six o'clock. I'd wasted the rest of their meeting. Oh, well. Kristy couldn't be too mad if she still wanted to say hi to me.
"Stace?" said Kristy's voice.
"Hi. Sorry about tying up the club phone."
"Oh, that's all right. How are you doing?"
"Okay, I guess. How are the Krushers?" Kristy coaches a softball team for little kids in Stoneybrook. The team is called Kristy's Krushers.
"Not bad, considering. We get closer and closer to beating Bart's Bashers."
"How's our walking disaster?"
"Jackie Rodowsky? Just the same. I baby-sat for him last week and he rode his bike right
into the garage wall, skinned his knees, broke a flowerpot, and later dropped a pizza on the floor. At least he didn't drop it on a rug."
"Poor kid," I said, but I couldn't help laughing a little.
"I know," answered Kristy. "Listen, Jessi and Mal both want to say hi and then we'll have to go. Well, except for Claudia. If s after six."
"Okay," I replied. So I talked to Jessi and asked about her dancing, and about Becca and Squirt. "Hey, how's Charlotte?" I wanted to know. Charlotte Johanssen is Becca Ramsey's best friend, and my favorite Stoneybrook kid to sit for. She's eight years old, and she's shy and creative, just like Grace and Henry. Sometimes I really miss her.
"Charlotte just got over tonsillitis, but - "
"Tonsillitis! Is she going to have her tonsils out?"
"Nope. Not yet anyway. Don't worry. She's fine now. She and Becca dressed up like grown-ups yesterday and spent the afternoon playing office. It looked horribly boring, but they kept it up for hours. . . . Oh, here's Mal. 'Bye, Stacey."
" 'Bye, Jessi. ... Hi, Mal."
"Hi, Stacey. Guess what. Claire was asking about you the other day."
"Claire was?" (Claire is the youngest kid in Mal's family. I got to know all the Pikes pretty well when I went on two vacations with them as a mother's helper.) "What did she say?"
"She said, 'I miss Stacey-silly-billy-goo-goo.' "
Mal and I both laughed. And at that moment, I missed Claire and my Stoneybrook friends a lot. But I knew it was time to get off the phone. The BSC meeting was over, and if I didn't get home by six-thirty my parents would probably call the police.
I had to hang up the phone. I couldn't put it off any longer. The only good thing about leaving Laine's apartment was that no one yelled, "Have fun and be careful!" as I walked out the door, which is what my mother used to do every single time she let me out of her sight in New York.
There was just Laine saying, "I know things will be okay."
And on the way home I managed to convince myself that Laine was right and that I was being melodramatic.
Chapter 5.
As right as I hoped Laine was, I still approached my apartment apprehensively. At least I managed to be civil to James and the guys at the desk.
"Hi, James," I said. "Hi, Isaac. Hi, Lloyd."
The three of them looked relieved to find me acting normal again.
I rang for the elevator. It crashed to the ground floor, the doors jarred themselves open, I pressed the button for the 12th floor, the doors closed with a bang, and up I flew. When I was little, I used to jump around on the elevator while it was moving, which made my body feel heavier or lighter (depending on whether I was going up or down). Then Laine told me that jumping could make the cable break and the elevator crash, so I stopped, even though I think she made that up.
The doors opened on my floor. I stepped
into the hallway and paused, listening. The only sound was the TV blaring in 12C.
I walked to my apartment on tiptoe, stopping every few feet.
Still I heard nothing but the sounds of Z Love Lucy.
At 12E I listened especially carefully. Nothing.
I found my key, slipped it in the lock, and let myself inside. A tiny part of me was afraid that something had happened, that Mom or Dad had stormed off. But, no. They were sitting in the living room. They didn't look like they were doing much of anything, so they must have been talking.
Whew. If they were talking, that meant they weren't fighting.
"Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad," I said casually, as if I'd just left the Walkers' apartment, hadn't heard the fight, and hadn't been to Laine's.
"Hi, honey," they replied at the same time.
Another good sign. Speaking in unison.
But then Mom said, "Stacey, we need to talk to you."
Whoa, bad sign.
"You do?" I desperately hoped that they were going to accuse me of not sticking to my
diet. I even hoped that my English teacher had called up personally to tell my parents about the D I'd gotten on a quiz.
No such luck. I sat down on the edge of a couch and looked at Mom and Dad, who were glancing at each other as if to say, "You go first." "No, you go first."
Finally, Mom went first. "I guess it's no secret," she said, "that your dad and I have been having some problems."