"Babysitters Club 090 Welcome To The BSC, Abby" - читать интересную книгу автора (Babysitters Club)

And then one day at school I started laughing at this really dumb joke that my best friend was telling and I suddenly remembered how my dad used to laugh all the time. I laughed harder and harder and I couldn't stop.
I couldn't even stop when class began. I had to run to the bathroom. The next thing I knew I was sitting in the bathroom stall laughing and crying and wheezing and trying not to throw up at the same time.
After that I went home from school. Just walked out. I told Mom and Anna I'd gotten really sick, and I stayed home from school for a few days.
Although my sense of humor wasn't ever quite the way it was when my father was alive, it felt okay to laugh again. Laughing, I could remember my dad, and think he might be laughing, too.
I felt alive again.
But our family still wasn't the same.
I looked at the cartons. Before we moved, Mom had sold or given away practically everything. We bought all new furniture, all new
everything, even chests of drawers and desks. The interior decorator decorated our big new house and we moved into a completely new life.
I gave one of the cartons a kick. Mistake. The killer dust bunnies attacked me. All of a sudden I was having trouble breathing. I panted a little and took a couple of gulps of air. Then I hauled my inhaler out of my pocket. (Have inhaler, will travel. Actually I have two kinds of inhalers - a prescription one for when my attacks get really bad, and a regular one that you can buy in the drugstore for times like these, when I get a little short of breath.) I held the inhaler to my lips and took a couple of drags on it.
A few minutes later my breathing was back to normal.
I flicked Aretha off. I needed real company, so I decided to plunge into the high seas of Kristy's family. Even if only half of them were around, that would be plenty.
Sure enough, when the door to Kristy's house was opened by her little brother David Michael and his pup, Shannon, the noise rushed out like a tidal wave.
"Hey!" said David Michael. Then he took a deep breath and bellowed, "Kristy!"
"Don't yell like that!" Kristy called back.
I started laughing as David Michael shouted,
slightly more softly, "Okay. Abby's here!"
"Thanks," Kristy replied in her usual firm, commanding tone of voice as she entered the hall. "Hi, Abby!"
"What's up?" I asked.
"Pasta jewelry," said Kristy.
"Huh?"
"Emily Michelle and Karen and Andrew and I are making jewelry out of pasta." Kristy was referring to her adopted younger sister, Emily Michelle, and her stepsister and stepbrother, Karen and Andrew.
"Like rigatoni and bow ties?" I asked.
"Yeah. You know the names of all that stuff?"
I shrugged. Mom had been a cook once.
But she'd never let us play with the food!
I settled down happily at the kitchen table, and before the afternoon was over we'd decked ourselves out in pasta necklaces and earrings and Karen had made a "hairpiece" out of spaghetti. Creative, but not practical.
I didn't realize how late it was until I heard Kristy's mother calling, "Hey, guys, I'm home!"
"Speaking of which," I said, jumping up.
I said good-bye quickly and slipped out the kitchen door while Kristy's family converged on Mrs. Brewer.
The lights were on in my house and music
met my ears as I burst through the back door. Not Aretha. Anna practicing her violin.
"Hey, I'm home!" I called.
To my surprise, my mother entered the kitchen. She smiled. "I figured you were in the neighborhood."
"Kristy's," I said.
"Baby-sitters Club meeting?" Mom looked puzzled. "I thought those were held on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. And aren't they usually at Claudia's?"
My mom never forgets anything. This has made me an honest person. (The BSC is this club I just joined. But more about that later.)
"Just visiting," I said. Impulsively, I hugged her.
She looked surprised. And pleased.
I pulled back quickly (you don't want to spoil your parental units), and asked, "Can we send out for pizza for dinner?"
"Pizza?".
I looked up and there was my sister. It wasn't like looking in a mirror exactly. Sort of like looking in a, well, blurred mirror. I have long, dark, curly hair. Anfta has short, dark, curly hair. We have pointed faces and brown eyes. We were both wearing jeans and big sweaters. I sported Timberland boots. Anna wore fuzzy slippers. She had her glasses on. I was wearing my contacts.
Mont has brown curly hair, too, but she wears it extremely short. Her face is squarish and her eyes are a dark hazel.
But if you saw the three of us together, you could tell we're related. And you could tell that Anna and I are very related. A second look and you'd figure out we're twins.
Even twins disagree, though. "Two pizzas," suggested Anna.
"Why?" I demanded.
"Because you're allergic to everything I like, including cheese," she said, smiling to show that she wasn't taking a poke at me and my allergies.
"Not garlic," I teased.
"Ugh," said Anna.
"Girls, girls," Mom said, shaking her head with mock seriousness.
She looked at her watch. "I suggest you work it out, order the pizza - or pizzas - and call me when it gets here. I have a little more work to do." She headed for her study.