"Martin, Ann M - Baby-sitters Club - Super Special 01 - Baby-sitters on Board!" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin Ann M)

"Yes, I do," he answered, giving his father that look again.
Mr. Kubacki shrugged. "That video arcade is so noisy," he said to me. "I'd do almost anything for Marc, but ten minutes in one of those places drives me crazy."
"Want to come with us, Marc?" asked Claire.
I glanced at Mr. Kubacki, remembering how protective he was of his son.
"I don't know. . . ." said Marc's father.
At least he hadn't said no. Marc began to look hopeful. "Could I?" he asked, looking from his father to me.
"If s fine with me," I told Mr. Kubacki. "We'd be glad to have Marc along."
"That way you could go take your swim," Marc said to his father.
"Well," replied Mr. Kubacki, "all right. I'm sure you're responsible." He was probably thinking about my diabetes, and my diet, and my insulin shots, which we had talked about the night I met the Kubackis.
"Yea!" cried Marc. "Thanks, Dad."
We made arrangements for where and when to meet, and Mr. Kubacki gave me a few quick instructions. Then we separated. The girls
pushed Marc's wheelchair toward the arcade and I walked behind them. A few seconds later, I glanced back. Mr. Kubacki was watching us worriedly. I waved to let him know that everything would be all right. He smiled and set off for the Sun Deck.
"So how come you have to ride in this wheelchair, anyway?" asked Margo.
I cringed. But Marc replied cheerfully, "I've got a bad heart."
"Can you walk?" asked Claire.
"Of course," said Marc, sounding insulted. "But I'm not supposed to. It makes my heart muscles work too hard. I can't do anything that's like exercise."
"But you can play video games, right?" said Margo.
"Sure Ч if I can sit up high enough."
Oops. That hadn't occurred to me. How was Marc going to reach the game controls from his sitting position? But we solved that problem as soon as we reached the arcade and got our quarters. One of the ship's stewards was nice enough to give Marc two big cushions to sit on. Then he even gave Marc, Claire, and Margo each a free game.
The kids' friendship was cemented.
They were so awed by the free games that all they could do was exdaim over their good luck. Then they started talking about Disney World and the rides.
"I can't wait to see the castle!" cried Margo.
"Oh, Margo-silly-billy-goo-goo Ч " Claire began, and Marc burst out laughing.
"Silly-billy-goo-goo!" he repeated.
Claire and Margo got the giggles.
When they calmed down, the three of them finally played some games. But in between, their conversation continued. I was just thinking that the girls seemed to have forgotten that Marc was wheelchair-bound, when Claire finished a game of Donkey Kong and ran to Marc urgently.
"How are you going to go on Space Mountain in your wheelchair?" she wanted to know. (Space Mountain is supposed to be the wildest ride at Disney World. If s a high-speed roller coaster through dark tunnels that look like outer space.)
"Oh, I can't go on Space Mountain," said Marc soberly. "I can get out of my wheelchair to go on quiet rides, but not on a roller coaster."
The three kids grew silent. It was as if the girls hadn't realized how sick Marc was until
he said he couldn't go on Space Mountain.
They were about out of quarters then and we weren't going to meet Marc's father for another half an hour, so I made a suggestion. I hoped it would perk them up. "How about getting a treat at the ice-cream parlor?" I asked.
This was met with cheers, so with the girls pushing Marc, we made our way to the Scooper-Duper Ice-Cream Parlor. It looked like an old-fashioned soda shop with little round tables and wire chairs with curlicues all over them. The waiters and waitresses were wearing red-and-white striped jackets.
"Hey, there's Claudia!" exclaimed Margo as we were looking for a table.
Claudia was sitting by herself, nursing a butterscotch sundae. She's a junk-food addict and looked as if she were in seventh heaven.
"Hi, you guys," she said.
"Hi," Claire and Margo and I replied.
Then I introduced Marc to Claudia.
"What are you eating?" Claire asked Claudia.
"A butterscotch sundae," she replied.
Claire made a face. "I want a chocolate soda," she told me.
"Me too," said Margo and Marc.
We sat at Claudia's table and ordered chocolate sodas. (I had to get a Diet Coke, which is one of the worst things about having diabetes Ч missing out on treats.)
When it was almost time to meet Mr. Ku-backi, I took our bill up to the line at the cash register. I began to daydream but woke up when I heard the boy in front of me say to the cashier in a whisper, "And I'll pay for her sundae, too." The boy pointed across the room.
Why was he whispering? And who was he pointing to? I turned to look. He was pointing at Claudia! Or at least I thought he was. An older woman was at a table in front of ours, and a girl my age was at a table in back of ours. But neither of them looked like she deserved a Secret Admirer. He must mean Claudia. This boy must be her Secret Admirer!
I waved frantically to Claudia, but she was helping Marc with something. "Claud!" I called.
"AHEM! Miss?"
I turned back to the cashier, who looked very impatient.
And I realized that the boy was gone.
Darn! I hadn't even gotten a good look at
him. But there was nothing I could do now. The cashier and everyone on line were waiting for me to pay.