"Martin, Ann M - Baby-sitters Club 004 - Mary Anne Saves the Day" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin Ann M)

Dawn and I walked across the lawn, talking away a mile a minute. We passed Claudia and Trevor on the way, which only made the afternoon more worthwhile, as far as I could see.
Dawn's new house turned out to be very old.
"It's a farmhouse," she told me, "and it was built in seventeen ninety-five."
"Wow!" I said. "You're kidding! Gosh, you were lucky to be able to buy such an old house."
"Yeah, I think so. Even though it needs a lot of work, and it's not very big. You'll see."
We walked through the front door. "If my dad were here," said Dawn, "he'd have to duck."
I looked up and saw that the top of the door
frame wasn't far above my head.
"People were shorter in seventeen ninety-five," explained Dawn.
I stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind me. I was standing in the middle of a room strewn with packing cartons Ч some empty, some half-empty, some still unopened Ч mountains of wadded-up newspaper, and a jumble of, well, things. I think we were in the living room, but I could see dishes, toys, sheets and blankets, a shower curtain, a bicycle tire, and a can of peaches.
"My mother isn't very organized yet," said Dawn. "Actually ever. Mom!" she called. "Mom, I'm home!"
"I'm in the kitchen, honey."
Dawn and I stepped over and around things, and managed to reach the kitchen unharmed.
I could see what Dawn meant about the house being small. The kitchen wasn't even big enough for a table and chairs. And it was dark, the window being blocked off by some overgrown yew bushes outside.
A pretty woman with short, curly hair that was every bit as light as Dawn's was standing at the counter slowly turning the pages of a large photo album.
Dawn took a look at the mess (the kitchen
was as jumbly as the living room had been) and then at the photo album. "Mom!" she cried. "What are you doing?"
Mrs. Schafer looked up guiltily. "Oh, honey," she said. "I keep getting sidetracked. I was working away, and I unpacked this album and an envelope full of pictures marked FOR PHOTO ALBUM, and I just had to stop and put them in."
Dawn smiled and shook her head. "I don't know, Mom. The way we're going, we might as well leave the house like it is. Then, if we ever move again, we could just throw the things back in the boxes."
Mrs. Schafer laughed.
"Mom, this is my friend Mary Anne. We eat lunch together."
Mrs. Schafer shook my hand. "Hi, Mary Anne. Nice to meet you. I do apologize for the mess. If you go up to Dawn's room, though, you'll find the one civilized spot in the house. Dawn had her bedroom cleaned, unpacked, and organized the day after we moved in."
Dawn shrugged. "What can I say? I'm neat."
"Would you like a snack, girls?" asked Mrs. Schafer.
"Is there actual food?" asked Dawn.
"Well," her mother replied, "there is actual grape jelly and an actual can of peaches."
"We've been eating out," Dawn told me, "in case you couldn't tell." She turned to her mother. "I think we'll skip the snack, Mom. But thanks."
Dawn and I went upstairs. Everything was little or low: a small dining room; a narrow, dark stairway leading to a narrow, dark hall. At the end of the hall was Dawn's bedroom, also small, with a low ceiling and a creaky floor.
"Wow, I like your room," I said, "but, gosh, the colonists must have been midgets."
"Maybe," said Dawn. "But there are two good things about this room. One is this/' She showed me a small, round window near the ceiling. "I don't know why it's there, but I love it."
"Kind of like a porthole," I said.
Dawn nodded. "The other thing is this." She flicked some switches and the room was flooded with brilliant light. "I can't stand dim rooms," she explained, "so Mom let me get lots of lamps and I put one-hundred-watt bulbs in all of them. I just hope the wiring in this old place can take it."
"Hey!" I exclaimed. "There's the VCR. It's in your room! Boy, are you lucky. Your own TV and VCR."
"They're only temporary, until the rest of
the house is in order. Then they go downstairs to the living room. What movie do you want to see?"
"What do you have?"
"Practically everything. My mom's a movie nut. She scours the TV Guide and tapes things all the time."
"Well," I said, "you probably don't have The Parent Trap, do you?"
"Of course we do. That was the last thing she taped before Ч "
"Before what?" I asked.
Dawn lowered her eyes. "Before the divorce," she whispered. "That's why we moved here. Because Mom and Dad got divorced."
"Why did you move here?"
"Mom's parents live here. My mother grew up in Stoneybrook."
"Oh! So did my dad. I wonder if they knew each other."
"What's your dad's name?"
"Richard Spier. What's your mom's name? I mean, what was her name before she got married?"
"Sharon, um, Porter."
"I'll have to ask my father. Wouldn't it be funny if they knew each other?"
"Yeah." Dawn was still staring at the floor.
"Hey," I said, "I guess it's awful when your parents split up, but there's nothing wrong with it, you know. Lots of kids have divorced parents. Kristy Thomas, my be Ч my next-door neighbor, has been a 'divorced kid' for years. And her mom dates this nice divorced man. And Ч " (I was about to tell her that the parents of the Shillaber twins were divorced, but I didn't really want to talk about the twins.) "And, I mean, I don't care that your parents are divorced."