"Martin, Ann M - Baby-sitters Club 043 - Stacey's Emergency" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin Ann M)

ward, her chin resting on the top rung.
Claud had unearthed some packages of Ring-Dings and was passing them around. The smell of chocolate was driving me crazy. At least I wasn't the only one not eating them, though. Dawn wouldn't touch them. She nibbled at some crackers instead. I did, too, but the crackers didn't begin to quiet the rumbling in my very hungry stomach Ч too hungry for that time of day. A Ring-Ding or two might have taken care of things.
Anyway when Kristy began her throat-clearing, we sat at attention. And just in time. The phone rang. Dawn answered it.
"Hello, Baby-sitters Club ... Hi, Dr. Jo-hanssen . . . Next Tuesday? I'll have Mary Anne check. I'll get right back to you. . . . Okay. 'Bye." Dawn hung up and faced the rest of us. "Sitter for Charlotte next Tuesday night from seven till ten."
While Mary Anne looked at the appointment pages in the record book, Jessi and Mal let out groans. A nighttime sitting job. Neither of them could take it. They were disappointed.
"Okay," said Mary Anne, glancing up. "Sta-cey, Kristy, and Dawn are free."
"I've got a history test the next day," said Dawn. "I better stay at home where I can really concentrate while I'm studying."
"You take the job then, Stace," said Kristy.
"You live much closer to Char."
So I got the job. Mary Anne penciled it into the record book, and Dawn phoned Dr. Jo-hanssen to tell her who the sitter would be. That's how we always schedule jobs. Diplomatically. (Okay, usually. But we hardly ever have fights at meetings.)
The rest of the half hour passed busily. The phone rang a lot. (Twice, though, the calls were from Sam Thomas, goofing on us.) At six o'clock, Kristy jumped to her feet, announcing, "Meeting adjourned!"
We all stood up. Mal and Jessi took out their Cootie Catchers again. Kristy looked out the window to see if Charlie had arrived to pick her up. Dawn and Mary Anne hurried toward the door, and Claudia followed them. It was her turn to help with dinner that night.
Since no one was watching, I stuck my hand in the dresser drawer where I'd seen Claudia rehide the Ring-Dings.
I pulled out a package and snuck it into my purse.
Chapter 4.
Ring, ring.
I could hear the telephone in my mother's room. Why doesn't she answer it? I wondered, feeling cranky. Then I remembered that Mom had run over to the Pikes'. (Mallory's house is behind ours. Her back windows face our back windows.) Mom had said she'd be home in fifteen or twenty minutes.
So I would have to get the phone.
"Yuck," I said as I sat up. It was a Wednesday evening. I was lying on my bed, trying to find the energy to start my homework. I hadn't found it yet.
Ring, ring!
The telephone actually sounded impatient. I struggled to my feet and hurried into Mom's room.
"Hello?" I said, placing the receiver to my ear.
"Hi, Boontsie." It was Dad, using his awful baby name for me.
"Hi, Dad!" I tried to sound perky rather than dead tired.
"How are you doing? Are you ready for the weekend?"
"Sure," I replied. The upcoming weekend was a Dad Weekend. (I had conveniently forgotten to call my doctor.) I would leave for New York on Friday afternoon, missing a BSC meeting. (Dawn would get to be the treasurer that day.)
"What train are you taking?" asked Dad.
"The one that gets in at six-oh-four," I replied.
"Great. I'll meet you at the Information Booth at Grand Central then."
"Oh, Dad. You don't have to meet me," I said. (We have this discussion practically every time I go to New York.) "I can get a cab to your apartment."
"You won't have time. I made six-thirty dinner reservations."
"But I'll have all my stuff with me," I pointed out, trying not to whine. "I don't want to lug it around some restaurant."
"Don't worry. You can check your things with our coats. Then we'll have a nice leisurely dinner before we go home."
"Okay." Inwardly I sighed. I had a feeling
that Dad had made lots of plans for the weekend. Sometimes that's okay. But not when I'm so tired. And not when I have a mountain of homework to catch up on. I'd been planning to do some of it in New York. Oh, well. I could work on the train. (I'd be spending three and a half or four hours on the train that weekend.)
Dad did have a lot of plans. It turned out that he'd bought tickets to a Broadway musical for Saturday night. He knew about special exhibits at practically every museum in New York. And he'd made reservations for about sixteen hundred meals. (I don't think my father ever cooks for himself. His refrigerator looks like a hole: empty.)
"Will I get to see Laine sometime?" I asked.
"Sure. She can come to the MOMA with us." (The MOMA is the Museum of Modern Art. It is not Laine's favorite place.)
"Dad? Maybe we could skip the MOMA on Saturday afternoon? Then Laine could come over and we could just hang out and talk."
"Is that really how you want to spend Saturday?" asked Dad.
"Just the afternoon." I yawned.
"You sound awfully tired, honey."
"I guess I am, a little. I've got a lot of school-work." I almost said to Dad then, "Couldn't we cancel this weekend so I could stay at home
and rest and catch up on things?" But I knew I'd hurt his feelings if I did that.
"Well, try to get some extra sleep/' said Dad matter-of-factly. "We've got a big weekend ahead of us."
Tell me about it, I thought. "Okay," I said.
"So I'll meet you at Grand Central at a little after six."
"Right." I stifled another yawn.
There was a pause. Then Dad said, "Is your mother there?"
"No." I didn't mean to sound evasive. I was thinking about the weekend that lay ahead, mentally trying to conjure up some energy.