Disclaimer: I don't own The Baby-Sitters Club or any associated intellectual material.


Chapter 1

Emily Michelle drew the letters of the alphabet with sticks of wax crayons on a pile of butcher's paper while I sat behind her, reminding her about the curl on the end of "little y" and the dot over the "little j". We were sprawled in the Thomas-Brewer's large den, our learning materials spread across a rich embroidered Persian rug. I have been tutoring Emily-Michelle for the last three weeks, after her parents realised that she was having trouble yet again keeping up with the private kindergarten course they had enrolled her in.

Kristy had asked me three Mondays ago, her recently grown breasts bobbing conspicuously as she jogged across the hallway to my locker. I had been substantially shocked to see her, and my eyes had wandered from the ceiling to the water fountain as Kristy rushed through her explanation about her sister's need for a tutor. I had waited until she finished talking to look her momentarily in the eye and accept her request. I barely knew who I was talking to, or what I was agreeing to. Relieved, she had punched me in the arm, thanked me and power-walked off towards the cafeteria for lunch. As she blended into the high school crowd I noticed how her curvy figure gave way to a nervous skip in her step.

Evidently, Kristin Amanda Thomas found it difficult to meet old faces with a smooth disposition these days as well.

"Claudia, look!" cried Emily.

I turned from my thoughts to look down at Emily's crowded and very colourful piece of paper. She had drawn a stick figure of what looked like a very tall girl with long linear hair down to her toes. The girl had large brown dots on her face signifying eyes, and, next to the entire composition, Emily had carefully delineated a "K".

"What does the K stand for Em?" I asked.

"It is K for Claudia!" she explained gleefully.

I laughed and reached over to give the cuddly five-year-old a hug. I ruffled her silky black hair and breathed in the comforting smell of Baby Shampoo. I didn't correct her mistake. There would be time for that later, but right now it was important to return some of the vast amount of love this kid had to give.

She giggled and hugged me back, and then went back to her crayons, evidently done with letters and moving on to drawing. After three years Emily-Michelle was still the same responsive and hard-working little girl I had tutored at two years old. Although when I had come back as her tutor three weeks ago, she had barely recognised me. There was no reason for surprise on my part. After all, I hadn't been to the TB mansion since the beginning of ninth grade. In fact, I had been met with quite a few surprised faces when I walked through the gates three weeks ago. I think the family was more uncomfortable with seeing me here without the assurance of being Kristy's friend (she had conveniently been away at a Student Council meeting) than anything else. They weren't sure what balance of familiarity and removed politeness they were supposed to pay me.

I sighed and leaned over Emily's work again. Bringing out some clean sheets of paper I started telling her about how different letters had similar sounds and then wrote some for her. The lesson in phonetics (basic as it was) continued for the next twenty minutes, after which we packed up our materials and made our way to the kitchen.

Mrs Brewer greeted me with her customary smile, the childhood familiarity of which always put me at ease. I went over the day's lesson with her, packed up our things and accepted my very expensive pay check. I kissed Emily-Michele goodbye and she ran upstairs, presumably to play in her specially built toy room. Karen and David Michael ran in to the kitchen, beads of summer sweat running down their faces. As far as I had observed, the step-siblings were fast becoming more and more like twins, playing and communicating in ways the rest of the family had trouble joining in to. Karen with the shining wild blue eyes and mass of blonde hair seemed to these days perfectly compliment her serious dark-eyed and more fragile step-brother.

"Mom, can we have some cranberry juice?" panted David Michael. "Oh, hi Claudia, he added after seeing me. Did Em turn your brains to mush today?"

"I don't know how you can bare to spend more than ten minutes with the girl," whined Karen. "She is so demanding!" Karen embellished her statement with a sweep of her arms and a swish of her messy blond hair.

Mrs Brewer put three cups of cranberry juice on the counter and clucked her disapproving.

I took my glass and grinned. "No I love being with her. You guys can just drop her off at Bradford Court whenever you feel like you've had enough. I wouldn't really mind a little sister."

Karen and David Michael were about to hit back when a short feisty young woman stormed through the back door, and let it slam behind her. Her straightened and streaked brown hair bounced angrily in place along with her ever bopping chest. I stared at her with a certain amount of apprehension and observed how her small brown eyes seemed to be ablaze. She had always been one to command presence and become fiery when things went wrong.

"Hey familia," she growled.

"HI KRISTY!" yelled her siblings, and ran to her, smothering her in what looked like a hug only payed to annoy her further. She embraced them half-heartedly and pushed them away in irritation.

"Aren't you kids a bit old for hugs? …Oh, hi Claud." Immediately her tone lost its strength, and her eyes were reduced to flat brown pools. She smiled weakly.

"Hey, Kristy." My tone of voice didn't provide much more life.

Done with their juice, the kids shouted their goodbyes and ran off into the twilit backyard, where the pink sky illuminated the neighbourhood with a warm mid-summer glow. Elizabeth muttered something and made her exit with a tight smile. Kristy and I were left in her enormous kitchen, clearly having nothing to say to each other. Kristy stood with her back straight and her chin up, a stance that I have thirteen years of experience with.

Her clothes, however, was an entity I was yet to accommodate my mental image of her with. My formerly tomboy-ish, well-on-her-to-way-to-gay buddy was today dressed in a skimpy green tank top which seemed to be toppling over with the weight of her cleavage, and khaki short shorts. She seemed to glow in a perfectly brown tan and curvy, yet defined figure. Like me, she had on ample mascara, eyeliner, blush and lipgloss. Although her stature screamed confidence, I could see that this Kristy Thomas was just as uncomfortable and vulnerable as I was. Burdened with this knowledge, I stared down at the tiled floor and observed both our feet shift uncomfortably.

"Hey Claud, you know I'd love to chat with you, but, as you probably saw when I came in, I'm not in the best mood at the moment. I don't want to be rude – in our situation that would be completely unacceptable," she stammered here, and I looked up, if only to acknowledge her words. She continued. "But I really need to just shut myself in my room for a while. I had some problems with Pete at the Council meeting today."

Surprised the length of what Kristy had just communicated; it took me a while to formulate a reply.

"That's cool Kristy. I don't like, you know… hold anything – "

"You've always been a great person," she interrupted hurriedly.

I nodded without looking up, and grabbing my bag from the coat rack, I sped out the back door. In any other situation leaving without saying goodbye would have been rude, but I knew that Kristy knew exactly what I meant and understood the harm I meant to evade by the fickle gesture.

As I drove back to Bradford Court, the place where the two of us, and Mary Anne, had grown up together – three little girls joined in the silky ropes of childhood memories and bonds –I recalled yet again how fickle a friendship could prove to be, under the weight of maturity.