Disclaimer: I do not own The Baby-Sitter's Club or Baby-Sitter's Little Sister.
***
Summary: Karen is now in eighth grade. Everything is rapidly changing around her...will she survive?
***
I was about to click on the message when the doorbell rang. If I was younger I would jump up and yell "I'll get it!" I still did the same thing, except there was no jumping nor screaming. I opened the door to see Nancy Dawes, my other best friend. Her fiery red hair was pulled back with a blue scrunchy. Sometimes I wondered how Nancy, even with her frizzy hair and freckles, managed to look pretty decent without trying while I had to actually make an effort.
"Hi Karen," she said, bubbly as ever.
"Hey Nance," I said, not bubbly as ever. It was difficult to match Nancy's eternal optimism.
"Want to come over?"
"Sure."
I yelled my farewell over my shoulder and closed the door behind me.
The Dawes' house was the Olive Garden of Stoneybrook. When you're there, you're family. Mrs. Dawes supplied you with delectable cookies and fresh lemonade. Mr. Dawes had a pleasant smile and always had some time to chew the fat. And Daniel wasn't an annoyance like Andrew was. You didn't see him barging into your bedroom unannounced demanding a missing Yu-Gi-Oh! card. We passed Mrs. Dawes reading something in the den. I couldn't imagine her reading Patricia Cornwell. Maybe Reader's Digest or even the occasional Sue Grafton, but not ol' Patricia. We entered Nancy's boudoir. Small, but homey.
"Um, Karen, are you okay?"
"What? Huh?"
"You seem, I dunno, distracted."
I flopped on her bed. Mrs. Dawes actually made her bedspread. I tried to imagine Mom making me a bedspread. I couldn't help but laugh.
"What's so funny?"
"Uh, erm, nothing. Really."
"Well, okay."
She turned on her television and began playing on her Playstation 2. I averted my eyes from the Final Fantasy game to her desk. I spotted a folded piece of paper with "Chris" written on it with sparkly green gel pen. I looked at the back of Nancy's head and tested the waters to make sure she wasn't paying any attention to the background. Good, she was zombified. I crept towards the desk and carefully unfolded the piece of lined paper.
Dear Chris,
I have something to tell you. I don't know how to say this, but, I like you.
My eyes widened. Could she be talking about Chris Lamar? The guy who always wore his shirts half-tucked in? I looked back at Nancy who was battling and muttering expletives as she did so. I read on.
I know it sounds kind of weird, but I've liked you for a long time. Since 3rd grade.
Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ. It felt wrong to be invading Nance's privacy like this, but I was immediately enthralled. I had never thought that Nancy actually like liked somebody. It was all beginning to sound like an episode of some crappy teen drama/comedy show. The media's disgustingly insipid intrepretation of our generation. I was beginning to read the next sentence when the letter was snatched from my hands. Damn. Now that was disappointing.
"Karen! What are you doing, snooping around my personal things!"
"Sorry."
Nancy folded the letter again and hid it in her jean pockets. She reminded me of those ladies on TV who just found out that their child had a terminal illness. She began to speak again.
"No, I should've know better than to leave my notes out in the open."
In a way, that hurt. There's nothing worse than to lose trust, even little by little. Nancy looked down and picked at her cuticles.
"Really, it's my fault. Um...I promise that I didn't read anything after 'Since 3rd grade'."
She stopped picking her cuticles and looked up.
"You promise?"
"Yes, I promise."
"Good."
I couldn't help but ask further questions. I was the cop and she was the convict.
"You've really liked him since third grade?"
Her freckled face flushed.
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"He's nice, funny, understanding, thoughtful, generous, and even kind of cute."
"When did you write the note?"
"Last night. I-I...Think he likes me too."
"How do you know?"
"Well, he invites me to his house often to 'talk about strategies' and I think he tried to take a whiff of my hair once."
***
I combed my blonde hair. It was kind of like Margot's in The Royal Tenenbaums. Of course, mine didn't look as sleek and movie star-ish. As I placed the brush back in my side of the bathroom drawers, I realized something. Bobby's e-mail.
I went to my bedroom and turned on the computer again. I hastily opened up the e-mail and read it.
To: 1stMusketeer@attbi.com
From: Anon909@attbi.com
Hey Kare,
I'm glad I ran into you at the mall today. Sorry we had such a short conversation, I didn't want to listen to Mom's yelling again. Listen, I just wanted to tell you something...Please don't tell this to Rick.
I stared.
I think I like you...more than a friend.
-Bobby
I stared blankly at the screen. I nearly went into a coma. For a message that started out as a friendly apology, who would think that it would end in a love...er...like confession.
***
Sorry it took so long, school you know.
***
Summary: Karen is now in eighth grade. Everything is rapidly changing around her...will she survive?
***
I was about to click on the message when the doorbell rang. If I was younger I would jump up and yell "I'll get it!" I still did the same thing, except there was no jumping nor screaming. I opened the door to see Nancy Dawes, my other best friend. Her fiery red hair was pulled back with a blue scrunchy. Sometimes I wondered how Nancy, even with her frizzy hair and freckles, managed to look pretty decent without trying while I had to actually make an effort.
"Hi Karen," she said, bubbly as ever.
"Hey Nance," I said, not bubbly as ever. It was difficult to match Nancy's eternal optimism.
"Want to come over?"
"Sure."
I yelled my farewell over my shoulder and closed the door behind me.
The Dawes' house was the Olive Garden of Stoneybrook. When you're there, you're family. Mrs. Dawes supplied you with delectable cookies and fresh lemonade. Mr. Dawes had a pleasant smile and always had some time to chew the fat. And Daniel wasn't an annoyance like Andrew was. You didn't see him barging into your bedroom unannounced demanding a missing Yu-Gi-Oh! card. We passed Mrs. Dawes reading something in the den. I couldn't imagine her reading Patricia Cornwell. Maybe Reader's Digest or even the occasional Sue Grafton, but not ol' Patricia. We entered Nancy's boudoir. Small, but homey.
"Um, Karen, are you okay?"
"What? Huh?"
"You seem, I dunno, distracted."
I flopped on her bed. Mrs. Dawes actually made her bedspread. I tried to imagine Mom making me a bedspread. I couldn't help but laugh.
"What's so funny?"
"Uh, erm, nothing. Really."
"Well, okay."
She turned on her television and began playing on her Playstation 2. I averted my eyes from the Final Fantasy game to her desk. I spotted a folded piece of paper with "Chris" written on it with sparkly green gel pen. I looked at the back of Nancy's head and tested the waters to make sure she wasn't paying any attention to the background. Good, she was zombified. I crept towards the desk and carefully unfolded the piece of lined paper.
Dear Chris,
I have something to tell you. I don't know how to say this, but, I like you.
My eyes widened. Could she be talking about Chris Lamar? The guy who always wore his shirts half-tucked in? I looked back at Nancy who was battling and muttering expletives as she did so. I read on.
I know it sounds kind of weird, but I've liked you for a long time. Since 3rd grade.
Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ. It felt wrong to be invading Nance's privacy like this, but I was immediately enthralled. I had never thought that Nancy actually like liked somebody. It was all beginning to sound like an episode of some crappy teen drama/comedy show. The media's disgustingly insipid intrepretation of our generation. I was beginning to read the next sentence when the letter was snatched from my hands. Damn. Now that was disappointing.
"Karen! What are you doing, snooping around my personal things!"
"Sorry."
Nancy folded the letter again and hid it in her jean pockets. She reminded me of those ladies on TV who just found out that their child had a terminal illness. She began to speak again.
"No, I should've know better than to leave my notes out in the open."
In a way, that hurt. There's nothing worse than to lose trust, even little by little. Nancy looked down and picked at her cuticles.
"Really, it's my fault. Um...I promise that I didn't read anything after 'Since 3rd grade'."
She stopped picking her cuticles and looked up.
"You promise?"
"Yes, I promise."
"Good."
I couldn't help but ask further questions. I was the cop and she was the convict.
"You've really liked him since third grade?"
Her freckled face flushed.
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"He's nice, funny, understanding, thoughtful, generous, and even kind of cute."
"When did you write the note?"
"Last night. I-I...Think he likes me too."
"How do you know?"
"Well, he invites me to his house often to 'talk about strategies' and I think he tried to take a whiff of my hair once."
***
I combed my blonde hair. It was kind of like Margot's in The Royal Tenenbaums. Of course, mine didn't look as sleek and movie star-ish. As I placed the brush back in my side of the bathroom drawers, I realized something. Bobby's e-mail.
I went to my bedroom and turned on the computer again. I hastily opened up the e-mail and read it.
To: 1stMusketeer@attbi.com
From: Anon909@attbi.com
Hey Kare,
I'm glad I ran into you at the mall today. Sorry we had such a short conversation, I didn't want to listen to Mom's yelling again. Listen, I just wanted to tell you something...Please don't tell this to Rick.
I stared.
I think I like you...more than a friend.
-Bobby
I stared blankly at the screen. I nearly went into a coma. For a message that started out as a friendly apology, who would think that it would end in a love...er...like confession.
***
Sorry it took so long, school you know.