The first thing I did when I got home after having my after-school snack was jump on the scale in my bathroom. Not only did my face look like Mount St. Helens, but my body looked the size of China. And one thing you should know about Claudia Lynn Kishi is that she is not a. pimply or b. fat.

The last time I went on a scale was when I was about ten years old. (So I didn't remember how much I'd weighed then.) My mom liked to see 'her little Claudia growing up'. Not that I let her anymore. Really, I don't even need to weigh myself. It's just that I don't care about those things, and I've never had a problem with my weight. Oh, and I'd been weighed in doctor's appointments too. But generally, scales are not a Typical Claudia Activity. I know some really snooty girls whose entire lives are about what clothes size they are, like Cokie Mason. Also, some overweight kids trying to lose weight who are never off the scales. But I don't fit into either of those categories. I was just Plain Old Claudia, trying to weigh herself.

I guess not doing something for a long time can make you forget how to, because I was sure having some problems with that scale. For one thing, the way it worked certainly hadn't been so funny. The minute I went on the scale, the number on it rotated to the number 115. (Our scale measures pounds.) I wondered if soon, I would have to peer over my expanding stomach. My tummy was starting to bounce whenever I moved, and I did not like that. I hoped I wouldn't end up looking like Kristy's mother when she was expecting David Michael. I stood up as straight and balanced. Boing. The number shuffled to a 120. The pointer began to bounce uncertainly between the two. Kind of like my newly chubby midsection. Ugh. What was wrong now? Who did this scale think it was? I peered down at it. Maybe there really was something wrong with it. Oh, boy. Why were there no numbers between the 115 and 120? Even I, Claudia Kishi, Dunce of the World knows that you cannot go straight from a fifteen to a twenty. There are four whole numbers in between. I wondered if the person who made this scale was even worse at school than I was. He should have become an artist instead of a scale-maker, or whatever that job is called. Maybe his parents wanted him to get a job that needed a lot of schooling. Kind of like mine. I noticed I was getting way off the subject. Quickly, I bolted out of my room and into Janine's. She was working on her computer, and looked a little annoyed to be disrupted.

"Janine?" I asked. "Can I borrow your scale, Janine?"

Janine pushed up her glasses. "Which type of scale?"

Huh? "A weighing scale."

Janine looked even more annoyed. "Be more specific, Claudia."

"Just a scale, Janine. The kind you weigh yourself on."

"I thought you had one in your bathroom."

"It's not working."

"I can fix it for you." she offered.

"I don't think you can. The guy who made it forgot to put the numbers on."
Janine gave me a funny look. "Well, I don't have a scale. Use the one in mom's room. And please knock on the door next time."

"Whatever." I left and turned back to my room, not feeling like weighing myself again. I felt lonely and a little depressed. Back in my room, I reached for a Galaxy bar from my underwear drawer to cheer myself up.

"So I guess you aren't what you eat after all?"

"Kristy!" I'd been so absorbed in my thoughts I hadn't noticed her coming in the doorway for the BSC meeting. "Come on in."

Kristy perched herself on her typical seat, the director's chair in my room. "Hey. Pass me one of those things." she said.

Same old Kristy. I threw her another Galaxy. We sat in silence for a few minutes until the other members had all come in.

"How's the pimple?" Stacey asked me as she flung herself on my bed.

I shot her an icy Look. "Fine, thank you."

"I mean it, Claud. Has it gotten any better?"

"Not yet. How long do they usually take to go away?"

"Not much time." Mary Anne reassured me. "Only about a few days."

"My mom has some zit cream you can borrow." Mallory chimed in.

"I heard that rubbing toothpaste on pimples can make them go away." said Dawn. "I never get zits, but Sunny says it really works." Sunny is Dawn's best friend in California.

"Dawn, ew!" we all squealed in unison, just as the clock turned to 5:30 and Kristy yelled; "Order! This meeting of the Baby-Sitters Club shall come to order!"

"You sound like a drill sergeant," I murmured.

"Thank you very much."

"Give us some food!" Mallory changed the subject.

I automatically flapped open my sheet. "Here you go." I handed her a squashed bag of Mallomars. "Mallomars all round!"

"Anyway," Dawn was continuing. "I was thinking, Claud, that you could come over to my house sometime. I could teach you a proper skincare routine. Also, I could give you some tasty, healthy recipes. You keep complaining about all the zits you get, but with a diet like that, is it even a surprise?" She nodded towards the bag of Hershey's Kisses I was eating.

"But these are the first zits I've ever gotten."

"She's right." said Jessi.

"True, but most people don't get zits until they're teenagers. And that's if they don't eat healthily."

"It's not just zits." I moaned. I rolled up my shirt to show the bulge in my tummy. "I'm getting fat."

"Claud, you're not fat!" exclaimed Mary Anne. "You're the skinniest person I know!"

"Not anymore. Look at my stomach." I shot back.

"You just ate a bag of Hershey's Kisses! Everyone's stomach bulges out when they eat." Stacey comforted me.

"You're gorgeous. You don't have anything to complain about." Kristy declared.

"Yeah, try having glasses and braces!" said Mallory.

I sighed. "You guys, I weigh a hundred-and-fifteen pounds. Or a hundred-and-twenty. That's not good."

"It's perfectly normal." said Stacey.

"But not thin."

"Why'd you want to be thin anyway?"

"Oh, you can't talk!"

"Chill out, you guys" Dawn rolled her eyes. "Claudia, what was your weight before?"

"I don't know. I never had to worry about it."

Just then, the phone rang, quieting us. Kristy picked up the receiver. (We try to let her do that as much as we can because she's the president.)

"Hello, Baby-Sitters' Club… Hello Mr. Hill…. four o' clock?...sure…'bye." Kristy hung up the phone.

"You guys, the Hills called and they want a sitter tomorrow at four for two hours. Who can do it?"

Mary Anne checked the record book. "Well, Dawn, Kristy, Stacey and I are booked, so that leaves Jessi, Mallory and Claud."

"Count me out." said Mallory. "My mom is having friends over and she wants me to help her prepare."

Jessi looked at me. "Want the job?"

"Sure! I'll take it." I said.

Mary Anne penciled me in, while I gloated. I knew I'd have a blast. I always do at the Hills. Sarah, who's nine, is creative and artistic, kind of like me. Seven-year-old Norman, who happens to be overweight, is funny and a great kid.

I endured the rest of the meeting, excited. I hoped sitting for the Hills would take my mind of the rest of my problems.