Dawn and the Impossible Three by Ann M. Martin Page B

in numbers and all that,” said Kristy.
    â€œOh.”
    â€œI mean, she’s not strict, but she
is
careful. Even Mom has her limits. Besides, let’s say Mom gave me permission to ride across town alone. Okay. It takes about a half an hour each way when you figure in stopping at lights and running into rush-hour traffic. That means I’d have to leaveWatson’s at five o’clock for a five-thirty meeting, and I wouldn’t get home until six-thirty. In the winter, it would be pitch-black by then.”
    The problem was looking bigger and bigger.
    â€œHey, you guys,” said Claudia suddenly. “We’re not thinking. We’re assuming we have to go on holding the meetings in my room, but who says so? Just because we’ve held them here since the beginning doesn’t mean it’s the only place for them.”
    â€œThen our clients wouldn’t know where to reach us,” I said.
    â€œOh, right.” Kristy, who had just started to look hopeful, dropped her hands into her lap. “Stupid, stupid Watson,” she muttered.
    â€œHey, Kristy, don’t get down on Watson,” I said gently. “It’s not his fault. It’s not anybody’s fault.”
    â€œA lot
you
know.” Kristy didn’t even bother to look at me.
    â€œI may know more than you think,” I said quietly. “You’re not the only one whose parents got divorced.”
    â€œNo, but I’m the only one whose mother chose to get married to a jerk who’s so rich he lives three and a half miles away on Millionaire’s Lane, which is what they should call that grossstreet he can afford to live on. And I’m the only one who may have to drop out of the club. The club
I
started.”
    â€œOh, Kristy!” I exclaimed, forgetting her jab at me. “You can’t drop out of the club!”
    â€œNo. We won’t let you,” said Mary Anne staunchly. “We couldn’t run your club without you. It wouldn’t be right.”
    â€œYeah,” said Claudia. “No Kristy, no club.”
    Then we all looked at each other with the awful realization of what Claudia’s words might mean.

The next day was the beginning of Memorial Day weekend. The Stoneybrook schools were closed on Monday. In California, we usually spent most of the long weekend at the beach. There was no chance of that in Connecticut. Although we lived near the coast and the weather was beautiful, the temperature had dropped back to about seventy degrees. Mary Anne assured me that was normal. I didn’t care. On Saturday morning, I shouted at my clock radio and called the weatherman a cheesebrain. (Several days earlier, I’d called him a magician and a saint.)
    When I heard that the ocean temperature (the
Atlantic
Ocean temperature, that is) was fifty degrees, I called the weatherman a moron.
    Nevertheless, my mother, who was giving a picnic on Saturday, decided to hold it outdoors. I told her it was probably going to be the first picnic ever attended by people wearing down jackets.
    Mom just rolled her eyes heavenward and said, “For pity’s sake, Dawn. It’s perfectly pleasant outside.”
    No, it wasn’t.
    I tried to be enthusiastic about the picnic anyway. It had started off as just a small party for my mom and grandparents, but it had grown. First, Mom had invited Mr. Spier and Mary Anne. Then I had asked if I could invite the Thomases, the Kishis, and the McGills. Then Jeff had asked if we could invite the Pikes, and finally I decided to ask the Barretts and (out of guilt) the Prezziosos.
    Most of them couldn’t come, since they already had plans. In fact, apart from my grandparents and the Spiers, the only people who were able to attend were the Barretts, and Kristy and David Michael. (Mrs. Thomas was giving a party for her relatives and Watson and his kids on Saturday night, so she’d be busy getting ready for it during the day, but Kristy said