Mary Anne Saves the Day by Ann M. Martin

would be a lot easier on my clients if I could baby-sit just a little later — say until ten. Or even nine-thirty. That would do.”
    â€œMary Anne,” Dad said gently, “we’ve been through that. If your clients need someone who can stay out late, then they should look for an older sitter.”
    â€œBut Kristy and Claudia and Stacey —”
    â€œI know. They’re all allowed to stay out later, and they’re the same age as you.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œBut they’re not you. And their parents aren’t me. I have to do what I think is best for you.”
    I nodded.
    â€œAnd the next time it looks as though you’re going to be late — for whatever reason — give me a call to let me know, all right?”
    â€œOkay.”
    Was Dad trying to tell me something? Was he saying that I hadn’t been responsible? Maybe if I was more responsible, he’d let me stay out later. Maybe he made decisions based on responsibility, not age. It was something to think about.
    I began thinking right away, on my way upstairs to bed. I felt that I was already fairly responsible. I always did my homework and I got good grades in school. I was usually on time for things. I usually started dinner for Dad and me. I did almost everything my father told me to do. Still … I supposed there was always room for more responsibility. I
could
have called Dad from the Pikes’ instead of panicking. I could start facing up to things I was afraid of.
    One of my biggest fears is confronting people and dealing with people I don’t know — like picking up the phone to get information, or talking to sales clerks, or asking for directions. Dad knewall that. Maybe when I stopped avoiding things, he would notice.
    Even though my father didn’t know about the fight everyone in the Baby-sitters Club had had, I decided that it was really time to do something about it. Whether the fault was mine or somebody else’s (or everybody’s), I was going to fix things. Now
that
was taking on responsibility.
    I realized that the evening at the Pikes’ could have been a disaster. If the kids had noticed that Kristy and I were fighting, it would have looked bad for our club. Luckily for us, the Pike kids are easygoing and have a sense of humor.
    Luckily.
    What if one of the kids had gotten hurt, and Kristy and I hadn’t been able to agree on what to do about it? What if the kids had realized what was going on? They might have blabbed to their parents, and our club might have lost some of its best clients.
    Besides, trying to run a club without meetings was stupid.
    It was time to put the club back together before it fell apart completely. Since Kristy is the club president, I thought that the best way to do it was to make up with her. That was going to be a real challenge. It would take plenty of responsibility.
    How to make up with Kristy? Long after I’d turned out my light, I lay in bed thinking. I could try to write her a note — one I could actually send her:
    Dear Kristy,
    I’m really sorry about our fight. I’d like to make
up and be friends again.
    Your best friend (I hope),
    Mary Anne
    That was good. Short but sweet.
    And it was truthful. I really was sorry about our fight, no matter who had started it or whose fault it was. And I really did want to be friends again.
    The next morning was Saturday, but I woke up early anyway. I ate breakfast with my father. Then I went back to my room and wrote the note to Kristy.
    And
then
— how was I going to get the note to her? If I took it over personally, she’d close the door in my face. Maybe I could leave it in the mailbox, or give it to David Michael to give to her.
    No. How could I be sure she’d read it? Maybea note wasn’t a good idea. But I couldn’t think of another way to make up with Kristy.
    I was still stewing about it when I heard the phone ring. A few moments later, my father called