The Truth About Stacey by Ann M. Martin Page A

whispering, “I don’t believe it. This is Ms. Jaydell. You know, the other new client? The woman
Janet
was supposed to sit for? Janet didn’t show up, either.”
    It was Kristy’s turn to be furious. She jerked the phone to her ear, eyes flashing, and had to unclench her jaw before saying (fairly civilly), “Kristin Thomas speaking.”
    I’d seen Kristy mad before, but never
that
mad.
    She carried on pretty much the same conversation with Ms. Jaydell that she’d had with Mr. Kelly a few minutes earlier. The only difference was that Ms. Jaydell and her husband hadn’t been able to find another sitter and had missed out on a cocktail party.
    When Kristy hung up the phone, she burst into tears. It was the first time I’d ever seen her cry.
    â€œWell, that does it,” I said, handing her a tissue from the table by Claudia’s bed. “What’re Janet’s and Leslie’s phone numbers? I’m going to call them right now. They’re really hurting us.”
    â€œNo,” said Kristy, wiping her eyes. “Don’t call them. I want to confront them face-to-face. We’ll talk to them in school tomorrow. This wasn’t any accident. They missed those jobs on purpose. I’m sure of it.”
    â€œBut why?” asked Claudia.
    â€œBeats me,” said Kristy. “Who’s going to help me face those traitors tomorrow?”
    â€œI am!” I said.
    â€œI am!” said Claudia.
    We looked at Mary Anne. “Couldn’t we confront them over the phone?” she asked.
    â€œOver the phone is not a confrontation,” I said firmly.
    â€œWe have to be face-to-face.”
    â€œWe do?”
    â€œYes, we do.”
    â€œAll
of us,” added Kristy. “The whole club. United.”
    â€œAll right,” said Mary Anne at last.
    None of us was looking forward to school the next day. We walked together in the morning, traveling about as fast as snails.
    â€œWhen are we going to confront them?” I asked Kristy as we reached Stoneybrook Middle School.
    â€œYeah,” said Claudia. “We don’t have any classes with them.”
    â€œWe’re going to confront them right now,” Kristy replied. “I know where their homerooms are. We’re going to wait for them.”
    â€œAn ambush,” said Mary Anne.
    Janet and Leslie were not in the same homeroom, but the rooms were just across the hall from each other. Kristy and Mary Anne waitedby Janet’s room; Claudia and I waited by Leslie’s.
    After about five minutes of standing around, I spotted them down the hall. “Psst! Kristy!” I said. “Here they come. Both of them.”
    â€œHey,” Claudia whispered to me. “Look who’s with them.”
    I looked. It was Liz Lewis. “I thought they didn’t like Liz,” I said.
    â€œI know.” Claudia frowned.
    We watched the girls stop for a moment, talking earnestly. Then Liz waved to them and disappeared into a classroom.
    Janet and Leslie saw us before they reached their homerooms. They nudged each other, laughing.
    The members of the Baby-sitters Club converged on them.
    â€œWhere were you yesterday?” Kristy demanded.
    â€œHey
(snap, snap),
what kind of a greeting is that?” asked Janet. She must have had twelve pieces of gum in her mouth.
    â€œI’m not kidding,” said Kristy. “I want to know where you were, and I want to know why you didn’t show up for your Saturday sitting jobs. Our club is known for responsible baby-sitters.”
    â€œSo what?” said Leslie.
    â€œSo what!” exclaimed Kristy. “You’re giving us a bad reputation. We’re going to have to ask you to leave the club.”
    â€œFine with us,” replied Janet. “We,” she added with a smirk, “are members of the Baby-sitters
Agency.”
She and Leslie burst into hysterical laughter.
    â€œBut—but—” stammered