Work Text:
A thin film of sweat coats Kristy Thomas’s skin, a clammy souvenir of her desperate dash up the two flights of stairs to Claudia’s room. Her lungs burn and her heart thumps a furious rhythm against her ribs, a percussive reminder that she, President of the Baby-Sitters Club, is officially the last one here. The thought rankles. She is supposed to set the example, to be the first one to arrive and the last to leave. Instead, she is a panting, flustered mess, shoving her way through the bright blue door of Claudia Kishi’s bedroom, which is, as always, an explosion of color, art, and clutter.
Nobody even looks up.
“H-hey, guys,” she gasps, leaning against the doorframe, trying to look casual and not like she just sprinted the last three blocks.
There is a chorus of lazy, distracted greetings. “Hey, Kristy.” “Hi.” “Finally.”
Right. Finally. Kristy grits her teeth and pushes off the frame. The air in the room is heavy and sweet, a cloying mix of paint fumes, the faint smell of old chocolate, and Claudia’s signature floral perfume. It is a sensory assault, but one she has come to love. Her eyes sweep the scene, cataloging each of the girls in their usual meeting positions.
Her best friend, Mary Anne Spier, is the first she spots. The Club Secretary is curled up on the pink-carpeted floor, a soft, plush blanket of a rug that swallows Kristy's feet with each step. She is propped up against the carved footboard of Claudia’s magnificent four-poster bed, completely absorbed in a book. The cover shows a boy and a girl on a windy beach, their hair blowing dramatically. Mary Anne’s long, dark hair, usually tied back in one of her mother’s old hair ribbons, is down today, a curtain around her face. She absently pushes a stray strand behind her ear as she reads, her lips moving silently as she follows the story. Mary Anne is the quiet, sensitive one, the girl who would rather get lost in the pages of a novel than in a crowd.
On the bed itself sits the Treasurer, Stacey McGill. She is the club’s resident glamour girl, a true transplant from New York City, and it shows. Her blonde hair is swept up in a bouncy ponytail held by a hot-pink scrunchie, and she wears a trendy white button-down shirt over a striped crop top and high-waisted acid-wash jeans that are all the rage. She sits cross-legged on a mountain of pillows, a small, worn notebook and a calculator in her lap, her brow furrowed in concentration. She is counting the money from last week’s gigs, her nimble fingers flying over the keypad with the speed of a professional typist. Stacey is good with numbers. The sound of her clicking buttons is a steady, reassuring rhythm in the background.
Kristy's eyes travel to the center of the room. A circular rug with the colors of the lesbian flag—a beautiful gradient of pinks and oranges—is stretched out beneath the stereo system. It is an interesting choice, but it is definitely very Claudia. On it, in a perfect, mirrored line, lie the three youngest members of the club. Junior Officer Jessi Ramsey, a graceful and elegant dancer, is on the far end, her long, dark legs stretched out. Next to her is Dawn Schafer, Mary Anne’s future stepsister and an Alternate Officer, whose sunny California blonde hair seems to glow in the lamplight. Finally, there is Abby Stevenson, another Alternate Officer, with her quick wit and even quicker smile. They are all lying on their backs, one arm bent under their heads like a pillow, the other splayed across their stomachs. They are not talking, just lying there in comfortable silence, their chests rising and falling in unison as they breathe, a strange but peaceful mimicry.
On a pillow dragged from the couch, Mallory Pike, the oldest of them, is curled up on the edge of the rug, tracing the colorful patterns with her finger. Her glasses are perched on the end of her nose, and her hair, usually in a braid, is tied back in a messy bun. Mallory is the writer, the dreamer, the girl who wants to have a dozen kids and write stories for them all. She is lost in her own world, a silent, thoughtful presence.
And then there is Claudia.
The source of the candy smell and the creative chaos. The Club Vice President is buried in her closet, a narrow, dark space crammed with clothes she has either designed herself or purchased with an eye for dramatic flair. Her legs, clad in mismatched leggings—one purple, one bright yellow—are sticking out from under a pile of scarves and shoes.
Her voice, muffled and distant, calls out from the depths. “Kristy, you’re late! The meeting is supposed to start ten minutes ago!”
“I know, I know,” Kristy says, finally getting her breath back. “I’m sorry, guys. I had to, um, do something.”
She cannot bring herself to tell them the real reason for her delay. She was having a fight with her brother, Sam, about the phone. He was on it, as usual, and she had to physically yank the receiver from his hand and remind him that she has a meeting and that she is the President , for goodness' sake. It was a stupid, pointless fight, but it made her late, and now she has to deal with the guilt.
Kristy pulls a chair up to Claudia’s desk, the center of their operation, a giant mess of art supplies, half-finished projects, and piles of fashion magazines. She drops her book bag on the floor, the sound a dull thud against the carpet. The desk is an abstract landscape of Kristy's own creation. She sees stacks of paper, a half-eaten bag of Smarties, a box of crayons, and a notebook with an agenda that she has meticulously written just a few days ago. The agenda is filled with the names of all the clients they have, the hours they require their services, and the girls available for the jobs. This is how they organize themselves, how they ensure they get every call and never miss a gig. Kristy's eyes scan the document, a wave of pride washing over her at the efficiency and order she brings to this chaotic room.
“All right, people,” she says, trying to inject some authority back into her voice. “Let’s get this meeting started. Stacey, what’s the damage?”
Stacey looks up from her calculator. Her face, framed by her fashionable hair, is a picture of focused concentration. “We have eighty-three dollars and fifty-six cents,” she says, her voice as crisp and precise as her outfits. “We made seventy-five dollars last week, and we had a little over eight dollars left over from the week before. After the pizza money, we’re at… seventy-eight dollars and fifty-six cents. Not bad.”
“Awesome!” Mallory says, sitting up and finally looking up from the rug. “That’s, like, a whole bunch of money!”
“Yeah, it is,” Kristy says, feeling a tiny bit better. “We’ve been working hard. We deserve it.”
There is a small, comfortable silence as they all bask in the glow of their collective success. They have worked hard for this money, each of them taking on jobs, helping families, and doing their part to make this club the success it is. The money is their reward, their tangible proof that they are capable, responsible, and good at what they do.
Then Dawn speaks up, her voice a soft, melodic contrast to the room's usual babble. “So, what are we going to do with it?” she asks, a thoughtful look on her face.
“Maybe we can save it for a big, end-of-the-year party,” Mallory suggests, her eyes lighting up at the idea. “We can go to the movies, or get ice cream, or maybe even go to the mall and get something for ourselves!”
The idea is met with a chorus of excited murmurs. Even Mary Anne, who was engrossed in her book just moments ago, closes it and looks up, a small smile on her face. A party. The last day of school is just around the corner, and a party would be the perfect way to celebrate.
“That’s a great idea, Mal,” Kristy says, a genuine smile finally breaking through her stress. “We should talk about it later. But right now, we need to get to the agenda.”
She looks at the clock on Claudia’s nightstand. It is a retro, bright-yellow alarm clock with big, blocky numbers. It is almost six-fifteen. Her heart begins to pound again, a dull, heavy beat that has nothing to do with her sprint up the stairs and everything to do with the secret she is holding. She glances at Mary Anne, and her gentle, dark eyes meet hers. Mary Anne is her best friend, her other half, the person who knows her better than anyone. She is also the first one to notice when something is off.
“Kristy?” she asks, her voice soft and full of concern. “Are you okay? You look… worried.”
Kristy's breath hitches in her throat. She looks at the rest of the girls, their faces a mixture of expectation and curiosity. Dawn, Jessi, and Abby have finally sat up, their identical poses broken. Stacey is looking at her, her head tilted, a question in her eyes. Mallory is watching her, a thoughtful frown on her face. Even Claudia, with her legs still sticking out of the closet, is silent, waiting for her to say something.
Kristy clears her throat, her voice a little shaky. “I have some news,” she says, her eyes darting from face to face. “I have… good news and bad news.”
The room falls completely silent. Even Stacey’s clicking on the calculator has stopped. The only sound is the gentle hum of the refrigerator in Claudia’s room and the distant rumble of a car passing by outside. All eyes are on Kristy, their expressions a mix of confusion and fear. She sees Mary Anne’s eyes, wide and searching, and knows she cannot put it off any longer.
“The good news,” she says, taking a deep breath, “is that my mom wants me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding.”
The room erupts in a mix of confused and excited chatter.
“A bridesmaid? That’s so cool!” Dawn says, a huge smile on her face.
“You’re going to be in a wedding, Kristy? What are you going to wear?” Stacey asks, her mind already on fashion.
“That’s wonderful, Kristy!” Mallory says, her eyes sparkling. “You’ll be a part of the whole thing!”
Mary Anne, however, is silent. Her eyes are still on Kristy, her brow furrowed in concentration. She knows her too well. She knows that the 'good news' comes with a heavy caveat. She knows there is something else, something Kristy is not saying. She knows the truth.
“Okay, okay, settle down, everyone,” Kristy says, holding up her hands to quiet them. “I have to tell you the bad news.”
The room falls silent again, the excited buzz dying down. They are all looking at Kristy, their faces now a sea of concern and worry.
“The bad news is… the wedding is in two and a half weeks,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “And… we’re moving in July.”
The words hang in the air, heavy and thick. The silence is deafening. Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. It is as if Kristy has just dropped a bombshell, a giant, invisible bomb that has just exploded, leaving a cloud of shock and disbelief in its wake. Kristy looks at Mary Anne. Her face, usually so expressive, is completely blank, a mask of unreadable emotion. Then, slowly, the color drains from her cheeks. Her mouth, which was just a second ago in a soft smile, is now a tight, hard line. Her eyes, which were just a moment ago full of warmth, are now welling up with tears.
“You’re moving?” she whispers, her voice a fragile, broken thing. “You’re… you’re leaving Stoneybrooke?”
Kristy nods, unable to speak, her own throat tightening with unshed tears. She sees the tears spill over and run down Mary Anne's cheeks. Mary Anne is crying, and Kristy knows that she is the cause of it. This is exactly what she was afraid of.
“We’re moving into Watson’s mansion,” Kristy says, her voice still small and thin. “He has a house with a huge yard and a pool. It’s… It’s going to be great. It’s just… it’s a lot to deal with.”
Her explanation sounds lame, even to her ears. A huge yard and a pool. It sounds like a dream, but all Kristy can think about is leaving her house, her room, her neighborhood, her life. She cannot stop the tears that are now running down her cheeks, a silent, mirroring reflection of Mary Anne’s grief.
“But… but what about the club?” Jessi asks, her voice small and scared.
“What about our calls?” Abby adds, her hands now clasped together in her lap.
The question hangs in the air, a testament to the reality of the situation. Kristy is moving. She is leaving. The Baby-Sitters Club, her life’s work, her greatest accomplishment, is in jeopardy. Suddenly, a loud, jarring sound shatters the silence. RIIING! RIIING! The phone, their lifeline, their connection to the world of babysitting, is ringing. Kristy’s head snaps toward the desk where the phone sits, a bright pink rotary phone that Claudia has painted with sunflowers. Jessi, who is closest, scrambles to her feet.
“I’ll get it,” she says, her voice still a little shaky.
She picks up the receiver, her face still pale with shock. “Hello? The Baby-Sitters Club,” she says, her professional demeanor taking over.
Kristy is grateful for the interruption. It gives her a moment to breathe, to wipe the tears from her eyes, and to collect herself. She looks over at Mary Anne, who is still crying silently. Her heart aches for her, for the pain she knows she has caused her. She wants to go over and hug her, telling her everything will be okay, but she cannot. She has to be the President, the one who keeps things together, even when they are falling apart.
“Who’s available?” Kristy whispers to Mary Anne, trying to get her attention.
Mary Anne looks up at her, her eyes red and puffy, and a small, sad smile appears on her face. She knows what Kristy is doing. She knows she is trying to keep things normal, even if they aren't. Mary Anne reaches for the agenda on the desk, her fingers trembling slightly. Her eyes scan the page, her mind still reeling from Kristy's news.
Jessi is talking on the phone, her voice a calm, professional lilt. “Dr. Johanssen? Okay, got it. Friday, 3 to 5?”
She looks over at them, her eyes wide, her eyebrows raised in a silent question. Mary Anne and Kristy look at the agenda, their heads bent over the paper. The names of the girls are written in Kristy's perfect, cursive handwriting. She looks at the columns for Friday, the 3 to 5 slot, and her heart sinks. They only have two girls available.
“Dawn and I are free,” Mary Anne says, her voice a little steadier now.
Jessi nods and turns back to the phone. “Okay, great. Mary Anne and Dawn are both free.”
But then, Dawn pipes up, her voice clear and strong. “Oh, wait! I can’t do it. My brother and I are going to my grandparents’ house for the weekend.”
Kristy’s head snaps toward Dawn. Her grandparents live in Stoneybrook, but they are still a bit of a drive away. She has to go. This leaves only Mary Anne. Kristy looks at Mary Anne. She looks back, and Kristy sees the fear in her eyes. She does not want to do this alone. Kristy knows the feeling.
Jessi nods again and turns back to the phone. “It will be Mary Anne, Dr. Johanssen. She’s the only one available.”
There is a pause as Jessi listens to the man on the other end of the line. She nods, smiles, and then hangs up the phone. The phone now sits silent on the desk, a bright, cheerful object in a room filled with sadness and confusion.
“Okay, she took it,” Jessi says, her voice back to normal, a slight smile on her face. “Mary Anne, you’re on for Friday. Dr. Johanssen needs a sitter for Charlotte. He’s going out to dinner with his wife.”
Mary Anne nods, her eyes still on Kristy, still full of a deep, profound sadness. She does not seem to be listening to Jessi’s words. She is still thinking about Kristy's news. She is still processing the fact that her best friend is leaving her.
“Okay,” Abby says, her voice a little too loud, a little too cheerful. “Let’s talk about the good news first, and then we can talk about the bad news.”
Kristy looks at her, a little confused. What good news?
“Kristy being a bridesmaid!” Abby clarifies, her eyes wide with excitement. “Stacey, you’re the fashion expert, so what do you think she should wear?”
Stacey, bless her heart, jumps on the opportunity to talk about fashion. She sits up, her face now completely transformed from a look of sadness to one of pure, unadulterated fashionista joy.
“Oh, my gosh, Kristy! This is so exciting! We have to go to the mall and find you the perfect dress! I have so many ideas. It should be, like, a beautiful floral print, or maybe a simple white dress with a pop of color, or maybe even a pastel dress with a sash. We have to go shopping! This is so much fun!”