Only Jessi knows what's really wrong with Mary.

The Baby-sitters Club #61: Jessi and the Awful Secret

Ah, lovely. Another yawn-inducing episode of “Intrigue at the Dance Studio” starring everyone’s favorite (black) ballerina, Jessi Ramsey.

We open in the dance studio and are hit immediately with Madame Noelle’s accent and Jessi’s musings on how wonderful she is at ballet. We are also treated throughout this book to lengthy explanations of multiple ballet moves, as well as phonetic pronunciations of the French names. Forget Livemocha, I’ll just add French to the long list of things I’ve learned from the BSC. Turns out Jessi’s dance school is offering a free 6-week class to some underprivileged kids from Stamford and Mme. Noelle needs volunteers. Pretty much the whole class balks at giving up 6 weeks of their lessons to help some dumb kids, but Mme. Noelle clearly knows she’s not teaching at Juilliard, as she reminds her students that they’re probably going to end up as teachers at some point in their career (Because those who can’t do, teach. Not that I necessarily believe that, but hey, I’ve seen “A Chorus Line.” I was also one of the approximately eight people who watched Bunheads this summer. I think this qualifies me to speak on the matter.)

Jessi volunteers, obviI, and so does Mary, this other girl from her class and subject of the titular awful secret, which is anorexia. For the record, here’s my awful secret: I. Do. Not. Care. At. All. About Mary and her awful secret. Maybe if it were Katie Beth, instead of some tertiary character we’ll never hear from again. (Katie Beth is awesome. She’s the Cokie Mason of Mme. Noelle’s dance studio.) Or poor sad sack Carrie who’s about to graduate from dance school without ever having the lead in a ballet because she keeps losing out on them to our intrepid 11-year-old (black) heroine. Wouldn’t that seem like more compelling motivation for an eating disorder?

Campfires, ghost stories-- summer vacations are the best!

The Baby-sitters Club Super Special #8: Baby-sitters at Shadow Lake

Good God, y’all. I know it’s been a while, but a lot has been happening in my life since I last abandoned you. I finished grad school. I attended my college reunion. I cheered on more friends than I care to count as they took the next steps that so far continue to elude moi: weddings, babies, book contracts, home ownership, laser eye surgery. I knew I had to do something, so here it is: I moved halfway across the country to take a new job, one where I am not disrespected and mistreated on a daily basis. I pulled a Stacey McGill (Original recipe and version 3.0)—I woke up one day and found myself leaving behind my comfortable, New York City life—a life of brunch and bridges and Broadway—and venturing back into Tinytown, USA, a world of SUVs and Applebee’s and carefully cultivated elm trees. I live in the Midwest again. Please don’t hate me.

The Tinytown library is a lot different from the NYPL and it contains very few BSC books. Plus, it took several months for me to work up the courage to venture inside. The people there… talk to you. It’s very awkward, if you believe, like me, that libraries, and indeed most public spaces, should be spaces of silence. They’re… friendly. It’s weird. Check-out lady, I don’t know you from Adam. I don’t need your views on the county fair. They’re… kind of slow and inefficient. (Must be all that talking.)

So, yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m known around here as “That bitch from New York.” But you know what? I’m okay with that label, because I’m pretty sure a certain Ms. Stacey McGill was also known by that moniker. Of course, lucky duck that she was, she eventually got to return.

Okay then! All that said, we’re diving back in with Super Special #8: Baby-sitters at Shadow Lake. I have reread this one many times. It’s long been one of my favorites, but until this read-through, I never took the time to pinpoint exactly why. It’s got all sorts of great stuff: sappy Stacey/Sam (Stam? Samcey?) moments, everyone treating Mallory like the dipshit she is, Dawn freaking out about ghosts, and minimal Mary Freakin’ Anne. Most importantly, everyone in this book is hysterically bitchy to each other. It’s phenomenal.

So Watson gets a letter from his ostensibly long-lost aunt and uncle with whom he used to spend summers at their cabin on Shadow Lake. Right off the bat I think there’s something weird about this, because the aunt (whose letter is written out as a prologue, and may I just say, she has lovely handwriting.) is all “Your uncle and I hope to meet Karen, Andrew, your new wife, and her children… We want to see what the boy we remember has become.” Well Aunt Faith, for starters, he’s become a millionaire. But if he’s that important to you, why haven’t you seen him since he was twelve? Were you not at either of his weddings? You only live in Pennsylvania, and you don’t seem to be particularly infirm, even if you are re-evaluating your will. Anyway, this is another example of me getting hung up on the first two pages of the book when there’s so much more goodness to come, so long story short: Aunt Faith and Uncle Pierson want to leave Watson their summer cabin on Shadow Lake in the mountains of western Massachusetts  (there are mountains in Massachusetts? My geography knowledge is further evidence of the decline of America’s schools) when they die, but only if he wants it. They suggest that he take his family on a vacation there to see if they like it.

So Watson not only takes his family, but 10 of his children’s nearest and dearest friends, including all six BSC-ers and 2 friends each for David Michael and The Insufferable Karen Brewer.  Luckily, this cabin sleeps 20-some people.