Free BSC10 Logan Likes Mary Anne by Ann M. Martin Page A

to watch it."
    "I will."
    "So? What's going on?"
    "I'm going to baby-sit for Jackie Rodowsky tomorrow. The last time I sat for him, he fell
    out of a tree, fell down the front steps, and fell off the bed. But he didn't get hurt at all."
    Logan laughed. "That kid should wear a crash helmet," he joked.
    "And carry a first-aid kit," I added.
    There was a pause. I had no idea how to fill the silence. Why did this always happen with Logan? There were hardly any pauses when I talked to the members of the Babysitters Club. I knew I was blushing and was glad Logan couldn't see me.
    "Want me to tell you about Meatballs?" asked Logan.
    "Sure," I replied, relieved. A movie plot could take awhile to explain.
    And Logan took awhile. In fact, he took so long that we reached my phone conversation limit. My dad still has a few rules that he's strict about, and one of them is that no phone conversation can last longer than ten minutes. Even though Dad was at work, I felt I had to obey the rule. For one thing, what if he'd been trying to call me for the last ten minutes?
    Logan reached a stopping place, and I knew I had to interrupt him.
    "Urn, Logan?" I said.
    "Yeah?"
    "I hate to say this, but — "
    "Your time's up?" he finished for me.
    "Yeah. Sorry."
    "That's okay. So are you going to watch Meatballs?"
    "I'll try. If I get my homework done."
    "Great. Well ... see you tomorrow,"
    "See you tomorrow."
    We hung up.
    Whewwwww. I let out a long, slow breath. I love talking to Logan, but it makes me nervous.
    Ring, ring.
    Aughh! Dad had been trying to call! And I'd been on the phone for over twelve minutes.
    "Hello?" I said guiltily. Excuses began flying around in my head: I'd needed a homework assignment explained. Someone else had needed homework explained. The phone had accidentally fallen off the hook.
    "Hi, Mary Anne!" said a cheerful voice.
    "Oh, Stacey. It's only you!" I exclaimed.
    "Only me! Thanks a lot."
    "No, you don't understand. I thought you were Dad. I mean, I thought you were going to be Dad. See, I've been on the phone for — Oh, never mind."
    "More than ten minutes?" asked Stacey,
    giggling. "Yeah." "Well, listen. I just wanted to make sure
    you were coming to my party — and that you'd invited Logan."
    "Well . . ." The thing is, I'd been putting that party off a little. I was nervous about asking my father if I could go to a boy/girl party, and even more nervous about inviting Logan. How do you go about inviting a boy to a party?
    "Mary Anne?"
    "What?"
    "Are you coming and have you invited Logan?" she repeated.
    "I don't know, and, no, I haven't."
    "Mary A-anne."
    "Okay, okay. Sorry. Really I am." (I didn't know then why Stacey sounded so exasperated. I was the guest of honor at her party, but I had no idea.)
    "Get off the phone and call Logan."
    "I, um, have to call my father, too. I have to get permission to go to the party first."
    "So call him, then call Logan."
    "I've been on the phone since four."
    "The rule is ten minutes per call. Just keep these calls short. It's the easiest rule in the world to get around. My mother put a five-minute limit on my calls to Laine Cummings in New York. So I just keep calling her back. If I call six times we can talk for half an hour."
    I laughed. "All right. I'll call Dad."
    "Call me back after you've talked to Logan."
    "Okay. 'Bye."
    I depressed the button on the phone, listened for the dial tone, and called my father at his office.
    His secretary put me through right away.
    "Hi, Dad," I said.
    "Oh, hi, Mary Anne. I'm in the middle of something. Is this important?"
    I was forced to talk fast. "Sort of," I replied. "Stacey's having a party at her house. It's for both boys and girls. We're supposed to ask guests. Can I go? And can I invite Logan?"
    "Will Mr. and Mrs. McGill be at home during the party?"
    "Yes," I said, even though I hadn't asked Stacey about that. I was sure they would be at home, though.
    "What time is the party?"
    "It starts at six."
    "You may go if you'll be home by