Kristy and the Snobs

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Authors: Ann M. Martin
off to school. Then Mom dropped Louie back at the house and arrived at her office fifteen minutes later than usual. On Monday and Wednesday afternoons, Charlie sped home from school, picked Louie up, drove him to Dr. Smith's for his second injection, sped home, dropped Louie
    off, picked me up, and drove me to my Babysitters Club meeting. On Tuesday and Thursday, when Charlie was busy, Watson skipped lunch, and used his "lunch hour" in the middle of the afternoon to take Louie to Dr. Smith. The new schedule was hectic, Mom and Watson and Charlie were harried by it, and worst of all, by Friday, after almost a week of injections, Dr. Smith admitted to Charlie that they weren't helping Louie much - and that the two car trips every day were too much for him.
    Charlie was upset by the news, and so was I, when he told me about it as we settled Louie into the kitchen. In fact, I was so worried that I actually called Claudia to tell her I wouldn't be able to make our Friday club meeting. Dawn, as our alternate officer, would have to take over my duties as president.
    It was a good thing I didn't go. If I had, I wouldn't have been around for all the commotion that was about to happen. Even though in a big family, especially a stepfamily, you learn to expect commotion, I wasn't prepared for what was to follow. Things started when Watson and his ex-wife somehow got their signals crossed and the first Mrs. Brewer dropped Karen and Andrew off earlier than usual for their weekend with us, thinking that Watson was home. He wasn't, but it was okay
    since Charlie and David Michael and I were.
    Karen ran inside, full of energy, with Andrew at her heels. "Hi, everybody!" she called. "Here we are!" She dropped her knapsack and a tote bag in the front hall by the staircase. Andrew dropped his things on Karen's.
    "What's for dinner?" asked Karen. "Where's Boo-Boo? Have you seen Morbidda Destiny? How's Louie?"
    Karen usually leaves the rest of us in shock with her talk and excitement and enthusiasm. For the next half hour we were one step behind her as she and Andrew settled into the routine at their dad's house. First Karen ran to one of the windows that faces Mrs. Porter's house next door.
    "Eeee!" she screeched. "I can see her! I can see her in her kitchen. She's mixing something in a pot. You know what I think?"
    (By this time the rest of us, including quiet Andrew, had gathered behind Karen and were peering at Mrs. Porter.)
    "I think she's mixing a wicked witch's brew! She's stirring up a brew that's going to grow fur all over Andrew or - "
    "Dope," said Charlie fondly, clapping a hand over Karen's mouth. He smiled at her and shook his head. "You know she can't do stuff like that. She's probably making soup."
    "Kristy?" asked Andrew, turning a worried face to me.
    "Oh, Andrew," I said, kneeling down, "you're not going to grow fur. Don't give it a second thought."
    By this time, Karen was already gone. She'd run into Watson's den and found Boo-Boo asleep in a leather armchair. (I swear, that cat always picks the most uncomfortable spots for his naps.) And she summoned us from the window with another shriek.
    "He's growing fangs! Boo-Boo is growing fangs!" Karen was crying as we caught up with her. "It's Morbidda Destiny again."
    I was positive, no matter what Karen said, and no matter what doubts I have about our next-door neighbor, that Boo-Boo was not growing fangs. I tiptoed to the leather chair while everyone else looked on in silence. Despite Karen's shrieking a moment earlier, Boo-Boo was still sound asleep. He was sprawled on his back, and was, in fact, so sound asleep, that his mouth was slightly open. I saw why Karen thought he had fangs.
    Smiling, I tiptoed back to her. "Those aren't fangs," I said, with a laugh. "They're just his regular old teeth. They're called incisors or something. I guess you never noticed them before. Look, even humans have them." I
    opened my mouth and showed her my four pointy teeth.
    "Whew," breathed Karen.

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