Ann Martin - Kristy Power!

Kristy Power!

Ann M. Martin

Chapter 1.

Batman vs. The Joker.

Superman vs. Lex Luthor.

Men in Black vs. huge, ugly alien bugs.

Kristy Thomas vs. Cary Retlin.

Yup, it's like that.

What do they call them in the comics? Archenemies? Well, that's what Cary and I are. We have been ever since he moved here.

Where's "here"? Good question. Obviously I haven't filled you in on all the details. "Here" is Stoneybrook, Connecticut, my hometown. I've lived here all my life, which is approximately thirteen years. My name, in case you haven't guessed, is Kristy Thomas. Kristin Amanda Thomas, if you want to be formal.

Or irritating. Cary used to call me Kristin all the time, just to try to get my goat.

Why he would want my goat, I don't know. I don't even have a goat, to tell you the truth. I have a humongous puppy named Shannon and a wacky little kitten named Pumpkin. Plus various goldfish and a pet rat, all of whom actually belong to my younger siblings and stepsiblings.

I guess I'd better give you the rundown on my family now. First off, there's me. I'm short, with brown hair and eyes and a distaste for dressing up. For me, "dressing up" = wearing anything fancier than T-shirts and jeans. I love sports, especially soft-ball, which I play (I'm on the school team) and coach (Kristy's Krushers, a team of little kids in Stoneybrook). I'm energetic, opinionated, outspoken, and full of great ideas. (I'm not as conceited as that may sound. It's just the truth.) My best idea ever was for the Baby-sitter Club, or BSC, a club that's more like a business. It's a bunch of baby-sitters, who also happen to be good friends, who work together to provide quality sitting for a lot of regular clients.

Then there are my three brothers. Two of them are older than me (Sam's fifteen, and Charlie is seventeen). David Michael is younger (he's seven). I'm very close to all three of them, and to my mom.

Why? Well, partly because we had to pull together as a family years ago when our dad walked out on us.

Believe me, that hurt. A lot. It hurt back then, and it still hurts now. I didn't have much contact with my dad for years, except for the occasional birthday card. Recently, though, he seems to be interested in coming back into our lives. Maybe. I think. It's too soon to tell, really. He decided to remarry not long ago, and he invited me and my older brothers to the wedding. I like his new wife, Zoey, a lot. As for Dad - well, as I said, it's too soon to tell.

Meanwhile, back in Stoneybrook, life has gone on without him all these years. We struggled along, just the five of us, for quite awhile. Then this great thing happened: My mom, who deserves the best, met a fantastic guy.

To be honest, I didn't think he was all that fantastic at first. But he's grown on me. A lot. Now I'm crazy about him, which is a good thing, because my mom married him and we moved across town to live in his mansion.

Yes, you heard me right. My stepfather, Watson Brewer, lives in a mansion. That's because he's a real, live millionaire. As in, bucks galore. Not that he acts rich or anything. In fact, if you didn't know Watson was rich you wouldn't be able to tell by the way he acts. He's never stuck-up or rude. And he dresses like a normal person. I used to picture millionaires in top hats and tails. Now I know they wear sweatsuits.

So. My mom married Watson, and we went to live with him. I gained two stepsiblings in the deal. Karen's seven and Andrew is four, and they live with us part-time. I love them a ton.

I also gained another sister, Emily Michelle. She's a toddler, a Vietnamese orphan adopted by my mom and Watson. Adorable? You bet. You've never seen anything cuter.

All of us fit comfortably into that mansion, along with Nannie, my grandmother. She came to live with us after Emily Michelle arrived. Nannie's not a sit-and-knit grandma. She's a busy, active woman who loves to watch MTV and who drives around in a car the color of bubble gum.

Now, where was I? Oh, right.Cary Retlin. My archenemy.

I was thinking aboutCary on this gray December day because I happened to be sitting behind him in English class.

I was staring at the back ofCary 's head, which is covered in straight, longish dirty-blond hair, and I was wondering what makes him tick. I've never figuredCary out. I'm not sure I want to either. But if I did, it wouldn't be easy. He's an enigma. Good word, huh? It means, according to my dictionary, "one that is puzzling, ambiguous, or inexplicable." That's Cary, all right.

Cary is relatively new in Stoneybrook, but he's certainly made his mark. Especially at SMS, or Stoneybrook Middle School, where I'm in the eighth grade. Any time there's mischief happening at our school, you can bet Cary's involved. At one time he was even part of a prank-pulling group called the Mischief Knights. At least I think he was. You can never be sure of anything in Cary's case.

He's sure of himself, though. No question about it,Cary has a pretty good opinion ofCary . You can see it hi the way he swaggers through the halls, in the way he lifts one eyebrow when he's talking to you, in the way he smirks his little smirk.Cary is an arrogant, smart-alecky kind of guy. He's obnoxious, but not in an Alan-Grayish sort of way. (Alan Gray, another boy in our grade, is obnoxious in an immature, spitball-throwing way.) And yet I don't hateCary . Not exactly. I just, well, I wish I could get to him the way he can get to me.

For some reason, whenCary first moved here he targeted me and my friends in the BSC. He has given us a hard time in more ways than I can count. Why? Because, he says, "complications make life more interesting." Excuse me, when did I ever say I was bored?

To be honest, he has kept us guessing. And I hate to admit it, but sometimes his tricks have been . . . well, not boring. Like the time he challenged the members of the BSC to a mystery war and planted clues all over the school for us to find and figure out. Annoying? Yes. A big yawn? No.

Anyway, there I was, staring at the back of Cary Retlin's head. Then Mr. Morley - Ted - interrupted my thoughts.

"Who can tell me what makes a good biography?" He stood in the front of the room, smiling at us. In one hand he held a copy of A Life of Discovery, a book about Eleanor Roosevelt that we had read in class at the beginning of the semester.

Ted is a terrific teacher. I think he's my favorite this year. And I've only had him for a month! You may be wondering why I call him Ted. It's because he told me to. Well, not just me. He told the whole class to call him that. "It's my name," he said, shrugging. "When I hear 'Mr. Morley' I think people are talking about my dad." It's not always easy to remember to call him Ted, but we try. When we forget, he just smiles. Then we remember.

Ted is young for a teacher. He's probably twenty-five or something. He's a big guy with black hair and a big black beard. Big hands, big feet, and a big old stomach. He's kind of like a teddy bear, in fact.

Why has he been our teacher for only a month? He took the place of our regular English teacher, Mrs. Simon, when she had her baby. That wasn't supposed to happen until the middle of January, but the baby had other plans. I guess he wanted to be here for Christmas. Anyway, the baby's fine, but Mrs. Simon started her maternity leave early, so we ended up with Ted ahead of schedule.

Ted is the best. Everybody loves him. He's not like a regular teacher at all. He runs the class without running it, if you know what I mean. He's definitely in charge, but he doesn't act as if he's smarter or better than his students. He listens to what we have to say, really listens.

He was listening now as kids in the class spoke up about biographies. "I think it's good when the writer lets you get to know the person in a new way," said Austin Bentley. "Showing you what Martin Luther King was like as a little kid, or something like that." "Good," said Ted. "Anybody else?" "It should be fun to read," volunteered Cokie Mason, who is one of my not favorite people in the world. "Almost like a soap opera." Ted nodded. "Sure," he said. "A biography is a story, after all." This boy named Jeremy spoke up. "But not everybody's life is all that interesting," he said. "So a good biography should also be about a special per- son." Ted considered that. "I'm not sure I agree with you there, Jeremy. I happen to think everybody's life is interesting. Which leads me to your next assign- ment." We groaned. Not because we hate the assignments Ted gives us. Actually, he usually assigns projects and homework that seem more like fun than schoolwork. But face it. In middle school, when a teacher mentions work, everybody groans. It's practically a tradition.