Lulu's Mysterious Mission

  To the Viorst grandsons: Nathaniel, Benjamin, Isaac, Toby, and Bryce

  —J. V.

  For Kim, who holds my hand

  —K. C.

  STOP! Don’t begin the first chapter just yet. There’s something I need to tell you. And I think I’d better tell it to you right now.

  * * *

  This isn’t a book about Lulu’s Mysterious Mission. It’s actually about Lulu’s Babysitter. And that’s what I wanted to call it except two kids that I know, Benjamin and Nathaniel, kept telling me that Lulu’s Babysitter was a really boring title. Which means that the name of this book has absolutely nothing at all to do with the story I’m writing.

  YOU HAVE NOW BEEN WARNED!

  Wait! Now that I have warned you, I am feeling a tiny bit guilty.

  Like maybe it isn’t fair to trick readers like that. Like maybe there ought to be a law that what’s INSIDE a book has to somehow match up with the NAME of the book. So maybe—I’m not promising, but just maybe—I’ll put in some stuff about a Mysterious Mission.

  Meanwhile, either return this book or keep reading. You’ll find out what happens when Lulu meets up with Ms. Sonia Sofia Solinsky, who is definitely not your Mary Poppins–type babysitter.

  And you might find out about a Mysterious Mission.

  But first let’s go find Lulu, who is in the living room screeching “No! No! No!” although she doesn’t screech much anymore. However, the news she was hearing from her mom and her dad was so utterly, totally SHOCKING that it not only started her screeching but almost shocked her into throwing one of her heel-kicking, arm-waving, on-the-floor tantrums. Lulu, however, thinks of herself as too grown-up now to throw tantrums. Which also means she thinks of herself as grown-up enough to go with her mom and her dad on the trip they just told her that they would be taking WITHOUT HER.

  When Lulu had finished screeching, she fiercely glared at her mom and her dad and asked them—in a not-too-nice voice—these questions:

  “How can you have a good time if I’m not there?”

  And “Who’s going to take care of me, and how can you be positive that this person won’t kidnap me and hold me for ransom?”

  And “Or maybe she’ll stop feeding me and start yelling at me and hitting me and locking me down in the basement with the rats.” (Okay, that isn’t technically a question.)

  When Lulu was done, her mom and her dad looked at each other, then answered—very carefully. For even though their daughter wasn’t the serious pain in the butt that she used to be, she wasn’t the easiest girl in the world to be parents to when she didn’t get her way.

  “First of all,” said Lulu’s dad, “there are no rats in our basement. As a matter of fact, we don’t even HAVE a basement.”

  “But even if we did,” said Lulu’s mom, “we’d never hire a sitter who’d lock you up in it. Or starve you or hit you or yell at you or kidnap you.”

  “Or,” added Lulu’s dad, “hold you for ransom.”

  “And if you were held for ransom,” Lulu’s mom assured Lulu, patting her oh-so-lovingly on the cheek, “we’d pay whatever it took to get you back.”

  “But,” Lulu pointed out, removing her mom’s patting hand from her cheek, “if instead of paying the ransom, you’d let me come with you, this trip of yours would cost a lot less money.”

  Lulu’s dad explained that as much as they loved and adored their precious only child, they wanted to have—for the first time since they’d been parents—a private grown-ups-only vacation together. And that even though they wouldn’t be having the kind of fun they had with their fabulous Lulu, they would be having a DIFFERENT kind of fun.

  “You mean BETTER fun,” grumped Lulu. “You’ll have better fun without me. And you won’t even care when I get sick and die.”

  Lulu’s mom started crying at the thought of poor little Lulu, left behind and dead of a broken heart. “Maybe . . . ,” she sniffled to Lulu’s dad, “maybe we ought to stay home. Or take her with us. Maybe we are being too unkind.”

  It’s at this point in every argument that Lulu almost always gets her way because her mom and her dad just cannot BEAR it when their darling is displeased. It’s right at this point that Lulu almost always gets what she wants because her mom and her dad give up and give in. Except on those rare occasions—like now, for instance—when they try NOT to.

  Lulu’s dad cleared his throat, and in a strong, firm voice replied to Lulu’s mom. “No,” he said. “We’re going. She’s staying. THAT’S what we decided and”—he took a deep breath—“we’re sticking to it.”

  He then turned to Lulu and said, “But you don’t have a thing to worry about, dearest darling. Because, after much research, we’ve hired the best babysitter in town—maybe the world—to take care of you the week that we’re away.”

  “Babysitter?” Lulu gasped. “Babysitter? Babysitters sit babies, and I’m no baby.”

  (Lulu thinks she’s no baby because she plays a tough game of Scrabble, goes by herself to the corner store to buy milk, gets good reports from her teachers, earns some money walking dogs, rides a bike with no hands, and has pierced ears. She’s also on the softball team, the swim team, and the debate team; has recently started learning the trombone; and is going to be a crossing guard next year. And what Lulu wants to know is why a person who can do all that would need a person called a babysitter.)

  “Call her what you want, but her name,” Lulu’s mom said soothingly, “is Ms. Sonia Sofia Solinsky, a trained professional. And we’re sure, dear, that if you, dear, will give her, dear, a chance, dear, the two of you will get along just fine.”

  “In fact,” said Lulu’s dad, “she’s moving in this afternoon. We’ll show her around the house, and maybe you two can start to bond before your mom and I leave tomorrow morning.”

  (Tomorrow morning? They’re leaving tomorrow morning? How come Lulu is only now being told that her mom and her dad are leaving tomorrow morning? How come she wasn’t told earlier? How come she wasn’t given time to prepare? As the person who’s writing this story, I take full responsibility for this decision. Because anyone who knows Lulu like I know Lulu wouldn’t want to give her time to prepare.)

  “I’m going up to my room,” said Lulu to her mom and her dad. “And maybe I’ll come down and maybe I won’t. But while I’m up there,” she added as she loudly tromped up the stairs, “I’m planning to be very very unhappy.”

  Up in her room, along with being very very unhappy, Lulu was trying to figure out what to do. Actually, she knew WHAT to do: get rid of the babysitter so her mom and her dad would have no one to leave her with. All she needed to figure out was HOW.

  She went to her computer—yes, she has her own computer; she has her own everything—and typed in “How To Get Rid of a Babysitter.” But nothing too helpful came up, so Lulu started making a list of possibilities, and as she wrote she chanted this little chant:

  While Lulu was chanting and making her list, the doorbell rang and a voice boomed through the house, a voice that sounded to Lulu like real bad news. “Sonia Sofia Solinsky,” it said. “At your service.”

  Lulu heard the gentle murmurs of her mom and her dad, interspersed with Ms. Solinsky’s boom, and the quiet patter of their feet, interspersed with Ms. Solinsky’s clomp, and then someone (either her mom or her dad) was knocking softly at her bedroom door, with Ms. Solinsky bellowing, “The eagle has landed, Lulu. Open up.”

  (“The eagle has landed”? That’s how Ms. Solinsky says hello?)

  Lulu, thinking fast, took off her shoes, jumped into bed, and huddled pitifully underneath her comforter, hoping to make all three of them believe that she had suddenly been struck down with some dreadful disease. And so, when she heard her mom calling,
“Come out, my darling, and meet Ms. Solinsky,” she said, “I think that I just got real sick.”

  “Probably not,” said Lulu’s dad. “You looked perfectly fine to me only an hour ago.”

  “But I’m not fine now,” Lulu replied. “I think I’m very sick. And, anyway, I’m definitely contagious.”

  “Not a problem,” Ms. Solinsky boomingly replied. “I never catch anything.”

  She then—the nerve!—turned the doorknob, opened Lulu’s bedroom door, and marched herself straight over to Lulu’s bed.

  The sight of Ms. Solinsky, with her long unsmiling face and her hair yanked back in a tight little, mean little bun, was not the kind to gladden a young girl’s heart. She was dressed in some sort of uniform that a General of All Generals might wear, with binoculars and a metal canteen hanging down from the belt that held up her pants, and a jacket bedecked with several silver medals, along with rows of badges and ribbons and stars. On her feet were heavy, thick-soled, high-top, lace-up combat boots, the kind that could stomp almost anything into dust. And over her shoulder she hauled a bulging duffel bag, stuffed from bottom to top with who knows what. Anyone else, after taking one look at Sonia Sofia Solinsky, would have shivered and shuddered and instantly said, “I surrender.”

  (Maybe you’re starting to wonder why Lulu’s mom and Lulu’s dad would ever hire someone who would wear a menacing uniform and combat boots. All I can tell you is, first, everyone said that Ms. Solinsky was the best babysitter in town—maybe the world—and, second, she may not have looked like that when they interviewed her.)

  But she sure looked like that now, and, as I already pointed out, anyone else would have shivered and said, “I surrender.”

  Not Lulu.

  Indeed, when Ms. Solinsky reached her hand out for a handshake, Lulu, instead of politely reaching back, crossed her arms across her chest and tucked her hands emphatically into her armpits. “Maybe you can’t catch something from me, but I,” said Lulu, “might catch something from you. And maybe what I might catch could make me even sicker than I already am.”

  “Well, aren’t you the sensible one!” Ms. Solinsky exclaimed. “But still—no problem.” She dug into her duffel bag, pulled out a packet of disinfectant wipes, and briskly wiped down her hands—first left, then right. “I’ve just killed off my germs, which means you can’t catch something from me,” she said to Lulu. “So now”—she reached out again—“shall we shake hands?”

  Although there was a question mark at the end of this last sentence, this wasn’t a question.

  Lulu shook hands.

  After the handshake Ms. Solinsky told Lulu’s mom and her dad that if they wanted to pack for their trip, she would stay with Lulu and keep her company. “We’ll do just fine,” she assured them as they gratefully rushed from the room, moving so fast that they didn’t see Lulu frantically shaking her head and mouthing (so Ms. Solinsky wouldn’t hear her), “Don’t go.”

  The minute they were gone Ms. Solinsky brought her unsmiling face down close to Lulu’s and said, “That I’m-so-sick routine may work out great in a storybook or in a movie, but don’t waste my time trying it on me. You’re in excellent health, and I want you on your feet, in your shoes, standing tall, arms straight down at your sides in exactly”—she looked at her wristwatch—“ninety seconds.”

  No grown-up in Lulu’s entire life had ever dared to talk to her that way. And no grown-up, Lulu decided, would be allowed to. And so, without saying a word, she pulled the comforter over her head and pressed her body hard into the mattress. She could hear Ms. Solinsky counting down—“eighty seconds . . . sixty seconds . . . thirty-five . . . twenty-five . . . fifteen seconds . . . time’s up.” And then, without taking a breath, Ms. Solinsky swooped an astonished Lulu out of her bed, set her onto her feet and into her shoes, pushed back her shoulders, lifted her chin, and pressed a firm palm against her droopy spine.

  And—what do you know!—there was Lulu, standing tall, head high, her arms straight down at her sides. Looking good. But not quite good enough.

  “Hmm,” muttered Ms. Solinsky as she walked around her, carefully checking her out, “I see we have a lot of work to do.”

  From that time on, until Lulu’s mom and her dad went away the next morning, Lulu had not one moment just with them. Whenever they knocked at the bedroom door, Ms. Solinsky bellowed, “We’re still bonding,” though, in fact, what they mostly were doing was glaring. At dinner Ms. Solinsky was right at Lulu’s side. And early on Saturday morning, when Lulu’s mom and her dad were kissing her good-bye and Lulu was getting ready to make-believe faint in one last effort to stop them from going, Ms. Solinsky was stationed directly behind her, holding tight to the back of her skirt so she couldn’t fall.

  As her mom and her dad headed out to the taxi, Lulu heard her mom saying, “If things don’t work out with Lulu . . .”

  And her dad saying, “. . . and it’s just possible that they won’t . . .”

  And her mom saying, “. . . call us, and we’ll take the next plane home.”

  To which Ms. Solinsky firmly replied, “When I’m the babysitter, things ALWAYS work out.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Lulu said to herself, preparing for Plan B, which was doing whatever she had to do to get her parents to take the next plane home.

  Then the door slammed, and Lulu was all alone with Ms. Solinsky, trained professional.

  Ms. Solinsky smiled at Lulu with the kind of smile that an alligator might give you just before that alligator ate you for dinner. It was not the kind of smile that made the person being smiled at want to smile back. It was more the kind of smile that gave you a headache, a stomachache, and a lump in your throat.

  “Maybe I really AM sick,” Lulu told her.

  “Could be,” said Ms. Solinsky. “But lucky for you, I’ve got just the cure. A nice brisk run around the block—three times. It will put some fresh air into your lungs and some pink into your cheeks. And it will give you a great appetite for the bean-and-beet omelet I’m making for your breakfast.”

  (Lulu—you won’t be surprised to hear—doesn’t do brisk runs or bean-and-beet omelets. The last time she had a brisk run was when she was briskly running away from Mr. B, a delightful brontosaurus who, after a little misunderstanding, became her best friend. And a bean-and-beet omelet sounded like something her dog-walking-partner and sort-of-friend Fleischman would eat because, although utterly disgusting, it was so good for him.)

  Now those of us who know Lulu would have expected her to screech, “Brisk run? Bean-and-beet omelet? You must be kidding me!” But screeching wasn’t part of Lulu’s Plan B. Instead, she said, in a fake sweet voice, “I’ll just go upstairs, Ms. Solinsky, and get my sneakers.”

  “And be quick about it,” answered Ms. Solinsky.

  “Yes, sir,” said Lulu, clicking her heels and saluting at the same time.

  “I am not amused,” said Ms. Solinsky.

  As Lulu headed up the stairs, she cheerfully, though softly, chanted this chant:

  When Lulu reached the second floor she didn’t go to her bedroom to get her sneakers. That hadn’t ever been a part of her plan. Instead, she went to the bathroom, opened the window, and climbed out onto the tree that grew there. A tree she had very often climbed onto and down from—right down into her backyard.

  Her plan, when she reached the ground, was to find a hiding place in the neighborhood while Ms. Solinsky waited for her inside, waited and waited until she finally went upstairs and found that open window. After which Lulu intended to keep on hiding while Ms. Solinsky kept on searching for her. After which Lulu intended to still keep hiding while Ms. Solinsky—trained professional though she might very well be—would have to call Lulu’s mom and her dad to say, “I’ve lost your daughter. You need to get on the next plane and come home.”

  As to what, exactly, they’d do to the babysitter who had lost their precious daughter, Lulu was quite certain that they would get rid of her, hopefully having first stripped her of e
very one of her medals and ribbons and badges and stars. As to what, exactly, Lulu planned to tell her mom and her dad about why she had hidden from the babysitter, Lulu was quite certain that between now and then she would figure something out.

  “Eeny meeny miney mo,” Lulu chanted again as she slid down the tree trunk. “That babysitter’s got to go,” she chanted as her two feet hit the ground. “Hot or cold or sun or snow,” she continued, pulling her socks up and tucking her shirt in. But before she could finish another “That babysitter’s got to go,” a loud “ahem!” disturbed her happy mood.

  Standing at strict attention at the bottom of the tree—and what, in heaven’s name, was she doing out there?—was none other than Ms. Sonia Sofia Solinsky.

  “What, in heaven’s name, are you doing out here?” Lulu fake-sweetly asked her. “I was just getting ready to meet you by the front door.”

  “I very much doubt that,” said Ms. Solinsky, scowling down at Lulu and shaking a stern finger in her face. “But I’m warning you, don’t bother trying that climb-out-the-window-and-down-the-tree nonsense again. Believe me, I know tricks that you’ve never dreamed of. Besides which, you were already wearing your sneakers.”

  She then grabbed Lulu’s hand and said, “It’s time for our brisk run. And forget what you’re thinking—I’m not letting go.”

  Three laps around the block later, Lulu was back in her own kitchen eating a hideous, horrible bean-and-beet omelet. She was also still plotting how to get rid of Ms. Sonia Sofia Solinsky, who wasn’t sounding that easy to get rid of.

  “It’s almost time for my trombone lesson,” Lulu told Ms. Solinsky. “It’s just a few blocks away. I can go by myself.”