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crowded streets. Oh, well. At least I had my camera. I could take lots of pictures to show Mimi, my grandmother. She's never been to the Bahamas.
I began walking and taking pictures, but after three shots, I realized something odd was going on. Every time I looked through the viewfinder, especially if I turned around, searching for a shot behind me, I thought I saw a figure jump out of the way. The fourth time that happened, I glanced up to see who it was, but I couldn't tell. The streets were too crowded.
People in Nassau sure are poMte, I thought. In Connecticut, they'd probably walk right in front of you and ruin the picture, not jump out of the way.
I walked until I came to a place called the straw market. Everywhere, island women were selling handmade straw crafts — mats and baskets and hats and bags. They were selling coral jewelry and embroidered linen, too; the most beautiful napkins and hand towels and pillowcases I'd ever seen. I know how to do embroidery — sort of — but not like this. Even Mary Anne would be impressed, I thought, and she does lots of needlework.
The crafts were spread out on tables or on cloths or mats on the ground. I kept stopping to examine things. Twice, when I knelt down to look at some baskets, a shadow fell over me. When I glanced up to see who was casting it, no one was around. When I looked back at the ground, the shadow was gone.
Weird, I thought.
I bought a straw bag for my mother, an embroidered glasses case for my sister, Janine, and a coral necklace for Mimi. Finding something to bring back for my dad would be more difficult, but I'd keep looking.
When I finished my shopping, I sat down on a bench to change the film in my camera. Then I decided to look at the gifts I'd bought. I pulled the straw bag out of my tote — and a note fell out.
I grabbed for it. "I still think you're beautiful," the note read. "Your Secret Admirer." If I hadn't been sitting down, I Would have had to find a seat fast. My knees went all weak. Where were my friends when I needed them? I was dying to show them note #2.
But I was on my own.
I looked at my watch. There were hours until 5:00.1 decided to visit the Seafloor Aquarium.
The most interesting thing that happened there was that when I stepped up to pay the admission fee, the woman taking the money waved me through, saying, "Go on ahead, miss. The young gentleman paid your way." My mouth dropped wide open. What young gentleman? I looked all around, but could only see some families and lots of little kids. I spent an hour at the aquarium, but I wasn't looking at fish; I was looking for my Secret Admirer.
Finally I gave up.
I went back to the little shops I passed when I'd first gotten off the Ocean Princess. It was time to buy a souvenir for myself. And to look for something for Dad again. I found the perfect thing (for me) in a jewelry store — a pair of mother-of-pearl earrings. But they were much, much too expensive.
"Sorry," I said sadly to the clerk when he told me the price. "I guess I, um, can't afford them. Thanks anyway." I left the shop feeling sort of sad. I'd spent the day alone, I hadn't gotten a present for my father, I didn't know who my admirer was, and I couldn't afford the beautiful earrings.
I found an outdoor restaurant, sat down at a table, and ordered a Coke with an umbrella in it. When the Coke arrived it was served on a white china dish. The umbrella was in the Coke. A box was next to the dish.
I looked at the box and up at the waiter. He just shrugged. When he left, I opened the box. Inside, on a bed of cotton, lay the mother-of-pearl earrings — and a note that read From Your Secret Admirer.
When I returned to the Ocean Princess that afternoon, my mind was whirling, and I felt dazed with excitement — and mystery.
Stacey.
What a day we all had! We compared notes that evening at our first official vacation meeting of the Baby-sitters Club. We held the meeting in the room Kristy, Dawn, and Claudia were sharing. (Mr. and Mrs.