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is terrific!" I squealed. "I better go home. The only thing I'll need Mom's help
    with is weeding out the items for us to sell. Maybe she'll want to start right now. I'll see you guys later!"
    I left Mary Anne's house, but the others stayed. Claudia told me later (after I'd moved, during one of our many marathon phone conversations) that the others had gathered at Mary Anne's to talk about the party (what else?), and where they were going to get enough money to give a good one.
    "Well, I've been thinking and thinking," Claudia said, gazing out the window and watching me cross the Spiers' front yard, "and I just can't come up with an idea that's really special. You know, for a party that Stacey will never forget, and that will really mean something."
    "Me, neither," said Kristy, Mary Anne, and Dawn.
    "And now we've got another problem," said Mary Anne.
    "What?" asked the rest of the club members.
    "Well, don't you guys feel funny about taking money for selling the McGills' things? I do."
    "I know what you mean," agreed Dawn, "unless . . . oh, we are so stupid! This solves two problems!"
    "Unless what?" asked Kristy excitedly. "What solves which problems?"
    "Unless we take the money we earn from the yard sale and use it to give Stacey her party! That solves the problem of getting enough money to give a good party and the problem of feeling like we're taking the McGills' money. I mean, because in a way we'll be giving it back to Stacey."
    Kristy clapped her hand to her forehead. "You're right! We really are stupid! The answer to our money problems was practically staring us in the face!"
    "Now," said Claudia, "the only problem left is — what kind of party should we give?"
    "Yeah ..." said Mary Anne.
    And the four of them fell silent, thinking.
    While they thought, I returned home and talked to my mother about the yard sale. She promised to help me sort through closets, the attic, and the basement the next day. Since I didn't have anything else except homework to do then, I got on the phone with Laine.
    "Hi!" she cried. "Guess what! As a welcome-back present, my dad got tickets for you and me to go see Mad About Millie]"
    "No!" I shrieked. "Really? Oh, that is fan-
    tastic!" Mad About Millie is this Broadway musical we've been dying to see. "What's going on in school?" I asked. "I'll be there with you in just a few weeks. Oh, and my math teacher is getting me ready to take algebra."
    "Super. We'll be in the same class then. There's only one eighth-grade algebra class. . . . Allison Ritz is in it, too."
    "She is? Has, um, she said anything about my coming back?"
    "Well..." Laine cleared her throat. A long pause followed. "She sort of said, 'Oh, great, Barf-mouth is returning.' "
    "Barf-mouth?"
    "Yeah. From that time you got sick in the cafeteria. You know, when you were having those spells? Before you were on the insulin? You kind of threw up a little."
    I groaned. I must have been really out of it when that happened. I didn't even remember it. But Allison sure did. Val Schirmer probably did, too. And all the rest of the kids I used to go to school with. "Maybe I should play dumb," I said, "so Mr. Zizmore will keep me out of algebra. Better yet, maybe I should ask Mom and Dad to put me in a different school."
    "Stace, no. I want you in Parker Academy. And algebra."
    "Oh, Laine." Just a minute ago, I'd felt happy and excited. Now I was sad and worried. Did I or didn't I want to leave Stoneybrook? Did I or didn't I want to go back to New York? I couldn't tell. It was all part of moving. Some good feelings, some bad ones, some happy, some sad.
    I wished I could divide myself and live half in Stoneybrook, half in New York City.
    Chapter 7.
    All us club members love to sit for the Pikes, even though there are eight of them and sometimes they get out of hand. In case you've forgotten about them, let me give you a rundown on the Pikes. The youngest is Claire. She's five. Then there's seven-year-old Margo, eight-year-old Nicky,