Since Buddy was laughing at the triplets, he wasn't really ready. But he managed to return the ball. "Oof!" he groaned. "There you are, you show-off. I hit it anyw—"

"Owl Ow, ow, owl" Now Nicky wasn't ready. He hadn't expected Buddy to return his shot, and he'd caught sight of the triplets with their haircuts. The ball had sailed over the net fast and hard. It whammed into Nicky's out-

stretched hand, and smashed his fingers.

"Owl" he cried again. "My hand!"

Nicky sounded terrified. Dad, my brothers, Claire, and I all ran to him.

"Ow! Ow!" Nicky continued to shriek. He doubled over, clutching his hand to his stomach.

"Let me see, Nick-o," said my father, easing Nicky's hand toward him.

We all stared. Nicky's pointer finger was sticking out from his hand at a strange angle.

"Oh, no," I said with a gasp.

"Broken," said Dad briskly.

Buddy burst into tears. "I'm sorry, Nicky. I'm sorry," he kept saying.

Mom drove up just then. She saw the crowd in our yard, rushed over to us (along with Margo and Vanessa), took one look at Nicky's finger, and said, "Emergency room. Mallory, you're in charge."

My brothers and sisters and I just stood in the yard with our mouths open while Mom and Dad carried Nicky to the station wagon and backed down the driveway. The only one making any noise was Buddy, who was still crying.

I remembered Mom's words, "Mallory, you're in charge," and decided I'd better act like it. First, I calmed down Buddy and sent him

home. Then I told the others to go inside and that I would fix them a snack.

When things were under control, I sank into a chair in the living room for a few minutes.

Wouldn't the girls in the Baby-sitters Club be proud of me? I thought. I was taking care of six of my brothers and sisters all by myself. None of the other girls had ever done that, since Mom insists on two sitters if more than five kids need to be taken care of.