"Oh, no!" he yelled, looking desperately around the counter for a towel. By this time, the sundae — dish and all — had turned into a giant white blob. There was whipped cream all over the counter, and a pool of whipped

cream was sliding down to the floor.

"Turn it off! Pull the plug out of the wall!" someone yelled. Chris looked blankly toward the wall socket and then sprang to life. He yanked the plug just as another torrent of whipped cream buried the napkin holder.

"Wow, I don't know how that happened/' he said, looking shaken. Margo and Vanessa were giggling, and Claire was laughing hysterically. Mallory looked mortified, though.

"That's okay," I said grimly, wishing we had never come into Ice-Cream Palace.

We waited while Chris made another sundae, and I asked him to make it a take-out. (I had already decided not to sit there a minute longer than I had to.) I was drumming my fingers on the counter when I noticed that Vanessa looked very upset.

"What's the matter?" I asked her. "That wasn't your fault."

"I know," she said in a quavery voice. I could tell that she was very close to tears.

What was going on? Why would Vanessa think she was responsible for all the problems Chris was having? I didn't have time to think about it, because people were staring at us, and I wanted to get outside as quickly as possible. The minute Mal got her sundae, I slid

off the stool and we herded Claire, Margo, and Vanessa toward the door. I left my dish of Rocky Road melting on the counter, but I didn't care. For some reason, I had completely lost my taste for ice cream.

Chapter 6.

It's times like these that make you realize how important the BSC notebook is. The "notebook" is different from the record book, in case you've forgotten. All of us are responsible for writing up every single baby-sitting job we go on.