Chapter 8.

There was a big mix-up Friday night. It wasn't Stacey's fault, but it wasn't my fault, either. (And I'm the one who got stuck.) This is the way it happened. Mr. and Mrs. Pike said that Stacey and I could have one evening off each week, but they asked us to take the evenings separately. I could see their point. That way they could go out every evening if they wanted to, knowing that Mal and either Stacey or I would baby-sit. Stacey and I were a little disappointed with the arrangement because we liked evenings off together, but we didn't say anything. We didn't even talk about it, which was a shame, because we should have straightened out our nights off in the beginning.

The first inkling I had that something was wrong was when I saw Stacey drag out the iron. It was six-thirty on Friday evening, and we had just cleaned up the kitchen after an early supper. Stacey hates to iron, and I was

amazed to see her spread a white cotton sundress over the ironing board in the corner of the kitchen.

''You're ironing?" I said incredulously.

Stacey touched her finger to her nose like you do in charades when someone guesses the right word.

I felt a little silly. It was pretty obvious that she was ironing, the question was . . . why? "I meant, why are you doing that now?"

Stacey looked up, her blue eyes very bright against her tanned face. "Well, I can't go out on a date with a wrinkled dress, can I?"

"A date?"

"With Toby." She bent over the sundress, humming a little song. She suddenly looked a little pale, even under her suntan, and I wondered if she felt okay. Stacey's diabetes is under control, but she has to watch her diet and medication. "We're going to the arcade tonight. You don't think this is too dressy, do you?" she asked worriedly. She didn't wait for me to answer, which is just as well, because I was standing there with my mouth hanging open. "I want to wear white because it will show off my tan."