Me and Snobby Stacie

I'm reaching way back into the vault for this one!

Though I don't remember how or why I decided to write about a girl named Cyndi Wellman, for whatever reason I decided that I liked Cyndi and her friends enough to build my very first "series" around them. But they didn't become Lisa and the Angels right away; that didn't happen until An Old House (book 3 of the series, and my personal rip-off of BSC #9, The Ghost at Dawn's House). These first two books don't even have any singing in them!

What they do have are lots of dramatic fights, lots and lots of bad 80's outfits, and ... not much plot. It was tempting to post My Own Pet first, since it's the first book in the series and all. But Me and Snobby Stacie just has so many classically bad moments that I'm giving you the "honor" of reading it first instead!

So here you go. Enjoy! By the way, I wasn't quite ten when I wrote this (I handwrote it in my blank book with the beautiful pink cover that had Tammy's Book sewn across it in pink and blue letters).

Chapter One

I am Cyndi Wellman. I'm eleven years old. I have long, long hair. It goes down to my knees. I have dark blue eyes. I am four feet seven inches tall and weigh seventy-seven pounds.

(Well, thanks for getting the introduction out of the way right off the bat, Cyndi. Now we can all picture her as we read along. I wonder how many of her seventy-seven pounds is that hair ... knee-length hair? How creepy.)

To start the story, I was sitting on the couch, doing nothing. My one-year-old Yorkie, Blackey, was lying down beside me.

Ring! I ignored the phone. Ring!

"Cyndi!"

"Okay, Mom." I stood up.

Ring!

"Cynthia Wellman!"

(Note, in later stories, I used too many adjectives for the word "said." In these earlier stories, I barely used "said" -- or anything that means said -- at all.)

I sighed. "Hello ... Carrie! ... Hi! ... Sure! ... Oh, good! ... Terrific! ... Bye!"

"Mom, Mom!"

"What?"

"Can I go to Carrie's?" Carrie was my friend.

"Sure!"

"Thanks!"

I grabbed my jean-jacket and ran out the door. When I reached Carrie's house, I ran up the stairs.

"Hi, Cyndi!"

"Hi, Lisa! Hi, Kathy! Hi, Racquelle! Hi, Car!" (Car?) I sat down. Then I raised my eyebrows. You see, I always thought that Carrie and I were the ones who dressed in trendy clothes.

First, before I tell you anything, I guess I should describe my friends. (Please don't.)

1.)Carrie Packer. She is eleven. She has curly blonde hair and brown eyes. She is small and pretty. She is an only child with a collie named Tabatha. She is fun to be with. (A tear rolls down my cheek.) She goes to Albany Middle School. She's in sixth grade.

2.)Kathy Bell. She is also eleven. She has long golden hair and blue eyes. She's pretty. She's tall and skinny. She is rich. She has a little sister named Mary. She doesn't have any pets. (Yes, she does, she has a horse! Well, apparently not in this book; and I just now noticed that continuity error, twenty years after writing this...) She goes to Albany, New York Private Academy. She's in sixth grade.

3.)Lisa McOrrill. She has long brown hair and brown eyes. She is also rich. She is eleven. She has a cat, Brownie. She is an only child. She goes to Albany Middle School. She's in sixth grade.

(I love all of Kathy's and Lisa's personality traits. Actually, neither of them really had a personality until they became pop stars. Same with Racquelle. Speaking of...)

4.)Racquelle Arlington. She is thirteen. (Why is she gratuitously two years older than the others?) She has shoulder-length pale blonde hair and pale blue eyes. She is rich. She has a brother named Donald and a sister named Cheri. She goes to Albany, New York Private Academy. She is in eighth grade.

There.

Well, now I'm way off the subject, so let's get back to what we were wearing. (Oh, goody!)

Carrie was wearing a light blue mini-skirt, a baggy white sweater, white nylons, light blue push-down socks, and white high-top sneakers.

(Yawn. That sounds like something Mary Anne Spier would wear after her father "loosened up a little.")

I had on some tight blue jeans with zippers up the sides of the legs, black high-tops, and a baggy black sweater that said International News in white letters across the front.

(Ah, zipper-legged jeans and an International News "sweater" -- how very 1989!)

Racquelle had on some really baggy white pants and a baggy black T-shirt that said Awesome on it. There were white suspenders over the shirt. She had on white Converse shoes and white socks. She had dark red stuff on her lips, magenta stuff on her cheeks, and blue stuff on her eyelids. On her ears were dozens of white plastic zippers.

(Clearly, at this point, Racquelle is the "Claudia" of the group, judging from this atrocious-sounding outfit ... and even the ripped-off-from-Kristy's Great Idea use of the word "stuff" for makeup. Dozens of dangly white zippers?!?!)

Kathy had on a pair of blue spandex that ended just below her knees. She had on a baggy pink sweater, pink push-down socks, and dark pink high-tops. She was wearing no makeup, but her hair was permed and put into a ponytail. On her ears were large blue hoops.

(What, pink socks and shoes? Blue high-tops would have made the outfit even more perfectly matchy-matchy.)

Lisa had on a very short bleached jean skirt, a baggy white T-shirt, denim high-tops, white push-down socks, and little blue bows for earrings.

(Her outfit is too boring to comment on, though I do wonder about that skirt...)

"Gosh," I said. "What happened?"

"We changed!" screeched Kathy.

"I can see that," I said.

"Okay," said Carrie. "We... "

(Shut up, Carrie ... why are you answering 'we'? You were already supposed to be one of the "trendy" ones.)

Ring! Carrie picked up the phone in her bedroom. "Hello ... this is she ... is this Mrs. Wellman? ... why does she have to come home so early? ... oh, neighbors ... bye."

"Cyndi, you have to go. Neighbors."

"Oh." I sighed and left. (Darn, now Cyndi will never find out why her friends decided to become fashionistas...)


Chapter Two

When I got home, the first thing Mom said was, "Cyndi, go change."

"Okay."

I changed into a long black dress with almost no sleeves. (So does it have cap sleeves or what?) Then I put a black lace bow in my hair. I put on some black flats. Then I ran downstairs.

"Mom, you look great!" She had on a long yellow gown. (!) Her blonde hair hung in loose waves around her face. She had on purple eyeshadow, dark red blush, and light red lipstick. She was thirty-five years old, but she looked about twenty!

(Personally, I think she sounds a little overdone. Also, I'm pretty sure that long yellow gown was one of my Barbie doll dresses, and that Stacie and Mrs. Wellman were "played" by the same doll. Yes, I still acted these stories out with dolls when I was 9-10.)

Ding-dong!

"I'll get it!" I ran downstairs to the door. "Hi, Dad!"

"Hi!"

Ding-dong!

"I'll get it, again!" I opened the door while Dad quickly went upstairs to change. (Just what was he wearing before?) Outside, there was a big line of people. A man with a little girl walked inside. Then, a tall girl about my age walked inside. Next were two little redheads that looked like twins. After that were two little blonde-haired girls that also looked like twins. After that was a tall woman. Finally, a tall tall girl carrying a girl that looked like the youngest in the family.

(An eight-kid family with all girls ... in those days, that would have been my dream family!)

"Come on in!" I said cheerfully.

"Hmmm!" said the girl about my age.

"My mom and dad will be down... "

"Okay, okay," said the girl. (Oh, no, you can already tell Stacie is snobby and evil...) They all sat down.

"Hello!" I heard Mom say. She ran down the stairs, followed by Dad, who smiled.

"Your house smells," said the woman, "like dogs. I hate dogs." (Oh, no, the snobbiness runs in the family!)

"We do have a dog," I said. "Blackey. He's my dog!"

"Oh, that was your dog."

(Don't ask me who was supposed to have said that. I think it was Stacie; you'll see why I think so soon.)

"Let's introduce ourselves," said Mom. "I am Sharon Wellman. This is Dave, my husband, and Cyndi, my eleven-year-old daughter." (You didn't tell them your names before you invited them over?)

"I am Charles Barnes," said the man.

"I'm Teresa Barnes!" (the mean mom, since it's again oh-so-clear who's doing the speaking...)

"I'm Shelley," said the girl the man was holding. "I'm three." She nodded her blonde, curly head. "It's true. Pew. Your house smells like dog, ooh!" She laughed and laughed.

"I am Stacie. I am eleven. Dogs are wicked creatures, you know. I'd get rid of yours." (I knew Stacie was the worst.)

"No!"

"I'm Angela," said the redhead. "I am five, and I hate dogs!" (But I was thinking about Stacie...)

"I'm Andrea, her twin. I also hate dogs. Twins hate the same things."

"I'm Kristina," said a blonde, piggy-tailed girl. (Please tell me I didn't actually write piggy-tailed...) "I'm four. Guess what I hate?"

"Dogs?"

"Right!"

I rolled my eyes.

"I'm Kristin, her twin sister."

"And do you hate dogs?"

"Yup."

I shook my head.

"I am Marie. I am sixteen. Dogs are dumb."

"I'm Sheena. I am two. (And remarkably well-spoken for your age.) Where is your dog?"

"Outside."

"I wanna kick 'im." (! ... A little serial-killer-in-the-making?)

"No!"

"Yes! Wahhh!"

"Let ... my ... daughter ... kick ... that ... dog!"

(Er, for the record, I had a lot of dogs growing up -- including a poodle named Stacy, who was about a year old when I wrote this -- and I never kicked any of them. This family's obsessive hatred of dogs is just meant to illustrate how SNOBBY they all are! Especially Stacie!)

"He's my dog!"

"Cyndi, Mr. Barnes is our neighbor. Don't shout at him."

"But I don't want anybody kicking Blackey!"

"Well, don't shout."

"I'm going to find doggy." Sheena waddled off.

"We're leaving!" said Stacie. They marched off.

"But... " It was too late. They slammed the door. "How rude!"

"Those certainly weren't the friendliest people I've ever met," said Mom.

"No way!" said Dad.

(The chapter ends abruptly here, but I hope Cyndi got up to go save poor Blackey from little Sheena-the-freak's foot. Her parents surely aren't going to do it; it might make a bad impression on the neighbors!)


Chapter Three

The next day, I decided to try and make friends with Stacie. I put on a long denim skirt and a plaid blouse. Then I put on brown cowgirl boots. I curled my hair and put on two plaid barrettes. I looked country, but who cared. (Aw, Cyndi wears what she wants, no matter how hideous!)

"Mom, can I go outside?"

"Yes."

I ran out the door. Then I rang their bell. Sheena answered.

"Mommy! Mommy, it's doggy-girl."

Mrs. Barnes walked to the door, wearing an elegant white silk dress. (?!) "What do you want?" she asked.

"Could I please speak to your daughter, Stacie?"

"Well ... okay."

Stacie appeared out of nowhere, her nose high up in the air. "I heard, I heard."

Stacie walked outside. She slammed the door and jumped onto her railing. "What an ugly outfit. Dress more like me."

"Nice advice."

Stacie was wearing a white turtleneck under a tangerine-colored jumper. She had a wide dark-orange belt around her waist. She was wearing white nylons and peach heels. She had a peach bow in her hair, which was newly cut and curled.

(How do you know her hair is "newly cut and curled", Cyndi? You just met her yesterday. I think I might have stolen Stacie's outfit from Brooke Dennis in Sweet Valley Twins #6, The New Girl.)

"Shut up!"

"No!"

"Anyway, you don't dress in style at all."

"Wanna bet?"

"Yeah."

"Let's go look at my clothes," I said.

"Fine, let's." We walked next door to my house.

"Mom," I said, my voice as sweet as a cherry. (Why?) "I invited our neighbor over."

"Hmmm!" Stacie said. Her nose was so high up in the air, you could hardly see her eyes.

"Well, let's go into my room."

"Cyndi, dear, where's Blackey?"

"Lying down."

"Ihoamemaimick!" said Stacie. (translation: "I hope that meat made him sick!" Stacie ... did something very, very bad to Blackey.)

"What?"

"Never mind!"

We walked into my room, where we found Blackey on the bed.

"Hi, Blackey!" I said. Blackey whined.

"Ew! Ew! Oh, ew!"

"He's not germy," I said. Then I walked to my bed. I pat the bed with both my hands. "Come 'ere, Black!" He slowly walked over to me and threw up all over my skirt. "Oh, gross," I said, petting Blackey.

Stacie screamed and ran out my door. I heard Mom try and slow down Stacie, then walk into my room. "Cyndi, what happened?"

I sighed. "Blackey threw up." Then my eyes suddenly filled with tears. "Oh, Mom, I've been so worried about him lately! He hardly ever walks or runs around. He's always lying down. Plus, he's had plenty of, you know ... accidents! (Just like poor Louie Thomas...) And now this!"

"Cyndi, it'll be okay," Mom said gently. "I hope."

My tears spilled over. "Oh, Mom!"

Mom hugged me. "I'll take him to the vet tomorrow. Now, go change."

"Okay."

(I'm starting to lose count of how many times people change or are told to "go change" in this book, but in this case, it was warranted, since Cyndi is just casually sitting there with dog throw-up all over her long, denim skirt.)

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Coming up: What did Stacie do to Blackey? We'll find out ... plus, Cyndi throws a temper tantrum, and the introduction to mean aunt Josephine!