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!

The Performance, Part 2 (Cyndi)

Here's a chapter narrated by Cyndi Wellman, the star of my very first Lisa and the Angels book! (My Own Pet.) Cyndi was also a candidate for the most boring member of Lisa and the Angels (though June, Jennifer, and Christine would give her a run for the money) but her family, which was "creatively" large and weird, made her somewhat more entertaining whenever they were around.

Christie Wellman needs to be sent to the corner, though.

Chapter Two - Cyndi

Here's my first entry for your journal, Lisa:

Today we boarded our first train, which leads to Detroit. It was cool! I've never been on a train before.

What I'd forgotten was how long it would take to California. This is our schedule:

(I'll spare you the much too long and detailed schedule, which features five days' worth of train changes, and of course includes every single boarding and departure time.)

Pretty heavy, right? It wasn't great at all that most of the train changes occurred during sleeping hours. To top that off, Christie was being very annoying! She kept singing "Moon River." She's just positive she'll meet Andy Williams.

Trains are okay, but after so many hours on them, I think I prefer flying.

"All aboard Amtrak! All aboard Amtra-ak," sang my little sister Christie, hopping from one foot to the other. We were at the Amtrak train station in Albany -- finally!

"We" meant all of Lisa and the Angels, all our families, Miss Jewell, all the band members, and our two dancers (what, ten people in the group, and they still need dancers?!). Together, that equalled seventy-three people. Along with the people traveling that weren't in our group and their families (most of whom were asking for our autographs), it made for a very crowded place!

My family was doing their best to embarrass me. "Oh, Cyndi, I'll miss you so much!" Mom wailed. She threw her arms around me.

(Obviously I'd read BSC Super Special #6 New York, New York! around this time.)

"I'll miss you, too, Mom," I said in a muffled voice.

"Are you warm enough?" she asked sternly.

"Yes," I sighed. I was wearing a cardigan and turtleneck, and it was summer!

Mom turned to Christie. "My little Christie, alone for the first time without me. Watch her, Cyndi."

"I will, Mom," I promised.

"I WISH I COULD COME WITH YOU!" screeched my ten-year-old sister, Anne. "DISNEYLAND, PALM TREES, PALM TREES, DISNEYLAND!"

"I WANNA COME, TOO!" screamed seven-year-old Marie.

"Quiet, girls!" Mom scolded. "Girls, quiet! Girls!"

"We're not even screaming anymore, you mean, silly Mommy," Marie retorted.

(Brat.)

During all this, my baby sisters -- one-year-old Emily, and Jennifer and Jessica, twin two-year-olds -- were waddling around examining everything in sight. Dad was standing in the middle of the floor, casually reading the paper.

At least my family was more normal than the Gibsons. Becca's dad was literally yelling at her seven-year-old sister Jessica, who was bawling. Jeremy, Jessica's twin, was laughing hysterically. (So many twins named Jessica ... gee, I wonder where I got that?) Four-year-old Tiffany was rolling her eyes around and around and crying, "Help! I'm eye-loose!," while fifteen-year-old Scott slumped sullenly in a chair. Ten-year-old Kellie galloped around all over the station, and Mrs. Gibson was weeping.

Poor Becca.

The Wilcoks were acting normal, but there are ten kids in the family, so they still created a stir. The Barnes, who have nine kids in their family, had the same problem. Henry Bell was getting cooed at by everyone, and Jennifer Owens' sister Lila pranced around, showing everyone magic tricks.

I never thought we would leave.

But we did, of course. I was just standing there when Miss Jewell announced, "The train is here. The train is here. Get all your stuff. Get all your stuff."

"Oh, Cyndi!" Mom bawled. "I'll miss you. You write! G-Goodbye."

"Goodbye, honey," Dad added, dropping his paper and engulfing me in a hug.

Everyone cried over Christie, but finally, we were all boarding the train. Without our families, there were only twenty-one of us, which meant we took up ten pairs of seats, plus one extra seat. I ended up next to Carrie, with a window seat.

(Okay, come on, you're famous pop stars, what's with sitting in coach? Get some roommettes, at least!)

The train began to move, and off we went! Christie and I waved to our family until they disappeared. (She and Miss Jewell were right behind Carrie and me.)

A man collected tickets, another man made some announcements over a loudspeaker, and another man passed out pillows. I leaned back and relaxed.

"Cool," I heard Carrie comment. "Look at the view. Oh, here's a little map and guide of our route until Detroit! There's a magazine, too, and some other stuff."

I thumbed through a boring magazine, and looked at the map/guide, which was pretty interesting. Then I started my journal entry, and made the schedule.

Carrie glanced at it and told me, "You forgot that we're going to be in different time zones. We'll get to Anaheim at five-ten New York time, but only two-ten California time."

"Huh?" I said blankly. I'd heard of time zones, but wasn't all that familiar with them.

"Remember L.A.? How it was three hours earlier than Albany..."

"Oh, yeah," I murmured. I studied my schedule. Boy, this would be confusing.

The next thing I knew, I was asleep. (Cyndi's so boring, she puts herself to sleep.) I woke up when that loudspeaker man was saying, "Our next station stop will be Syracuse in approximately eight minutes. If you plan to detrain in Syracuse, please check the seats around you so you don't leave any personal belongings behind. Thank you for traveling with Amtrak, and we hope you'll come back next time."

"Are we there yet?" Christie asked.

"Not even close," Kathy told her. "We have a long road ahead of us."

You're telling me, I thought.

***

That night, Miss Jewell told us to go to sleep at ten-o-clock. (New York time ... who knows what time it was in Detroit.) We would reach Detroit in just two hours, but people were starting to dim the lights, and she said we needed our rest.

It was really hard actually trying to fall asleep. (The other time, it had happened out of boredom.) I put my seat back as far as it would go, which wasn't very far. I was also freezing, and I didn't have a blanket, so I had to settle for my coat.

When I was semi-comfortable, I discovered it was almost impossible to sleep moving. I turned a couple of times.

"Ohhh," I heard a deep voice moan groggily. "Where are the girls? Blondes, brunettes..."

"Aughh!" Christie shrieked. "A ghost!"

"Ssshh," said Miss Jewell. "It's just Bobby, talking in his sleep." (Bobby was one of our keyboardists.)

(Bobby sounds creepy.)

I lay in silence for awhile. Then I heard Christie ask, "Miss Jewell? Aren't we gonna get on another train in Repoit?"

"Detroit," Miss Jewell corrected. "That will be soon. Go to sleep, hon."

Silence.

"Miss Jewell? Can I have some 7-Up?" Christie asked.

"Mmm... not now, Christie."

"I WANT SOME 7-UP!"

Miss Jewell sighed. I heard her get up and walk away. She came back about a minute later.

I heard something being poured into a cup. Then I heard a 'gulp, gulp' and finally I heard the cup being put down.

A second later, Christie's voice began to sing, "Moon river, wider than a mile..."

"Shut up, Christie," I muttered.

"No. You shut up, Cyndi."

"Both of you be quiet," Miss Jewell said firmly.

I actually fell asleep.

***

The next couple of days were long and boring.

Oh, the views from the window seats I always ended up with were beautiful. I probably saw half of the states.

But the only time we could leave the trains was when were switching to a new one. It got very hot and stuffy after awhile.

(Oh, Cyndi, I'm sure there were at least a few extended "smoke stops" along the way. Stop whining.)

I spent the days in the train reading my guide to the stars' homes in Beverly Hills (I couldn't wait to see those), staring out the window, writing letters to my pen pals, and talking to my friends.

By Sunday, however, I was fed up with the routine. We were in California by then, but hours and miles away from Los Angeles.

I woke up and found myself moving. Oh, boy, I thought. Will we ever get to our motel?

I brightened when I saw that we were in Sacramento, but then Christie started to sing for the six-millionth time, "Moon river, wider..."

"Christie, shut up!" I ordered. "I am tired of that song!"

"Okay," Christie agreed. She paused and went into another song. "Once I was alone ... so lonely, and then..."

(Some song called "Canadian Sunset"; apparently I knew it at a time, but I had to google it!)

"CHRISTIE!"

"Ssshh!" some strange lady hissed, swiveling around in her seat and glaring at me.

I stifled a groan.

Miss Jewell passed out stale muffins for breakfast. I ate mine, and promptly fell asleep. (I was used to sleeping on a train by now.)

When I woke up, we were somewhere near the middle of California. Lisa, Becca, Stacie, June, and Christine were asleep. Carrie was engrossed in a crossword puzzle book, Jennifer was reading, Kathy wasn't even around (she was probably in the lounge car), and Racquelle (who was behind me) was staring out the window.

"So," I said to her. "You're bored, too?"

She gasped. "CYNDI! I was engrossed in a daydream! HOW DARE YOU INTERRUPT ME!"

"Sorry," I snapped.

"Moon river, wider than a mile..."

"CHRISTIE!"

"Ssshh!" the woman in front of me demanded.

I sighed, and closed my eyes. Sleeping was the only thing left to do until we got to Anaheim!

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I love how, just like Lisa's, Cyndi's chapter ends with her sighing and thinking how she can't wait to get to Anaheim/the hotel. At least I didn't end their chapters simply with the words "I sighed." (Which I know I did in more than one earlier book, even when it made no sense.)

Coming up next ... the characters from my sister's stories make a contrived appeareance! Also... Racquelle! (As the "nerdy" Angels, I thought Racquelle and Kathy were the most fun to write and read about.)