So I didn't.

At eight o'clock, Daddy left for Aunt Ce-celia's. He would have to attach the U-Haul to our station wagon and drive it back here while Aunt Cecelia drove her own car. I was awfully glad she had a car. That meant she wouldn't be stuck in our house day in and day out. As Kristy's big brother says, "A set of wheels is, like, totally necessary."

Daddy was gone a long time.

"He has to oversee the movers," Mama explained to Becca and me as we ate lunch (our last meal without Aunt Cecelia).""And hooking the U-Haul to our car may take a little while."

Daddy and Aunt Cecelia arrived at our house around two-thirty. Mama, Becca, Squirt, and I were sitting on the front stoop. We were sitting under a banner that read: WELCOME, AUNT CECiLiA. Mama had insisted that Becca and I make the banner, so we purposely spelled our aunt's name wrong. (Mama hadn't noticed.) When the cars and the U-Haul pulled into our driveway, Becca and I just looked at each other. We didn't even stand up until Mama nudged us and said, "What happened to your manners?"

So we walked to the driveway, trailing behind Mama.

Aunt Cecelia got out of her car, kissed us all, and then said, "Rebecca, don't slouch," and, "Jessica, please tidy up your hair."

What could we say? Becca stands like any normal eight-year-old, and I'd been practicing all morning. Of course my hair was a mess.

"Well," said Daddy, sounding a little too cheerful, "let's get Aunt Cecelia's things inside." He opened up the U-Haul. It was packed!

I almost cried, "Where are we going to put all that stuff?" but I knew better. I just picked up a carton and lugged it inside. Becca did the same.

After about half an hour, the guest room was overflowing, and there were still two chairs, this dumb bird cage on a stand (no bird in it), a little table, some lamps, a tea cart, and even a small rug in the van. Not to mention more cartons.

"Mama," I said urgently, "those things are not going to fit in Aunt Cecelia's room. You can barely walk around in there now."

"I know," Mama replied. "We'll find places for them."

"That's right." Aunt Cecelia had come up behind us. "A place for everything and everything in its place," she said primly.

I hadn't expected those places to be all over our house. We crammed a bunch of things, including the bird cage, into, the living room. The small rug was placed over a larger rug in the den. It looked terrible. One of the tables wound up in my room.

"Mama, why did she bring so much stuff?" Becca whispered when Aunt Cecelia was busy in the guest room. I mean, her room.

"Because it belongs to her. It's part of her past," Mama replied gently. "It reminds her of her life with her husband, and she misses your Uncle Steven very much."

For a moment, I felt sorry for Aunt Cecelia. But just for a moment. The next thing I knew, she was handing me two china eggs and asking me to put them in my room because there wasn't room in hers.

When she'd gone, I looked around my room. It was changed. It didn't say "Jessi" anymore. It said "Jessi and some old lady." Our house didn't feel like our house anymore, either. Marks of Aunt Cecelia were everywhere.

Squirt was confused, and I didn't blame him one bit.

But Aunt Cecelia, looking at the not-yet-organized house said, "I'll have things in order in no time."

"I hope so," Mama replied. "I start my job on Monday."

Aunt Cecelia kept her word. By that evening, our house was tidy (but crowded), Aunt Cecelia had unpacked and put away all the stuff in her bedroom, and she'd folded the cartons, stacked them, and tied them with string for the trash man to take away on Tuesday. *

"She's efficient," Daddy remarked.

"She's a drill sergeant," I whispered to Becca.

"Girls, are you ready for bed?" Aunt Cecelia called upstairs.

Ready for bed? It was too early to go to bed. And why was Aunt Cecelia calling us, anyway?

"Not yet," I replied.

"Well, please put on your nightgowns."

Becca and I looked at each other, mystified. Then we put on our nightgowns, but we went downstairs afterward to find out what Mama and Daddy were doing. Guess what. They were just sitting in the den, reading. Why weren't they stopping Aunt Cecelia?

"Mama," I whispered, "Aunt Cecelia told me to get ready for bed, and it's only eight-thirty."

"You don't have to go to bed yet," said Mama absently, but she was much more interested in her book than in the injustices Aunt Cecelia was carrying out against Becca and me.

My sister and I left the den.

"They weren't any help," said Becca.

"They're tired," I told her. "And Mama's probably enjoying this last weekend before she begins work. We should let them relax."

That was a bad move on our part.

The next, morning, our family had just gotten up when Daddy said brightly, "I've got a great idea. Why don't we go out for brunch this morning? We'll celebrate your mother's new job and having my sister here with us."

"Oh, why don't you two go out alone?" Aunt Cecelia said to Daddy and Mama. "Now that I'm here, you can have a private brunch.

Wouldn't that be special? No children's menu to look at. No high chair to worry about. I'll stay here and baby-sit for Jessi and Becca and Squirt. After all, that's one reason I moved in."

Mama and Daddy were thrilled with the idea, but all I could think was, She'll stay here and baby-sit for us? On a Sunday morning? I could do that. I have done that.

But I kept my mouth shut.

So Mama and Daddy left, and Aunt Cecelia baby-sat for my sister and brother and me. And I mean, she baby-sat. She did everything for us. That's okay where Squirt's concerned, but Becca is too old to be reminded to use her napkin (she knows when to do that), and I am much too old to be told to clean my plate. Sometimes I can't. Besides, I have to watch my weight. I can't be a fat ballerina.

When our breakfast was finally over, I lifted Squirt out of his high chair and began to clean him up like I always do.

"I'll take care of that," said Aunt Cecelia. "You girls get dressed."

As Becca and I dragged ourselves upstairs, I said to my sister, "I've got a new name for Aunt Cecelia."

"What?" asked Becca.

"Aunt Dictator."

While Mama and Daddy were out, Aunt Cecelia left Squirt in his high chair (when I baby-sit, I play with him; it's much more stimulating for him) and prepared a salad for lunch, and also began preparing dinner. Aunt Cecelia was so busy cooking that she hadn't gotten around to cleaning up Squirt yet.

"Aunt Di - I mean, Aunt Cecelia," I said, entering the kitchen, "Becca and I are going to take Squirt for a walk." (After I wash his face and hands, I thought.) I was all dressed. And my hair was tidy. Aunt Cecelia wouldn't be able to find anything to complain about.

"Where are you going to take him?" she asked.

"Just up and down the street like we always do." I paused, then added, "I put him in his stroller and strap him in, and I never let him lean over and touch the wheels because he might get hurt."

Aunt Dictator looked outside. "Too cloudy," she announced.

I nearly exploded, but instead I said, "Okay. Then I'm going over to Mallory Pike's house."

"Who's Mallory?" my aunt asked.

"You met her once," I told her. "She's my best friend."

"Where does she live?"

"Nearby. I can ride my bike to her house."

"I don't think so." Aunt Dictator shook her head slowly. "No, I don't think so. I'm in charge now, and it looks like rain. The roads will get too slippery for bicycles."

That did it. I turned around and stomped out of the kitchen.

"Walk like a lady!" Aunt Cecelia called after me.

I didn't answer her. (But I did stop stomping.) Who did Aunt Cecelia think she was? Oh, yeah. My baby-sitter.

I ran upstairs to Becca's room. My poor sister had followed me to the kitchen before, but when she saw how unreasonable Aunt Ce-celila was being, she had escaped back to her room. Becca is a little shy and very sensitive to criticism, so she wasn't about to face Aunt Cecelia until she thought the arguing was over.

"Becca," I said, "you can stop hiding out. I've got an idea. It's time to start our Aunt Cecelia project."

I whispered into Becca's ear, and she began to giggle. By the time Mama and Daddy returned, my sister and I had been hard at work. We had short-sheeted Aunt Dictator's bed. We'd filled one of her slippers with Daddy's shaving cream. We'd arranged a realistic rubber spider on her pillow and covered it with the bedspread.

Her room looked normal, but we knew better. Our only worry: Mama and Daddy couldn't see what we'd done, but when Aunt Dictator put on her slippers or got into bed, what would happen?

Would Mama and Daddy see how unfair our new sitter was? Would they give Aunt Cecelia a talking-to? Or would Becca and I just be in an awful lot of trouble?

Surprisingly, none of the above happened. At eleven o'clock that night, Aunt Cecelia was reading in bed. Mama stuck her head into the room to thank her for making her life so much easier. And all Aunt Cecelia said was, "You're welcome," even though she must have found the shaving cream and the spider. And she must have had to make her bed up again.

I did not know what to think of that.

Chapter 7.

"Good-bye, Mama! Good luck!" I called.

"Have fun at work!" Becca added.

It was the next morning, and Mama and Daddy were leaving for their jobs together. I felt like I was sending Mama off to her first day of kindergarten.

My parents' cars rolled down the driveway. It was time for Becca and me to hustle or we'd be late for school.

"Take care of Squirt," Becca said seriously to Aunt Dictator, strapping her backpack on and picking up her lunch box.

"Yeah," I said. "Remember, he's allowed to watch Sesame Street, and he always needs an afternoon nap and usually a morning nap, too. And he likes to take a bottle of water to bed with him. Oh, and - "

Suddenly I stopped talking. Whoa. If looks could kill.

"Jessica," said my aunt crisply. "I raised children of my own."

You didn't raise Squirt, I thought.

I was not in a good mood by the time I left for school.

But when I came home that afternoon, I was in a much better frame of mind. I'd gotten an A- on a math test, I'd scored three baskets during gym, my creative-writing teacher had said he was impressed with the story I was working on, and I had a full (and Aunt Cecelia-free) afternoon ahead of me. I was supposed to baby-sit at the Rodowskys' and then go to the Monday BSC meeting.

I bounced through our front door. "h.e.l.lo!" I called.

"SHHH!" was Aunt Cecelia's reply. "Your brother's asleep."

"Now?" I said. "He's usually awake by this time."

"Well, he isn't today."

Auntie Dictator, Auntie Dictator, Auntie Dictator, I sang to myself.

I put away my backpack, changed my clothes quickly, and dashed into the kitchen for a fast snack. I had to be at the Rodowskys' soon.

Aunt Cecelia was working at the stove when I came in. I opened the refrigerator and surveyed the snack possibilities.

"Snack's on the table," said Aunt Cecelia, without turning around to look at me. (I think some adults actually do have eyes behind their heads. The eyes are just hidden by their hair, that's all.) I looked at the table.

Milk and cookies. Kid stuff.

"I usually have a sandwich," I said, opening the fridge again.

"Not this close to dinner, you don't. You'll spoil your appet.i.te."

"But I do get to eat a sandwich. Mama lets me. We eat lunch really early. Before it's even twelve o'clock."

"Two cookies," said Aunt Cecelia.

"I'll pa.s.s," I told her. "I'll eat at Jackie's house."

"Jackie? Who's Jaekie? Not a boy, I hope."

"As a matter of fact, Jackie is a boy."

"Well, you are certainly not spending the afternoon with a boy."