Jenny (Babysitter's Club 5)

“The police are on the lookout for the Rover, no one’s seen her yet.” There was a sharp bite to my dad’s tone, as well as he looked down at me.

“How long have I been here?” I can’t stay here. I have to get back to my girls. I tried getting up again, this time with more luck.

I had to sit on the side of the bed with my head in my hands to quell the pain and nausea I felt, but I refuse to lay back down. Mom saw that any further argument would be futile, and I’m sure as a parent, she understood. And then my mind went swiftly to her, Jenny. I’m pretty sure she’d saved me, and my kids today.

JENNY

I’m still in shock. Still can’t quite believe all that has happened. I looked at the two little girls in the middle of my bed with a mountain of pillows around them to protect them from falling. It had taken forever to get them settled; mom had been a big help there.

I was finally able to relax when I got the call from Derrick’s mother that he was okay, no major damage, maybe a slight concussion and stitches for the cut on his head. Other than that, there were no broken bones, thank heaven. She’d really rammed him with the Rover, and I have a feeling that had I not gone outside when I did, she would’ve done more.

I know I’m still in shock, but I have to keep it together. I keep replaying the sight and sound of him getting hit, of metal meeting flesh and bone. It makes me sick to my stomach, and I don’t know how many times I’ve swallowed the bile that keeps rising in my throat.

I haven’t told my parents the truth about what happened, just that there was an emergency and I needed to bring the kids home with me. I’d made that decision after Derrick’s parents showed up and asked me to keep an eye on the girls while they followed him to the hospital.

I didn’t think it was such a great idea to stay in that house just in case Lauren showed up there, so that’s why I’d suggested bringing them home with me while the police looked for her. I’d left it to his parents to make that call since I didn’t know the license plate number or which direction she was heading.

Now that I’ve had time to calm down and my heart rate was somewhere close to normal, I went over the events of the last few hours in my head. I’m glad that I answered that call and didn’t let it go to voicemail I usually do with unknown numbers.

I felt a cold shiver run down my spine at the thought of what might’ve happened had I not. Had I gone about my business and ran my errands, would I now be coming home to sirens and red and blue lights parked outside their home? The thought was sobering.

I can still hear her voice telling me what she was going to do to the children if I didn’t show up. She’d deduced the fact that I’d been avoiding her after that little fiasco that last time I was at their house and had correctly ascertained that the only way to get me to come to her was by threatening the girls, or Derrick.

I didn’t doubt for a second that she would’ve done what she’d threatened because, unlike her husband, I’m convinced she has some underlying issue that had either gone undetected or has not been medicated correctly.

As someone who likes to dabble in the study of mental disease, it’s hard to blame her for her actions if that is in fact what’s going in here, and I can’t for the life of me think of anything else it might be. There’s no way jealousy of a phantom affair could’ve driven her over the edge so completely.

Another reason I couldn’t tell my parents the truth is because of my part in it. You see, they have no idea that I’m still in love with Derrick. To them, it was just a silly childhood crush that I’d outgrown years ago.

They never questioned why I didn’t date erroneously believing it was because of my studies something they were proud of. The few times he’d been mentioned in our home over the years, I’d always played it off as if I weren’t that interested, while the truth was I was always dying for any mention of him. Like a plant that needed watering after a drought.

If they, if anyone should learn the truth now, it might be hard to explain, that’s why I hope no one ever finds my diary because sometimes I find it hard to explain to myself. There’s no textbook analysis for what this is. For why a young girl, a child really, would latch onto someone else and know in her very fiber that he belonged to her.