by Piper Banks
“Well . . .” I said, hesitating. But then I felt like I was being bratty. She was going to a work meeting, after all. It wasn’t like she was ditching me to get her nails done. “Of course I understand. It’s just I haven’t seen you in so long. I wanted to catch up. I have a lot to tell you.”
“And I want to hear it all,” Sadie said, brightening. “I thought tomorrow night we could go out for a nice dinner, and talk and talk and talk until we’re all talked out.”
“Tomorrow?” I repeated. “What about dinner tonight?”
“Oh, didn’t I mention that? Madame Aleksey is having a dinner party tonight, and I can’t get out of it, I’m sorry to say.” Sadie made a face. “I’d invite you along, but you’d hate every minute of it.”
I closed my eyes for a minute and counted to ten. This was so typical of Sadie. And she knew very well that she hadn’t told me about the dinner party.
“Mom,” I said, keeping my voice as level as possible. “Why did you invite me to spend Christmas with you if you were planning to spend the whole time going out and socializing with your friends?”
“Don’t be silly, sweetheart. It’s just this one day I’m booked up, and then I’ll be as free as a bird for the next two weeks. Sure, there are a few holiday parties here and there, but I promise you, by the time you go home, you’ll be sick to death of me,” Sadie said brightly.
I opened my mouth, ready to argue, but then decided against it. What was the point? I knew she wouldn’t change her mind. Sadie is genetically incapable of missing a party. And besides, she was right. We’d have loads of time to spend together. There was no point in getting into a stink over today’s plans.
“Okay,” I said.
Sadie looked surprised for a moment—she’d clearly expected a battle—but when she saw I wasn’t going to pursue the argument, she smiled warmly and reached out to smooth a wayward lock of hair behind my ear.
“You’re getting so grown up,” she said wistfully.
The phone rang then, and Sadie turned to answer it.
“Why, hello there! Miranda and I were just talking about that,” Sadie was saying into the phone. “Yes, that sounds perfect. . . . No, I’m sure. . . . Yes, she’ll be thrilled . . . thrilled . . . No, I don’t have to check with her. . . . Okay . . . right. Bye!”
Sadie hung up the phone. When she turned, I saw that she had a huge Cheshire Cat grin on her face.
“Who was that?” I asked, trying—and failing—not to sound suspicious.
“It was Henry. Remember? You met him last night,” she said brightly.
Too brightly.
“I remember,” I said cautiously.
“Guess what? I’ve arranged for him to take you sightseeing today.”
“You arranged . . . but . . . but . . .” I spluttered.
“You don’t have to thank me, darling,” Sadie said happily.
“I wasn’t going to thank you!”
Sadie’s forehead puckered into a concerned frown. “I thought you wanted to go sightseeing,” she said.
“I did. I mean, I do. It’s just . . . why didn’t you ask me first if I wanted to go with Henry? I’m not a child. I don’t need you to set up play dates for me.”
“What’s wrong with Henry? I think he’s adorable,” Sadie said. “He’s very smart. At the top of his class, from what Giles tells me.” She smiled again. “I know you’ll only be here for a few weeks, but you never know. . . . A little holiday romance could be fun.”
“Mom,” I said, aghast. “I don’t want a romance. For your information, I happen to have a boyfriend back home.”
This stopped Sadie cold. “You have a boyfriend?” she asked. “Really?”
The really was a little insulting. Although . . . it was true that Dex wasn’t really my boyfriend. Not yet, anyway.
“Well. Sort of,” I said, and I could hear the defensiveness creeping into my voice. “There’s this guy, his name is Dex, and I think he likes me, and I really, really like him. It isn’t official or anything yet, but I think once I get home . . .”
“That’s so exciting! Why didn’t you tell me all of this before?” Sadie asked.
I raised my eyebrows at her. “We haven’t really had a chance to talk, remember?” I said pointedly.
“Oh. Right,” Sadie said. She sat down at the kitchen table, looking thoughtful, and took a sip of her coffee. Then she hit her open palm against the table decisively, and said, “I’m going to call Madame Aleksey and tell her I can’t come tonight,” she said.
“You don’t have to . . .” I began, but Sadie cut me off.
“I want to,” she said firmly. “You and I are going to have dinner. Alone. Together. Tonight. And I want to hear all about this—what did you say his name was?”
“Dex,” I said.
“Hmmm. Dex. That’s an interesting name,” Sadie said. “It’s strong, but quirky. I like it.”
“Mom, look, you don’t have to cancel your plans on my account,” I said.
She looked torn. “Your first boyfriend is big news, and I want to hear all about him,” she said.
“He’s not my boyfriend. Not yet,” I said. “More of a . . . quasi-almost-boyfriend. So go ahead and go to your dinner. I’ll tell you about him tomorrow.”
“If you’re sure . . .”
“I’m sure,” I said firmly. “But what should I do about Henry?”
“What do you mean?” Sadie asked.
“What should I tell him when I call to cancel our sightseeing trip?” I asked.
“Oh! Well . . . the thing is, you can’t, darling. He’s going to meet you at the Tube stop in twenty minutes,” Sadie said. “In fact, you’ll have to hurry if you’re going to make it on time. Do you have any blush? You’re looking a little pale. You can use some of mine. It’s in the upstairs bathroom.”
“But . . . but . . .” I stuttered.
“But nothing. You want to see London, and Henry’s offered to show you around. There’s no reason not to. It’s not like it’s a date. And even if it was, you said yourself, this Dex isn’t officially your boyfriend. Not yet,” Sadie rationalized.
“No . . . but I wouldn’t be too happy if Dex was showing some English girl around Orange Cove while I was away,” I said.
Just the thought of that, of Dex walking along the beach with some cute girl with a shiny mane of hair and pink cheeks, while pointing out the best spots for para-surfing made my stomach feel queasy. Was that why he hadn’t e-mailed me? Because he was too busy hanging out with some British chick?
“This is different,” Sadie said breezily.
“How so?” I asked.
“It just is. Anyway, you can’t cancel on Henry now, so you might as well have a good time,” Sadie said.
I opened and closed my mouth a few times, wanting to protest, wanting to tell Sadie that since she was the one who’d agreed to this plan, than she should have to meet Henry at the Tube stop to tell him I wasn’t going sightseeing with him. That I had an almost-quasi-boyfriend, and was therefore not available to go on almost-quasi-dates with other guys.
But I couldn’t do that, of course. Henry seemed like a nice guy, and it wasn’t his fault that Sadie had shanghaied him into spending the day with me. So finally I just drew in a deep breath and said resignedly, “Okay, fine. But I’m not putting on blush.”
Chapter 4
As it turned out, walking to the Tube stop was actually pretty exciting. The South Kensington neighborhood where Sadie lived was lined with gorgeous white town houses fronted with black wrought-iron fences. Little cars so small they almost seemed like toys were parked bumper to bumper at the curb. And there were so many pedestrians out. Most of them looked straight ahead, their eyes fixed on some distant point, or jabbered into their cell phones, but I passed by one pleasant white-haired man, walking a jaunty Westie on a leather lead, who doffed his tweed hat to me.
“Hi!” I said with enthusiasm. Because it had finally hit me . . . I was actually in London! Walking briskly down
the sidewalk, just like a real urban warrior! Speaking to actual British people!
It was nippy out, and the wind stung as it blew against my face, but the sun shone surprisingly brightly. I’d expected the weather to be dark and gloomy and the sky to be thick with clouds. I tucked my hands in my coat pockets, and resolved to buy gloves and a hat at the first Gap store I came across.
Do they have the Gap in London? I wondered.
“Miranda! Over here!” a familiar voice called out.
I looked up and saw Henry standing at the Tube entrance. He was wearing a dark blazer, a striped oxford shirt, untucked, and faded jeans. A gray-and-black striped scarf was wrapped around his neck. His dark hair shone in the sun, and his cheeks and the tip of his nose had flushed pink in the cold. When he waved and grinned, I felt a whoosh of excitement fizz up inside of me. . . . Followed by a wave of guilt-laced confusion. I liked Dex, really liked him. So why was I getting stomach flutters over Henry?
It’s just because he’s so good-looking, I reasoned. That’s all. If Prince William suddenly appeared, I’m sure I’d get butterflies, too.
“Hey, Henry,” I said when I reached him.
“Hi,” Henry said, grinning at me.
“Thanks for offering to show me around,” I said. And then, feeling the familiar need to apologize for Sadie, I added, “I hope my mom didn’t bully you into doing this.”
Henry shook his head. “No, no worries. This’ll be fun. Is there anywhere in particular you wanted to go?”
“Well . . . I have always wanted to see Buckingham Palace,” I said, feeling a little silly as I said it. Going to gape at the queen’s residence was tourism at its cheesiest. But how could I possibly come to London and not see the palace with its famous guards in their bright red coats and tall fur hats?
“Buckingham Palace it is,” he said. “I think that’s the Green Park tube stop. Do you have a Tube pass?”
I did not. So Henry ushered me into the tube station and showed me to the machines that dispensed Oyster cards, and then once I had my card in hand, where to scan it to get through the turnstiles. We headed downstairs, following the blue signs for the Piccadilly Line until we reached the platform. Trains were arriving and departing with loud whooshes, and a clipped voice rang constantly from the loudspeakers, notifying passengers of delays.
I felt a thrill of excitement as our train arrived.
“Mind the gap,” the disembodied voice said coolly, and then suddenly people were pushing forward and I was on the train. The seats were all taken, so Henry and I held on to poles by the door, bracing ourselves as the train started to roll forward.
“This is so cool. I’m actually riding on the London Tube,” I said, not able to contain my excitement. I glanced at Henry, half-expecting to see him roll his eyes. But he just smiled at me.
“We could just forget sightseeing, and spend the day down here instead,” he said.
“I know, I sound like a total small-town hick,” I said, blushing.
“Not at all. I take it you don’t have trains in Florida,” Henry said.
I shook my head. “Not like this. At least, not in Orange Cove,” I said. “It must be great. You can get around on your own, without waiting for your parents to drive you. Until I’m old enough to drive, the only independent transport I have is a bike.”
“Actually, I usually bicycle to school,” Henry said.
“You go to school here in London, then?” I asked. My sole insight into the British educational system was the Harry Potter books, which had given me the impression that most kids in England went away to school.
“Yeah. Aformidable institute known as Pembrooke Hall,” Henry said. “But only for another year. Then I’ll be off to university.”
I had to force myself not to repeat everything he said, imitating his accent. He’d think I was making fun of him, when really I just loved the way words sounded in his round, plummy English accent. And I was more than a little jealous. Why couldn’t I have been English and grown up in London? Why was I stuck in Orange Cove, Florida, being raised by dysfunctional parents? Don’t get me wrong, I loved my mom and dad. But you’d need the patience of a saint not to get irritated with them from time to time. And I’m no saint.
For the rest of the ride, Henry told me how he was studying to take something called his A-levels, which were basically a series of exams on various subjects, the results of which would determine where he went to college. He wanted to go to Cambridge, but it was really competitive, and he wasn’t sure he’d get in. And then suddenly we were pulling into Green Park Station, where we exited the train and followed the crowd of people pushing toward the escalators that led out.
As thrilling as I’d found traveling by Tube, I was a bit relieved to be back outside, breathing in the fresh air, and no longer being crowded and jostled.
“How about you?” Henry said, as we walked from the Tube stop to the edge of St. James’s Park.
“What about me?” I asked.
“Where do maths geniuses go to university?” Henry asked.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. Because, the truth was, I didn’t. I knew that if I wanted to pursue math, I could pretty much go anywhere I wanted. MIT, maybe, or the University of Chicago. But that was just it. . . . I didn’t want a career in mathematics. In fact, I was pretty sure I wanted to go to a college with a strong creative writing program.
An awkward silence fell between us.
“I don’t know why I asked you that,” Henry finally said. “I’m tired of everyone asking me where I plan to go.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said. “I mean, I haven’t gotten that question a lot, since I won’t be applying for colleges until my senior year. But I can imagine it would get irritating to hear the same thing over and over. It’s like people asking me to calculate sums in my head.”
“No, that’s far better,” Henry argued. “Because at least you have a skill you’re showing off. In my case, everyone knows that I haven’t got in anywhere yet. So if I admit that I want to go to Cambridge and don’t get in, everyone will know I failed.”
“You could just lie,” I said. “Tell everyone you want to go somewhere you know you’ll get in, and then they’ll all be amazed at your brilliance when you get into Cambridge.”
Henry grinned. “That’s an idea,” he said. “Subterfuge. So give me your top three.”
“My top three what?” I asked, as we walked through an arched gate into St. James’s Park. It was gorgeous, full of trees and flowers. There was a paved path that wound down in front of us, and a river over to the right, where geese and swans paddled around. Despite the chill, the park was busy, full of people walking dogs and mothers pushing baby carriages.
“Your top three least favorite questions that adults ask you,” Henry said.
“Hmmm.” I thought about this. “Do I have to rank them? From one to three, or three to one?”
“No. You can list them in any order you choose,” Henry said.
“The first one is easy: I hate it when people ask me to calculate sums for them,” I said. “The second would have to be when I’m asked what it feels like to have such a talented, famous woman for my mother. Gag.”
Henry laughed.
“The third would be . . .” I paused. Because while I knew very well what it was, it also wasn’t the sort of thing I normally shared with other people. But Henry was looking at me, his expression curious.
“The third would be when people ask me if it’s hard to have a sister who’s prettier than I am,” I said, speaking quickly, as though that would dull the embarrassment. I didn’t even know why I was admitting this to him. Maybe it was that I already felt comfortable with Henry, like I could tell him anything and he wouldn’t judge me for it.
He whistled and raised his eyebrows. “People have actually said that to you? About your sister being prettier?”
I nodded. “Yeah, all the time. You see, Hannah—she’s my stepsister—is gorgeous. People are always curious what th
at’s like to live with. Most of them assume that I resent her for being so beautiful.”
“Do you?” Henry asked.
I liked that he asked me that, that he didn’t rush in to tell me that I was beautiful. Okay, to be perfectly honest, I wouldn’t have minded if Henry had told me he thought I was pretty. But I didn’t want him to do it now, when he would have just been saying it because he thought he had to.
I considered his question. “Sure, sometimes,” I said. “But not as much as people think. Because I see other sides to her.”
“So she’s an evil beauty? Like one of those Bond girls who’s always ready to sell out humanity for a cool billion?” Henry said.
“No, that’s just it. I mean, yes, she can be pretty unpleasant at times. But just at the moment when I’m prepared to think that she really is evil, she always manages to redeem herself,” I said. “Now, my stepmother, on the other hand, is truly evil. Think: Snow White’s stepmother trying to kill her off.”
“Does she feed you poisoned apples?” Henry asked, looking amused.
“She would if she thought she could get away with it,” I said darkly. “I call her the Demon.”
I didn’t add that I used to call Hannah Demon Spawn, back before I realized that she wasn’t as bad as I had once thought she was.
We went through a second arched gate, and I could see a huge gated building to my left.
“Is that it?” I asked eagerly.
“Yep. That’s the palace,” Henry confirmed.
“Wow! Come on, let’s get closer,” I said. “I want you to take my picture standing next to the palace guard.”
And in my excitement, I almost—almost—reached for his hand. Thankfully, I caught myself in time, and quickly balled up my hands and stuck them in my coat pockets.
That was a close call, I thought.
Chapter 5
Henry and I had a busy day. After we watched the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, we walked all over the City of Westminster—which was, Henry explained, what the central bit of London was called—where we saw Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament, and Westminster Abbey. We also took a ride on the London Eye, a huge Ferris wheel with amazing views of the city.