by Jen Malone
“Okay, the terminal is at the back end of the park. Just keep following the path toward the water,” I say.
We pass little umbrella-topped stands of people selling cheap souvenirs: Statue of Liberty snow globes and bottle openers and foam Lady Liberty crowns. Hey, maybe Sophie can pop one of those on in case her head misses her real one. There are also street vendors who have tablecloths spread out on the sidewalk where they sell imitation designer purses. We don’t pay any of them much attention, though.
Up ahead a ferry sounds its horn as it pulls clear of the dock. Ingrid could be on that boat right this very second. Please, please let her be. I was feeling so good with our solid information, but now a tiny trickle of doubt appears. What if Ingrid changed her mind after leaving M&M’s World? What if she got on the wrong train? Or what if someone recognized she was all alone and alerted the authorities? Ingrid could be sitting in a police precinct right now, waiting for the king and queen to come get her. We’d be so dead.
“Do you reckon I can pass for twelve?” Alex asks. I give him a once-over and try not to notice the surfer hair or the twinkly eyes and just focus on how old he looks. Definitely not twelve in my eyes, but grown-ups aren’t as good at telling kids’ ages. To them, young is young.
“Worth a shot,” I say. I’d still rather not risk bad karma by lying, but at this point, with all the “evading” we’ve been doing, I’m pretty sure our good karma is already out the window. Here’s hoping plain-old luck will help us find Ingrid now.
He tucks his shirt into his pants and adjusts his sweater, then tries to arrange his hair so it isn’t so messy. “Do I look all right?” he asks.
Pay and Sophie say yes, but I’m too busy trying not to drool to answer.
“Okay, wish me luck.”
“Luck.” Sophie, Pay, and I all jinx each other.
Alex turns and struts off to the ticket window. I know I was making fun of his “hey, look at me, I’m a prince” walk earlier, but I have to give him credit for totally working it. We follow close behind so we can watch what goes down.
Alex approaches a man about my dad’s age. Before he can even open his mouth, the man shoos him away. Strike one.
Alex shrugs at us and flashes that trademark grin of his. He takes more time selecting his next “victim” before he approaches a pretty young mom who is bending over her toddler’s stroller.
“Excuse me, madam?” She looks up and her eyes widen. I know, right? Even mothers think he’s cute. Or maybe she just likes how Alex looks totally mom approved in his khakis and lightweight cashmere sweater. His manners don’t hurt either. And now he’s gonna turn that accent on her, so . . .
“I was wondering if you might help me. I was pickpocketed earlier today, and I’m supposed to meet my parents on Liberty Island. I have a few dollars, but not enough for the ticket. Is there any possibility I could borrow enough for a ticket? It would be my pleasure to mail it back to you.”
She tilts her head to the side and studies him. “Your parents left you alone?”
“Yes, madam. I wanted to take some more pictures of the new World Trade Center for my friends back home. I promised my parents I’d be on the very next ferry, and then I realized my wallet had been taken and . . . well. It’s just that Mum is going to be so concerned if I don’t show up. You know how mothers are.”
The woman looks down at her baby stroller and swallows. Nice one, Alex. Way to play the sympathetic-mother card. When I was little, Mom always told me if I ever got lost to find another parent with kids to help. Now I see why. There’s no way this woman is not going to help Alex reunite with his poor, frantic mother.
Sure enough, she has her wallet out. “How much do you need?”
Alex smiles and gives her an “aw shucks” look. “Would twenty be too much?”
She hands over a crisp bill.
“Do you have anything with your address? I really will make certain to repay you,” he says.
She studies him for another moment, then hands over a business card. Wait until she sees the size of the royal fruit basket she’s gonna get later this week.
Alex is sliding the card into his pocket when she says, “Just one other thing.”
He raises his eyebrows in question.
“Don’t call women ‘madam.’ It makes us feel old.”
Alex smiles and tips a pretend hat. “Yes ma—er, miss.”
“Better,” she says with a laugh, and goes back to pouring Cheerios onto the tray of the stroller.
Behind her back, he gives us a subtle thumbs-up.
So far, so good.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
We continue to trail Alex to the ticket booth and watch as he talks his way into the kid’s rate. He comes back to us with his ticket in one hand and change in the other.
He places $10.20 into my palm. “There was tax, but there’s still enough for someone else to come, if you want, Soph.”
Sophie looks shyly from Paisley to me. “I think I’ll stay with the girls, if you don’t mind.”
“As you wish. Mine should be the second-to-last ferry, but the line is long, so I think it’s going to depend on how fast the security check is moving at this point.”
Sophie punches his arm. “Stop talking to us, then! Go get on a ferry and find our sister!”
Alex rubs at his arm. “You didn’t have to hit me so hard.”
Kind of nice to know royals fight just like siblings everywhere. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve seen Pay and her little sister do the same thing to each other. Alex gives us one last smile, waves, and takes off at a jog for the ferry dock.
“Good luck!” Paisley screams at his back. He lifts his arm in reply and disappears around the corner. For a second none of us move.
So now it’s just me, Pay, and Sophie with no Alex to distract me or to act as a buffer. I can feel the tension seep back. Sophie might have had a change of heart about Manhattan, but I’m not sure she’s had one about me. I wonder why on earth she wanted to stay with us.
“Should we sit down and wait or something? We can keep an eye on the returning boats to see if she’s on one. I doubt it because she only has a short lead, but just in case.” I shrug as I finish speaking.
Pay grabs a seat on the closest bench, and Sophie squeezes in next to her. I settle myself in the empty one beside them. It’s not particularly hot, but I’m sweating from all the racing around and the anxiety of the day. I might be more tired because of the hopping, but Paisley and Sophie seem plenty wiped too.
We all stare in silence at the woman across the sidewalk. She’s dressed as Lady Liberty, but spray-painted entirely in silver and posing as a statue. She’s very good. I can’t even see her eyes blinking or her arm shaking as she holds the flame high in her right hand. A group of tourists crowd around her for a picture, and at the last second she yells “Boo!” and makes them jump sky-high. When they stop laughing and clutching their sides, they drop money into her hat.
“This is stupid,” Sophie says after approximately a minute or so. “I can’t just sit and wait.”
I was about to say the same thing. Even watching Statue Lady stand still is making me jittery with nervous energy. As tired as I am, I can’t stop twitching. “Let’s get tickets of our own.”
Sophie and Pay swing their heads to me. “Really?” asks Sophie. “What if she’s on one of the returning boats?”
“She’s not. I feel it in my bones,” I state boldly.
Pay rifles through her wallet again. “Let’s see, we have—”
“Fifteen dollars and fifty-five cents,” answers Sophie automatically. Both Pay and I gape at her.
“What?” She shrugs. “You said on the subway you had five dollars and thirty-five cents, and Alex just handed Chloe ten dollars and twenty cents. It’s simple maths, really.”
She’s right, but still. It would have taken me slightly longer than twelve milliseconds to come up with a dollar amount.
“Okay, so assuming we can pass Pay and me
off as twelve, which shouldn’t be that hard since we’ve both only been thirteen for a month, we can get three kid tickets for twenty-seven dollars.” I still hate lying, but hopefully karma will understand it’s practically an emergency. “So we only need twelve dollars. That sounds doable. Alex just got twenty in two tries.”
“Yes, but he’s Alex,” Sophie mutters.
I have no idea what she means until it’s our turn to ask for money. We split up and accost everyone who crosses our path.
“No, sorry, I don’t give handouts.” Really? Does Sophie look like a street urchin in her designer sundress?
“I just spent my last five. Sorry.” Paisley gets nowhere either.
“Excuse me, sir? Sir? Sir, I—well, good day to you too.” Jerk, I want to add.
It turns out that being really excellent at asking people for favors, like I’ve done almost weekly since starting as junior concierge, does not translate to mad skills when asking people flat-out for money. It’s not like these people care what business the St. Michèle can throw their way. Maybe I’m not as good at this concierge thing as I thought. Maybe it’s just that I had a lot to bargain with. The thought is totally depressing.
When we plop back down on our benches to regroup, I plop the hardest. I’m fairly certain I catch Lady Liberty smirking at us, but when I squint at her, her smile is gone, her face is smooth as glass, and her eyes are focused on the horizon.
“We don’t have much longer. If we can’t catch the last ferry of the day, this could all be in vain anyway.” Pay sighs.
I continue studying Lady Liberty, waiting to catch her blinking or twitching or anything. Wow. She’s good. Watching her gives me a sudden idea. “Guys, have you ever heard the concept of ‘you have to spend money to make money’?” Both girls nod. “I need to spend some of the cash we have. Trust me on this one.” To her BFF credit, Pay forks her wallet over, no questions asked.
I hobble up the sidewalk toward the street vendors and hunt until I find one peddling cheap baseball caps. They look like the kind truckers wear, with mesh sides and a puffy front. Ick. But I select a FDNY one and fork over five bucks.
When I return, Sophie and Pay have barely moved. “I hope you brought food,” Paisley says.
“No food. Just a hat.”
“A hat? Who’s supposed to wear that . . . that . . . thing.” Sophie gestures to the trucker hat with her distaste displayed clearly on her face.
“No one’s going to wear it. We’re going to use it to collect tips.”
“Tips?” Sophie asks, but I can tell Pay has caught on.
“We’re gonna be street buskers?” she asks.
“Yup.” I nod, a small smile creeping across my face. This could actually be kind of fun, if it works.
Then Pay asks the question I’ve been pushing down ever since I had the idea.
“Um, Chloe, do any of us have any skills worthy of a street performance?”
Chapter Thirty
Okay, so I actually was thinking about possible skills the whole time I shopped for hats, and I have an answer all ready for Paisley.
“Our Broadway medley.”
Pay doesn’t have quite the reaction I’m hoping for. First she laughs. Then she snorts. Then she sees that I’m serious and her face falls.
“Uh, no. Just . . . no.”
“Why, what’s wrong with our Broadway medley?” I turn to Sophie to explain. “Two years ago, for the talent show at our school, we did a mash-up of a whole bunch of songs from Broadway shows. We got fourth prize in the singing category.”
Pay is looking at me funny as she says, “Tell her how many other acts there were in the singing category.”
I sigh. “Three.”
“And you got fourth place?” I can tell Sophie is trying not to giggle.
“Exactly,” says Pay.
“We weren’t that bad,” I mumble. “And I can see you, Pay.” She’s standing off to the side rotating her finger next to her ear in the universal “she’s crazy” sign.
“We were worse,” Paisley says.
Sophie is full-out laughing now. I honestly think it might be the first time I’ve seen this. “Will you show me? Oh, please.”
“Of course we will. And you’ll see it’s not bad at all.” I make a big show of placing the hat top down on the ground in front of us, all ready to collect tips. Then I strip off my suit jacket and hand it to Sophie. Pay looks resigned as she assumes her starting position just behind me. Sophie scoots to a bench across from us, so we can face the sidewalk and, hopefully, our soon-to-be-paying audience.
“I won’t be able to do all the dance moves with my ankle.” My poor ankle. Even wrapped up tight, it’s starting to swell against the bandage.
Pay snorts again. “Oh, I think that’s just fine. The singing alone will give her enough of an idea.”
I turn my neck to glare at her. “I didn’t mean you shouldn’t do them. I’ll do all the hand ones; I’ll just have to stand in place while I do.”
Paisley bites her lower lip and nods, careful not to make eye contact with me. Well, she can just be that way. I seem to remember her being quite the choreographer back when we were plotting our big stage debut. At least she’s quiet as she assumes starting position: feet hip-width apart, hands crossed above her head. “And a five, six, seven, eight.”
I face Sophie and belt out, “They say the neon lights are bright on Broadway . . .”
Pay pops out from behind me, jazz hands fluttering. “On Broadway.”
A few people walking by poke each other and whisper. Whatever. Like they haven’t seen stranger things today; this is New York City. I begin snapping my fingers as I change the tempo and launch into Daddy Warbucks’s “N.Y.C.” song from Annie.
“The shadows at sundown,
The roofs that scrape the sky.”
We belt out the rest of the lyrics while a couple more people toss us curious looks. I hope Pay’s game for the dance number that’s coming up as we head into the next song, from the musical 42nd Street. I don’t want to crane my neck behind me to see, because I’m too afraid to lose my balance. Instead I give a giant smile to a lady walking by with her dog. She yanks on her puppy’s leash.
“Come and meet those dancing feet
On the avenue I’m taking you to, Forty-Second Street.”
I might be singing about dancing on Forty-Second Street, but the minute I say the address, my mind goes right back to kissing on Forty-Second Street. I blush and wobble a little on my good leg.
One guy drops a single dollar bill in our hat as he walks by. I forget to sing for a note or two as I salute him. Okay, here comes the finale. Paisley steps up next to me, and I grab on to her shirt for balance. This is going to be tricky with a twisted ankle, but I slide my arm around her back just the same. When we performed this onstage, we had our arms clutched tightly around each other, but now I know it should actually be “fingertips to fabric,” thanks to our Rockettes rehearsal.
Pay begins the kickline and I halfheartedly join in, kicking my bandaged ankle a foot or two off the ground. And forget about fingertips to fabric; I have to cling to Paisley to keep from toppling over. We start singing “New York, New York,” and I make sure all my ba-ba-ba-da-bops are delivered with extra-snappy jazz hands. We are so owning this.
“It’s up to you,
New York, NEEEEEEEEEEW YORRRRRRRRRRRRK!”
We belt it out as we come to a rousing finish. And then . . .
Crickets.
Seriously.
No one even acknowledges our existence. After I put my heart and soul into that and everything! I hop on one foot over to Sophie and give a halfhearted bow.
She sticks two fingers in her mouth and lets loose with a whistle Alex can probably hear in his ferry line.
“Brava, ladies! Brava!” At least she seems to have genuinely loved our performance. Too bad she’s in no position to tip us.
Pay looks equally impressed with her. “Where’d you learn to whistle like that?�
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Sophie blushes. “I don’t know. It’s just this weird thing I can do. I can whistle like any bird, too.”
“Really?” Pay looks intrigued. I grab on to the bench for balance as I lean over to retrieve the single dollar bill out of the hat, and then I sit down on my butt next to Sophie.
“Certainly,” Sophie says.
“Okay. Do a blue jay,” Paisley requests.
Sophie blows a tra-la-la whistle that makes her cheeks hollow out. Pay claps her hands together. “That was great. What else can you do?”
A guy walking by is being totally obvious about eavesdropping.
“Try a dove,” he says. Sure, buddy. Where were you a minute ago when we were performing our hearts out?
Sophie just smiles and rearranges her face. This time her cheeks puff way out as she emits a cooing noise that does sound a lot like a dove. She probably has lots of them in her castle courtyard. They seem like princessy kinds of birds.
“Sparrow,” calls Lady Liberty from her platform. Or at least I think it was her. When I glance over, her face is frozen again.
By now a few people have started to gather near us, watching. Hmmm. Zing. A lightbulb flicks on over my head, and I hop back up. Literally. It’s all I can do on one functioning leg. “Ladies and gentlemen, step right up. The Amazing Sophie will dazzle you with her birdcalls. She’ll tweet; she’ll coo; she’ll amaze you!” Okay, so somehow I’m channeling a big-top circus announcer, but whatever, because it’s totally working. A few people stop to watch us.
Sophie looks dazed, but she grabs hold of Paisley’s hand for courage and jumps up to a standing position on top of the bench. I catch her eye and she grins at me. Grins. At me.
I move the FDNY hat in front of our bench and call out, “She’s taking requests. What would you like to hear first?”
A little girl in a yellow dress steps forward with a dollar clutched in her fist. She hovers over the hat, looking back at her mom before dropping it in.
I lean down. “What kind of bird would you like to hear?”
She speaks so quietly I can barely hear her. “A parrot?”