The Pink Lemonade Charade

by Cynthia Blair

  “That’s right, Holly,” Ms. Parker said. “During our stay, we’ll be getting to know some of the younger - members of a ballet company, young men and women who are about your age. The ballet troupe is coming over from Moscow for its very first visit to the United States.”

  “Moscow!” Chris cried. “We’re going to meet some Russian dancers? Oh, boy!”

  “As a matter of fact, we’ll be doing a bit more than just meeting them,” Ms. Parker went on to explain. “They’ve invited us to watch one of their dance classes. In turn, we’ve invited them to a little party, on Saturday night.

  “And then, as if all that weren’t already thrilling enough, we’ll be their special guests at their premier performance. It’s their very first American appearance, and it’s being held at the Kennedy Center.”

  Cries of “Wow!” and “Oh, boy!” rose up all around the classroom. Chris was already in seventh heaven, daydreaming about her upcoming trip to Washington. This was exactly the kind of thing she had been wishing for!

  ‘‘‘Now how’s your spring fever, Holly and Chris?” teased Ms. Parker. She had already begun passing out permission slips, along with a sheet of paper printed with all the details of the upcoming school trip.

  “Gee, Ms. Parker,” Chris returned with a chuckle. “I’d say our spring fever is suddenly turning into an epidemic!”

  By lunchtime, the trip to Washington, D.C., and the school’s cultural exchange with the younger members of the Russian ballet troupe, was already all that anyone was talking about.

  “You’re going, aren’t you?” Holly asked Chris over tuna fish sandwiches. The two of them had just sat down in the school cafeteria and were having lunch with Susan and her best friend, Beth Thompson.

  “Are you kidding?” Chris replied enthusiastically. “I wouldn’t miss this trip for the world!”

  “Me, either,” Susan agreed. She turned to the pretty, soft-spoken girl with dark curly hair who was sitting beside her. “How about you, Beth? You’ve already signed up for the trip, haven’t you?”

  Beth nodded. “I sure have! My name’s practically the first one on the list!”

  “We’re going to have so much fun,” said Chris. “Just think: the four of us, running around Washington, D.C., having the time of our lives....”

  “The four of you?” a male voice echoed. “Does that mean there’s no room for me, Chris?”

  She turned around and saw Gary Graham, wearing a huge grin. He had just been strolling by, his lunch tray in hand. Gary was a good-looking senior with dark hair, hazel eyes, and an easygoing manner that was reflected in his readiness to smile. Actually, she didn’t know him very well, but lately getting to know him better had become a very high priority.

  “Hi, Gary. Don’t tell me you’re planning to come along on the Washington trip, too!”

  “Okay, then I won’t tell you,” Gary joked. “But if you happen to see somebody at the Natural History Museum who looks a lot like me—except that he’s wearing sunglasses and carrying a big guidebook—don’t be surprised!”

  “Gee, this trip is sounding better and better every minute!” Chris exclaimed. “I have a feeling that our little jaunt to Washington, D.C., may well turn out to be the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me!”

  As she took a big bite of her tuna fish sandwich, Chris had absolutely no idea how true her prediction would turn out to be—and that the word exciting would prove to be nothing less than the understatement of the century.

  Chapter Two

  “I can’t believe we’re really here!” breathed Chris, stepping off the 727 that had just landed at Dulles, Washington’s large international airport. “Just think, Sooz: Just a few hours ago, we had lunch in Whittington. Yet now here we are, in time for dinner, hundreds of miles away!”

  “And in our nation’s capital, no less!” Susan added, with just as much enthusiasm. “Boy, I’m thrilled to be here!”

  Susan Pratt was more than ready for her tour of Washington, D.C., to get started. And even though the group’s sightseeing excursions wouldn’t really get rolling until the following morning, she was already dressed for exploring a brand-new city on foot: low-heeled walking shoes, a neat yet comfortable skirt and blouse, a lightweight sweater in case this warm Wednesday evening in April turned cool, and, of course, a camera, hanging around her neck on a black nylon strap.

  Her twin sister, walking next to her, was also prepared—in her own way. She was wearing a pair of mint green jeans, a green-and-white-striped cotton sweater, and her favorite vacation footwear: a pair of running shoes. The only thing that gave away the fact that she, too, was a tourist was the small brown suitcase that she was swinging alongside her as she walked.

  “I wonder if we’ll see anyone we recognize at the airport,” Chris mused. “You know, senators, congressmen, presidents ...”

  Susan laughed. “You have quite an imagination, Chris. Well, maybe we won’t see anybody like that here at the airport, but don’t forget that, according to our schedule, we’ll be sitting in on a session of Congress tomorrow morning, right after our bus tour. We’ll see plenty of faces that we recognize from the newspaper and television there. I can hardly wait!”

  “That will be pretty exciting,” Chris agreed. “I’m really looking forward to that—and about a million other things. But at the risk of sounding like some boring tourist, I must admit that my main concern right now is getting something cold to drink. I’m positively dying of thirst!”

  “I read somewhere that airplane travel often has that effect on people,” commented Beth, who had just joined the twins in the waiting area. It was right outside the gate through which they’d just entered the interior of the airport. “But I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait a while, Chris. Ms. Parker and the other chaperones made us all swear on our lives that we’d wait right here, so they could keep the group together until they take attendance. Better not go wandering off. Don’t worry, though; I’m sure we’ll be out of here and on our way to the hotel soon enough. You can get something to drink there.”

  Just then, Holly Anderson wandered over. She was dressed very much like her best friend Chris, but wore her long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail for a change.

  “Hey, guess what,” she said. “I just heard an announcement over the loudspeaker. A flight from Moscow just landed, somewhere over at the other end of the terminal. Wouldn’t it be funny if it turned out those Russian ballet dancers we’re supposed to meet while we’re here were on the flight?”

  “It sure would,” Susan agreed. “I’m really looking forward to that part of the trip. Gee, I’ve never even been to a ballet class, much less to one where the students are real Russian ballet stars! Don’t you think that’ll be fun, Chris?”

  But Chris hardly heard what her sister had just said. She was craning her neck, trying to see what was beyond their waiting area, which was roped off from the rest of the terminal. The waiting area was already filling up with Whittington High School students; even so, she suspected that it would be some time yet before they finally got to their hotel. And she truly was thirsty.

  “Listen, we’ve still got a few more minutes before Ms. Parker and the other chaperones take attendance,” she told her friends. “I’m going to sneak out of here and find a refreshment stand.”

  “Chris . . . .” her sister warned.

  “It’ll only take a minute. They’ll never miss me. Besides,” she added with a mischievous grin, “if they start roll call before I get back, you can always pretend you’re me!”

  “What about the fact that you and I don’t even look like sisters right now, much less twins?” Susan protested.

  It was true; when the Pratt girls dressed in the ways that made each of them feel most comfortable, they didn’t look at all alike—unless, of course, someone really took the time to study their faces.

  “Wing it!” Chris had already taken off, her small brown suitcase still in hand. She wasn’t too concerned about being missed during r
oll call, since she knew she’d be back in only a few minutes.

  Beyond the waiting area in which she and the other Whittington High School students had been waiting was a long, wide corridor, seemingly stretching on forever. Off it were waiting rooms that surrounded the gates leading to the planes themselves. Chris hurried through the corridor, clutching her suitcase.

  Even in her rush, however, she managed to enjoy herself as she observed the other travelers. What a varied assortment of people there was gathered here. She marveled at the different languages she heard, some of which she couldn’t even identify, and the various accents with which she heard English being spoken. Different faces, different colorings, different modes of dressing ... it was truly exhilarating, seeing all the different designs that people came in! She was almost disappointed when she finally spotted a refreshment stand, since it marked the end of her little exploration.

  She bought a glass of pink lemonade in a paper cup and immediately gulped down half of it. Then she noticed that right across from the refreshment stand was a souvenir shop. She wandered over to it, and as she sipped the rest of her cold drink, she studied a display of T-shirts printed across the front with “Washington, D.C.” Just as she was trying to decide if she should dip into her souvenir fund and splurge on one for herself, her attention was diverted by a loud voice, right behind her.

  “Nyet, Ivan. No! You must stay with the group! No one is to go wandering off alone!”

  Chris recognized the accent as Russian. And the tone of voice of the man who was speaking made it clear that he was quite serious in his warning. Curious, she followed “Ivan” and the man who had been scolding him. She was surprised to discover that Ivan was tall and muscular. He looked as if he were about eighteen or twenty years old—certainly much too old to be bossed around in such a manner.

  The two men went over to a waiting area that was very much like the one in which Chris’s classmates were gathered, even as she was off on her own, exploring the airport. There was a group waiting here, as well, although it was considerably smaller. About twenty people, most of them young, sat in the waiting area, talking in groups of two and three. And, she noticed as she got closer, they were all talking in a language that sounded very much like Russian.

  Suddenly Chris’s brown eyes grew round.

  Is it possible these are our Russians? she wondered. The ones that we Whittington High School students are going to meet while we’re in Washington? Maybe Holly was right....

  Fascinated, Chris stood off to one side, close enough to overhear some of what was being said, yet not quite close enough to be noticed. In fact, she pretended to be standing there, waiting for someone as she sipped the rest of her lemonade. But she kept her ears tuned.

  “We should be talking English,” one of the young women suddenly said. “We need to practice.”

  Chris was startled to hear something she understood. Casually she moved over, until she was right behind the girl who had spoken, and set down her brown suitcase on the floor. She couldn’t see the girl’s face; in fact, she could only see her from the back. She had unusually broad shoulders, Chris noticed, and a tiny waist. Her long chestnut brown hair, similar in color to Chris’s, was worn in a long thick braid, hanging down her back.

  “Da, Natasha,” the girl’s friend replied. “We will talk in English.” She, too, had long hair, but hers was blond and worn flowing and free. She was also slight of build, yet looked surprisingly athletic. “Are you frightened to be dancing Coppelia on Saturday night in front of American audience?”

  “Oh, no,” answered Natasha quickly. Then she laughed. “Maybe little bit frightened....”

  Chris could hardly believe what she was hearing. These were the dancers the Whittington High School students would be having their “cultural exchange” with; at least, that was how it seemed.

  She looked at the two girls more carefully. She was trying to decide if they looked like dancers—without them noticing that she was staring at them, of course. They did look healthy and graceful and strong; she had noticed that right away. Even so, Chris couldn’t be sure.

  But what she heard next took away all her doubts.

  “Well, Katya,” said Natasha, “it will be fun to meet American students. I have never met any Americans. I do have relative who lives here, in New York, but I have never met her.”

  Wait until I tell Sooz! Chris thought gleefully. That thought reminded her that she had been away from the rest of her group much longer than she had intended. By now, Susan was probably getting nervous, if not downright angry.

  Well, Chris thought ruefully, I guess I’ll have plenty of time to find out more about Natasha and Katya and all the other Russian ballet dancers over the next few days. But for now, I’d better get back to where I’m supposed to be before someone misses me.

  She was about to make her way back when she suddenly heard, over the airport’s loudspeaker system, “Will passenger Christine Pratt please return to Gate Seventeen? Christine Pratt, please return to Gate Seventeen.”

  Uh-oh! she thought, suddenly in a panic. I’ve been caught!

  Leaning over so quickly that she almost spilled what was left of her lemonade, she picked up the suitcase beside her. Then she started to hurry away, heading toward the airport’s long corridor that would lead her back to her tour group. But before she had even had a chance to get six feet away, she felt someone grab her arm.

  “Excuse me, miss,” said a stern voice with a thick Russian accent, a voice that she recognized immediately. “I believe you are making a mistake.”

  “A mistake? What? I ...”

  Chris looked up and saw that, just as she’d suspected, her arm was being held by the same serious-looking man in the gray suit who, only a few minutes earlier, had been reprimanding the ballet dancer named Ivan.

  “That suitcase you are holding. I believe it does not belong to you.”

  “But of course this is mine!”

  Bewildered, Chris glanced down at the suitcase she had just picked up. Sure enough, it was hers. Or at least it looked just like hers....

  “Excuse me.” This time, the voice she heard was much softer, and much more gentle. “But I think that is my suitcase.” Natasha smiled at her sweetly. “You see, my suitcase looks very much like your suitcase. Look, mine is brown, yours is brown. I think you are in great hurry, and you took my suitcase instead of your own. It is what you call ‘honest mistake,’ no? It is accident.”

  Now Chris was beginning to understand. She studied the suitcase in her hand more closely. Sure enough; while it looked very much like hers, it wasn’t. Sheepishly, she looked at the man, and then at Natasha.

  “Gee, I’m really sorry. It was, as you said, just an ‘honest mistake.’ ’’

  “Is no problem. It is easy to fix.”

  The two girls exchanged the suitcases they had each been holding. They also exchanged two shy smiles.

  “Despite mistake, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance,” Natasha said. “You are first American girl I have ever talked to.”

  “Really? Well, that’s a real coincidence, since you happen to be the first Russian girl I’ve ever talked to!”

  There were a million questions that Chris would have loved to ask, but the frowning man in the gray suit was still there, standing very close to Natasha, listening to every word they were saying to each other. Chris decided that letting on that she had been hanging around, listening in on their conversation—”spying,” in a way—was not the best of ideas.

  So instead, she said, “Are you visiting the United States for the first time?”

  “Oh, yes!” Natasha was beaming. She was very pretty, Chris noticed, with large brown eyes, a small nose, and a big, friendly smile. “I have heard so much about your country, and I am looking forward to seeing it. And meeting people, too, of course. I have heard much about how nice people are here.”

  “Really? From whom?”

  “I have relative—how you say, second cousin—who lives
now in New York, and she writes me letters saying she has made many American friends here.”

  “No kidding!” Chris exclaimed. “What else did she tell you about the United States?”

  The chaperone scowled, but Natasha didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she was growing more and more excited.

  “She tells me many things. All about television programs, and movie stars, and—how you say, video arcades—and food. Oh, yes, she tells me many things about food here.”

  Chris grinned. “Do you like to eat?”

  “I love to eat. And I want to try everything while I am here. The Big Mac and the Whopper, and the ice cream sundae, and the pizza ...oh, and one more thing she tells me about: the pink lemonade.”

  “Pink lemonade!” Chris looked at the paper cup she was still holding and laughed.

  “Yes. They take lemonade—lemons and water and sugar—but they make it pink! It sounds very pretty, and very good. You have heard of this pink lemonade?”

  “I certainly have. I drink it all the time. As a matter of fact, I just drank an entire glass of it! See?”

  “Ah, you are lucky, then, Not only do you have all these wonderful foods, but you can eat and drink all of them, any time you want. I do so love to eat, but I have to eat very little, so that I will stay very little. You see, I am a ballet dancer.”

  Chris pretended to be surprised. “Really? You’re a dancer?”

  “Yes. We are all dancers.” Natasha opened her arms to signify the group of young people around her. “In fact, we are here in United States in order to perform. We dance Coppelia on Saturday night, at the Kennedy Center. You know this place?”

  “Of course I know the Kennedy Center! As a matter of fact, it just so happens that I’m going to be in the audience this Saturday night. I’m a student at Whittington High School, and we’re going to—”

  “Whittington High School! I have heard of that place!” Excitedly, Natasha turned to the chaperone. “Mr. Pirov, that is school we are having cultural exchange program with, no?”