Moving Day

by Meg Cabot

  “Now,” Brittany said, when she was gone. “What are we going to do to make her start speaking to you again, Allie?”

  “Well,” I said, feeling mad at Brittany—but I was careful not to let it show too much, in case there was a baseball bat hidden inside those pillows Brittany was sitting on. “SHE liked my dance. She was laughing.”

  “She was laughing AT you,” Brittany pointed out. “Not WITH you. No. We need to come up with something more. Something better than pop star.”

  “We could have lunch,” I suggested.

  “It’s not time for lunch yet,” Brittany said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “But, I mean, when it IS time for lunch. We could all make it together. Like grilled cheese or something.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Brittany said, and I felt myself flush with pride, because I had actually said something Brittany approved of. “Only not grilled cheese. Mini pizzas.”

  This didn’t sound so good to me. Because the problem with pizza is, it violates one of my rules, which is never eat anything red.

  “This would be okay,” I said hesitantly. “As long as we didn’t have to put tomato sauce on them.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Brittany said. “Of course you have to put tomato sauce on them. They’re pizzas.”

  “Actually,” I said. “There’s something called white pizza, and that’s just—”

  “YOU HAVE TO HAVE TOMATO SAUCE ON PIZZA,” Brittany screamed.

  “You don’t have to scream, Brittany,” I said. “I’m standing right here, I can hear you just fine.”

  “I guess I do have to scream,” Brittany said, “since no one seems to be listening to me. Let me ask the question again. What are we going to do to get you and Mary Kay to be friends again that does not involve pizza without tomato sauce?”

  I thought about it.

  “We could play queens,” I suggested.

  “What’s that?” Brittany demanded.

  “Oh,” I said, relieved she’d asked. “It’s a really fun game. We can pretend your room is a castle, okay? And there’s an evil warlord who’s in love with one of us. And his forces are storming the castle, and we have to protect it by pouring boiling oil on them.”

  “Who do I get to be?” Courtney wanted to know.

  “You can be the queen he’s in love with,” I said. “Or one of the other queens.”

  “I AM NOT GOING TO PLAY SOME STUPID GAME ABOUT PRETEND QUEENS,” Brittany screamed.

  “Hey.” Mary Kay appeared in the doorway. She was holding the most delicious-looking brownie I had ever seen. “Oh, no! Look who followed me upstairs!”

  She looked down, and we all followed her gaze. And there, rubbing the door frame with her big, squished Persian head, was Lady Serena Archibald.

  “She’s making my eyes water,” Mary Kay wailed.

  “Awww,” I said. I went over to start petting Lady Serena. Lady Serena was one of those cats who liked being petted. She pushed her head into my hand and purred, hard.

  “Oh!” Brittany cried, leaping off the bed all of a sudden. “I know a really fun game! Much better than your stupid game, Allie.”

  Courtney leaped off the bed, too. “I know what game you mean!” she cried. “If it’s the one I’m thinking of.”

  “It is,” Brittany said. “It’s called lady business executive. It’s super hilarious.”

  Courtney was already laughing. “Oh, my gosh, I laughed so hard the last time we played, I almost wet my pants!”

  “This brownie is so good,” Mary Kay said, with her mouth full. “Too bad everyone can’t have one.”

  “Yeah, too bad,” Brittany said. She was barely listening. She was too busy rooting through her closet for something.

  I flashed Mary Kay a mean look as I petted Lady Serena. She just smiled as she chewed her brownie, her “allergies” temporarily forgotten.

  Seriously, I can’t believe we were ever even friends.

  Courtney, watching Mary Kay chew, said faintly, “Gosh. I sure am hungry.”

  “Here it is!” Brittany cried triumphantly. And she pulled, from the depths of her closet, a big, hard plastic suitcase…the kind with wheels on the bottom that you can pull through airports.

  “What do you have that for?” I asked. Every time I stopped petting Lady Serena she would bump my hand with her head to get me to start petting her some more. She was so cute. It almost broke my heart I was never going to have one. A cat of my own, I mean.

  But the funny thing was, when Lady Serena Archibald saw that suitcase, she stopped butting her head against me and suddenly bolted for the door.

  “Shut the door!” Brittany yelled. “Don’t let her get away!”

  Mary Kay, who was still in the doorway enjoying the last of her brownie, slammed the door shut just as Lady Serena Archibald came streaking toward it, cutting off her only means of escape.

  “Grab her!” Brittany yelled, and Mary Kay stooped down and caught Lady Serena up in her still chocolatey hands, her allergies completely forgotten now.

  Lady Serena didn’t like this and let out a yowl.

  I have to admit I didn’t like this very much, either.

  “Hey,” I said. “What are you guys going to do?”

  “I told you,” Brittany said. “We’re playing lady business executive. Now, put Lady Serena in the suitcase.”

  “WHAT?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  “Go on,” Brittany said to Mary Kay, who’d hesitated. “It’s okay. Lady Serena likes it.”

  But I could tell, from the way Lady Serena Archibald was arching her back and trying to sink her claws and teeth into Mary Kay as she bent to put the cat into the suitcase, that she didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all.

  “You guys,” I said, feeling a little sick all of a sudden. “I don’t think this is a very good idea.”

  “No,” Brittany said as she snapped the lid of the suitcase closed, trapping Lady Serena Archibald inside. “It’s fine. Courtney and I play this all the time. It’s really fun.”

  “But she can’t breathe in there,” I said.

  “Of course she can,” Brittany said. “Listen.”

  We were all quiet for a minute. Then, from inside the suitcase, we heard a ghostly wail. It was Lady Serena Archibald, letting us know how unhappy she was.

  “See?” Brittany said. “If she couldn’t breathe, how could she make that sound?”

  “That sound,” I pointed out, “means she doesn’t like it. You should let her out. Or”—I added this next part in desperation, since Brittany wasn’t listening to me—“your mom is going to be mad.”

  “Only if she finds out,” Brittany said, with a shrug. “Now, come on. I’ll be the lady business executive. I have a very important flight to catch.” Brittany jerked up the suitcase’s handle and began to drag the suitcase around the room by its wheels. As she did so, Lady Serena Archibald’s wailing increased in volume.

  Courtney started to giggle.

  “It sounds so funny!” she cried. “Like a baby.”

  It did sound like a baby. Like a really unhappy baby.

  “I have to hurry,” Brittany said, looking at an imaginary watch on her wrist. “I’m going to miss my flight.”

  She started walking faster. Lady Serena Archibald began to meow. But not just any meow. Very loud meows. That sounded, incidentally, exactly like the word “meow.” Meow. Meow. Then, as Brittany whipped the suitcase around even faster, more loudly—MEOW! MEOW!

  “Oh, no,” Mary Kay said, collapsing in giggles onto the bed. “She did not just say that. Tell me she didn’t just say ‘meow’ like that!”

  Brittany suddenly jerked the suitcase to a halt, causing Lady Serena Archibald, inside of it, to slide around with a thump.

  “What do you MEAN, my flight has been canceled?” Brittany demanded, looking horrified.

  From inside the suitcase, Lady Serena Archibald let out a long, low growl.

  “Is that a cat in there?” Courtney wanted to know,
gasping because she was laughing so hard. “Or a bear?”

  “Uh-oh,” Brittany said, lifting up the suitcase and beginning to swing it back and forth, causing Lady Serena Archibald to slide with a thump from side to side inside. “Time for the baggage carousel—”

  “NO!” I yelled.

  And before I knew what I was doing, I had ripped the suitcase out of Brittany’s hands.

  “Allie!” Brittany yelled. “What are you—”

  But I had already put the suitcase on the floor and was undoing the latches.

  “No, don’t!” Brittany yelled.

  But it was too late. I threw open the lid, and a split second later, Lady Serena Archibald came whipping out, all of her fur standing on end, her blue eyes whirling crazily.

  “Catch her!” Brittany yelled. “Don’t let her get away!”

  Courtney and Mary Kay dove for the cat. But I was determined not to let Mrs. Hauser’s show cat be abused anymore that day. I went over to Brittany’s bedroom door.

  “Don’t you open that door, Allie Finkle,” Brittany yelled. “Not if you know what’s good for you!”

  I opened the door.

  Lady Serena Archibald shot through, nothing but a soft gray blur and crazy pinwheel eyes as she made a frantic break for freedom.

  “After her!” Brittany shrieked.

  I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe Brittany was being so mean to her mom’s cat.

  “You guys,” I said. “Come on. Let’s just play something else. How about Barbies?”

  “Barbies are for babies,” Brittany hurled at me as she tore past me and down the hall, chasing after poor Lady Serena Archibald, who had made it down the stairs and into the entranceway.

  I had no choice but to follow the other girls. I had to make sure they didn’t catch the poor cat and put her back in that suitcase.

  “She’s in the den,” I heard Brittany yelling from somewhere in the Hausers’ enormous house.

  “I thought I saw her go into the living room,” Courtney yelled back.

  “I think she went into the laundry room,” Mary Kay cried.

  But they were all wrong. Because I found Lady Serena Archibald trembling beside a closed door off the kitchen, looking up at me with her big, sad eyes, begging me to open the door and allow her to escape.

  And so I did…

  Just as Brittany came rushing in.

  “Allie, no!” she shouted.

  But it was too late. Lady Serena, hearing the voice of her mortal enemy, streaked through that door and to freedom.

  “You IDIOT!” Brittany yelled at me.

  “Too bad,” I said, closing the door behind Lady Serena Archibald. Suddenly, I didn’t care that Brittany was standing really close to another one of her mother’s ceramic cat figurines. Let her throw it at me. So what if I had to get stitches? Maybe then I’d get to go home. “But you know, Brittany, cruelty to animals is a serious crime. You can go to jail for it. Besides, Lady Serena will be fine in the basement.”

  “That isn’t the basement door, stupid,” Brittany raged. “That’s the door to the garage, and my sister is out there making her posters with the garage door open! You just let Lady Serena Archibald out, and she’s NEVER BEEN OUTSIDE BEFORE!”

  RULE #9

  When You Do Something Wrong, Always Apologize (Even If It’s Not Entirely Your Fault)

  We spent the whole rest of the afternoon looking for Lady Serena Archibald in the Hausers’ neighborhood.

  Unfortunately, she was nowhere to be found.

  I thought maybe she’d still be hiding in the garage. Neither Becca nor any of Becca’s friends had actually seen her leave the garage.

  And there were lots of ski boots and coolers and old models of volcanoes (ancient science projects of Brittany’s sisters) out there on shelves that she could have been hiding behind.

  But we looked in and around and even under all that stuff, and she wasn’t there.

  There was really only one conclusion to be drawn. And that’s that she had gotten out.

  Lady Serena Archibald, champion Persian show cat, was wandering around in the wilds of Walnut Knolls. Who even knew if she’d ever come home? I mean, after the way Brittany had treated her, if I’d been her, I wouldn’t have.

  But of course, when Mrs. Hauser got back from her errands (with pizza and cheesy breadsticks for us for lunch, because my mom had warned her about how I wouldn’t eat anything red), we couldn’t tell that part to her. I mean, the part about why I’d let her cat out. I just said that I’d made a mistake. I said that Lady Serena Archibald had been sitting by the door meowing (which was not even a lie), and I thought it was the door to where they kept her litter box or something, and so I’d opened it and let her out without looking.

  The whole thing, I’d told Mrs. Hauser, without being able to look her in the eye, was my fault.

  And that I was really, really sorry.

  Mrs. Hauser was nice about it. She was more worried about Lady Serena Archibald than anything else. She called the police and everything (even though I guess they sort of laughed at her because she hung up very fast afterward and said, “Well, Lady Serena may be just a cat to them, but she’s like a child to ME!”).

  She also called animal control and the neighborhood association to ask them to keep an eye out for any stray long-haired blue colorpoint Persian cats who might be roaming around.

  Then we all put our jackets on and started walking around the yard, calling, “Here, Lady Serena Archibald. Here, kitty, kitty,” and shaking bags of Lady Serena’s favorite dry food, and tapping spoons on cans of her favorite wet food.

  None of it worked, though. Lady Serena Archibald didn’t come home. The people at animal control said most likely she would when she was ready, even when Mrs. Hauser explained that Lady Serena had never been outside before and probably didn’t even know how to GET home.

  Even though Mrs. Hauser was nice about my letting her cat out, her youngest daughter sure wasn’t. Every chance she got, Brittany leaned over and hissed, “I’ll get you for this.” Which I didn’t think was very nice, because it really wasn’t my fault. I mean, it was, but it wasn’t.

  “I didn’t tell,” I said to her, meaning about the suitcase.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Brittany whispered back. “I did this all for you, anyway. You’re the one who’s moving. I wanted to make your last weeks here special by making Mary Kay like you again. But now I see why she doesn’t. You ruin everything, Allie Finkle.”

  This was kind of hard to hear. Especially since I knew it wasn’t true. The truth was, Brittany Hauser was the ruiner. Especially the ruiner of cats.

  At that moment, I was kind of glad I might be moving. I was kind of glad I might be going away and never going to see any of these people again.

  By the time Mom came to pick me up, the only person who was speaking to me was Mrs. Hauser.

  “Don’t worry, Allie,” she said as I climbed into our car. “I’m sure Lady Serena Archibald will come home when she gets hungry.”

  It was kind of hard to believe she really even thought this, though. Because I could see the tears in her eyes. She was just trying to be brave. She loved that cat so much, even though she’d only had her a few months.

  The thing was, I could totally see why. If I had let my parents move and give me Mewsette, I know I’d have loved her just as much.

  “I really hope so,” I said as I buckled up. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I know you are, sweetie,” Mrs. Hauser said with a smile. But I could tell that beneath the smile she was as worried as I was. More worried, even.

  I really didn’t want to make Mrs. Hauser more worried.

  But I wanted to make her understand what had happened—why I had done what I had done.

  And I also wanted to make sure that if Lady Serena Archibald did come back someday, she wouldn’t need to be rescued again.

  So I said, even though saying it made my stomach hurt (and not just because I hadn’t been able to t
ouch my cheesy bread, on account of not being hungry at all after losing Mrs. Hauser’s cat), “It’s just, I really don’t think Lady Serena likes it when Brittany plays lady business executive and puts her in that suitcase.”

  Mrs. Hauser looked at me funny, and asked, “What suitcase, honey?”

  So I told Mrs. Hauser all about lady business executive. Since Brittany was already mad at me—and I was out of missile range—I didn’t think it would make any difference now.

  And it might keep Lady Serena Archibald safe in the future.

  Mrs. Hauser got very quiet when she heard about the game her daughter secretly liked to play with her cat.

  And when she learned that was the reason I’d accidentally let Lady Serena outside, she said, in a strange voice, “I understand now. Well. Thank you, Allie. Thank you very much for being honest with me.”

  Then she turned away and yelled, “BRITTANY!” in the scariest voice I have ever heard.

  I was glad when my mom got into the car and started it and pulled away.

  “What was that all about?” she wanted to know.

  “Brittany Hauser likes to put her mom’s cat in a suitcase and shake her around,” I said. “And I just told on her.”

  My mom started to laugh, but then stopped herself.

  “Well,” she said. “You’re just having a banner day, aren’t you?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I wanted to know. I was having to lean against the closed car window because my head was feeling so heavy all of a sudden. I was glad I was the first one being picked up. I don’t know if I could have handled it if Mark and Kevin had been in the backseat, talking about trucks and bugs and sports and velvet wallpaper.

  “I mean, not only did you lose Mrs. Hauser’s cat,” Mom went on, “but maybe you’d also like to explain that little trick you did with your rock collection back home.”

  I perked up at hearing the words “trick” and “rock collection.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Did it work?”

  “If you mean did your entire rock collection spill down from the top shelf of your closet onto your bedroom floor when Nancy Klinghoffer opened the door today at the open house, then yes, it did work,” Mom said.