She held out one of the juggling balls. It had a bite mark on it and was still wet with dog drool.
“It’s his,” I said.
The woman dropped it into Michel’s hand. He looked ready to barf.
It was about the funniest thing I’d seen all week. I burst out laughing.
Michel scowled at me. Then he began laughing too.
What a shock. An actual sense of humor.
For a tiny moment I thought he might be human.
Then he threw the slimed ball at me.
And I, of course, caught it. By instinct.
“You creep!” I yelled.
Michel was off like a rocket.
I wanted to kill him.
Kristy is such a control freak. She said I had to write that report, because I was the only BSC member in my group’s day trip, and if I didn’t write anything, Claudia, Mary Anne, Dawn, Logan, and Shannon wouldn’t have a complete and accurate account of our European vacation, and what a tragedy that would be.
Frankly, I had other things on my mind during the day. This poem, for instance:
Abigail, Abigail, where have you been?
I’ve been to London to visit the Queen.
Abigail, Abigail, what did you there?
I frightened her senseless because of my hair.
Yes, this was THE DAY. The most important event of the trip — maybe of my whole life — was scheduled for four o’clock. I had a responsibility. I was an ambassador. I was representing America the Beautiful.
Sure.
My hair was a mountain majesty. I believe starlings were nesting in it.
My face was a fruited plain. Zits galore. A pimple on my left cheek the size of a kumquat.
I couldn’t even get past number 1 on my Checklist for Meeting the Queen — “Avoid scaring her …”
The Queen was going to take one look and faint. I could just see the tabloid headline describing me: “Abbus Horribilis, the Monster of Buckingham Palace!”
Poor Darcy. She had to listen to my complaints during the entire trip. I don’t know why she didn’t ditch me.
“Why don’t you just get a haircut?” she finally said.
Duh.
Why hadn’t I thought of that?
I told Mr. LaVigne and Mr. Brown about my dilemma. They let me duck into a hairstylist after we left Westminster Abbey, while the others shopped nearby. (That, by the way, is how Darcy saved my life.)
Personally, I hope we stay in touch with the Berger kids. They are pretty cool.
Okay, back to the good stuff.
Cut to three o’clock. In front of the Cardington Inn. Waiting for Victoria’s driver.
My hair was fine. My pimple was buried under makeup. Darcy, my lady-in-waiting-for-the-afternoon, was holding my hand.
Which was shaking.
“I can’t do this,” I said. “I mean, what do I say? ‘Greetings, Your Highness’? ‘Hello, Queen’? ‘At your service, my liege’? What’s a liege, anyway?”
“Look, Abby, just be natural.”
“ ‘Yo, what’s up, my lady?’ ”
“Well …”
Too late. Victoria’s driver was pulling up.
I hugged Darcy, squealed a good-bye, and climbed into the car.
The driver looked like a friendly guy. So I asked him, “Excuse me, what do you say when you meet the Queen?”
He laughed. “Can’t say as I’ve ever had the pleasure. I imagine it doesn’t really matter. As long as you keep it clean.”
Clean.
My teeth. I hadn’t brushed them since breakfast. Yikes!
“Do you have any mints or gum?” I asked.
He reached into his pocket and gave me a stick of gum.
We drove up to the gates of Buckingham Palace (yes, THE). Victoria’s driver gave the guard some official papers, announcing: “Kent, guest, for the Queen’s reception.”
My heart was acting like a prisoner in the Tower of London, banging against the walls. I had to hold my hand against it. I was afraid it would escape.
We parked. As we climbed out, I spotted Miss Rutherford among a throng of people. She was busily fixing the bow on Victoria’s white tulle dress.
Everyone was so elegantly dressed. Victoria looked gorgeous. Her hair was arranged in an elegant French braid. She was wearing white gloves and carrying a basket full of flowers.
I drew myself up straight and walked regally forward.
Chomp-chomp-chomp, went my mouth.
Oops.
I swallowed the gum.
“You’ve arrived at last,” Miss Rutherford remarked.
“Thank goodness!” Victoria said. “Now maybe Miss Rutherford will stop fussing.”
I tried to make conversation. But I was so nervous, I might as well have been speaking Albanian. Plus, I could feel my allergies kicking in, because of all the flowers.
Finally I managed to ask, “Where should I stadd?”
Great. My nose was stopped up. I was going to sound like Elmer Fudd. Hewwo, you scwewy Queen.
“Behind me, of course,” Victoria said. “Miss Rutherford will stand behind you if her ankles hold up. Then she can fuss with your clothing.”
“And what should I —”
Say, would have been the next word out of my mouth. But I was interrupted.
“Flower girls, please step up!” a voice called out.
This was it.
I took a deep breath.
“Pleased to beet you, Your Bajesty,” I murmured under my breath.
“Excuse me?” Miss Rutherford said.
“Just practicigg,” I replied.
I wiped my sweaty palms on my nice dress and followed Victoria.
A railing had been set up a few yards back from the winding driveway. Victoria walked toward it, along with other little flower girls in stunning outfits.
Lots of little flower girls. At least two dozen.
“Are they all pridcesses?” I asked.
Victoria laughed. “Of course not, silly.”
I followed Victoria as she ducked under the railing. The other girls were lining up along the road. I figured Victoria would be led somewhere special. To the first-class section. The princesses’ area. Whatever.
But she just took her place along the road with all the other girls.
Suddenly I had the feeling everyone was staring at me.
“Abigail!” Miss Rutherford’s voice called out.
“Stand back, please!” barked a guard, who gestured toward the railing.
Miss Rutherford was standing behind it. So were all the other adults.
Ugh. I ran back to it and ducked under.
“This … this is it?” I asked Miss Rutherford. “I thought — ared’t we goigg to greet the Queed persodally, sidce we’re Victoria’s guests?”
Miss Rutherford let out a hooty little chuckle. “Oh, dear, no. Is that what Victoria told you? If the Queen met all the guests of the flower girls, she’d be here all day. This is merely a ceremony, you see. These are the daughters of the various ambassadors and politicians who have organized this event, of course.”
“Oh.”
I smiled. I did not look heartbroken.
Now people were crowding closer to the rail. I craned my neck to see a motorcade rolling slowly up the winding driveway.
It stopped by the front of the palace. A group of people emerged from the cars and climbed the stairs, followed by the flower girls.
Then I saw her. The Queen!
She was smaller than I had imagined. Even so, just seeing her brought a lump to my throat.
She was escorted by a guy I recognized. Prince Something. I forget. He’s been on the news. The flower girls followed closely behind.
The Queen turned and waved to the crowd.
Then, one by one, the girls presented the flowers. Actually, a woman next to the Queen accepted the bouquets while the girls curtsied. The Queen smiled at each girl, patting a few of them on the head.
Victoria was beaming as she step
ped up to the Queen. Her curtsy was perfect, and the Queen said something to her that made her smile.
I heard a little, choked-back gasp from Miss Rutherford.
When I turned to face her, she was wiping away a tear.
I have to admit, my eyes were soggy too. I guess People of Extreme Fame bring that out. (I hear Elvis had that effect.)
Soon the Queen ducked inside, and we guests were allowed past the railing.
Several people from the motorcade were still milling around, organizing themselves into groups for an official-looking photographer.
Miss Rutherford and I began walking up the steps.
“Vicki!” I called out.
Victoria turned. I’d never seen her smile so widely. “Abigail! Come! I have to tell you what happened!”
I ran toward her. Dodging the crowd. Skipping up and down the steps.
I didn’t see the man to my left until I was on top of him.
Literally. I stepped right on his wingtip shoes.
“Oh! Sorry!” I cried out.
I looked up.
Glaring down at me was … him.
The Prince.
The one who’d been escorting the Queen.
My mouth fell open.
Click! went the court photographer’s camera.
“Quite all right,” said the Prince.
And just like that, he was off.
Leaving me in total shock.
I, Abby Stevenson, had stepped on Royal Toes.
I looked at my shoes. Were they glowing, or was that my imagination?
Victoria had been watching the scene. She was laughing. “Abigail, do you know who that is? You must get that photograph!”
I looked around for the photographer. But he was gone too.
I never did find out what the Queen had said to Vicki. Frankly, I was obsessed about something else.
I knew I had to find that photo.
Otherwise no one would believe what happened.
“What’s a laggard?” I asked.
Dawn was emerging from the SES equipment shed, carrying jump ropes and dodgeballs. “I don’t know. Some kind of drink?”
“That’s what Janine called me this morning,” I said.
As Mary Anne and I rummaged around for traffic cones, Logan picked up a crate full of sports equipment. “Janine called you a drink?” he asked.
“I think laggard means ‘slowpoke,’ ” Mary Anne said.
“Great,” I said. “She can’t just say slowpoke. She can’t just diss me to my face. She has to give me a delayed-reaction insult.”
Mary Anne and I walked across the field and began setting up relay-race lanes.
“I thought camp would loosen her up,” I grumbled, “but no-o-o-o.”
“Don’t you think she’s improving?” Mary Anne asked. “I do. Look at her now.”
I glanced toward the school building. Janine was sitting at a picnic table. She was surrounded by laughing, happy campers. They all seemed excited about something she was showing them.
I nearly fainted at the sight. Was this my sister, Janine the Kid-Challenged?
“Well,’ I said, “she’s still impossible to me.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jerry heading over to Janine. He looked angry.
Out of the other corner of my eye I spotted a red object heading for me.
I ducked in the nick of time, and it whizzed over my head.
“Ohhhhh, I am such a klutz!” whined the voice of Cokie Mason.
The red thing — a soft, football-shaped object with a plastic foam arrow-tail attached to it — was lying on the ground to my right.
Logan’s campers were howling with laughter. Cokie was with them, giggling hysterically.
I could feel Mary Anne tense up. She knows that Cokie has a wicked crush on Logan. He has zero interest in her, and he’s told her that. But she never gives up.
Even when Mary Anne is around.
“Claudia, could you toss that back?” Logan asked.
“Me?” I squeaked.
Oh, wonderful. I’m bad enough throwing regular balls. I wouldn’t know how to hold this thing.
“It’s a Vortex!” Logan said, as if that explained everything.
“Anyone can throw it!” shouted eight-year-old Jake Kuhn.
I swallowed hard.
I picked up the thing, reared back, and threw.
You know what? Logan was right. I threw a perfect spiral (I think that’s what you call it). It didn’t go anywhere near him, but it was beautiful to watch.
“Yeeaaaa!” I cheered.
“Go, Claudia!” yelled Buddy Barrett.
“Are you having fun?”
Janine’s sarcastic voice sent an icy chill up my spine.
She was stalking toward me, scowling.
“I was just —” I began.
“You’re supposed to be setting up for the races!”
“Janine! Catch!” Logan shouted.
The Vortex came hurtling our way again.
Janine let out a yelp of surprise and ducked away.
Logan was cracking up. Of course, Cokie was too. I thought Janine was going to kill them.
She didn’t.
She dumped on me.
“You see what you’ve started, Claudia?”
“I didn’t do anything!” I said.
“It’s your example,” Janine replied. “You set the tone. If you permit chaos, it grows. Just like the mess in your room.”
“What does my room have to do with this?”
“It’s a simile, Claudia. Do I need to spell it out, or can you do the mental work yourself?”
Enough.
I had had enough of being picked on.
Enough of similes and laggards and words I didn’t understand.
Enough of being made to feel like a stupid, worthless little sister in front of my friends.
“You love to show off, huh?” I said. “It makes you feel so good.”
Janine let out an exasperated sigh. “That’s beside the point —”
“No, Janine. It’s beside your point. This may be hard for you to believe, but I have a point too. You have been on my back all week. Why? Because I know how to have fun? Because kids like me? Is that it, Janine? You’re jealous?”
“Claudiaaa,” Mary Anne said softly.
“Look, guys,” Logan added, “it was my fault, okay? I’m sorry about the Vortex —”
“No,” I interrupted. “I have something to say and I’m not going to —”
“I don’t need to hear another word!”
I have never heard Janine yell like that. Her face was all red. She looked as if she wanted to cry.
A group of campers turned around to look at her. Dawn came running to us. “Is everything all right?”
“Fine, Dawn.” Janine swallowed hard and collected herself. “Sorry for that outburst. Claudia, I am perfectly capable of understanding another point of view. You do not need to remind me of my shortcomings. I have ample reminders every day, all day.”
With that, she turned and left.
“What did she mean by that?” Logan asked.
“I have no idea,” I replied.
I should have been happy. I’d said what was on my mind. I’d finally given Janine a taste of her own medicine.
But I felt awful.
I turned to set up the finish line for the relay races.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Janine. She was gathering up a pile of cards from the picnic table where she’d been sitting earlier.
She caught my glance. I thought I could see moisture in her eyes.
Oh, great.
This was too much.
I’d done exactly what I’d accused her of doing. Insulted her in front of everyone.
“Can you guys cover for me?” I asked.
“Sure,” said Mary Anne.
I ran toward my sister. I caught up with her just outside the door to the gym. “Janine? Look, I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
“Yes you did.”
“Well, okay, I did. But —”
“But I deserved it.”
The words froze in my throat.
That was not the reply I’d expected.
Janine was looking at the ground. “I suppose you know it has not been an easy week for me, Claudia. But Jerry’s behavior is no excuse for me to take my frustration out on you. I apologize.”
“Jerry? What does he have to do with this?”
Janine looked surprised. “Haven’t you noticed?”
“Well, no. I’ve been so busy —”
“He’s been overbearing, Claudia. He has so much more experience than I do, and I can’t seem to catch on.”
“You were doing fine a little while ago.”
Janine exhaled. “I thought so. I’d set up a math contest for the campers — you know, weird, fun problems. Like a game show. I worked all last night on the concept. And the kids were loving it. But Jerry told me to pack it up.”
“Why?”
“Not appropriate. He said, ‘This is a summer camp, not a college classroom.’ But that’s how I relate to kids. I tutor them. I get them interested in math and science.”
“They were having fun. That’s appropriate.”
“He’s been saying things like that all week, Claudia. I feel as though I can’t do anything right. So I try harder and harder. And it doesn’t seem to matter. He just chides me even more.”
“No wonder you’ve been so …” I let my voice drift off.
“Mean. You can say it. I’ve been too spineless to talk back to Jerry. So my frustration bottles up inside. And it has to go somewhere, so I send it to the safest person. The only person I …”
She grew silent. I thought I knew what she wanted to say. I also knew she wouldn’t say it.
So I finished her sentence for her. “… love?”
Janine nodded. “I was going to say ‘trust.’ But, yes, that too.”
I put my arm around my sister’s shoulder. “Janine, will you take some advice from me?”
“It depends,” Janine replied.
“Ignore him. Do things your way. If he doesn’t back off, bring Ms. Garcia into it.”
“And if that doesn’t work?”
“I’ll take care of him.”
Janine burst out laughing. It was a sound I hadn’t heard in a long time. “Wait until after camp, though. To avoid further acrimony.”
Baby-Sitters' European Vacation Page 8