Melanie Martin Goes Dutch (8 page)

Dear Diary,

I'm waiting to board.

I'm bored of waiting!

When you fly to a different country, you're supposed to get to the airport very very early.

Thanks to me, we did. That's because I recited my latest poem:

We are now at the gate.

Cecily and I took a magazine quiz called “How Well Do You Know Your Best Friend?” It had questions like “Who is your best friend's crush?” (we both wrote Christopher) and “How many children will she have someday?” (we both wrote two) and “What does your BFF want to be when she grows up?” (Cecily wrote “writer” for me; I wrote “actress” for her).

The scoring section said that we were “Totally Tight”—which, duh, we already knew!

Dad bought himself a New Amsterdam beer (he thought that was pretty clever) and bought us small bags of potato chips. Matt got barbecue, and Cecily and I got plain because we both hate barbecue and both love plain.

It's fun traveling with someone who likes the same exact stuff I do!

Uh-oh. Time to, as the airline people put it, “board the aircraft.” Gotta go.

Dear Diary,

When you get on a plane, it is not very ideal that regular passengers have to walk right by first-class passengers. They have big, cozy, comfortable seats and stretched-out legs, and they get snacks and drinks right away, while regular people (like us) are all smooshed in the back, hungry and thirsty.

Personally, I don't like having to walk by first-class passengers. I doubt they're saying “Nyaaa-nyaaa nya

nyaaa-nyaaaaaa” or anything, but they probably think they're cool and we're not.

I mentioned this to Dad and he said that when I grow up, I can make tons of money and do whatever I want, but right now I'm lucky to be flying around at all. He said that at my age, he didn't even have a passport, let alone go skittering off to Europe with a best friend at a moment's notice.

Well, excuuuuse me! I was just making an observation. Dad didn't have to sound so annoyed about it.

I told Cecily about walking past first-class passengers and she agreed with me completely.

It's so cooool that she and I are having a sleepover on an airplane!

Mom and Dad said to try to sleep because when we get to Europe, it won't be bedtime—it will be morning, like it or not.

Here's what they don't get: It's hard to sleep when you're excited. And we haven't even had dinner yet.

We just had dinner. I don't know what they ate in first class, but the second-class people had to choose between fish (yuck!) and chicken. Chicken would have been okay

except that it came with rice and salad, which might have been okay, except the rice had little corn kernels and bits of green pepper in it, and the salad had slivers of beets in it, and the chicken had no flavor. Not counting my bread and my brownie, I gave most of my dinner to Dad.

Dad eats anything. When it comes to food, he's a total vacuum cleaner. I told Cecily that sometimes we tease him about being a Big Pig (or B.P.), but only when he's in a good mood.

We're in row 17. This is how we're sitting: Mom, Dad, Matt, Cecily, me. There's an aisle between Matt and Cecily. I'm glad I'm not sitting next to Matt because one of his baby teeth is loose and he keeps wiggling it and it's driving me crazy.

It's not driving Cecily crazy. She thinks it's funny.

Matt just got up and said, “Mind if I watch you write in your diarrhea? I mean, diary?”

I told him to get a life. But it reminded me of what I just read in Anne Frank's diary.

The lady the Frank family had to live with, Mrs. Van Daan, said, “Hey, Anne, can't I just have a look?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“Just the last page then?”

“No, I'm sorry.”

Well, poor Anne was nervous because “there was an unflattering description of her” on that very page!

I wish we were flying nonstop to Amsterdam. We're not because by the time we planned this trip, all the cheap nonstop tickets were sold out. So we're flying to London, then switching planes.

I also wish that my chair were more comfortable. It has a headrest, but I'm not tall enough for my head to rest on it. In fact, the top of my head comes up to the bottom of the headrest. So it's almost as if the headrest is resting on my head, which is not restful.

I do like my blue blanket and white pillow and little writing tray.

So far it has been an excellent flight. Not too many bumps. The pilot said to expect a few, though. When he said that, I made a scared face to Cecily and she said, “Don't worry.”

I don't know why, but instead of making me feel better, that made me feel worse. It's not like I worry deliberately.

In front of us, a screen is showing a map with a cartoon picture of our plane halfway between the United States and Europe. Later there will be a movie, but it sounds like it's for grown-ups.

The screen is now showing the time in the airports where we started and where we'll land. It is 11:00 P.M. in New York (late!) and 4:00 A.M. in London (early!). But it's about to be
yesterday
in New York and it's already tomorrow in London.

Mom, Dad, and Matt have fallen fast asleep. Dad's head is flopped forward and Matt's mouth is wide open. Cecily is reading her magazine, but her eyes are getting droopy, and she's starting to blink in slow motion.

Behind us, a big lady is snoring like crazy. I wish someone would poke her.

I'm going to try to sleep, but it's not easy to sleep in a chair when it's noisy and you're wearing clothes. Sometimes it's not easy to sleep in a bed when it's quiet and you're wearing pajamas!

nine in the morning in Amsterdam

but middle of the night in New York

Dear Diary,

The airline people lost our luggage! We've been sitting here in this Dutch airport for hours and hours watching baggage go around and around and none of it is ours. Tons of people got their luggage. Even the big snoring lady grabbed hers and went on her merry way.

I am so

Here's what happened. Once we got to London, we had to race onto a bus that took us to another bus that took us to a different plane that was going to Amsterdam. Our luggage was supposed to tag along with us, but did it?
Noooooo
!

When we first got here, I could barely keep my eyes open.

Now I'm not even sleepy.

It's hard to be mad and sleepy at the same time.

Mom and Dad had to fill out a bunch of papers called Baggage Claim Forms, which asked what our luggage looked like and whether it contained any “valuables.”

“What did you pack?” Dad asked us. “Nothing valuable, right?”

“Valuable?” I said. “I packed Hedgehog! And all my favorite clothes.” My voice came out shaky and I was trying not to cry.

“I packed DogDog,” Matt said, and he did start to cry. Mom packs for him. He couldn't care less about clothes; he just cares about DogDog.

Poor DogDog has already been lost once, in Italy.

Matt looked so pathetic, I almost felt sorry for him. I was considering putting my arm around him and being a Perfect Big Sister—a P.B.S. But right then Cecily gave Matt a big hug and said, “Don't worry.” It sort of made me mad that she was acting like a P.B.S. And that she was telling Matt not to worry about losing DogDog and me not to worry about bumps.