Asking for Trouble: 1 (London Confidential) (10 page)

The next morning I got to school early, of course, because it was Thursday and I had to deliver the paper. They were all stacked neatly, ready to be slipped into my Au Revoir bag. The only other staff member in the room was Hazelle. I needed to take another orange paper, but I just couldn’t face doing it in front of her. I wasn’t sure whether I didn’t want her to know that I was trying for the column or that I had somehow lost or mangled the first one. I felt certain she’d make fun of me either way.

I didn’t ask her to help slip the papers into the bag, and she didn’t offer. She sniffed and turned back to the article I supposed she was writing on the computer at her own personal staff desk.

I huffed out of the room.
I don’t know why she thinks she’s all that, anyway.
I’d just look up the sample advice column questions in today’s paper and save one to take home for myself.

As I delivered the papers by the front office, I saw the Aristocats standing around chatting. I don’t know how they managed to make the same uniform that we all had to wear look more fashionable than the rest of ours, but they did. I knew I was no slouch in the wardrobe department, but I didn’t quite have that
posh
.

Penny looked up at me and smiled but said nothing.

I decided to be bold. “Hi, Penny,” I said. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Savannah,” she said. “You?”

“Fine. Have a good weekend.”

“You too,” she said and then waved a little royal wave before turning back to her group.

Have a good weekend?
Argh. It was only Thursday! I don’t know why I felt so stupid talking to her. She was actually really nice.

As I placed the papers in the holder, I heard one of the girls say, “Savannah? I thought she was from America, not Africa!” The rest of them twittered. “And, um, she starts her weekends on Thursdays?”

I knew they wouldn’t let that one go.

“A paper delivery girl,” another one said. “Though I do like her bag.”

“Her hair grip is nice too,” Penny added loyally.
Thanks, Penny.

But she still hadn’t texted me, and I just didn’t have the courage to make any more first moves toward London friends.

Maybe if I got the column. . . . My mind wandered. I could see it now. I’d be delivering the paper and Penny would tell them that, believe it or not, I was the journalist on the Cousin Savvy beat—yes, that’s right, Savvy was short for Savannah. Were they dull? Why hadn’t they gotten that? And then their tight, closed circle would open and they’d welcome me in, and every weekend would be busy with parties and clubs.

“Oh, oof, excuse me!” The bubble in my imagination popped as I ran into one of the most popular boys on campus. I backed away, glad that I hadn’t bumped into him so hard that either of us had fallen down.

“Carry on,” he said, brushing off his sleeves. His tone of voice was formal, and his face was hard. I was too afraid to turn around to see if Penny and the Aristocats were still there. I just didn’t want to know.

When I got home on Friday afternoon Dad’s car was in the driveway.
Uh-oh.
Was another marital spat under way? I kicked off my shoes by the front door and walked in. Instead of frowns and loud voices, I was met with smiles—and two suitcases.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“We have to take Dad into London for the night—he’s got an overnight conference.”

“Okay,” I said. “But do we all need to take him?”

Mom nodded. “Good family togetherness time,” she said.

Louanne bounded down the steps. “Want me to deliver your invitations before we go?”

“Sure, you can both go.”

“Mom!” I protested. I did not want to be Postman Patty. My social life was already in the tube—and I didn’t mean the London Underground.

“Just stand nearby and watch Louanne,” Mom said. “But I’ll take an invitation to Vivienne next door.” Mom handed the packet to Louanne. “Take one to each house on the street, and make sure you ask them to give it to the lady of the house.”

I slipped my feet back into my school shoes and rolled my eyes as we walked back into the November drizzle. Every house was made of brick and looked exactly like the next—except for the tiny planted gardens in front, now sleeping till spring, and the color of the doors. Some were a demure brown, others a bright blue or a hopeful yellow. Ours was spicy red. Appropriate, I thought, for a house on Cinnamon Street. Some houses had names that were listed on plaques affixed near the door—names like Thimble Cottage or Swan Lodge. I stood on the tidy sidewalk as Louanne knocked on each door, looking like a Girl Scout selling cookies. I guess, in a way, she was.

She knocked on the first door, and a woman about my mom’s age in an apron took the invitation from her, looked at it politely, and then firmly closed the door.

House number two was manned—literally—by a big guy scratching a huge beer belly, which was not well hidden by his too-small white T-shirt. He seemed friendly enough but pushed the invitation back to Louanne and shook his head, his jowls quivering as he did.

“No wife,” she said to me as she headed toward door number three. Which was much the same as doors four, five, and six. From what I could tell, most of the people who answered the door looked puzzled, took the invitation, and closed the door as quickly and politely as possible.

“No one is answering here, Savvy,” Louanne called back to me at the last house. I gestured for her to stick the invitation in the doorjamb, and we headed back home. On the way in the door, we could see Mom talking with Vivienne next door.

Please, Lord, let Vivienne be positive about the party,
I prayed. But I didn’t want to look like a lurker, so I headed into our house.

“Come on, Giggle,” Louanne called and took the dog out for one last potty break. After crating him, we all got in the little car and tootled away.

I have to admit, I still closed my eyes half the time when we were driving. It was just so weird to be on the left side of the road! I kept imagining that someone was going to come around the corner and smash right into us and we’d all be dead.

I do want to see You face-to-face, Jesus,
I thought.
But not today.
I had a lot of important things to do first. Like buy some black patent zip-up boots at Topshop. Have afternoon tea at Claridge’s, an extremely swanky hotel. And be a wildly successful journalist with my own byline. So no car crashes yet.

Mom popped a praise music CD into the car’s player—one of my favorite mixes with “Blessed Be Your Name.” But while the Matt Redman music was great, it did make me a little sad. We still hadn’t found a church. If all of this great praise music was coming out of London, which is where Redman was from, where were all the good churches?

We drove through the spiderweb of paved streets that made up Wexburg and then through the damp green hills of the Kent countryside. The wind blew a little, and in the dusk it looked like the limbs of the naked trees waved us on our way to London.

Half an hour later we pulled up in front of a hotel. “Here we are,” Dad said as he got out of the car. He leaned over and kissed Mom, then blew a kiss to both of us in the back.

“Have fun,” Louanne called out as he shut the door.

He poked his head back in through the open window. “No,
you
have fun!” And then he winked at both of us.

“What was he talking about?” I asked my mom as she started the car and took off—in the wrong direction!

“Mom, you’re going the wrong way. You’re heading toward London, not toward Wexburg,” I said. What was next? She’d be driving on the right side of the road and then I could kiss the black zip-up boots good-bye.

“I’m not going the wrong way,” Mom said. “We’re going to London for the night.”

“What? Really?”

“Hooray!” Louanne piped up. Of course she would be happy. Unlike me, she’d already changed out of her school uniform.

“It’s a surprise. I looked at that list your friend Penny gave you and chose a couple of things for us to do tonight and tomorrow.”

“Seriously?” I could feel the excitement rising in me.

“Seriously,” Mom said. “Why should Dad have all the fun?”

“Exactly!” Louanne reached her hand out for a high five, and I smacked her palm back. “But what about Giggle?” she sounded panicked.

“Vivienne will let him out tonight and in the morning. I’ve got you covered. I even brought a change of clothes for you, Savvy,” Mom said, keeping her eyes on the road.

Well, no matter what she’d picked out, it had to be better than my uniform.
Nothing was going to spoil this—my first delicious taste of downtown London.