At Your Service (18 page)

Let's recap: offended royals (though at least Alex is on my side now. Sophie might have conceded the point on New York City being impressive, and, granted, she
did
apologize, but she still hasn't really spoken directly to me since then. Maybe the two of them will cancel each other out on their guest comment cards), lost a child (resolution: unknown), and got a picture of myself kissing a hotel guest in the national media (highly incriminating evidence). Maybe Dad and Mr. Buttercup will take pity on my sprained ankle.

“Earth to Chloe!”

I snap my head up at Pay's words to find everyone's eyes on me. Whoops.

“Yeah?”

“Think there's any way we could sneak on?” she asks.

I shake my head. I just took a guest to the Statue of
Liberty last month. They have the same security checkpoints there are at airports. You have to walk through metal detectors and put your bags on conveyor belts to get screened and everything. No chance they wouldn't notice four kids slipping by.

“Nope. Best we can do is hope someone takes pity on us and buys our tickets,” I say.

Alex grimaces. “Right, then. In that instance, we should probably plan out which of us should go. Chances are we won't all be able to get tickets. I'll volunteer since Sophie took the Empire State Building.”

His logic makes sense, but I hate the thought of any of us being separated after everything we've gone through to get to this point. It's not fair that we can't all see the resolution, assuming Ingrid is there. Then again, it would be really good for Alex to be the one to find her, to show his dad how much of a problem solver he can be.

“I agree,” I say. Alex catches my eye and gives me a shy smile. “C'mon, this is our stop.”

•   •   •

We exit the subway and locate the entrance into Battery Park. We're so close, I can taste it. I'm riding piggyback again, so I still have my arms wrapped around Alex, and I'm trying to
savor the moment. As soon as he disappears onto the ferry, I probably won't get another chance to be this close to him. Once we have Ingrid, there's really no reason not to call Bill with the limo to come get us and return us to the hotel.

Obviously we'll have to come clean about everything, but hopefully, with Ingrid safe and sound, the adults will have an “all's well that ends well” attitude. I can only pray.

Of course, first we need Ingrid. Time to focus again.

“Okay, the terminal is at the back end of the park. Just keep following the path toward the water,” I say.

We pass little umbrella-topped stands of people selling cheap souvenirs: Statue of Liberty snow globes and bottle openers and foam Lady Liberty crowns. Hey, maybe Sophie can pop one of those on in case her head misses her real one. There are also street vendors who have tablecloths spread out on the sidewalk where they sell imitation designer purses. We don't pay any of them much attention, though.

Up ahead a ferry sounds its horn as it pulls clear of the dock. Ingrid could be on that boat right this very second. Please, please let her be. I was feeling so good with our solid information, but now a tiny trickle of doubt appears. What if Ingrid changed her mind after leaving M&M's World? What
if she got on the wrong train? Or what if someone recognized she was all alone and alerted the authorities? Ingrid could be sitting in a police precinct right now, waiting for the king and queen to come get her. We'd be so dead.

“Do you reckon I can pass for twelve?” Alex asks. I give him a once-over and try not to notice the surfer hair or the twinkly eyes and just focus on how old he looks. Definitely not twelve in my eyes, but grown-ups aren't as good at telling kids' ages. To them, young is young.

“Worth a shot,” I say. I'd still rather not risk bad karma by lying, but at this point, with all the “evading” we've been doing, I'm pretty sure our good karma is already out the window. Here's hoping plain-old luck will help us find Ingrid now.

He tucks his shirt into his pants and adjusts his sweater, then tries to arrange his hair so it isn't so messy. “Do I look all right?” he asks.

Pay and Sophie say yes, but I'm too busy trying not to drool to answer.

“Okay, wish me luck.”

“Luck.” Sophie, Pay, and I all jinx each other.

Alex turns and struts off to the ticket window. I know I was making fun of his “hey, look at me, I'm a prince” walk
earlier, but I have to give him credit for totally working it. We follow close behind so we can watch what goes down.

Alex approaches a man about my dad's age. Before he can even open his mouth, the man shoos him away. Strike one.

Alex shrugs at us and flashes that trademark grin of his. He takes more time selecting his next “victim” before he approaches a pretty young mom who is bending over her toddler's stroller.

“Excuse me, madam?” She looks up and her eyes widen. I know, right? Even mothers think he's cute. Or maybe she just likes how Alex looks totally mom approved in his khakis and lightweight cashmere sweater. His manners don't hurt either. And now he's gonna turn that accent on her, so . . .

“I was wondering if you might help me. I was pickpocketed earlier today, and I'm supposed to meet my parents on Liberty Island. I have a few dollars, but not enough for the ticket. Is there any possibility I could borrow enough for a ticket? It would be my pleasure to mail it back to you.”

She tilts her head to the side and studies him. “Your parents left you alone?”

“Yes, madam. I wanted to take some more pictures of the new World Trade Center for my friends back home. I
promised my parents I'd be on the very next ferry, and then I realized my wallet had been taken and . . . well. It's just that Mum is going to be so concerned if I don't show up. You know how mothers are.”

The woman looks down at her baby stroller and swallows. Nice one, Alex. Way to play the sympathetic-mother card. When I was little, Mom always told me if I ever got lost to find another parent with kids to help. Now I see why. There's no way this woman is not going to help Alex reunite with his poor, frantic mother.

Sure enough, she has her wallet out. “How much do you need?”

Alex smiles and gives her an “aw shucks” look. “Would twenty be too much?”

She hands over a crisp bill.

“Do you have anything with your address? I really will make certain to repay you,” he says.

She studies him for another moment, then hands over a business card. Wait until she sees the size of the royal fruit basket she's gonna get later this week.

Alex is sliding the card into his pocket when she says, “Just one other thing.”

He raises his eyebrows in question.

“Don't call women ‘madam.' It makes us feel old.”

Alex smiles and tips a pretend hat. “Yes ma—er, miss.”

“Better,” she says with a laugh, and goes back to pouring Cheerios onto the tray of the stroller.

Behind her back, he gives us a subtle thumbs-up.

So far, so good.

W
e continue to trail Alex to the ticket booth and watch as he talks his way into the kid's rate. He comes back to us with his ticket in one hand and change in the other.

He places $10.20 into my palm. “There was tax, but there's still enough for someone else to come, if you want, Soph.”

Sophie looks shyly from Paisley to me. “I think I'll stay with the girls, if you don't mind.”

“As you wish. Mine should be the second-to-last ferry, but the line is long, so I think it's going to depend on how fast the security check is moving at this point.”

Sophie punches his arm. “Stop talking to us, then! Go get on a ferry and find our sister!”

Alex rubs at his arm. “You didn't have to hit me so hard.”

Kind of nice to know royals fight just like siblings everywhere. I've lost track of how many times I've seen Pay and her little sister do the same thing to each other. Alex gives us one last smile, waves, and takes off at a jog for the ferry dock.

“Good luck!” Paisley screams at his back. He lifts his arm in reply and disappears around the corner. For a second none of us move.

So now it's just me, Pay, and Sophie with no Alex to distract me or to act as a buffer. I can feel the tension seep back. Sophie might have had a change of heart about Manhattan, but I'm not sure she's had one about me. I wonder why on earth she wanted to stay with us.

“Should we sit down and wait or something? We can keep an eye on the returning boats to see if she's on one. I doubt it because she only has a short lead, but just in case.” I shrug as I finish speaking.

Pay grabs a seat on the closest bench, and Sophie squeezes in next to her. I settle myself in the empty one beside them. It's not particularly hot, but I'm sweating from all the racing around and the anxiety of the day. I might be more tired because of the hopping, but Paisley and Sophie seem plenty wiped too.

We all stare in silence at the woman across the sidewalk. She's dressed as Lady Liberty, but spray-painted entirely in silver and posing as a statue. She's very good. I can't even see her eyes blinking or her arm shaking as she holds the flame high in her right hand. A group of tourists crowd around her for a picture, and at the last second she yells “Boo!” and makes them jump sky-high. When they stop laughing and clutching their sides, they drop money into her hat.

“This is stupid,” Sophie says after approximately a minute or so. “I can't just sit and wait.”

I was about to say the same thing. Even watching Statue Lady stand still is making me jittery with nervous energy. As tired as I am, I can't stop twitching. “Let's get tickets of our own.”

Sophie and Pay swing their heads to me. “Really?” asks Sophie. “What if she's on one of the returning boats?”

“She's not. I feel it in my bones,” I state boldly.

Pay rifles through her wallet again. “Let's see, we have—”

“Fifteen dollars and fifty-five cents,” answers Sophie automatically. Both Pay and I gape at her.

“What?” She shrugs. “You said on the subway you had five dollars and thirty-five cents, and Alex just handed Chloe ten dollars and twenty cents. It's simple maths, really.”

She's right, but still. It would have taken me slightly longer than twelve milliseconds to come up with a dollar amount.

“Okay, so assuming we can pass Pay and me off as twelve, which shouldn't be that hard since we've both only been thirteen for a month, we can get three kid tickets for twenty-seven dollars.” I still hate lying, but hopefully karma will understand it's practically an emergency. “So we only need twelve dollars. That sounds doable. Alex just got twenty in two tries.”

“Yes, but he's Alex,” Sophie mutters.

I have no idea what she means until it's our turn to ask for money. We split up and accost everyone who crosses our path.

“No, sorry, I don't give handouts.” Really? Does Sophie look like a street urchin in her designer sundress?

“I just spent my last five. Sorry.” Paisley gets nowhere either.

“Excuse me, sir? Sir? Sir, I—well, good day to you too.”
Jerk,
I want to add.

It turns out that being really excellent at asking people for favors, like I've done almost weekly since starting as junior concierge, does not translate to mad skills when asking people flat-out for money. It's not like these people care what business the St. Michèle can throw their way. Maybe I'm not as good at
this concierge thing as I thought. Maybe it's just that I had a lot to bargain with. The thought is totally depressing.

When we plop back down on our benches to regroup, I plop the hardest. I'm fairly certain I catch Lady Liberty smirking at us, but when I squint at her, her smile is gone, her face is smooth as glass, and her eyes are focused on the horizon.

“We don't have much longer. If we can't catch the last ferry of the day, this could all be in vain anyway.” Pay sighs.

I continue studying Lady Liberty, waiting to catch her blinking or twitching or anything. Wow. She's good. Watching her gives me a sudden idea. “Guys, have you ever heard the concept of ‘you have to spend money to make money'?” Both girls nod. “I need to spend some of the cash we have. Trust me on this one.” To her BFF credit, Pay forks her wallet over, no questions asked.

I hobble up the sidewalk toward the street vendors and hunt until I find one peddling cheap baseball caps. They look like the kind truckers wear, with mesh sides and a puffy front. Ick. But I select a FDNY one and fork over five bucks.

When I return, Sophie and Pay have barely moved. “I hope you brought food,” Paisley says.

“No food. Just a hat.”

“A hat? Who's supposed to wear that . . . that . . . thing.”
Sophie gestures to the trucker hat with her distaste displayed clearly on her face.

“No one's going to wear it. We're going to use it to collect tips.”

“Tips?” Sophie asks, but I can tell Pay has caught on.

“We're gonna be street buskers?” she asks.

“Yup.” I nod, a small smile creeping across my face. This could actually be kind of fun, if it works.

Then Pay asks the question I've been pushing down ever since I had the idea.

“Um, Chloe, do any of us have any skills worthy of a street performance?”

O
kay, so I actually was thinking about possible skills the whole time I shopped for hats, and I have an answer all ready for Paisley.

“Our Broadway medley.”

Pay doesn't have quite the reaction I'm hoping for. First she laughs. Then she snorts. Then she sees that I'm serious and her face falls.

“Uh, no. Just . . . no.”

“Why, what's wrong with our Broadway medley?” I turn to Sophie to explain. “Two years ago, for the talent show at our school, we did a mash-up of a whole bunch of songs from Broadway shows. We got fourth prize in the singing category.”