Lost in London (18 page)

“Are you serious? That’s amazing. I love, love, love it.” I smiled. “Thank you so much.”

I walked out the front door of the fantastic manor house and turned to take another look at it. I wanted to remember all the details. I hoped that someday I would visit this house again.

Liam held the car door open for me. I would have to get used to not having a driver back home.

Ellie, Sam, and Gordo were in the car. “Hi, guys! You all came to say good-bye?”

“Of course,” they said in unison.

And off we went to the airport.

•  •  •

At the terminal we said good-bye. “I’ll text you,” I said to Caroline.

“Of course you will,” she said, like I would be so fortunate to text Caroline Littleton, but I knew what she really meant was “I can’t wait.”

“All right, baby doll. You stay cool,” Gordo said.

“I will.”

“Seriously, it’s been a totally epic week,” he said. “You are one of the most interesting and fun people I’ve ever met.”

Ellie was tearing up.

“Ellie,” I said. “It’ll be okay.”

“I’m just going to miss you so much.”

“We’ll be friends on Facebook so we can always see what the other is doing,” I said.

I knew Ellie and I were going to be friends forever.

Sam took my hand. “I wish it had been longer than a week,” he said.

“Me too.”

A boarding call for my flight bellowed overhead.

“You have to go,” he said. He picked up his finger-phone and mouthed the words, “Call me.”

“I will.” With a wave I headed home with my overpriced purse, a bag full of new clothes, and a new attitude.

I spread out in my seat, which I found out Mr. Littleton had upgraded to first class for me as a special treat. Have you ever sat in first class? It’s
very
nice, like reclining-seat-my-own-TV-phone-WiFi-slippers nice.

I clicked picture after picture of my trip and arranged them in the order I wanted. I typed captions under each, describing Anne Boleyn and showing the yeomen who guard the tower in their uniforms.

As I was going through, I noticed something strange about one yeoman in the photo. I paused for a second,
then moved on to the Crown Jewels. Then I explained a bit about Madame Tussauds’ history and showed pictures of some current celebrities whose likenesses were frozen in wax, adding more captions along the way. I also added the pictures of the cast of
Bloodsucking Zombies
.

Right before I moved off to the next photo, my eye caught the face of a man in the background. To anyone else he would just look like another tourist, but I recognized this man. It was the same man who had been in the yeoman’s uniform, or maybe it wasn’t a uniform at all; it was a COSTUME.

I combed through the rest of my photos, carefully looking for the man in the other pictures. And finally, near the end of the album, I found him—a.k.a. Hamlet, the night security guard at Daphne’s—at Buckingham Palace dressed as a royal guard, another costume from Daphne’s Dress-Up Department.

I pulled out the air phone from the seat in front of me, and I took out my credit card. This
was
an emergency. I dialed a number I’d had in my wallet in case I ever needed it while I was in London. I needed to call Mr. Littleton now.

“It’s Jordan Jacoby,” I said. “I know who the thief is, and I have proof, photographic proof. I’m sending it to
you right now.” I paused. “Did you get it? Do you see what I’m talking about? That’s the night security guard from Daphne’s. His name is Hamlet.”

•  •  •

I landed in Philadelphia. After navigating Customs like the experienced international flyer that I was, I was met by a man in a black pin-striped suit and a red tie.

“Excuse me,” he said with a British accent that I didn’t expect in Philadelphia. “I’m Mark Salyers, the British ambassador. Mr. Littleton sent me. He’s very appreciative of your help. Can we talk for a minute?”

“Um, okay,” I said.

“Follow me.”

I spent the next hour with Ambassador Salyers.

By the time I got home, it was already on the news. Hamlet was in custody. My allegations were confirmed with his image clearly reflected in the mirror at the Tower of London. And the local reporter said that I, J.J. Jordan Jacoby, was offered the gratitude of Her Majesty.

The ambassador had been very kind to me. He said I was welcome in England anytime, and he personally arranged for me to have VIP access to any of the city’s sights and palaces. This meant that I didn’t need to buy tickets or wait in the queue.

•  •  •

On Monday at school I gave my presentation in a new outfit from Caroline. I’d put the presentation in a really neat web-based program that Ellie had taught me to use.

I started, “While the Royal Mews are the official stables for the queen . . .” I was in the middle of a pretty good presentation when my mobile . . . err . . . cell phone rang. Whoops.

“I am so sorry. This phone is still new. I thought I’d turned it off,” I said to my teacher, embarrassed.

When I glanced down at the phone, I almost hit the floor.

The caller ID said
SOPHIA WHITWORTH
.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“Top story today is about everyone’s favorite store, Daphne’s,”
Skye said.

“Indeed it is, Skye,”
Cole said.
“To increase its business the store has decided to stay open all night long for what it’s calling Pillow Parties.”

“That’s brilliant, Cole. I know I want to go. Do you know who the mastermind was behind this idea?”

“Tell me, Skye,”
Cole said.

“An American girl named J.J. This is the same girl responsible for identifying the perpetrator behind a rash of thefts that plagued some of our most beloved landmarks just a few short months ago. She is truly an amazing young woman,”
Skye said.

“Let’s show a clip of J.J. and her friends with Sophia and Rose Whitworth at a ribbon-cutting ceremony for the new Slumber Party Department.”

Turn the page for a sneak peek at:
.

by Cindy Callaghan

If I had to pick one thing that I believe in more than anything else, it would be this: LUCK. I’m Meghan McGlinchey, the most superstitious thirteen-year-old girl in Delaware, and possibly the world.

For example, I never got out of bed when my digital clock read an odd number. Odd number = bad luck.

7:02. Perfect.

I dressed in a snap because every day it was the same school uniform—boring plaid skirt, plain white shirt, itchy button-up navy-blue sweater, matching headband,
horrendous blue leather shoes, and kneesocks. The outfit was—how should I say this?—ugly!

I dashed down the stairs, especially careful to skip the thirteenth step today because it was a very important day, one I’d been looking forward to for weeks. I was running for eighth-grade class president. And today was the election. I had done a stellar job campaigning FOREVER. If I didn’t totally mess up my speech, I was pretty sure I was gonna win. With all the practicing I’d been doing, it would take a major freak of nature for me to mess up this speech.

I passed my four sisters and parents scrambling around in the kitchen. I opened a can of food for my cat, Lucky. He ran over when he heard it pop. I scratched his ears as he lapped up the food.

I loved Lucky, but he and I had a problem. He was a black cat. And people like me, we don’t mix well with black cats. But we had an understanding: He didn’t cross my path, and I took good care of him. It worked for us.

The kitchen was louder than usual this morning. My younger sister Piper (the fifth grader) yelled at one of my older sisters, Eryn (the eleventh grader), “Why did you touch my playlist? Why? WHY?”

Dad yelled across the kitchen to my mom, “Can you put a bagel in the toaster for me?”

The baby cried while my oldest sister sang her an Irish lullaby to calm her. It wasn’t working, so she tried some applesauce, which the baby threw across the room. It nearly hit my white shirt, but I ducked out of the way just in time.
SPLAT!
The applesauce hit the wall behind me.
Phew, that was lucky!

I stood at the front door, under the horseshoe mounted on the wall and next to my lucky snow globe collection, watching the insanity.

The living room was a mess with suitcases and duffel bags. We were leaving the next morning for Ireland, where we would spend spring break. The purpose of the trip was for my father to meet his newly discovered sister. You see, he’d been born in Ireland. Sadly, something had happened to his parents when he was just a kid, and he’d been raised at a home for boys.

Until a few months ago he hadn’t thought he had any family. But thanks to some online research, he’d found a long-lost sister. I imagined that when he met her, he’d introduce me as his middle daughter and president of Wilmington Prep’s eighth-grade class. It was gonna be totally impressive.

I crunched the granola bar I’d packed in my backpack the night before—instant breakfast. With a little planning
my morning was the way I liked it: mayhem-free.

In fact, I liked most things organized. I might have been the most organized eighth grader at Wilmington Prep, an all-girls private school that went from kindergarten through twelfth grade. This meant that Piper and Eryn were in my school. If you knew either Piper or Eryn, you’d know this wasn’t a good thing. (Piper was known as the bigmouth, while Eryn was quiet and filled with a bad attitude. I’d heard a lot of nicknames for her, most made up by my bestie, Carissa. None of them were nice.)

While I waited for someone to realize it was time to leave, I flipped through a Forever 21 catalog.

“Meghan,” Mom called through the chaos, “you have a letter on the table.”

“A letter?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “You know, the regular old-fashioned paper kind that’s delivered by a mailman.”

I stepped around the chaos. Sure enough, on the hall table was a letter addressed to
moi
.

Who writes letters anymore when you can just text or e-mail?

The postmark on the envelope said Limerick, Ireland.
Hmmm.

Dear Friend,

I am starting this chain letter and mailing it to three people to whom I would like to send good luck. In turn they must send it to three people. If you are receiving this, someone has sent the luck to you—as long as you, in turn, send it to three more people within six days.

Chain letters have existed for centuries, and many have traveled around the world. A United States police officer received $25,000 within one day of sending his letters. However, another woman ignored it and lost her life’s fortune because she broke the chain. A Norwegian fisherman thought for sure he would never find true love, but just two days after sending his letters, he met the woman of his dreams.

To get your luck and avoid the unlucky consequences, you must:

• Copy this letter

• Add your name below and remove the name above yours

• Mail it to three people within
six
days

From,

Clare Gallagher, Ireland

Clare Gallagher?

I didn’t know anyone by that name.
How does she know me?
That wasn’t important now. What
was
important was that I send this letter to three people ASAP. No, double-ASAP. Maybe I could get the good luck as soon as today—for the election—and avoid those “unlucky consequences.”

I went into my mom and dad’s home office and rummaged around.

“What are you doing in there?” Mom called over the havoc.

“Looking for envelopes!”

“I don’t have any,” Mom said. “Sorry. I’ll bring a few home from work tonight.”

That would be too late. Maybe I could get a couple from the school office. I only needed three. “How about stamps?”

“Sorry. The baby used them as stickers. I can buy more after vacation.”

After vacation wasn’t
today
, and I needed the luck
today
.