Middle School: How I Got Lost in London (5 page)

It would take a loooong time. This is like one of those long-term plans. I mean, if I was going to try to make myself popular by being kind and generous, then I really needed to start doing that in the first grade.

Save them from the merciless taunting and bullying of Miller the Killer

Bingo!
We have a winner! All I have to do is stop Miller’s merciless taunting and bullying and for the rest of my London trip I’d be treated like a god. It’s a great idea! Why didn’t I think of it before?

I have no idea how to stop the merciless taunting and bullying of Miller the Killer. Okay, that suggestion has to go on ice. If that suggestion calls, put it on hold.

Make a full and frank apology

It’s what they do on TV! It’s what the President would do (if the President had eaten Bolognese out of a sick bag and caused the Vice-President to barf).

I’d have to make a full and frank apology. The thing about a full and frank apology is…Wait a minute—how the heck do you make a full and frank apology?

Okay. Hold those thoughts. For the time being, let’s start with a
Popularity Score: 0.

Zero. Nada.

Squat.

Aim: To raise that dismal Popularity Score.

We landed. We disembarked our puke-smelling plane. That’s what you do, by the way. You don’t “get off” a plane. You
disembark
it. We assembled. There was a roll-call.

“Here!”

Not as good as my Oscar-winning “Here,” but nowhere near the calamity of my disastrous first attempt.

After roll-call we marched through Heathrow Airport and trooped onto a coach. The coach was big enough for a whole two seats each. Which was good, because it meant I definitely didn’t have to sit next to Miller. But it was also bad, because it meant I didn’t have an excuse to sit next to Jeanne Galletta. And I needed an excuse to sit next to her.

Instead, I settled into the seat behind her. There was a roll-call. I was about to open my mouth for my latest rendition when I heard Miller pipe up instead.

“Here,” he said, his lame impression rearing its ugly head again.

There were titters from around the bus.

Great
, I thought.
This is a joke that travels
.
And now Miller’s got his feet back on the ground—now he’s stopped either puking or worrying about puking
—
he’s decided to resurrect it. That’s just PEACHY
.

Still, I was thankful for small mercies. At least he wasn’t sitting nearby. He’d elbowed his way on and claimed the whole of the backseat as his own. From there he could launch attacks on the earlobes of anyone unlucky enough to be sitting nearby.

For a while, all we heard as the coach moved out of the Heathrow parking lot was the sound of ears being flicked.

I looked out of the window.
Hey! We’re driving on the wrong side of the road. HEY, MR. DRIVER! Patrick
(that was his name)—
we’re driving on the…

“They drive on a different side of the road in England, doofus,” whispered Leo the Silent, sparing me any new embarrassment.

Popularity Score: (still) 0.

HERE’S A BUNCH
of stuff I noticed is different in England:

1
People drive on the wrong side of the road. (Thanks to Leo for pointing that one out.)