This book, and really everything, is dedicated to
Ellie, Evan, and Happy.
Acknowledgments
There are so many very special people I would like to thank:
I am very lucky to be part of two critique groups. Both helped me shape this book. To the WIPs: Gale, Carolee, Josette, Jane, Chris, and Shannon, the last nine years have flown by. You’re awesome. To the Northern Delaware Sisters in Crime group: John, KB, Jane, June, Chris, Jacqui, Susan, Kathleen, and Pat, thanks for feedback.
Mom and Dad: Thanks for your continued confidence in me and for your endless support.
To my nieces and nephews: Mikayla, Anna, John, Christopher, Sean, Keelen, Lauren, Nikki, Taylor, Danny, Kelsey, and Shawn. Thanks for all the great material. You’re a fun bunch.
To Sue, Mark, and in-laws and out-laws who never fail to ask me, “How’s the writing going?” Thank you for your interest and endless ideas.
To my friends, near and far, old and new: You inspire me!
To my agent, Mandy Hubbard: “Thank you” doesn’t seem like enough for making my dream career a reality. I appreciate your confidence in me.
To my editor, Alyson Heller, and the whole team at Simon & Schuster: You’re a class act! Thanks for everything.
To Kevin: Thank you for supporting my dream career. You’re a great partner.
To my readers: None of this works without you. Thank you for reading and for inviting me to your schools, libraries, and book clubs. I love getting your e-mails and letters. I hope you love Lost in London as much as Just Add Magic.
1
The flyer in my hand said it was a one-week student program in London—as in the most exciting city in Europe. I needed something exciting, anything other than what was called “my life.”
Everybody has a “thing.” Some people are good at sports, or music, or are popular, or are at the bottom of the social ladder.
Except me. I didn’t have a thing. Translation? I was a positively ordinary thirteen-year-old girl who led a boring life. Consider my life’s report card:
• I lived in a regular old town without a palm tree, igloo, or palace (Wilmington, Delaware) = blah.
• I didn’t do any sports or clubs = yawn.
• I wasn’t allowed to wear makeup, ride my bike without a helmet, go to R movies, or attend boy-girl dances = lame.
• I lived next door to my school, where my dad worked = annoying.
• Worst of all, I’d never done anything exciting. When I explained this to my parents, they brought up my trip with the Girl Scouts last year. I didn’t think that should count, because it was only two nights and my mom was there. It was totally Dullsville. (I dropped out of Girl Scouts right after.)
This school-sponsored trip was like a miracle opportunity sent directly to me, Jordan Jacoby. What could be more exciting than London? (Paris, possibly, but that doesn’t matter right now.) I wanted to go to London to become worldly by traveling around that amazing city and soaking in its history and culture.
There was just one problem. Kind of a biggie. My parents.
I studied the London program information on my short walk home from school—across the football field, through a gate, along a short path, and onto the sidewalk that led to my house. My dad was a little ways behind me, walking home too.
Let me give you some advice if your parents ever consider working at your school:
Talk them out of it.
Sabotage the interview.
Recruit someone else for the job.
Do whatever it takes for them to work anywhere other than at your school. Seriously, anywhere. And if they somehow manage to get the job, beg them to change their name and pretend they don’t know you.
I love my dad, but walking to and from school with him every day, and seeing him lurk in the hallways, sucked any possible element of fun from my middle-school existence. I couldn’t so much as draw on my sneaker with a permanent marker, or talk to a boy, without getting “the look.” The you-and-I-both-know-you-shouldn’t-be-doing-that look.
Ah, London.
I wanted this trip.
“What are you reading?” Dad walked faster to catch up with me.
“About the school-sponsored trip to London this year. I really, really want to go.”
He immediately harrumphed, but I didn’t let that stop me. This was going to take persistence. And I could be seriously persistent.
The conversation about the trip went on all afternoon and into dinner. “There has got to be more to the world than Wilmington, Delaware. I’ve never done anything or gone anywhere.”
“Now, that’s just not true,” Mom said. “You went away overnight to Girl Scout camp. Remember that?”
Oh, yeah. Did I ever.
I tried: “Oh, come on. You never let me do anything fun. And it’s only five days.”
Then I went to: “We live in an American-centric society. Isn’t it important for me to broaden my horizons?” (I’d gotten that from the flyer.)
I added: “I have the assignment all planned out. It’s going to be a photo montage of sights with narration. I promise I’ll get an A, or maybe an A-minus, on it and I’ll weed all summer long to pay you back for the trip.”
Finally I went with: “It will be an experience that I will remember for the rest of my life!”
My mom talked about me staying with an old friend of hers who had a stepdaughter about my age. This made me think she was seriously considering it. Then she started talking about the dangers of a foreign city—drugs, kidnapping—and the cost of the trip. It wasn’t looking good.
Then—I don’t know what happened exactly—but at that moment, on Marsh Road in Wilmington, Delaware, a miracle occurred. They said YES!
I was going to embark on a journey called the De-bored-ification of Jordan Jacoby.
Only, I had no idea how de-bored-ified my life was about to become.
2
A few weeks later I got off my first plane ever. My eyes felt like they’d been dusted with sand. I followed signs toward Customs. There were lots of signs, and my mind wasn’t working clearly, so I ended up just following a lady who had been on my flight and hoped that she wasn’t connecting to Africa.
After I waited in a line, a customs officer stamped my passport: ENGLAND!
It was official.
I had arrived.
I looked for someone who matched Caroline Littleton’s online picture. Instead I found a tall man in a simple black suit holding a sign, JORDAN JACOBY.
“I’m Jordan,” I told him.
“Welcome to London. I’m Liam. Shall we get your bags and proceed to the manor house?”
“Sure,” I said, half-excited to be taken to the “manor house” by a chauffeur, and half-bummed that Caroline hadn’t met me at the airport herself.
“Very well. Off we go.” His accent was so sophisticated. I loved it.
I followed him to the luggage claim and then outside, where he opened the back door of a black car with a rounded roof. The first thing I noticed was that the steering wheel was on the wrong side. Well, maybe it wasn’t wrong if you lived in London, but it was opposite from the US. I’d never been driven like this, like, by a driver. Carpooling didn’t even compare.
I wouldn’t see the airport again for five days. As far as programs abroad went, this one was short, over spring break. The only requirement was to return with the assignment—a summary of my trip. My grandparents had gotten me a new phone with a really good camera (for pictures and videos) just for the trip. (Yay for grandparents!)
My parents had agreed that I had to get an A or A-minus on the presentation, and I would spend the summer pulling weeds to pay for the trip. It wasn’t the dandelions-in-grass kind of weeding. It was the sweat-and-d
irt-and-worms-and-poison-ivy kind. They also gave me some money and an emergency credit card. If I charged anything to the card that wasn’t a true emergency, I’d pay it off by spreading fertilizer around our tomatoes. You know what’s in fertilizer? It rhymes with “droop.”
We drove through London on the wrong side of the road; well, maybe not wrong. I videoed or photographed everything—buildings, street signs, double-decker tour buses, cafés, stores. There was no predicting what I’d need when I edited the montage. And I really wanted it to be good—well, at least A-minus good so that I wouldn’t have to do more yard work.
I was going to stay with a friend of my mom’s—a sorority sister who she really liked but hadn’t seen in years. She was Caroline’s stepmom (well, “mum,” I suppose). They had discussed the itinerary. It was going to be an amazing week, like palaces-castles-abbeys-gardens-cathedrals amazing. I was going to see and do everything, absolutely everything, and return to Wilmington as a totally different person!
I wondered if Caroline and I would possibly have time to sleep, because as much as I wanted to see London and begin the process of changing my life from boring to well traveled, I also really needed a power nap. I’d stayed up all night watching movies on the plane.
BTW, there were several movies to choose from, and I picked one that was PG-13.
“First time in England?” Liam asked.
“Yup! I’ve never been anywhere.” This was true if you didn’t count Girl Scouts, which I didn’t.
“Nowhere, Miss Jordan? Well, you’ve chosen the best city in the world. I’ve lived here my entire life.” He smiled at me in the rearview mirror, showing a mouthful of crooked teeth. “We should be at the Littletons’ house in a few moments.”
The city became country. It looked like it’d recently rained. Sections of damp grass glistened in the sun. Liam pulled into a long driveway to a very large Tudor-style house. Ivy clung to its frame; moss padded the roof’s tiles. It was fairy-tale perfect, just like I’d hoped it would be.
I didn’t have much information about Caroline. My mom had never actually met her. Her Facebook page made her sound so . . . so . . . so worldly. She rode horses, and liked music, shopping, and going out in London with her friends. She was everything I wanted to be. I knew already that we were going to be BFFs, just like our moms.
Liam stopped the car, and I opened the door and got out. The look on his face as he came around the trunk said I should’ve waited, but I didn’t get back in. I was going to walk up to the house, but decided to wait for him to get my bags—well, bag. I only had one suitcase. I flung my backpack over one shoulder and followed Liam to the front door. He opened it and ushered me inside.
I expected Caroline and her parents to be waiting excitedly for me, maybe with balloons, but the house was silent. And beautiful. The walls were trimmed with dark woodwork. Art and mirrors hung on the walls; every surface held a vase of fresh-cut flowers. The room smelled like springtime but a little damp, too, like some of last night’s rain had seeped in through the old cracks. This was the closest thing to a palace I’d ever been in. And hopefully in a few short hours I’d be hanging out in London, learning about kings and queens and basically becoming less boring every minute.
Liam led me to a kitchen and waved me to sit at the table. “Energizer?”
I was proud of myself because I knew he meant OJ. The stewardess on the plane had offered it to me. I’d felt dumb when I’d asked her what it was, but now I knew.
“Sure. Thanks. Um, where’s Caroline?”
He looked at the clock. “She should be down soon. Mister has already left for work, and Mrs. Littleton—” A Mini Cooper zipped into the driveway. “Oh, there she is.”
Through the window I saw a petite woman in yoga clothes run to the front door. “You’re here!” she said with the perkiness I’d hoped for. “Let me look atcha.” She had an accent like she was from Tennessee or Louisiana that didn’t fit with this house or London. “You look just like your mama. Lord, seeing you makes me miss her. How is she?”
“She’s fine.”
“Well, let’s get you some breakfast.” She asked Liam, “Where’s Caroline?”
“Still in bed, I suspect, madam.”
“That child. I told her to go with you to the airport.” She smiled at me. “I’m sorry she didn’t greet you. She just doesn’t understand how much fun y’all are gonna have. I’ve told her this will be a good experience for her, too, but she’s very focused on her friends. I’m sure you understand.”
I nodded like I did, but I wasn’t so sure. I thought she’d just told me that Caroline wasn’t excited that I was here.
“I always wished that I’d had more experiences with different kinds of people when I was thirteen, and I just want that for her.”
Liam fixed me a small bowl of berries and added a dollop of white cream, which I assumed was yogurt, but it tasted more like sour cream, so I picked around it to get to the berries. As I started to eat, Liam quietly left the room.
A minute later a girl in pj’s with bed head, a sleep mask pushed up to her forehead, and eyes barely open came in and picked up the orange juice that Liam had just poured for me.
I hopped out of my chair, ready to grab her in a totally huge, psyched-to-be-here hug.
She sipped again before opening her eyes and finding me a few inches from her face. “Oh my,” she said. Her eyes opened wider. “You must be . . . Jordan?”
“Here I am!” I tossed my arms into the air.
“Yes, you are,” she said. And she looked at me from sneakers to ponytail. Her flat expression told me that she wasn’t seeing anything she liked, probably because everything was boring. I casually let the smile drain from my face. She sipped the orange juice again.
An awkward silence blew through the kitchen, during which I sat back down and scooped another berry into my mouth. “I’m so excited to be here, like Christmas-morning-excited. I mean, it’s London! A city of castles, real princesses, and knights jousting till death,” I said. Then I caught my own zealousness and calmly asked, “What do you want to do today?”
Mrs. Littleton fanned out a handful of brochures that she’d taken out of a drawer. “Here’s a load of information about all the places that your mama and I discussed. Y’all can look through to give you ideas of stuff to do. Liam can take you where you want to go, or you can take the train into the city.”
“You aren’t coming?” I asked. My mom had been pretty clear that Mrs. Littleton would accompany us.
“No,” Caroline said. “I explained to her that we can get along quite well on our own. I go all around the city on my own all the time.”
Mrs. Littleton said, “Now, not so fast. I want to know where y’all are at.” She addressed Caroline, “So call me and text me. It’s not like you’ll just be going anywhere you want without telling me.” Then she faced me again. “You okay with that?”
Caroline was behind her stepmother’s back, mocking her by making a mouth with her fingers and thumb. She opened and closed them in a comical way, and I had to chew on my lip to keep from laughing out loud.
I nodded that I was good with that, but I knew my parents would NOT be . . . if they knew, which they wouldn’t, because I wasn’t going to tell them.
When Mrs. Littleton turned, Caroline snapped her hand down. “All right,” she said. “Then everything is bril.” I was pretty sure that was short for “brilliant.” I couldn’t wait to use that word. Maybe I could mention how bril the energizer was?
“Super,” Mrs. Littleton said. “I just know you two are gonna be—what do you kids say? BFFs! That’s it. I’m gonna shower. I’ll see y’all later. Have fun.”
Caroline fixed herself a bowl of berries and swiped the brochures right into the trash. “I’ll get dressed. I was thinking we’d go shopping, to Daphne’s, of course. I’ll be down in a wee bit.” She left the kitchen with her berries, but then poked her head back in. “By the way, knights don’t actually joust till death anymore, and ca
stles are a bit old and damp.” She left.
I didn’t think I’d made a very good first impression. And I was really bummed that she wasn’t psyched that I was here. I mean, she’d been asleep! Maybe she’d get to know me better while we shopped and then she’d like me. I had to work on my coolness factor at the store or mall. And after shopping, we could start on the sights for my montage.
I reached into the trash can for the brochures. Then Caroline stuck her head in for the second time. I pretended like I wasn’t picking in the garbage. “You might want to change and get freshened up before we go,” she said. “Liam can show you to your room and give you a call when we’re ready to go.”
She left me in the kitchen, alone.
3
I managed to find Liam, who showed me to an incredible guest room: all cream-colored with a four-poster bed with a frilly canopy. French doors opened out to a balcony overlooking a field fit for horses trotting in from a fox hunt.
The attached bathroom was marble and silver. I took a quick shower and changed into what I hoped was an appropriate shopping outfit: jeans and turtleneck with a fleece vest.
I looked in the mirror. Hmmmm. Not awful, but not really “London.”
Shopping could be exactly what I needed to help me move out of Dullsville, although money could be a problem. I’d budgeted one hundred dollars per day. When I’d transferred the currency, it had felt like I had a lot less money. Can I afford to shop?
The way Caroline looked—the way this house looked—money was no object. It was totally crazy to think that I was going to spend a whole week in this mansion!
I looked through my bag and found a scarf that I’d brought in case it got cold. I added it and reassessed. Not much better. Glancing at my reflection in an antique mirror, I decided this was an emergency. A fashion emergency, that is. I twisted around in the mirror, pouting my lips at the girl staring back at me.
Jordan, you desperately need to go shopping.
I brushed my hair and tousled it with my fingers to make it bouncy and full, but it still looked blah. Not “bad” blah, like “ordinary” blah.
Lost in London Page 1
