“Nice one,” Abby told Melissa. The three of us waved at the driver, a young girl with short black hair and cool-looking black-framed yellow sunglasses. She grinned and waved back. Then she honked the horn and waved some more.
“Girls,” said Mrs. Simon, coming back to see what we were up to. “I’m not sure this is the safest thing to be doing. The other drivers need to concentrate on the road, you know.” Then she glanced out of Melissa’s window. “Ooh, an Impala!” she cried. “Cool car. I had a boyfriend in high school who had one of those.”
See why I like Mrs. Simon so much? She’s not like other teachers.
We promised to calm down, and Mrs. Simon went off to check on the boys in back, who were singing again by then. “Comet, it makes your teeth turn green,” they sang. “Comet, it tastes like gasoline!”
“Check it out!” said Abby, pointing to a sign we were passing. “We’re almost there.”
We settled down and gazed out the windows as the bus worked its way into the city. Into Washington, D.C.! I was pretty excited. Soon we were in the middle of the city, passing official-looking buildings. People on the street looked sophisticated and busy. They walked fast, some of them talking on cell phones as they strode along.
“Look, there’s the president!” yelled one of the boys in the back. We all stared out the windows.
“Where? Where?” I asked.
“Made you look,” said the boy. I glared at him.
“Hey,” Abby said. “Pennsylvania Avenue. We’re crossing the street the president lives on.”
“Sure, sure,” I said. I wasn’t about to be fooled again. But I snuck a glance anyway. Abby was right. We had just crossed Pennsylvania Avenue. The White House couldn’t be far away.
Soon after that, the bus pulled into the semicircular driveway of a big hotel. “Here we are!” said Mr. Fiske from up front. “Let’s head on in to register and find our rooms. And please, stay together. It’s going to be a madhouse in there, with kids arriving from other schools.”
He was right. The lobby of the hotel was packed with eighth-graders. The hotel had set up several temporary registration tables, each one labeled with a big sign. EASTERN STATES, read the one Mr. Fiske led us to. I spotted signs for SOUTHWEST STATES, MIDWESTERN STATES, and ALASKA. Kids were here from everywhere! It was a little overwhelming, especially since the noise level in the lobby was majorly high.
Then the weirdest thing happened.
I spotted someone I knew! It was a boy who used to go to SMS. What was his name? I frowned, trying to remember. Then it came to me.
His name was Terry. Terry Hoyt.
I’d always wondered what happened to him.
“Lucas!” Melissa yelled. She took off running across the lobby, toward Terry. Or, rather, toward the boy standing next to Terry.
“Lucas,” she cried again, wrapping her arms around the boy. He was tall, with hair so blond it was almost white. He had a pale complexion too, although at that moment he was blushing so fiercely his face was brick-red.
Melissa finished squeezing the breath out of him and turned back to Abby and me. “Come here, you guys!” she called. “Meet Lucas.”
Abby and I joined them, and Melissa made the introductions. “These are my friends Abby Stevenson and Kristy Thomas,” she said. “This is Lucas Goodman.” The way she said his name made me want to roll my eyes. She was gazing at him the way a puppy gazes at its owner. Was she going to start wagging her tail?
“Nice to meet you, Lucas,” Abby said.
Lucas nodded and smiled at her. He was still blushing, but I noticed that when he looked at Melissa, his face showed the same puppy-dog look she wore.
“Hi,” I said. “So, where are you from?”
“Lucas is from right here in Washington,” Melissa explained before he could open his mouth. “His father is a congressman. He and I met at camp last summer. Camp Minawaskee. In Maine.” She closed her eyes and sighed, and I had the feeling she was reliving some romantic memory.
Ugh.
“So you’re from Washington, but you’re staying at the hotel?” I asked, confused.
Lucas nodded. “It’s part of the convention experience,” he explained. “It wouldn’t be the same if we didn’t stay here. Have you ever been to one of these conventions before? They’re awesome.”
Abby and I shook our heads. Melissa just kept gazing at him. I had the feeling she hadn’t heard a word he’d said.
“I went to one last year,” Lucas continued, “but this is David’s first time. Oh — sorry. This is my friend David. David Hawthorne. We’re roomies here.” He looked to his left, where Terry Hoyt had been standing. “David?” he called, when he realized nobody was there.
Then I saw Terry Hoyt again. He’d moved away, toward another group of kids. I happened to catch his eye and I smiled. For a second I thought he recognized me — but then he looked away.
“David!” Lucas called again.
I saw Terry glance around. Then, reluctantly, he approached us.
“David, this is Kristy and Abby and — Melissa.” The way Lucas said Melissa’s name made it clear how he felt about her. So did the sappy smile he gave her as he made the introductions.
“David?” I asked. “But — ”
“David Hawthorne,” he said, sticking out a hand.
I shook it, even though I was confused.
“I could have sworn you were somebody else,” I told him. “Didn’t you go to Stoneybrook Middle School? In Connecticut?”
Did he react to the name of the school? I couldn’t tell. He looked at me, then looked away. He shrugged. “Nope,” he said into the air. “Never heard of the place. You must have the wrong guy.”
“You look exactly like this boy I used to know a little,” I told him. He did too. Terry had the same brown hair, the same hazel eyes. In fact, I remembered Stacey, who had known Terry best (I think she had a little crush on him), going on and on about how special his eyes were, “all filled with gold flecks.” Terry had been pretty cute, in fact. So was David. I saw a few of the girls in the crowd checking him out.
David shrugged again. “Maybe we were separated at birth,” he cracked. “Who knows?”
I decided to let the subject drop. “Well, it’s nice to meet you anyway,” I said. “Have you been debating for a long time?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Oh.” This David Hawthorne person didn’t seem to believe in long explanations. “Me neither.” The conversation sort of stalled there.
Just then, I heard someone calling my name. I turned to see Mrs. Simon waving to me from across the room. “Kristy,” she called, “Abby, Melissa, over here! I thought we talked about staying together.” She looked irritated.
Every kid in that crowded lobby was staring at us by then. I put my face down to try to hide the fact that I was blushing. “Let’s go, you guys,” I muttered to Abby and Melissa.
“See you,” Abby said to Lucas and David.
Melissa’s good-byes took a little longer. She and Lucas had this long hug. Then they stared into each other’s eyes a little longer. Then they hugged again, whispering into each other’s ears. You’d have thought they were saying good-bye for a year or two, instead of for a couple of hours. “I’ll see you at din-din, Lukie,” Melissa promised. She walked off, waving, moving backward, so she could see Lucas for as long as possible.
In my opinion, there’s nothing more icky than being around people in that early, gooey stage of love.
“Who’s the boy, Melissa?” asked Mrs. Simon when she’d rejoined the group.
“Oh … nobody,” Melissa said, looking dreamy. “Just a boy I met at camp.”
Mrs. Simon arched an eyebrow. “And you just happened to run into him here? What an amazing coincidence.”
“Isn’t it?” Melissa didn’t seem to realize that Mrs. Simon was being sarcastic.
I saw one corner of Mrs. Simon’s mouth turn up as if she were hiding a smile. “Well, anyway, girls. Here’s your room key. We’re all
on the fifth floor. I’m just two doors down from you, so try to keep things down to a dull roar.”
Abby took the key. “Five-nineteen,” she said. “Cool.”
“You can find your way up and unpack,” Mrs. Simon told us. “The welcoming dinner starts at five-thirty. That should give you plenty of time to freshen up and change your clothes.”
Melissa was already drifting off. Abby and I looked at each other, grinned, and followed her toward the elevator.
“Well,” Abby whispered, before we caught up with Melissa, “that explains a lot. Lucas, I mean. No wonder she wanted to come down here.”
I nodded. “And what about his friend? I’m telling you, there’s something weird going on there. You never met Terry, but I swear, this guy looks exactly like him.”
“He acts a little suspicious too, if you ask me. Like he has something to hide.”
“What?” said Melissa. By then we’d caught up to her near the elevator.
Abby and I exchanged a glance. “Nothing,” I said.
Melissa seemed to accept that. She was still looking all gooey. “So?” she asked. “What did you think? Isn’t he totally awesome?” She hugged herself.
“He’s beyond awesome,” Abby said with a straight face.
“I know.” Melissa sighed.
The elevator dinged, the door opened, and we climbed aboard. A minute or two later, Abby was unlocking the door to room 519. “Excellent!” she said as the door swung open. “Check it out!”
We walked in and looked around. It was a big room with two double beds and one twin-sized bed, all covered in pink-and-purple flowered quilts. In one corner was a seating area, with comfy-looking armchairs and a small table. Along one wall was a bureau with a big TV sitting on top of it. A picture window ran along another wall, and through the open curtains I could see a balcony.
Melissa went into the bathroom. “Cool!” we heard her cry. “There’s a whole bunch of tiny little shampoos and conditioners. Enough for everybody.”
Abby headed for the balcony, opened the glass door, and stepped outside. “I think that’s the Kennedy Center,” she said, shading her eyes as she looked off into the distance. “Mr. Fiske said it was near here.”
“I’ll take the twin bed,” I volunteered, sitting on it and bouncing a little to test how firm the mattress was.
We unpacked, stacking our casual clothes in the bureau drawers and hanging up blouses and skirts and dress pants in the closet. We staked out areas on the bathroom counter for our toothbrushes and things. Melissa had brought a whole bunch of makeup, plus a blow-dryer. Her stuff took up twice as much room as Abby’s and mine put together.
Melissa kept chattering about Lucas. She told us how she’d met him. Then she moved on to their first date and first kiss. And then she filled in the details of the e-mails and phone calls they’d shared since the summer. “He’s so sweet.” She sighed again. “Didn’t you think he was sweet?”
“The sweetest,” I agreed.
“Couldn’t be sweeter,” said Abby.
“And adorable,” Melissa cooed, pausing to hold the sweater she was folding up to her cheek.
“Very adorable,” Abby said.
“The adorable-est,” I put in.
Melissa didn’t notice the amused glances Abby and I were sending each other. She was head over heels in love and wouldn’t have noticed if thirteen elephants had come crashing into our room. She probably would have asked them if they thought Lucas had the cutest nose in the universe.
We dressed for dinner. For me, that meant putting on my newer pair of cords. For Melissa that meant putting on a blue blouse — Lucas’s favorite color, of course. Then we headed downstairs. The dining room was already filled with kids. Some of them were seated at big round tables, while others milled around looking for friends from past conventions.
Melissa spotted Lucas the instant we walked in. She headed straight for him. David Hawthorne was sitting at his table, so I followed Melissa, and Abby followed me.
“Where did he go?” I asked when we’d worked our way through the crowd. David had disappeared.
Abby shrugged. “Looks like he found another place to sit.” She nodded toward a table on the other side of the room. David had just pulled out the last empty chair and was taking his seat.
He glanced at me as he sat down, then looked quickly away. I had the feeling that he was avoiding me. But why?
The dinner was fun, but it went on a little too long. At least five people made speeches welcoming us to the convention, and by the fifth one I was starting to feel drowsy. In fact, I think I nodded off a couple of times. I don’t know why sitting on a bus all day makes you so tired, but it does.
By the time we returned to our room, I was ready for bed. It was an effort to find and put on my pajamas, but I managed. Then I passed out and slept like a rock until our wake-up call came at eight the next morning. Like a rock, that is, that gets woken up a few times by another rock sneaking in and out of the room to meet her boyfriend.
“I guess she and Mr. Awesome had plans,” Abby said to me, rubbing her eyes as she sat up in bed. Melissa was in the bathroom, blow-drying her hair.
“I guess so,” I agreed. “I just hope she doesn’t get us in trouble.”
“Good morning,” Melissa said cheerfully when she emerged from the bathroom. She was fully made up and her hair was perfect. She didn’t look nearly as tired as I would have expected, considering that she’d had a few hours less sleep than Abby and I had had. “Isn’t it exciting? Today’s the first real day of the convention.”
“Very exciting,” Abby replied, climbing out of bed. She stretched and yawned. “I guess we’ll find out about our teams this morning.”
Abby and I had signed up for the Mixed Debate Competition, General Level (that’s for beginners like us). We would be assigned to three-person teams, each member of which would be from a different school. Melissa wasn’t going to be on a team. She had signed up for an event called Extemporaneous Speaking, which I didn’t know much about, except that it sounded hard. A bunch of the other kids on the SMS team were doing Extemporaneous Speaking too, and some of them were doing one-on-one debates.
Abby and I dressed, and the three of us headed downstairs to breakfast. Melissa and Lucas found each other immediately. It was as if a special force field drew them together. We took four seats at a table near the front of the room. David Hawthorne was nowhere in sight.
“Good morning!” A dark-haired man in a very snazzy gray suit was standing on the stage. He was one of the people who had spoken the night before. He had an English accent and very good diction. (That’s when you pronounce all your words carefully and correctly. It’s a good quality in a debater.) I couldn’t remember his name.
“I’m Arthur Greenleaf, for those of you who have forgotten,” he continued, as if he’d read my mind. “And as the director of this year’s convention, I’m pleased to start things off by announcing our topics.” He paused to look over his glasses at a piece of paper he held. “First, the advanced debaters. You will be discussing the following proposition. Resolved: That U.S. immigration policies contradict American ideals.”
A murmur ran through the dining room. Abby and I exchanged glances. I could tell she was thinking the same thing I was: No way were we ready for advanced debating.
“I look forward to hearing our debaters on that topic,” said Arthur Greenleaf. He looked down at his paper again. “Intermediate debaters will be presented with another fascinating proposition. Resolved: That journalists have a right to protect confidential sources of information.”
Yikes. That sounded pretty hard too. I wouldn’t know where to begin with a topic like that. I guess you have to do lots and lots of research. But how would those teams have time? The more experienced debaters must be used to it, I figured. Nobody was bolting for the exits, anyway.
“And now, for the general debaters,” said Arthur Greenleaf, smiling, “we have a topic that has been debated almost since the begin
ning of human life.”
I drew in a breath, crossed my fingers, and looked at Abby. What was it going to be? If it had anything to do with politics or history, I was going to be in deep trouble.
“Resolved,” continued Arthur Greenleaf, “that cats make better pets than dogs.”
Everyone burst out laughing.
What a relief. I would have no problem with that topic. Of course, everyone knows dogs make better pets. I mean, cats are okay, but come on: Dogs rule. My old dog Louie was the best pet ever, and the puppy my family has now is pretty awesome too. So, as long as I was on the negative team, I’d be able to sail through the contest. And, for some reason, I’m always assigned to the negative team.
“Now,” said Arthur Greenleaf, “my able assistant will help me assign teams for the Mixed Debates.”
A woman walked onto the stage, carrying a red-white-and-blue top hat.
“Inside this hat are slips of paper with your names and schools on them,” said Arthur Greenleaf. “Red slips are advanced debaters, white slips are intermediate, and blue are general. We’ll pick three names for each team. Please stand when you hear your name read, so your team members can spot you. After breakfast, you are free to meet with your team in order to plan for the first round of debates, which will take place this afternoon.”
The woman held up the hat, and Arthur Green-leaf began picking out names for the teams. Behind them, another man wrote down the names on a large chalkboard.
The noise level in the room grew as the names for the advanced teams were read out. A lot of kids had been coming to conventions like this one for a couple of years now, and they all seemed to know each other. Cheers would go up when some names were read. The teachers in the room kept trying to quiet their kids down, but it was no use. Instead, Arthur Greenleaf just kept reading in a louder and louder voice.
Things settled down a bit as he read out the names for the intermediate teams. I guess those kids didn’t know each other as well. And by the time Mr. Greenleaf began reading the names for the general teams, hardly anybody was even paying attention. Some of the advanced and intermediate kids were already up and moving around.
Kristy and Kidnapper Page 2
