by Jen Malone
I spare a quick glance over my shoulder to the park where the old stadium used to be before they tore it down. I’m not so much into baseball myself, but I did love afternoons there with Dad. Every so often his contact in the team’s special affairs office would send over a pair of box tickets, and Dad would load us up with bags of peanuts and a foam finger and we’d hop on the subway. Back then my hand had felt so little in his big one as we walked up the ramp to our seats. We haven’t caught a game in a while, and I’ve only been a few times with Pay to the new stadium.
I fight back a sudden lump in my throat as I think of my dad, all sweet and trusting. Am I making a huge mistake not calling him right now? Am I being totally selfish to put Ingrid in jeopardy all so I can save face . . . and my job? Will he ever forgive me if we don’t find her right away?
We wait for the light to turn so we can cross 161st Street. In my hand I clutch the printout. I’ve studied it fourteen bajillion times on the ride uptown, so I know the only scrap of information we have is that the penny machine is in front of the team store. Big help. Paisley informs us there are team stores every few gates. With our luck, we’re probably going to have to circle the entire stadium.
Except as we approach Gate Six, the sign for one of the team stores is practically shimmering in the sunlight, just beside the Hard Rock Cafe. Could it be that easy? It’s a beautiful sight, either way. Progress is progress, and this feels hopeful.
“Guys, over here!” I gesture to the gate, and the others fall in step behind me.
Just through the doors, in between an information booth and the stadium entrance to the team store, I spy a now-familiar-looking machine, with the crank handle in the twelve o’clock position.
“We found it!” I jump up and down in my excitement. Except then I realize that, while we found the penny machine no problem, we didn’t find the thing we actually needed to find at the penny machine. Or rather, the person. There is no Ingrid in sight.
Even worse, the gates are locked tight.
“What do we do now? We came all the way out here!” Sophie is understandably upset. Alex squeezes her shoulders, but they just slump even farther. “What if she’s hurt? Or someone has her? What if she’s scared? Or crying?”
Alex looks as helpless as I feel. Pay just looks annoyed that her precious Yankees are failing us. She grabs hold of the metal gate and shakes, like she’s rattling prison bars. I turn to tell her that won’t do us any good, but as I do, I spot a tiny movement inside the gates, in the shadows far across the concourse, right where the seats begin.
My breathing stops. Could it possibly be?
The silhouette moves again, and I exhale. The person is way too tall to be a nine-year-old girl. But it is someone inside of the gates, and that’s at least something.
“Hey!” I yell. When everyone else sees where I’m pointing, they all join me in yelling and shaking the bars. “Over here! Please, help us!”
Moving at about one mile an hour, an elderly man in a custodian uniform makes his way over to us and addresses us through the bars.
“Next tour doesn’t start for forty minutes.”
“We’re not here for a tour, sir. We’re looking for a little girl. She’s lost, and we think she came here,” I say, trying to make my eyes like saucers so he’ll take extra pity on us.
“Please, she’s my sister and we need to find her,” Alex adds.
“You kids have any parents?” he asks.
“Yes, sir. We’re, uh, we’re all searching for her. We split up to, uh, cover more ground. Have you seen this girl?” I grab the picture I printed of Ingrid under the table playing Barbies and smoosh it against the metal bars.
The custodian slips it through to his side and studies it closely. “Well, now, I believe I did see this little one. She was part of the twelve-twenty tour group.”
“The twelve-twenty tour? It’s only twelve forty now! That means she’s still inside the park, then! Please, please, can you let us in? We promise we’ll just grab her and go!” I can’t keep a giant smile from stretching across my whole face, and I turn to high-five Alex. Pay and Sophie are hugging and squealing. Man, the feeling is even better than walking out the doors on the last day of school.
But the custodian is shaking his head. “She’s not here. I guess I should have picked up on something not quite right. Everyone milling about out here, it was hard to tell who belonged to who. I wouldn’t have expected a girl that small to be on her own. Opened the gates to let everyone in, and that one goes straight over to that penny machine over there.” He points at the machine to his left, but we’re so dejected, none of us turn our heads. Is he trying to tell us we missed her by minutes?
“And after the penny machine?” Alex asks. His voice doesn’t sound quite right, almost like he’s trying to speak over a lump in his throat.
“Must have slipped out. I followed behind the tour for just a bit before I came back to lock the gates back up, and I don’t remember seeing her again. Didn’t really put that together in my head until just now, or I’d have been more worried. Though she did seem like she could handle herself, that one. Spunky.”
He hands the picture back through the bars with a sad smile. “I’m really sorry, kids. I wish I’d been paying more attention. Have you called the police? Need me to make that call for you?”
“Oh no, sir, no need! Um, it’s just that, well, our parents already have. Yes, and they’re waiting for them. We, uh, we should get back to them so they don’t worry they’ve lost us, too. Heh-heh.” My laugh sounds pitiful, and it’s completely obvious that I’m lying, but the custodian seems to buy it, because he just gives another tight smile and a little wave as he returns to the concourse.
“Good luck. I have faith!” he calls.
At least someone does. Sophie, on the other hand, looks like she’s about to lose it.
“Alex?” she moans. It’s just one word, but it’s full of panic.
“She’s okay, Soph. I feel it in my bones. We just have to get to her. It’s all going to be perfectly fine.” Alex bends his knees so that his eyes are level with hers, and he puts his thumb under her chin and raises her head to meet them.
“Soph, it’s Ingrid we’re talking about. Ingrid. She’s fine!”
Sophie’s smile is halfhearted, but it’s definitely there. Then she takes a deep breath, gives a little shake of her hair, lifts her shoulders, and resumes her royal posture. You could never even tell that she’d been about to lose it. Wow. Those must be some amazing princess lessons she’s gotten. I need to find me some of those.
I take the printout of locations and slap it up against the limestone wall of the stadium.
“Where to next?” I try not to sound as hopeless as I feel.
“Where would Ingrid go next?” Pay asks.
I study the list. “She’d likely go on to the Bronx Zoo. It’s not exactly simple, because it involves some train transfers, but it’s the only other place with penny machines in the Bronx, and if you’re already out here, it wouldn’t make sense to go back to the city only to come back here later. Especially since she wants to get ones from every penny machine on the list, and I told her how many were at the zoo.”
I begin to pull the paper back toward me, but Sophie grabs it out of my hands. In a not-very-princess-like manner, I might add.
“What if she isn’t headed there? We have no way of knowing she’d go there next.”
Alex takes a deep breath. “All right, then, let’s read over the rest of the list and try to think like Ingrid. It’s still possible she would have gone to Times Square because so many machines are clustered there.”
I may have been tongue-tied in Alex’s presence yesterday, but right now I have no trouble forming words. Especially because I’m so sure I’m right and he’s wrong.
I say, “But then again, we don’t know if she would recognize that those places are all in Times Square, because it just lists them by street address. I’m positive she would have gone from here to th
e zoo.”
Pay makes a tiny noise behind us, like clearing her throat. When we all turn to look at her, she says, “Sorry, guys, but I don’t think it’s my place to weigh in here. I see a street cart on the corner over there, so I’m gonna grab us a quick lunch. Who knows when we’ll get another chance to eat, and we should keep our energy up.”
She trots off, and I can’t help envying her role in all this. Obviously she completely cares about Ingrid’s safety and will stick with us until we find her, but she definitely doesn’t have the same things at stake the rest of us do.
Sophie continues to study the list like it’s got the secrets to the universe printed on it. “Alex!” She points. “The Empire State Building is on here.”
Alex leans in close to see. “That has to be it. Ingrid loves the Empire State Building.”
See, now these are the kind of things it would be nice to share with your friendly concierge. I didn’t even have it on my list of planned activities because I had us seeing bird’s-eye views of the city from the Top of the Rock instead. I mean, totally beside the point right now, of course, but I’m just saying.
A minute later Pay jogs back to us, juggling two hot dogs in each hand, and passes them out. Alex finishes his in two bites and looks a little wistfully at his empty napkin. Sophie, on the other hand, takes dainty nibbles, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her napkin between each bite. I eat mine like a normal person.
“I still think the Bronx Zoo makes more logical sense.” I’m not giving up without a fight.
“Know many nine-year-olds who think logically, do you?” Alex asks with that annoying—no, adorable—no, definitely annoying eyebrow lift. But he has a point. Sort of.
“What if we split up?” Pay asks, but before the words are even out of her mouth, I’m shaking my head.
“Definitely not. Not even an option. Why don’t we take a vote for where we go next? All for Bronx Zoo?”
I raise my hand. Paisley hesitates and I’m waiting for another “it’s not my place” speech, but then she takes one look at me and her hand shoots up. I reply with a grateful smile. Alex and Sophie jam their hands down by their side.
“So we’re tied. And I believe the guest is never wrong, therefore we’ll be going to the Empire State Building.” Sophie sounds smug. Oh no she didn’t! Did they just pull the “I’m the guest and you’re the employee” card?
She knows I can’t argue with that one. ERGH!
I grab Pay’s arm and turn my back on both royals. I assume they’re following as we make our way to the subway platform, but I don’t bother turning around to check. At this point I don’t even know whether to scream or cry. All I know is that this day is not going AT ALL the way I planned it on my tidy little to-do list. And I even used my matching pen to write it, like the composed and professional hotel employee I am.
So not fair.
Chapter Twenty-One
The air outside might be warm(ish), but the subway ride back to the city is completely frosty. As in Arctic.
By the time we snag four seats across from one another in a mostly empty car, we are sweaty and tired and three-quarters of us are still hungry. I’m leaving Sophie out because she barely finished her hot dog to begin with. Maybe princesses don’t need to eat the way regular people do.
“Do we change trains?” Sophie asks, breaking the silence, as we rumble through the lower Bronx.
“No, this will take us to Herald Square. It’s only a few blocks to the Empire State Building from there,” Pay answers from her seat next to me.
Sophie whispers something in Alex’s ear, and his eyes flick up, land on me, then dart around, before lowering again. Are they talking about me? Okay, so she could be pointing out the guy with purple and red dreadlocks in the seat just down from us, but somehow it feels like them against us. Or actually them against me, since, even though she voted with me, we all know Pay is as neutral as Switzerland.
“So, what do you guys think of New York so far? I mean, outside of the reason we’re seeing so much of it right now.” I have to give Pay credit. She really is trying to smooth things over.
“I’m sorry, but if you really want to know, I think it’s smelly and dirty and the people are rude and it’s too loud,” says Sophie.
Seriously? I’m sorry, but does she not have the slightest clue how special this city is? Does she think Frank Sinatra would “start spreading the news” about the worst place ever? Does she imagine people would leave everything and come here with, like, a hundred dollars in their pocket and a dream of making it big if it was such a horrible place? Has she not seen all the T-shirts? They don’t say I FROWNY-FACE NY. No. They say I HEART NY. And anyone who doesn’t heart it themselves must not have a heart to begin with.
I take my glasses off and begin cleaning them furiously with the edge of my shirt. I guess I mutter under my breath a little too.
“Pardon? Did you have something you wanted to say, Chloe?” Sophie’s voice is as chilly as the inside of the ice machines on every floor of my hotel. For someone who was so intent on avoiding conflict earlier today, she sure seems to be looking for a fight now.
And she’s gonna get one.
“Just that maybe you shouldn’t trash someone else’s hometown right in front of them. I would think a queen-in-training might have been taught a little diplomacy.”
“Pardon me? Shows what you know. Alex will be king, and his daughter would be the next queen. Not me.” She seems smug, but I don’t see why. That just means she’s already achieved the pinnacle of her job titles already, which I find pretty depressing.
“If New York City is so terrible, what is it about Somerstein that’s sooo wonderful, Princess Sophie?”
She shifts in her seat to glare at me. Her voice might be cool, but her eyes are shooting white-hot laser beams of hate at me. “Will you please quit it with the Princess Sophie stuff? How is it that from the very first instant she met us this morning Paisley has recognized that we only want to be treated like regular, normal people, and yet you still haven’t? We don’t want to push in the queue to get our seats at restaurants. We don’t need an ‘educational and thoughtful’ itinerary delivered by some business-suited hotel robot-girl. And we definitely don’t enjoy being addressed by titles all day, especially by someone who’s our age. Do you not think that makes us feel ridiculous?”
I open and close my mouth a few times, but I can’t find the words I want to say. Like how I was just doing MY JOB. Or trying to anyway. I stare wide-eyed at her for another second, and then I get up and march to the opposite end of the subway car.
When I’m plopped in my new seat, I unclip my barrette and let my hair fall over my face. Pay makes a move to come after me, but then Alex grabs her arm and stops her. Instead he stands and works his way toward me as Paisley drops down next to Sophie. He has to use the handrails above him for balance while the train car sways back and forth, since he doesn’t have “subway legs” like I do.
“Pardon me, miss. Is this seat taken?” Alex asks when he reaches me. So cheesy. But it works. I allow a tiny smile and gesture for him to sit down. He does, then leans back in his seat and sticks his long legs out into the aisle. They stretch toward the bench of seats across from us.
“Sorry about Sophie,” Alex says, not looking at me.
The words hang in the air for a minute, because I don’t want to just let her off the hook so easily. Then again, it’s not Alex I’m mad at, at least not at this exact moment. Not really. He might be really arrogant, and I haven’t always understood his behavior today. But he hasn’t been actively rude about my city, like his sister. And the way he’s been comforting Sophie and standing back to let us pass through doors first and helping brainstorm our plans (even if he never agrees with me) and stuff has actually been sort of . . . princely. But in a good prince way, not a jerky “ooh, get a load of me, I’m a prince” way. So maybe he’s more cocky than arrogant after all. Trust me, there’s a difference.
But still. For a
second I wish I could go back to the days when my biggest worry was making Marie LaFou crack a smile. I’d thought that was achieving the impossible, when really it was a walk in Central Park compared to these guys. I let myself indulge in a little fantasy where Sophie’s face is lined up directly across from the Rockettes when they start their kickline.
When I don’t answer, Alex puts his hand on my knee. Well, THAT sure snaps me back to reality. His palm feels warm even through the fabric of my pants, and now the kickline moves into my belly.
“Really she just didn’t want to answer that question about Somerstein. Then she’d be forced to tell you what our number one claim to fame is.” Alex’s voice is low and close and it makes me shiver, which is weird since it’s also as warm as his hand.
I shouldn’t give in so easily, but I’m curious. “Which is?”
“We’re the world’s largest producer of false teeth.”
I can’t help it. I burst out laughing. “WHAT?!”
“Indeed. I’m serious. You can Google it. We’re also the largest producers of sausage casings.”I
“Okay, I thought I knew a lot of weird New York facts, but I got nothin’ to top that one.”
“What have you got?”
I think for a second.
“Um, well, we don’t have a Main Street in Manhattan, but Broadway, which starts downtown and goes all the way to Albany, is one of the longest streets in the world.”
“Not bad. Not better than false teeth, but not terrible. Incidentally, that means Broadway is way longer than my entire country.”
“Is your country longer than a hundred and fifty miles? ’Cuz that’s how long Broadway is.”
“Measured north to south we’re twenty-four kilometers long.”
“Um, in miles please?”
“Do they not teach you anything in your schools here? Twenty-four kilometers is about fifteen miles, give or take.”
