Lisa (26 page)

Oops! I just heard a car pull in. I’d better go start setting the table!

FROM:
           HorseGal

TO:
                Steviethegreat

TO:
                LAtwood

SUBJECT:
      Good news!

MESSAGE:

Guess what? Dad says I can go to High Meadow! It turns out he knew all about the trip before I even got a chance to ask him—Frank Devine called him at the office this afternoon, so it was probably all settled even before I showed you that letter. Isn’t that cool?

Anyway, I didn’t want to call and interrupt in case you two are in the middle of begging your parents to say yes or something like that. But I just couldn’t wait to tell you! It’s going to be so great! I can’t wait to get there!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

FROM:
           Steviethegreat

TO:
                HorseGal

TO:
                LAtwood

SUBJECT:
      Good news! (2)

MESSAGE:

Ditto, ditto, ditto!

Well, okay, not really ditto in the strictest sense of the
word. I mean, neither of my parents talked to Frank Devine this afternoon. And actually it was looking kind of dicey for a while, since my jerky brothers kept interrupting while I was trying to explain the whole thing to Mom and Dad at the dinner table. But that doesn’t matter now. I definitely won’t be thinking about my brothers when I’m riding the range at High Meadow in just a few short days …

I can’t believe we’re really going!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dear Diary
,

This started out as one of the most exciting days of my life, and it ended up as one of the most horrible. I still can’t believe what happened at dinner. I mean, there I was, getting ready to present my case for going to High Meadow with my friends. And then Mom and Dad drop their bombshell.

“Lisa, we’ve got some wonderful news for you,” Mom said as she started eating her dinner.

“We sure do!” Dad added, picking up his fork.

“You tell,” Mom told him.

“No,
you
do it,” Dad replied with a kind of goofy smile.

I had no idea what they were talking about. All I was thinking about was High Meadow.

But then they told me. “Lisa, honey,” Mom said, “we’re going to Europe. We’re leaving in just a few days. And we’re staying for a whole month!”

“You are?” I said, confused.

“No,
we
are,” Dad replied, reaching across the table to pat my hand. “All three of us.”

Things went kind of blank for me for a few minutes after that sank in. I was vaguely aware that my parents were excitedly explaining the whole situation. They’d started planning this trip right after Christmas. We would be visiting England, France, and Italy. They had kept it secret as a special end-of-school surprise for me.

I was too stunned to respond at first. I’ve been dreaming of seeing Europe all my life—but I don’t want to go now. Not when I’m supposed to leave for High Meadow next week with Carole and Stevie, to be a real hand on a real working ranch, helping Eli and teaching little kids.

“Isn’t it exciting?” Mom’s face was positively glowing with excitement. It was all I could do to nod numbly. Luckily I didn’t have to say anything, since Dad launched into some long story about how hard they’d had to work to keep me from suspecting a thing.

I barely heard what he said, though. All that had really sunk in at that point were the words
Europe
and
four weeks.
I would be gone even before my friends left for High Meadow. I would be in places where they didn’t have horses, where I couldn’t ride every day, where they didn’t even speak English.

I guess Mom and Dad took the blank look on my face for surprise and excitement. I was kind of glad about that. I didn’t want to disappoint them, especially
when they’d gone to so much trouble on my account.

Still, I knew I had to at least try to explain. I took a deep breath and interrupted their description of the Sistine Chapel. Or maybe it was the Eiffel Tower, I don’t remember. But I remember what I said.

“Kate Devine’s invited us all to go to a Western riding camp that Eli’s running this summer,” I told them. “It’s called High Meadow. We’d be working—”

“No work for you this summer. Just pleasure!” Mom interrupted.

I think that was the moment when I really knew it. When I realized that the ranch trip was dead, that there was no chance I would be going to High Meadow. I was—I
am
—going to Europe with my parents.

I don’t know how I’m ever going to break the news to my friends when I don’t even want to believe it myself.

Dear Diary
,

Well, we just took off. All I can see out the window of the plane are some big, fluffy clouds. I’m not even sure if we’re over land or water. Probably water, though, I guess—there’s a lot of that between Virginia and Paris, our first stop in Europe.

I have to admit, now that it’s started, I’m sort of excited about this trip. I’m still sad, of course—I really
wish I could have gone to High Meadow with Carole and Stevie. I’m sure they’re going to have a fantastic time. I’m a little nervous, too. I don’t know what it will be like to be in a place where most people don’t speak English. I sort of wish we were going to England first instead of France—at least there all I’d have to adjust to, language-wise, would be their accents! Oh well. This way I’ll get to test out all that French I took in school last year and the year before. It should be a much better test than that embarrassing little episode with Mr. French last summer. Actually, on second thought, it will be worse than that in at least one big way—it won’t take place on horseback! Seriously, though, I want to practice my French as much as I can while we’re in Paris.

I’m also planning to keep up with this diary during my trip. That way I’ll remember everything and be able to tell my friends all the details when I get home. I also plan to write them lots of letters and postcards. I only wish they could do the same, but they really can’t since we’ll be moving around so much. Instead, Carole offered to keep a diary while she was at High Meadow. She and I tried to convince Stevie to do the same—I even bought Stevie a little diary just in case. But she’s usually not too good at stuff like that, so I’m not holding my breath.

Just thinking about my friends is making me feel sad again. I miss them already, even though I just saw them yesterday. Four weeks is a long time. I’ve never
been apart from them for that long ever since we became best friends. Even Carole’s trip to Florida was only a week long.

That reminds me that there’s someone else I haven’t seen in much, much longer than four weeks—Peter. I think Mom and Dad are really disappointed that we won’t get to see him on this trip. They started planning it when we all thought he was going to be working in London this summer, and now he’s all the way in Africa. He called home a couple of weeks ago, just before he left, and it was great to hear his voice. It would have been great to see him—it might even have made up, a little bit, for missing my friends—but I can’t help feeling the tiniest bit relieved that we’ve missed him. I still feel kind of weird about that screenplay he sent, and I’m not sure I could have pretended to like it if I were face to face with him.

Anyway, over the past couple of days Mom has dropped a few little comments that make it clear that she thinks Peter should have stayed in London for an extra couple of weeks to meet us, even though he explained that the project can’t be postponed because of him. If he wanted the job, he had to agree to leave for Africa when his professor left. I don’t think Mom quite understood that, but I do. I think it’s wonderful that Peter gets to do something this summer that he seems to care so much about. He’ll get to write and help people and learn a lot.

I guess I’ll get to write (in my diary) and learn a lot
(about the stuff we see) in Europe, too. Too bad I won’t be helping people while I’m at it—Carole and Stevie and Kate will have to hold up that end of the Saddle Club creed this summer without me. They’re probably busy packing for their trip just about now. They’ll leave for the ranch tomorrow—and I’ll already be in Paris by then, missing them terribly. Sigh.

Hôtel Grand Monde

Paris, France

Dear Stevie and Carole
,

Bonjour.
That’s what they say here a lot. It means “hello” or “good day.” They also say
merci
and then they say a million other things that I don’t have a chance of understanding. It’s really difficult. I know I’ve been studying French at school, but what you need in school and what you need in Paris are two very different things.

My parents are crazy about being here, but they are worse in the language than I am and sometimes it leads to trouble. For example, today Dad thought he was getting lamb for lunch, but he ended up with a tongue sandwich. Ugh. He won’t make that mistake again. We’ve been to the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre and we’ve traveled everywhere on the
métro
, which is what they call the subway. In fact, we’ve done more traveling on the
métro
than we planned since Mom got confused about which train we were supposed to take. None of us likes being lost!

We also went to a museum in something that used to be a
train station, the Musée d’Orsay. I really liked that place. They have a very pretty collection of Impressionist paintings there. I wouldn’t mind going back. I didn’t like the Louvre too much. It was crammed with people and Mom kept running up to guards to ask them where we could find the
Mona Lisa.
They all looked at her blankly. It turns out that the French call that painting
La Joconde.
See what I mean about confusing?

Actually, sometimes it’s fun not knowing what to say. After we’d walked our feet off, Mom wanted to walk some more. I wanted to take a nap. They finally agreed to let me stay in the hotel room by myself for an hour. The place is overbooked, so I’m on a rollaway bed in my parents’ room, which is okay except for the fact that when I took the bed out of the closet, I could tell it had a broken wheel and that meant it had this humungous bump in the center of it. No way could I sleep on it. I know I could have taken a nap on Mom’s bed, but I decided to see if I could handle the problem myself.

I went down to the hotel desk and there was this cute bellboy who didn’t speak a word of English. I pulled out my phrase book, but there wasn’t anything even close to “The wheel on my rollaway bed is broken.”

I smiled nicely, took a deep breath, and did my best. I said, “
Le pneu sur mon lit est cassé.”
Roughly translated, it means, “The tire on top of my bed is broken.” At first the guy just looked at me blankly. Then he burst into laughter. It sounds awful, but he wasn’t laughing at me, really. He was just laughing because what I’d said was so funny. And then the most wonderful thing happened. He actually understood me. He said,
“Attendez,”
which I knew meant I was supposed
to wait, and he brought me a new bed with working wheels.

Maybe this place isn’t so confusing after all. I just hope I don’t order a tongue sandwich by mistake the way Dad did!

I’ve been thinking about you a lot because I haven’t seen a horse since we got here. I wish I could talk to you or get letters from you. I can’t wait to read your diaries and learn everything that’s happening.

Send lots of love to Kate, Eli, and Jeannie. Tell all the campers everything you’ve ever taught me about riding and they’ll do fine.

Love
,
Lisa

Dear Diary
,

Someday, years and years from now, I may actually forget why I had time to copy over my entire letter to Stevie and Carole here in my diary. So for the record, it was because Mom accidentally made tonight’s dinner reservation for nine-thirty instead of six-thirty like she meant to, so we’re all sitting around on a bench in a little park near the restaurant, starving and watching the people go by.