Part 8 (1/2)

Quint told his mother where we were going. Then we tiptoed out of the apartment before Tyler and Morgan could figure out what we were up to.

”Ah, freedom,” said Quint, breathing in deeply, as we left his building.

We started down the sidewalk, past a row of old brownstones. Kids were sitting around on the stoops. ”What a nice New York scene,” I started to say.

But I was cut off. ”Whoo! There he goes! The sissy!” cried a boy.

”Yeah! Look. Up in the sky. It's a bird. It's a,plane. No, it's . . . sissy-boy!”

”Hey, where are your tights? Where are your pink slippers?”

All around us, kids were taunting Quint.

”Say something,” I muttered, elbowing him.

”Shut up!” Quint shouted.

”He can speak,” retorted a tall, skinny boy. ”Hey, look! Sissy-boy has a girlfriend. She's probably - ”

”Leave her alone!” yelled Quint. He dove for the boy.

”Quint, stop!” I cried. I caught him by the back of his s.h.i.+rt.

”Yeah, Quint. Stop! Stop it!” mimicked the boy.

”Come on.” I tugged at Quint. We walked to the end of the block and turned the corner.

The taunting stopped. We had left the kids behind.

”See?” Quint exclaimed angrily. ”See why I can't go to Juilliard, Jessi? Going to Sat.u.r.day dance cla.s.ses is bad enough. I try to sneak my stuff by those kids in a bowling-ball bag. But they know there's no bowling ball inside.”

I sighed. ”The kids are cruel, Quint. They really are. But sometimes you have to put up with people like them. I mean, are you going to let a bunch of jerks like them keep you from becoming a dancer? I wouldn't let them. Think of them as sore muscles. Something you have to endure. But don't let them stand in your way.”

”Those are nice thoughts, Jessi,” Quint replied. ”But you don't know what it's like. You don't have to walk down my street every day.”

Okay. So maybe I didn't know what it was like. But I knew how it felt to dance.

Stacey.

Chapter 14.

The island of Manhattan. That sounds so odd. When I think of islands, I imagine desert islands, with palm trees and coconuts and bananas. But Manhattan is an island, long and skinny and surrounded by the Hudson River, the East River, the Harlem River, and New York Bay. And climbing aboard a boat and traveling around Manhattan is a terrific way to see the city and other sights. It's fun, too.

Once I got over the shock of my father's announcement (”I think I'll take the afternoon off”), I started organizing our trip.

”You mean,” I said to Dad, ”that you're going to take all of my friends and me on the Circle Line today?”

”Yup. I can't think of a better way to see Manhattan.”

”Can Laine come, too?”

”Sure. Oh, what about Claudia and Malory? Do they - ”

”They're free on Friday afternoons.”

”Perfect.”

”Wait a sec. What am I thinking? Mary Anne and I are supposed to baby-sit today. We can't abandon Alistaire and Rowena.”

”Bring them along.”

So we did. While Dad was at his office in the morning, Mary Anne and I went to the Harringtons'. We asked permission to take the children on the sightseeing tour. Mr. and Mrs. Harrington thought that was a terrific idea. So did the kids.

”Oh, brilliant!” cried Mistake. ”A boat tour!”

”Brilliant!” echoed Rowena.

After lunch, Mary Anne and I helped the kids to dress in the outfits their parents had requested they wear on the boat: Alistaire in gray pants, red suspenders, a red bow tie, and a white s.h.i.+rt; Rowena in a gray skirt, red suspenders, a red headband, and a white blouse.

”I hope they don't get seasick,” Mary Anne whispered to me, looking at the newly cleaned and pressed outfits.

”Don't even think about that,” I replied.

”What can I think about? You told me not to think about the kidnapper, either.” (Mary Anne had decided that the man in the sungla.s.ses and rain hat was on a mission to kidnap Alistaire and Rowena and create an international incident which, among other things, would destroy the reputation of the BSC. That, I had said, was ridiculous. We didn't know he was after Alistaire and Ro- wena. We didn't even know if there was just one man, and since Mary Anne's scare at the library, we'd only seen men in rain hats and sungla.s.ses four more times. They were all wearing different jackets.) ”You can think about three hours of nothing but New York sights,” I replied. ”You'll have a jam-packed afternoon: the Statue of Lib-berty, the Brooklyn Bridge, Gracie Mansion, where - ”

”I know! Where the mayor lives!” Mary Anne was excited. She'd forgotten about seasickness and kidnappers.

At one o'clock that afternoon, Mary Anne, the Harrington children, and I met Dad and my friends at the pier on the Hudson River at 42nd Street. Everyone except Alistaire and Rowena was wearing jeans.

”Well, you guys, get ready for thirty-five miles of sightseeing,” said Mary Anne.

”She read the Circle Line pamphlet,” Kristy whispered to me. ”I think she knows it by heart. Listen to her.”

”The scenery comes to you,” quoted Mary Anne. ”Plus prize photo opportunities. s.p.a.cious decks. Informative commentators.”

I rolled my eyes.

”Come on, everybody,” said Dad. ”The tour starts at one-thirty.”

”Ooh, there's our boat/' Alistaire said softly, a few moments later. ”It says 'America's Favorite Boat Ride.' Brilliant! And we get to go on it.”

We paid our entrance fee and boarded the boat. Alistaire and Rowena walked slowly around the deck, trying to figure out the best place from which to sightsee.

”Over here,” Rowena would say.