Middle School: How I Got Lost in London (6 page)

2
The light switches: English light switches are kind of little and weird.

3
The toilets: If you lift the lid of a toilet in England there’s hardly any water in it. (Go figure.)

4
When they boil water, they don’t use a stove like at home. They do it in a “kettle.”

5
They use the kettle to make a drink called tea, which they drink a lot. And they make a dumb face when they drink the tea, like “Aaahhh…” Like this drink that actually looks like puddle-water is the most delicious thing in the world.

6
They don’t have drive-through ATMs. (I know!)

7
It’s kind of crowded everywhere, and they have queues and stuff.

8
They have this spread called Marmite. It’s
disgusting
. It looks like tar and smells like meat. They spread it on their toast to eat with their tea.

9
They have weird numbering systems for the floors in their hotels. So when you get into the elevator—which in England is called a “lift”—and you try to get to your floor…Chaos.

10
Pants in England are what you wear
under
your pants. What we call shorts, they call pants. Oh, and they call closets “cupboards.” They call trucks “lorries.” They call flashlights “torches.” They call diapers “nappies.”

11
When they need to call the emergency services they don’t call 911—they call 999.

And that last one. Number 11. That’s an important one. You’ll be hearing more about that later. Oh, and number 9? More about that is coming right about…

…now.

ANYWAY. LIKE I
said, Miller was on the backseat, master of his domain—an evil king ruling over the rear of the bus, as far away from the teachers as he could manage. And there he set about terrorizing anyone within flicking distance. As the bus set off, all we could hear was the sound of earlobes being flicked.

Flick
.

“Oww!”

Flick
.

“OWW!”

Each one made me more unpopular. I mean, it wasn’t like anyone had actually ragged on
Miller
for starting the puke chain. Who would dare? But you know how in war they have such a thing as a pre-emptive strike? When one side launches missiles before the other?

That was what Miller was doing.

Flick
.

“OUCH!”

Pre-emptive strike on Sasha Smallbones.

Flick.

“Oww!”

Really
vicious pre-emptive strike on Philip Yanakov.

All my fault.

Something needed to be done.

And so, as we drove down the freeway (or “motorway” as they call it in England), I shuffled forward in my seat.

“Jeanne,” I said between the seats, “I need to tell you something. I need your help.”

She ignored me. Just stared straight ahead.

I plowed on regardless. “I wanted to say sorry about what happened on the plane. I want to explain myself. See, Miller was ragging on me and…” (Wow, nearly made a big mistake then. Nearly went on to admit that I’d been jealous he sat next to her.) “…and I know he was only doing it because I said that weird ‘Here’ at the first roll-call. And, as a matter of fact, he’s still doing it. Did you hear him? Did you HEAR him?!
Twice
. Twice since we landed. But anyway, I guess I deserve it now. But my
point
is: I didn’t deserve it
then
. I mean, maybe a bit, because my ‘Here’ wasn’t exactly the best ‘Here,’ I’d be the first to admit it. But I just thought—and I still feel—that Miller’s ragging was too much. How do you say it? What’s the word again?
Disproportionate
. And I wanted to teach him a lesson, which is why I came up with the idea of eating the Bolognese out of the sick bag. And if I wasn’t such a doofus I would have realized what was going to happen: chain reaction. And now Miller’s ragging on everyone just out of pure meanness. Because he’s like, well,
mean
. And listen, well…I just wanted to say sorry. First to you and then to everyone else. So this is me saying sorry. And I’m hoping you’ll accept my apology and maybe help me apologize to the rest of the trip. Perhaps even tell them yourself. You know, kind of spread it around how sorry I am. Or get an idea of how easy or hard it would be.”

It was one of my longest-ever speeches. It was the hardest, most heartfelt thing I think I’ve said. Leo the Silent applauded by my side.

Shame she was listening to her iPod the whole time. Didn’t hear a word I said.

We arrived at our hotel—the Mercury Lodge—checked in, and went to our rooms. Guess who made a mess of getting to their room?

That would be me.

Remember number 9? I used the elevator (I beg your pardon, the “lift”) and instead of going up to my floor, managed to go to the floor below.

They liked that, everyone did. They all thought that was
real
funny. Especially You-Know-Who. He was still laughing when I got to the room I was going to be sharing with him.

That’s right: I was sharing with Miller.

Could this trip get any worse?

SO THAT WAS
it. The heartfelt-apology option had failed. Which left the, um…other options. Which of those was it going to be? Justice had the day off, remember? Luck had now packed its bags for a week away.