Lost in London

This book, and really everything, is dedicated to

Ellie, Evan, and Happy.

There are so many very special people I would like to thank:

I am very lucky to be part of two critique groups. Both helped me shape this book. To the WIPs: Gale, Carolee, Josette, Jane, Chris, and Shannon, the last nine years have flown by. You’re awesome. To the Northern Delaware Sisters in Crime group: John, KB, Jane, June, Chris, Jacqui, Susan, Kathleen, and Pat, thanks for feedback.

Mom and Dad: Thanks for your continued confidence in me and for your endless support.

To my nieces and nephews: Mikayla, Anna, John, Christopher, Sean, Keelen, Lauren, Nikki, Taylor, Danny, Kelsey, and Shawn. Thanks for all the great material. You’re a fun bunch.

To Sue, Mark, and in-laws and out-laws who never fail to ask me, “How’s the writing going?” Thank you for your interest and endless ideas.

To my friends, near and far, old and new: You inspire me!

To my agent, Mandy Hubbard: “Thank you” doesn’t seem like enough for making my dream career a reality. I appreciate your confidence in me.

To my editor, Alyson Heller, and the whole team at Simon & Schuster: You’re a class act! Thanks for everything.

To Kevin: Thank you for supporting my dream career. You’re a great partner.

To my readers: None of this works without you. Thank you for reading and for inviting me to your schools, libraries, and book clubs. I love getting your e-mails and letters. I hope you love
Lost in London
as much as
Just Add Magic
.

The flyer in my hand said it was a one-week student program in London—as in the most exciting city in Europe. I needed something exciting, anything other than what was called “my life.”

Everybody has a “thing.” Some people are good at sports, or music, or are popular, or are at the bottom of the social ladder.

Except me. I didn’t have a thing. Translation? I was a positively ordinary thirteen-year-old girl who led a boring life. Consider my life’s report card:

• I lived in a regular old town without a palm tree, igloo, or palace (Wilmington, Delaware) = blah.

• I didn’t do any sports or clubs = yawn.

• I wasn’t allowed to wear makeup, ride my bike without a helmet, go to R movies, or attend boy-girl dances = lame.

• I lived next door to my school, where my dad worked = annoying.

• Worst of all, I’d never done anything exciting. When I explained this to my parents, they brought up my trip with the Girl Scouts last year. I didn’t think that should count, because it was only two nights and my mom was there. It was totally Dullsville. (I dropped out of Girl Scouts right after.)

This school-sponsored trip was like a miracle opportunity sent directly to me, Jordan Jacoby.
What could be more exciting than London?
(Paris, possibly, but that doesn’t matter right now.) I wanted to go to London to become worldly by traveling around that amazing city and soaking in its history and culture.

There was just one problem. Kind of a biggie. My parents.

I studied the London program information on my short walk home from school—across the football field, through a gate, along a short path, and onto the sidewalk that led to my house. My dad was a little ways behind me, walking home too.

Let me give you some advice if your parents ever consider working at your school:

Talk them out of it.

Sabotage the interview.

Recruit someone else for the job.

Do whatever it takes for them to work anywhere other than at your school. Seriously, anywhere. And if they somehow manage to get the job, beg them to change their name and pretend they don’t know you.

I love my dad, but walking to and from school with him every day, and seeing him lurk in the hallways, sucked any possible element of fun from my middle-school existence. I couldn’t so much as draw on my sneaker with a permanent marker, or talk to a boy, without getting “the look.” The you-and-I-both-know-you-shouldn’t-be-doing-that look.

Ah, London.

I wanted this trip.

“What are you reading?” Dad walked faster to catch up with me.

“About the school-sponsored trip to London this year. I really, really want to go.”

He immediately harrumphed, but I didn’t let that stop me. This was going to take persistence. And I could be seriously persistent.

The conversation about the trip went on all afternoon and into dinner. “There has got to be more to the world than Wilmington, Delaware. I’ve never done anything or gone anywhere.”

“Now, that’s just not true,” Mom said. “You went away overnight to Girl Scout camp. Remember that?”

Oh, yeah. Did I ever.

I tried: “Oh, come on. You never let me do anything fun. And it’s only five days.”

Then I went to: “We live in an American-centric society. Isn’t it important for me to broaden my horizons?” (I’d gotten that from the flyer.)

I added: “I have the assignment all planned out. It’s going to be a photo montage of sights with narration. I promise I’ll get an A, or maybe an A-minus, on it and I’ll weed all summer long to pay you back for the trip.”

Finally I went with: “It will be an experience that I will remember for the rest of my life!”

My mom talked about me staying with an old friend of hers who had a stepdaughter about my age. This
made me think she was seriously considering it. Then she started talking about the dangers of a foreign city—drugs, kidnapping—and the cost of the trip. It wasn’t looking good.

Then—I don’t know what happened exactly—but at that moment, on Marsh Road in Wilmington, Delaware, a miracle occurred. They said YES!

I was going to embark on a journey called the De-bored-ification of Jordan Jacoby.

Only, I had no idea how de-bored-ified my life was about to become.

A few weeks later I got off my first plane ever. My eyes felt like they’d been dusted with sand. I followed signs toward Customs. There were lots of signs, and my mind wasn’t working clearly, so I ended up just following a lady who had been on my flight and hoped that she wasn’t connecting to Africa.

After I waited in a line, a customs officer stamped my passport: ENGLAND!

It was official.

I had arrived.

I looked for someone who matched Caroline Littleton’s online picture. Instead I found a tall man in a simple black suit holding a sign,
JORDAN JACOBY.

“I’m Jordan,” I told him.

“Welcome to London. I’m Liam. Shall we get your bags and proceed to the manor house?”

“Sure,” I said, half-excited to be taken to the “manor house” by a chauffeur, and half-bummed that Caroline hadn’t met me at the airport herself.

“Very well. Off we go.” His accent was so sophisticated. I loved it.

I followed him to the luggage claim and then outside, where he opened the back door of a black car with a rounded roof. The first thing I noticed was that the steering wheel was on the wrong side. Well, maybe it wasn’t wrong if you lived in London, but it was opposite from the US. I’d never been driven like this, like,
by a driver
. Carpooling didn’t even compare.

I wouldn’t see the airport again for five days. As far as programs abroad went, this one was short, over spring break. The only requirement was to return with the assignment—a summary of my trip. My grandparents had gotten me a new phone with a really good camera (for pictures and videos) just for the trip.
(Yay for grandparents!)

My parents had agreed that I had to get an A or A-minus on the presentation, and I would spend the summer pulling weeds to pay for the trip. It wasn’t the dandelions-in-grass kind of weeding. It was the sweat-and-dirt-and-worms-and-poison-ivy kind. They also gave me some money and an emergency credit card. If I charged anything to the card that wasn’t a true emergency, I’d pay it off by spreading fertilizer around our tomatoes. You know what’s in fertilizer? It rhymes with “droop.”

We drove through London on the wrong side of the road; well, maybe not wrong. I videoed or photographed everything—buildings, street signs, double-decker tour buses, cafés, stores. There was no predicting what I’d need when I edited the montage. And I really wanted it to be good—well, at least A-minus good so that I wouldn’t have to do more yard work.

I was going to stay with a friend of my mom’s—a sorority sister who she really liked but hadn’t seen in years. She was Caroline’s stepmom (well, “mum,” I suppose). They had discussed the itinerary. It was going to be an amazing week, like palaces-castles-abbeys-gardens-cathedrals amazing. I was going to see and do everything, absolutely everything, and return to Wilmington as a totally different person!

I wondered if Caroline and I would possibly have
time to sleep, because as much as I wanted to see London and begin the process of changing my life from boring to well traveled, I also really needed a power nap. I’d stayed up all night watching movies on the plane.

BTW, there were several movies to choose from, and I picked one that was PG-13.

“First time in England?” Liam asked.

“Yup! I’ve never been anywhere.” This was true if you didn’t count Girl Scouts, which I didn’t.