Queen of Babble by Meg Cabot Page A

privacy. No one goes back there anyway, except the dog. That’s where his food bowl is.”
    Dog? Food bowl? So…instead of sleeping with my boyfriend, I’ll be sleeping with the family dog. And its food bowl.
    That’s okay, though. That’s fine. Educators like Andrew’s dad—and social workers like his mom—don’t make a lot of money, and real estate in England is expensive. I’m lucky they have any room at all for me! I mean, they don’t even have a room for their own eldest child, and they’ve found a way to squeeze in a bed for me!
    And why would one of Andrew’s brothers give up his room for me? Just because back home I always had to give up MY room for whatever out-of-town guest was coming to stay doesn’t mean Andrew’s family necessarily does things the same way…
    Especially since I’m not even an important visitor. I’m only Andrew’s future wife, after all.
    Well, in my mind.
    “Come on now,” Andrew says. “Get a move on. I have to change for work.”
    I’m about to climb another step when I freeze all over again. “Work? You have to go to work?Today? ”
    “Yeah.” At least he has the grace to look apologetic. “But it’s no big deal, Liz, I just have to do the lunch and dinner shifts—”
    “You’re…you’re awaiter ?”
    I don’t mean to sound pejorative. I don’t. I have nothing against people who work in restaurants, I really don’t. I did my stint in food service just like everybody else, wore the polyester pants with pride.
    But…
    “What happened to your internship?” I ask. “The one at the prestigious primary school for gifted children?”
    “Internship?” Andrew flicks ash off his cigarette. It falls in the rosebushes below. But ash is often used as fertilizer so this doesn’t necessarily count as littering. “Oh,that turned out to be a disaster of epic proportions. Did you know they weren’t going to pay me? Not a fucking cent.”
    “But—” I swallow. I can hear birds singing in the treetops along the street. At least the birds sound the same here as they do back in Michigan. “That’s why it’s called an internship. Your pay is all the experience you get.”
    “Well, experience won’t pay for pints with my mates, will it?” Andrew jokes. “And of course it turned out they had two thousand applications for the position…a position that doesn’t even pay! It’s not like it is back in the States, either, where you’ve got an edge over everybody else if you’ve got a British accent, Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    since you Yanks are convinced anyone who says ‘tomahto’ over ‘tomato’ is somehow more intelligent…The truth is, Lizzie, I didn’t even bother applying. What would have been the point?”
    I just stare at him. What happened to taking on a job for the pure challenge and experience of it? What happened to teaching the children to read?
    “Besides,” he adds, “I want to work withreal kids, not posh little geniuses…kids who actuallyneed positive male role models in their lives…”
    “So,” I say, my heart lifting, “you applied to teach in some inner-city schools for the summer?”
    “Oh, fuck no,” Andrew says. “Those positions paid shit. The only way you can make ends meet in this town is in food service. And I’ve got the best shift, eleven to eleven. In fact, I’ve got to run right now if I’m going to make it there in time…”
    But I’ve just gotten here!I want to cry.I’ve just gotten here, and you’re leaving? Not just leaving, but leaving me alone with your family, whom I’ve never met—for TWELVE HOURS ?
    But I don’t say any of these things. I mean, here Andrew is, inviting me to stay, rent-free, in his family’s home with him, and I’m freaking out over his having to work—and thekind of work he’s doing. What kind of girlfriend am I, anyway?
    Except I guess my expression must have given away the fact that I am less than enthusiastic about the