she said she thought she could do it. And since, unlike everyone else on the planet, I don’t have a cell phone, I gave her your number.”
I am scum. “What should I do? She probably hates me.”
“Call her back,” says Leigh Ann. “Like, right now. Tell her you’ve been getting all these prank calls.”
I call the number and it rings a few times, then goes into voice mail. “Should I leave a message?”
“Yes!” everyone shouts at me.
“Um, hi, uh, Mbingu. This is, um, Sophie, the girl you just called. I am really sorry about, you know, me being, um, a jerkwad. I’m not like that, honest. It’s just, um, ever since I put up that sign, I’ve been getting a million prank calls, and, uh, well, Rebecca forgot to tell me you’d probably be calling. So, like I said, I’m really sorry. Please give me a call back. I definitely want to talk to you about the band. Um, I guess that’s it. Call me. Please. Bye.” I look at my friends to see what they think.
“You sounded sincere,” says Leigh Ann, putting her arm around my shoulders. “If it were me, I would call you back.”
“Ladies, I believe the appropriate thing to say right now,” Margaret says, “is
hakuna matata.”
Or maybe—another one bites the dust?
When I get home, I attempt to do my homework, but I just can’t stop thinking about Leigh Ann and everything she’s going through with her family.
But how to help? How, how, how, how, how … hey—Malcolm!
Monsieur Chance and I already have a history of clandestine activity, conceiving and then carrying out asecret mission related to the recovery of the Ring of Rocamadour. I leave him a message, and he calls back a few minutes later.
“Ah, Mademoiselle Sophie! What a nice surprise to see your name pop up! What can I do for you?”
I explain the situation with Leigh Ann’s brother. “So, I’m not sure there’s anything you can do, but maybe you know a math or engineering professor who could tell Alex how great Columbia is, so he won’t go to Harvard or someplace even farther away.”
“I think I know just the person for the young man to talk to. She hosts a fantastic math seminar for a few stellar high school students every year—it’s four weekends in January and February, I believe. Everyone who goes absolutely raves about it. Life-changing stuff, apparently. Send me an e-mail with his information, and I’ll put in a good word.”
“That would be awesome.”
“Anything else I can do for you?”
“That depends. Know anybody in Cleveland?”
Chapter 7
Éclairs for breakfast?
C’est fantastique!
It’s my fault, really.
I made the tragic mistake of falling asleep without turning my phone off, and sure enough:
Brrring! Brrring!
It is precisely six o’clock in the morning.
“Mmmffff. What?”
“I got another one,” she says.
“Rruummpphh. Another what?”
“Number six of the orphan puns. After I finished
Great Expectations
, I started reading
Bleak House—
back when we were still trying to find the ring. And remember that clue we had with all the names? Esther Summerson and Mr. Guppy? Sophie, wake up! I can hear you snoring.”
“I do not snore.”
“Like a buzz saw. So I’m looking at this new clue, ‘One fewer than nine filled French pastries.’ Obviously, it’s eight something, right? But eight what? What is a French pastry with filling? An éclair! Eight éclairs.” Shetries again, a little louder, as if lack of volume is the problem. “Eight éclairs.”
I sit up in bed, trying to get my eyes to focus. “Eight éclairs. Right. Wait a minute. Who has eight éclairs?” Mmm … éclairs. Rich, gooey, chocolatey … must have them.
“Ada. Ada Clare. She’s an orphan character in
Bleak House
. Eight letters.”
“That’s great, Margaret. Now, do you actually have any éclairs?”
“I’ll be over in a few minutes. I want to catch Mr. Eliot at Perkatory first thing so that he can let us into the school. Bring your flashlight.”
Exactly
I am scum. “What should I do? She probably hates me.”
“Call her back,” says Leigh Ann. “Like, right now. Tell her you’ve been getting all these prank calls.”
I call the number and it rings a few times, then goes into voice mail. “Should I leave a message?”
“Yes!” everyone shouts at me.
“Um, hi, uh, Mbingu. This is, um, Sophie, the girl you just called. I am really sorry about, you know, me being, um, a jerkwad. I’m not like that, honest. It’s just, um, ever since I put up that sign, I’ve been getting a million prank calls, and, uh, well, Rebecca forgot to tell me you’d probably be calling. So, like I said, I’m really sorry. Please give me a call back. I definitely want to talk to you about the band. Um, I guess that’s it. Call me. Please. Bye.” I look at my friends to see what they think.
“You sounded sincere,” says Leigh Ann, putting her arm around my shoulders. “If it were me, I would call you back.”
“Ladies, I believe the appropriate thing to say right now,” Margaret says, “is
hakuna matata.”
Or maybe—another one bites the dust?
When I get home, I attempt to do my homework, but I just can’t stop thinking about Leigh Ann and everything she’s going through with her family.
But how to help? How, how, how, how, how … hey—Malcolm!
Monsieur Chance and I already have a history of clandestine activity, conceiving and then carrying out asecret mission related to the recovery of the Ring of Rocamadour. I leave him a message, and he calls back a few minutes later.
“Ah, Mademoiselle Sophie! What a nice surprise to see your name pop up! What can I do for you?”
I explain the situation with Leigh Ann’s brother. “So, I’m not sure there’s anything you can do, but maybe you know a math or engineering professor who could tell Alex how great Columbia is, so he won’t go to Harvard or someplace even farther away.”
“I think I know just the person for the young man to talk to. She hosts a fantastic math seminar for a few stellar high school students every year—it’s four weekends in January and February, I believe. Everyone who goes absolutely raves about it. Life-changing stuff, apparently. Send me an e-mail with his information, and I’ll put in a good word.”
“That would be awesome.”
“Anything else I can do for you?”
“That depends. Know anybody in Cleveland?”
Chapter 7
Éclairs for breakfast?
C’est fantastique!
It’s my fault, really.
I made the tragic mistake of falling asleep without turning my phone off, and sure enough:
Brrring! Brrring!
It is precisely six o’clock in the morning.
“Mmmffff. What?”
“I got another one,” she says.
“Rruummpphh. Another what?”
“Number six of the orphan puns. After I finished
Great Expectations
, I started reading
Bleak House—
back when we were still trying to find the ring. And remember that clue we had with all the names? Esther Summerson and Mr. Guppy? Sophie, wake up! I can hear you snoring.”
“I do not snore.”
“Like a buzz saw. So I’m looking at this new clue, ‘One fewer than nine filled French pastries.’ Obviously, it’s eight something, right? But eight what? What is a French pastry with filling? An éclair! Eight éclairs.” Shetries again, a little louder, as if lack of volume is the problem. “Eight éclairs.”
I sit up in bed, trying to get my eyes to focus. “Eight éclairs. Right. Wait a minute. Who has eight éclairs?” Mmm … éclairs. Rich, gooey, chocolatey … must have them.
“Ada. Ada Clare. She’s an orphan character in
Bleak House
. Eight letters.”
“That’s great, Margaret. Now, do you actually have any éclairs?”
“I’ll be over in a few minutes. I want to catch Mr. Eliot at Perkatory first thing so that he can let us into the school. Bring your flashlight.”
Exactly
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