and said, “Now, there’s a good girl. Allow me to get
the door.” As soon as he walked ahead of her, arm outstretched for the
doorknob, Cleo bolted for the staircase, dragging her luggage behind her. The
journey was more difficult than she had anticipated, and the quartet of adults
in the foyer just watched in confusion as she bounced and dragged the suitcase
in short little bursts up the stairs. Unfortunately, the wheels kept getting
stuck on the edges of stairs, and she nearly dislocated her shoulder twice
while trying to un-wedge it from the vertical slats of the stair rail, after a
particularly vigorous bounce caused the bag to flip sideways and firmly embed
itself. Finally, panting and cussing, she reached the top and disappeared down
the hallway.
The Hat Man raised an eyebrow, “That’s quite a vocabulary
for such a young lady,” he said, turning to the rest of the party.
Helen actually blushed, but didn’t say anything. Darwin smirked and said, “Well, she takes after her mother, you know.”
They all looked up at the second floor landing. “Where
exactly do you suppose she is going?” asked the Hat Man.
“To her room, I guess,” said Vera. “Let’s give her some
time, and then I’ll go up and get her.”
Meanwhile, Cleo was in her bedroom, frantically trying to
force open a window. She had once read about a person escaping from kidnappers
by ripping bed sheets and tying them into a rope and climbing out the window.
Unfortunately, her arms were too sore from Santo’s training to rip her sheets
(higher thread counts are delicious to sleep on, but not the best choice for
the old rope/window escape trick). And, her windows seemed to be painted shut.
She was trying to decide which library was a safer bet for her next attempt,
when Vera knocked briefly on the door and walked in. Cleo was trapped.
“What are you doing, dear?” asked Vera, looking around at
the room, which at this point looked like a combination of natural disasters
had hit it. She picked up a hairbrush and started smoothing Cleo’s wavy brown
hair into a ponytail.
“Ummm...I’m packing?” said Cleo.
“But, I already packed for you, and you heard what the man
said—you can’t take much with you, and they’re going to screen it all when you
get there.”
“I know, but I want to be able to pack my
favorite…underwear,” she said. “And other stuff. I should be able to pick out
which pajamas go.”
Vera looked as though she was about to protest, and Cleo
went in for the kill: “And I wanted to say goodbye to Achillea,” she said,
allowing her chocolate brown eyes to fill with tears.
It was too much for Vera. She grabbed Cleo and pulled her
close for a bear hug, and then left the room.
Cleo unzipped the suitcase and dumped out the contents.
Plain white underwear. One lightweight nightgown and one set of flannel
pajamas. Sensible shoes. Toothbrush. Hairbrush. And not one single notebook.
This just would not do.
Working quickly, she used a penknife to slice around the
perimeter of the inner lining of the bag. She slid two unused composition books
into the gap and smoothed the lining down on top of them. A safety pin in each
corner held the fabric taut enough to disguise the illicit cargo. Then, she added
her most fun underwear (the sea life series was her favorite), and switched out
one pair of brown shoes for her red low top sneakers. In a moment of
inspiration, she grabbed a lightweight trench coat from her closet. She shoved
money into the inner pocket, candy into another, and one last special item into
one of the deep side pockets. Using her vanity mirror, she figured out how to
drape the coat over her arm without showing any bulges.
Solemnly, she approached the group at the bottom of the
stairs. She looked at her parents. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just wanted some
time with my sister’s memory.” She bowed her head in submission and added, “And
I
the door.” As soon as he walked ahead of her, arm outstretched for the
doorknob, Cleo bolted for the staircase, dragging her luggage behind her. The
journey was more difficult than she had anticipated, and the quartet of adults
in the foyer just watched in confusion as she bounced and dragged the suitcase
in short little bursts up the stairs. Unfortunately, the wheels kept getting
stuck on the edges of stairs, and she nearly dislocated her shoulder twice
while trying to un-wedge it from the vertical slats of the stair rail, after a
particularly vigorous bounce caused the bag to flip sideways and firmly embed
itself. Finally, panting and cussing, she reached the top and disappeared down
the hallway.
The Hat Man raised an eyebrow, “That’s quite a vocabulary
for such a young lady,” he said, turning to the rest of the party.
Helen actually blushed, but didn’t say anything. Darwin smirked and said, “Well, she takes after her mother, you know.”
They all looked up at the second floor landing. “Where
exactly do you suppose she is going?” asked the Hat Man.
“To her room, I guess,” said Vera. “Let’s give her some
time, and then I’ll go up and get her.”
Meanwhile, Cleo was in her bedroom, frantically trying to
force open a window. She had once read about a person escaping from kidnappers
by ripping bed sheets and tying them into a rope and climbing out the window.
Unfortunately, her arms were too sore from Santo’s training to rip her sheets
(higher thread counts are delicious to sleep on, but not the best choice for
the old rope/window escape trick). And, her windows seemed to be painted shut.
She was trying to decide which library was a safer bet for her next attempt,
when Vera knocked briefly on the door and walked in. Cleo was trapped.
“What are you doing, dear?” asked Vera, looking around at
the room, which at this point looked like a combination of natural disasters
had hit it. She picked up a hairbrush and started smoothing Cleo’s wavy brown
hair into a ponytail.
“Ummm...I’m packing?” said Cleo.
“But, I already packed for you, and you heard what the man
said—you can’t take much with you, and they’re going to screen it all when you
get there.”
“I know, but I want to be able to pack my
favorite…underwear,” she said. “And other stuff. I should be able to pick out
which pajamas go.”
Vera looked as though she was about to protest, and Cleo
went in for the kill: “And I wanted to say goodbye to Achillea,” she said,
allowing her chocolate brown eyes to fill with tears.
It was too much for Vera. She grabbed Cleo and pulled her
close for a bear hug, and then left the room.
Cleo unzipped the suitcase and dumped out the contents.
Plain white underwear. One lightweight nightgown and one set of flannel
pajamas. Sensible shoes. Toothbrush. Hairbrush. And not one single notebook.
This just would not do.
Working quickly, she used a penknife to slice around the
perimeter of the inner lining of the bag. She slid two unused composition books
into the gap and smoothed the lining down on top of them. A safety pin in each
corner held the fabric taut enough to disguise the illicit cargo. Then, she added
her most fun underwear (the sea life series was her favorite), and switched out
one pair of brown shoes for her red low top sneakers. In a moment of
inspiration, she grabbed a lightweight trench coat from her closet. She shoved
money into the inner pocket, candy into another, and one last special item into
one of the deep side pockets. Using her vanity mirror, she figured out how to
drape the coat over her arm without showing any bulges.
Solemnly, she approached the group at the bottom of the
stairs. She looked at her parents. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just wanted some
time with my sister’s memory.” She bowed her head in submission and added, “And
I
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