Dream Girl by Lauren Mechling

Author:Lauren Mechling
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780375849053
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2008-07-22T04:00:00+00:00

{ 16 }

The Worst Kind of Magic

Mom and I both had Friday flights, and we both waited until early Friday morning to pack. Watching Mom get ready for Florida was a master class in economy. She filled her Day-Glo suitcase with four days’ worth of clothes and a travel-sized box of laundry detergent—even though she was raised by Kiki, she hates wasting money on hotel laundry services. My packing method for my two-night trip was a bit more festive: I brought enough to allow for three daily changes, plus an emergency clothing supply to last through the unlikely but possible event of a thirty-day hostage situation.

That’s not to say I was completely on the ball when I got ready. I forgot to deal with my chipped toenails, and more importantly, I never got around to telling Becca that I don’t know how to ski. I kept meaning to, but after listening to her rhapsodize about the space-age gondolas or the thrill of careening down Aspen Mountain at a million miles an hour, it began to feel too late, and I tried to convince myself that it would be less jarring for everyone if I waited until we got there to tell Becca.

Once we touched down late Friday night, I couldn’t get any alone time with my friend, and I didn’t want to announce my handicap to the entire Shuttleworth clan. There were seven of us—Becca, Andy, the Shuttleworth parents and grandparents, and yours truly. At the airport, we stuck together in a tight cluster, only to fan out when a fleet of town cars picked us up and ferried us to the hotel.

We were staying at an enormous two-winged guesthouse at the base of Aspen Mountain, with stone walls and red shutters. I felt dizzy when we got there—and not just from altitude sickness. The lobby was extraordinary. A few guests crowded around a fireplace; others were taking catnaps on oversized leather couches. The windows overlooked a steaming hot outdoor pool, just beyond which stood the snowy mountain.

“I’ll be right back.” Becca ran off.

“Where are you—” I started, but something heavy landed on my shoulder.

“I’m so tired.” Andy was resting his face on my collar. “If I fell asleep here, would you mind?”

“Um…be my guest.” I stood stock-still, praying that he wouldn’t be able to detect my galloping heart.

“Andy!” His mother scolded him for “bothering our nice guest” and pried him away from me before Becca returned from wherever she’d run off to.

Everyone seemed delighted with the hotel except Becca’s dad. He’d been in a bad mood since we’d left New York, and he’d spent the entire plane ride tapping the side of his shoe, his mouth set in a frown.

“How about dinner already?” he asked, his first words all day. “I’m tired of waiting around.”

Becca’s grandmother Dixie looked slightly shocked, then decided to smooth over her son’s prickly mood with her Southern charm. “Well, you know I’m always up for a good prime rib,” she purred.

The hotel’s welcome ritual was as beautifully choreographed as a Christmastime ballet.

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