New York, New York! Read online

  “Whoa. Are you sure we’re still in New York?” I murmured.

  “Dweeb,” Claud murmured back.

  “It does seem like a different world,” agreed Mr. McGill.

  We really could have been in China. Or I guess we could have, since I haven’t been to China. Anyway, this is how I thought it might look.

  Around us were low buildings. The signs on some of them were in both English letters and Chinese characters. Others were only in Chinese.

  “Hey, look at that phone booth!” cried Jessi.

  We all turned to look. It was painted red and shaped like a pagoda.

  Mr. McGill led us around a corner, and we found ourselves on a narrow street with narrow sidewalks.

  “Cool!” exclaimed Claudia. (She actually sounded excited. She must have forgotten about McKenzie Clarke and the boxes.) “I bet there’s good shopping here.”

  We were standing by a tiny store. Crowded into the window were all sorts of treasures — fans, chopsticks, embroidered shoes, small toys. Nearby stood several racks of T-shirts as well as two racks of postcards.

  “Oh, we have to go in!” said Mary Anne.

  So we did. We bought tons of souvenirs. (I bought a fan for myself and a toy for each of my brothers and sisters.)

  When we left the store we walked through the tangle of streets. We passed markets and restaurants, the windows of which were actually aquariums with huge (weird) fish swimming through murky water. We passed people selling fireworks. We passed more of the shops like the one we’d bought souvenirs in. We began to yawn.

  “Dinnertime,” announced Stacey’s father, and he led us into a tiny restaurant with linoleum floors, hard plastic chairs, and tables with no cloths covering them. Almost no one was eating there.

  “I don’t think these empty tables are a very good sign, do you?” I whispered to Jessi. “Why isn’t anyone eating here?”

  “Because it’s a dive?” she suggested, making a face.

  But it wasn’t a dive. The food was fantastic and the people who waited on us were really nice. They didn’t speak much English and we didn’t speak any Chinese, but it turned out that the restaurant was run by two sisters and their husbands. Stacey tried to explain to them about the BSC. We ended up laughing, and our waiter gave us extra fortune cookies. My fortunes weren’t exactly fortunes. They were advice — on how to get ahead in the world and how to get along with people. (I slipped that second fortune onto Claudia’s plate. When she noticed it, she read it, glanced at me, and simply muttered, “Teacher’s pet.”)

  We had to hail three cabs in order to get everyone back to Laine’s and Stacey’s. I was extra glad that Claudia and I were staying at different apartments. However, I would have to face her the next morning.

  Tuesday morning, Stacey and Mary Anne headed for the Harringtons’ again, Claud and Mal went to art school, Laine went shopping with her mother, and Dawn barricaded herself in Mr. McGill’s apartment (for the third day in a row).

  “Are you going to stay with Dawn again?” Jessi asked me after breakfast.

  I shook my head. “I feel guilty, but I just can’t. I’ve spent two days with her. You know what she does over there now?”

  “What?”

  “She cleans the apartment while Mr. McGill is at his office. Did you notice how neat it was last night?”

  “Neater than it was on Saturday,” said Jessi.

  “Yeah. Mr. McGill had a nice, half-sloppy bachelor pad. Now Dawn is playing house-keeper. I bet Stacey’s father can’t even find most of his stuff. Dawn keeps organizing things.”

  “Poor Dawn.”

  “Poor Mr. McGill!”

  “So what are you going to do today?” Jessi wanted to know.

  “I’m not sure. How about you?”

  Jessi shrugged. “I kind of want to go to Central Park, but —”

  “Let’s go, then!” I exclaimed. “The weather’s beautiful.”

  So we left for the park. The last time I’d been there I was with Stacey, Mary Anne, Dawn, Claud — and a pack of children we were taking care of. Now I could wander through the park like a regular person. No stopping every five minutes to buy a soda, tie a shoe, or look for a bathroom.

  “Ooh,” said Jessi as we entered the park. “This is just like last night in Chinatown: I feel as if we’ve walked into another world.”

  “I know what you mean. A forest right in the middle of the city.”

  “It smells so good. What happened to the car exhaust?”

  I grinned. “I don’t know. But I’m glad it’s gone.”

  “Boy, look at all those dogs,” said Jessi.

  Everywhere, people were exercising their dogs. A woman in a jogging suit ran by with her rottweiler. An old man walked slowly by with a pair of ancient bassett hounds. A younger man, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, walked briskly holding a bouquet of leashes. At the other ends of the leashes were nine dogs, different breeds and sizes. (“I think he’s a professional dog walker,” I said to Jessi.) We also saw a couple out walking their tabby cat! The cat looked perfectly happy to be on a leash.

  “Oiny,” Jessi whispered, giggling.

  “What?”

  “Oiny. That’s something Daddy says. O-I-N-Y. It stands for ‘only in New York.’”

  I laughed, too.

  Jessi and I walked around for nearly two hours. We watched roller skaters weave in and out of tin cans on homemade obstacle courses. We saw people rowing boats on the pond. We saw a long line of people and found out they were waiting to get tickets to something called Shakespeare in the Park. They wanted to see the production so badly that they were going to wait all day. The show didn’t begin until the evening. We saw sunbathers and skateboarders and bike riders.

  Finally we grew tired.

  “Let’s get ice cream,” suggested Jessi.

  So we did. We found a stand and each bought a double-scoop cone. Then we headed back to Laine’s, licking our cones fast to keep the ice cream from dripping.

  We had reached a quieter section of the park, away from most of the activity, when I thought I heard a noise. I stopped in my tracks.

  “What is it?” asked Jessi, turning around.

  “Shh,” was my reply. “Listen.”

  We listened. And then I heard it again — a pitiful whining.

  “It’s coming from over there!” I pointed to some shrubs by the path. Then I sprinted toward them. (I dropped my cone.)

  “Be careful!” called Jessi.

  “I will.” Delicately, I parted the bushes. I knew that what I was doing could be dangerous. If a sick animal were hiding there, it could bite me. I should have been wearing gloves. But I wasn’t. When I peered into the leafy darkness, the only thing that happened was that the animal whined again.

  “It’s a dog!” I cried. “It’s little, but I don’t think it’s a puppy.”

  “Is it hurt?” asked Jessi.

  “Come here. Come here, boy,” I called softly.

  The dog crept forward. In the sunlight, I could see that it was dirty and scruffy, but it didn’t seem either sick or hurt. In fact, it spotted my ice cream cone, bounded over to it, and began to lick it happily.

  “He looks kind of like Louie,” I said to Jessi. “He must be part collie.” (Louie was this wonderful collie that was our family pet for years. He died not long after we moved into Watson’s house. We miss him a lot.)

  “Hey, boy. Where do you belong?” I asked the dog. I looked for his tags, but he wasn’t wearing a collar.

  “He must be lost. Or abandoned,” said Jessi.

  “That does it. I’m taking him home.”

  “To Laine’s?” asked Jessi.

  “Well, yes. First. But then I’ll bring him to Stoneybrook with me.”

  “Kristy …”

  “Don’t say a word!” I picked up the dog, threw out what was left of the cone, and marched back to the Dakota, Jessi following me. We were across the street from Laine’s building when something occurred to me. “I bet the dog
won’t be allowed in the Dakota,” I said. “Lots of apartment buildings don’t allow pets.”

  “What are you going to do?” Jessi wanted to know.

  “Sneak him in. You help me. Create a distraction so I can get him by the security guard. Faint or something.”

  “I am not going to faint,” said Jessi. “I’ll ask for directions.”

  Jessi was great. I have never heard anyone sound more confused. “Lincoln Center is west of here?” she repeated. “And south? Which way is west? … I’m a tourist.”

  When the guard turned his back to point out “west,” I ran by him, the dog safely in my arms. But, uh-oh. Now how was I going to get him by the Cummingses? I was in luck. Laine was at home, but her parents weren’t.

  As I ran the dog into the guest bedroom, Laine exclaimed, “You can’t keep a dog in here! He’s not allowed.”

  “Tell me about it,” I replied.

  “We’ll have to hide him.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. Let’s keep him in the guest bedroom. Your parents wouldn’t open the door to the room Jessi and Mal are staying in, would they?”

  “I guess not,” said Laine uncertainly.

  “Perfect.” I closed the door behind us. Laine and I looked at the dog, who looked eagerly at us. He wagged his tail. I think he smiled.

  “What are you going to do with him?” Laine asked.

  “Take him home. There are so many people and animals at my house that one more won’t matter.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ll call Mom at dinnertime…. Wait,” I said. “I just thought of something. I wonder what Jessi —”

  At that moment, Jessi entered the room. She looked very pleased with herself.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Jessi grinned. “That poor guard is so mixed up! I asked him for all these directions, then I told him I needed them for tomorrow and I walked inside.” (The guards knew who we were. They must have thought Jessi was totally ditsy. Oh, well. She had told him she was a tourist.)

  “Kristy,” Laine spoke up, “that dog is going to have to, um, piddle soon. Don’t you think we should put down newspapers for him? And get him some food and dishes and toys and stuff?”

  “Definitely.” I handed over the rest of my souvenir money to Jessi and Laine, who agreed to go shopping while I dog-sat.

  When they returned, we played with our new pet for awhile. Finally, I decided it was time for me to call home.

  Mom wasn’t there, but Watson was. I told him the story of the dog. “So can I keep him?” I asked.

  “Absolutely not,” replied Watson.

  Uh-oh.

  Stacey and I had planned a heavy schedule of activities for Tuesday. We just kept thinking of things to do. Then, while we were walking around, we found other things to do. That’s what I love about New York. Stuff is happening all the time. You never know what you’ll discover.

  “Okay,” said Stacey cheerfully as we ushered Alistaire and Rowena outside the Dakota on Tuesday morning. “We’re off to the Museum of Natural History.”

  “To see the dinosaurs!” added Rowena.

  “The dinosaur skeletons,” Alistaire corrected her. “Just bones, remember?”

  “Right. Just bones,” repeated Rowena.

  “There’s also a huge whale I think you’ll like,” I said.

  “A real one?” asked Rowena.

  “A model!” said Alistaire impatiently. “We’re going to a museum, not a zoo.”

  Rowena made a face at Alistaire. I was glad to see that. Sometimes children who are too polite and proper are scary.

  Before we reached the museum, though, we were distracted by a street fair.

  “Cool! Look at that!” exclaimed Stacey, pointing down a side street.

  I saw that two blocks had been roped off. Stalls and stands were set up along both sides of the street. A woman was selling balloons. Kids were walking around with Popsicles and cotton candy. A small Ferris wheel was operating at the end of the second block.

  “May we go to the fair? Please?” cried Alistaire.

  “Please?” added Rowena.

  Stacey and I looked at each other. “Why not?” I said.

  “Oh, thank you!” exclaimed the children.

  As usual, the Harringtons had given Stacey and me plenty of spending money. The four of us roamed the stalls, examining the “rummage” items for sale. (Rowena wanted to buy a music box, but it cost more than a hundred dollars. “It’s a genuine antique,” a man assured us, but I knew better than to buy a hundred-dollar toy without the Harringtons’ permission.)

  “I’m thirsty,” Alistaire announced, so we stood on a line to buy lemonade.

  Nearby was a man wearing sunglasses and a rain hat. He was looking around the fair. Lots of families had come to the fair, but plenty of people had come alone, too. (I didn’t think I would enjoy a fair alone.)

  When we had paid for our lemonades (and they were expensive, as lemonades go) we walked around some more. Stacey bought balloons for the children. “You can’t take them into the museum, though,” she warned them.

  “That’s all right! That’s all right!” said Rowena. “We’ll tie them to something outside and get them when we’re done.”

  Alistaire and Rowena finished their drinks. They rode the Ferris wheel. (The man in the hat and sunglasses watched them from a distance, smiling. I smiled, too. The kids were shrieking with delight.)

  After their ride, we left the fair.

  “How do you like my pet dog?” Rowena asked as the four of us walked slowly toward the museum.

  “Your what?” I said. I was holding one of her hands. In her other hand was her balloon. It bobbed along beside us.

  “My pet dog,” Rowena said again. She pointed to the balloon. “See him? He’s on his leash. His name is … Travis. Travis Balloon.”

  “My balloon is a cat,” said Alistaire. “Fat Cat. He likes to walk on his leash.”

  “Very nice,” I pronounced.

  “They’re not really animals,” Rowena whispered to me. “Just make-believe.”

  “Oh,” I whispered back. “Thank you.”

  Near the museum, Stacey and I spotted a bicycle rack. “We’ll tie your … pets to the rack,” said Stacey.

  “But I think you should know,” I added, “that your pets might be gone by the time we get back here.”

  “Why?” asked Alistaire.

  Why? Because sometimes things are stolen. But how could I explain that to a seven-year-old and a four-year-old? Luckily I didn’t have to.

  “Because pets run away,” Rowena informed her brother.

  “Oh. Right.”

  Whew.

  Inside the museum, Stacey, Alistaire, Rowena, and I headed directly for the dinosaurs. Alistaire was awed. “Look at all those skeletons,” he said reverently. “How brilliant.”

  “Bones, bones, bones,” sang Rowena. “Is that what we look like inside?”

  “No, silly!” cried Alistaire, but I wasn’t paying much attention to him. I had just turned around and spotted a man in sunglasses and a rain hat ambling around the doorway to the room we had entered.

  “What is that? A new style?” I said aloud.

  “Huh?” replied Stacey.

  “Every other man I’ve seen today is wearing a rain hat and a pair of sunglasses. I wonder why this guy is wearing sunglasses indoors.”

  Stacey shrugged. “Hey, this is New York. Anything goes.”

  We poked around the museum until the kids grew bored. Then we rode an elevator to the bottom floor and looked around the gift shop. Alistaire bought a T-shirt with a picture of a stegosaurus on the front. Rowena bought … That’s funny. I can’t remember what she bought. Maybe that’s because it was in the gift shop that I first felt that creepy sensation of being watched. I looked all around the shop. The only person staring at me was a baby riding in a pack on his mother’s back. When I looked at him, he smiled and drooled. The creepy feeling was not coming from the baby — b
ut it didn’t go away.

  We ate a quick lunch in the fast-food restaurant near the shop. Then we left the museum. Stacey whispered to me, “Let’s go right to the library without passing the bicycle rack. Maybe the kids will forget about their balloons.”

  At almost the same time, Rowena said, “Let’s see if our pets are still here.”

  Inwardly, I groaned. Stacey and I had no choice but to go back to the bike rack.

  From quite a distance, Alistaire let out a yell. “There they are!”

  Stacey and I peered ahead. Sure enough, two balloons were blowing back and forth in the light breeze.

  “Well, I’m surprised,” said Stacey.

  “Me, too,” I replied. “These balloons are red and blue. They were red and green when we left. Rowena wanted a green balloon, remember?”

  “I guess,” said Stacey slowly.

  By then, the kids had untied the balloons and helped each other fasten them to their wrists. Rowena didn’t say a thing about the color of her balloon.

  Maybe I was losing my mind.

  Our next stop was a nearby branch of the public library. Stacey had a New York Public Library card and thought the children might have fun choosing books to read during their stay in the city. Then I discovered that a storytelling hour was to be held in the children’s room that afternoon. We had plenty of time to look for books before the program began.

  When we reached the library, we stood outside and I wondered what to do about the balloons. This time, Alistaire saved me. “Let’s let our pets go, Rowena,” he said. “They want their freedom.”

  So the children released the balloons and watched them float above the branches of a tree and then behind a tall building.

  In the library, the kids looked solemnly through the shelves of children’s books, and each chose four, which Stacey checked out for them. She waited on line, standing just two places ahead of another man wearing sunglasses and a rain hat. I shivered — and realized I’d had that feeling of being watched while Rowena and Alistaire browsed through the books.

  The weirdest thing, though, was that the man came to hear the storyteller, even though he was alone.

  “You don’t think that’s strange?” I asked Stacey. “Do you see any other adults without children in this room?”