Melanie Martin Goes Dutch (14 page)

Dad said, “Honey, be realistic. We can't possibly do everything, especially with three kids.”

Mom said, “I won't have my children growing up thinking that Dutch Masters is just the name of a cigar company.”

Dad said, “Miranda, they already know better— and this is supposed to be a vacation, for God's sake.” (He said for God's sake, not for gosh sake.)

It was embarrassing that Mom and Dad were arguing in front of Cecily. Usually they behave better when other people are around. I whispered to Cecily that my parents always call each other sweetheart and honey when they argue, and Cecily smiled a tiny bit.

Matt started crying—I don't know whether it was because of Dad and Mom arguing or because of DogDog
being lost or because of burning the roof of his mouth or because he was about to pee in his pants and it was taking Dad forever to unlock the door.

Cecily, for once, didn't tell everyone not to worry.

The funny thing is, I kind of wish she had.

Dad finally got the door open and Matt ran to the bathroom and Cecily kicked off her sandals and said, “I'm going to shake a tower.” Dad, of course, laughed— ho ho ho like jolly old Saint Nick.

Then Matt started moaning about DogDog, and
Cecily lent him Snow Bear for the night
. Matt and Dad and Mom were all touched. I was nauseated.

Maybe I should never have invited Cecily on this trip.

But then, I didn't.

Mom did.

Maybe Mom thought that having Cecily here would
help us all get along. Wrong! (Or partly wrong anyway. Everyone else is mostly getting along.)

Or maybe Mom really just wanted to help Cecily's mom. I keep forgetting that Cecily's mom is very sick. I bet Cecily hasn't forgotten, though.

P.S. I wrote Smelly Mellie because I can't believe I'm still wearing these clothes. As for Dad…

P.P.S. Cecily tried to call home but her mom wasn't there, so she left another message. Right now Cecily is being sort of quiet. I wonder if she wishes she hadn't lent Snow Bear to Matt the Brat.

Dear Diary,

What woke me up today was Dad making phone calls about our luggage. He found out that our luggage was definitely on the plane with us. The luggage people's computers were down but now they are working again, so they said they would be able to trace our stuff.

“Then do it!” Dad said, sounding sort of mean. “We're losing patience.”

Cecily raised her eyebrows at me. Normally I might have raised my eyebrows back, but I didn't feel like agreeing with her that my dad was mean. It's one thing for me to notice, but another for her to.

When I didn't make a matching face, Cecily turned her head away.

Dad slammed down the phone and said, “What a bunch of nitwits.”

At least he didn't start cursing.

“What's a nitwit?” Matt asked.

Dad should probably have been a teacher, like
Mom, because as soon as he began explaining, he got in a better mood. “Nitwit means dumdum,” Dad said. “The word may come from when the children of Dutch settlers had to go to school even though they couldn't speak English. When teachers called on them, the poor kids kept saying “‘
Niet weten
’” (Neat Vay Ten), which is Dutch for ‘I don't know.’ Pretty soon, other kids started making fun of them and calling them nitwits.”

“That's not very nice,” Matt said.

“Children sometimes aren't,” Mom said as she walked into our room. I couldn't tell if she meant any of us. “Ready to go shopping?” she asked.

“Well, we're dressed!” Cecily said. Everyone laughed because we're always dressed. We go to sleep dressed and we wake up dressed.

Mom said, “Cecily, I'm impressed that your shirt still looks so clean. Can you imagine if Matt had worn white?”

Matt looked down and smiled as though three days of food stains and a big elbow hole are something to be proud of.

We went down to the canal house kitchen for breakfast. There were different kinds of cereal and I started remembering how Mrs. Hausner used to help Cecily and me make Froot Loops necklaces with licorice strings. It was a nice memory, but it made me feel sad. Now Mrs. Hausner is sick (and probably disappointed in me) and Cecily and I act like we're hardly even friends.

I poured myself a bowl of Rice Krispies. The box had Snap, Crackle, and Pop, and some Dutch words on it. Mom studied them as if she were doing a puzzle, then guessed that “
Een goed begin van de dag
” (Ayn Hooot Buh Hin Fun Duh Dahhgghh) might mean “A good beginning of the day.”

Today did begin okay. We got on our rental bicycles and peddled past the Floating Flower Market, which Mom said is usually bright with flowers. Since it's August, though, there were mostly just flower bulbs. Trillions of little brown bulbs that looked like baby onions but with pictures of flowers next to them. I thought it was amazing how something as pretty as a flower could come from something as plain as a bulb. Mom bought a
few and said, “Some bulbs make flowers that bloom and die and bloom again.”

Maybe my friendship with Cecily is like that. Maybe it's not really over.

Knowing Mom, she probably
said
the thing about bulbs so I would
think
the thing about friendship. Teachers can do stuff like that!

We bicycled to a department store on a street that doesn't allow cars, and we locked up our bicycles. Mom said we could each buy underwear, pajamas, a bathing suit, and a new outfit—courtesy of the luggage people.

Well, we started trying on clothes a mile a minute so Dad wouldn't get impatient. Cecily and I did not share a dressing room, but we did model all the clothes for each other. She looked great in almost everything and I looked not great in almost everything.

We are now all back in the canal house changing. I can't believe how happy I was just to change.

Mom too. She threw out Matt's old shirt and said she'd been afraid we'd be wearing the same clothes in every one of our vacation photos.

Even though I'm glad to be wearing a new top and new shorts, I'm mad because no one said anything about them. Mom complimented Cecily on her new clothes and went on and on about how pretty she looks in blue. Mom even said, “Royal blue is a wonderful color on you, Cecily.”

Every color is a wonderful color on Cecily.

Every color is a royal color on Princess Cecily.

Doesn't anyone think red is a wonderful color on Mediocre Melanie?

If I don't say something soon to Mom or Cecily, I might explode.

Anne Frank wrote, “I'm boiling with rage, and yet I mustn't show it.”

I can relate.

Dag. (That means bye.)

Dear Diary,

All aboard! Cecily and Matt are playing Uno, Dad is reading, and I am writing. Mom isn't with us because we split up for the afternoon. She's going to the history museum and modern art museum with a Culture Pass she bought that gets her in everywhere. Since today is beauuuutiful, Dad is taking us to visit a nearby city, Haarlem, and a nearby beach.

Dad said that New York's Harlem was named for Holland's Haarlem and was started by a peg-legged Dutch guy named Peter Stuyvesant. But Holland's Haarlem has two a's and New York's has only one. Mom added that New York's Harlem was a center of jazz and art and the home of the poet Langston Hughes. She and Dad always like to tack on extra facts.

Uh-oh, I can't believe we're already pulling into the Haarlem station!!