Read Online Queen of Babble by Meg Cabot - Free Book Online Page A

they all have lids. But it sure smells…a lot. The kitchen is tiny, more of a galley than an actual kitchen. There is a window at the end of it that looks out onto a bright, sunlit garden bursting with rose blossoms. Mrs. M looks like a rose herself, all pink-cheeked and shiny in jeans and a peasant top.
    Although the peasant top doesn’t appear to be from this season’s crop of them. In fact, it might actually be a peasant top from all the way back when peasant tops first made an appearance in serf-free society, way back in the days of Haight-Ashbury!
    Now I know why Andrew thinks it’s okay to go around in a break-dancing jacket. But while some vintage pieces—like Mrs. Marshall’s blouse—are great, other examples—such as Andrew’s jacket—aren’t. Clearly the Marshall family needs to be brought into the vintage-know.
    It’s a good thing they have me to help. I’ll have to be very sensitive to the fact that they don’t have a lot of money to spend on clothes. But I’m living proof you don’t have to spend a lot in order to look great. I got this sweater set on eBay for twenty dollars! And my stretch Levi’s are from Sears. And okay, they came from the juniors department…but how thrilled was I at being able tofit into something from the juniors department?
    Not that, in our weight-obsessed society, this is something to brag about. Why should women have to fit into child sizes in order to be considered desirable? That is both sick and depressing.
    Although…they’re nines! I fit into a nine! I never fit into a nine, even back when I was the age I was supposed to wear one.
    “That’s a very pretty top,” Mrs. M says about my sweater set.
    “Thanks,” I say. “I was just admiring yours!”
    She laughs when she hears this. “What, this old thing? It must be thirty years old if it’s a day. Very likely older.”
    “That’s neat,” I say. “I love old clothes.”
    This is so cool! Andrew’s mother and I are bonding. Maybe later we can go shopping, just Mrs. M and me. She probably doesn’t have many opportunities for girl talk, having three sons and all. Maybe we can get manis and pedis and go to Harrods for champagne! Wait—do people in England get manis and Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    pedis?
    “I just can’t tell you how great it is to meet you, after hearing about you for so long,” I say. I’m not trying to suck up, either. I really mean it. “I’m so excited to be here!”
    “How nice,” Mrs. Marshall says, looking genuinely pleased for me.
    I can see that her fingernails are square and strong-looking and completely without polish. Well, she probably doesn’t have time for frivolities like manicures, being a busy social worker. “And what do you look forward to seeing most here, then?”
    For some reason my mind flashes to the picture of Andrew’s naked ass. I can’t believe I thought of that!
    It must be the jet lag.
    I say, “Oh, Buckingham Palace, of course. And the British Museum.” I don’t mention that the only parts of the museum I’m interested in touring are the rooms where they keep the historical costumes. If they even have any rooms like that. I can see boring old art back home anytime I want. I’m moving to New York City after Andrew gets his master’s, anyway. He already agreed.
    “Oh, and the Tower of London.” Because I hear that’s where they keep all the fancy jewels. “And…oh, Jane Austen’s house.”
    “Oh, you’re a fan, are you?” Mrs. Marshall looks a bit surprised. Clearly none of Andrew’s previous girlfriends had such sophisticated taste in literature. “Which one’s your favorite, then?”
    “Oh, the A&E version with Colin Firth, of course,” I say. “Although the costumes in the Gwyneth Paltrow one were really nice, too.”
    Mrs. Marshall looks at me a bit oddly—maybe she can’t understand my Midwestern accent any easier than I can understand her British one. But I’m really