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

trying to enunciate clearly. Then I realize what she means and say, “Oh, you mean of thebooks ? I don’t know. They’re all so good.” Except there aren’t nearly enough descriptions of what the characters are wearing.
    Mrs. Marshall laughs and asks, “Would you like to help yourself to some tea? I’m certain you must be parched after your trip.”
    What I’d really like, of course, is a diet Coke. But when I ask if the Marshalls have any, Mrs. Marshall gives me another odd look and says she’ll have to pick some up at “the market.”
    “Oh no,” I say, mortified. “Really, it’s all right. I’ll just have some tea.”
    Mrs. Marshall looks relieved. “Oh, good,” she says. “Because I don’t like the thought of your putting all those nasty, unnatural chemicals into your body. They can’t be good for you.”
    I smile at her, even though I have no idea what she’s talking about. Diet Coke does not contain nasty chemicals. It contains lovely and delicious carbonation, caffeine, and aspartame. What’s unnatural about that?
    But I’m in England now, so I will do as the English do. I pour myself some tea from the ceramic pot sitting by the electric kettle and, at Mrs. M’s urging, put milk in it, because that is apparently how British people drink it, instead of with honey or lemon.

    I’m surprised to discover that it’s actually quite good that way. Which I mention out loud.
    “What’s good?” A sandy-haired boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, wearing a dark-rinse jean jacket with acid-washed jeans (ouch—although beneath the jacket he’s got on a Killers T-shirt, which redeems him a bit), has come into the kitchen, then freezes when he sees me.
    “Who’sthat ?” he wants to know.
    “What do you mean, who’s that?” Mrs. M demands tartly. “This is Liz, your brother Andy’s girlfriend from America—”
    “Oh, c’mon, Mum,” Alex says, grinning. “What do I look like? That’s not her. She’s not—”
    “Alex, this is Liz,” Mrs. M interrupts even more tartly. She doesn’t look as much like a rose now. Or I guess she does, just one whose thorns are showing. “Say hello to her properly, please.”
    Alex, looking sheepish, sticks his right hand out. I shake it.
    “Sorry,” he says. “Pleased to meet you. It’s just that Andy said—”
    “Alex, please take this out to the table,” Mrs. M says, shoving a handful of knives and forks at her youngest son. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”
    “Breakfast? It’s nearly time for lunch, isn’t it?”
    “Well, Liz hasn’t had breakfast yet, so that’s what we’re having.”
    Alex takes the silverware from his mother and goes out into the dining room. Geronimo, which is what they named their collie—isn’t that the cutest?—who had been pressing against the side of my legs the whole time I’d been sitting down, trails after him, apparently in hopes of coming across a stray piece of food.
    “Do you have any brothers, Liz?” Mrs. M asks me, all prickliness gone now that her son has left the room.
    “No,” I say. “Just two older sisters.”
    “Your mother was very fortunate,” Mrs. M says. “Boys are quite a handful.” Then she turns off the oven and calls, “Alex, tell your dad breakfast is ready. Give a shout to Alistair as well.”
    Andrew, Alistair, and Alexander. I love the names Andrew’s parents picked out for their three boys!
    How cute to give them allA names…just like Paul Anka did, only he had daughters—Alexandra, Amanda, Alicia, Anthea, and Amelia.
    And how cute that they all call me Liz and not Lizzie. Nobody ever calls me Liz. Nobody except Andrew, of course. Not that I ever told him to. He just…does.
    “Well,” Mrs. Marshall says, smiling at me. “Why don’t you have a seat, Liz? Then we can eat.”
    “Let me help you bring things to the table,” I say, sliding down from my stool.

    But Mrs. Marshall shoos me out of the kitchen, saying she doesn’t need any help. I go into the dining