Free Stacey's Choice by Ann M. Martin

say, boo. Double boo. This was the one day I couldn't go with Sam, because of stupid old New York.
     
    "Oh." Sam looked crestfallen.
     
    "I'm going to New York to see my dad," I explained.
     
    "I thought your mom was sick." "She is, but . . . oh, never mind. It's too hard to explain. I'll be back tomorrow," I added hopefully.
     
    But all Sam said was, "Well, have fun. See you around." Darn, darn, DARN.
     
    "Stacey!" This time I recognized Mrs. Pike's voice. She was calling to me from the parking lot. I waved sadly to Sam, then ran to the Pikes' car, where I nearly crashed into Mal and Jessi who were running from another direction. They were coming along for the ride to' the station. Mrs. Pike leaned over and opened the front door for me.
     
    "Thank you for picking me up," I said breathlessly as Mal and Jessi climbed into the backseat with Claire. "Is my suitcase here?" "I have it!" said Claire proudly. It was sitting in her lap. My suitcase was actually just an overnight bag. Basically all I had ended up packing was my new outfit, a nightgown, and clean underwear. I was traveling light. I planned to wear the same outfit tomorrow that I was wearing now.
     
    "Thanks, Claire," I replied. I turned to Mrs. Pike. "How's Mom?" "Just fine, honey. Nothing to worry about. Mrs. Arnold is with her, and she plans to stay until dinnertime. Then Mrs. Braddock will take over." "Okay." At the station, everyone piled out of the car. Mal, Jessi, and Claire pretended they were seeing me off on a long trip.
     
    "Don't forget to write!" called Jessi.
     
    "I'll think of you every day!" called Mal.
     
    "Have fun in Spain!" called Claire.
     
    Mrs. Pike rolled her eyes.
     
    The ride to New York was long enough to allow me to finish my math homework and start an English assignment. I was halfway into the English assignment when I realized the train wasn't moving. I looked at my watch. Uh-oh.
     
    I don't know what caused the train delay, but we rolled into Grand Central Station in New York City a full half an hour late.
     
    "Stacey!" exclaimed Dad when we found each other at the information booth. "I thought you'd never get here." I groaned. "Me, too. We just sat on the tracks - right outside Grand Central - for half an hour." Dad gave me a bear hug. Then he said, "We better get a move-on." (I have never known just what a "move-on" is.) "We're cutting this close." My father and I hurried out of the station and caught a cab on 42nd Street. Unfortunately, it was now rush hour, so the ride to Dad's apartment that should have taken about twelve minutes took nearly forty-five. I know Dad wanted to grumble to our cab driver, but he didn't, because the driver had posted this really defensive sign on the back of his seat, right in front of Dad's knees. It read: Please be aware that: - I know where I am going.
     
    - I know how to drive.
     
    - I have a complete grasp of the English language.
     
    I pointed to the sign and giggled, which made Dad smile, but didn't get us to his apartment any faster.
     
    When we did get there, we raced inside and I hurried to my bedroom. (Well, Dad and I call it my bedroom, but somehow it doesn't feel like mine. I don't stay in it often enough. It feels like a motel room.) "What time does the dinner start?" I called to Dad.
     
    "We're supposed to be there at six-thirty." "Six-thirty? Yikes!" I yelped as I opened my overnight bag.
     
    "I know. We're running late. We didn't allow time for delays." I paused. "Urn, did we allow time for ironing?" "What?" said Dad, poking his head into my room.
     
    "Well, it's just that I had to do my packing yesterday, and now my outfit is sort of smushed. I need to iron it. Badly." Dad sighed. He did not say a word, but he set up the ironing board and plugged in the iron for me.
     
    I think the extra delay was worth it. When I finally emerged from my