Free Queen of Babble by Meg Cabot Page A

endorsement. “I’m Lizzie. Nice to meet you.”
    Alistair stares at me for a minute. Then he bursts out laughing.
    “Right!” he says. “Come off it, Mum. What kind of joke is this supposed to be, anyway?”
    “It’s not a joke at all, Alistair,” Mr. Marshall says in a cold voice.
    “But,” Alistair bleats, “she can’t be Liz! Andy said Liz is a fatty!”

    Little is known about costume from the period of the second century until well into the 700s, thanks to barbarian invasions by the Goths, Visigoths, Ostrogoths, Huns, and Franks. We do know, thanks to these invasions, that few people had time to think about fashion, as they were busy fleeing for their lives.
    It isn’t until Charlemagne came to rule in 800 that we have any sort of detailed description of wardrobe at the time, which included cross-gartered trousers that came to be known as braies, or breeches, that garment so well beloved by historical romance authors around the world.
    History of Fashion
    SENIOR THESIS BY ELIZABETH NICHOLS
    6

    But speak the truth, and all nature and all spirits help you with unexpected furtherance. Speak the truth, and all things alive or brute are vouchers, and the very roots of the grass underground there do seem to stir and move to bear you witness.
    —Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882),
    U.S. essayist, poet, and philosopher
    It takes five rings before Shari answers. For a minute I’m worried she won’t pick up at all. What if she’s asleep? I know it’s only nine o’clock after all, Europe time, but what if she hasn’t adjusted to the time difference as well as I have? Even though she’s been over here longer. She was supposed to have gotten to Paris two days ago, stayed one night in a hotel there, then traveled down to the château the next day.
    But then again, she’s Shari—great at school stuff, not so good at everyday life stuff. She’s dropped her cell phone in the toilet more times than I can count. Who knows if I’ll even get through to her?
    Then, to my relief, she finally picks up. And it’s clear I haven’t wakened her—because there is music blaring in the background. A song in which the refrain,Vamos a la playa, plays over and over, to a Latin beat.
    “Liz-ZIE!” Shari yells into the phone. “Is that YOOOOOU?”
    Oh yes. She’s drunk.
    “How are yooooouuuuu?” she wants to know. “How’s London? How’s hot, hot, hot Andrew? How’s his aaaaaaaasssssssssss?”
    “Shari,” I say in a low voice. I don’t want the Marshalls to hear me, so I’m running the water in the bathtub. I’m not wasting it. I really do plan to take a bath. In a minute. “Things are weird here. Really weird. I need to talk to someone normal for a minute.”
    “Wait, let me see if I can find Chaz,” Shari says. Then she cackles. “Just kidding! Oh my God, Lizzie, you should see this place. You’d die. It’s likeUnder the Tuscan Sun andValmont combined. Luke’s house is HUGE. HUGE. It has a name—Mirac. It has its own VINEYARD. Lizzie, they make their own champagne. THEY MAKE IT THEMSELVES.”
    “That’s great,” I say. “Shari, I think Andrew told his brothers I was fat.”
    Shari is silent for a moment. I am urged once again toVamos a la playa . Then Shari explodes.
    “He fucking said that? He fucking said you were fat? Stay where you are. Stay right where you fucking are. I’m getting on the Chunnel train thingie and I’m coming over there and I’m going to cut his balls off—”
    “Shari,” I say. She is yelling so loudly I’m worried the Marshalls might hear her. Through the closed door. Over the TV and the running water. “Shari, wait, that isn’t what I meant. I mean, I don’tknow what he said. Things are just really weird. I got here, and the very first thing, Andrew took off for work. Which was okay. I mean it was fine. Because the truth is”—I can feel the tears coming. Oh, great—“Andrew isn’t working with children. He’s a waiter. He works from eleven in the morning