Free I Conquer Britain by Dyan Sheldon

to take off, but in Caroline’s kitchen I couldn’t hear so much as a clock ticking. You couldn’t even hear the rain. I sat at the table, waiting for the kettle to boil. Being adaptable, I always try to look on the bright side of things, but I was starting to think that it was going to be a really long summer. And just as dull as waiting in some podunk town in Arkansas for your car to be fixed. I started thinking about camping with Bachman, and the time I tripped and fell flat on my face but my pack was so heavy I couldn’t get up again. We’d laughed for at least an hour over that. When the kettle clicked off I realized that I must’ve zoned out for a couple of minutes because my eyes opened. And then I realized that it wasn’t the kettle I’d heard turning itself off, it was the front door opening because I heard it shut.
    Looking back on it, I know it doesn’t seem really likely, but at the time I thought it might be a burglar. Maybe it was because I was already bored, but I figured that was why Caroline left me all the numbers – because she knew The Terrifying Truth (that even though it looked about as dangerous as a glass of water Putney was actually the Crime Capital of London), only she was too polite to warn me right out. Until Jake got fed up with Sal and moved us to Brooklyn we lived in a trailer and travelled all over the States (that’s how I know about podunk towns with one mechanic who’s always fishing). The first thing you learn when you live like that is not to panic. I mean, what’s the point? Things are always going wrong. Tyres blow, engines set themselves on fire, you end up in Mexico by mistake. So I didn’t panic. I grabbed the cordless phone with one hand and the big frying pan that was on the stove with the other and peered around the door.
    A dude wearing a blue hoodie over a collarless white shirt was tiptoeing down the hallway. Just like a thief. Only I knew right away that he wasn’t a thief because of the set of house keys in his hand (and because he had a tan that hadn’t come from anywhere around Putney – not unless he’d used a lamp). It had to be the Czar. The image of being stuck in a town where the only things that happen are dawn, dusk and the weather vanished from my head. I’d been right. The Czar was exactly what I needed in my new life. A really cute, young guy who wore jeans and a silver Om symbol in one ear. He was my ticket out of the sleepy streets of the suburbs and into the dead cool London Kev told me about.
    The Czar didn’t see me. He was eyeing the top of the stairs like he thought the cops might be waiting for him up there. The cops or his mom.
    “Hi!” I put on the warm and friendly smile of the charming, really low-maintenance American teenager anyone in his right mind would want to hang out with. “You must be the Czar.”
    He was so surprised that he totally forgot that he was on a secret mission. He jumped and hit the table in the hall, and then he turned on me like I’d pushed him or something. “Where the bloody hell did you come from?”
    I held up the frying pan. “The kitchen.”
    He obviously didn’t inherit the genetic disorder that makes it virtually impossible for Caroline not to smile. “What’s that for? Were you going to hit me with it?”
    “Only if I had to.”
    This didn’t make him laugh like it was supposed to. His eyes darted back to the top of the stairs and he lowered his voice. “Where’s my mum?”
    “She’s gone to your gran’s.” I kept on beaming warmth, companionship and goodwill at him, even though I was pretty sure I was wasting my positive energy.
    “That’s all right, then.” He sounded relieved. “And it’s Xar,” he corrected. “As in Alexander. You must be the Yank.” He didn’t make this sound like a particularly good thing.
    “That’s right.” If I’d smiled any harder my lips would have split. “My name’s—”
    “It’s some sort of fruit, isn’t it?” He turned and started up