Author's Note: I want to thank everyone who has reviewed this story. A lot of time and effort goes into each chapter and there's no better reward than your wonderful reviews. I love writing Amsterdam! and it doesn't look like it'll end anytime soon. I'd like to point out that I currently have ninety-two reviews. I would love to hit a hundred with this chapter. So, please, review! Special thanks to emerald-doll for her continued support, encouragement, and insistence that my random, off-the-wall ideas aren't nearly as strange (or morally bankrupt) as I suspect them to be.

Also, I've not yet decided whose chapter is next. I'd like to know who everyone is most anxious to hear from. Please let me know by review, e-mail, or AIM. Your input is important to me and most of my storylines are quite flexible.

Thank you!

Dear Lennie and Hannie,

Here's the post card I promissed. Thanx for wattering my plants. I rilly appreceate it. I won't forget those wooden shoes.

Cya later,

Tiffany K.

P.S. Amsterdamn is grate.

I know I am lucky to live in such a nice neighborhood with such nice neighbors. Mom said we couldn't trust Dad to remember to water my plants or walk and feed Astrid. I know this is true, which is why I asked Linny and Hannie Papadakis to look after my garden. Shannon also knows this is true, which is why David Michael Thomas had the job of walking and feeding Astrid. It's good to live in a neighborhood where you can trust people, even if you can't trust your own father.

I liked Amsterdam and I liked hanging out with Shannon and her friends. Except when they treated me like a baby, which didn't seem fair since I am the same age as Mallory and Jessi. I hadn't done anything stupid like ruining my hair, like Jessi. And, I was mature enough to have outgrown wanting to pretend to be a horse. Eleven is a very unfair age, especially with perfect Shannon for a sister.

That's why I wanted to go clubbing with them, to prove I'm just as grown up as they are. Maybe then I'd get a little respect. Maybe then they'd invite me to one of their nightly emergency baby-sitting meetings.

Besides, I didn't want to see some lame Cam Geary movie. Teenagers can't be dentists. Teenagers wouldn't want to be dentists. What a dumb movie. Plus, I was kind of mad at Mary Anne for convincing me to go to dinner with her weird stepsister and her weird stepsister's psycho friends. I thought we were going to a real restaurant. Instead, we stood around an organic fruit stand eating out of wood crates. Then, some girl walked passed wearing a white leather skirt. Dawn's friends went berserk and jumped the girl, trying to pull the skirt off. The zipper was stuck, so there was just a bunch of screaming and thrashing. Eventually, a riot broke out and someone threw Mary Anne into a cart of red pears. A shopkeeper turned a hose on us, so we ran away. Since Dawn's friends don't believe in gasoline powered transportation we had to walk home. The only good thing about that was the sun dried our hair.

So, I was a little irked at Mary Anne and not thrilled about spending the rest of the evening with her.

Sometimes I wonder how Shannon managed to get a best friend as cool as Greer. I like Greer, even though she only said I could go to the club because she thought I wouldn't get in. Shannon could stand to be a little more like Greer. Shannon's so uptight.

I didn't have anything appropriate for clubbing. I considered wearing this silky snake skin-print pajama top, but I hadn't washed it since Mallory borrowed it a couple days before. Mallory's mom needs to buy her some deodorant. So, I raided Stacey's stuff. (No one had seen Stacey for days and earlier I saw Greer rifling through her suitcases, so I figured everything was fair game).

Stacey has an amazing wardrobe. Like, the best I've ever seen. I found a pair of tight designer jeans which I paired with a dark violet satin bustier. After snapping the hooks in place, I admired myself in the mirror. It almost looked like an actual top and I almost totally filled it out. (I already wear a bra, which freaked out Mallory and Jessi. They were like, "Is that a real bra?" and I was like, "No, it's a fake one, stupidheads"). Over the bustier, I put on a black blazer. I completed the outfit with a pair of glittery violet three-inch heels. That's the highest I've ever practiced walking in. I know I'm already pretty - tall and blonde with high cheekbones - but that outfit made me look ultra-sophisticated and glamorous.

Shannon told me the violet glitter eyeshadow and lipstick was a mistake. I was, like, "Shut up, look at your make up." She was so jealous. I made sure to ring my eyes with plenty of black eyeliner. Super slutty-looking girls with lots of eye make up always get into clubs. I saw it on t.v.

I was right because the bouncer waved me right in. He even winked! Shannon, Greer, and that totally-not-Amish boy didn't get waved in. Shannon about dropped dead right there. Served her right for being so high and mighty.

I tried not to gloat since Claudia didn't get into the club. In a way, I felt bad for her. In another way, I was relieved. Her outfit was really tacky. It was her own fault anyway. Not only does she not look anything like her sister, her sister isn't even the legal age. Claudia and I both have trouble in school and share the unfair burden of perfect older sisters. But, gee wiz, at least I have common sense.

Hotel Deconstruction was so cool. Strobe lights flashing, techno music pounding, and a couple hundred people crammed onto the dance floor. It was actually smaller than I expected, but that didn't matter. It was a club and I was there.

First thing, Greer and I wanted to dance. Alan wanted to eat. Shannon complained of a headache. Not reaching any compromises standing in the doorway, we stepped aside to survey the scene.

"Omigawsh! Isn't that Cam Geary?" Greer shrieked.

"Where?" Shannon and I shouted.

"Out on the dance floor! In the khaki shorts!"

"Wow! That is Cam Geary!" Shannon agreed. She placed a hand to her forehead and swooned.

"Are you kidding?" demanded Alan. "Who cares about that cheesehead? His movies blow chunks."

"Cam is not a cheesehead," snapped Greer. "Now, who's going to talk to him?'

"You want to talk to him? He wore khaki shorts and Birkenstocks to a nightclub! He's flapping his arms like a chicken! You want to be seen with that?"

Shannon and Greer nudged each other. "Ooh," teased Shannon. "Someone's jealous." She giggled.

"Jealousy's an awfully strong emotion for someone you just met on the tram," I commented.

That wiped the smirks off their faces. Shannon's eyes shifted, nervously. Ha! I folded my arms and lifted my nose in the air, smiling smugly. I knew they'd been hiding something in the attic. It was good to finally know what.

I broke the awkward (and totally deserved) silence. "I guess I'll just go talk to Cam," I told them.

"You don't even like Cam Geary," snorted Shannon.

I shrugged and walked away. I tried to strut like the models on t.v. but it's hard to swing hips you don't really have. Maybe I'll get some next year. I swung my shoulders instead. Stacey's heels were a bit more cumbersome than anticipated, but I managed to walk in a (mostly) straight line.

When I reached Cam I glanced back at Shannon, Greer, and Alan. Shannon and Greer had their arms folded with expressions of doubt spread across their faces. Shannon tapped her foot impatiently. Well, they didn't think I'd get into Hotel Deconstruction either.

I tapped Cam on the shoulder. "Are you Cam Geary?" I shouted over the music.

He gave me a lopsided grin. "You're the second pretty lady to ask me that tonight. I cannot tell a lie. I'm not Cam Geary. But, if tonight's any indication of the sexy sirens he attracts, then I wish I was,"

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. This was just some yokel with a lame accent. I would not admit defeat so easily.

"Wanna dance?" I asked him.

"My pleasure, ma'am,"

I turned and flashed Shannon and Greer a smile and the thumbs up sign. Let them think I was dancing with Cam Geary. Shannon and Greer screamed. They think I'm immature?

"I'm Stacey McGill," I told him. It's important to remember who you're supposed to be. I guess Claudia never saw that episode of Just the Ten of Us.

"Stephen Montalbano," he said, hopping on one foot and flapping his arms. He turned and shook his butt at me.

What a freak. I needed to lose this moron fast. I checked for a quick escape. Shannon and Greer were dancing together while Alan breakdanced beside them. Or, he tried to breakdance. His fedora kept falling off.

"Are you staying at the youth hostel?" Stephen asked.

"Nope,"

"Were you ever a girl scout?"

"Nope,"

Stephen said something else, but the techno drowned him out. Whatever he said, it included a lot of gesturing and possibly the word "cookies". When he was done, he smiled, expectantly. I smiled politely and walked away. Yep. I just walked away. Later, I'd tell everyone how I dissed Cam Geary at a nightclub.

I must have drank too much water from the hose at the fruit stand because I desperately needed a bathroom. I pushed through the crowd until I found one tucked away in a dark corner. A group of girls were just staggering out, laughing hysterically. Surprisingly, there wasn't a line. I strolled right in.

The first thing I heard upon entering the bathroom was a soft whimpering. The first thing I saw was Claudia Kishi hanging out the window. Or, would that be in the window?

"Claudia?"

She raised her head and sniffled. I gasped. Someone had drawn all over her face with orange lipstick. Whoever did it must have been French because chienne was scrawled across Claudia's forehead. Now, I may have repeated first year french, barely squeaking by with a "D" on the second try, but even I recognized chienne as the feminine spelling of "dog". I also recognized the word's alternative meaning.

"Who did this to you?" I asked.

"I don't know!" Claudia wailed. "I've been stuck here for half an hour! The battery pack Janine installed in my shorts won't fit through the window!"

"Why don't you just take them off?"

Claudia stared blankly at me. "Oh. Well. I suppose that's an idea,"

"Can you slide back out to take them off?"

"No. The guys I paid to hoist me up already left,"

I sighed. "Maybe if I pull hard...hold out your arms,"

I grabbed Claudia's wrists and pulled. And pulled. And pulled. I put one foot against the wall for leverage and pulled some more.

"Suck it in, Claudia," I grunted.

"I don't have anything to suck in," she protested.

"Try anyway,"

Claudia took a deep breath. I felt her hips budge. I mustered my remaining strength for one last tug. I breathed deeply and pulled with all my might. Unfortunately, my heels slipped on the tile and slid out beneath me. I didn't let go of Claudia though. As my legs flew into painful splits, I heard Claudia's panicked screams.

Then, she landed on me.

"Tiffany, you've saved me!" she shrieked.

I groaned.

Claudia jumped to her feet. "I'm going to brush myself off, get out there, and show all of Amsterdam that you can't keep the U.S. down! Various girls may have stolen my pinwheel, ripped the tinsel from my hair, and groped my breasts inappropriately, but do I care? No! I won't even wash this hideous orange lipstick off my face. Claudia Kishi can take a joke,"

And, with that, she straightened her shorts and marched out before I could mention that her right nipple was peeking out her bra.

I propped myself up on my elbows and groaned again. This night was not turning out as expected. Hopefully, Claudia learned a lesson about attempting to climb through windows with less than one foot of clearance. Probably not. This was, after all, Claudia.

I struggled to my feet, brushed off my jeans, and shook out the blazer. Finally, I made it into the stall. Talk about well-deserved relief. As I was buttoning my jeans and giving the blazer one last shake, I heard the bathroom door open. Quickly, the bathroom filled with laughter and a loud voice speaking very fast in a foreign language. The voice went into the stall next to mine. Another girl stood outside the stalls. I peered over the top of the stall door and gasped. I could hardly believe my eyes. I flung open the stall door and stumbled out, tripping over my heels.

"Stacey!" I cried.

Stacey whirled around, shock flooding her face. It's amazing I even recognized her. She didn't look like the same Stacey from a few days ago. She was dressed in a hot pink tube dress and matching thigh high boots. Her eyes were ringed with dark pink eyeliner, giving the illusion that she'd recently been crying. Maybe she had been. Behind all that make up, her eyes appeared worried and sad. Yes, I was definitely facing a new Stacey, one completely different from the girl who left Stoneybrook.

We stared at one another. I didn't know what to say. Where had she been? How could she not realize how concerned some of us were? There was so much to ask, but we weren't friends. I barely even knew her. It didn't seem right for me to be the one to discover her.

"We thought you were dead," I blurted out. Hey, I'm only eleven. Eloquence is totally not my thing. "Or sold into white slavery." I learned all about white slavery from a rerun of Scarecrow and Mrs. King.

"There's no such thing as white slavery," scoffed Stacey.

"Gerhild says it happens all the time in Amsterdam,"

Stacey wrinkled her nose. "Gerhild?"

The stall door opened and out stepped Stacey's companion, a walking skeleton with masses of unruly curly dark hair.

"Oh, this is Daniela," Stacey said. "She's from Italy. She doesn't really speak English." Stacey raised her voice and gestured to me. "Daniela, this is Tiffany."

Daniela glanced from me to Stacey, then went to the sink to wash her hands. I noticed she watched us in the mirror.

"Stacey, where have you been?" I demanded.

Stacey averted her eyes. "Oh...I met some...people. I'm staying with them. Didn't Jessi tell you?"

"Jessi? No,"

"I came by the house yesterday to get a few things. I told Jessi not to worry about me. What did she do to her hair?"

"I can't believe you just disappeared like that! That's, like, so irresponsible, Stacey. No one knew - "

"Are you wearing my clothes?" she interrupted.

"Well, I thought you were dead,"

Before she could reply, Daniela grabbed Stacey's arm and began speaking earnestly in Italian.

"I have to go, Tiffany. My boyfriend's waiting for us,"

Oh, so this was about a boy.

"I'll come by in a few days," promised Stacey. "My boyfriend wants me around, that's all. You'll understand when you're older, sophisticated, and in love,"

I watched the Italian girl pull Stacey out the door. I thought about running after her, calling for Shannon and Greer. Instead, I washed my hands and reapplied my lip gloss. Maybe I just really didn't understand. Even all dressed up, I am only eleven.

I walked onto the dance floor just in time to see two bouncers dragging Stephen Montalbano off it. I ducked behind another boy so Stephen wouldn't see me. The boy turned around and smiled. He had a gorgeous smile, much cuter than the boys on television or in #1 Fan. Much, much cuter than Cam Geary.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," I replied.

"Want to dance?" he asked and without waiting for an answer pulled me further out on the dance floor.

"My name's Stacey," I told him, raising my voice over the music. "I'm eighteen and go to Boston College." I sounded totally convincing.

He chuckled. "I'm Tyson," he replied. "I go to Florida State. What's your major?"

"Botany," I decided that on the tram. I was sooo good at this. Claudia should have been there taking notes.

"I'm an anthropology major,"

I had no idea what that was, but I really liked his sparkling green eyes and the little ponytail he wore his hair in. Maybe I should have told him that.

"You're a really good dancer, Stacey,"

"Thanks. I watch a lot of Soul Train,"

Tyson and I danced until closing. I didn't see Stacey again. Maybe she left after our meeting in the bathroom. I did see her Italian friend though, standing at the edge of the dance floor with a tall, muscular blonde guy. She was gesturing wildly, as her mouth moved a mile a minute. I think I saw her pointing at me.

I may be only eleven. I may not do well in school. But even I can tell when something is terribly, terribly wrong.