Dear Grandma Kilbourne,
Hey, Grams, how's it shakin' at the Old Folks Home? Hope you haven't lost your dintures in the potatoe salad again. Amsterdamn is awsome. I never want to go back to Stoneybrook or lame ass SDS. Guess what? I've got a boyfrend! He's sweat and cute and rilly smart. I like him alot. Don't tell Mom and Dad, ok? You'll probly forget all this in a couple hours anyway. Seenilitey's a bitch, huh?
Cya, Grams!
Tiffany K.
My time in Amsterdam really improved once I ditched Shannon and her lame babysitting friends. Without them blowing whistles in my ear and trying to help me cross the street, I could totally let loose and experience Amsterdam as it was meant to be experienced. I wasn't experiencing it on my own either. I'd told Grandma Kilbourne the truth. I did have a boyfriend. He was Tyson Hillie, the boy I met at Hotel Deconstruction. Although, he wasn't really a boy. He was nineteen and a sophomore in college! We spent nearly every spare moment together after our first meeting. Having a boyfriend was awesome. We were totally falling in love.
Of course, he still thought my name was Stacey and didn't know I was eleven. Those were minor details that I tried not to think about. Besides, Tyson and I were too busy making out for me to worry about my deception. I liked him too much to tell the truth. He'd never speak to me again. I couldn't risk that. Tyson thought I was interesting and smart. No one had ever thought that about me.
It's not like Tyson and I just made out. We talked all the time. Tyson knew what it's like to lack what a perfect sister has excess of. His older sisters both joined the Peace Corps after graduating from Duke with degrees in chemistry and mathematics. The glare from such perfectioncan beblinding. Tyson knew how it felt to shrivel in the shadows of greatness while struggling to pull a "C" in chorus.
I couldn't tell anyone at Verbruggenhuis about Tyson. They totally wouldn't understand. I probably could have told Mom without worry that she'd listen. She never hears a word I say. My summer romance was a little too mature for the Baby-Sitters Club though. Kristy would have put me under house arrest. She's such a control freak. Shannon would have throttled Tyson, then lectured me on how I'm not perfect like her. Mallory Pike could stand to hear about my adventures in love, but the shock might kill her. Although, I had seen her reading the Kama Sutra, so maybe she's not a total doofus after all.
No one seemed to notice how often I'd been leaving the house. (Except for nosy Shannon who needs a life of her own). The other girls had their own problems. Claudia and Jessi stank of bad weed all the time. I've been to the Taylor house often enough to know what that smells like. Dawn was hiding out from the cops. Apparently, I was the only person in Verbruggenhuis actually watching t.v. I recognized Dawn's psycho friends the minute their crazy-eyed mug shots flashed on the screen. I'd totally have turned Dawn in, except there was no reward. Yet. Oh, yeah, Stacey was still missing and no one cared.
Our vacation was winding down by Wednesday night. Tyson's flight left that Friday, so we didn't have much time remaining. That really bummed me out. I didn't want to say goodbye. We didn't have a future as a couple, which I couldn't tell Tyson because it would mean admitting that I was a liar. In a few weeks, he'd be back at the frat house and I'd be suffering another semester with the morons at SDS. At least I could brag about my hot college boyfriend. I'd totally be the only sixth grader who learned to give head over the summer.
Being eleven is complicated.
I spent the morning with Tyson and his obnoxious frat brothers. We went for Japanese food, which I hope to never eat again. Talk about gross. I don't think the frat boys liked me too much, especially not when I spat that sushi back onto my plate. I gave Tyson a few hours alone with the idiots while I went back to Verbruggenhuis. I watched television most of the afternoon. The Dutch rerun such lame American shows. How is Columbo relevant anymore? Don't even get me started on MacGuyver. Unfortunately, there were no more news items about Dawn's brush with the law.
At four-thirty, I caught the tram. I was totally smoking in another of Stacey's outfits. Jean miniskirt, scoop-necked sleeveless lavender shirt, the glittery violet heels I'd officially claimed as my own. I even had on Stacey's bra and panties. I was, like, a treat for the senses. Mary Anne Spier was also on the tram. I ignored her. I didn't need her interrogating me. She looked pretty nervous anyway since she was with that frizzy-haired guy from next door. She didn't want anyone to know they were screwing.
I'd like to take complete credit for figuring that one out. Unfortunately, I must tell the truth. During my daily search through Stacey's belongings I rifled through Mary Anne's suitcase as well. I thought I hit the jackpot when I found her diary. Then I read the sentence that will haunt me forever - "I appreciate the precision and intensity with which Georg wields his manstaff." Ew! That and the fact I saw them going at it on the roof kind of clued me in.
I met Tyson in front of The Pancake Bakery, one of his favorite places in Amsterdam. We'd been three times already. The talking pig statue at the entrance freaked me out. The restaurant was also thick with cigarette smoke at all times. It made me sort of sick, but I suffered through. That night, Tyson surprised me with a stuffed koala bear. I'd told him a few days before how much I like them. Tyson remembered every single thing I said. I felt special with him. I didn't recall ever feeling special before.
Tyson and I sat close together at our table. He kept leaning in to kiss me or nuzzle my neck. I couldn't stop giggling. I don't know what girls are always complaining about. Having a boyfriend is so easy. Tyson and I kissed until the waitress brought our pancakes. I got bananas and strawberries on mine. Tyson's had peaches. Dutch pancakes taste sort of like a thick crepe. They don't come in stacks either. Instead, it's a single giant pancake. They're pretty tasty. I kissed Tyson after each bite. He tasted like peaches and powdered sugar and thick, sweet syrup. He slipped a hand up my skirt and massaged my left thigh. I felt warm and cold all at the same time. Sometimes when I'm with Shannon it feels like she's taking up all the air in the room and I'm going to suffocate if she doesn't let me breathe. That's how I felt with Tyson. Like someone was sucking all the air from the room and I might pass out at any moment. With Shannon, it's not a good feeling, but somehow with Tyson, it was the only way I wanted to feel.
"Let's get out of here," whispered Tyson.
"And go where?"
"Not to the youth hostel. Not after that moron snuck in that goat. We can find some place though,"
"You mean a hotel,"
Tyson didn't answer. We'd had the same conversation the past three nights. He wasn't pushy, but I knew what he wanted. I just wasn't sure if I could go that far. I've read all about sex in V.C. Andrews books and it didn't sound too appealing. But I wanted Tyson to like me. I wanted Tyson to love me. I needed him to keep thinking me smart and pretty and interesting. But I didn't know if I could go that far.
We left the restaurant. We held hands and walked through the streets. We didn't head for a hotel and Tyson didn't suggest it. Instead, we just walked. I told him about my garden and Astrid and how much I hate being the middle daughter, stuck between two perfect sisters. Basically, the same things I always talked about. Then I explained to him why a tomato is legally a vegetable, which seemed like an interesting story, but I'm not sure if it really was. Then Tyson started talking about the Masai. I never did figure out if that was a person or a place or maybe a whole group of people. It seemed dumb to ask.
Once it started getting dark, Tyson and I slipped behind a building. I unhooked his belt and got down on my knees. According to Tyson, I could suck a Buick through a straw.
Tyson kept moaning, "Stacey, Stacey, Stacey," which made me sort of sick. It hurt knowing I'd never hear him use my real name. After we finished, I felt depressed about the whole thing. I watched Tyson zip his pants and tried not to dwell on whether or not I was a bad person. Amsterdam was supposed to be fun. I wasn't having fun while feeling guilty.
"Let's go to the Red-Light District," I said to Tyson. "I've never been to a strip club." I intended to get as much mileage out of Stacey's fake I.D. as possible.
"A strip club?" repeated Tyson, surprised.
"Oh, don't be scared," I teased. "It'll be totally fun."
"Well...I don't really like - " but I grabbed his hand and pulled him out to the street.
Tyson and I caught the next tram to the Red-Light District. I swear, Amsterdam is not big enough. It seemed I couldn't board a tram without seeing a member of the Baby-Sitters Club. This time it was whiny ass Jessi. I think I'd rather run into Kristy and her whistle. Jessi was too busy whining to notice me. She was with her white Rastafarian friend (what a weirdo. Hello, you're totally not black, so stop trying). Jessi was stressing about going to some place called Ethiopia. Wherever that was, I hoped it was far away.
I felt my confidence building again as we walked up to the strip club. There are clubs all over the Red-Light District, but I chose one far out of the way. The last thing I needed was to run into someone who'd blow my cover. Shannon, Greer, and that Alan kid still had their fake I.Ds. (I'm so glad everyone finally stopped insulting my intelligence by denying that that kid was living in the attic closet). And I wouldn't put it past Claudia to attempt to crawl through another bathroom window.
As usual, I wasn't carded. I threw my shoulders back and strutted past the bouncer. Sometimes even I believed I was eighteen. My maturity was quite impressive. Tyson and I sat at a table to the right of the stage. There weren't many other patrons. Tyson brought me a root beer from the bar. I didn't need alcohol loosening my tongue. I've seen my parents drunk enough times to know it doesn't improve a situation. I realized very quickly that a strip club wasn't as cool as I expected. I mean, it was just a bunch of naked women dancing. I danced naked in front of my mirror all the time. Nothing too spectacular about that.
"This is lame," I told Tyson.
He nodded. "I'd much rather look at you, Stacey."
"Really? Because I could totally dance better than those girls. Watch this," I stood up and lifted my shirt over my head. It was definitely time to liven up the night.
"Uh...Stacey, I don't think patrons are supposed to take off their clothes,"
I tossed the shirt at him, then unzipped my skirt. "So? We can tell everyone how we got thrown out of a strip club,"
I stepped out of the skirt and kicked it toward him. Then I walked up to the stage in just my bra, panties, and those awesome heels. I was glad I'd worn Stacey's dark purple satin bra and panty set. I looked hot. I climbed onto the stage and grabbed the nearest pole. I swung around it a couple times then twirled to the end of the stage, close to Tyson. No one else appeared to have noticed me. I couldn't recall ever seeing anyone strip on t.v. That was weird. I'd never been able to not relate a moment in my life to something I saw on television.
I had seen Dirty Dancing thirty-seven times though. I just let out my inner Jennifer Grey. I was getting pretty into it when the music changed. Techno blows. I heard new strippers scrambling onto the stage, but I kept dancing. I couldn't believe I was getting away with it. My dancing must have been better than I thought. Tyson looked like he was enjoying it. Screw that Ms. Skyer for giving me a "D" in the folk dancing unit.
"You aren't supposed to be on the stage," hissed a voice behind me.
I spun around, prepared to fight my way off the stage. Instead, I gasped. I faced the real Stacey McGill - wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and buttless chaps.