CHAPTER 4: Stacey

After Mary Anne and Logan went back to their Jeep, Sam and I were also getting ready to leave when we saw a sandy-haired boy who looked about fourteen pulling into the parking lot on a dirt bike. After chaining it up and removing his helmet, he looked in our direction and waved excitedly. "Hi, Sam! Hi, Stacey!" he called.

"Hi," I said as he came over to us. "Do we know you?"

"Well, see if this sounds familiar," he said. "Hi-hi!"

Suddenly, my eyes widened. "Jamie Newton! Is that you?" I exclaimed.

"I'll say it is!" he grinned as I threw my arms around him, and Sam playfully punched his shoulder. I just couldn't believe that this kid was actually little Jamie! Where did the time go?

"How are you, kiddo?" Sam asked.

"I've been doing all right," Jamie answered. "I'll be starting high school this fall."

"All right!" I said. "Oh, how's little Lucy?"

"Fine. She loves the Stoneybrook Kids, and she'll be starting at SMS this fall, too. Oh, and get this: the Stoneybrook Kids are going to San Francisco."

"Awesome!" Sam smiled. "When are they leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning. They're taking a bus to St. Louis, and flying the rest of the way. Mom's one of the chaperones, and the Hobarts and I are the roadies."

"That's great," I said. "I hope they all stay well."

"Yeah, really," Jamie agreed. "I still remember when Jason had his appendix out during our trip to Washington."

"Well, at least you guys got home in one piece," Sam commented.

Jamie nodded in agreement. "I was just getting some snacks for the bus trip. I'm told it's going to be long and boring as hell. I just hope they don't start singing that God-awful '99 Bottles of Beer' song thirty-five times in a row!" Then he changed his voice to sound like that one teacher from Beavis & Butt-Head. "Now, guys, beer and driving don't mix, m'kay? How about '99 Bottles of Tea'?"

We got another good laugh. When we calmed down, Sam said, "Well, if they do, you can start singing 'I'm Henry the Eighth'."

I rolled my eyes. In case you're wondering, that was how Sam got me to go to his senior prom with him.

"Well, I'd better get going," Jamie said as soon as he'd calmed down.

"Okay," I said. "It was great to see you, Jamie. Tell your parents and Lucy we said hi, okay?"

"Okay, Stacey," Jamie called over his shoulder. In spite of how old we were feeling, it was nice to see how much he'd grown.

We arrived at Mom's house about ten minutes later. "You know, I haven't been to your neck of the woods in a while," Sam commented.

"I know," I said, trying to hide the fact that I was two seconds away from laughing. You see, the last time we'd been here was when Sam and I were still engaged, and Mom and I had him over for dinner. It was a pretty decent meal, up until we took our dishes to the kitchen. Sam had realized that he'd left his glass on the table, and when he turned around to get it, he bumped into me, causing me to spill what was left of my filet mignon all over the blue silk blouse that Dad had gotten me for Christmas my senior year. And to top it all off, when Sam went to the kitchen for a paper towel, Mom chose that exact moment to open the kitchen door, and smacked him right in the middle of the forehead with it! As I stood there, not knowing whether to run upstairs in humiliation or laugh, I remembered that this was something I would've expected to happen at either Mal's house or the Rodowskys'. On the upside, Sam didn't mispronounce "filet mignon" (sorry, Kristy!). Hopefully, this wasn't what would be in store for us tonight, or else we'd have to spend the evening just cleaning up the mess.

Anyway, we got to the front door, and I rang the doorbell. "Don't worry, Stace," Sam said. "I'll be on my best behavior tonight."

"Okay, honey," I smiled. Just then, Mom answered the door.

"Hi, kids," she said. "Come on in."

"Hi, Maureen," Sam said as we went inside. After Sam took our twelve-pack of Diet Coke to the kitchen, the three of us sat in the living room: Sam and I on the couch, and Mom in the armchair.

"So, what's the plan?" Mom asked after we'd finished the small talk. And no, none of us said "done her in", or talked about the weather and everybody's health. (Well, maybe we did talk a little about my health, but that's pretty much it.)

"Well, we're going to stay here tonight, then going over to Sam's parents tomorrow after lunch," I said, "and we'll spend the rest of our vacation there."

"That's fine," Mom said. "Well, shall we have dinner now?"

"Sure," Sam said. "And I promise not to spill any of it on Stacey this time. Just in case, though, I've got a whole boxful of Shout-wipes in the glove compartment."

"And I promise not to hit you with the door again," Mom laughed. "Unless you insult my cooking, then you'll have to watch out!"

"Insult your cooking? Me?" Sam exclaimed, very obviously faking being offended. "Perish the thought!" (By the way, I should mention that he said that in the same stuffy, falsetto British accent he'd used when we'd seen Mary Anne and Logan at BP. I'm just glad he didn't pretend to adjust a monocle, or else, he'd have to go somewhere else for his dinner!)

After the laughter died down, we went into the dining room and sat down at the table. I wondered what my old BSC friends were up to, and I somehow knew that they felt the same way.