turned back toward the open front door talking over her shoulder. "I'm supposed to entertain you until the others get here, so y'all can just sit down anywhere you want to then I'll start the entertainment."
The living room was long and narrow with a huge, gray, stone fireplace against the back wall. Flanking the fireplace on either side were French doors through which we could see a fountain in the middle of an enclosed patio. Three saddle-colored leather sofas with Indian blankets slung over the backs were set at an angle in front of the hearth. A giant buffalo head looked down at us from above the mantle. He had a surprised expression on his face like he couldn't believe he had ended up like this. The Mexican tile floor in front of the sofas was covered with a Navajo rug.
"Way cool," Monica breathed. "When I get a house, it's gonna be just like this."
Everybody took seats on the sofas. Biggie perched on the edge on account of her little legs are so short. "Well, Stacie," she said, "you must enjoy getting to spend the summer in a lovely place like this."
Stacie stood in front of the fireplace with her arms folded in front of her. "Huh? This place is a prison." She glared at Biggie.
"Oh, my." Miss Julia took a little notebook out of her purse and opened her fountain pen. "Tell us all about it, honey."
"Julia, put that up," Mrs. Muckleroy said. "We're guests here."
Miss Julia didn't put her notebook away, just kept looking at Stacie.
"How come you got that?" Stacie looked suspicious.
"She's a reporter for the paper," Monica said. "You better watch out what you say."
Biggie gave Monica a look. "Don't be sassy, young lady. And, Julia, Ruby's right. Put that thing away. Now, honey, what's on your mind?"
The girl, Stacie, looked at Miss Julia. "You're a real reporter? Are you going to print this?"
"Could be," Miss Julia said. Mrs. Muckleroy frowned.
The girl continued. "Well, for starters, we don't live in this big fine house. No way. We have to live in the bunkhouse, four to a room. And they make us make our own beds and wash our clothes— and on top of that they don't hardly give us anything at all to eat."
"That doesn't sound too bad," Mrs. Muckleroy said. "After all, it's like a camp, isn't it? Why, I remember when Meredith Michelle went to scout camp, they had to sleep outside in a tent and actually cook their own food!" She took a handkerchief out of her purse and dabbed her forehead. "The poor child came home with her clothes all grass stained and muddy and her hair— well, I don't even want to think about it. I remember she literally destroyed a cute little tennis dress I bought from Neiman's. Well, you can imagine, I paid a pretty penny for that! Bless her heart, the whole experience just traumatized her. Now that's what I call roughing it."
"Ruby, you don't know anything." Miss Julia was miffed. "Why would you send clothes like that to a Girl Scout camp?"
"Oh, it's a whole lot worse here." Stacie wasn't going to let Mrs. Muckleroy steal her thunder. "They make us hike five miles every single day, rain or shine. And we have to get up at six o'clock every single day— even Sunday. I hate it, and as soon as I get out of here, I'm turning them in to the juvenile authorities. Child abuse is what I call it. I'm calling Mike Wallace, too."
"Stacie!"
We all looked around to see who had spoken. My mouth fell open. It was a girl standing in the doorway. She was dressed in the same blue-and-white uniform Stacie wore. But she wasn't carrying one single extra pound on her perfect little body. She had long hair, light brown, and it fell in tight ringlets all around her face, which was tanned a golden brown. Her eyes were big and bright blue green, the color of turquoise. She had long legs and a waist I could reach around with only my hands. My whole body turned to jelly, and I couldn't take my eyes off of her.
"What?" Stacie looked defiantly at the girl. "What am I doing? I was told to entertain the company so that's what I'm doing."
"No, you weren't," said the girl. "And Miss Higgins wants you back at the bunkhouse right now. You didn't finish mucking out the stalls this morning."
"See." Stacie looked at Mrs. Muckleroy. "We have