Sammy Keyes and the Hollywood Mummy

One I couldn't exactly walk from Santa Martina to Hollywood. Couldn't fly, either--not with the amount of money I had jingling in my jeans, anyway. And since I'm not old enough to drive and didn't want to jump a freight train or hitchhike, there was really only one way out of Santa Martina--the bus. I'd never been on the bus before. Neither had Marissa. Me, I'd never even been out of Santa Martina. Sure, when Lady Lana was still around, she'd drive me up to Santa Luisa once in a while, but I'm talking out of town. Really out of town. I'd never been. Marissa McKenze, on the other hand, has been everywhere. From Honolulu to Hoover Dam, she's seen it all. And even though she's been on buses before, they've always been youth-group buses or double-decker tour buses. She'd never actually been on the real bus. That's right, she'd never ridden the Big Dog. Getting to the Greyhound station wasn't the hard part. Shoot, it's only a few blocks up from the Heavenly Hotel, so it's practically right across the street from Grams'. Well, almost. The hard part was catching the bus without cutting school. That, and not spilling the beans to Grams. And even though I tried to pack light, my backpack still looked like a laundry duffel, and my lunch sack was so stuffed with peanut butter and jelly, I was afraid it would rip before I made it out the door. Grams didn't seem to notice, though. She was in the middle of brushing her teeth when I gave her a quick kiss good-bye, so all she could do was say, "Hrmm grumm!" and smile at me through foam. I hurried to school and found Marissa sneaking into homeroom early with a suitcase. A pink suitcase. Now, there are pinks and then there are pinks. Marissa's suitcase was of the flashy flamingo variety. And it wasn't your average snap-close rectangular model, either. It was a big three-foot tube with a handle on top and fat black zippers everywhere. It looked like something out of CeCe's Thrift Store, except that CeCe would never have stocked it. One side was bashed in, and there was a skid mark right across the middle. Pink or not, zippers or not, this was a problem. "Marissa! You promised me you'd pack light!" Marissa did a bit of the McKenze dance, squirming from side to side as she whispered, "It wouldn't all fit. What was I supposed to do?" "But...Marissa, it's pink! And what did you do? Run over the thing on the way to school?" I might as well have caught her in the act. She blushed. "Well, it was hard to balance. I tried holding it with my legs, but then I couldn't pedal...." "So you balanced it on your handlebars?" She shrugged and nodded and blushed some more. I've been on Marissa's handlebars. It is one wobbly ride, let me tell you. And every time I do it, I wind up looking about as tattered as her suitcase and I swear I'll never do it again. "Besides, we're going to Hollywood." She checks around to make sure nobody's listening, then sings, "Hol-ly-wood!" I whisper, "Marissa! We're not going there to get discovered! We're going there to shake some bubbles out of the GasAway Lady's head!" "Who said anything about getting discovered? People down there are just different. You know, fancy. Didn't you say your mom's staying in some ritzy villa? I don't want to get kicked out for looking like a bum, that's all!" I look from her to the bulging zippers and back again. "Don't tell me you brought a...a dress!" She starts dancing a little faster. "As a matter of fact, I've got two." "Two?" "One for me and one for you." I threw my hands up. "Marissa!" "Well...! I just thought we should be prepared." "Whatever. Just don't ask me to carry that thing. It makes you look likeVan Draanen, Wendelin is the author of 'Sammy Keyes and the Hollywood Mummy' with ISBN 9780440418665 and ISBN 0440418666.