Read Melanie Martin Goes Dutch for Free Online

all I could do not to cry.
    “Come on, cupcake,” Dad said, putting his hand on my arm. “I'm just teasing.”
    “You're jet-lagged, pumpkin,” Mom said. “Hang in there. We'll be going to bed soon.”
    “I'm not tired!” I said even though I probably was. After that I didn't say another word because I wasafraid that if I looked up, the tears in my eyes would spill out. It also did not help that, right in front of Cecily, Dad had called me cupcake, Mom had called me pumpkin, and they both had been singing Beatles songs.
    Mom got the check and said, “Well, I'm tired. Let's go.”
    I was hoping our luggage had arrived while we were out, but Hendrik, the check-in man, said nothing had been delivered.
    I was about to complain, but Cecily said, “Oh well, at least it won't be hard to figure out what to wear tomorrow!”
    Mom and Dad laughed and Dad said, “You're right about that!”
    I bet they think Cecily has a great attitude.
    Especially compared to you-know-who.

    P.S. Matt's asleep and Dad helped Cecily try to call her parents. She had to dial special numbers just to connect to America. Neither of her parents was home, though, so she left messages.
    P.P.S. It turns out that Cecily packed her teddy, Snow Bear, right in her backpack. She's lucky. I'm about to go to bed holding a little balled-up washcloth. Talk about pitiful!

on a bus to Alkmaar (Ahlk Mar)
    Dear Diary,
    Even though I didn't have Hedgehog or my pajamas, and even though it was only early afternoon in New York, I fell right asleep last night. Our sofa bed is big and comfortable and neither of us snores, kicks, rolls, steals covers, grinds our teeth, or is a bed hog, so Cecily and I both slept slept slept like Rip Van Winkle.
    He was Dutch. Last week, Mom read Matt and me Washington Irving's story about how Rip Van Winkle went up a mountain and drank a yucky brew with someDutchmen who were playing ninepins. But the men were actually the ghosts of Henry Hudson and his crew, and the drink was a magic potion that made him fall asleep. When he woke up, he was stiff and sore and he had a long white beard. He had slept for twenty years!
    Well, we slept for twelve hours—from 8:00 P.M.to 8:00 A.M.
    I think we might be almost on Holland time now, meaning that morning feels like morning (not the middle of the night) and evening feels like evening (not the middle of the day). I hope so—I'm tired of being tired!
    The first thing I asked Mom this morning was “Has our lost luggage arrived?” She said, “No, darling.”
    It should have come by now! I want Hedgehog!!
    Matt asked, “We're never never ever ever going to get our luggage, are we?”
    Mom said we would.
    I asked if we had to wear the same clothes AGAIN, and Mom said we had no choice, but if we wanted to take a shower and flip our underwear inside out, that might be a good idea.
    I can't believe Mom said that. And in front of Cecily! It was soooo embarrassing, not to mention

    “If our stuff doesn't arrive today, we should sue,” I said. “Or at least buy new underwear.”
    Mom called the baggage people, but their number was busy. She asked the check-in man to call them while we are out.
    I wrote two poems.
    The first is:

    The second is the kind Miss Sands once made us do. Each line begins with a letter that helps spell a word— in this case, Holland.

    Well, we are now on our way to Alkmaar, a town known for its cheese market and cheese museum.
    We are on a bus. Matt is sitting on Cecily's lap.
    Cecily just said, “Matt, you have a bony butt,” and Matt laughed like that was the greatest compliment you could ever hear. If I'd called Matt's butt bony, he would have hit me. Then I'd have hit him and we'd have gotten in a big fight and ended up in big trouble. But since it was Cecily calling his butt bony, Matt acted charmed.
    I don't get it. And Matt doesn't even have a bony butt. He has a squooshy tushy. Or a plump rump.
    The guide on our bus is young and cute. He has blond hair and grayish