Chapter 2
The Secret Detective School
Amanda was beside herself. There was no way she was going to any boarding school, especially not one for detectives. The deadline for the film festival was fast approaching, she was certain she’d get into the program she’d applied for, and except for the stick dog mutiny everything was on track, and now this. As if she didn’t fight enough with her parents. This was going to be the battle to end all battles and she was going to lose.
After panicking, then sulking for what seemed like an hour but was really five minutes, she returned to the living room where her mother was vacuuming up broken glass.
“Did you read the letter?” her mother said.
Amanda stared at her and nodded ever so slightly.
“You need to start thinking about what you’ll take with you. By the way, we’re going too.”
Was that supposed to be a comfort or a threat? Amanda’s eyes widened but she remained silent.
“We’re moving to the UK. Your father has been offered a position with the Crown Prosecution Service in London. We’ll be just a few hours away.”
“What?” said Amanda, no longer able to contain herself.
“You know your father has always wanted to return to his roots. He’ll be back in the land of his ancestors, working on major cases with the Metropolitan Police at New Scotland Yard. Wonderful new fodder for my books. Isn’t that right, Herb?” Her father nodded.
“You can’t do this to me!” screamed Amanda. This was the worst news ever—far worse than the time Billy Banana had pulled her skirt up at recess in the first grade. “I don’t want to go to that filthy old school. I want to stay here and make movies.”
“You will not stay here and you will not make movies of any sort. You will prepare for your life’s work: being a detective,” said the old witch.
“It’s always about what you want,” Amanda said, oblivious to the fact that Laurie had rightly accused her of the very same thing. “You’ve never cared about what I want. You think just because someone’s genes are the same as someone else’s they have to be just like them.” It was a bit of a wordy sentence but the meaning was clear enough.
“I’m afraid there’s going to be no discussion about this,” said her father. “We’re going, you’re going, and that’s that. You’ll like it, Amanda. You’ll see.”
“I won’t go and you can’t make me!” Amanda screamed, and stomped out.