Fabulous Five 005 - The Bragging War by Betsy Haynes

with her
and punched the button for the twentieth floor. That was the floor the woman on
the switchboard had mentioned when Beth talked to her. Beth hoped it hadn't
been a lie they used to confuse people who might want to sneak in to see Trevor
Morgan. The man and the woman stared at her until they got off at the
fourteenth floor.
    Beth watched the lighted numbers change from seventeen to
eighteen to nineteen. She took a deep breath as the elevator stopped at the
twentieth floor. The doors opened and she stepped into a beautiful,
marble-floored foyer with potted plants on both sides. In front of her were two
huge doors that were as pretty as the doors on the cathedral downtown, except
they were smaller.
    She brushed the wrinkles out of the costume and straightened
the war bonnet on her head. Then she walked forward carefully, listening for
the sound of rock music. It was quiet.
    She stepped up to the doors and hesitated with her finger
over the bell button. Should she really go through with this? What if she was
so nervous she forgot what she wanted to say? How could she think like that?
She was going to be an actress, wasn't she? She would act as if she were
playing the starring role in a big Broadway play and Trevor Morgan was a
costar. Beth punched the button hard and straightened her bonnet one more time.
    The door opened and Trevor Morgan stood before her in just a
pair of old sweat pants. His dark hair, the same color as Jana's, hung to his
shoulders, and Beth couldn't help thinking that they could actually pass for
cousins. "I say, what have we here? It's a bloomin' Indian. Can I help
you, luv?"
    "Er, uh . . . yes, Mr. Morgan. My name is Little Fawn.
Well, actually it's Beth Barry, but my Indian name is Little Fawn, you see."
Beth had her fingers crossed behind her back even though she hadn't told a lie
yet. Her name was Little Fawn when she belonged to Indian Princesses back in
third grade, and she had a framed certificate on her bedroom wall to prove it.
    "I belong to the Cherokee tribe," she went on. "I
saw in the paper that you were interested in American Indians, and I thought I'd
come and tell you about us."
    Trevor looked at her in amazement, then he stepped back and
made a gallant gesture for her to enter.
    Beth had never seen such a beautiful room. It was filled
with luxurious furniture, and an electric guitar was set up, and sheet music was
spread all over the floor. One whole wall was glass, and she could see way out
over the city. This is the way I'm going to live when I'm a star, she thought. "Wow!"
she said, and clamped a hand over her mouth.
    "Kind of like it, do ya?" Trevor asked. "It
is a bit of a good view, if I do say so meself. Can I get you a soda or
something?"
    Beth shook herself to clear her head, and the war bonnet
slipped down over one ear. She straightened it and said, "Oh, no. Thank
you very much, though."
    "Well," said Trevor, "have a seat then and
tell me about yourself and your tribe. I want to hear all about it."
    Beth sat down on a sofa which was so big that when she
scooted all the way back her feet stuck straight out. "Well, let's see,"
she said. "What do you want to know?" She had decided to let him tell her what he wanted to know. That way her super extralarge mouth wouldn't
get her into as much trouble.
    "Tell me about your tribe. Is it on one of those
reservations? And how big is it?"
    "No. It's not on a reservation. Not all Indians live on
reservations." Beth was sure about that since she remembered it from her
history class. "They live all over the United States."
    "They do?" He seemed really surprised to hear
that.
    "Yes, and my tribe was, er, is small. The last
time I counted there were twenty-two of us."
    "And do you get along well in this country?" he
asked.
    "Yes, I do," she answered. "I go to school at
Wakeman Junior High right here in town and have lots of friends. I know some
Indians don't get along as well as we do, though. The kids at Wakeman are kind
of special."
    "I'm