Quick Post on Fame and seeing Margaret Peterson Haddix

Okay, yesterday I said my goal was to see Wendy Mass, Tim Green, and Margaret Peterson Haddix.

Missed Wendy by fifteen minutes; nix on Tim Green, BUT . . .

I did see MARGARET PETERSON HADDIX's hair.

Here's what happened:

All systems were going down.

"Mary!" I said to my Scholastic rep. "Where's that Starbucks?"

She shook her head. "It's a long way. Head down the hall. You'll feel like you're lost, but keep going and then you'll find it."

"Thank you," I said, scratching my arm and those little pricklies across my scalp.

I beat it down the hall, the whole while scanning everyone's tags for that special color that would mean they were an author, i.e. Wendy, Tim, or Margaret. No go.

I hoofed it down the hallway, around a turn, past the lobby. Must have been half a mile by now. I needed that cappuccino.

"Lady--please!" I grabbed a woman by her shirt collar. "Starbucks!"

Sympathy flooded her eyes. She pressed a dollar into my hand. "It's a long way from here. Keep going that way, then go up an escalator."

I strode through the hallway on my hard heels--yes, I know, that's supposed to be high heels, but since they weren't made for distance, they'd become hard heels. I walked through four seasons and a different time zone before coming upon the moving stairs that would take me to nirvana.

"Double shot cappuccino," I hollered at the barista, "and throw some ice cubes in it. I need it now!" I had her toss in a piece of banana bread because my trek had depleted my energy.

Do you know how long the walk back was? I drank my whole cappuccino and ate the bread before I could even see the exhibit hall.

But what about Margaret, you ask. Ah, yes. Halfway through my journey back, I noticed people exiting a darkened ballroom with the slide show still illuminated.

Aha! says I. Someone important is here.

Slipping through the door, I saw a line that took up the length of the ballroom. Like a thick rope, it coiled around the corner. Seeing the line people all facing one way, I deduced where the author was, but I could not tell who it was, for around the table, people clustered ten deep. And they were all taller than me.

"Who is it? Who is it?" I said, jumping up and down to see.

"Margaret Peterson Haddix!" someone answered.

Right then, at the apex of my jump, I swear I saw the top of her head, dark hair, maybe even an eyebrow.

I looked at that line, I thought about my booth, and then I resumed my journey.

Another day, Margaret.

Later, I'll post about those rowdy Scholastic Book Fair people, Joe's parking technique, and photos!

I had a great time!