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"You shouldn't. I know I don't have the right to give advice to you. I know I can't even begin to understand the world you come from or what you've gone through before getting here, but I've seen many so-called talented girls arid-I'm telling you, you're the cream of the crop."

"Oh, is that right?"

"Yes, it is," he insisted.

I stared into those blue eyes, eyes as pure and as innocent as a summer's sky.

"I'm sorry," 1 said. "I didn't mean to jump on what you said back there. I had a very strange and difficult morning and I guess I'm feeling a little homesick, too."

"Funny, isn't it?" he said, nodding, "that no matter how hard or unpleasant we think our home lives are when we're there, we miss

it when we're far away."

"That's because we're among strangers in a strange place," I said.

He nodded and then brightened.

"Well, let's keep going and make it less strange. That's what we set out to do today, wasn't it?"

He dug into his pocket again and produced the tourist brochure.

"Buckingham Palace." He read to himself a moment and then looked at his watch and jumped up, grabbing my hand. "Come on." he cried, pulling me off the bench so hard I nearly fell forward on my face.

"Why? Where?"

I had to run along with him over the grass toward Knightsbridge Road.

"We need to catch a cab."

"Why?" I cried.

"If we don't hurry, we'll miss the changing of the guard!"

We shot onto the road and as luck would have it, there was a cab just coming.

"Buckingham Palace as quickly as you can," he told the driver as we got into the cab.

"All right, guy," the driver said, smiling.

Randall read as I caught my breath.

"Buckingham Palace is the sovereign's London home, named for the Duke of Buckingham and Chandos, who erected it in the eighteenth century, selling it to George III in 1761.

"Just think," Randall said lowering the brochure, "it was built and sold before the United States even existed"

I don't know whether it was simply being with Randall and feeling his excitement or whether it was because I was in a new place, a whole new world, but suddenly all the darkness was washed away and the light of new discoveries filled me with a renewed desire to rise above my past and revive my ambition to find myself and my true identity. Even here, even so far away from everything and everyone I'd ever known.

Watching the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace and then touring the Royal Mews and the Queen's Gallery was interesting, but took a great deal longer than Randall had anticipated. Even so, we took another taxi to Trafalgar Square. It was jammed with people. I didn't know where to turn first. After we had walked by the fountains and then had taken in the scenic view along Whitehall to Big Ben and Parliament, Randall wanted us to retrace our steps and go into the National Gallery.

"I've been here twice with my mother," he said, "but you can never see it all. Come on."

I felt like I was in a race with time, trying to get everything in before some clock boomed and turned me back into poor Cinderella on her return to the hovel she lived in someplace in America. Randall was behaving as if he thought I would suddenly stop and say, "I don't want to see or do another thing with you." His object was to keep me moving, keep my eyes and ears full of sights and sounds and full of the history he was reading and showing me.

"The National Gallery hosts one of the world's best collections of Old Masters, but it is very strong on the French Impressionists as well," he explained. "Do you know a lot about painting?"

"No," I confessed.

"Then you should spend a lot of time here. You can educate yourself quickly. The range is from the thirteenth century through the nineteenth." He rattled off the names of the famous painters and scooted me about to show me as many examples of their works as possible. Finally, I had to stop and sit on a bench, pleading not only exhaustion in my body, but exhaustion in my mind.