Five Things About Ava Andrews

by Margaret Dilloway

  As the others read, the bubbles in my stomach feel like a shaken-up soda can. I hope I don’t burst and run out of here.

  “Ava.” Miss Gwen’s smiling gently at me. “Ready?”

  I stand up, my knees shaking. The bubbles are like an engine now, pushing me forward. Helping. “When I was little, I got lost at Navegando Point,” I read out loud into the mic, my voice trembling only a little. “I turned around and I couldn’t find my family. I was panicked and alone. I started crying, and some man tried to help me, but I got scared and started running. I ran straight into the cupcake shop.

  “The owner saw me right away and came out from behind the counter. She hugged me and gave me a cupcake and told me I was going to be fine. She recognized me, but she didn’t know where my parents were. She called all the shop owners looking for my parents, telling them to find them and let them know I was in the cupcake shop. Then she let me watch her make cupcakes while I waited. It was the only thing that calmed me down. She treated me like her own kid.”

  The audience goes quiet, like they’re really listening. This is what I have as my weapon—my words. I steal a glance at Brett. She’s looking at her fingernails.

  “And that is why gentrification is bad. We don’t need more luxury shopping outlets. We need places that build community. Where families like mine can enjoy the natural beauty of San Diego while not paying too much money. That is what this city needs most of all.” I look up at the Port of San Diego board. Most of them are smiling. I think they look impressed because, hey, I’m only eleven, and I think I did a good job. Like a fifty-year-old attorney, practically. “Thank you.”

  The audience erupts into applause. I look out at them and for the first time notice a news camera. I swallow hard. Again? The reporter from the news waves at me. I wave back, and so does the rest of my team.

  The Port of San Diego board members motion the Brancusi Group people over to them, and they huddle in a tight circle.

  “No!” Brett says loudly.

  “Come on,” I mutter. I stand taller, my hands clenching into fists. As if I could fight all of them single-handedly, though what I can do is maybe raise my voice a little bit.

  “We don’t exactly have a choice,” the head of the Port of San Diego, an older white man, says.

  The news lady comes over to me, interrupting my eavesdropping. I wish she would go sit down. “Ava Andrews, the little girl who stood up to the developers. It’s a real David versus Goliath story.”

  The camera person is behind her, recorder on. I can tell because there’s a red light like on Ryan’s dad’s camera.

  I’m totally caught off-guard. Why is she talking to me? I stare into the camera, my eyes feeling as big as two moons, my mouth open. “Uhhhhhhhh.” I freeze, the red light on top hypnotizing me. I can’t even think of what to say. “Umm,” I try again. Great, Ava. Just great.

  “She’s the girl.” Cecily saves me, sticking her face in front of mine, her arm around me. “But aren’t you supposed to get her parents’ permission before you interview her?”

  Now it’s the news lady’s turn to say “Um.”

  A security guard appears out of nowhere, ushering the news people back to their spot. “Please interview afterward, ma’am.”

  “Attention!” The head of the Port of San Diego clears his throat. “Take your seats.”

  “Where should we take them?” Ryan whispers, and I giggle, though I can’t believe he would make such a terrible Dad joke at a time like this. We all flop back into our chairs. What’s going to happen now? I look at Brett Rosselin. She’s chewing on her well-manicured hot-pink fingernail.

  I sit up straight.

  The older Port of San Diego man speaks into his microphone. “I think the children and Mrs. Ladigan make some good points.” He glances nervously at the video camera. I bet they never had a news team in here before.

  “Yes,” another board member chimes in. “And there’s obviously a lot of community support for keeping the old part of Navegando Point. Twenty thousand people signed the petition.”

  The crowd applauds.

  “I propose a vote,” yet another board member says. “To take a look at the plan to exclude the four-point-five acres of old Navegando Point from being developed.”

  “This is already a settled matter,” Brett says.

  “Nothing is settled until it’s actually done,” the board member says.

  I hold my breath.

  “Aye!” the board members exclaim. All their hands go up.

  My fingers clench the sides of my seat. Could it be . . . ?

  “All opposed?” The older dude looks around.

  Crickets.

  He taps a gavel on the table. “Motion carried.”

  “Yesssss!” we yell, and Ryan hops up from his seat into the air.

  “Shhh,” some adult says.

  “Take it outside,” Brett barks, which I hope are her final words to us forever.

  Ryan leads us out of the room, through the dim lobby, pushing through the double doors into the bright squinty sunshine, and it feels like we’re escaping a cave. “Woo!” Chad does a cartwheel on the lawn.

  “Our show shall go on!” Ryan raises his fist to the sky as if he’s King Arthur. “Lo, though ye tried to slay us, ye evil developers, ye must bow. Bow to the power of our child army!” He points a pretend sword at Chad, who falls to the ground.

  I laugh. “Yes!” I clap. It worked! Everything we did actually changed someone’s mind. Of course, it took a whole lot of people. “We won!” I say, kind of disbelievingly. “We really won.” The shops will stay open. I can keep going there with my family. With my friends.

  “Darn straight we did!” Cecily hugs me, and then the others join in, and we’re a jumble of hugs and limbs and warmth and a little bit stinky, like puppies in a pile, and it’s this feeling that I like best of all. I’m part of this pack, this team.

  I belong.

  I’m so glad I listened to Nana Linda for once.

  Chapter 37

  It’s the final Cotillion of the year, held the first week of December. Mom comes with us. Today we’re having a showcase, where the kids show the parents what we’ve learned, and the parents dance with the kids. Mom wants to see how I’m doing even though she’s, you know, married to the dude who runs the whole thing, and she knows exactly what I’ve learned already. I think that makes Mom a super-committed parent. I’m not sure I would do that if I were in her place. Probably, if I were a grown-up, I’d tell my husband I wanted to stay at home with a book and my kid could show me their manners in my own living room.

  Tonight I should feel extra nervous with Mom’s eagle eyes watching me from the audience, her phone raised to capture all kinds of embarrassing video and photos. And I do have a few butterflies, but it’s more like I’m also excited.

  Sort of like I am during improv.

  Mom flashes a thumbs-up at me and I roll my eyes dramatically, but I don’t really mean it. She’ll film me and take photos, especially when I have to do the parent-child dance with Dad, but somehow I’ll be okay. Both my brothers were.

  “Everyone line up. Boys over here, girls over there. The first dance will be the foxtrot.” Dad starts the music, but it’s not Frank Sinatra for once. It’s a modern song, “Ho Hey,” by the Lumineers. I catch his eye and he winks. He finally listened.

  The boys start walking across the room. By now they’re used to doing this. So am I. For a second I want to hang back, like usual, but instead I find my feet moving and decide to follow them instead, right into the center of the boys.

  They part around me like I’m a tree in a river, none of them looking at me. In the past this would make me feel rejected, but I’m not worried. I’ll find someone to dance with.

  Someone grabs my hand from the side, and I pull it away and whirl to face him. “You’re supposed to make eye contact and ask before you touch me,” I inform him.

  It’s Ryan. His face turns the same shade as his hair.

 
; “It’s you!” I point at him. I couldn’t have been more surprised if one of my brothers had shown up. Then I remember his mom saying she needed to enroll him. I give him a playful tap on the shoulder. “Way to start the class late—just in time for the party.”

  “That’s my style.” He grins, the flush fading.

  I smile back, and hold out my hands. “Ask me.”

  He glances around, listens to what the other boys are saying, then bows from the waist. “Would you care to dance, mademoiselle?” he says in a French accent.

  “Oui.” I giggle.

  “Like this?” He puts his right hand on my waist, puts his left in my right.

  “Yup. But you’re not supposed to pick a dance partner on purpose.” I drop my accent.

  He crosses his heart and drops his accent, too. “I swear to you on my Dungeon Master’s guide, I did not try to choose you. Until I saw you.” Ryan laughs. “Anyway, what are you, a Pokémon? Also, why do the boys choose the girls? Is this 1980?”

  I giggle. “Dad wishes.”

  Ryan looks down at his feet. “How do I . . . ?”

  “Step forward with your left foot, then your right. We’re basically going to draw a square,” I tell him, and even though I’m not supposed to lead, I sort of do, moving my right foot back and dragging him along.

  “Small talk,” Dad intones in his microphone.

  Ryan whispers, “Is this small enough?”

  “Even smaller.” I lower my voice even more.

  “Hold on. I’m going to aim for the Sprite and Starburst.” Ryan begins leading me over there, in a kind of ridiculous way, like we’re doing a tango, pointing our hands toward the refreshment table.

  I laugh. “We’re going to get into trouble for taking the refreshments too early. Everyone will copy us. Chaos!”

  “In D&D, I am aligned with chaotic good,” he says modestly, twirling us closer and closer. He’s getting the hang of it. “That means I’m kind, but I also do what I want.”

  “What am I?” I tilt my head back so I can see his expression.

  He regards me thoughtfully. “Lawful good. That’s the best kind. Honorable and compassionate. You fight evil and don’t give up.”

  This makes me blush, for some reason. “I’m glad we’re both good.” I do try to be, I guess. Sometimes it’s hard and maybe that’s part of my problem. I’m always worried about being the best lawful good person I can be, even if I can’t control it all. I shouldn’t.

  “Yeah,” Ryan says. “You’re actually the best lawful good ever.”

  “Why?” He seems like he’s not joking for a change.

  “Because you make me want to act better,” he says seriously. “Because when I get onstage and I’m all amped up and too big, you bring me down.”

  “I bring you down? Gee, thanks.”

  “In a good way.” He grins.

  I think about this. “I guess . . . you help me be a little bit bigger, sometimes. We balance each other.”

  Ryan nods. “And because even though you’re quiet, people listen to you when you do talk. Sometimes I feel like I talk so much that people miss it when I actually have a point.” He blushes then, and I do, too, because we shared a lot. “So I guess what I’m trying to say, Ava, is you’re pretty cool.”

  “Um.” I don’t want to leave that hanging in the air. “You’re kind of cool, too.”

  Neither of us says anything for a minute. The lyrics go into the chorus, which are embarrassingly romantic. Why did Dad have to choose this song?

  A memory of Dad telling Mom how she makes him a better person flits into my head. Ryan’s not saying he’s in love with me, is he? I stare hard at him, all squishy and weird inside.

  “Anyway.” Ryan bends his hip to the right. “Please excuse this awful thing I am about to do in advance.” He screws up his face and he reminds me of Luke, and then even more so because Ryan lets out the stinkiest toot ever.

  “Gross!” someone says.

  I laugh because it’s so disgusting and because I’m so relieved that Ryan is obviously not in love with me. Then Ryan lifts up my hand, and though Dad didn’t teach us how to spin, he spins me anyway, and I follow like we’ve been doing it for years, and we dance away from the awful fart smell, laughing like crazy, and everyone in the auditorium’s looking at us and wondering why we’re having such a good time at Cotillion.

  Epilogue

  I don’t see them in the sea of adult heads bobbing around. I turn and look behind me. What if they didn’t come pick me up? I clutch my carry-on as I follow the airline lady down the escalator toward baggage claim, trying to spot them in the crowd. I really shouldn’t have brought so many books and journals, but Zelia and I have a lot of catching up to do.

  “Our claim is at B-2.” The airline lady leads me over to the mass of people gathered around the machine. “You know what they look like, right?”

  “Of course.” I remind myself to relax. If Zelia and her mom aren’t here, the airline will take care of me. I don’t know how, but they will. Or I’ll call my parents and they’ll do something.

  I will handle whatever happens.

  I look around at the busy airport with all its shops, at the cars and buses honking outside, my insides a twisted knot of nerves and excited bunny hops. What is Maine going to be like? Zelia says we’ll swim in a lake and go berry picking, two things I don’t do in San Diego.

  And then I spy a pink-and-blue head hopping up and down. “Ava!”

  I run toward her, squirming my way through the adults. “Zelia!”

  We hug. She’s taller, but so am I, and we’re seeing eye to eye for the first time in our lives, so that’s different and a little odd. Shoulder to shoulder. Head to head. Her smile is just like I remember it, and the gleam in her eyes is the same.

  “I have so much to show you!” she says, all sparkles and glitter, and then her mom appears with my Hello Kitty suitcase she’s just picked up from baggage, and Zelia starts talking a mile a minute as we walk toward the doors.

  I lean against her, happy to listen. Knowing now that when it’s my turn, she’ll listen to me.

  The warm summer air hits me like a blanket, but it feels good after the closed-in air of the plane. I take a breath. “Ahhh. So this is Maine.”

  “Yeah. The airport is definitely the best part.” Zelia puts her hands on her hips with her wry smile. “Well, you’ve seen it all. Might as well go home.”

  I turn around, pretending to leave.

  “Oh my gosh. I’ve missed you so much.” She grabs me and gives me another hug. “I’m so glad you made it!”

  I’m glad I made it, too.

  Game: Five Things

  RULES:

  Students stand in a circle.

  One student starts by pointing at another and asking them to say five things as fast as they can based on a category of the initiator’s choosing.

  The student names five things. The things don’t have to make sense. One of them could even be a noise. Every answer is correct.

  As the student names each item, the rest of the class counts along, then cheers when five have been said. For example:

  Initiator: Five things you’d find in a refrigerator.

  Student: Milk!

  Class: One!

  Student: Orange juice!

  Class: Two!

  Student: A tree!

  Class: Three!

  Student: Ummmmm.

  Class: Four!

  Student: Mold!

  Class: Five!

  Now the entire class can sing a song/cheer as follows.

  Entire class: (clapping with each word) These. Are. Five. Things. (drawn-out) Fiiiive things. (quickly) Five things. Five things. Five things. These are five things!

  The student who just named off five things will then point to another student and name a new category.

  OBJECTIVES:

  To revel in wordplay; to free your mind and commit to the moment; to support your teammates.

  COMMENTS:

>   Encourage speed and not cleverness. Support the player with enthusiasm! Every idea is great. The point of improv is that “mistakes,” the things that don’t fit, are treasured.

  Adapted from Canadian Improv Games.

  Game: Gifts

  Two players face each other. Player A gives Player B an imaginary gift. You can play rounds of the best gift you can think of, the worst gift you can think of, the most boring gift, a gift that can fit in a shoebox, etc.

  Player A says, “Here’s a [blank].” Player B must answer, “Thank you, a [blank] is what I’ve always wanted! [Gives reason for wanting that gift.]” The reason can be absurd, it can be simple, or it can be a true reason. This game teaches the yes, and acceptance of unexpected things and how to build on what your partner gives you.

  Author’s Note

  There are two things I know run in my family: heart problems and anxiety. Like Ava, I was really anxious as a kid, which meant people thought I was shy. I often would refuse to talk at all, but made my ideas known through writing.

  Like Ava, I also have noncompaction cardiomyopathy. It’s genetic for me. My oldest brother and my mother and aunts died from it. The illness varies widely in severity. Some have spongy heart tissue and no symptoms, while others have hearts that get sick. So far I’ve been pretty lucky, but I have an ICD pacemaker implant in case the tissue decides to fail.

  Though the causes vary, my cardiologist, Dr. Eric Adler at UCSD, who’s also a researcher, said that it is thought that anxiety may cause the condition to surface. It became clear to me that I needed to find a way to control my anxiety and to teach my kids how to do so.

  But despite therapy and mindfulness, controlling general and social anxiety was difficult. Until I took a long-form improv class in 2017. Long-form improv, unlike short form, is based more on relationships and situational comedy instead of thinking up comebacks or puns, and my writer brain loved it. It was like making up short plays.

  I started taking classes because improv intrigued my creative side, and I thought it would help my writing (it does). To my great surprise I found it also helped my anxiety, and that it’s actually used in some therapy settings, too. Like exposure therapy for anxiety, it gets you used to situations where you don’t know what the outcome will be. It also helps with empathy and listening skills. Finally, it teaches you to not fear mistakes—because saying the wrong thing is the best part of improv.