by Annie Bryant
“Well, girls,” the man took out a calculator, “at ten cents a copy that’s a hundred and fifty fliers! You must be serious about finding this little dog!”
When the print job was completed, they divided the fliers between them. “You take Harvard and I will take Beacon,” an in-charge Isabel directed. She could tell that her friend Charlotte was worried and confused.
“I’ll meet you back at the corner.”
Charlotte’s first stop was Irving’s.
“Twice? How very nice,” Mrs. Weiss said, laughing at her little rhyme. “Did you fill up the reporter’s book already?”
“Not exactly…” Charlotte said. “We have an emergency.”
Charlotte showed Mrs. Weiss the flier. “Do you think that we could tape this in your front window and maybe right here by the counter?”
Mrs. Weiss took the flier from Charlotte’s hand and read the whole thing.
“Oh, my goodness,” she said, clutching the front of her floral dress. “Little Marty lost? Oh, my dear, you must feel awful. You had him on a leash, how in heaven’s name did he get away from you?”
“He didn’t get away from me….” Charlotte said, tersely. “He got away from Avery.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Weiss turned her head to one side, encouraging Charlotte to continue.
“Yes. She left him in her duffle bag while she was at the batting cage.” Charlotte sniffled. “If she hadn’t been so interested in having a good time, Marty would be home with me right now,” she said.
“You know, Charlotte, everyone gets distracted sometimes. I mean, here we are having a big festival and there are rides and games and cotton candy. And that little Avery, when she comes in here she bounces around like she’s one of those Superballs over there. A regular little Superball.”
For a moment, Charlotte caught herself smiling at the image of Avery bouncing about like a ball. Then she got mad again. She knew that Mrs. Weiss was right, but she just couldn’t stop being mad at Avery right now.
Mrs. Weiss patted Charlotte’s hand. “You’ll find the little doggie. And don’t be so hard on the bouncy one.”
“But Avery…”
“She’s a good little egg, that Avery,” Mrs. Weiss interrupted. “I bet she feels as bad as you do…or worse! She loves that dog.” Charlotte nodded and waved good-bye to Mrs. Weiss. She knew the storeowner was right, but she just couldn’t shake the feeling that if Avery had been more responsible, none of this would be happening. They would all be at the festival eating hot dogs and munching on popcorn.
Every time Charlotte entered a shop, she asked permission to tape up her sign. By the time she was done, there was a Marty flier plastered in every store window on Harvard Street. Marty would be famous. Charlotte thought the little dude would be pleased.
When Charlotte met up with Isabel at the end of the street, she was feeling more hopeful. Surely somebody would have seen the little dude by now.
“Any luck?” Isabel asked.
Charlotte shook her head. “You?” she asked.
Isabel shook her head.
As they walked back into the park, they noticed the vendors starting to put away their wares for the day and the crowd beginning to thin out.
The girls wished each other luck and then trudged off separately into the remains of the fair.
“Have you seen this dog?” Charlotte asked each vendor, holding up the sign.
“No,” was the universal reply.
Most people said they would keep their eyes open, but some didn’t even want to take the flier. With every step Charlotte took, fear grew in her heart that she might never see Marty again.
When she got to the end of the first row of vendors, Charlotte spotted Avery’s jacket folded into a lump and abandoned at the base of the big tree in the park. I can’t believe it! Charlotte thought. Avery not only lost Marty, but her jacket too. But when she got to the tree she realized that the jacket was not alone. There was Avery, all curled up into such a tight, tiny ball that Charlotte had almost missed her.
“Avery?” Charlotte asked.
Avery looked up. Her eyes were swollen and red, her cheeks streaked with tears. She looked so small and lost that Charlotte instantly felt sorry for her.
“I looked and looked and looked,” said Avery, standing up. Her legs were streaked with mud and scratched from crawling through the bushes. “I kept calling him and I whistled so long and hard,” Avery said with a hoarse voice. Charlotte knew that she was telling the truth, but she still couldn’t help thinking that Avery was the one who got them into this mess in the first place. At the same time, she felt sorry for Avery. It was all so confusing.
“Don’t act like the Lone Ranger. You’re not the only one who’s been looking.”
Avery gulped. “I know you’re mad, Charlotte, but what else do you want me to do?”
Charlotte felt instantly guilty for what she’d said. But it was all true, Charlotte reminded herself. Marty wouldn’t be missing if Avery hadn’t been thinking of herself and baseball!
Then she remembered what Mrs. Weiss had said about not focusing on blame, but focusing on finding Marty instead.
“Come on,” Charlotte said, and offered her hand to Avery, pulling her to her feet. “Take a few fliers. It’s getting late. This has been a hard day for me, and I think I took it out on you.” That was as close as Charlotte could get to an apology. She knew she had been beastly, but losing Marty had made her feel so sad.
“What’s up Ave—did you…?” Isabel asked when they met up at the end of the section of vendors.
Avery shook her head.
Isabel gave Avery a hug. “Are you okay? You look awful.”
“I’m better now, actually,” said Avery. She wiped off her cheeks and jumped up and down to regroup. An anxious Charlotte was suddenly reminded of the super bouncy ball in Mrs. Weiss’s store.
“What’s next?” Avery asked. “We gotta DO something!”
“Maybe we could call the TV stations. The radio stations. The more people who know, the better,” Isabel suggested.
“That’s a great idea,” Avery said enthusiastically.
Charlotte wasn’t so sure. “Why would the TV stations care about a little lost dog? Boston must have much more exciting things going on than that.”
“Have you got a better suggestion?” Isabel asked with a tinge of annoyance in her voice.
Charlotte looked at Isabel and Avery. She had to admit that she was out of options. Calling the radio and TV stations was better than nothing.
“Come on, we can call from my house,” she said.
And the three girls walked dejectedly up the hill toward Charlotte’s house.
CHAPTER
6
Neigh!
Sunday night Katani started her favorite routine—laying out her clothes for school the next day—when her mother called her from the other room.
“Katani, could you come into the living room for a minute? Your father and I would like to talk to you.”
Uh-oh, the living room. This must be serious, she reasoned. The living room was reserved for special occasions in the Summers household. But Katani couldn’t imagine what was so important to discuss on a Sunday night just before bedtime. Nevertheless, she quickly folded up her jeans, laid them on the bed, and went to join her parents.
“In here,” Mrs. Summers said, motioning her into the small office off the living room. When Katani stepped in, her mother shut the door behind them both and sat next to her father on the small loveseat. She motioned for Katani to sit in the desk chair. What could this be about? Her parents looked so nervous. She knew that she hadn’t done anything wrong. Her heart gave a leap. She hoped they weren’t going to tell her that something terrible had happened to Marty. Katani leaned forward.
“Marty—something terrible happened…?”
“No, no, honey,” her mother rushed to reassure her. “We haven’t heard anything.” Seeing the concern on her daughter’s face she added, “I am sure little
Marty will be found. Your dad says the fliers are all over town.”
Katani heaved a sigh of relief and leaned back in her chair.
“So what do you want then? I hope it’s not more babysitting,” said Katani, folding her arms across her chest.
Her mother gave her the look that said, “No sass from you, young lady.” Katani sat up straight in her chair and listened up.
“Katani, I don’t know how much you overheard at the physical therapist’s office the other day,” began Mrs. Summers.
Katani gulped. Was she in trouble for eavesdropping? “Not much,” she stammered.
“Perhaps you overheard us talking about hippotherapy?” Mrs. Summers asked.
There was that word again.
Katani nodded. But a sudden stab of fear struck. Was something wrong with Kelley? Something serious?
“What does it mean?” she asked in a soft voice. “I know it doesn’t have to do with hippopotamuses.”
Mr. Summers’ lips crept into a smile.
“No, Ms. Know Everything. It’s horseback riding therapy. Hippo is the Latin word for horse. Hippopotamus actually means water horse,” he explained.
“Oh,” Katani answered, relieved. She couldn’t wait to somehow bring this up in front of Charlotte. The word nerd would be very impressed with her.
“We called the stable that the physical therapist recommended—the High Hopes Riding Stable,” her mother said.” “They have an immediate opening and can accept Kelley right away.”
Katani looked up at the hopeful tone in her mother’s voice. “That’s great,” Katani said, still wondering what all this had to do with her.
Her parents looked at each other.
“Well, Katani,” her father started. “Horseback-riding therapy helps improve many, many aspects of autistic kids’ lives. We feel very lucky to have found a stable that has a therapeutic riding program for autistic kids—one that had an opening.”
“Uh-huh,” Katani nodded, becoming suspicious. She knew her parents didn’t call her into the room to describe her sister’s therapy.
“Well,” her mother continued. “Claudia McClelland, the director at the stable, says it helps if the autistic child has a peer role model….”
The term “peer role model” set off alarms in Katani’s head. She’d heard this term before, many times before. It meant they liked to have a “normal kid” to cue Kelley on how to behave. Someone Kelley was familiar with, and someone close to her age. Usually, that meant Katani.
Mrs. Summers kept on, but Katani had zoned out. The idea of climbing on top of a 1,000-pound animal wasn’t her cup of tea. She just wanted to go back to her room and plan her outfit for tomorrow.
“So what do you think?” her mother asked.
“Think about what?”
“About accompanying your sister to therapeutic horseback riding lessons?”
“You mean like walking her there, like I took her to the physical therapist?” Katani asked, wondering how far away this place was. There weren’t any riding stables within walking distance that she knew of.
“No, your grandmother will be driving you to the riding stable.” Her mother was starting to look exasperated.
“So why do I have to go?”
Her mother sighed.
“Ms. McClelland says it’s easier for autistic children if they have a peer role model.”
There was that phrase again.
“Me? I’m supposed to be her peer role model?”
“Yes.”
“What do I have to do?”
Her parents made eye contact again.
“Katani, you’d be taking riding lessons as well,” her father explained.
“What! No! I’m scared of horses. They’re enormous. I don’t like this idea at all!”
“Neither does Kelley, but it would be so much easier for her if…”
“Easier for her? What about me! Does anyone ever think about what I might like to do? How I might like to spend my free time?”
“Katani…” her mother started.
“No way! Mom, I have enough to worry about with school and all the things I want to do. And now Marty is lost and I have to help. Can’t Patrice do it?”
“Patrice is in high school with an intense workload, and she has basketball practice every day. And you know that we are hoping for an athletic scholarship for her.”
“Well…can’t you find someone else?”
“Katani,” her mother tried to sound optimistic, “look on the bright side. This could be fun for you.”
“Fun? When have I ever given you the idea that sitting on top of some old horse was my idea of fun? I don’t want to.”
“Well…Katani,” her father said in a strained voice. “We were hoping that you’d want to. But the fact is that everything has already been arranged.”
“What? My opinion doesn’t even count? You have got to be kidding me. That’s so unfair.”
“Katani…”
Her mother tried to describe the benefits and how important having a peer role model would be, but Katani was no longer listening.
She scrunched down in the chair.
“You didn’t even ask me first. This is so typical.”
Her father took a deep breath. He was a large man and when he breathed in deeply he seemed to double in size.
“Katani,” he said in an exasperated voice. “This is what being in a family means—making sacrifices for the people you love. Your mom and I love you as much as Kelley, Patrice, and Candice. But we have to balance everyone’s needs. I know it might not seem fair right now, but things balance out in the end. No one asked Kelley if she wanted to be autistic. But she is, and we all have to deal with it.”
Mrs. Summers closed the argument. “Being in a family with an autistic sister requires that you pitch in, that you do what you can. We’ve all made sacrifices for Kelley.”
Katani was silent. She knew deep down her parents were right. She remembered the summer when her sister’s friends went to camp, and Patrice had to stay home and baby-sit Katani and Kelley.
“Your first lesson is tomorrow afternoon.” Her father got up, patted her on the shoulder, and left the room.
Katani didn’t move.
Mrs. Summers sat quietly with Katani for a while. “I hope that you’ll see this is an opportunity for you as well.”
Katani shrugged and swirled the desk chair so her back was facing her mother. Mrs. Summers got up and leaned over to kiss her daughter on her cheek and left the room.
To: Sophie
From: Charlotte
Subject: Marty
sophie-
marty’s lost! if someone does find him, they won’t know who to call. they don’t know where to return him to! it’s like losing orangina all over again! i’m heartbroken. what should I do?
Ton amie,
charlotte
Avery’s Blog
Friends, family, countrymen, I need your help!
The BSG’s adorable, lovable little dog has run away!
Last seen running toward the creek at the Brookline 300 Festival on Saturday afternoon. He’s not wearing a collar, but answers to Marty.
E-mail me if you have any leads!
CHAPTER
7
Rhyme Time
Avery was the last one through the door to English class when the bell rang.
Ms. Rodriguez had poems pinned up all over the room. Some of the poems were funny and some were kind of sad or confusing, especially the ones by poets who lived a long time ago. Some, in Avery’s opinion, were kind of ridiculous. They didn’t make any sense to her at all.
Every teacher since third grade had taught a poetry unit, which Avery usually hated. She had to admit that Ms. R had made her think about poetry in a different way. She said that it didn’t have to rhyme. That poetry could be about emotions and passion or a cause important to the writer. And to think of poetry as a puzzle. What was the writer trying to say? The hints were in the words and images. M
s. R described poems as a wonderful dessert, rich and sweet, full of flavors to nourish the soul. Avery liked the dessert analogy, but she still would rather eat a cupcake than read poetry—no offense to Ms. R.
Avery had struggled with the weekend homework assignment. They were supposed to write a poem…something they were passionate about.
At first, Avery considered writing her poem about losing Marty. But she was afraid that if Ms. Rodriguez asked her to read the poem out loud, she might cry. It was bad enough that she had cried at the festival on Saturday. Good thing none of the guys, especially Billy Trentini, had seen her blubbering like a baby over a lost dog. So she decided to pick another topic.
Avery had stayed up late last night working on her poem. She thought long and hard. What was she passionate about? Just as she was about to freak out and say she couldn’t possibly do this, Scott walked into her room and threw a Nerf baseball at her head.
Perfect. The light bulb went on. “Go away, Scott. I have to write a poem.”
When she pulled her homework assignment out of her notebook, it was all rumpled because she had stuffed it into her bag in a rush. She began to smooth out the crinkled edges as she waited for Ms. Rodriguez to start class.
“Okay, class, settle down,” the teacher said. “How many of you went to the festival this weekend?”
Avery looked around. It seemed everyone’s hands shot up in the air. Usually her hand would have been the first up, but because of what happened with Marty, she didn’t raise hers.
“Well, I hope you all found time to work on your poems between the rides and games,” Ms. R said with a smile. Then she surveyed the room, making sure that her students had done their assignments.
“I have a poem that I love. It’s about spring, but I remember it made me think of the festival because of all the balloons in the park. It’s called ‘In Just’ by e. e. cummings.”
Ms. Rodriguez walked up and down the aisles as she read the poem.
“in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious…”