Ava and Pip

by Carol Weston

  When Dad and I arrived at the library, Mr. Ramirez asked Dad if he was working on a new play. Dad said, “Yes, but tonight is all about my daughter.” He put his arm around me, and it was half-sweet, half-embarrassing.

  Soon everyone sat down on folding gray chairs. None of the Emilys were there and neither was Chuck or Matthew (the boy who wrote about dragons). But Riley (pony girl) and Alex (earthworm boy) were. Alex is the kind of boy who burps without saying, “Excuse me,” but tonight he was dressed up and on his best behavior. There were kids from other schools too. Everyone was sitting in the room with the high ceilings and high bookcases. Mom and Pip were “on their way.”

  Mrs. (Bright) White had on a black scarf dotted with pumpkins. She introduced the famous-ish author, Jerry Valentino. He was tall and skinny and looked like he’d forgotten to comb his hair. He said that when he was our age, he loved libraries: “the smell of books, the wooden tables, the peace and quiet.” He said his family was “loud and noisy,” so as soon as he could, he got a library card. It took him “many years and many rejection letters,” but when he was twenty-nine, he published his first children’s book.

  He lifted it in the air. It was called Campfire Nights.

  On the cover were three boys and a giant bonfire. I couldn’t tell if they were roasting hot dogs or toasting marshmallows, but it was the kind of cover that if you judged a book by its cover, you’d want to buy it. For a second, I pictured myself as a famous-ish author talking to a roomful of kids and lifting a book in the air.

  Judge Jerry said there were many “outstanding” submissions and that it had not been easy to choose winners. “We’ll start with best story by a fourth- or fifth-grader,” he said. Riley and I kept sneaking peeks at each other. I think we each thought the other had come in first.

  “This year’s winning story,” Judge Jerry announced, “is about the underground adventures of an earthworm.”

  What?! I couldn’t believe it! Ernie the Earthworm snagged first prize? Top spot (T-O-P-S-P-O-T)?

  “Alex Gladstone’s writing is so detailed,” Judge Jerry continued, “I could smell the moist dirt! Alex, come tell us what inspired you to set your story deep in the bowels of the earth.”

  Bowels of the earth? Earth bowels?? Eww!!

  Alex stood up. He was wearing a navy jacket and maroon tie and looked even dweebier than usual. Judge Jerry lowered the microphone and Alex breathed into it. I felt almost sorry for him because you could tell that he hadn’t expected to have to talk.

  After a lot of breathing, Alex said, “Whenever I go fishing, I feel bad for the worms, so I wanted to write a worm story with a happy ending.” Everyone clapped, and Judge Jerry handed him a certificate and a shiny pen in a velvety box. I was jealous, even though I knew it was pathetic to be jealous of a worm-obsessed fourth-grader.

  Judge Jerry raised the microphone and said, “The next two stories were so good that I am honored to award two honorable mentions.” He started reading a passage about a pony’s “trusting brown eyes,” and I wanted to barf because it sounded as if now even Judge Jerry had a crush on Riley’s stupid pony.

  Riley strutted to the podium as if she were accepting an Academy Award. Her parents were there and so was her sister. Mom and Pip still hadn’t arrived, and I kept thinking: “Where are they?”

  When Judge Jerry asked Riley what inspired her, she said, “Ponies and horses are my favorite living creatures—besides people.”

  I thought, “Oh puh-lease!” but everyone clapped, so I fake-clapped.

  “The second honorable mention,” Judge Jerry continued, “goes to Ava Wren who wrote ‘Sting of the Queen Bee.’” My heart was beating really loudly, but no one else seemed to hear. I looked around again for Mom and Pip. Where were they??

  “Don’t you love that title?” Judge Jerry asked. “It’s a double entendre, which is French for ‘double meaning.’” (I didn’t know that.) “I admire Ava’s wordplay and vivid imagination,” he continued, “as well as her sense of humor and understanding of social dynamics. Furthermore, her depiction of the villain is both whimsical and believable. Or should I say, ‘BEE-lievable’?” He laughed at his own wordplay and invited me up. Dad gave my shoulder a little squeeze, and I stood up and walked to the front of the room. I must have been nervous because it seemed like it was a long, long way from my seat to the podium even though obviously it wasn’t.

  Judge Jerry met my eyes. “Ava, what inspired you?” he said and lowered the microphone.

  Well, I couldn’t exactly talk about how I’d wanted to get back at the seventh-grade bully who’d ruined my sister’s birthday, so I said, “I enjoy observing older kids,” and hoped I didn’t sound like a spy.

  “Wonderful!” Judge Jerry said. “Keen observation is an important tool in every writer’s toolbox.”

  Everyone clapped, and for a second, I thought I spotted Mom in the back of the room. But I was wrong. She really had missed my big moment.

  I sat back down next to Dad feeling one-third proud, one-third mad at Mom and Pip, and one-third worried about them, when the library door creaked open.

  In walked not Mom, not Pip, but…Bea! Queen Bea!! With her family!!!

  Bea was the last person I expected to see! Really! I was Ava the Astonished! And she arrived just seconds after Judge Jerry had exclaimed over my “BEE-lievable” villain!

  I’d assumed that writing wasn’t dangerous, but was I wrong? Dead wrong?

  What if Bea finds out what I wrote? And why, oh why didn’t I think of that earlier??

  I’d tell you what happened next, but my hand is about to fall off. (Figuratively, not literally.)

  To be continued…

  AVA THE AFRAID

  10/29

  BEFORE SCHOOL

  DEAR DIARY,

  So here’s what happened: when Bea walked into the library, I tried not to look nervous, scared, or petrified. She saw me and smiled as if she recognized me from our middle school. I did not smile back!

  Well, the first prize in the sixth- and seventh-grade category went to a boy from an all-boys’ school. His story was about a penguin with a pen, and Judge Jerry said it illustrated “the extraordinary power of words.” The boy stepped up but did not say a single solitary word, let alone any extraordinary powerful ones. He just got redder and redder (R-E-D-D-E-R and R-E-D-D-E-R) until he sat down again.

  “The next honorable mention,” Judge Jerry announced, “goes to seventh-grader Beatrice Bates who wrote a story called ‘Bookshop Cat.’ Bea, come on up!” She hopped up, and he welcomed her on stage and asked what inspired her.

  She flicked her long blond hair behind her ears and leaned into the microphone and said, “I’m a cat person, and my parents are book people. They own a bookshop.”

  I looked at Dad, and he was smiling. Clearly he had not put two and two together. Why would he? Nobody realized that the villain in my story was standing in front of our very eyes, basking in the library limelight. I couldn’t believe Bea-Bee the two-faced was attempting to come off as a decent person! What a little faker! Everyone (except me) clapped until she sat down, all full of herself.

  If only people knew what she was really like!!

  Judge Jerry gave the last honorable mention to an eighth-grader named Charona who has lavender braces and wrote “a humorous story” about a timid turtle named Timmy who wouldn’t come out of his shell. Charona was there with her parents, grandparents, and even a teacher.

  Finally it was time for “punch and nibbles.” A photographer told us “winners” to smoosh together and say, “Stories!” with a big cheesy “eeeeez” at the end. Guess who plunked herself right next to me and started smiling away? Bea! I fake-smiled as well as I could.

  Outside, I may have looked happy, but inside, I was worried. If Bea found out about my story, would she punch or nibble me? Bea bruises and Bea bites were something I did not want!!
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  Mrs. (Bright) White tapped the microphone and said, “Thank you all for coming, and don’t forget to pick up your free copies of this year’s Winning Words.” She pointed to a big stack of sky-blue booklets, which were really just colored paper that got printed on and folded over and stapled in the middle. I started praying that the booklets included only the stories that won-won, not the stories that got mentioned-mentioned.

  “Every story is in here,” Mrs. (Bright) White continued, “so you’re in for a treat. Congratulations again to all our winners and their proud families.”

  My heart sank to my belly button. A treat? If Bea read my story, I’d be dead meat!

  I looked over at Bea. She was talking with her parents and brother. He’s in eighth grade and has sandy hair and is new in school too (duh). He has as many freckles as Pip and is the kind of boy who’s cute if you’re the kind of girl who notices. Which I’m not.

  Riley’s mom asked if she could take a picture for us, and Dad handed her his camera. But it was APPARENT that I was with just A PARENT. Where were Mom and Pip?

  I get that Pip’s favorite place is home-sweet-home (which she’s turning into home-sour-home). But they’d told me they were coming!

  Riley’s mom took pictures anyway, and I tried my best to real-smile, not fake-smile.

  Soon I started wondering if we were all taking this contest too seriously. Judge Jerry was making it sound like we were destined to be the next J. K. Rowlings or Judy Blumes, but c’mon, we’re just a bunch of kids writing about worms and ponies and bees. Were we like those sports teams where everyone gets a shiny trophy, even if she can’t catch a fly ball to save her life?

  When Dad and I finally got back to our sweet-and-sour home, Pip and Mom were there. Pip said she’d gotten stomach cramps at the last minute, and Mom said she hadn’t wanted to leave her alone. I didn’t ask Pip whether it was because of her “stage of life” or her allergy to people. I was just sorry she’d missed the reception and mad that because of her, Mom had too.

  Now I’m wondering if, deep down, Mom was a tiny bit relieved that her favorite daughter wouldn’t have to listen to a bunch of people clapping for her other daughter. Or maybe Mom thought Pip had something serious—like appendicitis? Or that going to the reception didn’t matter much because it was just a dumb kid contest, and Dad showed up and besides, I didn’t really win?

  Secret: it did matter!!!

  Here’s my new worry: What will happen when Bea reads my story? Will Bea beat me up? Or turn all of Misty Oaks Middle School against me? I wish I’d never entered the stupid contest!

  I wish my writer’s block had blocked me for real!

  AVA IN AGONY

  10/29

  AFTER SCHOOL

  DEAR DIARY,

  No Bea stings in school. No Bea bites either. Maybe Bea threw away her Winning Words, and my little story won’t get me in big trouble?

  As for my library booklet, I was going to put it on Mom and Dad’s bed, but I didn’t want to get disappointed if they didn’t like it—or didn’t read it.

  Besides, since Dad saw Bea on stage, what if he figured things out and instead of being proud of me, started asking questions?

  I decided to stash the booklet under my underwear in my dead diary graveyard.

  Then I changed my mind again and put it in Pip’s room by a sketchpad with a note that said: “For Your Eyes Only, see page 8.” I’d meant to show it to her when I first wrote it.

  Speaking of Pip, she’s hardly speaking. She brought a book to dinner, but Mom made her put it away.

  I wish Pip weren’t so moody, or should I say, bad-moody?

  I also wish I didn’t care. But when she gets down, it gets me down. Her moods are contagious—I’m like a sponge for bad feelings.

  AVA THE SPONGE

  10/30

  AFTER SCHOOL

  DEAR DIARY,

  Bea passed me in the hall today smiling as though we’re besties. I half-smiled back because I didn’t know what else to do.

  Does this mean I can relax? Because when I see Bea, I still feel very jjUUmmPPyy.

  It’s insane! At school, I worry about Bea, and at home, I worry about Pip!

  Tomorrow is Halloween. Maybelle came over, and we played Hangman. I won with “gypsy” because Maybelle wasted five guesses on the regular vowels, A-E-I-O-U.

  Afterward, we microwaved marshmallows. At first, it got messy because we nuked them too long. Then we got the hang of it, and we even invented variations like adding jelly beans and chocolate chips.

  We also planned our Halloween costumes: we are going as yellow-and-black-striped bumblebees. (Not queen bees!)

  Tomorrow I am not going to think about anything except candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy. Candy.

  Sweet!

  AVA WITH AN APPETITE

  10/31

  HALLOWEEN

  DEAR DIARY,

  Halloween can also be spelled Hallowe’en because the e’en stands for “evening.” Dad said it’s from All Hallows’ Eve—which is the night before All Saints’ Day, which is when ghosties go floating around. (Not really.)

  Pip is staying home tonight to help Mom give out candy.

  I invited Pip to trick-or-treat with me and Maybelle. Mom didn’t even have to ask. But I didn’t beg her or anything. If Pip wants to be antisocial, that’s her problem, not mine. I mean, it’s not my fault that she’s not outgoing and doesn’t like going out.

  Observation: all year long, parents say, “Don’t eat too much candy,” but on October 31, no one cares.

  Here’s my two cents on that:

  1.Y-A-Y

  2.M-M-M

  AVA IN COSTUME

  11/1

  1:11

  DEAR DIARY,

  Today’s date and time would be a number palindrome (111111) if you left out the dash and dots, which no one does, so never mind.

  I reread what I wrote yesterday: “If Pip wants to be antisocial, that’s her problem, not mine.” But that’s not totally true, is it? When one family member is sick or stressed or writer’s-blocky, it affects everybody. Or infects everybody.

  Like right now, I feel like saying, “Hey, Pip, did you read my story?” or “Hey, Pip, want to watch a movie?” But she’d just say something gloomy, so I’m being as quiet as she is. We’re like two mice!

  I feel bad for Pip, but I also feel like yelling at her again!!

  Last night after trick-or-treating, I was going to show her my bag of candy, including some palindromic Milk D-U-Ds and Blow P-O-Ps, but I didn’t want to make her feel worse about missing a fun night. Later, Mom went in, and they talked for a long, long time. That made me mad, because I’d set aside five red licorice sticks—Mom’s favorite—but I fell asleep before she came to say good night.

  Things are too quiet around here. Personally, I don’t like living in the House of Silence. We’re the Wrens! We’re supposed to be singing!

  AVA WREN, SONGBIRD

  11/1

  SUNDAY NIGHT

  DEAR DIARY,

  Dad gave us snack money, so Pip and I biked to Taco Time, which is four blocks away. We rode past the yellow, orange, and red trees, and I tried to remember the last time we even went. We used to go every week!

  The first time was last spring. Dad was tutoring a high school junior, and Pip and I were starving, so he handed us $14 and said, “Take care of each other.” And off we went—all by ourselves.

  Today when our tacos came, I saw a Toyota out the window, so I said, “A Toyota!” (A-T-O-Y-O-T-A). Pip was supposed to reply, “A Toyota’s a Toyota!” (A-T-O-Y-O-T-A-S-A-T-O-Y-O-T-A), which is our family’s new inside joke. But she didn’t.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” she said. And I realized that the person I really wanted to yell at is Queen Bea. Just thinking about that
girl drives me 100 percent crazy!

  Pip must have read my mind, because she said, “Hey, Ava, I meant to tell you, I liked your story.”

  “Really?” I tried to sound casual.

  “Yes. It was funny. And I know you meant well.” I waited for her to say more about my way with words or how she was glad I’d trashed her archenemy. “But I wonder what Bea Bates is going to think,” she continued. “She might freak out. She is a real person, after all.”

  Well, that made me so nervous, I forgot to hold my taco properly, and the beef and sour cream insides came sliding out and plopped onto the table and some splattered onto my lap.

  Did I really pick a fight with a popular seventh-grader? How could I be so dumb?

  “Maybe she won’t read it?” I said. “At school, she always smiles at me.”

  Pip shrugged.

  AVA THE DOOMED

  11/2

  AFTER SCHOOL

  DEAR DIARY,

  I passed Bea in the hall this morning, and she did not smile at me. She gave me an odd look.

  I spent the rest of the day trying not to panic.

  In language arts, I finally got a little distracted because Mrs. Lemons was talking about “perspective” (which she said is like “point of view”) and was going over spelling words (including the bonus word “throughway”). She said there are many ways to pronounce “ough,” and on the board, she wrote:

  1.“oo” as in through

  2.“oh” as in though

  3.“uff” as in enough

  4.“off” as in cough

  5.“aw” as in ought and

  6.“ow” as in bough

  I said, “That’s so cool!” at the same exact time that Chuck said, “That’s so complicated!” Everyone laughed. Even Mrs. Lemons.

  At home, I wanted to tell Dad about the “ough” thing, but he and Pip just went out to buy groceries.