Ava and Pip

by Carol Weston

  “About ‘lights out in one minute’?”

  “About you being a great daughter.”

  AVA (WITH AN AWW)

  12/9

  5:55

  DEAR DIARY,

  Bea asked if we could meet at her bookshop instead of our house. She said her parents like her to make herself “useful during the holidays” by unpacking boxes, shelving books, helping customers, and wrapping presents. December is their busiest season.

  “Okay,” I said, even though I was not dying to run into her mom.

  After school, Pip and I walked to Bates Books, and on the way, we passed Loudmouth Lacey. She actually squeaked—but just once. I pretended not to hear, and I think Pip really didn’t hear, which, in its own weird way, might be lucky. (Maybe she’ll always have minor “social issues”? Maybe Lacey will too??)

  At the bookstore, I saw Mrs. Bates. At first I wanted to pretend I didn’t notice her, but Pip said hi, so I had to say something. I thought of Pointer #4 and said, “I really like your bookstore. It’s so cozy.”

  Mrs. Bates looked surprised. “Why thank you, Ava. Having a bookstore was my dream ever since I was your age. Of course I didn’t know what a challenge it would be.”

  She laughed like we were old friends.

  Bea came over and motioned for us to follow her to the back, so we did. She said she had something for us. I thought it might be gum, but she handed us two night-light pens that glow in the dark! If you click the tips, they light up! You could use them to write in the middle of the night if you woke up and didn’t want your parents coming in!

  When Bea handed me my pen, she said, “Ava, ‘Sting of the Queen Bee’ was not my favorite story in the world, but if you keep writing, someday maybe we can sell your book right here at Bates Books.” She pointed to a bottom shelf. “We could shelve it next to E. B. White’s.”

  I liked imagining my name on a bookstore book. I began picturing a kid picking up a book by Ava Elle Wren, and maybe even looking at the front and back and skimming the first page and seeing what it was about and how it sounded and how long it was.

  I also started wondering if the pen Bea gave me might feel magical. Then I realized that, magic or not, it was wayyy cooler than the library pen Alex got for his Ernie the Earthworm story because it was proof that Bea and I really had become friends after all.

  “Does your mom know you’re giving me this?”

  Bea said, “Yes.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  Bea looked like she was deciding how to answer. “She said you’re a ‘young writer with a lot to learn.’”

  I couldn’t argue with that, and I was glad Mrs. Bates called me a “writer,” just as Dad had. Lately I have been thinking about becoming a writer, but in some ways, maybe I already am one? All I do is write! Well, write and spell.

  Bea turned and said, “Pip, you deserve a fancy pen too because you completed all five assignments.”

  Pip thanked her and clicked the little light on and off, on and off.

  “How’d the questions go this week, anyway? Did you talk to anybody good?”

  “As a matter of fact…” Pip began.

  Just then I saw a blur of orange. Was it the tip of a tail? I remembered hearing about Meow Meow and blurted, “Was it a cat I saw?”

  “Great one!” Pip said. “W-A-S-I-T-A-C-A-T-I-S-A-W!” I didn’t respond, and Pip said, “Ava, that’s an amazing palindrome!”

  “Palinwhat?” Bea asked.

  “Palindrome,” Pip said. “A palindrome is the same backward or forward. Like P-I-P. Or A-V-A.”

  “Wow,” said Bea.

  “Or W-O-W,” Pip said. “Our parents Bob (B-O-B) and Anna (A-N-N-A) named us Pip (P-I-P) and Ava (A-V-A),” she continued, “and now we’re all four word nerds!”

  For the first time in my life, I wanted to tell Pip to shhh, be quiet, pipe down, and shut up. Was I going to be sorry I’d helped Pip find her voice? Was Bea going to think our whole family was bonkers?

  “But what are ya gonna do?” Pip added merrily. “Sue us? S-U-E-U-S?”

  Right then, I swear, I wanted to evaporate. I actually wanted to be invisible.

  But Bea just laughed and said, “My dad is weird about words too.” She said he was into alliterations, and that her parents’ names are Bill and Beth, and they named their kids Ben and Beatrice. “Hey, Pip, have you met my big brother Ben Bates, my BBBB?”

  Out of nowhere, her BBBB appeared, holding a striped orange cat. At first, no one said anything. Then the cat meowed twice and jumped to the floor.

  “That must be Meow Meow,” I said.

  “It is,” Ben and Bea replied at the exact same time. Ben turned to Pip, and their eyes locked. I have to say, Pip looked extra pretty, and for a tiny second, I pictured them married with two freckled toddlers, one boy, one girl.

  Bea was staring at them too. “I guess you two have met,” she said.

  Pip and Ben stayed M-U-M, and I figured it might help if their younger sisters weren’t standing there breathing on them.

  I scooped up Meow Meow and gestured for Bea to follow.

  As we walked away, Bea whispered, “So the boy Pip had a crush on is…Ben?” I nodded and hoped she wouldn’t mind that I hadn’t told her earlier.

  “They do have a lot in common,” she said.

  “True,” I said and listed three things:

  1.Freckles

  2.Shyness

  3.Totally awesome sisters

  Bea smiled. “Think they’ll go to the dance together? Ben’s still a little shy.”

  “I know they will,” I answered.

  “Huh.”

  “H-U-H,” I spelled out, then suddenly noticed a copy of “Bookshop Cat,” framed and hanging on the wall. “Your story!”

  “Yeah, my aunt framed it.”

  “The psychotherapist?” I’d never said that word aloud before.

  “Yeah,” Bea replied.

  “Cool,” I said and asked, “Bea, did Ben read my story?”

  She shook her head. “He wanted to, but he couldn’t find it online. So he asked me if I had the library booklet, and I said yes, but that I’d torn out your story and fed it to the shredder.”

  “And had you?” I said, surprised.

  “The day I read it. Turning your dumb-head story into confetti made me feel better.”

  “You mean, even future advice columnists are human?”

  “Yup.” She laughed, so I did too.

  AVA THE AWESOME

  12/10

  4:04

  DEAR DIARY,

  Mrs. (Bright) White called to say my story didn’t get picked for the anthology after all. “That’s okay,” I said. To be honest, I was more relieved than disappointed.

  Someday I hope I’ll write a story that is so good, I’ll want it to get published. And even framed!

  Could that happen? You never know!

  Hey, I just noticed something: know backward is wonk.

  AVA WREN, WORD WONK

  12/12

  SATURDAY NIGHT

  DEAR DIARY,

  Last night, I was folding origami snowflakes and snacking on grapes when Ben came over to pick Pip up for the dance. She looked happy, and I felt happy for her—which, trust me, is way better than feeling annoyed by her or sorry for her or worried about her.

  After they left, Dad took me to buy a new diary at Bates Books because this one’s almost done. (Obviously!) I’m pretty proud of myself for finishing it—and not burying it in my dead diary graveyard.

  I think Dad’s proud of me too.

  Funny how I haven’t been scared of blank pages lately. I like writing in them about…everything! And while I miss my magic pen, I like my new pen. So long as I have something to write with, I’m okay. It’s when I have an idea and don’t have a pe
ncil or pen or marker or crayon or keyboard that I go a little nuts.

  Anyway, when we bought the diary, Mr. and Mrs. Bates were both there. They were talking about decorating their shop windows, and I offered to make them one hundred origami snowflakes. “Would you?” Mrs. Bates asked. “We could put them in the children’s section.”

  I said “Sure,” and that’s what I did the whole time Pip was at the dance. It felt like “penance,” which is one of this week’s bonus words. It means making up for messing up. As I folded and folded, I pictured my snowflakes decorating their cozy bookstore.

  Observation: when you buy books online, it’s not cozy, there are no homemade decorations, and a cat never comes by to rub your legs.

  This morning, when Pip woke up and came downstairs, I asked how the dance was, and she said, “Really fun.” Mom, Dad, and I exchanged a look.

  I said, “Did everyone have fun?”

  Pip said, “Everyone except Isabel.”

  “Why not Isabel?” Mom asked.

  “Because both her parents chaperoned.”

  Mom and Dad laughed. Then Mom said, “I’m going to get a manicure later. You girls want to come?” Well, that was an absolute lifetime first, so we said sure.

  At the nail salon, the lady said, “Pick a color.” Instead of picking out a polish by color, like a regular person, I kept turning over the little bottles to read the names. I didn’t want to pick “Blushing Bride” or “Nude Attitude” or “Pinking of You” or “Gold Digger.” I finally settled on “Life’s a Peach.” Mom liked “Life’s a Peach” too, so now she and I match.

  Back home, I was passing Pip’s room, which is a total disaster area, and on her desk, I noticed the five yellow strips of paper crinkled up. I poked my head in and asked if I could have them.

  “What for?”

  “I don’t know, to tape into my diary.”

  “Why?” Pip looked at me as if I were a kook (K-O-O-K).

  “Souvenirs,” I said, but to tell you the truth, they might come in handy someday. Like, what if I ever have to be a head life coach instead of a junior life coach? Or what if I ever need a Friendliness Refresher Course?

  Pip shrugged and handed over the strips, and here they are, all taped in:

  Week One:

  Smile at one new person every day.

  Week Two:

  Every time you see your reflection, tell yourself, “You are totally awesome!”

  Week Three:

  Say hi to someone new every day, kid or grown-up.

  Week Four:

  Compliment one person every day—on anything at all.

  Week Five:

  Ask someone a question each day. Listen to the answer.

  When she gave them to me, she said, “Just so you know, I’m never going to turn into a big ol’ blabbermouth.”

  “Good,” I said, “because if you turned into a big ol’ blabbermouth, I’d have to pretend we weren’t related.”

  After I said that, I realized that I used to sort of pretend we weren’t related anyway, and I felt kind of ashamed about that.

  Maybe the Pip Pointers and all my trials and tribulations have helped me be a better person too?

  AVA, NEW AND IMPROVED

  12/13

  AFTERNOON

  DEAR DIARY,

  Ben texted Pip to ask if he could come over to borrow her copy of Great Expectations. Lamest excuse ever! His parents own Bates Books! And I bet he could have downloaded it!

  Pip said, “Sure,” then went crazy cleaning her room and giving it a makeover. She even put her stuffed animals into a giveaway bag (poor things!). She left only one on her bed: a goldfish named Otto (O-T-T-O). She named him for the goldfish in A Fish Out of Water. (My favorite P. D. Eastman book is Sam and the Firefly, which is about a firefly that makes words that get people into and out of trouble.)

  Anyway, when Pip was cleaning up, guess what she found under her bed?

  No…

  Guess again…

  No…

  Nope…

  My Irish pen!!! The one Dad gave me!!!

  Y-A-Y-Y-A-Y-Y-A-Y-Y-A-Y-Y-A-Y!!!

  I went running around the house jumping for joy, happy as a lark. (Question: are larks happier than wrens or starlings?)

  Dad was happy too. He said, “A good writer should have a good pen.”

  Then he told me the expression “The pen is mightier than the sword.” So I told him sword scrambled is words. He laughed and gave me a hug.

  Pip said, “You should take better care of your pens, Ava. A lot of good things happened because of stuff you wrote.”

  “A few not-so-good things too,” I mumbled.

  “True,” she replied. “But more good things.” She was blushing, and I wondered if someday she’d tell me more about you-know-who who, just then, rang the doorbell.

  I’ll say this: I love having my magic pen back, but what I like most about it is that Dad gave it to me. And that he thinks of me as a writer, a real writer.

  You know what else? Just as Pip found my pen (which in some ways wasn’t 100 percent lost), I think I may have found my voice (which in some ways may have been inside me all along).

  The key might be to know, in your heart and your head, what you want to say and how you want to say it, and then to just trust that it will come out right if you write and write and rewrite and rerewrite.

  AVA, ASPIRING AUTHOR

  P.S. Has my pen been under Pip’s bed ever since we played Word Scrambles on her floor? That was in September! (I know because I left the blank page in my diary.)

  12/19

  AFTER DINNER

  DEAR DIARY,

  We hung up our holiday wreath. It has pinecones and a red bow and smells like Christmas.

  At dinner, I mentioned that I got another 100 in spelling. Dad said, “You’re unstoppable!” Pip joked, “GO, AVA, OG!” Mom said, “Great job, honey!” then added, “Can you spell veterinarian?”

  I said, “V-E-T-E-R-I-N-A-R-I-A-N.”

  She said, “W-O-W,” so I asked if they knew how to spell the longest word in the English language.

  Mom said, “I don’t even know what the longest word is.”

  Dad said, “Antidisestablishmentarianism?”

  Pip said, “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious?”

  I said, “Smiles—there’s a mile between the first and the last letter.”

  Mom and Dad laughed. And the funny thing was: that joke wasn’t even that funny. So I told them a funnier one:

  “Question: What does a fish say when it swims into a concrete wall?

  Answer: Dam!”

  They liked that one, so I figured this was a good time to show them what I’d made this morning. I’d found another lion and put it in a jar and added corn oil. It didn’t come out as cute as Slimy Simba I, but Slimy Simba II was still cute. I held it up and asked, “Who can guess what this is?”

  Dad looked confused.

  Pip asked, “W-A-S I-T-A-C-A-T-I-S-A-W?”

  “Close!” I said, because it was a palindrome and a feline. “Any other guesses?”

  “A-H-A!” Mom said. “I know. It’s a L-I-O-N-I-N-O-I-L!”

  “Bingo!” I said just to be funny.

  “I’m putting this on the windowsill,” I announced. “Don’t anyone throw it out.” I looked straight at Mom.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said. Later, as we were washing dishes, Mom said, “Ava, we still have a little time, but you and I should start planning your birthday, don’t you think?”

  “Sure,” I mumbled with a shrug. But inside I started doing a happy dance.

  AVA THE APPRECIATED

  P.S. Pip just slipped two pieces of paper under my door. One is a sketch of me writing in you. It makes me look much older than ten. I look eleven at least. Maybe e
ven eleven and a half. The other is a note. It says:“If there were a contest for Best Sister, you’d get First Prize.”

  You know what? I’m taping that right on my wall!!

  12/21

  AT 10:01

  DEAR DIARY,

  I hope I never lose my long-lost pen again. I hope I don’t lose the one Bea gave me either.

  I’m going to end this diary now, on a palindrome date at a palindrome time. I’ll even throw in a palindrome sentence that Dad told us. It is perfect for today, the first day of winter, but it’s a word palindrome (not a letter palindrome). Here it is: “Fall leaves after leaves fall.”

  Cool, right?

  Well, it’s late, so I’d better catch some ZZZZZZZZs.

  Wait, I just remembered: I wanted to end this diary with a moral.

  First I was considering “Families and friends count—and a few even spell.” But that’s not really a moral.

  Then I was considering “When you lose something, you find something,” because I lost my pen and found my voice. But that’s too fortune-cookie-ish.

  Then I came up with a moral that’s a little sappy and a little Aesoppy. Ready? Set? Here goes:

  Moral: Helping others helps you too.

  X-O-X-O-X

  ABSOLUTELY AVA

  ***

  Psssst, it’s past midnight, and I just clicked on my new night-light pen. I wanted to see what it’s like to write in the dark. Answer: totally awesome! My pen is shining a bright little beam onto my letters and words and putting them all in a spotlight—where letters and words belong!

  I’ve been thinking a lot about pens lately—my Irish pen and my turquoise pen and my light-up pen—and how any pen can be a special pen. Or a power pen. Or a magic pen!

  In one of my favorite picture books, Harold and the Purple Crayon, what’s special isn’t really the crayon. It’s Harold’s imagination. And the author’s!

  Funny, when you stop and think about it, it hardly even matters what kind of pen you use—or lose! What counts is what you write and think and not the color of your ink. (Hey, that's a poem!)