by Annie Bryant
“It’s extremely important to have a place that feels like home to you,” Miss Pierce murmured. “Charlotte, perhaps you have to convey that to your father. Sometimes adults need to learn from children, and not just the other way around.”
Charlotte got to her feet with a smile. “You know, you’ve given me an idea for the piece I need to write for school,” she told Miss Pierce. Her eyes were shining. There was nothing Charlotte loved better than to challenge her imagination with a great writing idea. And she finally had the perfect subject to write about.
BELONGING
The Importance of a Place to Call Home
For many people, the idea of home is something to cherish. When people ask me where I grew up, I don’t really know what to answer. The truth is that I have grown up in lots of places. Some of these I’ve loved. I loved the night sky over the Serengeti, where my father and I could find Orion—the one constellation I could find in both the northern and southern hemispheres. I loved our little houseboat on the Seine. I love knowing my way around airports and the way the sunrise looks when it shines through the clouds up at 36,000 feet.
But as I’ve grown older, I’ve come to realize that there is something missing in my life—a place filled with memories, rituals, and experiences. My biggest dream now is to be able to do something one year in the exact same way that I did the year before. Next year, I want to tiptoe downstairs and take out the Christmas tree ornaments and find them in the same spot where I know they are this year.
I have come to realize that there are many different reasons to travel. Travel can make you grow as a person. It can teach you many new things, like how you need to be very still in the bush if you want to see the cheetah hunt, or keep from stampeding a herd of zebras. Travel is full of adventure and wonderful surprises. But at a certain point, people need to build a place to which they can return. My biggest dream is that one day I will have a home like that.
I have always loved the constellation called the Seven Sisters. I’ve loved to think of those stars circling the skies together. If I could, I would make those seven sisters stop their traveling and stay still—long enough to let their light shine strong together. Long enough to know that for once, they’re at home.
CHAPTER 9
Rules to Live By
Maeve had had a miserable day at school. Tuesdays were always hard days—she had the dreaded math quiz to worry about. And now how was she going to explain to her Hebrew School teacher that the blanket project couldn’t possibly be ready for the presentation next month in her Bat Mitzvah class?
Dillon hadn’t paid a single bit of attention to her in homeroom. Not even when she’d casually brandished the Social Dance Class invitation describing the first real night of dance class—a week from Wednesday. He’d just kept going on and on to Pete Wexler about the latest Patriots game.
Worst of all, Katani had totally snubbed her all day. Maeve had tried her hardest to smooth things over after their argument this morning, but Katani seemed like she didn’t even want to talk to her. “She’s giving me the silent treatment,” Maeve told Charlotte. “I’ve tried three different times to get her to talk to me, but it’s impossible.”
The whole day had been horrible, and now she had only fifteen minutes before her mother picked her up. Usually Maeve hung out with Katani, Avery, and Charlotte after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays. But today that obviously wasn’t going to happen. Katani and Avery had vanished the second the last bell rang. Charlotte was staying after school to talk to Ms. Rodriguez about something, and Isabel was walking home with her sister.
Maeve sat down on the front steps of the school. She was about to take out a notebook to start making some notes about her advice column when she caught sight of Ethel Weiss, the elderly woman who ran Irving’s Toy and Card Shop two doors down from school.
Maeve had always loved Ethel. Her candy store was amazing—a tiny little store crammed with rows and rows of candy in every shape and size. She’d run the shop forever, or so it seemed to the kids who went to Abigail Adams. When Maeve was really little, back in second grade, she’d taken a Mounds bar from the store without paying. When Ethel found out, she didn’t yell at Maeve or tell her parents. Instead, she asked Maeve to write her a letter about what she’d done, and why.
From that day on, Ethel was one of Maeve’s personal heroes.
“You know,” she said to herself, jumping to her feet. “I think I need to go see Ethel.” Her mood brightened immediately. If anyone could give her some good advice today, it was Ethel. And some Necco Wafers or Swedish Fish would definitely improve her mood!
“OK,” Ethel said a few minutes later, pulling a stool up near her cash register and offering for Maeve to sit down. “Tell me what the trouble is.”
Maeve glanced at the faded piece of parchment on Ethel’s wall displaying her famous “Code of Ethics”—a kind of guide on how to have a good life and good manners, too. She smiled, feeling better already. Ethel would know what to do to make life right again.
“It’s everything,” she said. She told Ethel about her idea for the blanket project and how it had gotten out of hand. And how mad her mother was at her for not being able to focus and get something done right. “And now my mom and dad are arguing with each other about it, too.” She shook her head unhappily. “But the worst thing is that Katani is angry with me because I asked Isabel for help and Katani’s all furious and thinks that I should’ve asked her and now she isn’t talking to me.” Maeve took a deep breath. “So I’ve gotten everyone mad and my project’s botched up.”
“This sounds like trouble,” Ethel agreed.
Maeve helped herself to one of Ethel’s tissues and blew her nose. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted. “I need to get Katani to stop being mad at me, I need to get Katani and Avery to realize how nice Isabel is and to quit avoiding her like the plague. And I need to do something about these blankets before I completely humiliate myself in front of my family and the whole of Brookline!”
Ethel pushed her glasses up on her nose. “This story reminds me of something,” she said slowly. “You know, Maeve, you’ve done a pretty good job describing what needs to be done. Now all you have to do is make it happen!”
Maeve stared at her. “But how? I haven’t the faintest idea how to make one of those things happen, let alone all of them.”
Ethel smiled mysteriously. “Listen to yourself,” she said gently. “And I think you really will see that you do know what to do.”
She handed Maeve a bag of Swedish Fish candies, and Maeve helped herself. She didn’t have the heart to tell Ethel that her advice had been less than helpful today.
Anyway, it was 3:30 already. Time to meet her mom and go to Hebrew School. Solving all of her crises was just going to have to wait.
“Charlotte?” Mr. Ramsey knocked twice on her door. It was ten o’clock, and Charlotte had just slipped her journal under her pillow.
“Hey, Dad. Come on in,” she called.
Marty was curled up at the end of her bed, his favorite sleeping spot. Mr. Ramsey gave him a little pat as he sat down on the edge of her bed. “I just got an e-mail from the head of the English Department at Oxford,” he told her, looking pretty excited. “He thinks there’s a chance that the department could send us two tickets so we could go there at Thanksgiving and look around a little. You know—tour the department, have a look at the school that you’d be going to. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
Charlotte burrowed her head in her pillow. Thanksgiving? She’d been planning their first Thanksgiving in Boston already—what it would be like to cook a yummy turkey dinner in their cheerful kitchen—how excited Marty would be by the delicious aroma of good foods cooking in their oven. The last thing she wanted was to spend Thanksgiving in England.
“They don’t even celebrate Thanksgiving over there, do they?” she croaked out.
Her father didn’t seem to notice. “You know, I still can’t get over your enthusiasm for this move, C
harlotte. I was talking to one of my colleagues today at work, and she kept wondering how you felt about it. I told her that you were practically the one who’s talking me into it!”
Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Tell him, she thought miserably. Tell him that you don’t want to go.
But he looked so unbelievably happy and excited, she couldn’t bring herself to say a single word.
NEW LUNCH TABLES
Charlotte and Maeve wound their way through the crowded cafeteria, both of them concentrating on balancing trays heavy with salad plates, juice, and the best thing the kitchen at Abigail Adams had to offer—giant chocolate chip cookies.
“That’s funny,” Maeve said, squinting a little. “Look—Katani and Avery are sitting at a different table.”
Sure enough, Katani and Avery were sitting two tables away from their usual table—with Pete Wexler and another guy that Charlotte didn’t know very well, Adam Jonas. There were two other open spaces beside them. Katani and Avery were leaning forward, talking animatedly to each other. If they noticed Maeve and Charlotte standing still and staring at them, they didn’t show it.
“Oh no,” Maeve said, frowning. “Isabel’s all by herself over at our regular table. Now what?”
Charlotte glanced from one table to the next. “Uh…can we ask Isabel to move over and join us with Katani and Avery?” she suggested. It didn’t feel right to have lunch without Katani and Avery. They’d eaten together every single day since school had started.
“You ask,” Maeve said, rocking back and forth from one foot to the other. “I’m not going to risk it. I think Katani’s really mad at me.”
“OK,” Charlotte said slowly. “I will.”
She walked over to Pete’s table, still holding onto her tray. “Hi,” she said. “Any chance we can join you?”
“Sure,” Pete said, nodding at the two open spaces. Katani and Avery looked at Charlotte.
“Yeah, come on and join us,” Avery exclaimed.
“Maeve’s with me too,” Charlotte continued. “And Isabel. She’s all alone over there.”
Katani and Avery glanced at each other.
“There’s only two chairs here,” Avery said, as if that wasn’t obvious.
Charlotte felt a lump forming in her throat. Could this possibly be Avery and Katani—forcing her to choose like this? She couldn’t believe her ears.
“It isn’t fair to leave Isabel all by herself,” Charlotte replied, trying to sound reasonable.
Avery shrugged, taking a big bite out of her tuna fish sandwich.
“OK,” Charlotte said slowly. “I guess we’ll eat over there, then. Like we always do,” she added.
Katani looked at her briefly. “Nothing’s ‘like always’ anymore,” she said. Charlotte could tell how hurt she was by the sound of her voice, but she really didn’t understand why. “If you guys are so big on Isabel, just go ahead and eat with her. It’s up to you.”
STUCK IN THE MIDDLE
“I feel so bad. I’ve put you guys in a terrible spot,” Isabel whispered when Maeve and Charlotte joined her a minute later. Her beautiful eyes were dark and troubled. “I feel pretty awful about this whole thing. You should go ahead and sit with Katani and Avery, you guys. I know they don’t like me. I’ll be fine over here.”
“Forget it,” Maeve said. She took the dishes from her tray off one by one, setting them on the table with a flourish. Suddenly her face looked a little clearer, as if she’d decided something. “You know what, Isabel? If Katani and Avery want to be jerks for a little while, we’ll just have to let them.”
Charlotte looked uneasily back at her two dear friends, who were pretending not to look back over at their old lunch table. She wished she could feel as clear about all of this as Maeve did. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Isabel. She did! She just didn’t want to lose Katani and Avery. The four of them were the Beacon Street Girls. Their friendship couldn’t be over. It just couldn’t.
DEADLINES!
Ms. Rodriguez was reminding the class that their journalism assignments would be due the day after tomorrow in homeroom.
“I’ve gotten to talk with several of you about what you’re writing, and I’m really looking forward to being able to share these with the class,” she told them. “I think we have a lot of great ideas coming out of this class. I have to tell you, I’m proud of everyone!”
“But we don’t have to submit what we’ve written to the paper, do we?” Dillon asked anxiously.
“No,” Ms. Rodriguez assured him. “Here’s how it will work. Everyone will turn in what you’ve written on Friday. You still have a week to decide if you’d like your piece to be sent up to Jennifer at the editorial offices of The Sentinel. But don’t be shy,” she added. “Some of you are feeling a little more insecure than I think you should. You’ve got some great ideas to share, and I know the school would be that much richer for your contributions!”
Charlotte fiddled with her pencil. She knew for a fact that she wasn’t going to submit her piece. For one thing, it was way too personal. And for another, she couldn’t see the point of submitting something to the paper when it was already clear that she and her father were moving again.
It was hard to believe, looking around the room at the faces that had become so familiar to her, that by winter break she and her father would be packed and gone. No more adorable Marty to greet her when she came home from school. No more Miss Pierce. No more Beacon Street Girls. No more Abigail Adams Junior High. No more Tower room.
Charlotte bit her lip. She wasn’t going to cry—not at school. And not at home, either. I’m getting good at hiding how I feel, she told herself, and it looks like I’m going to get lots of practice.
CHAPTER 10
Family Feuds
When Maeve got home from Hebrew School that night, she was pretty upset. Everyone else in her Bat Mitzvah class had gotten up to give reports on their “mitzvahs,” and it was clear that everyone else was ahead of Maeve. When it was her time to get up and describe what she was working on, she’d done her best to stall.
“I’m—um, it’s still in the planning stages, really,” she murmured, when Ms. Stein asked her to describe the blankets.
“Can you at least tell us what you’re planning?” Ms. Stein had asked gently.
Planning—that was one of Maeve’s favorite things. “Sure,” she said, getting to her feet. “The plan is to have boxes and boxes of blankets to deliver to a homeless shelter in Boston. My dad has a friend who knows a wonderful shelter that really needs blankets for kids. He said he’d drive me down there with a few of my friends and we could pass the blankets out.” Maeve was gaining enthusiasm as she described the scene—she could just picture it—passing out beautiful, warm blankets to homeless kids. Blankets made by kids for kids. She just knew the blankets would make a world of difference. “It isn’t just about keeping warm on the outside,” she explained to Ms. Stein and the rest of the class. “Blankets…you know what it’s like to have a special blanket to curl up with. It keeps you warm on the inside, too.”
“Well, it sounds like a wonderful project,” Ms. Stein told her.
Adele Jacobs, the star of the Hebrew class, gave Maeve a knowing look. “Sounds like it,” she whispered to her best friend Katy. “But it also sounds kind of hard to pull off—if you know what I mean.”
Maeve’s face burned. Just because Adele and Katy always did everything perfectly—and on time—didn’t mean they had to make her feel like a reject. It was bad enough knowing how much she had to do just to make the blanket project actually work. She didn’t need them to cut her down.
Worst of all, she had confided in her mother on the way home.
“I just don’t think I can make it happen, Mom!” she cried, jabbing the radio off as she slid into the front seat. “It’s just too much. I’ve got so much homework at school, and all these activities—hip-hop and drama and Hebrew—and I’m never going to get the blankets together! I feel like a total failure,” sh
e said miserably.
The most difficult thing for Maeve was that her mother could be so sympathetic one minute and so angry the next. When she was sympathizing, Maeve found herself opening up and telling her everything. But then her mother would get angry, and use everything Maeve had just told her against her. That’s what happened this time. For the first ten minutes, driving home, her mother seemed all ears—she really wanted to know why Maeve was feeling so stressed out, and what she could do to help. But by the time they’d reached home, her mood was changing. Maeve could feel her mother’s frustration growing.
“You know, Maeve, I think you really need to be more organized,” she said as they pulled into the garage. She was glancing critically at the piles of papers sticking out of Maeve’s book bag, half of them crumpled, and some of them falling out onto the floor of the car.
“I’m organized enough. I’ve got my own system,” Maeve told her defensively.
Big mistake. Her mother’s eyes flashed. “If you were organized, you wouldn’t be in such a jam right now, Maeve. I’ve told you over and over again that you need to have a system. If you’d just listen to me—”
Maeve knew she should keep her temper, but her blood was boiling. She couldn’t stand it when her mother told her what to do—especially in the tone of voice she was using right now. “I don’t need to listen to you!” she snapped. “I am not three years old, OK? What I need is a little more support—and a little more confidence from you that I can actually accomplish something…OK!”
“How can I have confidence that you can accomplish this when you’ve just been telling me that it’s all a mess and you can’t possibly do it?” her mother demanded. They were halfway into the kitchen now, their voices rising.