by Annie Bryant
“You treat me like an idiot!” Maeve cried. Tears sprang into her eyes. She couldn’t stop herself now. “Just because I have dyslexia doesn’t mean I’m retarded, OK?”
Her mother turned pale. “I never said that,” she said, stunned.
“Said what?” Maeve’s father came into the room, a frown on his face. He hated it when Maeve and her mother fought, which seemed to be happening more and more these days.
“She makes me feel like a moron,” Maeve said, starting to cry. To make matters worse, Sam came running in to see what was going on.
“You’re not a moron,” Sam said worriedly.
He probably meant well, but Maeve wanted to smush him. “Shut up!” she yelled, throwing her book bag on the floor.
“Maeve, don’t talk to your little brother that way,” her mother said angrily.
“Carol, please don’t shout,” her father said, his own voice louder than usual just to make himself heard.
Soon all four of them were yelling. Maeve was accusing her parents of treating her like a three year old—even worse, a stupid three year old. Sam was yelling that he couldn’t stand the yelling. Her father was shouting at everyone to stop it and her mother was on a rampage. “All over the place—disorganized—no sense of how to budget time—no sense of responsibility…” She ranted and raved about all sorts of things that Maeve had done wrong over the past few months. Most of them seemed totally irrelevant. Her mother was clearly really mad, but she was crying, too.
“Carol! Please stop it right now!” Maeve’s father said suddenly, with a new tone in his voice that made all four of them freeze.
Maeve’s mother stared at him, her lip quivering. The next minute she’d walked out of the room, leaving the three of them in stunned silence. Of all the family fights they’d had lately, this one was the worst. And as usual, it’s my fault, Maeve thought.
“Nice work, Maeve,” Sam hissed at her before he ran off after their mother.
Maeve looked helplessly at her father. “I mess up everything,” she said brokenly.
Her father took her in his arms, stroking her hair. “Hey, sweetheart. Take it easy on yourself,” he said gently. “You haven’t messed up anything.” He sighed. “I think…I don’t know. I just think we all need to calm down around here.” He was staring out the window and he had a funny look on his face. It didn’t make Maeve feel better, even with his arms around her. She felt like something was seriously wrong in her family. And she was certain that it was mostly because of her.
PASS THE PARSLEY…
Charlotte took Marty’s leash off and hung it on the coat rack. The little guy did his usual race-around-the-house trick at warp speed before he skidded into the kitchen in hopes of landing a snack.
“Charlotte?” Charlotte’s father was in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove. It smelled good, but Charlotte didn’t have much of an appetite.
“Pull up a chair. Come keep me company, sweetheart,” her father suggested. The two of them loved to cook together and usually had their best conversations in the kitchen. But Charlotte had the sense tonight wasn’t going to be one of those times.
“So tell me,” her father continued, looking at Charlotte. “How are things with your friends these days? Isn’t it high time for one of those Beacon Street Girls sleepovers you used to have all the time?”
Charlotte sighed. She wanted so badly to have a real talk with her father—to tell him some of the things that were going on at school. How Katani and Avery were mad at Maeve. How hard it was to welcome Isabel and get to know her without hurting Katani. How hard everything seemed all of a sudden. But she and her dad hadn’t talked in so long—she didn’t know how to get started.
“Maybe,” she murmured. She tried to imagine inviting everyone over, and for a minute it seemed like a perfect plan. If Katani and Avery and Maeve could only be together again—up in the Tower—they’d forget all about being mad, and it would be just like old times.
But what about Isabel? She’d feel so miserable if she were excluded. And if I did invite her, Katani would be really unhappy.
“I don’t know,” Charlotte corrected herself. “Things are a little complicated at school right now.”
This was the perfect lead-in. In the old days her father would have been all over that. What do you mean? What’s different? Can you tell me about it? Her father was never the kind of person to let something like that just kind of hang there.
But her dad didn’t even seem to notice what she’d said. What was up with him these days?
“Pass the parsley,” he said. That was it! Pass the parsley—when she’d just tried to confide in him!
“Dad, you know, you seem kind of different these days,” Charlotte said suddenly.
“What do you mean?” he asked, tasting the sauce.
“Just what I said. You haven’t been…” Charlotte tried to think of the best way to put this. “I don’t know. You haven’t asked that much about school or anything. You seem kind of preoccupied.”
Her father looked at her with surprise. “Charlotte, I just finished asking you about school and your friends! But you didn’t seem to want to say very much. Don’t blame me if you’re not feeling like confiding in your old dad these days,” he added.
He was obviously trying for a light tone, but it didn’t work. Charlotte was close to tears. “Have you ever wondered what it feels like,” she continued, “moving to a new place every single year? Starting school over every fall and never getting to keep the same friends?”
Her father stared at her. “I always thought we had fun together,” he said. He looked like she’d just put a dagger through his heart.
“We did,” Charlotte said miserably. “I mean—we used to. It’s just—I’m growing up now, Dad, and I think—”
The telephone rang, and they both stared at it.
“Let it ring,” her father said. And at the exact same second, Charlotte said, “I’ll get it.” She picked up the phone, half glad that they’d been interrupted. She hated this kind of friction with her dad. She hated it so much. Talking with other kids her age, Charlotte knew that it was natural for kids to get into disagreements with their parents. But when you had only one parent, it felt different. Charlotte felt like the world was falling apart when she and her father were upset with each other.
The phone call was for her father. It was her uncle. “No,” Charlotte heard her father saying. “No, not yet.” He moved a few steps away from her, putting more seasonings into the pot. “No, I know. They said that I could have a few more weeks.” He glanced at Charlotte. “No, I really can’t—not right now. I’ll call you later.”
Charlotte bit her lip miserably. “Was that about Oxford?” she asked him.
He nodded.
“Dad…” Charlotte began.
“Charlotte, I don’t think this is a good time to talk about this,” Mr. Ramsey said. “We’re both tired, and it’s been a long day. Let’s wait for another time.”
Charlotte felt queasy. She could never, ever remember a time when her father had shut her down when she wanted to talk. It was hard enough for her as it was to try to tell him how she felt about the job in England.
“Fine!” she snapped. That was it. If her father didn’t want to talk, she wasn’t going to talk. She ran out of the room, her eyes blinded with tears, and threw herself onto her bed, grabbing her mother’s faded old jean jacket and burrowing her face in the fabric. Charlotte felt like she’d never missed her mother more. If only she were still alive, they’d be a real family—with a real home, and a real sense of belonging. She couldn’t remember ever feeling more upset, or more alone. Even a snuggle with Truffles and Marty couldn’t lift her spirits.
COLD WARS
On Thursday, everyone was talking about the journalism assignments, which were due the next day.
“What do you think?” Isabel asked Maeve and Charlotte at lunch. She showed them a draft of the cartoon she’d drawn.
“I love this!�
�� Maeve exclaimed. “Isabel, you’re an awesome cartoonist!”
Unfortunately, Katani chose just that moment to walk past with Avery. Charlotte could see the two of them give each other looks. Not surprisingly, they didn’t stop at their table, but went over to join Pete again.
“Looks like the cold war is continuing,” Charlotte whispered.
Isabel looked unhappily from Charlotte to Maeve. “You know what, guys? I’m feeling worse and worse about this. I think I’m just going to finish up my lunch hour in the library. I have lots of stuff to catch up on, and I want to finish the book I’m reading.” Before either of them could say a word, she’d jumped to her feet and hurried off, dropping the rest of her lunch in the trash.
“That’s it. I’ve had it. I am so mad,” Maeve fumed. She jumped to her feet and marched over to Katani and Avery, who were just setting down their lunch trays. “Did you guys mean to be so rude? Or is it just starting to come naturally to both of you?” she demanded.
“What are you talking about?” Avery said, surprised. “Geez, Maeve. Could you just try to be a little rational for once?”
“Rational?” Maeve echoed. “Are you two nuts? Do you realize that you’ve been totally excluding Isabel every time you see her? And excuse me for being ‘unrational,’” she added acidly, “but I don’t think she’s done a single thing to you.”
“Irrational,” Katani corrected her. “Not ‘unrational.’”
“Katani Summers,” Maeve cried, tears coming to her eyes, “you are so horrible.”
Katani bit her lip. “I didn’t mean that,” she began.
But it was too late. Maeve was on a rampage. “You’re mean to me. And you’re really mean to Isabel. You don’t know anything about her. You don’t know what it’s like to move to a new place where you don’t know a soul. And she has problems too; you think you’re the only one with problems! Well, you’re not!”
“I’m sick of hearing about Isabel. She’s so talented. She’s so good at art. She’s just so—perfect,” Katani snapped.
“Why do you have to be so mean about her? What is your problem?” Maeve demanded.
She and Katani were really raising their voices now, and several people were beginning to stare at them.
“Fight! Fight!” Dillon started chanting, with mock excitement.
“Dillon, don’t be a jerk,” Katani said.
This hardly made Maeve feel better. “He isn’t a jerk,” she said angrily.
“I can’t believe you, Maeve. You’ve completely changed,” Avery said, taking Katani’s side. “You should just hear yourself. You’re not even loyal to the Beacon Street Girls anymore!”
“Talk about loyal,” Maeve snapped. She spun around to face Katani. “You promised to help me with my blankets. And then you—” She flung her arms dramatically. “You abandoned me!”
“I didn’t abandon you,” Katani retorted. “It’s just that I obviously can’t compete with Princess Isabel, that’s all.” She put on a mimicking tone. “Ooh, Isabel, you’re so awesome!”
“Don’t you think you both are being kind of childish?” Charlotte piped in. “Come on, Katani. There’s room enough for two people to be good at things here, isn’t there? And Maeve…you did ask Katani to help you—and then you ignored her.”
“Childish? Me?” Now Katani was really mad. “You know what? Avery is right about the Beacon Street Girls. We made real promises to each other. Only, clearly they weren’t for keeps. At least, not for some people!”
“Who broke any promises?” Charlotte asked helplessly.
“Forget it. Let’s get out of here, Avery,” Katani said. She grabbed Avery by the arm. “And forget about the Beacon Street Girls, too. Since you two obviously already have,” she added.
Charlotte and Maeve stared after them.
“I don’t believe it,” Maeve whispered. “Char, what’s happening? Everything is such a mess!”
“I know,” Charlotte said sadly. She was barely talking to her father. It looked like within a matter of months, she wouldn’t be living here anymore. And just now, when she needed her friends more than ever before, they’d all blown up at each other.
One bad thing had happened after another. It was time for something to go right. But it sure didn’t feel like that was going to happen any time soon.
Part Two
Good News
CHAPTER 11
The Homeroom Page
People,” Ms. Rodriguez said, after clearing her throat for the third time in a vain attempt to get everyone’s attention. “People, take your seats now. I’d like to share some of the work you’ve turned in for our journalism unit.” She flipped with interest through the stack of projects on her desk. “These are terrific,” she added, looking up at the class with a smile. “You should all be proud of the effort you’ve put into this assignment.”
“I liked this project,” Betsy announced. “I was talking about it with my older brother—you know, the one who goes to Harvard?” She looked around, waiting for a reaction, but nobody seemed very impressed. “And he says that learning to work under deadline is really important.”
“I think that’s a good point,” Ms. Rodriguez said mildly. She picked out one of the folders on top of her desk. “Avery, may I share this?”
Avery, who had been writing a note to herself on her notebook, sat up straight and nodded.
Ms. Rodriguez began to read from the folder.
“I am a Korean-born American citizen with two parents who are Caucasian,” she read out loud. “I came to the United States when I was four months old. Ever since then, I’ve been living in Brookline with my mom and my two older brothers. There are a lot of things that matter to me—sports, for instance. Soccer, to be specific, and skateboarding too. I am also very interested in animal rights and speaking up for what you believe in. There are a number of things that make me the person I am. So, what I don’t understand is why every time I take a standardized test, the first thing I have to do is tell the test makers who I am by checking off a little box. What is my race? This has really made me wonder—what is race, anyway? Am I ‘Asian-American’? Is that who I am? My mom tells me I should just check off that box, but it doesn’t feel right to me. I don’t like the box that says ‘other,’ either. I am sick of being an ‘other’!
“For the past few weeks, I’ve been reading up on this subject. It turns out that lots of other people have the same problems I do. The U.S. Census asks every person living in the United States to fill out the same little boxes. If you’re more than one thing, you’re stuck having to say ‘other.’ Some people think there should be a new choice, which is to check all of the boxes that apply. I like that option. I want to be more than one thing, because that’s who I really am!”
“This,” Ms. Rodriguez told the class with a smile, “is an excellent example of an intelligent and heartfelt op-ed feature. An editorial. Avery has voiced her opinion loud and clear. Nice work!”
Everyone clapped, and Avery rotated her Red Sox cap around so that the brim half-covered her face. She always did that when she was embarrassed.
Ms. Rodriguez picked another one of the projects out of the pile, glancing it over quickly. “This is from Riley Lee. It’s a review of a new music group, called the…” She hesitated for a moment. “Am I reading this right? Is the group called xyz?”
Riley nodded. He was slumped in his chair in his usual “why am I here?” position. But he didn’t look bored, for once.
“Can I share this with the class, Riley?” Ms. Rodriguez asked.
Riled shrugged. “Whatever,” he mumbled. But he sat forward a little bit as she read his review out loud.
“Xyz is a new, local band with a very cool sound. The drummer, Axton Cross, is a tight percussionist mixing several traditions. Dan Rivers is hot on the sax and the bass player, Ramone Tiero, has learned from the masters. This group plays eclectic jazz and is totally cool. If they can keep experimenting without losing their edge, this may be the best new jazz
/rock band to come out of Boston in years. Their CD, Random, is available on their website—see details below.”
The class loved Riley’s review. Dillon whistled and stamped, before Ms. Rodriguez made him be quiet. Nick thumped Riley on the back. “Nice work!” he told him.
Riley looked embarrassed and proud at the same time. Charlotte realized that it was the first time she’d seen Riley look anything other than bored out of his mind all year.
“Riley, good job!” Ms. Rodriguez said, smiling at him. “Would you think about submitting this to The Sentinel?”
“I don’t know. Maybe,” Riley muttered, as everyone in the class started calling out encouragement.
“Riley! Riley!” Dillon cheered, again stamping his foot. Riley snuck a look at Maeve who was staring dreamily at Dillon.
“Dillon, please sit down,” Ms. Rodriguez said, shaking her head. “If you guys can control yourselves, I’d like to share a few more of these.” She closed her eyes and reached into the pile at random.
“Hmm,” she said, scanning the page she’d withdrawn. “This one is called ‘Wuz Up?—The Abigail Adams Gossip Sheet.’ It’s co-authored by Anna and Joline.” She glanced across the room at the two girls, who erupted into giggles, as if the two of them were in on the biggest joke in history.
“Oooh—don’t read it out loud,” Anna begged, half-covering her face with her hands.
“Read it! Read it!” Dillon yelled, half-jumping out of his desk with excitement.
“Dillon, is there some reason you’re repeating everything today?” Ms. Rodriguez asked mildly. She turned back to Anna and Joline with a quizzical expression. “If you are uncomfortable sharing this, I won’t read it.”
“Oh—go ahead,” Joline said, ignoring Anna’s pleas.
Ms. Rodriguez started to read out loud. “So just who is this certain ninth-grade hottie that has a new girl strutting her stuff? Do the initials G.H. do anything to anyone in this room who happens to have the initials I.M.? Oops, did we say I.M.?”