by Annie Bryant
BRAIN FOOD
Maeve hung her “Disturb Under Penalty of Death” sign on her bedroom door, and plopped down on the floor next to Isabel, Avery, and Katani. She’d brought a huge bowl of popcorn up from the kitchen and a pitcher of lemonade.
“Brain food,” she said cheerfully, pushing the bowl in Katani’s direction.
Katani was looking at something in the corner of the room.
“What’s that?” she asked.
Maeve looked, too. Following Katani’s gaze, she saw the wadded up pile of cotton in the corner where she’d left it earlier that week. It was really just a heap of scraps on top of the untouched bolt of gingham, under Maeve’s makeshift sign that read “Blanket Brookline With Love!” What was left of her blanket project, which at this stage wasn’t much.
“Oh—nothing,” Maeve said quickly.
Katani swallowed. She hadn’t been up to Maeve’s room for a long time. It was a lot harder being mad at Maeve now that she was actually here. Everywhere she looked, she saw something that reminded her of Maeve’s amazing spirit. Her giant bulletin board completely covered with pictures—most of them of Charlotte, Avery, and Katani. Her movie star posters decorating the walls. Her stuffed animal collection, including her shaggy, oversized chicken, sitting right in the middle of her fluffy bed. Her two guinea pigs—this week Maeve was calling them Fred and Ginger—running around in their giant cage. And her beloved pink shag slippers, worn down to almost nothing, peeping out from under her bed. Katani’s eye fell on a piece of notepaper taped next to Maeve’s bedside table. It wasn’t in Maeve’s writing. It was labeled “Schedule!” and it was a list of after-school activities, Monday through Saturday. Hip-hop dancing had been crossed off, and tutor had been added—in her mother’s firm blue pen.
Katani felt funny. Looking around Maeve’s small bedroom, it was really hard to remember what she’d been so furious about. Her eye fell on a new poster Maeve had pinned up. It was a picture of Orlando Bloom, looking mysterious and handsome somewhere on a set in New Zealand. “Note to self,” Maeve had scrawled underneath the poster. “Orlando Bloom has dyslexia too!”
Katani suddenly felt ashamed. She shifted uncomfortably. “So…” she murmured. “You really think we can do something to get Mr. Ramsey to change his mind?”
“I have an idea,” Avery said suddenly. She’d been shooting rubber bands at Maeve’s slippers, one by one, and she sat up, pulling off her cap. “Since the reverse psychology thing didn’t work—”
“Sorry,” Isabel interjected weakly, but Avery just shook her head.
“You never know with these plans,” she said wisely. “But since it didn’t work, what if we tried kind of an opposite tactic?”
“Like what?” Maeve demanded.
“Well, we kind of plant stuff. Secret stuff,” Avery said, getting inspired. “Stuff that Mr. Ramsey will find that will convince him just how amazing and wonderful Brookline is. And Boston. We kind of work like secret, you know, public relations agents. Every good thing we can think of, we get into his head.”
“What sort of stuff?” Isabel asked, looking interested.
“Maybe we start with a letter or something. We could describe everything that’s wonderful about seventh grade at the Abigail Adams School. But the whole point would be to make it mysterious—Charlotte can’t know about it. And her dad has to have no idea who’s sending him the stuff, or planting it in the house. So he’ll just keep getting sabotaged with all these mystery messages telling him why he has to stay.”
“I like that,” Maeve said slowly. “He’s a writer, so he’ll like that stuff.”
“Maybe Miss Pierce,” Katani added. “Since she’s around all the time, she can put things in their apartment for us.”
“Katani, that’s great!” Maeve cried, her eyes shining.
Katani felt even worse. It was such a small suggestion, and Maeve seemed so grateful. I haven’t been much of a friend lately, she thought unhappily. She couldn’t remember now why she’d been so upset, or why she’d been so hurt that Maeve kept trying to include Isabel.
Isabel was just a girl—and a pretty nice one, too. Katani was beginning to feel like maybe she’d been the one with the problem, not Maeve.
IN FOCUS
The girls talked for the next hour, making lists and trying to divide up assignments. When they were out of lemonade, Katani offered to go down to the Kaplan-Taylors’ kitchen to get some more. It’s the least I can do, she thought.
She was halfway down the steps when she heard Maeve’s mother on the phone.
“Liz, I’m telling you, I’m absolutely beside myself,” she heard Maeve’s mother say. “I think I already told you that we had to cut her hip-hop class so she can see Allie Teague another day each week. If we don’t do that, I really don’t see how she’s going to pass math.”
Katani froze. She knew she shouldn’t be listening, but she didn’t want to go back upstairs without more lemonade. And she couldn’t go into the kitchen, either.
“I don’t know!” Maeve’s mother exclaimed. “It’s not aptitude, believe me. She’s got her father’s intelligence—but she’s also got his lack of focus. She’s just all over the place. Liz, you should see this blanket project she’s trying to do for Hebrew School. I’m so frustrated with it I could just tear my hair out. I’ve told her over and over again that she’s not organized enough to do it—that it won’t work. If she didn’t have her father encouraging her…”
Katani’s heart started beating harder. Poor Maeve! She could barely imagine what it would be like to have dyslexia and worse, to have a mother constantly fussing about what you can’t do, like Maeve’s mom did. Katani’s mother worked long hours as a lawyer, but she had always inspired all four of her daughters with a sense of confidence. Her motto was “There’s nothing you can’t do if you set your mind to it,” and she believed that fiercely. She told Kelley that every day, though the words sometimes differed. That was one of the big reasons that Kelley was in public school, instead of in some special school for kids with severe learning problems. Katani’s mom believed that if you raised the bar high, you could expect great things.
Imagine having your mother constantly on your back, criticizing you. It made Katani feel terrible. The more she listened to Maeve’s mother telling her friend Liz that Maeve couldn’t possibly get the blankets done in time—that she’d set herself up for certain failure—the more determined Katani became to show her that she was wrong.
“Maeve’s going to make those blankets, all right,” Katani thought to herself, turning to go back upstairs. “And they’re going to be absolutely fantastic, too.”
Katani was bound and determined now to help Maeve with her project—even though—in fact, especially—because Maeve herself had stopped asking for any help at all. Katani knew that if they set their minds to it and worked as a team, they could do the project right.
It wasn’t just about showing Ms. Kaplan, although the thought of proving Maeve’s mother wrong definitely gave Katani a bit of pleasure. The important thing was to prove to Maeve that she could do it. She felt a wave of compassion for Maeve as she thought about how hard school must be for someone with a learning problem.
“Hey,” Maeve said a minute later, when Katani came back into the bedroom with what seemed to be a look of “we’re going to do this or else” on her face. “Katani! What happened to the lemonade?”
Katani started to laugh. She’d completely forgotten about the lemonade, but there was no way she was going to forget about Maeve and her blankets. That was too important.
CHAPTER 13
Social Dancing
Charlotte’s Journal
Monday night
Hey. I haven’t written for days…feels so weird to be curled up here on my bed with Marty, thinking about the week ahead, and feeling…just kind of numb. It’s not like me, but I’m just on autopilot. I’ve got three new books out from the library and don’t even feel like reading.
Marty seems to
get it. He just keeps looking up at me with these big eyes, like he knows that I need company.
Didn’t even really cross paths with dad today. He had a late meeting, and I said I had a bunch of homework. He and I have to sit down and talk…But we’re both still feeling strange about the argument we had last week.
Today Ms. Rodriguez passed out some information about clubs, which begin after winter holidays. She just wanted us to be “looking ahead.” I kind of got tears in my eyes and pretended I had to go to the bathroom. I can’t stand the thought of things starting up and my not being here. I just can’t bear the thought of leaving and having to start all over again.
* * *
Maeve:
Notes to Self
First Dance Class Weds. night—figure out what to wear. Shoes??
Tell everyone at Hebrew School the bad news—blanket project is a flop.
Hide from mom.
* * *
Isabel:
Sometimes you gotta stop being a chicken and try being yourself.
Katani:
Today’s Horoscope
Virgo: Excellent day for new business of all kinds! You’re on top of your game, girl, and you know it. Lucky numbers are 7 and 15. Lucky colors, red and purple. Be sure to follow your dreams!
Avery’s Blog:
Name: Avery Madden
Status: A Kid
Who I Am: This is the big question. Not what am I, which is what everyone goes on and on about, just because I’m adopted and my parents are white and I’m Korean. So you could say I’m half and half. But I’d rather say that I’m lots of things. I’m a soccer player. I’m a skateboarder and as of last winter, a snowboarder. I like poker and made-up card games (Click Here for more). I love animals of every kind. I share an adopted mutt named Marty with my friends.
Best books: The Lord of the Rings Best baseball team: The Red Sox
Random quote of the day: “I used to have a handle on life, but it broke.”
BUÑUELOS
Tuesday afternoon, Charlotte walked home the usual way. She slowed down a little as she went past Montoya’s Bakery, wondering whether she should go in for one of their famous iced hot chocolates. She wasn’t really in the mood, but she felt like she could use a little cheering up.
Just as she was hesitating, Nick Montoya caught sight of her. He worked at his family’s bakery after school several days a week, and today he was wiping down tables just inside the big window. He gave Charlotte a wave, motioning for her to come inside.
Well, she couldn’t exactly just walk on by now without being rude.
Charlotte opened the door and went inside. A delicious aroma filled the air—cinnamon, chocolate—a totally heavenly combination.
“Mmmm. What smells so good?” she asked him.
“My sister’s making a family recipe. It’s a special treat from Colombia, called buñuelos,” Nick told her. “It’s kind of like a fried cookie, with cinnamon on it. They’re really good,” he added, grinning. “I had to help Fabiana out by sampling a few of them. You know, just to be sure that she got them right.”
Charlotte followed Nick over to the counter, where trays of delicious-looking, S-shaped cookies were cooling down, sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. “Have one,” Nick urged her.
Before she knew it, Charlotte was sitting with Nick, tasting one of the cookies (she had to admit they were wonderful), and splitting an iced hot chocolate.
“Hey, when it’s cold, this tastes so good with something sweet,” Nick pointed out, drinking his half in one big gulp.
Charlotte nodded, but she didn’t feel like joking around with Nick the way she usually would.
“Are you OK? You seem kind of…I don’t know. Kind of quiet,” Nick said, looking at her with concern.
“I’m—” For a second, Charlotte thought about telling Nick everything. About Isabel and the problems with her friends. About the move. About how she’d argued with her father and still felt really uncomfortable about it. Looking at Nick’s warm, caring brown eyes, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to confide in him.
“I’m just…I don’t know. I’m not feeling that great,” she said in a rush. She knew he could tell by her expression that she wasn’t telling him everything, but she couldn’t help it. The words just seemed to leap out of her mouth.
“Oh,” Nick said slowly. He started to concentrate very hard on his drink, stirring it with his teaspoon, tipping it back and forth a little. He wasn’t looking at her at all. “Charlotte, I was kind of wondering…you know how there’s that dance class at the Community Center tomorrow night? Well…I don’t know…Maybe if you’re not feeling great you’re not going to go,” he said worriedly.
“Oh—that,” Charlotte said, sitting up straighter. She’d forgotten all about the dance class. “No, I guess I’m going,” she said. “Maeve would probably kill me if I didn’t.”
Nick looked down at the floor. “Some people are kind of…asking other people to go with them,” he said, as if it were just a point of information.
“I know.” Charlotte thought about Maeve, who’d been hinting pretty blatantly to Dillon about just this thing.
“You think that’s weird?” Nick asked, turning a little pink.
“I don’t know—I mean, it’s a class, not really a dance, right?” Charlotte said.
Nick nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” He got to his feet, still looking ill at ease. “But you are going? Right?”
“I’ll definitely be there,” Charlotte told him. She got up too, not really sure what to say.
Was Nick actually trying to ask her to go with him?
GETTING READY
Maeve was the one who had the idea for everyone to get ready together.
“Really?” Charlotte said. “Katani and Avery are coming, too?”
“Yep,” Maeve said blithely. “We’re meeting at my place, we’re so near that we can all walk over together.”
“But—are you sure Katani and Avery want to come?” Charlotte repeated.
“I am!” Maeve cried, twirling around and humming “I Feel Pretty” to herself. “Don’t worry, don’t worry,” she added, seeing the puzzled look on Charlotte’s face. “I know they were mad before, but things are…I don’t know, I think it’s all better.” She didn’t want to tell Charlotte that they were all united again with a common goal: convincing Mr. Ramsey to stay in Boston. Not, she reminded herself, that they’d come up with a single idea yet. But they would.
“And Isabel?” Charlotte asked again.
“Charlotte Ramsey, stop worrying! Just show up at my house at 4 o’clock. And bring something really gorgeous to wear,” Maeve instructed her. “Leave the rest up to me!”
OTHER DISASTERS
Isabel knocked on her mother’s door. It was almost 4 o’clock, and she was supposed to be leaving for Maeve’s house any minute.
“Mama?” she said. Her mother’s bedroom was dark, which meant she was resting. She was still getting used to the medication that Dr. Johnson had given her. It was going to help her a great deal in the long run, but for right now, it made her feel pretty crummy. It was hard for Isabel to get used to seeing her mom sleep so much during the day.
“It’s just the pills—don’t worry,” her mother said now, sitting up a little bit in bed. “I called the doctor’s office and he said he was pretty sure I’d be feeling much better by the end of the week.”
“Good, Mama. I love you,” Isabel said, sitting down on the side of the bed and leaning forward to stroke her mother’s beautiful dark hair. Even when she wasn’t feeling well, Isabel’s mother was so beautiful. Isabel got a lump in her throat, remembering how she and Elena Maria had promised her father that they’d take care of her mother.
“Mama,” she whispered. “Did you remember that tonight is the night I’m going with my new friends to the dance class?”
Her mother looked confused for a minute. “Oh—yes. I remember now. Will you tell Aunt Lourdes? She doesn’t know, and sh
e was expecting you for dinner.” Her mother leaned back, looking tired. “I’m just going to rest a little bit now, OK? But come and tell me about the dance when you get home.”
“I will, Mama,” Isabel promised, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
She hurried out to the kitchen to grab her backpack. She’d already gotten all her clothes together—her favorite black miniskirt and a cute white top, and a pair of strappy black shoes she thought would be great for dancing in. Aunt Lourdes was busy at the stove, cooking dinner.
“Aunt Lourdes? Mama said to remind you that I’m going out tonight,” Isabel said, stuffing her makeup bag into the already-full backpack. “I should be home around nine, I think—”
Aunt Lourdes turned around, a quizzical look on her face. “Nine o’clock? It’s a Wednesday night,” she said slowly. “A school night.”
“I know—but it’s fine,” Isabel said, not really focusing on her aunt’s concern. “It’s a dance class at the Community Center. All of the kids are going.”
“Isabel, I don’t like this.” Aunt Lourdes crossed her arms, the dinner preparations forgotten. “Since when do you just take off in the dark and go out dancing? You’re thirteen years old! And it’s a school night,” she added, as if that was the clincher.
“Mama knows about it,” Isabel said calmly. “And she doesn’t mind.”
“Well, Mama’s isn’t the only vote around here!” Aunt Lourdes exploded. “This isn’t Michigan, Isabel. Brookline is an urban area and it’s just not OK for you to be running around at night—and I don’t know who these kids are, and I don’t know how you’re getting there.”