Freestyle with Avery
Be sure to read all of our books:
BOOK 1 - worst enemies/best friends
BOOK 2 - bad news/good news
BOOK 3 - letters from the heart
BOOK 4 - out of bounds
BOOK 5 - promises, promises
BOOK 6 - lake rescue
BOOK 7 - freaked out
BOOK 8 - lucky charm
BOOK 9 - fashion frenzy
BOOK 10 - just kidding
BOOK 11 - ghost town
BOOK 12 - time’s up
BOOK 13 - green algae and bubble gum wars
BOOK 14 - crush alert
BOOK 15 - the great scavenger hunt
BOOK 16 - sweet thirteen
BSG Special Adventure Books:
charlotte in paris
maeve on the red carpet
freestyle with avery
katani’s jamaican holiday
isabel’s texas two-step
ready! set! hawaii!
BEACON STREET GIRLS
Freestyle with
Avery
BY
ANNIE BRYANT
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ALADDIN M!X
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
First Aladdin M!X edition December 2009
Copyright © 2007 by B*tween Productions, Inc.,
Home of the Beacon Street Girls.
Beacon Street Girls, KGirl, B*tween Productions, B*Street, and the characters Maeve, Avery, Charlotte, Isabel, Katani, Marty, Nick, Anna, Joline, and Happy Lucky Thingy are registered trademarks of B*tween Productions, Inc.
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
ALADDIN is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc., and related logo is a registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
ALADDIN M!X and related logo are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
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Designed by Dina Barsky
The text of this book was set in Palatino Linotype.
Manufactured in the United States of America
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Library of Congress Control Number 2008939757
ISBN 978-1-4169-6435-3
ISBN 978-1-4169-9832-7 (eBook)
Special thanks to Telluride Ski Resort for helping to make the setting of this book come alive.
Photo courtesy of www.TellurideStock.com
Part One
Snurf Madness!
CHAPTER
1
Snurfer Dreams
I know what you’re thinking,” I said to my snake Walter as I gently placed him back in his cage. “This room is craaaaaazy.” Frogster the frog hopped in his terrarium to show he agreed with my opinion. Normally my room was a certified disaster area—clothes, books, and sports stuff everywhere. But tonight, there wasn’t a single piece of clothing on my floor, and I had put away all my equipment very neatly. (Okay, more like shoved it under my bed, but close enough, right?) Best of all, my suitcases were packed, zipped, and waiting for me by the door. I couldn’t believe it. In twelve hours I’d be on a plane soaring over the city of Boston. That meant sixteen hours till Dad, and about thirty-six hours till I’d be hitting the primo Colorado snowboarding slopes in Telluride. “Yup, definitely crazy.”
I signed online to say a vacation good-bye to my best friends, the BSG.
Sleep? Hah! I jumped into bed and fidgeted around under the covers. Sleep was pretty much the last thing on my mind that night. What was on my mind? Well, that was easy. Let’s see … the Snurfer, the Snurfer, and oh, yeah, the Snurfer. I’d been thinking about the first annual Telluride Snurfer Snowboarding Competition for months.
Snurfer might sound like a funny name for a snowboarding competition, but this was totally legit—named after the very first snowboard ever created! Waaaaay back in 1965, a dude named Sherman Poppen tied a couple of skis together so his daughter could sled standing up. Only instead of “snowboard” (a word that hadn’t been invented yet—duh!), his wife decided to call it a “snurfer”—a combination of “snow” and “surfer.” I think it’s pretty cool that the very first snowboard was custom-made by this girl’s dad, just for her.
My dad, who owns a ski shop in Colorado, organized the Snurfer Competition in Telluride this year, and it was going to be huge. I’m talking pro athletes and movie stars. I had imagined how cool it would be for both my big bro Scott and I to place in the Snurfer top ten … especially in a contest that Dad was running. Of course, with Scott going to this fancy-schmancy culinary school thing instead, that idea was totally out the door. Now that I was going to be representing the Maddens all by myself in the Snurfer, I was doubly determined to win it.
But I was feeling less sure about doing all the other parts of the trip by myself. Who was I supposed to hang out with? Who was going to show me where to go in the airports? Especially switching planes in Denver. I hadn’t flown alone in a long time. How was I supposed to know which gate was mine? But Mom promised me that the airline’s “unaccompanied minor program” would work out just fine—I’d have a flight attendant with me during all the tricky parts. Plus I was taking “the little dude”—The Marty Man himself—with me, so that would make it better. Marty, our little adopted dog, lived with Charlotte, but she thought he would enjoy a trip to Colorado with me.
But there was one more thing … the thing I thought was the strangest of all. Dad wrote me an e-mail just a few days ago telling me that there had been some changes in his life. What was that supposed to mean? Mom knew something about it too, I was almost positive. She said that on this trip I should be prepared to meet some of Dad’s new friends, but no matter what she was sure they’d be very nice. Very nice? Dad’s old friends seemed plenty nice already. It was all very … mysterious.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to keep wondering what this big trip would be like. I just had one rule—no matter what, it would be an adventure. For some reason, adventure had a habit of following me. Or maybe it was the other way around.
I rolled over, pulled my comforter up to my chin, and whispered, “Night, Walter. Ribbet, Frogster. Sleep tight.” I set my alarm clock for six a.m. Less than twelve hours till take off. Telluride, here I come!
CHAPTER
2
Chicken Salad Air
I love it when airplanes race down the runway—I get a rush the moment the wheels lift off the pavement. Today I had a window seat, so I got to watch the little houses and buildings in Boston getting smaller and smaller. Pretty soon the city looked like a tiny town filled with itsy-bitsy people. I smiled. Somewhere down there in tiny Boston were my family, my house, and my four best friends! I couldn’t believe I’d ever been nervous about taking this trip by myself.
Another awesome part of flying is that you get to soar through the clouds and shoot out above them. Even though it was a cold, rainy morning in Boston, above the clouds it was sunny and clear blue all around. The bad weather was below us—too cool!
Four and a
half hours and one movie later, Marty and I landed in Denver and boarded the next plane to Telluride. I took a deep breath and relaxed. Next stop … Dad’s! It was the perfect time to open my present from the BSG. I pulled the brightly wrapped package out of my carryon bag. I couldn’t wait to see what was inside. I had just started to tear into the wrapping when a woman across the aisle suddenly asked me, “Does your dog like flying?”
She leaned forward to get a peek at Marty in his carrier, tucked under the seat in front of me. Her perfume smelled like when you first walked into a department store. “Look at the pwecious widdew cutie patootie. Hello handsome. Awen’t you da cootest widdew puppy!” If my brothers were here we all would’ve been holding the laughter in. What language was this woman speaking, anyway?
“He’s not really a pup—” I began to explain, but just then Marty started practically singing from his carrier!
“Ooow, oow, oow …” he yodeled.
The woman got so excited she began to clap. “What a little darling!” she whispered to me. “Who’s the cootest widdew baby?” she gushed.
Ick. Thank goodness Marty wasn’t wearing one of those doggy sweaters my friend Maeve likes so much. Then we would’ve really been in trouble.
I reached into my bag and gave Marty his favorite chew toy, Happy Lucky Thingy, a pink little dude who’s smiling on one side and frowning on the other. It used to be mine when I was a baby. With his mouth full of Happy Lucky, Marty’s serenade was pretty much over, and the woman across the aisle leaned back in her seat and picked up a magazine. Finally!
Now I could concentrate on opening my present. First, I unwrapped a key ring with tiny charms of a snowboard, a soccer ball, and a small froggie pen. The note attached read: “Have fun, Avery … WRITE POSTCARDS! Love, Charlotte.” I knew the second small package was from Katani before I even read the card. A fleece navy blue ear warmer with a snowflake design—that was totally a Kgirl original. Katani was amazing at designing clothes. Even though I never paid too much attention to fashion, I could tell that this ear warmer might look cool when I was boarding down the mountain. Maeve made me a mix CD. For a second I was afraid that it would be filled with Maeve’s favorite show tunes, but I was wrong. She had put on a bunch of awesome songs—mostly pop and some classic rock. The last thing was a mini-collage of all the BSG … from Isabel, of course. Her art was so good that I was sure people would buy it in a store someday. But this collage was way too special to be sold in a store—it was just for me. My friends are the coolest! I thought. How lucky am I?
“Miss the BSG yet, Marty?”
Marty started to make little whimpering, whining sounds. He was totally sick of the carrier. “I know how you feel, little dude.” I always felt really cooped up after sitting at a desk all day at school.
The loudspeaker above me made a crackling noise, and the pilot’s voice came on. “We’re now approaching Telluride Regional Airport, the highest commercial airport in the United States, 9,078 feet above sea level. Take a look out the windows, because this is one of the best views in San Miguel County. We might hit a little turbulence coming in, so fasten your seat belts. We’ll be landing in about ten minutes.”
The Telluride landing seemed more like a cool ride at an amusement park than what it was: a tiny plane navigating through the huge San Miguel Mountain Range. I took a deep breath as the turbulence grabbed us and shook the plane. “Hang on, Marty!” I warned.
Marty began to yowl in a voice I’d never heard before. Poor little guy was nervous. And he wasn’t the only one. The woman across the aisle—the baby-talker—grabbed the armrests on either side of her.
“Oxygen!” she panted. “Where are the masks? It’s a real emergency.”
The other people on the plane looked more confused than worried.
“Hey, is this your first time going to Telluride?” I asked her.
She put her hand over her heart. “Yes. Why do you ask?” Her face was white.
“Well, because this can happen when you go through the Rockies on a small plane. You don’t have to worry,” I told her.
The woman looked at me suspiciously. “B-b-but the plane … it’s sh-sh-shaking so hard!” she protested. “I’ve never been on a plane that shakes and bounces this much!” Marty’s little howls told me whose side he was on. Hmm … I’d have to speak to that “little dude” about loyalty!
“No, that’s just the turbulence the pilot was talking about. Believe me, it’s completely normal.” Then I thought of something. When I was younger, Scott always used to tell me jokes through this part of the ride to distract me. Unfortunately, the only jokes I could remember were about snowboarding. Seeing this woman with gray hair pulled into a tight bun and a light blue silk dress with matching blue sparkly shoes, well, she didn’t really seem like the snowboarding type. But still, it was worth a shot.
“Hey, how do you get a snowboarder off your porch?” I asked her.
“Pardon?”
“How do you get a snowboarder off your porch?” I repeated, smiling.
She shook her head. “How?”
“Pay for the pizza.”
The corners of her dark red lipsticked mouth curled into a smile.
“How do snowboarders introduce themselves?” I asked and didn’t wait for her to guess before I blurted, “Ohhh … sorry, duuuuude!”
She cracked up laughing. “My nephew is a boarder. And that is exactly how he talks!” She chuckled. The plane had calmed down a bit and now the woman glanced outside. “Oh my!” She gasped. “It’s simply breathtaking!”
“I know,” I said. Flying through the Rockies made me feel ten times bigger and ten times smaller at the exact same time. The big feeling came from something I could only describe as freedom. Back in Brookline, I was always around cars and buildings and people in lines waiting to pay for groceries. In the summer, when I’d go camping with Dad and my bros in Colorado, it was really cool just how far away we could get from all the craziness of the real world. The small feeling definitely came from the fact that the Rocky Mountains are absolutely gigantic! They looked like shark teeth blown up and stretched to infinity.
The plane smoothed out as we came in for a landing. The wheels bumped when we hit the runway, and Marty gave a little “Yip!” As we taxied toward the airport buildings, I wondered what this trip had in store.
I was the first one off the plane, down the steps, and onto the tarmac. Marty trotted along beside me as fast as his little legs could move. My rolling carry-on bag bumped and bounced as we flew across the pavement. The cold air felt fresh against my cheeks. Suddenly the “little dude” stopped. Oops … a little time for some doggy business. It was a long ride. Whatever.
“Huh. I didn’t remember these doors being automatic!” I said as I pushed them open and Marty and I rushed into the airport. I looked around for Dad, but he was nowhere to be seen. Oh no! This was just what I was afraid of. Then I noticed the man who had been holding the door open. He was wearing a huge fleece jester hat with the word “Snurfman” printed across the front in bright blue.
CHAPTER
3
Blindsided
Dad!” I jumped into his arms and gave him the biggest hug ever. “I missed you so much!” I told him.
“I missed you too, Ave!” he said, swinging me around. There was nothing like a Dad superhug. “But I just have one question … how much did you grow since I last saw you? One foot? Two?” He placed me on the ground and grabbed his back like he’d pulled a muscle.
“Ha, ha, very funny, Dad.” I knew I hadn’t grown a foot … barely even a couple of inches. But it still felt good that Dad pretended.
“Excuse me?”
We turned around. It was the woman in the blue dress from the plane.
She smiled at Dad. “I just wanted to tell you that you have a lovely daughter. You should be very proud of this young lady.” Then she bent down and rubbed Marty’s back. “I dust wuv this widdew wuv button!”
Dad gave me a look that said
he was very proud as the woman walked away.
“Now is this the little wuv button?” Dad asked, pointing to Marty. “Your mom told me he was supposed to be your guard dog.”
“You bet he is!” I picked up Marty to make the introductions. “Dad, Marty. Marty, Dad.”
Dad shook Marty’s paw. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Marty. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“He’s heard all about you too.” I put Marty down and he stood up on his hind legs and started leading the way toward the exit, being a showoff in his typical Marty way. “He’s perfect, most of the time.” I told Dad about Marty freaking out during the turbulence as we grabbed my suitcase and headed for Dad’s big, white van—the official Snurfmobile. The door of the Snurfmobile had the ATS Sports logo printed on it. ATS, the name of Dad’s store, stood for Avery-Tim-Scott—the three most rockin’ boarders in Colorado, naturally!
“You think you got enough stickers on this thing?” I joked. The bumper sticker situation on Dad’s van was seriously out of control. The back door was almost completely covered with decals of snowboards, skis, canoes, and slogans like “Surf Colorado” and “The Snurfer Competition—Are you shreddy?”
“Welcome to Snurfer Central. And are you totally shreddy, Ave?”
“I’m shreddy for sure! Number one, baby!” I could hardly wait for the competition.
Dad smiled. “That’s my girl. But remember, Ave … this Snurfer thing is just for fun, right?”
“Duh! Of course,” I answered. And to win! I added to myself. Dad always said that the number-one rule about sports was to have fun. He was right, obviously, but that didn’t mean winning was against the rules.
Dad loaded up the trunk and slammed the back door. I automatically shouted, “Shotgun!” and bolted to the front seat. It took a split second for me to remember that I didn’t need to call shotgun at all. Scott, the other front seat grabber, was way back in Boston.