Sweet Thirteen Page 12

  Mrs. Franklin leaned down and had a quiet conversation with Austin.

  “Please can they come back?” Maeve overhead the little boy say.

  When Mrs. Franklin stood up, she said to her husband, “I think we’ll let Maeve come back. Austin promises to behave better next time.”

  Mr. Franklin assented, but stressed again that Maeve needed to call one of them immediately if things got out of hand. Then he handed Maeve an envelope with fifty dollars inside!

  Is that ten dollars an hour? Terrif! Maeve practically skipped out the door. Then she realized Riley was following her. “Um, here, you should get paid too.” Maeve handed him a ten, calculating in her head that Riley was only there for about an hour and a half, and she put up with the monster on her own the rest of the time. . . . She’d never been that great at math, so ten sounded about right. Besides, this was her dress money!

  “Thanks.” Riley stuffed the money in his jeans pocket. “See ya tomorrow. . . .” He shuffled off with his guitar.

  On her way home, Maeve found herself in front of Think Pink. Her feet must have brought her there on their own accord. Maeve looked up to the window, taking in the pink fabulousness of her dream dress. That’s my Bat Mitzvah gown! Maeve pictured herself at the synagogue, stunning in pink and sequins while her friends and family congratulated her on her beautiful speech, her perfect chanting, and her thoughtful community service project. Riley will be there to take my hand and lead me to the limo. . . .

  Suddenly, Maeve’s dream fizzled and died. There was no party, no limo, and the dress’s tag said $190. She only had $40 from today, plus $31 saved up. Maeve had thought it was more, but she’d forgotten about a couple of breakfasts at Montoya’s and emergency stops at Irving’s Toy and Card Shop for Swedish Fish. Maeve was good enough at math to know that she needed to babysit more than just one or even two more afternoons to earn enough for the dress.

  As much as she wished she could, Maeve realized that she couldn’t avoid the truth forever. Thinking about Swedish Fish had given her an idea. I think I’ll make an important stop on my way home, Maeve decided with a long sigh. Mrs. Weiss will know what to do about all this.

  Swedish Fish for Free

  Mrs. Weiss owned Irving’s Toy and Card Shop. When Maeve turned onto Harvard Street and spotted the friendly red and white awning above the shop, she broke into a run. Mrs. Weiss was like Maeve’s personal Yoda. Wise counsel and a good friend. Maeve couldn’t wait to see her.

  “Good evening, Maeve,” Mrs. Weiss greeted from behind the counter, where she was ringing up an older man’s sale.

  “Hi,” Maeve responded as she bee-lined for the Swedish Fish and used the candy scoop to put a bunch into a small plastic bag.

  After the old man ambled out, Mrs. Weiss took a long look at Maeve’s face. “The fish are free to all troubled girls today.” She winked. “Special deal.”

  “Do I look that bad?” Maeve asked sadly.

  Mrs. Weiss pulled a stool up next to hers behind the register and told Maeve to sit. “All bad days have a good, long story. Let’s hear it.”

  Maeve fought back her tears as she confessed everything to Mrs. Weiss, from the Yurtmeister’s Bar Mitzvah to the conversation with her parents about her own party and the save-the-date cards she’d handed out to absolutely everyone. She ended with how much better she felt while drumming, and then, how reality came crashing back when she saw her dress in the window. The one she would never wear in a limo on her way to a fancy bash.

  “What should I do?” Maeve asked as she practically melted into the stool with exhaustion, confusion, and sorrow.

  Mrs. Weiss patted her hand and sat silently for a while. When Maeve was breathing steadily, calmly again, Mrs. Weiss quietly said, “I’m proud of you, Maeve. You’ve already taken the first step to solving your problems.”

  “I have?” Maeve didn’t understand and thought that all she’d really done was complain.

  “Yes, you have. You are taking ownership for what you did.”

  Mrs. Weiss and Maeve talked for nearly an hour, right up until closing time, about what Maeve could and should do next. Maeve was there so long, she called her mom to say she’d be late.

  By the time she left the shop, Maeve knew exactly what she needed to do.

  Taking Control

  Maeve rushed home, tired from such an emotional day, but feeling like maybe, just maybe, she had everything under control for once. She carefully stepped over the battle of Bunker Hill and found her mother at the kitchen table, reading a new business management book.

  Maeve took a deep, yoga breath and said, “Mom, I have to talk to you.”

  Ms. Kaplan lowered her book and looked up at Maeve.

  “I made a huge mistake.” Maeve brushed a tear off her cheek. “I’m going to fix it, though.”

  “I’m listening.” Maeve’s mother stood up and came to put her arm around Maeve.

  Maeve leaned into her mom’s warm comfort and went on, “I ignored you and Dad. I know we can’t afford a big party, but I thought I could have one anyway. I thought I could get what I wanted and have things my way if I kept bugging you about it. I thought I needed a fancy party just like Henry Yurt’s. But that isn’t what it means to become a Bat Mitzvah.” Maeve sniffled. “I’m sorry.”

  Her mom pulled a tissue out of her pocket and handed it to Maeve. “This,” she said, hugging her daughter tighter, “is what being a Bat Mitzvah is really about.” She tipped her hand under her daughter’s chin, pulling Maeve’s eyes up to hers. “It’s about taking adult responsibilities, understanding what is and is not important, and knowing when you can’t change things. That is what you are doing right now! I’m so proud of you, sweetie.”

  Maeve nodded. “I’m going to make unvitations, so everyone knows there will be no party.” Maeve paused, then added, “I want to celebrate by having lunch with just my family. Really. That’s what I want.” When Maeve smiled, she felt a tingly warm current course though her veins. It felt great. “And if I can earn enough babysitting money, I think I still want to buy that dress,” Maeve added quietly.

  Ms. Kaplan kissed her daughter firmly on the forehead.

  “Good for you! I love you” was all she said. And that was plenty.

  Tower Power

  It was time for the BSG to go home, and they still had no idea if they could pull off a party for Maeve. They figured they could handle invitations, decorations, entertainment, and probably food . . . but they were still stuck on a location. They’d already gone through everyone’s houses and found reasons why none of them would work.

  “The Movie House?” Avery brainstormed.

  “How can you have a party in a room full of seats?” Isabel asked.

  “What about the stage?” Charlotte suggested.

  Katani shook her head. “Too small. And too hard to keep secret! Maeve would find out about it in no time.”

  “Mr. Summers is here to take Katani home!” Mr. Ramsey called up the stairs.

  Charlotte jumped up. “Dad?” she shouted. “Could you come here a sec?”

  There wasn’t much room in the Tower with five girls, a dog, and their dinner leftovers spread out everywhere, but somehow Mr. Ramsey fit himself on one of the window-sills. “What’s going on, girls?” he asked.

  Charlotte quickly summarized their party problem, with Katani adding in the details.

  Mr. Ramsey nodded. “Well,” he said, “it’s wonderful that you want to do something for your friend, but a party like this is a big undertaking. I’d say, start small. Why not a sleepover to celebrate?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “Maeve deserves something more.”

  Isabel agreed. “We want to invite everyone she invited.”

  “Which is, like, the entire seventh grade,” Avery explained.

  Mr. Ramsey raised his eyebrows. But he didn’t say no. He didn’t say, “This is impossible!” He was willing to let them try, and Charlotte loved her dad at that moment.

  “I think thi
s will be quite the challenge for you girls, but I believe you can do it, if you work hard,” he answered. “But you have to promise me that you’ll clear your plans with Ms. Kaplan. We don’t want to do anything that she doesn’t agree with.”

  “Yes, yes, yes, yes,” four girls sang out in chorus together. “We promise.”

  “Oui!” added Sophie.

  As Katani started down the stairs to meet her dad, Mr. Ramsey added, “Money does not grow on trees. By that I mean, you have to watch what you spend, and you can’t ask anyone for money. That would just make Maeve’s family uncomfortable. Everything you do and everything you get has to be given freely or done by volunteers.”

  “Sure thing, Dad,” Charlotte readily agreed.

  “I mean it, Char,” her father said seriously.

  Charlotte realized, then, that her father had just challenged them to pull together a top-notch party with no resources. Could it be done?

  After Mr. Ramsey and Katani had left, Sophie stood up. “We will have a party for Maeve,” she concluded. “We will make one easy as cake.”

  “Easy as pie,” Isabel said with a smile.

  Sophie paused. “But you said it was cake, not pie?”

  Charlotte laughed, the first one to figure out what had happened. “Sophie, it’s ‘a piece of cake’ or ‘easy as pie.’ They mean the same thing.”

  Sophie rolled her eyes. “Your language is impossible as . . . as . . . cookies!”

  CHAPTER

  13

  Paris à la Mode

  Isn’t it too hot for those thingy-ma-bobbers?” Avery asked Isabel as they walked into school together the next morning. Nearly every girl they passed had a chic French scarf around her neck! “I mean, who wears scarves in May?” Avery continued.

  Isabel twirled a strand of hair around a finger, then reached into her shoulder bag. “Well . . . they are a brilliant way to express yourself!” She pulled out a tropical bird-themed silk scarf and draped it over Avery’s shoulders. “Ta-da!”

  “No way!” Avery tossed the scarf right back at Isabel. “Am I the only person in the whole school who hasn’t gone French Mania Crazy?!”

  Pushing through a gaggle of seventh-grade girls, all wearing scarves, Avery made her way to her locker. She flipped the combination lock open and was about to grab some books when Maeve, Katani, Charlotte, and Sophie arrived.

  “Phew! I’m not alone in the world!” Avery cheered, slapping Charlotte a high-five.

  “Huh?” Charlotte looked around at her friends’ faces, trying to figure out what was going on.

  “You’re the only two girls in the whole school who aren’t wearing scarves!” Isabel explained, pointing at Charlotte’s naked neck, sticking out from the collar of her T-shirt.

  “Here, you can borrow one of mine.” Isabel pulled out a trendy black-and-white silk scarf. “Turns out my aunt has a whole scarf collection! She said I could borrow them anytime.”

  The truth was, Sophie had already offered Charlotte one of her scarves that morning. But Charlotte just didn’t feel like herself with such a dressy accessory. And besides, none of her clothes matched the muted colors and sophisticated designs of Sophie’s scarves. Today Sophie had picked out a gray skirt and black shirt, paired with a colorful designer scarf and matching shoes.

  While Charlotte stood speechless, unsure whether she should go with the fashion flow or not, Maeve jumped right in front of her!

  “Oooh! Can I wear that one? Please, Charlotte?” Maeve pleaded, fingering the black and white scarf.

  Charlotte nodded, giving in to Maeve’s enthusiasm.

  “It’s sooo much more cute, chic, and ooh la la—more French than this one.” Maeve pulled off the same fuchsia scarf she’d worn the day before and stuffed it in her book bag, right on top of a pile of unvitations. Maeve didn’t really want to think about those.

  “Doesn’t your neck get sweaty wearing those things?” Avery asked incredulously.

  Sophie smiled. “Not if the scarf is silk! A good scarf is refreshing, in fact. Like a colorful breeze.” She turned to Maeve. “Here, I will help you tie this on, the French way!”

  Charlotte backed out of the way, leaning up against the wall, right beneath a sign announcing “French Club! First meeting after school.”

  When did this French thing get so out of control?Charlotte wondered, feeling helpless and an outsider as girls she didn’t even know flocked to watch Sophie’s scarf-tying lesson. A scarf looks right on Sophie, Charlotte thought. But she should be the only person wearing one. Now everyone thinks it’s cool.With every scarf-clad girl who joined the crowd, Charlotte felt more and more drab, boring, and uninteresting. The phrase “wallflower” came to mind and seemed to fit.

  “We should form our own club!” Avery leaned up against the wall next to Charlotte. “The Scarfless Wonders. Members, two.”

  Charlotte cracked a smile. At least her best friends didn’t care if she followed the whole scarf fad. In fact, there was a Tower rule that stated: We will dare to be fashion individualistas—we’re all different, so why should we dress the same? Maybe I need to make a sign with that rule and post it next to the French Club poster,Charlotte thought.

  Then she saw Nick coming down the hall, and waved. “There’s the third Scarfless Wonder!”

  “Hey, boys don’t count.” Avery elbowed Charlotte. “What boy in his right mind would tie some flowery thing around his neck?”

  Fashion Police

  Ten minutes later Avery had an answer to her question. Not all boys at AAJH were in their right minds. One, in particular, was quite definitely freakified, off the deep end, and completely insane.

  “Is that . . . Dillon?” Katani whispered as they took their seats in social studies class.

  “Yep.” Avery shook her head, trying to erase Dillon’s new image from her brain.

  “What the . . . What happened to him? When? How? But most of all, why?” Isabel stammered.

  Avery wasted no time. She marched over to where he stood at the back of the classroom and punched the shoulder of the boy she thought she knew. “Just how thoroughly have you lost it?”

  “Huh?” Dillon turned around, all smiles and sunshine. “What’s up?”

  “What’s up?! Look at yourself!” Avery poked her finger at Dillon’s clothing, first jabbing at his pointy shoes, then flicking his fancy pants, and finally nearly strangling him with his new gray scarf! “Where are your sweatpants? Your jersey? Your scruffy sneakers?” Avery interrogated him as if she were a detective. “Okay, stranger, where did you put my friend Dillon? Is this your evil twin who’s come to torture us?”

  Dillon simply laughed. “Oh, Avery, vat is ze problème?” he said, with a fake French accent and a phony European air that choked off any further taunts from Avery and made Sophie perk up.

  “Bonjour, Dillon!” Sophie sauntered over. “You look magnifique! Incroyable! Awesome!” Sophie was full of kind words in both French and English. “Très français! Very French!” Sophie smiled warmly and Dillon turned beet red. “Oooh, Dillon, you have been to Paris, non?”

  “Just the mall,” Dillon replied, blushing even more deeply. “It took forever to find these clothes, though. Had to go to that special French store, and, man, was that something else. This lady there said . . .” Dillon cut his story off in the middle when Sophie stepped closer to him and unwound the scarf from his neck. With Sophie standing just a hand’s-length away, Avery could see that Dillon was forgetting how to breathe. He was turning from blushing red to an oxygen-deprived shade of blue.

  Sophie shook out Dillon’s scarf and slid it back around his neck, tying it in a simple knot with the ends flat against his shirt, not off to the side like her own. “There,” she said. “Fabulosity complete. That is how the boys wear scarves.” Sophie kissed her fingers and gestured like a chef who’d made the best meal of her life.

  Dillon muttered something unintelligible, something that sounded a little like “Thhnnnks.” By the look on Dillon’s face, Avery knew
that he was close to passing out. Thankfully Sophie stepped back just in time. “Let’s go sit down,” Sophie suggested.

  As they took their seats Sophie smiled brightly at Avery and whispered, “Isn’t it wonderful when a boy dresses to impress a girl?” She winked at Avery as if this was their special secret.

  Avery slammed her own forehead with her hand. “It’s not me he’s trying to impre—,” she began, but was interrupted by the teacher.

  “Sophie, thank you for showing everyone how to wear a scarf the French way,” Ms. O’Reilly began. “However, a scarf can be tied many different ways, depending on the local fashion.” Then, to everyone’s surprise, their teacher took a silk scarf out of her desk, twisted it up, and wrapped it around her waist like a belt! Charlotte couldn’t believe it! First it was just the BSG who wanted to be like Sophie, but now it had spread throughout the school—to the girls, the boys, and now even the teachers! Who was next?

  Chase Finley gave Dillon a sideways glance. “Yeah, and some dudes have the local fashion all wrong.”

  “Chill, man. A scarf is kinda like a necktie,” Nick defended Dillon.

  Betsy Fitzgerald waved her hand frantically in the air. “Neckties come from France!” she informed everyone. “During King Louis XIII’s reign, soldiers wore cravats, which were basically fancy scarves, and—”

  “Thank you, Betsy.” Ms. O’Reilly cut her off. “That’s very interesting!”

  “France can have them back!” Henry turned to Sophie. “All neckties do is choke you and fall in your soup.”

  “I’ll make a petition to our prime minister!” Sophie joked.

  “Fashion has a very interesting role around the world.” Ms. O’Reilly smoothly transitioned the class into a talk about cultural and global clothing trends, calling repeatedly on Charlotte for her opinion since Charlotte had lived in so many places.