Sweet Thirteen Page 3

  Her mom showed the cover: Management for Managers.

  “Yikes,” Maeve blurted out, then corrected herself. “Umm, sounds interesting.” Her mom had taken to reading a lot of business books lately—one big, boring one after another. After the separation, her mom had gone back to work as a part-time office manager. Maeve was impressed at how seriously her mom took her new job and how much she wanted to succeed.

  Jokingly, Maeve asked, “Can I borrow it when you’re done?”

  Her mom ignored the comment. “So, sweetie, how was the party?”

  “Fabuloso,” Maeve gushed. “It took up the whole museum! JT, you know, from Rock and Roll Survivor, did this whole dance set. Then there was a butterfly garden and this photomontage all about Henry. He got this awesome bicycle for a present, and we all took turns riding it, and I won a baseball cap in a limbo contest, and . . .” Maeve paused then said, “And I want my party to be just like his. Only better, of course.”

  Maeve’s mom began to say something, but Maeve cut her off. “I’ve got it all planned out. We are going to have a movie star theme. Isabel will make a walk of fame, and we can have old posters and costumes on mannequins, or maybe even on real models who can wander around! I am going to arrive in a limo and walk down a red carpet— wait till you see the awesomely amazing dress I just found in the window at Think Pink!”

  Ms. Kaplan put a hand on Maeve’s shoulder to get her daughter’s attention. “Maeve,” she said firmly. “It’s fine to dream about a nice party like that, but you know we can’t afford all that.” Her mom looked hard at her. “We’ve already discussed this a thousand times. After the ceremony, we’re having a small lunch, just for family. No friends. No party. And certainly no limo.”

  Maeve sighed. In a matter of thirty seconds, her mother had all but crushed her dreams. “Mom, that’s so not fair. Stacy’s having her Bat Mitzvah on a yacht!” Maeve pointed to the fridge, where a fancy invite to her cousin’s party hung between family photos.

  “Maeve. I think you need to really consider the meaning of becoming a Bat Mitzvah,” Ms. Kaplan continued, sounding very much like Rabbi Millstein. “Instead of getting all wrapped up in these other kids’ fancy parties, think about what a Bat Mitzvah really means. At the age of thirteen, you are becoming a ‘daughter of the Commandments.’ It’s a Jewish child’s rite of passage. Being a Bat Mitzvah is about way more than having a party. It’s about taking on adult responsibilities in the community.”

  Maeve nodded. “Right! I wore Great-grandma Gigi’s dress tonight, and yesterday I put all the dishes away without you asking, and I got a B minus on that math quiz. . . .”

  Her mom sighed. “And I’m very proud of you. But we’ve already discussed a party, and no means no.” She paused, then added, “Rabbi Millstein called yesterday to discuss your community service project form.”

  Maeve sat up a little straighter. Maybe if I’m really responsible and do a great project, she’ll change her mind! she decided. I mean, how much could a big party actually cost?

  “Well,” Maeve began, “I was thinking that I might go and fix up the park behind Jeri’s Place. I could plant flowers and make a new playground for the kids.”

  “It’s lovely that you want to do something for the homeless shelter,” her mom said. “But there isn’t much time left, honey. You only have two weeks to get a project done.”

  “If I started tomorrow,” Maeve said. “Then I could get—”

  “Maeve,” Ms. Kaplan interrupted. “You’ve had a year to do this project. Remember when you wanted to get movies for cancer patients?” Maeve nodded. She’d only made a list of the movies. Never actually collected any of them. “Or when you were going to send books to a needy school?” There was a bag of books in the Movie House’s storage closet that Maeve never got around to sorting.

  “I know you love the idea of helping others,” her mom said compassionately. “And you dream really big. But we are down to the wire here. You need to write up something you’ve already done and get the form in to the rabbi this week.”

  “I guess I could write up Project Thread,” Maeve said, after considering her mother’s words. Maeve had won an award for organizing the project to sew and donate blankets to Jeri’s Place at the beginning of the school year.

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking, too,” her mom replied.

  “But I sorta wanted to do something new for my Bat Mitzvah project,” Maeve continued. “And bigger this time.”

  “Project Thread is big enough,” Maeve’s mom told her. “Please get your community service form signed at the shelter ASAP.”

  “Okay,” Maeve said with a sigh. It was late, and she was tired and a bit deflated. I guess I don’t need a huge new project, but maybe there’s still a chance for the party if I get my form signed and memorize all my Hebrew perfectly and if I’m really, really nice to Sam . . .

  With this new tactic set in her mind, Maeve hopped up from her chair. “Good night!” She kissed her mom’s forehead, and headed back out into the war zone, toward her bedroom. She’d start over, trying to convince her mom about the movie star party, in the morning.

  “Hang on, Maeve,” her mom called after her.

  They met at the Confederate cavalry headquarters, a walled garrison built of gray LEGOs.

  “I nearly forgot,” Ms. Kaplan continued, “one of Sam’s classmate’s mom called to see if you could babysit after school. I told her that you might be too busy with Hebrew and hip-hop classes and your friends.”

  Maeve immediately thought about the dress hanging in the window at Think Pink. “I’ll do it!” Maeve said, without hesitation. Babysitting meant money, and money meant she could help pay for the party! I’ll start by buying that dress.

  “Well, only if you’re sure you can handle the extra responsibility. We’ll have to work hard to rearrange your schedule to fit Mrs. Franklin’s needs. Make sure you call her in the morning to set it up. I left the number on the kitchen counter.” Ms. Kaplan gave Maeve a hug and said, “Good night.”

  Maeve went to her room, happy and excited again, certain that once she owned the dress, everything else would fall into place.

  Writer’s Block

  On Sunday morning Charlotte rushed to her computer as soon as she woke up. She’d sent a long e-mail the night before with a list of the BSG’s ideas for Sophie’s visit. Sure enough, there was a response waiting in her in-box.

  To: Charlotte

  From: Sophie

  Subject: Re: See you soon!!!!

  Mon amie, I am so very excited to come to Boston and see you! This is the best surprise birthday gift ever. . . . Can you believe our dads kept it secret for so long? I cannot wait to meet your meilleures amies, the BSG. I have heard so much about them, and I only hope they will like me!

  My plane arrives 6:45 p.m., Monday, and I will stay until 10 May in the early morning. I want to see everything you tell me about!!! The museum and horseback riding sound très wonderful. I hope we can have tea at Montoya’s Bakery. I know it is your favorite, and there I can meet your petit ami Nick! See you soon.

  Je t’adore,

  Sophie

  Charlotte clapped her hands, having trouble containing her excitement. The sound woke up Marty, who started dancing around under the chair legs, yipping for breakfast.

  “Just one minute, Marty!” Charlotte hit reply and began to write:

  To: Sophie

  From: Charlotte

  Subject: Re: Re: See you soon!!!!

  Dearest Sophie, Good morning! Guess what??? Your last night in Boston is the same night as Maeve’s birthday! She’s turning thirteen too. And she’s having a huge party!!!

  Oh, and don’t worry about anything. Of course the BSG will adore you. . . .

  Charlotte stopped. She didn’t know what else to say. Marty sat down at her feet and whined. Suddenly things inside her felt all churned up. What if Sophie doesn’t get along with the BSG once she meets them? What would I do? What if they don’t want to hang
out, all of them together? What if—?

  “Charlotte?” It was her dad calling her name from the hallway just outside her bedroom. Deciding to finish her e-mail to Sophie later, Charlotte pressed save and closed the window.

  “Entre,” she said, practicing her French a little for Sophie’s visit.

  Her father came right in. “Bonjour,” he said, playing along. “Ça va?” he asked.

  “I’m just fine, merci,” Charlotte said. “And how are you, Papa?”

  “Ça va bien,” he replied. “I’m fine too.” Then he asked, “We talked about Sophie the whole way home. You never told me anything about the party.”

  “It was wowmazing, as Maeve always says.” Charlotte sat back in her desk chair and told him the whole story. “ . . . then, I stood up on my chair to tell everyone about Sophie, because no one was listening to me!”

  Her dad chuckled and took a seat on the side of Charlotte’s bed, scratching Marty’s ears. “But your friends were excited to hear about Sophie’s visit, weren’t they?”

  Charlotte pulled a beaded bracelet out of her collection and stared at it. “They had a zillion ideas about what we should do and where to take her. It was great.” But she knew she sounded less than totally sure about things.

  Her dad had spent years studying people and places as a travel writer, and he knew Charlotte better than anyone. “What’s going on, Char?” he asked.

  “I’m worried.” Charlotte loved that she could be honest with her dad, but sometimes it wasn’t easy to share her feelings. She put the bracelet on, then took it off again. “I want to make sure that Sophie feels welcome, but I don’t want to seem overeager or overwhelm her or anything.”

  “Hmmm, I see,” he replied. Then after a moment’s thought, Mr. Ramsey added, “I think there are a few things we can do to prepare for her visit. One: We’ll talk to the principal and make sure everything’s all set at school. Two: We’ll make an itinerary with plenty of wiggle room, and three—”

  “I know!” Charlotte smiled. “A welcome gift.”

  “Actually I was going to say, we should go shopping to pick up some groceries for French meals, but that works, too!”

  Charlotte leaped up and kissed her father on both cheeks, European style, then rushed back to her desk. “When I was in Paris,” she told him, “I promised Sophie I’d write a story about Orangina. When we finally found him and he looked so happy living on the barge, we both wondered what adventures he’d been having.” She clicked the mouse to open her word processor. “I’m going to write Orangina’s story for Sophie!”

  “Good luck!” Mr. Ramsey waved and left the bedroom, with Marty at his heels. “But don’t forget to eat. I’m making pancakes.” Charlotte nodded, fingers over the keyboard, staring intently at the cursor blinking on the blank page. Then she began to type.

  * * *

  Orangina’s Travels

  Part 1

  A Wet Cat

  A wet cat is a miserable cat. Orangina woke and stretched, sending droplets of dew flying off his spiky orange fur. “Wherrre is my boat?” he asked, only it sounded more like, “Ooo est mon bateauuu,” which is how cats speak in France. He didn’t expect an answer, but he got one. “It floated off, mate, in the night. Say, you’re mighty wet, huh? Care to dry off?”

  An Australian accent was the last thing Orangina expected to hear on the banks of the river Seine. He looked left, then right.

  “Down here, mate!” Orangina blinked, and struck out with his paw, trapping the strange little human-shaped creature, like a mouse.

  “Ouch! Hey, that’s no way to treat a bloke,” the tiny man complained. He was only a little taller than Orangina’s paw and wearing the most ridiculous outfit the cat had ever seen: a tan explorer’s suit with pockets everywhere, tall brown boots, and a wide-brimmed hat with orange feathers sticking out. “You want the gold, don’t you? They always want gold. Well, I’ve got something even better than gold, feline friend!”

  * * *

  The first three paragraphs came easily, but then Charlotte got stuck. What did the tiny man have that was better than gold? The tastiest cat food in the world? A huge sailing ship? Adventure? And what was he doing in France, anyway?

  Throughout the day Charlotte returned to the computer again and again, to stare at the story. Sometimes she typed a new sentence, then deleted it. Other times she just stared. At dinner her dad asked, “How’s your writing going?”

  “Harder than I thought,” Charlotte remarked, pushing her food around. “I have a lot of ideas, but they aren’t coming together yet.”

  Her dad put down his fork and said, “A great story cannot be forced. What you have is a common problem known as writer’s block.” He winked. “I’ve suffered from this condition more times than I can count, and the only remedy I know of is to just give it time. Let the story cook in your head.”

  “But, Dad, she’s coming tomorrow night! And this is her welcome gift!”

  “Try again early tomorrow morning. And here’s an important bit of advice I remember reading somewhere when I was a young writer: Every central character has to want something.”

  What does Orangina want?Charlotte mused as she finished her vegetables. Even though she didn’t have an answer yet, she was relieved that her dad, a real writer, also knew what it was like to feel stuck.

  While Charlotte was eating dinner, Maeve was perched on her bed, typing on her laptop. But she wasn’t writing a story; she was planning a party.

  * * *

  Maeve’s Notes to Self

  1. Need shoes to go with dress Sandals? Heels? Flats?

  2. Hand out save the dates 2morrow.

  3. Hairstyle and makeup: ask Katani!!!

  4 Do I have to invite Sam?

  5. Party favors: trophies, DVDs, mini Oscars, makeup kits, etc.

  6. Centerpieces: I can’t choose! Candles, flowers, snow globes, mirrors, or all four?

  7. DJ or band? Hip-hop? Rock and pop? (Ask Riley!)

  8. Games: Balloon pop, musical chairs, Coke versus Pepsi . . .

  9. Location! Hotel—must have a ballroom. Cruise ship?

  10. Oops . . . Forgot to call about the babysitting job today. Call 2morrow.

  CHAPTER

  4

  A Stupend-Delicious Idea

  Hey, what’s going on?” Charlotte arrived at the lunchroom Monday to find a buzzing crowd centered around Maeve! She twirled toward Charlotte and handed her a card.

  It had bright pink stars drawn around the border of a light pink postcard. In the middle, Maeve had written “SAVE THE DATE! MAY 9. MAEVE KAPLAN-TAYLOR’S BAT MITZVAH BASH.” Beneath that, in smaller letters it said “7–11 P.M.”

  “Wow!” Charlotte exclaimed. “These are really nice!”

  “Thanks.” Maeve smiled as she handed cards to Danny and Betsy. “I printed them on my computer, then drew the stars myself.”

  “Did Isabel see them?” Charlotte asked. “She’s gonna LOVE these cards.”

  “Isabel said they were muy bonita and took some for Katani and Avery,” Maeve replied as she handed two more cards over Charlotte’s shoulder to the Trentinis.

  “The BSG are saving us seats,” Maeve told Charlotte. “I’ll be there in a minute.” She held up the small stack of cards left in her hands. “I just want to make sure everyone gets one.”

  Charlotte headed into the caf. Since she’d brought a bag lunch, she bypassed the lunch line and went straight over to where the BSG were sitting.

  “Nice, huh?” Charlotte commented, holding up one of Maeve’s cards.

  Everyone agreed that the cards were deathly cute. Well, everyone except Katani. She was being oddly quiet.

  “What’s up?” Isabel asked her. “Don’t you like Maeve’s save-the-date cards?”

  “It’s not that.” Katani sighed. “They’re really adorable.” But she was conflicted. Maeve is definitely dreaming too big. With the party less than two weeks away, I just don’t see how Maeve is going to get it all worked out.Katani also
wondered if Maeve had cleared the bash with her parents yet. I’m not getting a clear vibe on the situation, she thought. I’ll just have to pull Maeve aside and ask her. After all, that’s what good friends are for!

  Katani changed the subject by asking Charlotte about the math homework.

  It wasn’t long before Maeve flounced into the caf. She came out of the lunch line carrying a tray with the day’s mystery meat and a banana on it.

  “There’s so much to do for my party!” Maeve plopped onto the bench next to Avery. “What are you all wearing?”

  “Right now? Soccer shorts and a T-shirt,” Avery quipped.

  But Maeve was distracted by someone across the room. Riley’s looking this way!Maeve felt a warmth inside that made her smile. She often rehearsed her Academy Award acceptance speech, and for the past few weeks she’d added Riley to the picture, standing by her side. She knew exactly what kind of suit he’d wear. What color tie. Even which brand of shoes. But what’s Riley going to wear to my party?

  “I think I’ll buy a pink tie for Riley to wear,” she announced.

  Avery laughed so hard, milk dribbled out of her nose.

  “What?” Maeve was unfazed. “We should be color-coordinated at the party.”

  It wasn’t that Riley and Maeve were an actual couple or anything. It was just that everyone knew they liked each other, and if she was going to have a date to her own party, it would certainly be Riley. So of course, Maeve thought, we should plan our outfits together. “Would a blue or white suit look better with the pink tie?”

  The BSG looked to Katani. She was the fashionista after all. Katani just shrugged. “Maeve, I think we need to ta—,” Katani began, but the QOM chose that moment to saunter up to the table. Joline and Anna were each holding one of Maeve’s save-the-date cards.

  “Interesting card,” Joline said, turning it over in her hands, like she was scrutinizing an alien object. “Did you make these yourself?”

  “I did,” Maeve said proudly, trying to ignore the tone in Joline’s voice.