Bad News/Good News Page 5

  Beware of strangers. They may not have your heart or your trust.

  The last thing Katani wanted to do was to meet Maeve and Isabel after school and get dragged along to Fabric World with them. She should’ve listened to what her star-sign told her, she thought later. She would have been a whole lot better off. This was not a good day to start a new business venture.

  “Where are we going, Katani?” Kelley asked thoughtfully, looking concerned. The two girls were standing out in front of the school building, and Katani was wracking her brains, trying to come up with a good excuse to get out of the excursion.

  “We’re not going anywhere,” Katani told her sister. She said it more sharply than she’d intended, and a shadow crossed over Kelley’s face. She always sensed when her younger sister was upset.

  “We’re not? We’re not going anywhere?” she echoed unhappily.

  “No—I mean, yes,” Katani mumbled unhappily. “I mean, I don’t really want to go, but Maeve needs me, and…”

  “Katani! Over here!” Maeve boomed from the other side of the building. The next minute she came bounding up, her backpack bouncing behind her. “My mom’s parked over there,” she crowed happily, pointing to the lot behind the school. “And Isabel’s going to join us in a second! She’s just calling her mom.”

  Great, Katani thought. Maeve made it sound like the Queen had decided to join them.

  “Katani doesn’t want to go,” Kelley blurted out, taking her sister by the arm.

  Katani could feel herself blushing furiously. “I do so, Kelley. Don’t say that,” she admonished.

  That was the thing with Kelley, though. You couldn’t get her to lie for anything. “But you said you didn’t want to,” she protested.

  Maeve stared from Kelley to Katani and back again. “Katani,” she cried. “What do you mean, you don’t want to come? Are you kidding me?”

  Katani was feeling worse and worse. “I…oh, never mind. I said I’d help, so I’ll help,” she said finally. She gave Kelley a quick hug. “Go in and find Grandma,” she told her sister. “And tell her I’ll be home before dinner, OK?”

  Maeve linked arms with Katani, leading her around to the back parking lot, and chattering obliviously away about how much fun they were all going to have, and how fabulous it was to have Katani and Isabel to help her. She didn’t even notice that Katani was clamming up again. That was the thing about Maeve. Sometimes, when she got an idea in her head, she didn’t notice much else around her.

  “Hello, Katani,” Ms. Kaplan said in the concerned parent’s voice she used whenever she was talking to one of Maeve’s friends. She was in the front seat of her blue Taurus station wagon. Maeve hopped in the front, leaving Katani to slide in next to Isabel.

  “Hey,” Isabel said with a warm smile.

  Katani nodded stiffly back at her. She had no good reason not to like Isabel—she seemed perfectly nice, Katani had to admit. And she liked art, they had that in common. But somehow, some way, she made Katani feel kind of…invaded. It’s like she was going to steal Maeve and make everything weird between all of us, she thought miserably.

  It didn’t help that Maeve kept up a running conversation with Isabel the entire way to Fabric World. And Isabel had this way of leaning forward, putting her hands on the back of Maeve’s seat, so it felt like she was part of the conversation up front. The more animated Isabel and Maeve became, the quieter Katani felt. I could just as well not be here at all, she thought, for all anyone would even notice!

  Boy, did Katani feel like the odd one out! Shouldn’t Isabel be the one feeling like an extra? She was the new one, right? And Katani was Maeve’s best friend! So then why was Maeve acting like every single word that came out of Isabel’s mouth was precious?

  “Mom, Isabel’s grandmother is from Mexico City. Isn’t that totally cool? Remember that wonderful movie we saw last year about the Mexican artist? Well, Isabel’s an artist, too,” Maeve gushed on and on.

  Katani hunched her shoulders over, the way she did when she was feeling tall and awkward.

  Ms. Kaplan always seemed to know about fifty different people, whenever you said you were from someplace. When she heard Isabel was from Detroit she kept asking her, “Do you know so-and-so?…Denise Cunningham,” she said suddenly. “Do you know Denise Cunningham?”

  Katani could never see the point of that. So what if Isabel did know one of these people? Then what? Would that make her any more special in Ms. Kaplan’s eyes?

  Stop it Katani, a voice inside her said harshly. You’re just in a bad mood because you’re jealous of her. You’re jealous because she’s new and pretty and everyone’s so interested in her, and she’s good at art, and so sure of herself…

  But Katani pushed the voice away.

  “Here we are!” Maeve sang out as the car turned into a small cluster of stores lining Route 9.

  And sure enough, they were there—at Fabric World, a place Katani usually adored with its rows of fabric. Even today, grim as her mood was, she couldn’t help feeling her spirits lift a little as the three girls followed Ms. Kaplan into the brightly lit building and began looking at bolts and bolts of fabric. Maeve ran immediately to a row of glittery, sequined fabrics that would make much more sense for evening gowns than for blankets. “Omigod. I would so love a dress out of this for the first social dancing night. I swear to god, this stuff looks like something straight out of the Academy Awards!”

  Katani almost smiled—but she stopped herself when she saw Isabel slip some of the gleaming silver fabric around her waist, trying it out. “How do I look, Maeve?”

  Katani sighed, watching the two of them swoon together like they’d been best friends forever.

  And I’m here because…? she wondered to herself. This was getting worse by the minute.

  Frustration was an understatement for how Katani was feeling. Maeve shouldn’t have even bothered asking me to come, she thought bitterly. She doesn’t even care what I think…

  She struggled to fight back that feeling. She does want my advice, she reminded herself. And I’m the one who knows about sewing. Isabel may be good at cartoons, but that won’t help her here. She wandered through the store to the section where she knew the fleece was kept. She found three or four choices of material that she knew would work really well for Maeve’s blankets, and tried to catch her friend’s attention so she could show her what she’d found.

  But Maeve was too busy swooning over the silks and sequins.

  “Maeve,” Katani finally said, trying to hide her annoyance. “If you really want to do this project, let me show you stuff that will work.”

  Maeve let herself be dragged—reluctantly—away from the evening gown material. She looked at the different colors of fleece Katani had chosen.

  “You really think this stuff is the best?” she asked uncertainly. “Couldn’t we use something a little more…I don’t know, a little more full of character?” She picked up some brightly colored cotton nearby, her face brightening. “Now this stuff is really darling.”

  “It’s going to be hard to make a blanket out of cotton gingham,” Katani told her. “You’d have to quilt that material to make it work. Fleece is definitely the way to go. It’ll be really simple. You can just cut it with pinking shears, and maybe decorate it a little.”

  Maeve’s face fell. “I don’t want it to be that simple. I want to sew the blankets,” she wailed.

  “But Maeve, you don’t know how to sew yet,” Katani said impatiently.

  “Oooooh,” Isabel said, coming up as if out of nowhere behind them, and fingering the cotton gingham. “I love this, Maeve. Is this what you’re going to use?”

  “Whatever,” Katani said shortly. “Go ahead, Maeve. Whatever you think.” She folded her arms angrily across her chest.

  If Maeve wanted to make really complicated blankets, let her. And if she got into trouble, let her new friend Isabel be the one to help. Frankly, Katani had had enough of the whole business!

  THE CHANCE OF A
LIFETIME

  Charlotte’s Journal

  10 p.m.

  I must’ve heard wrong.

  I was on my way downstairs from the Tower to get some graham crackers and peanut butter when I heard dad talking on the phone. For some weird reason I stopped to listen. And what I heard made me get goose bumps. You know that feeling when your heart almost stops beating?

  Here’s Dad: “I know. I know. It’s the chance of a lifetime. They e-mailed me last week, and I finally got to talk with the head of the department today,” he paused. “Right—Oxford. Can you imagine what it would be like to teach writing there? Even for just one term?” He paused again. “I know, Doug. I know.” He was talking to Uncle Doug, about Oxford. My heart started pounding. I’ve traveled enough to know that Oxford is in England. England! A whole Atlantic Ocean away.

  And we just got here!

  “Right, I know,” Dad said again. “It’s just…it’s like a dream or something. When I think about walking on the very same streets that all those famous poets walked on…John Donne, Samuel Johnson…It’s hard to believe that Professor Jones contacted me. That conference that we did together in Paris must’ve clinched it…”

  I crouched down, my mouth dry. It didn’t take long to put two and two together. Dad has been offered a teaching job for the spring term in England. “Spring” meaning January. And England meaning back in Europe. It just can’t be. After we just moved back here. After I’ve gotten all settled and finally found amazing friends and a school I love. Even with all the moves we’ve made, we have never, ever moved in the middle of a school year. It’s one of dad’s golden rules. I just couldn’t believe this was happening. It was the worst nightmare imaginable.

  I felt paralyzed.

  It just wasn’t fair. And why was I the last to know? Dad always talks first to me about serious things. Why wasn’t he talking to me instead of to Uncle Doug?

  Dad came up to tuck me in half an hour later and I couldn’t even look at him. I felt—betrayed. Like he’d let me down. Like he was lying to me, just trying to act regular. “Hey,” he says, leaning over to give me a kiss. “Char? Is something wrong?”

  Wrong? My father has never, ever lied to me. Or kept something important hidden from me. How could he ask if anything was wrong? Just my whole life going down the drain, that’s all.

  “No Dad,” I said, tears leaking down onto my pillow. I couldn’t say anything. I heard him, didn’t I? “The chance of a lifetime.” “Like a dream or something.” If he didn’t want to tell me about it, it must be because he didn’t trust me enough.

  It came over me like a flash. He didn’t want to tell me because he knew I wouldn’t want to move. He has seen how happy I am in Brookline. He must want this awfully badly, then.

  How could I ask him not to go?

  I never really wanted to admit this before, but dad and staying put just don’t go together.

  Everything we own is travel-sized. He doesn’t even have a real clock—just a travel alarm.

  I love traveling too, but I have a home now. My heart is breaking.

  As soon as he was gone I grabbed Truffles the Pig, my favorite stuffed animal. Make a wish, I told myself. But it was too cloudy to find the stars. I was crying hard. If Mom were here…if she were still alive, we’d be a real family. With a real home, and a place we could really belong to.

  How can I face everyone tomorrow?

  I can’t tell them. I just can’t.

  For one thing, they’re not going to want to be best friends with me if I’m out of here in a couple of months. What’s the point???

  And another thing. If I tell them, that’ll make it seem real.

  I’m crying all over this journal even while I’m writing. And Marty is whining like he knows something is really wrong…and he’s right!

  I feel like everything that matters most in the whole world is vanishing on me. I just can’t believe it. It’s not fair. It just isn’t.

  To: Sophie

  From: Charlotte

  Subject: England!

  Cher Sophie:

  So mon amie, it looks like my dream has ended. Tonight I overheard my father talking about a new job offer. In England. You were so right when you promised me that life here would get better. What I never imagined was that it could get so much better…and then it could all just disappear. Remember that poem that we liked so much last year by Rilke—“all of life is a leave-taking?” I can’t do it again, mon amie. Not another leave-taking. E-mail back and send advice. All my love—Char

  CHAPTER 5

  Try or Not

  Charlotte felt like she spent the next several days in a blur. When she woke the next morning, she tried to convince herself that what she’d overheard the night before was only a bad dream. And for a moment, with the sun streaming through her balcony window and Marty panting for attention at the end of her bed, it all seemed too distant—and too awful—to be true. Maybe it wasn’t.

  Her father did seem reassuringly like his usual self at the breakfast table—filled with good humor and lots of questions about how things were at school, and when he was going to get to see Katani, Avery, and Maeve again.

  But in her heart Charlotte knew that it hadn’t been a dream. As if to bring the whole terrible reality down to earth, that afternoon when she came home from school, she found a big thick envelope from Oxford University sitting on the front hall table, where Miss Pierce usually left their mail. Charlotte poked unhappily at the envelope with one finger. I could throw it out, she thought quickly. Nobody would ever have to know. Mail gets lost all the time.

  But she knew it was pointless. There were always e-mails, faxes, and telephone calls. Too bad they weren’t living in the 19th century. Then she could keep her dad from learning more about—what had he called it?—“the chance of a lifetime.”

  Now, in the age of instant communications, she didn’t feel like she could do anything.

  She couldn’t tell her friends. She couldn’t tell Ms. Rodriguez or any of her other teachers. They’d all lose interest in her the second they found out. The only creature she seemed able to confide in was Marty.

  “I can’t stand it,” she sniffled softly into his fur, hugging him tightly to her. “Marty, do you realize…” She lifted her tear-stained face. Marty cocked his head to one side. He really seemed to be listening. “If Dad and I move to England…what does that mean for you?”

  Marty almost seemed to understand. He gave a low whimper and snuggled next to her on her bed, and Charlotte clung to him like she would never let go.

  “OK, Char. Let’s hear it,” Maeve said brightly at lunch the next day, taking out her bright pink notebook and a new pen, festooned with a huge pink feather. “How’s your tryout coming for The Sentinel?”

  Charlotte looked down at the turkey sandwich she’d made that morning. It didn’t look very appetizing, but then she hadn’t felt like eating anything for the past three days. “Uh…what do you mean?” she asked slowly, stalling for time.

  Avery pretended to choke on today’s submarine sandwich. “Whoa. Do my ears deceive me or does our friend Charlotte Ramsey actually not understand a question?” she guffawed. “What she means,” she continued, with famous Avery irony, “is how’s your tryout coming? You know, the piece of writing that Ms. Rodriguez wants turned in next Friday?”

  The girls were at their usual lunch table. Isabel was sitting next to Maeve—the spot she’d taken since Monday—and Katani and Avery were down at the other end. Charlotte swallowed, trying to think of what to say.

  “Oh,” she finally said, thinking. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m going to try out after all.”

  Avery snorted again. “That’s a good one, Char,” she told her. “Very nice. So you just write the letter, get the rule changed, and then don’t go for it! And that totally makes sense because you’re only the best writer in seventh grade.”

  “The whole school!” Maeve shrieked. She stared at Charlotte with wounded eyes. “You can’t be seriou
s. Even I’m thinking of trying out! But if you’re not going to, how could I ever hope to get on? But I’m not doing it without you! Why wouldn’t you submit something, Charlotte?” She narrowed her green eyes suspiciously. “Are you—you’re not sick or something, are you?” She jumped up and tried to stretch her hand across the table to check Charlotte’s temperature.

  “No. I’m not sick. I just…uh…I just…kind of changed my mind, that’s all,” Charlotte said shortly.

  Maeve’s eyes got rounder and rounder. “Do you…is it…writer’s block?” she gasped. “Charlotte, are you stuck for an idea? ‘Cause I’ve got tons of ‘em. I’m just not much good at the writing part. Which is why I was kind of hoping that you’d help me,” she added breathlessly.

  It turned out that Maeve wasn’t the only one planning to try out. Isabel wanted to try out, too. She wanted to draw her own comic strip.

  “I’m kind of thinking of doing some sports writing,” Avery added with a shrug. “But my mom and dad think I need to do something else—let me see, how did my mom put it?—something that exercises my brain, in addition to my body.”

  “What about you, Katani?” Maeve chirped up. “You could be The Sentinel’s Fashion Design editor!”

  “I don’t think so,” Katani said, a little annoyed. “Anyway, I’ve got my hands full these days,” she added, looking away.

  If she’d meant that last remark as a jab, Maeve didn’t get it. She was too focused on Charlotte.

  “I just don’t understand it,” she wailed. “Of all the people who ought to be trying out, Charlotte Ramsey, you’re like—you’re…” She shook her head, her red waves tumbling around her face. “I just don’t get it,” was all she could say.

  Charlotte bit her lip. There was so much she wanted to tell her friends. Suppose I go ahead and try out, she thought miserably, and suppose I’m lucky enough to get accepted on the staff—and then what? Tell them all that I can’t really be on the paper, after all, because my dad’s planning on moving to England?