Bad News/Good News Page 6

  “Look,” she said suddenly, her eyes brimming with tears, “I just thought it over and it doesn’t make sense for me to try out right now. OK?” And before one of her friends could object, she jumped up and fled from the cafeteria. She could hear Maeve calling her name but she didn’t care. She just wanted to be alone.

  * * *

  Maeve:

  Notes to Self

  This newspaper thing…I wonder if they need an advice column? Hmm—“Ask Maeve” sounds SO catchy. I could give people super good advice on all sorts of romance issues. I think The Sentinel needs something like that. Look how successful “Ask Beth” has been!

  Find out what’s up with Charlotte. I’m worried about her. Is she upset about Isabel?? Or is it something else? Maybe she’s got writer’s block and all her creative juices just dried up on her. I saw an old movie like that once and this poor woman with writer’s block had to get put in an institution. I hope that doesn’t happen to Charlotte.

  Am I nuts or is Katani kind of mad at me??? I asked her if she could come over today to help Isabel and me make blankets and she came up with like 3 different excuses why she couldn’t.

  Change I.M. away message: “If you’re The Sentinel not living on the edge, you’re taking up too much room.”

  Yuck—math test—HELP!!!

  * * *

  BLANKETS IN THE TOWER

  That afternoon, Maeve and Isabel knocked on Charlotte’s door at about 4:30. Their arms were filled with shopping bags, each one stuffed to the brim with fabric.

  “Charlotte! Help! We’re working on blankets this afternoon and we decided we need the Tower room for inspiration,” Maeve cried, sweeping past Charlotte before she could say a word.

  Marty danced around Maeve’s ankles, yelping excitedly. “Oooh,” said Isabel, “this is such a cute dog.” She bent down to pat him.

  “Uh…” Charlotte frowned a little, looking from Isabel to Maeve. She wasn’t in the mood for company today. What if her dad came home early and started talking about England again? What if they found out somehow?

  “You know, I think I need a little time to think,” she said quickly. “I’m trying to write, and…”

  But there was no stopping Maeve. “You should just see the Tower,” she was gushing to Isabel. “It’s the most magical place on earth. You’re like up in the stars, and you can see all of Boston! It’s the perfect place for inspiration. Which we kind of need,” she added, racing up the stairs to the second floor.

  Charlotte followed them, sighing. Long fingers of sunlight crossed through from the western windows. The old Victorian house always appealed to her the very most in the afternoons. As she followed her friends upstairs, she tried to imagine what it would feel like saying good-bye to this house. A lump formed in her throat.

  Maeve was already showing Isabel around by the time she reached the Tower. Charlotte tried to see it through Isabel’s eyes. It really was an incredibly wonderful room. Each window offered a spectacular view of the city from a different angle. Charlotte, Maeve, Katani, and Avery had decorated the Tower room and made it a magical getaway. Isabel’s eyes sparkled as she looked around the room. She said that the Tower managed to feel mysterious and peaceful at the same time, though the serenity was shattered once Maeve had strewn her supplies all over the floor.

  “Here we go,” she sang out. “Cotton, scissors, quilting material…what more could we possibly need?”

  “So what’s the plan, Maeve?” Isabel asked uncertainly, looking around at all the supplies.

  “Here,” Maeve said, fishing around in her book bag for a magazine. “I found the cutest picture of a blanket—isn’t this sweet? And all we have to do is make more just like it.”

  Isabel looked a little confused. “That blanket looks kind of fancy, Maeve. How are we going to do all that quilting? And I’m not sure we can do that stuff—the embroidery. That looks pretty advanced.”

  “Have no fear!” Maeve sang out cheerfully. She took a pattern out of the bag, turned it over and over again, and then shrugged. “How hard can it be?” She opened the pattern and began taking one piece out at a time, scowling at the smaller ones. “I’m sure we don’t need all of these,” she said after a moment or two, wadding a few of them up. “Let’s just—wing it!” And she began attacking a big piece of gingham material with some pinking shears.

  If Charlotte hadn’t been so anxious about her dad and the whole move to England, she would’ve started laughing when she saw the look on Maeve’s face fifteen minutes later. There was cotton material everywhere—some pieces about the size of a handkerchief, cut ragged with Maeve’s shears, and some much bigger. One piece looked more like a washcloth than a blanket. Maeve was concentrating furiously, cutting and cutting, but she was beginning to get stressed out. “This isn’t working,” she said finally, sitting back on her haunches. “I think we need to start sewing.”

  “But which parts do we sew? I don’t get it,” Isabel moaned.

  “Darn, darn, darn. Where’s Katani when we need her most?” Maeve muttered. She peered at the pattern’s instructions again. “I think we need cotton filling. That’s how it gets that nice thick quilted feeling. Oh dear,” she sighed. “We haven’t made much progress. I don’t see how this is going to keep anybody very warm.” She held up the washcloth-sized piece of cotton with a worried expression on her face.

  “I think we need a break,” Isabel agreed, pushing her dark hair back from her face. “Charlotte, can we go downstairs and get something cold to drink? All this cutting is making me kind of hot and sticky.”

  Charlotte laughed, and the three girls wound their way downstairs to the Ramseys’ cheerful kitchen. Soon Charlotte was pouring glasses of cold juice for all three of them, and for the first time in days she’d almost forgotten the whole horrible mess with her father and his plans. It was so much fun to hang out with Maeve and Isabel. Marty was doing his usual leaping about for attention, so Charlotte picked him up and tucked him under her arm. That seemed to please him no end.

  DISCOVERED!

  Maeve climbed up onto the barstool near the telephone and began absentmindedly flipping through the pile of mail on the counter. “Hey, neat!” she exclaimed, pulling out a thick brochure. “Oxford! I love Oxford! I saw a wonderful old movie once about this glamorous guy who goes to university there and falls in love with a beautiful countess, only she won’t talk to him because he isn’t rich enough, and—” She stopped short, staring at Charlotte. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  Charlotte could feel a rush of tears springing to her eyes. After all the tension of the last few days, it felt almost unbearable to watch Maeve thumbing through the brochure.

  “Are you okay, Char?” Maeve demanded.

  Charlotte struggled to regain her composure.

  “What are you doing with a brochure from Oxford, anyway?” Maeve pressed her, as if she could almost tell something important was going on.

  “I don’t know,” Charlotte stammered. “I just—”

  Maeve had already begun inspecting it closely. “Hey, it’s addressed to your dad,” she said suddenly. She stared at Charlotte, her mind racing.

  “Maeve, Isabel, promise not to say a word about this to anybody,” Charlotte burst out.

  “About what? I don’t get it,” Maeve continued, still staring at Charlotte.

  Suddenly Charlotte couldn’t keep it in any longer. “It’s my dad,” she burst out miserably. “I heard him the other night on the phone. He’s been offered a job teaching at Oxford.”

  Maeve’s mouth dropped open. She dropped the brochure as if it was burning hot, and the next minute had flung her arms around Charlotte. “Oh my gosh!” she shrieked. “No wonder you’ve been acting so weird!”

  “Thanks,” Charlotte said dryly, trying to extricate herself from Maeve’s exuberant hug.

  “No, I just mean—it’s so terrible,” Maeve cried. “Isn’t it obvious—you can’t move to England! You just can’t!”

  Charlotte shook her head m
ournfully. “I didn’t want you guys to find out. It’s hard enough having to worry about it myself, but I didn’t want you guys to know. Promise you won’t tell Katani and Avery,” she added.

  “This is terrible!” Maeve shrieked. “Charlotte, we have to do something!”

  “I know,” Charlotte said sadly. “The thing is, I can’t think of anything.”

  “Does your dad know that you don’t want to go?” Maeve asked, thinking hard.

  Charlotte shook her head. “He doesn’t even know that I know! I haven’t said a word to him.”

  Maeve nodded. “OK,” she said. “I think that’s actually kind of good, Char.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. But I think we need a plan. I’ll tell you something, Charlotte Ramsey. We are not going to let you move all the way across the Atlantic!” She paused. “Not without a fight, anyway.”

  “I just don’t see what we can do about it,” Charlotte mumbled miserably.

  “That’s why we’re going to have to tell Katani and Avery,” Maeve said. Charlotte jumped up with a panicked look on her face. “I’m sorry,” Maeve added, “but this is a big problem, so we’re all going to have to put our heads together to solve it!”

  Charlotte’s Journal

  Wednesday night, 10:30

  Maeve is a great friend. I don’t know why it made me feel so much better now that she knows about Dad and England, but somehow it does. Tonight I actually felt like eating something really tasty…and looking at the stars. I wanted to look at Sirius. That’s Marty’s constellation—the Dog Star. Too cloudy out to see much of anything, but at least I felt like looking again.

  Now Maeve and Isabel know why I don’t feel like trying out for The Sentinel. They both said they understood how I felt. I’m not positive Maeve completely got it, but I think Isabel saw my point—maybe because she’s just been through a big move herself.

  Maeve is positive that everything will be all right and that—together—we can somehow figure out some way to convince dad to stay in Boston. I hope she’s right, but I don’t know, I kind of doubt it. What can five seventh-grade girls do to change the mind of a grown-up? Sometimes I feel like grown-ups make things happen and we just have to fit in somehow. I know dad would hate it if he knew I felt this way. But it’s hard to feel so powerless and small. I want to stay here so badly. My whole life is here now! It isn’t just school, and my teachers, and the Beacon Street Girls—even though that’s most of it. I love being back in Boston, close to where I was born and where mom and dad lived when I was a baby. This feels like home to me. I just have to make dad understand how important that is. But the question is, how?

  And why hasn’t he even told me about it yet?

  To: Charlotte

  From: Sophie

  Subject: England!

  Tant pis, mon amie. Your father is…how do we call it here?…restless. He may not even know why he has to keep moving. No fair for you, my friend, to be uprooted so soon. All I can send you is love and good thoughts. All love, love, love

  —Sophie

  CHAPTER 6

  The Seventh-Grade Page

  Homeroom was noisier than usual on Friday morning. Pete Wexler was getting everyone charged up about Saturday afternoon’s junior varsity game against Newton. Joline and Anna were whispering excitedly about some exclusive dance they’d heard might be happening at Brookline High School. Dillon was showing off the new cell phone he’d gotten the day before for his birthday. He was especially proud of the fact that he could customize the songs that played when the phone rang, and he had proceeded to show the class every single possibility. When Charlotte slid into her seat, Maeve was gushing over the phone—and Dillon.

  “Oooh, I love that one,” she said, leaning over his desk for a closer look.

  Avery came bounding in, skateboard under one arm as usual. “Hey, guys!” she called out, leaping into her seat just before the bell rang. “Did I miss anything?”

  “You missed my head by half an inch,” Dillon complained, pretending to crouch in fear for his body. “Try to take it easy, Avery. This isn’t a half-pipe, it’s a classroom!”

  Ms. Rodriguez came into the class, as if on cue. “Morning, everyone!” she called out with a smile.

  Betsy’s hand shot up. “Ms. Rodriguez? I’m wondering if you could update us about The Sentinel assignments,” she said. “You never said exactly when they need to be turned in.”

  “Yeah,” Dillon muttered, loud enough so everyone could hear. “Could you give us the hour, minute, and second, please, and make sure we know what time it’s due in Japan and Europe, too, so we can put it in our Palm Pilots.”

  Maeve found that hysterical and laughed so hard she started coughing. Avery had to hit her on the back to get her to stop.

  “OK, people. That’s enough,” Ms. Rodriguez said, shooting Dillon a frown. “I’m happy to go over this a bit today. After all, the deadline for the Seventh-Grade Page is only a week off, and some of you may want to talk a little bit about the best kind of samples to submit.” She paused for a moment. “In fact, I think it might be a good idea to work on these for a while together in class.”

  Dillon groaned, giving Betsy a scowl. But Ms. Rodriguez was gaining enthusiasm. “OK, people. I want you to break into small groups and spend the next twenty minutes or so brainstorming. Even if you don’t think you want to submit work to The Sentinel, I’d still like everyone to have the opportunity to try their hand at a piece of writing. So let’s make this an assignment. Why don’t you spend the next twenty minutes or so developing an idea for a story, feature, or piece of art that you’d like to submit to the paper?”

  “Thanks a lot, Betsy,” Dillon hissed. “Now you’ve gotten us an extra assignment. Another thing to write in that planner of yours.”

  Betsy ignored this. Her hand shot up again. “Would it be appropriate to write a feature about my test-prep class?” she asked.

  Ms. Rodriguez cleared her throat. “Perhaps you might want to branch out a bit,” she suggested mildly.

  There was the usual racket as kids moved desks together to form groups. Charlotte and Avery were put together with Pete Wexler and Nick Montoya. Maeve got put with Dillon, Samantha Simmons, and Riley Lee—Charlotte could hear her burbling over with excitement as she dragged her desk in Dillon’s direction. Katani was with Isabel and the Trentini twins on the other side of the room.

  “Guess what I’m thinking of doing?” Charlotte could hear Maeve saying breathlessly to Dillon, as her desk bumped his. “An advice-for-the-lovelorn column!”

  “A what?” Dillon asked.

  “You know!” Maeve exclaimed, her bright eyes fixed on his. “Like suppose someone happens to really like someone else, and they don’t really know how to tell them and everything. They write a letter to me, and I give them advice.”

  “Oh—cool,” Dillon muttered, giving her a look like she was an alien who’d just crawled out of a spaceship.

  Riley leaned way back in his desk, closing his eyes and yawning.

  “How about you, Riley?” Maeve asked. “What are you planning on doing?”

  “Dunno.” Riley shrugged. Riley wasn’t that big on using a lot of words. “Maybe some kind of alternative music thing,” he mumbled.

  “Great idea!” Maeve sang out. “You should do reviews, Riley. You could review new albums when they come out!”

  Riley opened his eyes, looking faintly interested. “Yeah—maybe,” he said.

  “Maybe I can review new gadgets,” Dillon said, fingering his cell phone in his pocket.

  Charlotte’s group was making progress. Pete decided to write a sports column. Avery wanted to work on her Change a School Rule letter—the one about having to check off “other” in those little boxes they give you on school forms. Nick wanted to write a feature on rock-climbing—he’d been spending a lot of time out at Blue Hills in Milton, and was learning to use a harness. That left Charlotte.

  “What are you thinking of doing?” Nick asked
her, his brown eyes warm on hers. Nick had been friendly to Charlotte from the minute they met. He loved hearing about the adventures she’d shared with her dad, especially the stories from their times in Australia. Nick adored snorkeling and wanted to hear every last detail about the Great Barrier Reef. Lately, Charlotte had had the feeling that there was more than just friendship on Nick’s part. He seemed to like her—a lot. And Charlotte…well, she didn’t know how she felt. Certainly not now.

  “I don’t know,” Charlotte said slowly. Before the bombshell about her dad’s potential job in England, she’d been thinking about trying to write an interview. But now, who knows? Charlotte’s landlady, Miss Pierce, had a dear friend who was living in an assisted living residence in Brookline, and Charlotte had thought it would be really interesting to interview her, and to learn a little bit about what it was like to be ninety-three years old. Now, she was having a hard time mustering much enthusiasm for writing anything. Except maybe a letter to my dad, she thought sadly. A letter saying, “Please don’t make us move—again.”

  Before she knew it, it was time to regroup and share their plans with the class. Anna and Joline were planning to write a gossip column called “Wuz Up?” Samantha Simmons wanted to write a feature called “My Summer on the Cape.” “It’s really serene,” she told the class. “It’s so great to spend the summer on the beach, away from all the…you know, the tensions of the city.” She studied her perfectly manicured nails. “Of course, when you have your very own place, like we do, it’s so much nicer than if you just have to rent. Or,”—she looked a little horrified—“stay in a hotel.”

  Frantic eye rolling from Anna and Joline.

  “Thanks, Samantha,” Ms. Rodriguez murmured, one eyebrow raised.

  Betsy had branched out to consider a “school calendar” page, filled with tips on how to stay organized.

  “How about you, Isabel?” Ms. Rodriguez asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Isabel said slowly, giving Katani a quick glance. “But I’m kind of thinking of trying to do a cartoon.”