Sweet Thirteen Read online

  “They’re going where?” the tree behind Avery whispered.

  “Just a sec, Char!” Avery shouted up the driveway, then darted behind the tree. Dillon was hiding up in the branches! “Chillax, Dillon.” Avery tried to persuade him. “You don’t have to hide!” She gestured impatiently for him to come out, but he just shook his head vehemently.

  “I just dropped something . . . ,” Avery yelled back to Charlotte with a sideways glance at Dillon that said, I have no idea why I’m covering for you.

  “We’re going to the Common!” Sophie called out. “Isn’t it exciting?”

  “Boston Common?” Dillon whispered.

  “Ummm, be there in a sec!” Avery shouted, then whispered to her friend in the tree, “You’re hopeless.”

  “I know,” was the tree’s response. “Just find out if she’s got a boyfriend, okay?”

  “Oookay!” Avery replied with a snort. She took a few steps toward Charlotte when she realized she had one more thing to say to Dillon. She turned back to the tree. “You know that you are acting like a complete doofus,” Avery said.

  There was no reply. Avery hurried back to the tree to see what was what. Bummer, Avery thought. My best line completely wasted—the doofus ran away!

  Head in the Clouds

  Maeve was sitting at the kitchen table with her math tutor, Matt, when the phone rang. Her mom answered.

  “Sorry, Charlotte, but unfortunately Maeve can’t go with you to Boston Common today,” Ms. Kaplan said. “She’s working with her tutor on math.”

  “But Mommm,” Maeve started, mega-bummed that she couldn’t hang out with Sophie and Charlotte.

  Maeve’s mom put her hand over the receiver. “You have too much studying to do. Plus Hebrew to memorize.”

  Maeve sighed as her mom told Charlotte to have a nice time, and hung up. Images drifted through Maeve’s mind of strutting next to Sophie in the park, wearing her favorite pink skinny jeans and white scoop-neck sweater. Every cute boy we pass stops us to say hello. . . .

  “Earth to Maeve.” Matt tapped the math book with his pencil. “Answer to number twelve? What are you going to multiply this by?”

  It was hard. Maeve’s dyslexia slowed everything down, and she had to work more diligently than other kids to get the same grades. The numbers sometimes floated around the page or appeared backward to her. Today it seemed even harder to concentrate than usual. It wasn’t just the dyslexia that was muddling her brain. Maeve couldn’t keep her mind off that pink dress at Think Pink. The gown kept popping up in her thoughts, along with dancing tunes and Hollywood-themed party favors.

  “Your head is in the clouds today,” Matt told Maeve half an hour later as he packed his things to go. Maeve apologized, but Matt replied, “That’s okay. Some days are just like that. Even Albert Einstein was a big daydreamer.”

  Maeve smiled warmly. She liked her tutor. “Glad we got all my homework done! I feel totally prepped for this week’s test.” She handed Matt his calculator, and he tucked it in the outside pocket of his messenger bag.

  “You’ll do great. Just remember to take things one step at a time and check your work.”

  To her surprise, just as Matt was about to open the door to leave, her father walked in with Sam.

  “How’s my little math scholar?” Maeve’s father asked, kissing her on the forehead before shaking hands with Matt.

  Maeve blushed. “I’m no scholar,” she told her dad.

  “Don’t say that, Maeve,” Matt chided. “She’s doing great,” he told Mr. Taylor before heading out.

  “My teacher said I’m a genius,” Sam announced when Ms. Kaplan came into the front hall.

  “I’m sure she did.” Maeve rolled her eyes.

  “That’s nice,” their mom said to Sam, leaning down and giving him a hug. “But we already knew that.” She winked. “What else did your teacher say?”

  Sam thought for a second, then said, “Nothing. That was all.”

  Ms. Kaplan looked up inquisitively at Maeve’s father.

  He laughed and shrugged. “Yep, that about covers it.”

  “Short parent-teacher conference, eh?” Maeve’s mom said with a warm grin.

  It’s nice to see them getting along, Maeve thought. Even though she knew that her parents were separated, she still had her hopes. Sometimes they went a whole evening without fighting. Maeve promised herself to do what she could to make this one of those nights.

  “How’s the Hebrew going, my almost-adult Jewish daughter?” Her dad ruffled her hair.

  “I know my part!” Sam bragged. “I know it all. Want to hear? Want to hear?”

  Sam had a small Hebrew sentence that he was going to say during the service. Most siblings only read something in English, but Sam insisted he could handle the Hebrew, and, true to character, Sam had it nailed. Maeve, on the other hand, was still struggling to get the foreign words memorized.

  “I’ll hear your part later,” Mr. Taylor said to Sam. “But I’m glad you know it already.”

  Sam smiled and dashed off to play with his armies.

  “Maeve,” her mom suggested, “why don’t you grab your Hebrew notebook and read through your parts for your dad right now? It would be good practice.”

  “But . . . ,” Maeve started to protest, then remembered her goal to help her parents get along.

  “Oh, all right,” Maeve responded, hurrying off to get the notebook. She grabbed the white binder and came back to meet her dad at the dining room table. She sat down next to him, so he could look over her shoulder. Even though her dad wasn’t Jewish and didn’t know Hebrew, he liked to look at the words while she recited them.

  Maeve opened to the first page and read slowly, “Baruch ata . . .” They sat together for a few minutes, and Maeve felt the foreign words flowing off her tongue more easily than they ever had before. Her many hours of practice were finally paying off.

  Ring, ring!The phone rang, interrupting the quiet peace of the moment.

  “Go on, Maeve,” her mom told her. “I’ll get it.” But the call was distracting and Maeve couldn’t focus. She could hear everything her mom was saying, and her ears perked up when she heard a few choice phrases.

  “No, that can’t be right” and “We didn’t inquire about rates for a DJ.” Then “The Liberty Hotel? I don’t think so. I’m sorry for the confusion. Good-bye!”

  Maeve gripped the edge of the table as the Hebrew vanished from her memory. By the time her mom hung up, Maeve knew she was in ginormous trouble. Her world was suddenly spinning out of control.

  Flirting With Trouble

  “Did you bring Happy Lucky Thingy?” Avery asked from the backseat of the Ramseys’ car. Marty was sprawled on her lap, licking her hands. They’d decided to drive to the Commons so they could bring Marty, a whole picnic dinner, and a huge tote bag full of Frisbees, Nerf balls, decks of cards, and who knows what else!

  “I packed HLT in the picnic basket,” Charlotte replied. “You know how wacko Marty gets when he sees that toy.”

  Sophie turned from the front seat where she was sitting next to Mr. Ramsey. “Marty’s wack-o all the time! Il est un joli chien,” Sophie gushed about Marty’s adorableness. “I’m sure you don’t even miss Orangina anymore, Char, now that you have such a cute puppy!” she added with a laugh.

  Charlotte sighed to herself. She was still working on Orangina’s story. Ideas just kept coming, and she couldn’t have stopped writing if she tried. Charlotte wanted to say, “Sure, Marty’s cuter, but Orangina had the spirit of adventure!” Maybe if Sophie started reading the story, she’d remember all the fun they used to have with Orangina when they lived in Paris.

  While Charlotte worried, Avery was retelling the Franco-and-Marty cookie disaster—making Mr. Ramsey laugh so hard he had to pull the car over for a second to get himself together!

  “We need to do something to make that parrot and dog be friends,” Sophie stated between giggles. “But I think maybe it is not possible!”

  “
What if Marty brought Franco a present?” Avery suggested. She rubbed the dog’s head. “What about pineapple? Franco loooves pineapple, Marty-man!”

  “Woof!” Marty barked.

  “What an idea! Pineapple is magnifique!” Sophie agreed.

  Avery took a deep breath and decided that now was as good a time as any to start spying for Dillon. “What kind of presents do your boyfriends give you, Sophie?” That was a good one. Avery gave herself a mental high-five. If Sophie answers the question, I’ll know for sure that she has a boyfriend!

  “Oh, Avery, you know boys,” Sophie said dismissively. “They think if they blow a kiss in the hall, they gave you a great gift. What boy needs to bother himself buying chocolates and flowers if he can give a nice smile and a wave for free?”

  The girls all laughed.

  “Should we teach Marty to wave, then?” Mr. Ramsey asked, oblivious to what Avery was trying to do.

  Avery was into it now, so she plowed forward. New tactic. I tried to find out about the boyfriend. Now I’ll start dropping hints and find out what Dillon and Sophie have in common.“So, Sophie, do you like World Cup Soccer? Dillon loves soccer.”

  “It’s okay,” Sophie replied.

  “How about Olympic basketball? Did you watch France play? Dillon likes basketball, too.”

  Sophie turned her head to look over the seat at Avery. “I am getting a thought,” she mused. “Do you have special feelings for this Dillon? You talk about him forever—”

  “Oh, no!” Avery practically shouted. “Not Dillon. Ewww.” She stopped herself. That wasn’t the right thing to say to get Sophie to like her buddy. “I mean,” she said, digging deeper and making a mess of things, just like always. “He’s nice and funny and everything, but nope, not my type.”

  “Who’s type, then, is he?” Sophie asked.

  “Umm . . .”Avery blushed, embarrassed that she had even tried to play matchmaker again. She couldn’t just say, “Yours,” could she? It was on the tip of her tongue.

  “Ahhh, it is okay, I understand,” Sophie turned around from the front seat and winked.

  Avery’s mouth hung open as she realized that her silence, combined with the pink flush in her cheeks, added to the evidence that Avery had a little thing for the sports star.

  “Drat,” Avery grumbled to herself as Mr. Ramsey pulled into a parking spot not far from Boston Common.

  Thankfully, the subject was dropped as Charlotte played tour guide. She pointed out the historic features of Boston’s oldest community park, including the beginning of the famous Freedom Trail, as they carried the picnic basket and blanket to a wide grassy area near the pond.

  “The Freedom Trail,” Charlotte explained, “takes you past all these different historic sites in Boston. Like churches, graveyards, and an old ship. It’s pretty cool.”

  “Can we go?” Sophie asked. “I love a walking tour.”

  Mr. Ramsey cut in. “We’ll do it in a little while. Let’s just enjoy the Common for now.” He unfolded the blanket and spread it out on the grass.

  “Hey, ladies.” A familiar voice cut the silence. It was Dillon tossing a Frisbee with his older brother, Gabe. “What a coincidence, seeing you here!” Dillon grinned at Avery, who shot him a you-big-fat-liar look.

  Sophie caught the silent glances between the two and elbowed Charlotte. “How do you say, flirter?”

  Charlotte was tugging Marty away from a trash can and had missed Dillon and Avery’s exchange. “Oh, it’s the same. Flirt, or flirtation.”

  Sophie nodded knowingly, then got distracted by a strange vehicle driving down the street nearby. “Qu’est-ce qui se passe?!” she exclaimed, jumping up and pointing at the strange neon green, boat-shaped truck.

  Charlotte looked up. “Oh. It’s just a Duck Tour.”

  “What does this mean?” Sophie asked, repeating the phrase. “‘Duck tour.’ Duck is canard, non?”

  “You got it. A Duck is a special kind of vehicle that goes on land and in the water, just like the animal. These ducks are retired war vehicles, and now they drive tourists around Boston,” Mr. Ramsey explained.

  “Yeah, and after all the historic stuff,” added Dillon’s brother, Gabe, “the jeep drives right into the Charles River! It’s rad.” He tossed his Frisbee in the air, and Marty shot off after it.

  “You’d like it, Sophie,” Dillon added.

  Sophie’s expression brightened. “Can we go? Please?”

  CHAPTER

  9

  Dillon and the Duck Crew

  The Prudential Center was crowded for a weekday afternoon. Avery, Charlotte, and Sophie linked arms and stayed close behind Gabe and Dillon as people pressed around them. Mr. Ramsey had decided to let the kids go on the tour together while he watched Marty in the park.

  Their Duck wasn’t leaving for another twenty minutes, so they hung out in the mall, checking out the nearby vendors’ carts. While Sophie tried on a midnight blue scarf, Dillon sidled over to the Red Sox booth.

  “I’ll take that one,” Avery overheard him say, pointing to a stylish red and blue cap.

  He walked up behind Sophie and held out the small gift bag they’d packed the hat inside. “Here.” He thrust the bag at her. “For you.”

  Sophie obviously wasn’t sure what to make of the gift. “Thank you,” she said politely, tucking the hat into her tote bag. Avery sighed to herself. Here I go to Dillon’s rescue! She took Sophie aside. “You should wear the hat. It’s, like, the dress code in Boston. You’ll look like you were born here!”

  “Okay, I am Boston native for the day!” Sophie exclaimed, and with a grand movement, she swept the hat out of the bag and put it on her head. She tucked her bangs under and pulled down the brim.

  “Très chic!”Charlotte exclaimed, thinking, Only Sophie could pull off a combo of a baseball cap and a trendy scarf.

  “MAKE WAY FOR DUCKLINGS!” a short woman in a black and yellow polka-dotted raincoat burst into the lobby. “Duck Tour number 34, we’re ready to mooove on out!”

  “That’s us!” Dillon jumped up. Charlotte followed, wondering where she’d heard someone say “mooove” exactly like that before. But she was soon distracted by the sight of their sunshine yellow, boat-shaped vehicle. The guide vaulted her tiny self up the steps and ushered everyone in.

  “My name’s Mandy, and I’ll be your ducky— oops, I meant lucky—guide today. Did you know there’s a statue of the ducklings from the famous book Make Way for Ducklings, right on the Boston Common?” Mandy twittered as Sophie and Charlotte climbed onboard.

  “We missed it!” Sophie sounded disappointed.

  “I’ll show you after,” Dillon offered as they sat down.

  “Look over there!” Dillon tapped the window as the Duck began to move. “That’s the Boston Tea Party Church. They all had to wear big white wigs to get in. This one time they snuck out to the harbor with tea bags all stuffed under their wigs and—”

  “We are now coming to the Old North Church!” Mandy chirped. “Oldest standing church in Boston.” She indicated the same building that Dillon had pointed out.

  Dillon shrugged as a way of saying “Oops.” Then he jumped up, waving at a statue.

  “Hey! Check it out. That dude was my grandfather, mayor of Boston.”

  Gabe rolled his eyes, and Avery tried to hold in a laugh as Sophie’s eyes widened.

  Sandy gestured toward the statue as they rolled past. “Check out this tribute to good ole Benjamin Franklin—on your left.”

  “Dillon!” Sophie shoved him playfully. “He is not your grandpère!”

  Sandy continued, “Born in Boston, buried in Philadelphia, this founder of our country thought the turkey would make a stellar national bird . . . but I disagree.”

  “Bet she votes for the duck,” Avery quipped to Charlotte, who had pulled out her journal and was making notes about something.

  “Bet y’all think I’d vote for the duck.” Mandy smiled and whipped off her raincoat. Underneath, she was wearing a yello
w dress over bright-red stockings, and the dress was covered with tiny chickens and roosters! Then she reached under her seat and pulled out a hat with a chicken head and wings that flapped up and down by pulling on a cord!

  “Actually, I’m all for chickens, ladies and gentlemen!”

  The Duck Tour howled with laughter. Charlotte looked up from her journal, where she was jotting down notes for her story. Mandy’s lopsided grin looked kind of familiar, too. Did she know her from somewhere?

  “Hey. Why did the chicken cross the road?” Dillon poked Sophie in the shoulder.

  “Why?” she answered innocently.

  “It was a Duck Tour disguised as a chicken!”

  “Oh, Dillon,” Sophie gasped to Charlotte in between laughs. “He is trés amusant!”

  “What did she say?” Dillon asked Avery. “I heard my name and then something French.”

  “I don’t know French!” Avery replied.

  “But you’re friends with Charlotte, and she knows French! Come on, what did she say?”

  “She said, ‘Dillon is a huge doofus.’” Avery gave Dillon a punch in the arm, satisfied that he wouldn’t ask her to translate French ever again.

  The Whole Truth

  Above the Movie House, Maeve was feeling like a huge doofus. In fact, she felt like the world’s biggest, most gigantic doofus for thinking she could get away with a fancy party, just because she really wanted one.

  It wasn’t Maeve’s mother’s style to yell when she got angry. No. Instead, she got really quiet. And direct. “Maeve, you need to explain the phone call I just took. Now! What exactly is going on?” Maeve’s mother sat down with her arms stiffly crossed, waiting. Maeve gulped. The expanse of table between her and her mom felt like a desert wasteland. Impossible to cross.

  Maeve glanced at her father. By the look on his face, she knew he wasn’t going to protect her.

  “Umm.” Maeve didn’t quite know where to begin. There was no use trying to make up excuses; Maeve had learned that lesson the hard way earlier in the year when she lied to both her parents and her friends when she went to a basketball game with Dillon. The beginning, she decided. That’s always the best place to start.