Sweet Thirteen Page 9

  Her mom was still waiting, only too patiently. Maeve took a deep breath. “Well, at Henry Yurt’s Bar Mitzvah party I might have told—I mean, I definitely told—a few kids from school that I was going to have a party. Ummm, sort of like Henry’s.”

  Maeve’s parents both knew all about the extravagant party the Yurtmeister’s parents had thrown. Mr. Taylor’s eyes grew huge and wide, then he rested his forehead on his hand.

  “Go on,” her dad prodded.

  “So then, my friends got involved in the planning, and we came up with a theme and then, I had this idea to arrive in a limo, and . . .” She told them all the details, including her dream to own the dress hanging in the window at Think Pink. “I thought that if I called some places and asked about prices and reservations . . .” She hesitated, knowing by her parents’ expressions that this wasn’t going as well as she’d hoped. “Ummm, I thought you’d be super impressed that I was being incredibly responsible and”— Maeve looked from her pale mother to her head-holding father—“well, I kind of, sort of, figured you’d let me have the party that I really want.” Whew.

  “I can’t believe it,” Ms. Kaplan said softly, so softly that Maeve knew she was in really, really, really big trouble. “I thought you understood, Maeve.” Her mother gave her father a look that Maeve couldn’t decipher. “We cannot afford this party you are imagining. And more important, we’ve already said NO. But here you go, acting on your own, against our wishes.”

  “But, Mom,” Maeve practically whined. “I’m trapped. All the kids are expecting a huge party. I even told Henry it was going to be radder than his!”

  “Rad-der?” her father repeated. “That’s not even a word.”

  “Don’t joke, Ross.” Maeve’s mom was glowering at him. “This is partially your fault.”

  “Huh?” Maeve’s dad looked stunned. “I’m not even Jewish—I know nothing about how Bat Mitzvahs are supposed to be done. How can this possibly be my fault?!”

  “You are always encouraging Maeve to dream big! Too big!” Maeve’s mother stood up from the table and huffed around the dining room, pacing. “Now Maeve’s gone and told her friends that she’s going to have some celebrity-style bash. Well”—Maeve’s mom turned back to Maeve— “you’re just going to have to go back and tell all the kids you were wrong. You need to learn that no means no. We are having a small family luncheon as planned, and that’s it!” Just when Maeve thought her mother was done with the lecture, she added, “And you will wear the dress we bought you for the school Valentine’s Day dance.”

  Maeve shrieked. She couldn’t help it; the scream just burst out of nowhere, and she hid her face in her hands. “No! It’s not fair!” she wanted to shout, but couldn’t find the words.

  “Carol.” Maeve’s dad was now on his feet too. “I think you’re being a bit unreasonable.” He stepped toward Maeve’s mom. “I know the Movie House is losing money, and the economy is bad for everyone, but maybe we—”

  Did he say “maybe”?Maeve couldn’t believe her ears! Hope, a tiny seed that sprouted quickly, rose within her.

  “No!” her mother retorted. “No, no, no.” That seemed to be all she could say. “This is bad parenting, Ross! If we give her everything she wants, she’ll never learn the value of money, and it’s more than the party, anyway. . . .”

  It was over. Maeve plugged her ears to drown out the bickering. There would be no limo, no red carpet, no famous DJ, and no new dress.

  Hope was destroyed.

  Writing Sleuth

  On the Duck Tour, Sophie looked out at the approaching river with increasing alarm on her face. “Are you sure this car can float?” she asked Charlotte.

  “I hate to get my tail feathers wet. . . .” Their goofy guide, Mandy, ducked down, pretending to hide. “But it looks like we’re heading straight for the water!”

  Sophie let out a little yelp as the amphibious vehicle dropped into the Charles River, but they didn’t even get splashed. Charlotte rolled her eyes at Mandy’s antics and snuck out her journal. Floating down the river on the Duck reminded her of the houseboat that she’d lived on in Paris with her father.

  “Sophie, do you remember that time Orangina saw a fish in the water and—,” Charlotte started, but Sophie had turned around in their seat so she could talk to Dillon and Avery. They were all laughing at something Sophie had said.

  “No, no,” Dillon was instructing. “Not a quick ‘dud,’ but a longer sound. Like this.” He cleared his throat. “Duuuuude.”

  Sophie imitated him, but with her strong accent it sounded more like “Duuud” than “Duuude.” Everyone laughed again, and Charlotte, who had been lost in memory when the English lesson began, felt left out. While the others taught American slang to Sophie, Charlotte retreated back into her journal and began shaping some ideas for part four of Orangina’s story.

  Charlotte’s Journal

  Ideas

  Orangina gets lost in a crowd of foreign tourists all hurrying through the tunnels. Think about description! The colors in the river all swirl together. . . . Maybe Big Bruce’s book is full of colors? Or cats? Maybe there’s one special cat. . . .

  Charlotte wrote until her pen ran out of ink. As she was digging through her purse for another one, a voice interrupted.

  “Taking notes?”

  Charlotte looked up, surprised to see Mandy’s chicken hat flapping at her! Then she looked around. They were back at the Prudential Center and the Duck was empty. Sophie and Avery left without me? she worried, then saw them waiting on the sidewalk.

  “Sorry,” Charlotte mumbled.

  “No problemo!” Mandy winked, and Charlotte noticed that she was wearing tiny, dangly cow earrings. Suddenly she knew why Mandy seemed so familiar!

  “Um, do you by any chance know Mr. Moore? He teaches science at my school in Brookline.”

  Mandy broke into a huge grin. “My, you’re quite the sleuth! Charlie Moore is my very own dear brother. How did you ever guess?”

  Charlotte hopped out of the Duck, hugging her journal to her chest. “The cows gave it away!”

  Gabe and Dillon had to take off after the tour, but Sophie wore the cap Dillon gave her through their picnic dinner on the Common and for the whole car ride home. Every once in a while Avery overheard her practicing quietly, “Dud. Duuude. Dood.”

  When they got to Avery’s house, Sophie jumped out too, to give Avery bisous good-bye. “You are so lucky,” Sophie gushed as she turned to get back into the car. “You have the nicest boyfriend.”

  It took Avery a second to understand what Sophie had just said. “Huh?” she sputtered. Her mind was spinning. How did it all go so terribly wrong?

  Avery finally pulled herself together and shouted, “He’s not my boyfriend!” But it was too late. Mr. Ramsey had already driven away.

  In the car, Charlotte was writing furiously with a pen she’d found in the glove box, groaning in frustration when the car’s bumps messed up the letters. She’d felt kind of lonely all day long, even though she’d been with her friends, but now that the story was flowing, she felt like Orangina and Big Bruce were sitting next to her, cheering her on.

  What If?

  Maeve wished for the millionth time that she’d gone to the Boston Common with Charlotte and Sophie. Maybe then her parents wouldn’t have had this fight. Maybe then this whole mess would have just blown over. But it hadn’t happened that way. Everything had gone wrong, and her parents were arguing around her, as if Maeve weren’t even there. I really messed up, she thought, feeling tears well up in the corners of her eyes. My parents were getting along so well and now . . . now . . . I wish I’d never even gone to Henry’s party!

  “A Bat Mitzvah isn’t about the party, Ross, and Maeve knows that!” her mom snapped.

  “I don’t understand why this is such a big deal. Maybe we can work it out,” her dad argued, his voice louder than usual.

  “Who’s paying for the lunch?” Maeve’s mom demanded. “Even without a party, we’ve alread
y committed to a family lunch. Grandma and Grandpa Kaplan are flying in. So are your parents, Ross.”

  “Aren’t we splitting the lunch costs, Carol?” Maeve’s dad asked.

  “Yes,” her mom said firmly. “And that leaves no money for a party. None. I certainly have none to spare.”

  Maeve used a stray napkin on the table to rub at her tear-streaked cheeks as guilt ate her up inside. I just wanted that gorgeous dress and a fantabulous party for my friends. Was that so bad? Am I really a responsible and grown-up young woman now, like Rabbi Millstein says?

  Maeve put down the napkin and swallowed hard. “What if . . . ,” she started, and both parents turned to glare at her. “What if I help pay for the party myself?” Maeve finished.

  “Just how are you going to do that?” her mom asked suspiciously.

  “Let the girl talk,” her dad countered in a defiant tone.

  “Yeah, let the girl talk,” Sam imitated, coming into the room, carrying his own Hebrew binder. Apparently he was planning to show off how well he knew his part after all.

  “I’ll babysit for Sam’s friend Austin,” Maeve said emphatically, emboldened by her own idea. “Then I can help you pay for everything.”

  Maeve’s mom shook her head. “Do you have any idea how much a hotel costs? A DJ? Not to mention your grand plans for butterflies and limos?”

  “I . . . ,” Maeve began, but stopped. In truth, she really didn’t have a clue.

  “Sorry, darling.” Her father was obviously exhausted from the fight. He explained to Maeve that with the luncheon and the problems at the Movie House and supporting two households, there was no way they could afford a big party. “Babysitting money would cover the cost of only one or two centerpieces—”

  “Your Bat Mitzvah has to be about tradition,” Maeve’s mom interrupted. “It simply can’t be about money. Or about a party.”

  Sam, in a sweet moment, came and took Maeve’s hand. He could tell she’d been crying. “It’s okay, Maeve-y.” Sam squeezed her hand in his. “You probably don’t want to babysit Austin ’cause he’s a pain. Even though his parents are rich and they probably pay a TON.”

  Maeve perked up a little, instantly regretting that she hadn’t called Austin’s mom over the weekend, when her mom first told her about the job. “Would . . . would a TON of babysitting money buy one dress?” Maeve wondered out loud, but her dad wasn’t listening anymore. He was ragging on Maeve’s mom for interrupting him.

  There was no way Maeve would wear an old dress to her Bat Mitzvah, even if it was just to the boring family luncheon. While her parents returned to bickering about the lunch costs, Maeve’s imagination was wrapped around the dress with its glittering sequins.

  TON, she said over and over in her mind. They pay a TON. I can show my parents how responsible I am by making enough money to buy that dress! Once they see how I did it all by myself, they’ll stop fighting. Maybe they’ll even be friends.

  “I’ll do it!” Maeve said suddenly, her voice rising above the din.

  “What? Do what?” her mom asked, cut off from whatever she’d been saying to turn to Maeve.

  “I’ll take the babysitting job.”

  For a second her mother looked confused, like she had no idea what Maeve was even talking about. Then she gathered her thoughts and threw her hands in the air in defeat. “Maeve, you haven’t even called the family back yet. They probably found someone else! And honestly, I don’t know how you are going to fit it into your schedule, anyway.”

  “But, Mom, if I’m going to be a responsible young woman, I can—”

  “I’d be happy to help rearrange her schedule,” Mr. Taylor offered.

  “You do understand, Maeve,” her mother warned with a sideways glare at her former husband, “that taking a job doesn’t mean you get a party. It just means that you’ll be showing some responsibility and independence if you follow through.”

  Her father nodded. “I agree with your mom—this doesn’t mean you get a party.”

  Finally, Maeve’s parents were a united front.

  “Okay,” Maeve agreed, fighting against more tears. “I just want to show you that I’m responsible and independent.” At least I’ll get the dress I want, Maeve thought, but somehow it didn’t help shake the lump of sorrow inside her. I wish I hadn’t told so many kids about the party and passed out those cards. What am I going to say to them now? How will I show my face at school? Maybe I should just stay home sick the rest of the week. . . .

  Maeve did the only thing she could think to solve her problem: She retreated to her room and turned on the computer, hoping for some support from her friends, the BSG. Thankfully, Katani was there!

  Future Famous Author

  As soon as Charlotte got home, she rushed to her computer, the words for the next part of her story hanging on the tips of her fingers.

  * * *

  Part 4

  Magic and Mystery

  There in Big Bruce’s book was a simple watercolor painting. Orangina blinked his yellow eyes and looked again at the most beautiful cat he had ever seen in his entire life. Her eyes were luminous green, her fur was deep and dark as the river Seine, and her whiskers curled delicately at the ends.

  “Who isss she?” Orangina purred, all thoughts of the barge forgotten.

  “A witch,” Big Bruce explained. “Ahhh, I mean, the good kind. And a good friend, until . . . See, I wasn’t always this size. There was an accident involving a beehive, three butterflies, some pumpkin seeds, and a shooting star. . . .” As he spoke, Bruce led the way through the twisting tunnels. Orangina followed, in a daze. The book had shrunk again and was tucked away in Bruce’s pocket, but the cat-witch’s face was burned in his memory.

  “So you see,” said Bruce, and Orangina realized he’d missed most of the story, “all we need to do is get past the butterbees and choose the right pumpkin.”

  Butterbees? Orangina wondered. They passed a sign reading “Danger!” and Orangina kept walking. Soon after, were three signs: “Turn Back!” “Not One Step Farther!” “We Mean It!” After a lot more twisting and turning, a final sign was posted on a small wooden door: “Don’t Tell Us We Didn’t Warn You.”

  Big Bruce reached for the doorknob.

  CHAPTER

  10

  The Party Goes Poof

  Maeve could not stop crying. As hard as she tried to stem the flow of tears, she just couldn’t seem to pull herself together.

  It had all started innocently enough. The girls had gathered for a quick breakfast at Montoya’s Bakery before school. Maeve wasn’t very hungry and already felt down in the dumps, knowing that she’d have to tell her devastating news first to the BSG and then to the rest of the world, but she quietly ordered a bran muffin and a cup of iced hot chocolate.

  Nick was there, behind the counter, helping his parents serve breakfast to the early crowd. “How are the plans for your Bat Mitzvah going?” he asked innocently. And that was all it took. The floodgates, which had held all morning, started to split open as the first tears trickled out.

  “Fine.” Maeve‘s chest tightened and she couldn’t say any more. Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry, she repeated to herself, but it was already too late. Maeve practically threw her three dollars at Nick, grabbed her breakfast, and ran to the BSG table where Avery, Katani, Charlotte, and Isabel were already hanging out. With Sophie.

  Her friends’ faces blurred through a curtain of fresh tears, and Maeve knew she’d completely failed to keep it together. If only I had a handkerchief to dab at my eyes . . .

  “Qu-est que c’est?” Sophie was the first to respond, handing Maeve a stack of napkins from the table dispenser. “What has happened? Someone has died?”

  Maeve shook her head no as she blew her nose loudly into a napkin. Sophie is so nice, Maeve thought. She might be the coolest person in the whole world. I bet her parents would let her have a party. . . . This thought set off a stream of fresh tears, and the Beacon Street Girls hovered around Maeve, asking q
uestions she couldn’t answer: Is this about Riley? Or your parents? Are you sick? Is it the math test?

  Katani was the only BSG who stayed quiet. She knew what this was about from their phone conversation the night before, but she wanted to give Maeve a chance to tell everyone herself.

  “Give her a second,” Sophie said calmly, one hand on the pretty pink scarf wrapped around Maeve’s neck.

  “You’ll be okay,” Charlotte reassured her upset friend, but in the middle of her deep concern, she felt something else. Something uncomfortable. Maeve and Sophie weren’t the only ones wearing scarves. Katani had a thin, black strip of cloth tied around her neck, too. It went perfectly with her trendy patterned shirt and brick red skirt.

  Strange. Is it my imagination, Charlotte wondered, or is everyone trying to become more and more like Sophie?

  I wish I was more like Sophie, Maeve said to herself at the exact same moment, grabbing another pile of napkins. Sophie was fantabulous, and Maeve felt small and completely embarrassed that she’d broken down in Sophie’s presence. And she hadn’t even told one person her devastating news yet! Pull it together, Maeve told herself.

  “S-s-sorry,” she choked out. “I—I—I . . .”

  “Hey,” Avery suggested. “Try doing that breathing thing from your yoga class.”

  The first breath whistled in and out too quickly.

  “In. Out. In. Out,” Avery guided Maeve. “Breathe slowly through your nostrils.”

  “I—I—I can’t,” Maeve stuttered through her tears. “I’m all stuffed up!”

  “Then breathe through your mouth,” Katani put in.

  Charlotte stroked her back. “We’re here for you.”

  “Just pretend you’re in a calm blue space,” Isabel suggested.

  Maeve forced herself to focus on her friends’ words. Breathe in. Breathe out. Calm blue space.

  It was working. Her breaths came more slowly, and her tears began to dry. With one last nose blow, Maeve found the strength to joke, “Does anyone have some mascara? I cried mine all off.”