A Lot to Tackle (7 page)

“Whoa!” Mr. Whittaker crossed his arms in front of him, as if warding off an evil spirit. “Don't you go jinxing things now. We are not going to lose, darlin'. Not at all.” He turned and slapped the mayor on his back by way of a greeting. “Baxter! Talk to me about the new irrigation system for the lower fields. We've got to look to the future!”

Ava listened to the two men talk about sprinklers and water runoff issues.
What about my future? My family's future?
she wanted to cry. What good was Mr. Whittaker and all his money and power if she couldn't get him to promise he'd let them stay no matter what?

She needed to figure out another way.

Alex walked slowly through the empty hallways on Friday afternoon. She was missing a new
lesson in French, but she couldn't bring herself to care. With that last test grade, she had no chance of pulling out an A for this marking period.

She folded the yellow pass as she walked to the main office, stopping to fashion it into an origami crane. Why had she been called to the office? Something with student council? She searched her brain but couldn't remember.

Alex yawned and tucked a stray piece of hair into her messy ponytail. She'd stayed up late studying for math and baking cookies for the bake sale. Then she'd arrived at school early to set up the bake sale table and display the treats. If she'd been at the meeting on Wednesday, she would've convinced more people to help. But getting volunteers via text was much harder.

“Good afternoon, Alex!” Mrs. Gusman, the school secretary, greeted her when Alex entered the bustling office. She narrowed her eyes. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. It's just that you always wear such cute outfits. I love how you match your headband to your sweater or skirt. I'm just surprised to see you looking so . . .” Mrs. Gusman's voice trailed off.

Alex glanced down at her gray sweatpants and grungy pink sweatshirt. She didn't think she'd ever worn sweatpants to school. Sweats were for lazy kids, she liked to tell Ava. But this morning she couldn't find the energy to care about fashion. She would've come in her pajamas if she hadn't been wearing her fleece pants with dancing penguins.

Alex perched on the edge of Mrs. Gusman's desk, eager to change the subject. “How are O'Malley and Malarkey?”

Mrs. Gusman brightened and stopped typing. “At one in the morning last night, little Malarkey began to bark and bark. Scared me silly! I thought an intruder had broken in. Turns out that O'Malley snuck into Malarkey's bed. Two pugs in one little bed! It took an hour to sort out the sleeping situation.”

“What silly dogs!” Alex said. Mrs. Gusman always told her O'Malley and Malarkey stories. She held up her paper crane pass. “Madame Knowlton said you wanted to see me.”

Mrs. Gusman's smile faded. “We have a problem.”

“We do?” Alex asked hesitantly.

Mrs. Gusman pulled open the top of a large
cardboard box. She unfurled an enormous banner made from shiny royal-blue-and-orange material. “The middle school Booster Club banner arrived.”

“Great!” Alex stood to examine it. “Oh! Not great!” She gasped when she read the words embroidered on the banner:
GO ASHLAND TIGGERS!

“Tiggers? Tiggers?” Alex found herself repeating the mistake.

“Same as the character in
Winnie the Pooh
. Do you know Tigger? My grandson used to bounce around like Tigger does.” Mrs. Gusman smiled at the memory.

“But we're the Tigers!” Alex cried. “How could the printer make such a huge mistake?”

“Calm down, Alex.” Mrs. Gusman rested her hand gently on Alex's arm. “We will solve this.”

She picked up the phone and dialed a number. While she waited for an answer, she handed a parent a pass to retrieve her sick child from the nurse's office.

“Hello, this is Beatrice Gusman at the Ashland Middle School office, calling about the banner delivered today,” she began. Then she told the printing company about the hideous mess-up. “Uh-huh. I see.” Mrs. Gusman typed something, then squinted at her computer screen. “Yes, yes.
I agree. No, it will have to be fixed. We'll have to figure that part out. Thank you.”

Mrs. Gusman hung up the phone and swiveled the screen so Alex could see.

Alex's stomach gave a sharp squeeze. The order form—the one she had filled out in the library and submitted—said
Tiggers
, not Tigers. She had made the typo. She had turned her dad's football team from fierce, fighting Tigers to silly, bouncing Tiggers! What if Mrs. Gusman hadn't opened the box before sending it on to Austin? She cringed at the thought.

“I never would have expected
you
to mess up, Alex,” Mrs. Gusman mused.

“I'm so sorry.” Alex felt terrible. “Truly I am. Will they fix it?”

“They will. They'll need to charge the Booster Club more money, though,” Mrs. Gusman said quietly.

“But it's my fault.” Alex's stomach squeezed so tightly, she held her side. “I should pay.” Her piggy bank held about thirty dollars from her birthday. She wondered if her parents would let her take money out of her savings account.

“Let me try to work out the money with the printer on Monday.” Mrs. Gusman turned to
another parent signing out her son. “Mistakes happen to the best of us, Alex.”

Except they've been happening to me a lot,
Alex thought.

“You're still in your pajamas?” Mrs. Sackett's voice registered her surprise. “Do you feel okay?”

“I feel fine,” Alex said. She clicked randomly through design websites on her computer. “It's still Saturday morning.”

“Technically, for five more minutes.” Mrs. Sackett motioned to the clock hands nearing noon. “You're usually up and at the library long before now.”

Alex shrugged. “Not today.”

Her mom stepped into her room. She surveyed the clothes draped on Alex's chair and dropped on her floor. She raised her eyebrows at the pages ripped from magazines littering her
daughter's unmade bed. “Something's up. Messy and lazy do not describe the Alex I know.”

“Maybe they do.” Alex clicked on directions to decoupage a keepsake box. Earlier she'd spent two hours helping Lindsey design her online scrapbook for Corey. Alex still thought the whole thing was a bit much, but Lindsey wouldn't budge. She said it was important that Corey see how happy they were. She'd promised to forward Alex a copy when she sent it via Buddybook to Corey.
What will I do with a copy?
Alex wondered. Hey! She could decoupage a box with photo after photo of the smiling, happy couple.

Just what she needed.

Her mom smoothed the edge of Alex's comforter and sat. Normally Alex would cringe if her mom touched her bed with her black sweatpants, which crackled with dried clay—Mrs. Sackett had started a ceramics business in their garage—but today she barely registered it.

“You're awfully quiet. Let's talk,” her mom prodded.

There's nothing to talk about,
Alex thought. How could her mom possibly fix all the things she'd messed up?
Maybe my time for greatness
has come and gone,
Alex realized suddenly. She'd read an article online a few weeks ago about girls who were super popular in high school and then went downhill from there. The article warned girls not to peak too early.
Maybe I've peaked at age twelve,
Alex thought. Maybe her schoolwork and her leadership skills were now on a downward spiral. She groaned.

Then she remembered the French test waiting for a signature in her backpack. Coach and Tommy were at a practice at the high school, and Ava was at the park with Jack. She braced herself as she handed the test to her mom without an explanation. She kept her head down so she wouldn't have to see the disappointment on her mom's face.

“I'm surprised,” Mrs. Sackett said, watching Alex closely.

“You need to sign it. Okay?” Alex asked.

“Okay.” Her mom reached for a pen and scrawled her name.

“Okay? That's it? No lecture or yelling?” Alex asked, looking up to see that her mom's face remained calm. Alex's cell phone buzzed, but she ignored it.

“Did you want a lecture?” Her mom smiled.
“You've always worked hard, and your grades have been spectacular. One C is fine, sunshine. Do you need me to help you with French?”

“No.” Alex shoved the test into her backpack. Maybe the C was fine to her mom, but not to her.

“Is this why you're moping?” Mrs. Sackett asked.

“I'm not moping,” Alex said. But she knew she was.

“Things will settle down around here after the football game next week. We all need some time to regroup.” She smoothed Alex's hair from her face. “And you and I will have fun in Austin, I promise. Shopping and eating and—”

“Oh!” Alex cried, suddenly remembering the restaurant. “Can I have your credit card number?”

“I didn't mean shopping
right now
,” Mrs. Sackett said.

“It's a surprise for you and Daddy. I'm not charging anything on it. It's just to hold something. I promise,” Alex said.

Her mom agreed. Alex took her cell phone into the bathroom. She glanced at the screen. Five texts and a call from Lindsey. Lindsey would have to wait, she decided, and she called
Mercury Grill. She explained who she was and that she was confirming her reservation with a credit card.

The woman on the phone had a higher voice than the one she'd spoken with at the beginning of the week. “I'm sorry. Your reservation is no longer in the system, because you never called us with the credit card.”

“But I have it now,” Alex protested. “Can I make another reservation?”

“I'm sorry,” the woman repeated. “We're fully booked for that night. Austin is packed. There's a big high school football game, did you know that?”

Alex couldn't believe she'd forgotten to call back. Her mom had been so nice about the bad grade, and Alex couldn't even get her into this restaurant. Alex hadn't thought she could feel any worse, but she'd been wrong.

“Three points!” Ava called.

“We're not playing points.” Jack snatched the rebound, then sent the basketball toward the hoop. The orange ball bounced off the rim.

“We could. One-on-one and keep score,” Ava offered. She zipped her hoodie as the first cool breeze of the season blew through the park.

“You'd lose,” Jack taunted.

“You'd lose,” Ava taunted back. Every Saturday they met at the park in their neighborhood to shoot hoops.

Ava lined up her next shot.
Swish!
Jack shot from the corner.
Swish!

They never played seriously, and they never talked much. The time they spent together was all about basketball and dreams of NBA glory.

Ava dribbled the ball from hand to hand, then ran in for the layup.
Bam!

“Hey!” Jack cried, as a boy on a bike pedaled at top speed into the park. The bike skidded to a stop on the basketball court. “What's your deal, Corey?”

Corey's face was nearly as red as his hair. He breathed hard, but that seemed less from exercise and more from anger. “Valdeavano, what is with your cousin?”

“Lindsey?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, Lindsey.” Corey gritted his teeth. “Have you seen the crazy web page she posted?”

Jack shook his head and looked to Ava. Ava shook her head too.

“Well, don't look when you get home,” Corey said. “It's humiliating.”

“What is it?” Ava asked tentatively.

“All these sickly sweet photos of us. Zillions of them. And all our friends on Buddybook got it!” Corey ranted.

“Why did she send it to everyone?” Jack asked.

“Good question!” Corey reached for the basketball and hurled it toward the hoop. He missed. “Actually, she says it's your sister's fault.”