Letters from the Heart (14 page)

“BEN AND JEN,” Maeve corrected, feeling a little un-easy.

Avery was grinning at her own joke.

“Okay, very funny,” Maeve said. “But remember, my guinea pigs are very important to me.” She leaned over the cage and blew kisses at her guinea pigs, who looked a little freaked out when Avery started to hoist up the cage.

“Come on, Ben. Let's go, Jen,” said Avery.

“Be careful,” Maeve screeched, watching Avery as she stumbled over a pile of magazines Maeve had piled by the door. Avery recovered, the wheel in the cage creaked as it
spun. “I'll see you little guys in a week!” Maeve felt like a mother leaving her kids with a new baby-sitter. She knew there was no one more enthusiastic about the job than Avery, but still she worried. Guinea pigs were sensitive.

Avery's Blog

Avery was up in her bedroom sitting at her desk and writing her blog. Avery's desk was cluttered with her favorite stuff, including the latest copy of
Skateboard Magazine
, the sports page from yesterday's newspaper, baseball cards, a yo-yo, and bubble gum wrappers. On the wall by her desk, Avery's bulletin board was covered with pictures of her family and friends and ticket stubs from Red Sox, Bruins, and Boston College women's basketball games. There were pictures of Avery and her dad snowboarding in Colorado, of Avery and her brothers surfing in Hawaii, and the Beacon Street Girls having a sleepover in the Tower. The rest of the walls were plastered with an enormous world map, pictures of Mia Hamm and other soccer stars, posters of her favorite dogs, and pennants of the teams she rooted for. Avery looked around her with utmost satisfaction. Her room was the one part of her house that really felt like home to her. Avery's mother loved interior decorating, which meant that almost every inch of their large colonial house was covered with beautiful upholstery, elegant drapes, and tasteful artwork.

Years ago, before Avery was old enough to stick up for herself, Avery's mom had decorated Avery's room to the max as well. Avery still had signs of all of that—she had a big mahogany four-poster bed and a dresser to match. But long ago Avery had shoved the mirror on top of the dresser over to make way for her sports trophies.

Avery had two walk-in closets, each one intended to be filled with clothes…closets that made both Maeve and Katani positively green with envy. Avery appreciated the space, too. Just not for clothes. Closet Number One was bursting with sports gear. Shin guards, soccer balls, rollerblades, softball gloves, cleats, old uniforms, basketball sneakers, jump ropes, a boarding helmet, lacrosse sticks, a Hula Hoop, baseball caps, climbing gear, skateboards…STUFF. Just where she needed it.

The second closet was mostly a sanctuary for Walter, Avery's snake. Now that the guinea pigs were visiting, Walter would have to stay in his tank. She liked to use this closet as a reading nook, too—she kept her old copies of comics in there, and some of her overflow trophies. And the inside wall was covered with news clippings. Avery loved the newspaper. She collected all kinds of stories, but her secret obsession was politics. Stickers from the last presidential election covered part of one wall, and a banner that said
ROCK THE VOTE
! Avery couldn't wait until she was old enough to vote. Only five years and ten months to go. Then she'd really make her voice matter.

Every now and then, Avery's mother would stick her head inside her room and look around with an expression of amused bewilderment. The big
NO HUNTING
sign that Avery had scavenged from a store up in Vermont was a particular favorite of her mom's—Not! Avery had glued the sign to the front of her door as a warning to stray visitors.

“It's probably best that I don't look,” her mother would say with a sigh, closing the door as quickly as possible.

It didn't help matters that her older brother Scott's bedroom looked like a feature in
Architectural Digest
. He was a neat freak. His room always looked like nobody had been in it
for a year. Bed neatly made, everything lined up on his desk in perfect rows, his black-and-white sports photographs matted and framed on the walls, and all in matching black frames.

Next to Scott, Avery felt like an accident waiting to happen. She knew that part of this was because neatness wasn't the biggest priority in her life. What was the point of making her bed when she was only going to get right back into it at night?

Her mother didn't bother Avery too much about keeping her room clean. From time to time, their housekeeper Carla would venture into Avery's room to do some basic straightening up. But Carla wouldn't go into Walter's closet. She was afraid of snakes.

The family also had a gardener who came and tidied up the garden. Her mother had a greenhouse and one of her hobbies was growing rare orchids (“cultivating” was the word she used). Now, what on earth was the point of THAT? Flowers were okay. But growing flowers in pots in a glass room for no good reason…Avery just didn't get that.

Still, her mom had a heart of gold, even if she cared about things that seemed bizarre to Avery. Her mom loved parties, being involved, and giving back. This meant that she was always inviting people over.

Avery's mother loved to have parties. She had a different group over almost every week. One week it was the gardening club. Another week it was her book club. She was also very involved in fund-raising, which meant hosting big parties (usually catered) that Avery found a little boring. Still, she knew her mom was involved in some really good causes. Avery was very much a “live and let live” kind of girl. Her mom let her run around in her soccer gear, so why shouldn't she let her mom enjoy her fund-raising gigs? Plus her mom
had a really good sense of humor and loved cartoons as much as Avery did.

Her father, Jake Madden, was as different from her mother as night from day. Maybe that was the reason that they'd split up. Avery's dad was a laid-back country boy while Elizabeth was a sophisticated city girl. It was a classic case of opposites attract. After college, he'd gone backpacking in Nepal for a year. Then worked for the Peace Corps where he and Elizabeth met. Back in Boston, he'd discovered that a desk job wasn't for him. He decided to move west and start a snowboarding shop. Avery adored her dad. She wished that he lived closer; Colorado felt like a million miles away sometimes. But she and her dad were amazing e-mail companions, and sometimes they chatted as much as six times a day.

No time to e-mail Dad now, though. Avery had to get going. One last check on the guinea pigs first…she had renamed them already, after her two favorite soccer stars. “Hey, Beckham! Hey, Hamm!” she called to them, sticking her fingers through the wire grid of their cage.

They didn't look so well to her. A little sluggish, actually. Maybe she'd given them a bit too much lettuce. Hamm wasn't that interested, but Beckham ate three leaves. She decided she'd better call Maeve and check in with her.

“No more lettuce,” Maeve said. “And no more carrots. Better just stick to the pellets.”

Maeve gave Avery another lecture about how finicky guinea pigs can be about what they eat, and Avery swore up and down that she'd stick to the list—only a little shredded lettuce: one piece, not three, and nothing but dried guinea pig food until they were both looking perky again. “I'm going to e-mail you the list of what they can eat and what
they can't eat,” she said sternly. “And also, I'm sending you the instructions about letting them out of their cage. Promise you'll read it, okay?”

“I promise,” Avery said.

Sigh. Avery put Hamm and Beckham back into the cage, giving them each a little wave of encouragement. She hoped they looked perkier soon so she could sneak them some of her mother's fancy Bibb lettuce. Only one piece this time.

 

On Monday night, Maeve and her mother were making lunches together for the next day. Her mom had the big wall calendar lying on the counter and was sneaking glances at it as she made sandwiches.

Maeve looked at it, too. The box for FRIDAY had a note on it in blue. “Maeve and Sam—to Ross's.” She bit her lip. This was probably a good time to talk to her mom about Dillon. All she had to do was explain what had happened. Her mom would know what she should say to her dad so she could go out with Dillon without hurting his feelings.

But she kept having this nagging feeling of guilt. She shouldn't have said yes, not without asking first. Not when it involved going all the way downtown. And not when it involved breaking plans she already had.

Not that she exactly needed permission, of course. She was almost thirteen! That night she went out with Nick…well, that was different. She'd met him at Montoya's, which was his parents' bakery. And then she'd dragged him over to the Movie House. Her dad and Jimmy, the projectionist, were there the whole time, even if they were in the back of the cinema.

They won't mind, Maeve assured herself. But I should ask them…just in case…

This wasn't a good time, though. Her mother was really distracted. She was doing what she called “multitasking.” That meant that she was paying as much attention to the calendar as she was to the lunch preparations. Maeve had to dive in and rescue her lunch before she ended up with Sam's vile robot soup instead of her favorite carrots and dip.

“Shoot. I have two late nights this week,” her mother muttered, crossing something out on the calendar and frowning. “I'm going to need to ask Dad to get you at Hebrew School on Tuesday and Thursday.”

Maeve brightened. “I could just skip Hebrew School this week,” she offered generously.

Her mother frowned at her. “Maeve, just because Dad and I are living in two different places doesn't mean that our standards are changing. We still care about the same things that we always did. Like being on time, and getting assignments done.”

And not going to a Celtics game with a guy unless you've asked for permission
, Maeve thought uneasily. But she pushed the thought away. They probably wouldn't mind, she assured herself. And they knew Dillon—at least a little. Didn't her dad tell her to take care of herself?

“Okay, Mom,” Maeve said cheerfully. “Don't worry, Dad can get me from Hebrew School.”

Her mother turned to give her an impulsive hug. “Maeve, you've been such a big help. You have no idea how much it means to me,” she said warmly.

The little stab of guilt was getting worse. Maeve bit her lip. Ask her—NOW.

“Um—Mom?” she began.

The phone rang, and her mother glanced at the number
on their caller ID box. “Shoot—it's my boss. I have to take this, Maeve.”

Maeve sighed, turning back to finish packing lunches. So much for that. It wasn't like she hadn't tried to ask for permission.

After dinner, Maeve spread her homework out all over the dining room table. She needed to have a draft of interview questions ready for Ms. Rodriguez by tomorrow.

What do I want to know
? Maeve thought, opening up her laptop and drumming her fingers on the table.

The thing Maeve MOST wanted to know about was how to grow up. She didn't really know how to put this into words. So, how did you get from being a kid to being a grown-up? How did her parents figure out what kind of things they wanted to do when they grew up? What kind of life they'd want to lead? She'd seen old home movies of her mom when she was a girl. Birthday parties, family vacations…how did that girl grow up and become her mother?

“Mom!” Maeve called.

Her mother came into the dining room. She looked tired, and she had a pile of work in her arms.

“Mom, I need help. We're doing this big project in English and social studies and we're supposed to find out about our personal history and I'm totally lost,” Maeve sighed.

Her mother set her files down on the dining room table. “What sort of things are you writing about?”

“It's up to us. But I need to interview you and Daddy.” Maeve sighed. “I'm just not sure what to ASK, that's the problem.”

Her mother sat down, lacing her fingers together the way she did when she was thinking. “Did I ever tell you much about your great-grandmother?”

Maeve shook her head. “Was she the one who worked in the hat factory?”

“For a while.” Her mother smiled. “But she was also a ‘flapper,' she had a raccoon coat and she danced on Broadway for a few years.”

Maeve's eyes lit up. “No way!” This might not be as good as being related to Audrey Hepburn, but still. Broadway was Broadway.

“Her name was Sylvie. She was extraordinary.” Maeve's mother smiled. “She was only five feet tall, but really gorgeous, and they always let her dance right up in front because she was so tiny. Let me find some pictures of her for you, okay?”

Maeve was thrilled. She had talent in her bones and it dated way back. This project was getting more interesting by the moment.

Maeve tried to type up a few questions about great-grandma Sylvie while her mother went off to look for photographs. She was on question number two when the phone rang.

It was Dillon.

Maeve tried her hardest to sound nonchalant. “Hey,” she said, in her most casual I'm-glad-to-hear-from-you-but-this-is-SO-normal voice. “What's up?”

“Nothing much. Just wanted to check in with you,” Dillon said. How could he sound so cute and so COOL even over the phone line? “I checked with my dad, and he said we're all set for Friday. We'll pick you up around seven at your place, okay?”

At her place? Here? Maeve's heart skipped a beat. She couldn't think for a second. Great, this was getting more and more confusing by the minute.

“Um…” Maeve thought fast. “Why don't I just meet you
over at your house?” she shot back. True, her parents probably wouldn't mind her going out with Dillon. But just in case she didn't get around to asking…they shouldn't meet here. “I've got a class on Friday and I don't really know when it gets out.”