Five Things About Ava Andrews

by Margaret Dilloway

  “This will all be gone!” Chad says dramatically.

  “You’ll have nothing left but a hideous pile of concrete that will burn your eyes,” Jonathan informs them.

  We make eye contact with each other. Then I say—

  And this is kind of the miraculous part—

  We all say it together.

  “Rescue Navegando Point now!” we yell.

  And we start spinning like we’ve practiced it, but we haven’t.

  The woman blinks.

  The crowd cheers.

  The juggler starts throwing pins into the air.

  Ryan’s dad captures it all.

  Two cops on bicycles ride up the sidewalk. Their uniforms are shorts and short-sleeves, and handcuffs dangle from their belts. I swallow nervously. Brett Rosselin waves them over. “Here.”

  “Where?” One gets off her bike. “We got a report of vandalism and disorderly conduct?”

  “Here!” Brett points at us.

  The police officers look at us. “You called 911 for this?” the other cop asks, shaking his head.

  “Well, they stopped.” Brett tosses her head.

  Ryan’s dad steps forward, swinging his camera off his shoulder. “Interesting. Because I have it all recorded, if you want to watch the footage.”

  “And we never did one illegal thing,” Mrs. Ladigan points out.

  The police officers lean over his shoulders as they review the show. They smile a couple times.

  “You guys didn’t come up with that ahead of time?” one of them says. “Amazing.”

  “I was thinking of taking a class,” the man says.

  “You totally should,” Miss Gwen says. “We have a free introductory one. I’ll get you the info.”

  “Enough!” Brett’s practically turned into a beet. “Are you going to cite them or aren’t you?”

  “No. But we might cite you for wasting police resources,” the female officer says. She waves at us. “You kids can go.”

  Brett sticks her phone back into her purse. “I’m only doing my job.”

  The officers look at her like my mom looked at me when I said I didn’t eat the entire package of Oreos even though I had crumbs all over my face.

  Mrs. Ladigan cocks an eyebrow at the developer. “I’d say you’re doing it rather poorly.”

  Chad holds an invisible bottle up to Brett. “Want some aloe for that burn?” We can’t help it. We giggle. I decide I like Mrs. Ladigan. She’s salty and she’s fearless.

  Miss Gwen gestures at us to move. “Let’s get going while the going’s good.”

  We trot away. “Keep fighting, kids!” someone calls.

  “Good luck!” someone else adds.

  Mrs. Ladigan’s redness finally fades. “If I wasn’t committed to you before, I am now. I am fired up!”

  “You’d better watch out when my mom gets fired up about something,” Becca says.

  Mrs. Ladigan points a finger at the sky. “They are going to rue the day! That footage is great.”

  “Yes!” Nana Linda gives her a high five. “I love making people rue the day.”

  “She’s going to rue ever being born!” Chad yells. “Her descendants will disown her! The ghosts of her ancestors will haunt her forever for being mean!”

  “Calm down, dude.” Cecily gives him a friendly shove.

  But it might be Ryan’s dad who’s the most excited. “Yes!” He lopes around us, exactly like a bigger version of Ryan. “Awesome job, everyone! Simply awesome.”

  Ryan sticks his arms out like an airplane and zooms between us. Then we all do it and people are getting out of our way and also looking at us as though we’ve lost our minds. But I don’t care.

  Not one bit.

  Chapter 32

  After school on Monday, I’m walking out when I see Mr. Sukow standing with Ms. Bookstein in the courtyard. “Ava!” he says. “Great video.”

  “Really good stuff.” Ms. Bookstein thumbs-ups me.

  My heart does a double beat and my back goes warm. “You saw it?”

  “The teachers shared it.” Mr. Sukow looks at me as if I’ve just won the Nobel Prize for Videos. “You really spoke up, Ava. I’m so impressed. They’re naming the woman who called the police Protest Patty.”

  “Her name is Brett,” I say, not understanding.

  “It’s a joke,” Mr. Sukow explains. “A nickname. People are upset that someone did that to kids.”

  “The Rescue Navegando Point Now! page shared it.” Ms. Bookstein whips out her phone and shows me. “Ten thousand views so far!”

  “Ten thousand?” I squeak. I sit down on a bench.

  Ten thousand people have seen me?

  Cecily and Ryan and Chad all sort of show up at the same time. “Did you hear? Ten thousand views!” Ryan whoops. “Insane!”

  “I heard,” I say faintly. I put my hand on my pacemaker. My heart’s beating a little hard, but I’m okay.

  “You’re going to the next community meeting, aren’t you?” Mr. Sukow sits next to me. “You should really capitalize on the video.”

  “How?” A little flutter goes through me, not nervousness, exactly. More like I’m about to put the last piece in a jigsaw puzzle.

  “Make a new Facebook page. Organize.” Ms. Bookstein sits on my other side.

  “How?” I repeat. “I’m not allowed to have any social media.”

  “I can help, if you want,” Mr. Sukow says. “I used to do some community organizing back in the day.”

  “I’ll share the online petition with the PTA and all my librarian groups,” Ms. Bookstein adds.

  All us kids look at each other. They nod. I nod. “We’re in.”

  Ms. Bookstein makes a Facebook page for us. She puts the video on there, front and center. “I’ll ask the other page to link to us, so we can join forces,” she says, “but still be separate.”

  “Sounds good,” I say. “The San Diego historical landmark committee never emailed Nana Linda back.”

  Ms. Bookstein sighs. “Typical bureaucracy. Maybe they’ll respond next year. Now let’s make an event invitation.” She brings up that page. “Your turn.”

  I pause. “What should it say?”

  “Let’s take over the Port of San Diego!” Chad says.

  “Bring your torches and pitchforks!” Ryan says.

  “Um, no,” Cecily says.

  “How about this?” I type:

  Your one and only chance to keep making memories with your family.

  Navegando Point is a big part of a lot of San Diegans’ memories. A place to spend time with your family by the water. But that’s all going to change.

  The question is, do you want it to?

  “Great.” Ms. Bookstein posts it.

  I’m a little sick to my stomach again. Now even more people are going to read my writing. What if internet trolls make mean comments?

  I clench my jaw. “I don’t care what other people think,” I say out loud. “I can’t control them.”

  Ms. Bookstein blinks. “That’s true, Ava.”

  “Fist bump.” Cecily holds out her knuckles to me. We tap. Cecily twirls around in her chair. “Can we get T-shirts?”

  Mr. Sukow nods. “That would be an excellent idea.”

  And just like that, I’m a rabble-rousing activist.

  Nana Linda’s going to be very proud.

  Chapter 33

  The next afternoon, Ty and I stand in the hallway outside the English classroom, getting our napkin presentation ready to go.

  My stomach jumps around. Ty looks more nervous than I am, actually—he’s wearing a light pink dress shirt and he’s sweated through the armpits. “Did I tell you that my mom shared the video with a bunch of people?”

  “Nope.” I blush. “I didn’t even know you watched it!”

  “You were great.” Ty looks sideways at me. “Really.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter. I still feel shy about accepting compliments.

  “She’s going to the protest—all the bu
siness owners are.” He shrugs. “Maybe it’ll help. She really liked working there—she was assistant manager. I liked it because she got free cupcakes.”

  I giggle.

  He bends over, his hand on his stomach. “Ooof. I feel like I’m going to barf. How do you do improv?”

  I take stock of myself. No throw-up feeling. No frozen one. Nervous, yes. “I guess doing it with people I like helps.”

  “Hmm,” he grumps.

  I think about Ryan again, and his former bullying days. “Ty, maybe you could go to improv, too.” But what if his mom can’t afford it? They must have scholarships or something. I don’t know.

  “It sounds scary.”

  “It is at first. But then it’s not. And the kids are really cool.” I look at Ty’s nervous face and think about him eating lunch alone. He needs to be included, too. I make an offer. “We’re trick-or-treating together in my neighborhood—you could come.”

  His eyes get big and his mouth opens. “Um . . . I don’t know.”

  “You can think about it.” I didn’t mean to put him on the spot right before our presentation.

  Mr. Sukow pokes his head out. “Come on in.”

  I hold up my fist for him to bump. “This is going to be the best napkin presentation in the history of napkins.”

  We didn’t try to rewrite the lost script. Instead, we came up with a whole new one, and we talked it out like we were in improv together.

  Ty returns the bump. “Darn straight it is.”

  The Napkin That Saved the World

  Ty: Once upon a time, there was a supervillain named Jerome. He was eating a club sandwich, packed with juicy tomatoes and too much mayo.

  Ava: Once upon a time, there was a supervillain named Millicent, who was eating a dripping soft-serve cone.

  Ty: They both wanted one thing.

  Ava: To rule the world.

  Ty: As soon as they finished lunch.

  (They bite into their meals.)

  Ava: Ugh, this ice cream is dripping down my arm!

  Ty: Argh, this tomato juice got on my shirt!

  (They both reach for the only napkin and hold it up in between them.)

  Ava (in a villainous voice): Jerome.

  Ty (in an even more villainous voice): Millicent.

  Ava: We meet again.

  Ty: Indeed. I trust your plans for world domination are not coming along well.

  Ava: On the contrary, they’re much better than yours.

  (They wrestle with the napkin.)

  Ava: I need that!

  Ty: Not more than I need it!

  (The napkin tears in half.)

  Ava: Look what you did.

  Ty: You should have let go.

  Ava: I will never let go.

  (They each dab at themselves with their half of the napkin.)

  Ty: Interesting. Half the napkin was enough for my needs!

  Ava: Even more interesting. Half the napkin took care of this ice-cream mess!

  (Ava and Ty look at each other.)

  Ava: I suppose we could share.

  Ty: That reminds me. I found a way to harness the power of the sun to fuel my robot army.

  Ava: How wonderful! And that reminds me. I found a way to use a robot army to take over the moon.

  Ty: How wonderful.

  Ava: Are you thinking what I’m thinking?

  Ty: That I should have gotten a lemonade?

  Ava: That everyone should buy this napkin!

  (Ty offers his hand to Ava. They shake.)

  Ava: I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

  “Scene!” I yell.

  And then Ty actually grabs my hand and we bow deep, from the waist. I hear the kids clapping but it really doesn’t matter.

  We did it.

  “Woo-hoo, Ava!” Cecily yells.

  I scurry to my desk and collapse onto my folded arms.

  Chapter 34

  “Do you have the candy map?” asks Jonathan. His cowboy boots clack on the sidewalk. He’s dressed as Woody from Toy Story and his costume’s so realistic that he looks more like he belongs at Comic-Con than trick-or-treating.

  “We don’t need a candy map,” Ryan says, his voice muffled. He’s dressed as a T. rex in an oversized, puffy costume. I hope he can see. “We’ll just knock.”

  They’re talking about the Nextdoor app—it has a virtual map where people can put a pin by their house if they’re giving out candy. Green pins mean they’ve got allergy-friendly stuff, too. “A lot of people don’t add their houses to the app. My parents didn’t,” I tell them.

  Speaking of whom, my parents are standing on the front porch. “Be sure to say thank you!” Dad calls.

  “And be considerate of smaller kids,” Mom adds.

  “And no pranks,” Dad says. I’m pretty sure he’s directing that at Ryan and Chad.

  “Me? I would never consider such a thing.” Chad shakes his head. He’s got a surfer outfit on, board shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, with thick white sunblock smeared over his nose. Or maybe he’s a tourist. It doesn’t really matter.

  “Don’t worry.” Cecily salutes my father. “I’ve got the situation handled.”

  Ty, in his pirate costume, trips on a crack, and Chad catches him by the elbow. “Arrr, matey, you’ve got to be more careful!”

  “Aye, aye, Captain!” Ty straightens and smiles at me. I smile back. I wasn’t worried that anyone secretly didn’t want Ty to join. He came along and became part of us. No big deal.

  We walk as one group, like a school of fish, down the sidewalk. In each of our buckets is an idea Mrs. Ladigan came up with. We’ve got slips of paper to hand out to the houses, with our Facebook page address on them. We’re going to give one to every grown-up we see. Every little bit helps.

  I turn and look back at my house. My parents are still there, waving. “Are they going to stand there all night?” I ask. It’s my first time trick-or-treating without them, and I want to dance around and sing, but not while they’re watching.

  “They’ll go back in once you’re out of sight,” Cecily says confidently. She’s a vampire, with a wig and white makeup and fangs that she’s glued onto her real teeth. “That’s what parents do. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not. Not really.” I adjust my robe. I’m Ruth Vader Ginsburg, which was pretty easy to do. My mom found me a lace collar like the one the judge wears to the Supreme Court, and loaned me her best Darth Vader helmet. She saw a costume like it on the internet and, after she laughed hysterically for about ten minutes, convinced me to wear it.

  Ryan stops at a driveway two houses down. Their jack-o’-lantern is lit and the porch light is on. “This one!” He scampers up the driveway as if he’s a five-year-old all over again.

  Cecily grabs my hand. “Come on!” And then I feel like a five-year-old, too, giggling and skipping with my friend. Like I imagined when we first met.

  My phone buzzes, and I drop Cecily’s hand and pause on the walkway to the front door. I lift my robe to take it out of my jeans pocket. It’s not my parents, but Zelia.

  I stand there with the phone for a minute, considering. I haven’t talked to her since before my pacemaker thing, since the day she told me she didn’t want me to come. We’d just messaged and of course she’d told me to feel better and all that. But I haven’t responded.

  The front door of the house opens, and a lady in a witch’s hat passes out full-sized candy bars. My friends scream.

  My friends. Plural. Unbelievable. I’ve never been so comfortable with a group of people other than my family. Or felt so accepted.

  Like I belong.

  “Where’s Ava?” Ryan asks, turning, almost knocking over a potted plant with his tail.

  I take a deep breath and hit the red button on the phone. I’ll call Zelia back later. “I’m right here.”

  Chapter 35

  Halloween was a success. Mom says I scored enough candy for the rest of my childhood, so I donate half of it to a military group. Maybe more im
portant, though, is we leave those slips of paper about the protest with people.

  Ryan, of course, talked to each house, and the rest of us acted so goofy in our characters that people wanted to know about improv and Navegando Point. And over the next week, the hits on the Facebook page and the video keep going up. We’re at five hundred thousand views. There are thousands of signatures. It’s pretty awesome.

  Now I’m in the living room, watching the news with my parents. It’s the night before the protest where we’re all going to meet at the Port of San Diego for the hearing.

  Luke comes out of his room. “Mom, I need help with math.”

  Mom rubs her hands together. “Oh boy! Have a seat, my son.”

  Luke groans. “Promise me you won’t call the teacher.”

  “I can make no promises,” Mom says.

  Luke shakes his head at me. “Ava, where did we get these parents?”

  I shrug, grinning. Ever since Luke and I had our “Hallmark card moment,” as he calls it, we’ve been getting along much better. It’s like my heart thing made the tension between us burst.

  “Ava!” Mom turns up the volume. “You’re on!” She points at the screen.

  “And in local news,” the news anchor lady with the fluffy blond hair is saying, “some local middle schoolers got in a scuffle with a real estate developer over Navegando Point. Just watch.”

  They show a clip of us performing. I blanch, knowing what’s coming. Me. I want to cover my eyes, but I don’t. I watch myself and Cecily perform, expecting we’re terrible, but we’re actually not. You can tell both of us are having fun. Maybe if you have fun, you can’t be terrible. “I was walking a dog but Cecily said I was using a metal detector,” I say to Mom and Dad.

  “And you switched right away—good job having her back,” Mom says.

  “You see? There’s no such thing as failure in improv,” Dad says, and I can tell he’s warming up to a lecture.

  Then Ryan’s dad zooms in as Brett breaks her way into our group.

  And then there I am, pointing at her. I actually look pretty dramatic.

  I put my face in my hands as the police get there. It looks so bad for Brett that I almost feel sorry for her. Almost. “Oh my gosh,” I breathe.