Much Ado About Anne

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  I look around for Cassidy’s dog, Murphy, but there’s no sign of him. I figure he must have been banished to the garage or something. He’s kind of excitable, and he’d be going crazy right now trying to keep an eye on everything and everybody if he were in the house. Murphy is very protective of Cassidy and Courtney and their mom. Mrs. Sloane says she’s planning an episode just for him, to teach viewers how to bake their own dog biscuits, because he’s the one the show has been the hardest on.

  “Hey, Emma. Hey, Jess.”

  It’s Stewart. He’s helped himself to a homemade donut and hot cider.

  “Hey, Stewart,” Emma replies, politely ignoring his powdered sugar mustache.

  He pushes his glasses up nervously. “So you’re going to be on Hello Boston!?”

  We nod.

  “Cool.”

  There’s an awkward pause, then Becca and Megan appear.

  “Stewart, wipe that thing off!” snaps Becca, pointing to his upper lip. “You look like an idiot. Can’t you do anything without embarrassing me?”

  Her brother’s face turns the same shade as Megan’s dress. Emma hands Stewart a napkin, glaring at Becca.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Becca taunts her. “Lose Waldo again?”

  “Who’s Waldo?” asks Stewart, looking around.

  Megan tugs on Becca’s sleeve. “C’mon, Becca, lay off,” she says in a low voice.

  Cassidy catches my eye and pats her pocket. I nod, suddenly glad we’re going to go through with our plan.

  “Let’s go over things one more time,” announces Mrs. Sloane, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention. As always, she looks gorgeous. She’s wearing a mid-calf–length purple wool skirt, a black turtleneck, and a matching purple shawl draped artfully around her shoulders. Like my mom, she’s got her hair swept up. Out of the corner of my eye I see Megan studying her. She’s probably wishing she had her sketchbook right now. Mrs. Sloane is her fashion idol.

  “We’ll be filming in the living room in just a few minutes,” Mrs. Sloane continues. “Those of you who are here to watch us are welcome to do so but from the hallway only, please. We need to keep the room clear for the Channel 5 folks.” She smiles at her friend Mr. Kinkaid, who’s standing with the dads, and he smiles back. She checks her watch, then gestures toward the countertop where the food is waiting. “We’ll be taking our places in just a few minutes, but until then, help yourselves!”

  I glance over at Darcy. He winks at me and my heart gives a happy flutter. I’ve known Emma’s big brother forever, but about a year ago it was like I noticed him for the first time. I always thought he was really nice, but I never realized how cute he was too. He’s got the warmest brown eyes, just like Emma’s, and he’s always laughing and joking around. Plus he’s thoughtful and polite and smart too. Well, most of the time. Except when he’s doing dumb gross boy stuff. Emma thinks it’s hilarious that I’ve gotten all tongue-tied around him. “It’s just Darcy,” she always says, and I know it’s true but I can’t help it. She doesn’t bug me too much, though, just like I never tease her about Zach Norton. We keep each other’s secrets. That’s what best friends are for.

  Out of the blue I realize that I’m thinking about math, of all things. The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. It occurs to me that this is probably true for people, too. I take a deep breath and start to walk across the kitchen toward Darcy. Just as I do, Becca Chadwick brushes past and beats me to him.

  “Hi, Darcy,” she coos, batting her eyelashes.

  “Oh, hey, Becca,” he says politely, then glances over at me. “Hey, Jess.”

  “Hey,” I reply.

  Becca ignores me, of course. “How’s high school?” she asks him in that fake voice she uses when boys are around.

  “Great!” Darcy replies.

  I just stand there feeling stupid as the two of them start talking. All of a sudden my dress seems babyish and I wish that I’d done something different with my hair, rather than just pull it back into its usual braid. In her plaid taffeta skirt and black V-neck sweater, Becca looks perfect, of course. The Fab Three always look perfect. Maybe if I spent ninety-seven hours a day trying on makeup and looking at fashion magazines I’d look perfect too.

  I back away slowly, right into Carson Dawson, the host of Hello Boston!

  “Whoa there, little lady,” he says, “better check your rearview mirror when you’re driving!” He chuckles at his little joke—Carson Dawson is known for chuckling at his own little jokes—and I notice that he’s a lot shorter than he looks on TV. Not much taller than me, in fact. He’s older, too. Up close like this I can see the wrinkles under his tan. I also notice that he has an abundance of teeth. Very white teeth. He’s baring them at me in his trademark smile.

  “Pardon me,” I manage to squeak.

  He chuckles again and trots off toward the living room.

  “Girls!” says Cassidy’s mother. “We need you on the set. Five minutes until liftoff.”

  I follow her down the hall, my heart thumping again. Part of me hopes Darcy isn’t going to watch us filming, and the other part of me hopes he does. We pick our way carefully over the camera cables to where the couch and chairs are grouped around the coffee table. At the far end is one of the three-tiered tea trays we used when we filmed the tea party. It’s piled with the same goodies, too—tiny little cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off, mini cupcakes, scones with Devonshire cream and Half Moon Farm raspberry jam, crackers spread with goat cheese, little tarts filled with lemon mousse, truffles, and homemade cream puffs with chocolate sauce. My stomach rumbles. I was feeling too anxious to eat breakfast earlier, but now despite my jangling nerves I’m actually hungry.

  Mrs. Chadwick is already seated on the sofa next to Carson Dawson. She must have gotten into the cream puffs or the truffles because there’s a smear of chocolate on one side of her mouth. An assistant spots it, and hands her a tissue.

  “Becca will sit here next to me,” Mrs. Chadwick announces, as if this were her party and she were the hostess.

  Mrs. Sloane’s smile looks a little strained. “Actually, Calliope, I’m going to have to ask you to move over here to this armchair.” She pats it encouragingly. “I’ll need to sit next to Mr. Dawson as he’ll be directing most of his questions at me.”

  Mrs. Chadwick looks displeased to hear this. She’s used to being the boss. She’s sort of like the queen bee of Concord. I guess that’s where Becca gets it. She heaves herself reluctantly off the sofa and into the designated armchair.

  “Two minutes!” calls one of the Channel 5 camera crew. The dads and brothers crowd around the doorway, jostling for a good view. Mr. Kinkaid blows Cassidy’s mom a kiss, then gives Cassidy a thumbs-up. She scowls at him.

  As we all take our assigned seats, Courtney comes in with a silver tray. On it is a large silver teapot and eleven teacups. She sets it down in the middle of the coffee table and places a teacup in front of each of us. Cassidy sits up straight, on full alert.

  Beside me, Emma’s knee starts jouncing up and down and she flicks me a nervous glance. Cassidy, on the other hand, isn’t the least bit nervous. Her face is alight with excitement. There’s nothing Cassidy likes better than a good prank. I have no idea how she’s going to pull this one off, though. Not with a room full of people watching our every move.

  “Ninety seconds!” calls the cameraman.

  My palms are sweaty. I’m smiling my fake smile so hard the muscles in my cheeks are twitching. I don’t dare look at Darcy.

  Beside me, I see Cassidy slip the garage door opener out from behind one of the couch pillows and drop her arm casually over the back of the sofa. She aims it at the window and pushes the button. Outside, there’s a rumbling sound as the garage door starts to go up. Two seconds later Murphy hurtles through the front door, barking wildly at all the strangers in his house.

  “What is that dog doing in here!” cries Carson Dawson. “Get him off the set!”

  “Murphy, yo
u naughty boy, how did you get out?” scolds Mrs. Sloane. “Courtney, grab him and put him back in the garage—quick!”

  Courtney springs into action. Darcy and Stewart Chadwick are right behind her. Stewart trips over one of the cables and goes sprawling, startling Murphy, who ducks under the coffee table. In their haste to grab him, Courtney and Darcy collide, and they go sprawling too. In all the confusion I see Cassidy remove the something from her pocket that I gave her earlier. Quick as lightning, she pours a few drops from it into Becca’s teacup. Then just as quickly she puts it back into her pocket. She looks over at me and Emma and grins.

  I lean over and peek into Becca’s teacup. There’s nothing to see—the few drops Cassidy added are colorless. We left the blue food coloring out this time. Suddenly it strikes me how funny it would be if there really were such a thing as invisibility potion, and Becca Chadwick vanished—poof!—right in the middle of the Hello Boston! interview. I start to giggle. So do Emma and Cassidy. Megan gives us a funny look.

  Fortunately, everyone else is laughing at Murphy—everyone except Mr. Dawson, who is still looking annoyed—so no one notices us.

  “Ten seconds!” cries his assistant, as the Sloanes’ dog is finally corralled and whisked back to exile in the garage.

  The lights on the cameras go from red to green, and the expression on Carson Dawson’s face goes from irritation to toothsome enthusiasm.

  “And action!” says the Channel 5 cameraman.

  “Helloooooooo, Boston!” calls Carson Dawson, launching into the show’s trademark opening cry. “And greetings from the set of Cooking with Clementine. I’m here live this morning with the lovely Clementine Sloane in her lovely home in Concord, Massachusetts, where today’s upcoming episode was filmed. Isn’t that right, Clementine?”

  “That’s right, Carson,” Mrs. Sloane responds, right on cue. “We have something special for our viewers later this morning.”

  “What’s that, Clementine?”

  “It’s a mother-daughter holiday tea, Carson. We’ve made all sorts of goodies”—she waves her manicured hand gracefully toward the tiered tray, and the camera zooms in on the food—“and we’ll show you how you can create an elegant tea party of your own, from the homemade invitations to the homemade treats.”

  “Sounds like good old-fashioned homemade fun!” gushes Carson Dawson, with a chuckle. “Be sure and stay tuned.”

  Mrs. Sloane is casually pouring out the tea as she talks, but before she can serve it like we rehearsed, Carson Dawson reaches out and grabs a teacup. And not just any teacup. He grabs Becca Chadwick’s teacup.

  Beside me, Emma sucks in her breath. Cassidy groans quietly. Her mother gives her a sharp look.

  “One lump or two?” she asks, holding the sugar tongs poised above the bowl.

  “Two,” Carson Dawson replies.

  Two lumps won’t even begin to counteract the garlic-laced invisibility potion. My heart starts pounding again, and it’s not just my palms that are sweating now.

  “I’d like to introduce some of the guests you’ll be seeing later this morning at our tea party,” Mrs. Sloane continues, naming each of us by turn as she dispenses sugar and milk into our cups. Becca gives a closed-lip smile, hiding her braces from the camera. Emma looks like she’s going to cry, and even Cassidy’s normally cocky grin is a little uncertain.

  “I have to tell you, I’m hearing good things about Cooking with Clementine,” says Carson Dawson. “Word is that yours is the hottest new show on the Cooking Channel.”

  Mrs. Sloane smiles modestly. “Well, Carson, it might be premature to call it that since only a handful of episodes have aired. And I’d hardly call it my show—I have a lot of help from my colleagues here. Phoebe Hawthorne, our town librarian, is in charge of research, and Lily Wong consults on ingredients.”

  Megan’s mother pipes up, “I’d like to add that it’s entirely possible to create a healthy tea party.”

  “Is that right?” murmurs Mr. Dawson, eyeing the goodies on the tea tray greedily. He chooses a lemon tart from the middle tier, and in my mind I start reviewing everything I know about chemistry, desperately hoping that citric acid will cancel out garlic. Maybe the lemons will save us.

  “All you need to do is select fresh, organic ingredients, which as you know Cooking with Clementine is devoted to using.”

  “Is that right?” the host repeats, clearly more interested in his lemon tart than in Mrs. Wong. He takes a bite. “Mmmmm,” he says, raising his cup.

  Emma reaches over and clutches my hand. I squeeze back, hard.

  Carson Dawson pauses. Hope soars inside me. Maybe he’s not going to drink it after all.

  No such luck.

  “Bottoms up!” he says, winking at the camera. “Or since this is a proper tea party, perhaps I should say, ‘Tally ho’?” He chuckles at his little joke, then puts the cup to his lips and takes a deep sip. So does everyone else except me and Emma and Cassidy. We’re too busy holding our breath.

  Carson Dawson sets his teacup down with a clatter. He presses his lips together tightly, and his cheeks bulge out like he’s trying to suppress an explosion. His face turns bright purple with the effort. His eyes start to water. And then all of a sudden he leans forward and coughs violently, spewing tea across the table and all over the front of Mrs. Chadwick’s green dress.

  “Well, I never!” sputters Mrs. Chadwick.

  “Oh, my,” says Mrs. Sloane weakly.

  “Cut!” cries the Channel 5 cameraman.

  For a long moment, no one says a word. Not even Carson Dawson.

  He can’t. Nestled in the cream puffs, grinning to themselves, are a gleaming set of very abundant, perfectly white teeth.

  WINTER

  “Marilla, isn’t it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it yet?”

  –Anne of Green Gables

  Emma

  “Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It’s splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world.”

  —Anne of Green Gables

  “Come on, Yo-Yo,” I say, my words forming little puffs in the frosty air. I untie his leash from the bicycle rack outside the market on Main Street. “Time to head home.”

  Yo-Yo has other ideas, however. He bounds off in the opposite direction, yanking me along behind him. The light on the corner changes and he galumphs after a group of people crossing the street. I have no choice but to follow. Finally, I manage to wrestle him to a stop in front of the Concord Toy Shop.

  “No, Yo-Yo!” I tell him firmly. “Sit!”

  He sits down on the snow-covered sidewalk and looks up at me, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, giving me his best doggie smile. I sigh and smile back. It’s impossible to get mad at Yo-Yo. I am a pushover and he knows it.

  I adjust my scarf and pull my hat more firmly down over my ears. The temperature’s been dropping all day, and they’re predicting snow later tonight. I hope we get a blizzard—I’m having a sleepover party, and I can’t think of anything better than all of us getting snowed in together. Not that we’d miss any school, unfortunately. Tonight is New Year’s Eve, so tomorrow’s a holiday anyway. But it would still be fun.

  The dog at the end of the leash isn’t mine. He belongs to the Chadwicks. Besides writing apology letters to Carson Dawson, our other punishment for pulling the invisibility potion prank was that we had to pay for dry-cleaning Mrs. Chadwick’s dress, plus do any other favors of her choosing. For me and Jess, that meant dog-sitting over the holidays. Becca’s grandparents are in town, and they don’t like dogs.

  I don’t know how anyone could not like Yo-Yo. He is all dog and not a speck of Chadwick. He’s not quite as cute as Sugar and Spice, but he’s cute all the same, and really sweet-tempered. He’s something called a Labradoodle, which is part Labrador Retriever and part Poodle. His coat is a soft brown, like maple sugar, and curly all over. He looks sort of like a bath mat. A very friendly bath mat with big chocolate brown eyes.


  Jess had him last week, and I’ve been taking care of him this week while she’s up in New Hampshire at her aunt and uncle’s for her birthday. I think Yo-Yo likes Half Moon Farm better than our house—there are a lot more interesting things to smell at Jess’s house, what with all the chickens and goats—but Half Moon Farm doesn’t have Melville. And Yo-Yo is enchanted with Melville.

  “Come on,” I tell him again, tugging on his leash. “Let’s go see the kitty!”

  Yo-Yo’s ears perk up. He knows the word “kitty.” He wags his tail. He gives me his most charming smile. But he doesn’t move.

  “Yo-Yo!” I protest. It’s been like this all week. Exasperated, I huddle closer to the toy store, out of the wind. It’s still decorated for Christmas, and there are dolls and puppets and toy trains and stuffed animals and all sorts of fun stuff on display. When I was little, I used to spend hours at this store. I press my nose against the window for a moment, remembering how Megan and I would save up for weeks and pool our allowances to buy a new Barbie. That was before her dad’s invention, of course. After that, she could have any Barbie she wanted. It was never as much fun as the anticipation of saving up, though.

  All of a sudden Yo-Yo starts barking like crazy, and I turn around to see Stewart Chadwick coming down the sidewalk. His face lights up when he spots us.

  “Hey, Emma! Hey, boy!”

  “Wait, Yo-Yo!” I cry, but it’s too late. Yo-Yo lunges toward Stewart and pulls me off my feet. I go flying and do a face-plant in the snowbank on the curb. A moment later I feel a tug on the back of my jacket as Stewart hoists me up.

  “Sorry about that,” he says, looking flustered. “I shouldn’t have called him.”

  Stewart the dork strikes again, I think to myself, but aloud I just tell him, “It’s okay.” I brush myself off and pick up the grocery bag I’d been carrying. My dad sent me downtown for whipping cream. He’s making a fancy dessert for my sleepover party, and he forgot to pick it up when he went shopping earlier.