Letters from the Heart

by Annie Bryant

  Ms. Rodriguez nodded. “We talked about that, Maeve. The seventh-grade teachers really do want to acknowledge the whole group of you who gave your study hall second period to get this wonderful project off the ground. But Maeve, you’re the one who came up with the idea. You spearheaded the project, and your vision carried it through. You should be very proud,” she added, her dark eyes sparkling. “There’ll be a ceremony at the Community Center next Friday evening at seven o’clock. The winners will be announced then. So everyone, I hope you’ll all come out to support Maeve and our school. Good luck, Maeve!”

  Everyone clapped, and Maeve could feel her heart pounding.

  The bell rang, signaling that homeroom was over. Maeve’s fingers were trembling as she tried to get her laptop into her book bag. She couldn’t believe it. In all her years of school, Maeve had never been nominated for anything. She could sing and dance, but she’d never been honored for a school project before. Usually when her name got called, it meant that she’d probably forgotten her homework. This was GOOD news. Wait until her mom and dad heard about this—they’d be so proud of her. Maybe it would even pick her mother’s spirits up!

  “Way to go, Kaplan-Taylor! You blanket-making goddess,” Avery cried, thumping Maeve on her back as the girls congregated outside of homeroom.

  Maeve giggled as Avery’s friendly thwack almost knocked her into Katani. Avery wasn’t exactly a delicate flower, despite her diminutive stature.

  “This calls for a celebration. Montoya’s, after school!” Katani said, putting her arm around Maeve and giving her a squeeze.

  Maeve had the vague feeling that she was supposed to be somewhere after school. “Just a sec,” she said, rummaging around in her book bag for her day planner. Darn—she’d left it at home, on her dresser. She couldn’t remember what, if anything, she had planned. Didn’t she have an appointment or lesson after school today?

  She couldn’t remember. If she had somewhere else to be, she’d figure it out later.

  “Okay,” she said happily, linking arms with Katani and Isabel. “Montoya’s it is!”

  Katani was right. This was something to celebrate.

  STAR OF THE SHOW

  “Okay, guys. Grab a table and let’s splurge,” Isabel cried, pushing through the door to Montoya’s that afternoon. “The sky’s the limit!” She opened up her wallet and a shadow crossed her face. “Katani,” she whispered, grabbing her arm. “Can we split this? I thought I had more money, but I’ve only got three dollars!”

  “No problem. I’ve got my baby-sitting money,” Katani whispered back.

  It was Friday afternoon, and the popular bakery was crowded with junior high students. Most of the tables were taken, but the Beacon Street Girls found one in the corner. They waved at people they knew and maneuvered their way up to the counter to order drinks. Nick Montoya and his sister Fabiana were helping out in the café after school, and Nick took everyone’s orders. He gave Charlotte a special smile when she ordered her drink. Katani gave her a nudge. Lately, Nick had been paying a lot of attention to Charlotte, and she knew her friends were starting to notice. Charlotte wasn’t sure about Nick as a boyfriend yet. But he was nice…really nice. He’d make a good friend.

  A few minutes later, they were all sitting down, sipping iced hot chocolate and munching on pastries.

  “Here’s to Maeve,” Charlotte said, lifting her glass.

  “No one I know has ever won an award before,” Isabel said admiringly, taking a bite of a buñuelo, one of the café’s specialties.

  “I haven’t won yet,” Maeve pointed out, taking a delicate bite of her cookie. She pushed her red curls back, frowning thoughtfully. “I wonder how they’re going to do this. Do you suppose they’ll hand out awards? And what should I wear? D’you think it’ll be super-dressy?”

  Katani grinned. “Kind of like the Oscars?”

  Maeve grinned. “Okay, okay. I guess this is a little different,” she admitted. But she was SO excited. “Should I write a speech—just in case?” she asked.

  “I could help you,” Charlotte offered.

  “And I could help with figuring out what to wear,” Katani added.

  Just then, the door to Montoya’s swung open and Anna and Joline came sauntering in. Anna had one arm flung casually around Joline’s shoulder, in that “we are SO cool and such totally best friends” way that she had. It was amazing. Even the now-famous lab incident didn’t affect their coolness. Anna and Joline almost always dressed alike. If it weren’t for the fact that Anna was taller and blonde, you’d almost think they were clones. They managed to wear everything with an attitude that suggested that if it wasn’t a trend yet, it would be by the end of the day. Today, they weren’t dressed identically, but the effect was pretty much the same. Tight, low-rider jeans. Form-fitting T-shirts, and scrunchy terry-cloth sweatshirts, halfway unzipped. They walked up to the counter together to place their orders—water.

  Katani looked incredulous. “WATER at Montoya’s! What a waste,” she muttered.

  “Sshhhh,” Maeve said. Anna and Joline were walking back from the counter, right toward their table.

  “Hey, Maeve,” Anna said lazily, raising one eyebrow and looking intently at Maeve, totally ignoring Charlotte, Isabel, Katani, and Avery. She was making it very clear that she was interested in talking ONLY to Maeve. “Pretty cool about that award thingy you’re getting.”

  “Yeah,” Joline echoed, flicking her long brown hair back with one finger. “Nice going, Maeve.”

  Maeve swallowed. She wasn’t used to having the Queens of Mean bother to talk to her—let alone go out of their way to come over and say hi. “I haven’t actually won yet—” she began. But Anna and Joline didn’t seem to notice.

  “It’s cool,” Anna continued. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll be famous.”

  Okay…when was the backhanded compliment coming? Maeve wondered.

  “We’re sitting over there,” Joline said, gesturing over to a table filled with eighth graders. “If you want, you can come sit with us.” She made it sound like she’d just offered Maeve a chance to visit Mount Olympus and become immortal.

  Maeve glanced around the table. Nobody said anything. Her friends’ expressions were impossible to read. Maeve was surprised by the attention, and she couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit flattered. She couldn’t remember the last time Anna or Joline had asked her anything.

  Maybe she’d misjudged them. Maybe they really weren’t that horrible after all.

  On the other hand, Anna and Joline hadn’t exactly included the rest of her friends in the invitation. They’d clearly been talking just to her. That made Maeve feel a little uncomfortable—her personal mantra was always “the more the merrier.” She didn’t accept invitations if they didn’t include all her friends, too.

  “Maybe later,” she said noncommittally. She glanced up at Anna. “Or you guys could come sit with US,” she suggested. That seemed like the perfect solution! All-inclusive, just the way Maeve liked.

  Avery nudged her under the table. Clearly she wasn’t exactly excited by the idea of having Anna and Joline join them.

  Anna looked at Joline. “Uh…thanks, but we already put our stuff over there,” she said. Translation: We are WAY TOO COOL to sit with you guys.

  “Okay,” Maeve said with one of her “fine with me” shrugs.

  Anna and Joline exchanged glances. Clearly they weren’t used to inviting someone to join them and being told “maybe.” But Maeve was having a good time right where she was, and she didn’t feel like moving…especially since Dillon had just come through the door. And if Maeve moved to join ANYONE, it sure wasn’t going to be Anna and Joline!

  CHAPTER 4

  Double Trouble

  SOMETHING’S UP…BUT WHAT?

  “Hey! Anyone home?” Maeve called out, stuffing her keys back into her backpack as she let herself into the narrow front hallway. The Kaplan-Taylors’ duplex apartment above the Brookline Movie House was really cool. The apartment had high
ceilings and lots of charm, but not as much space as Maeve would have liked. The hallway was especially cramped. She practically tripped over Sam’s backpack, which he’d left right in the middle of the floor. Three biographies of General Patton and a shoebox full of toy soldiers spilled over onto the floor.

  Sam had absolutely no respect for Maeve’s privacy—he even read her I.M. messages when she wasn’t looking. Not to mention, he also had a pretty suspect sense of personal hygiene. Ugh—those grubby fingernails! Maeve shuddered. On top of that, his obsession with everything military, especially if it involved some obscure historical war that nobody else had heard of, was seriously annoying. Like who knew all the battles of the Peloponnesian Wars? Sam, that’s who. He had a huge laminated map covering one entire wall of his bedroom. He loved sticking little pins in it and pretending that he was a military tactician, mapping out a new battle scheme.

  Maeve had never even heard of some of the countries Sam kept pretending to invade. And she couldn’t see why on earth he’d want to read about WAR all the time. Well, sometimes he liked to read about viruses and other creepy stuff, too. Boys, she thought with exasperation. How could they start out like this and end up so totally cute? Dillon—had he ever been a grubby eight-year-old? Ms. O’Reilly was right, this history business was more complicated than it seemed.

  Of course, Sam’s teachers loved him. He got every answer right on every test without cracking a book, and he seemed like he’d learned how to read in his sleep. Most annoying of all, he was an ace speller. He could spell ANYTHING, even the names of those creepy generals he was obsessed with. Sometimes it was hard to believe that the two of them were even related. He owned exactly two sweatshirts, two pairs of pants—both hideous brown—and exactly one pair of shoes—and those were light-up sneakers. How uncool. He was positively fashion-impaired. As Maeve clambered up the steep staircase that led from the hallway up into their apartment, she scooped up some of her brother’s stuff as she went. There. Another good deed for the day, she congratulated herself. Maybe Sam couldn’t help being a whiz kid and a slob. She vowed to be nicer to him tonight. Maybe she’d even let him read her one of his World War II comic strips. She had to admit some of them were pretty interesting. Except the ones on Hitler. That crazy guy was just too scary for words.

  Maeve heard voices as she approached the landing. Her parents—that was strange, Maeve thought, checking her watch. Why wasn’t her father still downstairs at the cinema? She opened the door into the kitchen, and sure enough, both her mom and dad were there. From the look on their faces she could tell that something was definitely wrong. Her mom was standing over near the fridge, her arms crossed and a frown on her face. Her dad was sitting at the kitchen table, fiddling with a paper clip. Both looked up at Maeve, but then her father looked away. He was obviously uncomfortable.

  “Maeve,” her mother said, with a funny sound in her voice that Maeve had never really heard before. She didn’t sound disappointed or annoyed. Something else was going on. She actually sounded almost—sad. “Where were you this afternoon?”

  “I was—” Maeve stopped short, setting her stuff down. “I went to Montoya’s with my friends. We were talking about our new social studies project,” she added quickly, trying to make it sound more like a study break than just hanging out.

  “You were supposed to go over to work on your math homework with Matt, remember?” her mother asked. “He called here about half an hour ago, wondering where you were.”

  Maeve winced. Oh no! So that was the appointment she’d half-remembered. Matt Kierney had only been her tutor for a few weeks. He went to Boston College and Maeve thought he was great—smart, serious, but really nice.

  “Shoot—I totally forgot!” she cried, smacking her forehead. “I left my planner upstairs. I KNEW there was something on for this afternoon, but I couldn’t remember what it was.”

  Maeve waited for her mom to reprimand her. Usually, her mother got upset about this kind of thing.

  But surprisingly, her mother didn’t seem angry. Instead, she just looked a little worn out. Like her mind was on something else.

  “I’ll call Matt and reschedule,” Maeve volunteered.

  Her mom nodded. The word “reschedule” didn’t even seem to get her attention—and that was definitely not like her. Say the schedule word, and she’d have her gigantic wall calendar out, marking out the days in different colored pens. But not this afternoon. She seemed too preoccupied.

  Maeve decided her parents needed cheering up. Why not lift their spirits by sharing her good news with them?

  “Mom, Dad, you’re not going to believe this,” Maeve said, “but I got nominated today for a community service award for my blanket project!”

  “Maeve—that’s wonderful!” her mother exclaimed, her face brightening.

  Her father jumped up to give her a bear hug—just at the moment that her mother leaned in to embrace her. Both of them pulled back, and her mother’s face turned red.

  Weird, Maeve thought. Definitely weird.

  She dismissed it, though—who knew why parents did what they did?—and proceeded to fill them both in on all the details about the award. They were really eager to hear about it. In fact, Maeve thought they seemed almost TOO eager. They kept asking more and more questions. Who would be at the ceremony? How many kids had been nominated? Finally, Maeve ran out of answers. She hadn’t won yet! Why was everyone jumping to conclusions?

  She tried three separate times to escape to her room—she was dying to check I.M. and see who might be online. But they didn’t seem to want her to leave the kitchen.

  Maeve decided that they were overreacting to her news because this wasn’t exactly an everyday event. Probably, she guessed, her life was a lot more exciting than theirs. Parents, she thought fondly. They really didn’t have much perspective, did they? But she finally had to tear herself away and leave them to their own devices. They were going to have to wait to hear more details about the nomination later—she had to feed her guinea pigs, and she had to be over at Charlotte’s house to help pack Marty up in less than an hour.

  Maeve’s guinea pigs were both female, but Maeve liked giving them romantic names from movies and TV shows, which she changed every time she felt like it. This week they were “Romeo” and “Juliet.” Maeve scooped them up to give them each a kiss. “Hi guinea babies,” she said sweetly, tickling Juliet’s tummy and letting both of them run around her room. They needed some exercise after a whole day trapped in their cage!

  Home sweet home, Maeve thought, looking fondly around her. Maeve’s room was what Katani had labeled a “pink-fest.” Posters covered one half of the wall near her bed, including her latest “shrine to hotness,” with the cutest guys in Hollywood cut out of magazines and taped to the wall. Maeve was a collector, and her shelves were crowded with memorabilia—trophies and ribbons from dance classes all the way back to kindergarten, pictures of her friends, worn and fuzzy stuffed animals, glass figurines…“girly-girl” stuff, as Avery called it. Maeve loved every single bit of her room, even the ruffly pink canopy on her bed.

  Ooops. There was her offending day planner, lying on her dresser where she’d left it. Maeve vowed to keep all her things in one place so she wouldn’t forget an appointment again.

  She flung herself across her bed with her laptop.

  * * *

  Notes to Self:

  BE MORE ORGANIZED, keep day planner with book bag!

  More guinea pig food—we’re almost out. New names for Romeo and Juliet??

  Dress for Friday night. Blue for a change? Or stick with pink, like in my daydream?

  New screenname? Luv2shop05? Thinkpink05?

  Acceptance speech??? Or am I jinxing myself if I write one ahead of time?

  * * *

  The house was quiet when Maeve let herself out an hour later, ready for the Marty transport. Strangely quiet. Her mom and dad were still sitting together at the kitchen table, but neither of them seemed to be saying much to the othe
r.

  They looked glad to see her when Maeve crashed through the kitchen, grabbing a snack from the fridge on the way out.

  Her mom wanted to know when she’d be back and if she had her cell phone. The usual.

  Her father wanted to remind her that she was supposed to help him with the film festival tomorrow. AND help watch Sam.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Maeve said.

  “Oh, and Maeve. Don’t forget about tomorrow evening,” her mother said.

  “I won’t forget,” Maeve assured her. She really didn’t like this. What could possibly need this much buildup?

  “Oh, and you guys, I need to talk to YOU, too,” she added, as she backed out of the kitchen door into the hallway. “I need to find out about your histories—both of you. So start thinking about some good stories about how you grew up and where you both come from, okay? Ms. O’Reilly wants them to be REAL. We’re doing this awesome Heritage Museum, and I need to find stuff that shows who we are as a family. So maybe you could think about how you each grew up and how different it was. Then I can interview you.”

  Her parents exchanged glances, but neither of them spoke. Fine, Maeve thought, as she bounded out the door. Don’t all jump at once to help me with my project!

  Something was definitely up, but they didn’t seem to be mad at HER.

  Maybe we’re MOVING, Maeve thought excitedly. Her parents might have found a wonderful house right near where they were living now. One with huge closets and tons of space and a nice gigantic new bedroom for Maeve. Now we are talking, thought Maeve.

  But no matter what was brewing, Maeve hoped for the best. She was the kind of girl who, given the chance, always believed that the glass was half full, and not half empty. Lemonade out of lemons—that was her motto.