by Annie Bryant
Well, guess what? Morning had come, and still no Beckham. Even worse, Hamm was looking kind of glum. She seemed to sense that her buddy was free and she was still trapped in this cage. “Don’t YOU get out, too,” Avery scolded her, but then she felt so guilty that she gave her some extra guinea pig food. Having guinea pigs was a lot more complicated than she’d imagined.
Now what was she supposed to tell Maeve? That she’d been so irresponsible that one of her little guys was loose somewhere in Avery’s house?
“Um—Maeve—I am SO LATE for soccer,” Avery gasped, and before Maeve could say anything else, she’d jumped on her skateboard and taken off.
Weird, Maeve thought, staring after her with a confused look on her face. And she’d been about to give Avery an important warning about Ben, the bigger of her two guinea pigs. She wanted to let Avery know that Ben was an unbelievable escape artist, and that Avery should guard the door if she let Ben out of the cage…even for a second. Once Ben had gotten loose and Maeve hadn’t been able to find her for almost a week.
Oh well, Maeve thought. Avery must know what she was doing. Anyway, Dillon was heading over…she better get out of here before he said something about Friday in front of her friends.
“Hey,” Dillon said, falling into step beside her. “You still psyched for Friday night?”
Maeve gulped. “Uh—yeah. Yes. I mean, I am,” she said, the words stumbling out in a rush.
Dillon started filling her in on one of the Celtics’ forwards. He was still injured and it wasn’t clear if he could play or not. “It should be a great game,” Dillon said. He glanced at her. “Maeve, I really feel bad about you having to walk over to my house. Why won’t you let my dad and me pick you up at your place? We can be there around six. It’s right on our way,” he added.
“NO!” Maeve said. It came out much more emphatically than she’d meant it to and she turned red. “I mean, that is SO sweet of you,” she said, struggling to think of a good reason why Dillon shouldn’t come and get her.
How’s this, she thought. My dad is supposed to be coming over to pick up Sam and me right around six o’clock. How am I going to explain it to him if Dillon and his dad show up at the same time? Especially since I’m supposed to be on my way over to my friends’ house for a celebration dinner in my honor?
“But you know…I’m going to be out anyway…right near your house,” she said weakly. “Seriously. Just—don’t worry about it.”
She barely gave Dillon a chance to answer. Just a quick wave and she dashed off, furious with herself for having gotten into this mess in the first place.
Why hadn’t she just asked her parents? Why had she let everything get so ridiculously complicated for no good reason?
After school, Avery hunted absolutely everywhere for Beckham, but there was no sign of her.
“This is hopeless,” she told herself, shaking her head.
Her mom called upstairs to her. “Avery! Dinner’s going to be ready in twenty minutes. It’s just you and me tonight—Scott’s at Chess Club.”
“Okay,” Avery hollered back.
She looked out the window, a frown on her face. What could be worse? Beckham was probably lost forever. And on top of that, she still had her Heritage Museum report to work on tonight.
Avery’s eye fell on the carriage house across the garden. Could Beckham have gotten out somehow? Suppose she’d gotten outside…suppose Carla had opened the door and she ran out into the garden.
She sure hoped not. But on a whim, Avery decided to go out and search. And she’d better do it now, before the light faded.
No sign of Beckham in the garden. Avery used a flashlight to shine in and around all of the bushes, but no luck. And no sign of her in the carriage house, either. Avery looked behind the trash cans, the coils of garden hose…everywhere she could think of. She even climbed up the ladder to shine her flashlight around in the loft. But it was hopeless. No Beckham.
She was about to shimmy back down the ladder when her flashlight fell on a box against the far wall marked “AVERY” It was next to a bunch of other boxes, right near the one marked Talbot Academy. Avery was surprised that she hadn’t seen it the last time she was up here, helping her mother look for her old yearbooks.
She still had a few minutes before dinner. Avery couldn’t help herself. She had to check out the box and see what was inside.
The box smelled faintly damp, but everything inside was carefully wrapped in plastic. It seemed to be mostly manila file folders—tons and tons of paperwork. Avery was about to close the lid when she saw something colorful in the bottom of the box. Also wrapped in plastic, it looked like a quilt—but the fabrics didn’t look like quilting fabrics. They actually looked Korean.
In fact, as Avery started to rifle through the folders, it became clear that this whole box was filled with material having to do with her adoption. Papers from the adoption agency in Seoul, Korea. Papers from an agency in New York. Document after document, a huge fat file called “Home Study 1990–1991.” A map of Korea. Several books on adoption. Avery kept rifling through the box, hoping to find…
What?
She wasn’t sure. Something. A photograph? A tape? Some sort of evidence of the place that she’d come from. But all she could find was paperwork. It all looked pretty boring. The only other thing was the cloth that looked like a quilt, but wasn’t.
Avery carefully lifted the cloth, still in its plastic cocoon, and brought it back down the ladder with her. She’d go and ask her mother about it—Avery was sure she’d know what it was.
“Mom, what’s this?” Avery asked, coming into the kitchen a few minutes later and handing the cloth to her mother.
An expression of recognition came over her face, and then pleasure. “Where did you find this?” she asked, looking delighted. “I’ve been looking all over for it, but I couldn’t remember where I put it.”
“In a box up in the loft,” Avery said.
“The loft…” her mother still looked puzzled.
Avery thought fast. She didn’t want to tell her mother that Beckham was lost. “I’m doing this Heritage Museum project for school,” she said, “and remember, when I was up there helping you look for yearbooks, I thought there might be some cool stuff I could find to bring in. And I found this box up there with my name on it.”
“So THAT’S where I put it. I’m so glad you found it. I thought I had put it with your baby clothes,” her mother exclaimed.
“What is it?” Avery demanded, getting more and more curious.
“It’s a bojagi. A carrying cloth,” her mother said, carefully taking out the cloth and turning it over and over in her hands. “Avery, when we adopted you, the agency gave this to us. It came from your birth mother. It’s a traditional cloth from Korea, used to carry things…See, you fold it up, and the things you carry—well, they give the cloth its shape.”
Avery took the cloth back, staring at it. “So this came with me?” she asked wonderingly.
Her mother nodded. “I wanted you to have it for your thirteenth birthday. But you know,” she said, leaning over to give Avery a hug, “I’m actually glad that you found it yourself. Somehow that seems even more fitting. Now, there’s something else I want you to have. I wrote a letter to you on the first night you joined our family. I think maybe this would be the right time for you to read it.”
Avery’s mother left the room and came back a minute later with a small baby pillow, which she handed to Avery. There was a note sticking out of a pocket in the pillow. Avery opened the note, which smelled a bit like sweet lemonade, and read:
My dearest baby girl:
To finally have you in my arms is a joy that is beyond my ability to describe. What does one say when someone puts a daughter in your arms for the first time? Does one whisper in her daughter’s ear that she is loved as much as the tallest mountain? Does one wish for all the happiness in the world for her precious little girl? Does a mother tell her daughter that she will always be her da
ughter and always have arms to hold her? Does her mother shout that her girl is the most wonderful, beautiful little girl in the world? Yes, my dearest little Avery Koh Madden, your mother does all of that. And she says softly, welcome to my heart, little one. You will always have a safe haven with me.
Love forever and a universe,
Your mother,
Elizabeth Madden
(I hope you like pink, but it’s just fine if you don’t. I want you to be whoever you want to be. Always remember that.)
When she finished, Avery looked up and her mother held open her arms. Wordlessly, Avery moved toward her. Mother and daughter held on to each other for several quiet minutes.
Later in her bedroom, Avery traced the pattern on the bojagi with her finger. She had grown up so comfortable with the idea of being adopted that she often didn’t think about it. And then, at moments like this, it flew out at her. How she had two worlds that she belonged to, one that she knew so well, and one that lay in her past. She and her dad had talked for years about going to Korea together one day. Avery really wanted to do that. Looking at this cloth, Avery felt a sudden, intense longing to learn more about her background. Her mother was right. It was important that Avery had found this herself. She knew that this was a definite choice to show the class for her part of the Heritage Museum. But first, she needed to do some research.
Avery’s Blog
My Top Five Ever Most Annoying Questions and Comments About Being Adopted:
Who are your REAL parents? Are they Korean?
Answer: My real parents are the people who’ve loved me and raised me since I was four months old. Elizabeth and Jake Madden, aka Mom and Dad. And they hate this question too. They happen to be divorced but they still love me like crazy. If you want to know about my BIRTH parents, well, I don’t know who they are. Maybe one day I’ll find out, but for now it’s enough that I know that they lived in a village outside of Seoul and that they needed to give me up for adoption.
You’re such a lucky girl!
Answer: I guess I am, but not for the reasons that you think. The way you say that sounds INSULTING. (My parents say that THEY’RE the lucky ones. I think we’re lucky to have each other. Period.)
Where are you from?
Answer: Brookline, Massachusetts. (This always gets stares. Not the answer that they want.)
Where are you REALLY from? Brookline, Massachusetts. But my dad lives in Aspen, Colorado. (I know, I know. But I’m not going to give in and tell them I’m REALLY from Korea.’ Cause the truth is, I AM from here. I’ve lived here almost thirteen years. Pretty much my entire life, minus the first four months.)
Oooh…you’re so good at (fill in the blank—soccer, math, whatever). Do you think maybe that’s genetic? Answer: I haven’t figured this one out. What I’d LIKE to say is: “Do you think rude questions are genetic?” But I don’t.
Here’s what people DON’T ask and what I can’t answer, either. How is being adopted important? Or different? Is it a part of what makes me AVERY? I don’t know the answer to this. I just don’t. But sometimes I really wish I did.
That night Avery slept with the bojagi spread out on the pillow beside her. It was beautiful. She loved tracing the patterns on the cloth with her fingers. And just before she fell asleep, an amazing feeling of calm came over her. And a phrase floated into her head, a phrase her mother had used.
The shape of what it carries.
She wasn’t sure why that phrase was so soothing, but saying it over and over to herself, she fell into a deep, restful sleep.
CHAPTER 17
Bad Move
A very was trying to explain what a bojagi was at lunch on Friday. “Just picture a quilt, but smaller. Mine, well, it’s really beautiful,” Avery said. “It’s unique. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
Katani, who loved fabric of every kind, couldn’t wait to see it. “I like the idea of carrying things in a cloth,” she said. She looked with interest at Avery. “You know, this may be the first time I’ve heard you use the word ’beautiful’ to describe something other than a soccer play, Avery Madden.”
Avery laughed. “I’m not THAT blind to culture, Katani. It’s just—” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I think I can really connect to this, partly because of where it comes from. I guess I just like this Heritage Project more than I thought I would.”
“Me, too,” Katani admitted. “I’m doing my research on schools—I got the idea from my grandmother. And you know what I found out? There was a school for African Americans that started in Boston in 1835!”
“Wow,” Avery said admiringly. The two of them started trading research tips, and soon Charlotte joined in on the comparative strengths of using the library versus the Internet.
Maeve was distracted, but her friends gave each other knowing glances. They were all certain it was because tonight was the night—her first time spending the night at her dad’s.
“Don’t worry, Maeve,” Isabel said, leaning over and giving her arm a squeeze. “I bet it’ll go better than you think it will.”
Maeve sat up straight, looking completely embarrassed. How did Isabel guess what she was thinking? Two completely different scenes were running through her mind. In one, she and Dillon were sitting arm in arm, watching the Celtics. Of course, in Maeve’s imagination, the Fleet Center was all soft-focus and dimly lit…more like Lincoln Center than a sweaty basketball court…and Dillon was leaning in to kiss her…
Yikes. In the other scenario, Maeve saw herself cowering against Dillon, with an angry stampede of people stomping up to them, demanding to know what she was doing here. Her mom. Her dad. Sam. All three of them stomping up on one side, shouting at her. And on the other side her four best friends…She could just hear them yelling. “You didn’t tell us your parents were splitting up! Now you go out with Dillon and you don’t tell us what’s going on, AGAIN—”
“Maeve,” Katani said, turning to inspect her tray. “You haven’t eaten your Tuna Surprise.” The affection and humor in her voice were mixed with a trace of concern. “Are you Okay?”
Maeve nodded. “Just…fine,” she said.
The girls went back to chattering about the plans for the weekend, and the sleepover that night at Charlotte’s and what movie to rent. And the dinner party the next night at Avery’s.
“I guess I’ll see you guys tomorrow night,” Maeve said, trying to sound casual as she picked up her tray.
Everyone wished her luck on her first weekend at her dad’s, and Maeve felt that familiar twinge of guilt again. Her friends were the best. She felt like she didn’t deserve them. But maybe she’d be lucky and this whole thing would work out Okay and she would never get something so mixed-up again…ever.
Getting ready for their first weekend away at Dad’s was harder than Maeve expected—harder logistically, and harder emotionally. Her mom was there to help them pack, and Maeve could tell that it wasn’t exactly easy for her, either. Much as Mom was trying to be upbeat, Maeve could see that her eyes kept getting watery.
Sam was taking it pretty hard. He packed and unpacked his camouflage duffel about fifteen times. He had to have just the right toothpaste—this gross blue goop with glitter in it. And his favorite blue blanket, which was worn to bits and looked like a giant fleece rag. Then came Sam’s most precious possession—and his deepest, darkest secret. He had a rubber action toy that he called “Captain Mike,” which he slept with every night. And he had to pack Mike along with his blanket and his two pair of grubby corduroy pants, his whole wardrobe, as far as Maeve could tell.
“Sam, quit repacking! You’re going to lose something,” she told him after he’d checked and rechecked the contents of his bag for the tenth time.
Maeve herself was in quite a state. On the one hand, she had to pack for the weekend herself. It was harder than she’d imagined, figuring out everything she needed to take with her. Homework…day planner…hair dryer…laptop…two of her latest magazines…and then on top of that, what t
o wear? She had this dinner tomorrow night at Avery’s. That meant something kind of dressy. Her pajamas…something comfy to hang out at Dad’s…and what if she went out with her friends on Sunday?
“Maeve, you can’t bring all that,” Sam gasped. “It’s gonna fill up Dad’s whole apartment!”
Maeve glared at him. Right now she didn’t want to remember that she had to share a room with Sam this whole weekend. She stuffed in her two favorite hairbrushes and her shampoo bag—Maeve was a shampoo fanatic—and stood back, trying to think what she might have forgotten.
Of course in the midst of all of this, she was supposed to be getting ready to go out with Dillon. Try doing THAT with a nosy little brother getting in your way.
“Why do you have to wear PERFUME,” he grumbled, “if you’re just going to a dumb old dinner with your friends?”
Maeve was trying to brush perfume into her hair the way she’d read in the “How to Stay on His Mind” column in Seventeen magazine. She tried to ignore Sam and keep her eye on her watch.
It was almost five. She stuffed another sweater into her duffel and lugged it into the hallway. “Sam, be sure Dad picks this up when he gets you, okay? I need all of this stuff for the weekend.”
Sam was looking forlornly at his room, which looked a little empty without his blanket and Captain Mike.
Maeve stooped down and gave him a hug. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered to Sam and herself. “Honest, Sam. It won’t be that bad.”
Maeve felt a sudden rush of tenderness for her younger brother. How do you explain to an eight-year-old that moving back and forth from one house to another probably gets easier with time?
“I don’t think…” Sam whispered, his voice breaking a little, “that Captain Mike is going to like this. He’d rather just stay here.”
Maeve hugged him harder. “As long as he’s with you, he’s going to be fine,” she told him firmly.
