Lake Rescue

by Annie Bryant

  “Isabel, is that you crying?” Katani asked. “What’s the matter?”

  “Oh, I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.” Isabel sat up and rubbed her eyes with a tissue.

  “Is your mother worse?” asked Maeve.

  “Oh, no, in fact, she’s much better. Moving here, working with the new doctors has helped her so much. I—I—”

  “You can tell us, Isabel.” Charlotte moved around and put her arm around Isabel’s shoulder. “We’ll try to help if we can.”

  “It’s my cartoon.”

  “Your cartoon? The one you drew for this week’s newspaper?” Charlotte asked. “You said you turned it in.”

  “I did. That’s the problem. I didn’t mean anything by it. It was before—before—”

  “Before what?” Avery was fully awake now and a little impatient.

  “My cartoon was about the camping trip. And I–well, I drew a fat bear sneaking up on people sitting at the campfire. It was before. I drew it before we saw Chelsea today. But she won’t know that. What if she, what if she thinks she’s the fat bear? That I was making fun of her?”

  “Maybe she won’t even notice,” Maeve said. “How could she think the bear was her anyway?”

  “Don’t you remember?” Avery asked. “Dillon said, ‘Look, it’s a bear.’ You know, when she was trying to get into that fleece coat. I’m sure she heard him say that.”

  “Oh, yeah. Dillon.” Maeve frowned. She wasn’t happy with the way he spoke about Chelsea. She thought it was so mean to make fun of someone like that.

  “I know what, Isabel.” Katani had an idea. “I really don’t know when the newspaper is printed. But maybe not till morning. I’ll talk to my grandmother first thing when I get home. I have to go home really early to stay with Kelley. I’ll tell her to pull the cartoon. Run something else about the trip. A map or something.”

  “Do you think she could?” Isabel stopped crying and sniffed hopefully.

  “I’ll tell her it’s really important, an emergency. I know she’ll try. Stop worrying, and let’s all of us go to sleep or I’ll never get up at all.”

  Charlotte lay awake thinking for a little while. The camping trip was supposed to help them all to get along and learn to work together. The Beacon Street Girls had done that on their own. After those first days of school when they had practically hated each other, they had become the type of close-knit friends that would do anything for each other. They were like the five Musketeers, Charlotte felt. One girl’s problem was every girl’s problem.

  All of a sudden, Charlotte’s eyes popped open. She realized that she hadn’t written to Sophie, her best friend in Paris, for some time. Things had been so busy. She didn’t want Sophie to think she had been forgotten. She hoped that Sophie understood that Charlotte missed her. Sometimes it was hard to keep in touch, but she and Sophie were true friends…they were always able to pick up right where they had left off.

  CHAPTER 7

  Major Faux Pas

  Chelsea Briggs hurried down the hall, her tote bag full of photos to show Mrs. Fields. She hoped she hadn’t picked out too many. She realized the principal didn’t have all day to sit looking at the Chelsea Briggs personal photography collection. Even though she said she wanted to see some samples, Mrs. Fields might have just been being nice.

  Passing The Sentinel office, she grabbed a newspaper from the stack outside the door, tucked it under her arm, juggled her books and the bag of photos, and ducked into the office.

  “Hi, Chelsea,” Ms. Sahni said. “Looking forward to the camping trip?”

  Why did everybody think that going to the woods of New Hampshire to make giant fools of themselves playing Survivor was the biggest event of the year?

  “Not really. I’m not much of a camper. Mrs. Fields here?”

  “Yes, I’ll ask if she can see you.” Ms. Sahni smiled and nodded toward a chair. Chelsea was afraid if she sat down and got up again quickly, she’d spill everything. So she just stood there…feeling like a coat stand.

  In less than a minute, Ruby Fields came out of her office. She smiled as if she’d been waiting to see Chelsea all day. “You look like you could use some help here.” She offered to take one of Chelsea’s bags.

  “I brought some samples of my photos like you asked me to do. It’s too many, but you can just glance at them.”

  “Oh, I’m eager to see them. I’m glad you remembered.” Mrs. Fields led Chelsea back into her office and closed the door. She motioned to a chair, and while Chelsea got settled, she opened the manila envelope.

  When Chelsea saw Mrs. Fields was actually going to take each one out and look at it carefully, she relaxed, but still felt nervous. So, she pulled The Sentinel from under her arm and opened it to the seventh-grade page. She looked forward to Charlotte Ramsey’s feature article, but should she save it for last or read it first? She did neither.

  A wave of heat started at her toes and flashed straight up her body. Fire singed her heart, sent it thumping, and kept going, making her feel faint.

  “Oh!” She managed a sound between a squeal and a gasp. Tears rolled down her cheeks faster than she could brush them away.

  “Why, Chelsea, what’s the matter? Are you all right?”

  All Chelsea could do was shake her head and turn a bright shade of red.

  Mrs. Fields handed her a tissue and waited.

  Finally, Chelsea handed Mrs. Fields the wadded, damp page of the paper and pointed to the cartoon.

  Mrs. Fields studied it for a couple of seconds. “Isabel Martinez is such a good artist. And I think she captured the major thing everyone is worried about at camp. Bears. Don’t worry, Chelsea, there hasn’t been a bear sighting at Lake Rescue in a very long time. The rangers work very hard at keeping the bears away from camp.”

  “No, that’s not a bear, that’s me!” Chelsea’s sudden anger helped her stop crying. “How could she do that to me? Why?”

  Mrs. Fields laid the cartoon between them. Isabel had drawn a cute, chubby bear sneaking up on the campfire, where a bunch of kids sat listening to a ghost story. She had made it seem that the bear wanted to hear the story, too.

  Ruby Fields studied Chelsea. “Chelsea, why would you think this bear is supposed to be you?”

  “Friday. Friday at the sporting goods store…” Chelsea filled Mrs. Fields in on the incident.

  “I guess I can see how you might assume that, Chelsea. But let’s not jump to conclusions here. I can’t imagine that Isabel Martinez would ever deliberately do anything to hurt you. But if it will make you feel any better, I’ll talk to her. It’s too late to do anything right now. All the copies have been handed out.”

  That was what Chelsea was afraid of. And by now, they all would have heard the “coat” story and Dillon’s remark. Suddenly, Chelsea hated Dillon Johnson. Why did he have to make a joke like that?

  Mrs. Fields could see that Chelsea was growing more upset. She handed her another tissue and said, “Chelsea, let’s change the subject for a minute. You have a real talent for capturing the essence of a person on film. I’m going to ask Ms. Weston to let you be the official photographer for the camping trip. I can’t think of anyone who’d do a better job. We’ll certainly pay for developing the pictures.”

  Chelsea struggled to pull herself together. She didn’t want Mrs. Fields to think she was a complete loser. But this was hard. All those kids thinking she was the fat bear in the cartoon. She’d have to put on her Teflon coat, the one that made her immune to insults.

  With her best “I can roll with the punches” smile, she said, “I’d really like that, Mrs. Fields.” Just saying it made Chelsea feel more in control. Whatever happened she knew she could take some great pictures at Lake Rescue. It made her heart grow just a little lighter.

  And taking photos will give me an excuse not to always do the activities, she added to herself. No one would ever believe that a person her size could hide behind a camera, but most of the time she could, and did.

  “Oka
y, we’ll talk more before you leave.” Mrs. Fields gathered up Chelsea’s photos and placed them carefully back in the manila envelope and then into her tote bag.

  As soon as Chelsea was gone, Mrs. Fields sent a runner to get Isabel Martinez out of class, then asked her assistant to get her Mrs. Briggs’ phone number. When she next looked up from her work, not only Isabel, but her granddaughter, Katani, stood before her, looking sheepish.

  “I can tell by looking at you that you understand why I wanted to talk to you, Isabel. Why are you here, Katani?”

  “I was supposed to talk to you first thing Saturday morning, but I forgot.”

  “Okay, let’s hear the story. It seems you already know I’m not pleased. Ridiculing another student will not be tolerated at Abigail Adams. You both know that.”

  “I didn’t mean any harm, Mrs. Fields, honest I didn’t,” Isabel said. She started to cry. “I drew the cartoon and turned it in at the end of the day on Friday. Before we even went to the store. Before Dillon Johnson saw Chelsea Briggs trying on that brown fleece coat and called her a bear. He was making a joke, but it really wasn’t funny. None of us laughed.”

  “At our sleepover,” Katani picked up the story, “Isabel realized that her cartoon might hurt Chelsea’s feelings. I told her I’d talk to you you first thing Saturday morning and see if the newspaper had gone to print. It’s my fault. I forgot. I’m just so sorry. Isabel would never make fun of anyone.”

  Ruby Fields sighed. “I know that, Isabel. I just had to make sure. The whole thing was an unfortunate coincidence. But still, someone’s feelings were hurt. Maybe only a few people will know what happened at the store. It’s actually a very cute and imaginative cartoon. I love the idea of the bear not being scary at all, just wanting to hear the end of the story.” Mrs. Fields looked at the cartoon again. “Someone sends The Sentinel to the printer right after school on Friday. Even if you had reached me on Saturday, I don’t think I could have pulled the drawing.”

  “What can I do, Mrs. Fields?” Isabel asked. “I could give up cartooning, but I love it so much.”

  A hint of a smile betrayed Mrs. Fields’ amusement at Isabel’s dramatic declaration.

  “Oh, Isabel, that should never be an option. You have a talent and you must nurture that. It’s part of who you are. But cartoonists, just like writers, have a responsibility not to offend anyone. To be sensitive to feelings. The best cartoonists make fun of themselves. Do you ever read Cathy?”

  “Not really.”

  “Study how she makes fun of herself, her weight, her diets, her bad habits, which are similar to everyone’s bad habits. Recently she has made fun of how hard it is to get married without leaving anyone out of the planning, then move in with someone, even your new husband, and mix all your things together, as well as your dogs. She makes us laugh at ourselves. Heaven help us if we ever stop laughing at ourselves.”

  “Well, I’d like Chelsea to know I wasn’t making fun of her. All anyone can talk about is how many bears we’re going to run into at Lake Rescue. I was making fun of that. How could we be afraid of a baby bear who just wants to hear the campfire story? I should have just stuck to my birds.” Isabel sighed heavily.

  “The best way to clear up any misunderstanding, Isabel, is by being honest. Find Chelsea and tell her the entire story.”

  “I don’t really know Chelsea,” Isabel said, looking down at her hands.

  “Me neither,” Katani looked at her grandmother, hoping that Mrs. Fields wouldn’t make them go find Chelsea and apologize to her. That would be so embarrassing.

  Mrs Fields knew that getting seventh graders to step out of their comfort zone was always a challenge.

  “Well, I think you both might find a way just to let Chelsea know that you feel bad about what happened. I know you girls will find a way that isn’t ‘weird.’ Sometimes people who are sensitive take offense when none is meant…even when something is meant as a harmless joke.”

  “I tease Avery about being short every chance I get.” Katani smoothed out the cartoon and folded the newspaper. “And she teases me about not being able to play basketball. And we all tease Charlotte about being a klutz all the time.”

  “But you knew Charlotte before you could tease her, didn’t you? And she knew that you were her friend.”

  Katani nodded. “Yeah. Believe me, it wasn’t funny at first. I remember how mad I was when she ruined my new blouse, my best creation.” Katani rolled a pencil back and forth across her grandmother’s desk. “Grandma Ruby, we don’t have to become best friends with Chelsea, do we? You’re not asking us to do that?”

  “Of course not. Being best friends just happens. She might not even want to be friends with you. But I’ll bet Chelsea wouldn’t mind a little friendly conversation when you all are at Lake Rescue. Do you think you girls can manage that?”

  “We can, Mrs. Fields.” Isabel smiled, relieved that she didn’t all of a sudden have to become best friends with someone she hardly knew.

  “I also promise that I will show my cartoon ahead of the printing from now on, too. Oh, but I did that. Jennifer loved it.”

  “Okay.”

  Suddenly, Mrs. Fields frowned and took a better look at the way the girls were dressed. “You’re trying to stay out of PE as long as possible, aren’t you? I think you can just make it back if you hurry,” she said to her granddaughter and Isabel.

  After they shut the door, Mrs. Fields sighed and picked up the phone.

  “Mrs. Briggs? It’s Ruby Fields at the junior high. Chelsea’s fine. I just wanted to let you know about a little incident that has left Chelsea feeling a bit vulnerable.”

  Pajama Plans

  “Whew.” Katani grinned. “That wasn’t as bad as it could have been, and I think we just missed gym. Can you come over to my house after school? Mom said she’d take us to Fabric World. We can get a pajama pattern and the striped flannel for our pjs. If you stay for supper, maybe we can get them cut out. Then we’ll split the sewing job.”

  “I know one thing,” Isabel said. “Charlotte, Avery, and Maeve owe us some serious time in return. Should we try to teach them to sew?”

  “Teach Avery to sew?” Katani laughed. “I’d rather make her six pairs of pajamas.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Frenemies and Jailbirds

  Isabel Martinez found me right after gym class. Why is gym a required class anyway? Or at least I think you should be able to decide what you want to do in gym. I would jump on a trampoline.

  Isabel was all choked up when she came to talk to me. “Chelsea,” she said. “I’m really sorry about the cartoon. I did the cartoon earlier in the day and had already turned it in just before school was out. It didn’t have anything to do with what happened at the store…honest.”

  I could tell that Isabel was telling the truth, but I really hate when people feel sorry for me. I found myself trying to make her feel better about the whole mess. I told her after I looked at the cartoon again, I thought it was brilliant. I used that very word, brilliant. I don’t know why I said brilliant. I mean the cartoon was cute and all but both Isabel and I knew it wasn’t brilliant. She looked at me kind of weird when I said it.

  Then she just stood there looking at me. What the heck was I supposed to do…make her feel better? Then I did something I never do. I reached out and hugged her. She hugged back. “It’s okay, Isabel. I think I can bear the joke.”

  Isabel actually laughed. “You’re funny, Chelsea.”

  I smiled at her, she smiled at me, blah, blah, then both of us started laughing ‘cause we both knew that the whole thing was getting ridiculous. Then she turned, gave me a thumbs up, and headed back to class. She had paint on the back of her shirt. I like that in a person.

  If Isabel likes art, maybe she’d like photography. Photographers and cartoonists are both artists.

  I have tried to get out of going to camp, but everyone says it will be good for me. Why do all adults think they know exactly what is good for a twelve-year-old? C
amp will be like having PE all day, every day, for days on end with bears. I wonder if I can get sick between now and the day we leave? No, the photos. Don’t forget the photos, Chelsea. Oh yeah. A job. I’ll just think of it as another job.

  If I’m assigned a cabin with Isabel and Charlotte, that might be all right. But with my luck, I’ll have to bunk with the Queens of Mean, Anna and Joline…or worse, Kiki Underwood. They’ll think of some nickname—I’ve heard them all—to call me. Like Tweedle Dee or Tweedle Dum. Hey, what if we have to do something like three-legged races and I’m paired with Joline, and I trip and fall on her? I’ll say, “Oh, excuse me, Ms. Perfect, with the size 1 heart, did I hurt you? Well, excuuuse me.”

  “Chelsea, are you still awake?” Chelsea’s mother was standing at her door. “Honey, you need to get your beauty sleep. I’m sorry I’m late tonight, but I had a really important client on the line.”

  “Did you close your deal?” Chelsea put her journal in her desk drawer, locked it, and put the key back on the chain around her neck. Her mom worked really hard.

  “I sure did. We can afford a great vacation this summer. Start thinking about where you want to go. Hey, let’s you and me go to one of those beauty spas where they help you lose some weight, pamper you with massages and salt rubs and seaweed packs—”

  “I’d rather go to Disney World.”

  “But we could be miserable together and come home two sizes, maybe three sizes smaller. We’d have to buy all new clothes and—”

  “Good night, Mom.” Chelsea hugged her mother, got in bed, and turned over, as if to go to sleep.

  Her mother took the hint, left Chelsea’s room, and turned off the light as she left.

  That left Chelsea to lie in bed and think, a very bad late night habit she had developed lately. She knew her mother loved her to pieces and would do anything for her. But she just wished her mom would lay off the weight thing. Her mom was obsessed that Chelsea would get diabetes like her grandfather. And maybe she was embarrassed that Chelsea was fat. No, that didn’t make sense, Chelsea reasoned. Her mom was kind of fat too. Then Chelsea almost jumped out of bed. She had almost, almost let herself forget Henry Yurt’s terrible idea. Pajama Day. Coming up on Friday. Chelsea sighed.