by Belle Payton
When Ava walked into the kitchen, her dad and Tommy were emptying the dishwasher, engaged in a heated discussion.
“Dad, I told you. I’ll just be five minutes late, twice a week,” said Tommy. His cheeks had two pink spots on them.
Coach’s mouth was set in a grim line, and he clanked the plates louder than was necessary.
Mrs. Sackett was on the phone. Alex stood nearby, jumping from one foot to the other, waiting for her mother to get off.
No one acknowledged that Ava was home.
Mrs. Sackett hung up. “That was the Ashland Times,” she said. “Again. They’re running a huge story on you tomorrow, Michael. And they were asking me some very personal questions about our family life. I told them now wasn’t a good time because we’re about to eat dinner, and they said they’d call back in fifteen minutes.”
Ava cleared her throat. “Mom? Dad?” she said in a low voice. “I wanted to tell you about these two quizzes? In my English class?”
“Mom, I’m sorry about the short notice, but I absolutely have to wear something orange tomorrow because it’s the first Spirit Week of the year, and I just noticed two missing buttons on my new shirt and—”
“Give me a second, please, Alex, to talk to your father,” said Mrs. Sackett.
“I can’t give preferential treatment to my own kid. You know that, Tom,” said Coach, who was now placing the silverware into its drawer with considerable force. “You’re going to have to make some tough choices here.”
Ava set down her backpack. Moxy trotted over to be petted. Her wagging tail banged the metallic garbage can and added a repetitive tympanic boom to the conversation in progress.
Ava tried again. “And I thought maybe you guys could talk to—”
Moxy perked up her ears, barked sharply twice, and then bolted into the living room to look at something outside.
“Fifteen minutes, the reporter said. Like that’s how long he’s giving us to eat dinner,” Mrs. Sackett continued.
“Where am I going to find two orange buttons?” wailed Alex.
“You’re my son, Tommy. I have to be harder, not easier, on you,” said Coach.
“Mom,” Tommy said, craning his neck to peek into the living room. “It looks like Moxy threw up on the carpet.”
Ava slipped quietly out of the kitchen.
The next morning Alex got up early to join her mother on her morning walk with Moxy. She loved doing this once in a while—she had always been the earliest riser of the three kids, and she loved the alone time with her mom.
“So is everything going well at school?” Mrs. Sackett asked as they set off down the block. The air was delightfully cool, and the sun had not quite risen in the eastern sky.
“English is pretty boring,” said Alex. “I mean, the work part. I like the kids in my class. Especially—” She stopped. She’d almost said, Especially Corey. But maybe she was getting too old to share stuff like this with her mom.
Her mom glanced at her sideways but kept silent. Moxy spotted a small dog on a leash across the street and strained to get closer to it. “Heel, Moxy,” said Mrs. Sackett, gently tugging the dog back toward the sidewalk.
But Alex wanted to tell her mom about Corey. “Okay, so there’s this guy I like,” she blurted out. “His name’s Corey.”
And then she shared everything. About how Corey had asked her out. And how she knew there was this other girl who liked him too, and she really wanted to be friends with that other girl, but she thought it would cause problems if she, Alex, went out with Corey. And how she had no clue what to do.
Her mom listened and nodded, looking thoughtful. “I think you should follow what your heart tells you, hon,” she said when Alex finished. “You’re wiser than you might think you are.”
“What if I have no idea what my heart is telling me?” asked Alex. “I really like Corey, but I really want to be part of Lindsey’s group. I’m completely torn!”
Mrs. Sackett smiled sympathetically. “I can tell you that in my experience, friends usually last longer than crushes do. If this girl is really someone you value as a potential friend, maybe you should follow your instincts, and hold off on rushing into something with Corey.”
Alex nodded. Her mom was always so comforting. She put her arm through her mom’s and gave her a squeeze. “Thanks, Mom,” she said. “I think that’s what I’ll do.”
When they returned from the walk, they found Coach reading the article about himself in the Ashland Times with a queasy expression on his face. The article wasn’t on the front page of the sports section—it was on the front page of the paper.
“Laur,” he said, looking up at Mrs. Sackett over his half-glasses. “Was it necessary to tell them I like to bake?”
Mrs. Sackett laughed, and then hung Moxy’s leash on the hook. “You do like to bake, dear. It seemed like a harmless detail. All the other questions felt too personal. I passed on most.”
Coach read from the article. “ ‘Coach Sackett’s pie crust was legendary back at the Three-County Fair in their former Massachusetts town. His cherry pie won honorable mention two years in a row.’ ”
“Well, it did!” said Mrs. Sackett. She moved to the sink and filled Moxy’s water bowl. “I was flustered,” she said, turning around and smiling sheepishly. “The reporter was asking me so many questions, and I was in the middle of about three things and I think I started rambling. I’m really sorry, hon!”
Coach smiled back at her, but when he flipped through several more pages of the paper to where the article continued, he groaned loudly. “Laur! You sent them this picture of me having a tea party with the girls?”
Alex looked over his shoulder. “It’s a really sweet picture, Daddy,” she said, trying to make it okay, even though she knew it wasn’t. “We were only four, right? You look so cute, sitting in that tiny chair with your long legs and holding that little teacup in your two fingers.”
Her father glared at her.
She shut her mouth.
“Michael. I know you’re trying to come off as a strong, tough leader to the town in the days leading up to your first home game.” Mrs. Sackett plunked Moxy’s bowl down, sloshing water onto the floor. When she stood up, Alex could see that her eyes were bright and she looked honestly upset that she’d messed up. “The reporter seemed to want me to talk about personal stuff, and these things seemed harmless at the time—I just kind of blathered on without thinking. I’m sorry! You see? I don’t think I’m cut out for this.” She left the kitchen.
Alex was at a loss for words, which was rare for her. She moved to the coffee machine and filled her father’s cup back up, and then set the pot gently back on the burner. He didn’t even seem to notice.
In homeroom Mr. Kenerson told Alex to report to the office.
Alex gulped. Was she in trouble? She never got called to the office.
Mr. Kenerson’s face was impossible to read. What was the word she’d learned the other day? Inscrutable. That was it. His face was inscrutable.
She picked up her books and left, feeling everyone’s curious eyes on her. As she hurried down the empty hall, her heart thudded. What had she done? Was something wrong? Had something happened to her family?
The first person she saw when she walked into the outer office was Ava. She was sitting by herself, wearing a blue football jersey in accidental defiance of Spirit Week—Tuesday was the day to wear orange. Ava looked perplexed but not scared. There was another vocab word that described her face. In her nervousness, Alex’s mind hit a metaphorical search button. Stoic. Ava was sitting and looking stoic. Or was it “stoical”? Stoical—bearing hardship or misfortune without complaint.
Ava looked up, still looking stoical.
“What’s going on?” hissed Alex, sitting down next to her. “Are we in trouble?”
“Of course we’re not in trouble. We haven’t done anything wrong,” said Ava. She spoke as though she had something in her mouth. Alex saw a bulge in her cheek. “And I don’t thi
nk it’s bad news or anything, because Mrs. Gusman smiled at me when I walked in and offered me candy and showed me a picture of her new baby grandson. These candies are delicious, by the way.”
Alex saw her shift the candy to the other side of her mouth.
“She wouldn’t be that casual and friendly if someone in our family was sick or hurt. I don’t know what it could be, though,” Ava said.
“Sackett girls?” called Mrs. Gusman. “Ms. Farmen is ready for you.”
Alex followed Ava into the principal’s office. It was light and cheerful, with framed student artwork on the walls and lots of pictures of Ms. Farmen’s kids, who looked like they were pretty much grown up.
“Hi, girls,” said Ms. Farmen. “Sit. Please.” She opened a folder and frowned down at it. “First of all, Mrs. Gusman, our scheduling guru, just informed me that there was some confusion with your names both being ‘A. Sackett.’ It seems you were placed in each other’s English classes. Ava, you were supposed to be in English 101. Alex, you were supposed to be in 101A—that’s the accelerated class—based on your test scores. I’m so sorry about this. But we can easily make the switch without disrupting the rest of your schedule. Ava, you will no longer be in Ms. Palmer’s class—now you have Mr. Rader, still during sixth period. Alex, you’ll have Ms. Palmer, also still during sixth period.”
Alex darted a glance at Ava. Relief was written all over her sister’s face. No wonder Ava had been having so much trouble with English! She’d been put into the advanced class. And no wonder she, Alex, had found English so easy. Then a thought struck her. If she switched out, she wouldn’t have English with Corey anymore. Was that a good thing or a bad thing?
“All right, Alex. You may go,” said Ms. Farmen. “I have another matter to discuss with Ava. Please ask Mrs. Gusman to write you a note, as I think the second bell has rung.”
Alex thanked her, shot a look at Ava that said “Tell me everything later,” and hurried off to her first class.
“Ava, why don’t you go wait outside in Mrs. Gusman’s office?” said Ms. Farmen. “I’ll call you when I’m ready for you.”
Ava swallowed, nodded, and left.
And almost ran smack into her parents, who were walking into Mrs. Gusman’s office.
Ms. Palmer, Ava’s now-former English teacher, was right behind them. Another lady was there too, standing with an armful of thick files.
“Hey there, kiddo,” said Coach. “Fancy meeting you here.”
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Ava didn’t have a chance to talk to Alex until after school, when they met at their lockers.
“What happened?” asked Alex, her eyes wide and anxious. “Are you in trouble? Are you expelled?”
“I’m not expelled,” said Ava stiffly. “First you think I’m in detention, then you think I’m expelled. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Al.”
“But why were Mom and Dad here? And who was that official-looking lady with all the files?”
“That was Mrs. Hyde. She’s the school learning specialist.” Ava took a deep breath. “They want to test me for ADHD, because of all the trouble I’ve had concentrating. That stands for attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder.”
Alex’s eyes got even bigger. “I know what it stands for, it’s just—wow, Ave, this is really serious. I always knew you weren’t organized, but I never thought it was a disorder.” She talked slowly and quietly; Ava must be really upset.
But Ava smiled calmly and put a comforting hand on Alex’s arm. “Me neither,” she said. “But it’s not the end of the world, Al. Weirdly, I feel kind of relieved. Because it explains a lot of the concentration problems I’ve been having, and the organizational issues, that kind of thing. It makes me feel better, knowing what the problem is. And Ms. Palmer went on about how brilliant she still thinks I am.” Ava rolled her eyes. “So they’re going to have something called a PPT—a Planning and Placement Team—and I’m supposed to get tested and stuff.”
“When will you know for sure?”
“Within the next few weeks,” said Ava. “But everyone seems pretty sure. Mom and Coach already brought up getting me a tutor.”
“I could tutor you!” Alex began excitedly. She had always felt helpless when it came to Ava’s study habits, but tutoring—that was something she could do! “It’d be perfect!” Alex continued. “We could do it every night after—”
“Hey,” interrupted a low voice.
Both girls turned. It was Corey.
Alex jumped. Talk about bad timing. She’d successfully avoided talking to him all day. In math she’d pretended she had a question for Ms. Kerry after the bell rang, just to avoid walking out with him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ava move away and pull out her phone, probably to text Charlie about her potential ADHD.
“So,” Corey said. “Did you do any more thinking about the Friday plan?” The words came out of his mouth very quickly.
Alex glanced at Ava, but she knew her sister couldn’t—or wouldn’t—bail her out of this. She fought back the feelings of panic and confusion. She felt like a trapped animal. She knew she had to say something, though.
“I can’t go!” Alex blurted out. “I mean, I can go, except not with you.”
Corey took a small step back, as though he’d been socked in the abdomen.
“Oh. Okay. Well, see you.” He turned to hurry away.
Alex called him back. “Wait! No, it’s not like that,” she said. “It’s only, that, see, um . . .”
Corey waited.
Ava looked up from her phone with an expression that read Don’t say anything dumb! Too late, though—the words were already tumbling out of Alex’s mouth.
“It’s just that I have a boyfriend. Back in Massachusetts.”
Corey’s eyebrows went up.
So did Ava’s.
Alex plowed ahead. “His name is . . . um . . .” Alex’s eyes flitted wildly around until they came to rest on Ava’s phone. “Charlie! His name is Charlie. But, um, I’ll still be at Sal’s, and I’m sure I’ll see you there.”
Corey mumbled something Alex couldn’t hear and hurried off.
“You have a boyfriend named Charlie? Do I know him?” Ava asked angrily.
“Stop, Ave, I feel bad enough,” said Alex. “Ugh! Why do I get so flustered around guys? What is the matter with me? I just felt like I had to have some excuse. Now he hates my guts.”
“He doesn’t hate your guts.”
“Yes, he does.”
“Well, at some point you’re going to have to come up with a better excuse, because you won’t be able to have a boyfriend back home forever.”
Alex leaned against the lockers and closed her eyes. “I couldn’t think what else to say.”
Ava patted her sister on the shoulder. “Come on. Tommy’s waiting to talk to us about the anniversary dinner before he goes to practice.”
Alex and Ava told their brother the idea for Coach’s present to their mom.
“Isn’t it an awesome idea?” said Ava.
“Phenomenal,” corrected Alex.
“Yeah, that,” said Ava.
“Yep, it’s phenomenally awesome,” said Tommy. He assured them that the music was all set for Thursday. Ava reported that she’d been in touch with Mrs. Cahill about delivering Mrs. Sackett to the restaurant by six thirty.
“So it’s all settled,” said Alex. “Mom will be so surprised. She thinks it’s a ladies’ night out.”
“Are we going to be there?” asked Ava.
“Having her kids along for her anniversary dinner will thrill Mom to no end,” said Tommy.
Alex examined her brother’s face. “He’s being sarcastic, I think,” she said to Ava. “We’ll just stay for the very beginning to make sure everything is perfect. And then we’ll leave them to a quiet dinner.”
“How did you like your new English class?” asked Alex.
The twins were at their lockers the next day, just after sixth period.
“It�
��s so much better,” said Ava. “Johnny Tremain is the world’s most boring book, and I have some catching up to do, obviously, but it’s much easier to follow than White Fang.”
Secretly, she was a little sorry that she and Jack no longer had a single class together. And in spite of all the stress Ms. Palmer’s class had caused her, she had to admit to herself that she’d enjoyed the discussions. But she knew things would be better this way. She shoved her English book into her messy locker and rummaged around for her social studies book. One of these days she planned to organize her locker, but she was always running behind and never had the chance.
“How about your class?” she asked Alex, slamming her locker door closed.
Alex bounced up and down, her glossy curls swinging crazily around her shoulders. It was day three of Spirit Week, and everyone was supposed to wear stripes, so Alex had on a new blue-and-white-striped dress that swung around when she moved. It was cut sort of like a cheerleader’s dress—and Ava was struck by how natural it looked on Alex.
“Oh, Ave, my new English class is so amazing,” she said, pulling a book from her tidy locker shelf and checking her lip gloss in the mirror inside the door. “I do miss Ms. Torres, but she’s the debate team coach, so I’ll still see her. And I love Ms. Palmer. I’ve read White Fang before, so I’m not behind on that. Today we read some poems by a bunch of different poets, with lines you’ve heard before like ‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,’ and ‘time’s winged chariot,’ and stuff, and we learned that those are called carpe diem poems.”
Ava’s eyebrows rose in a question. She loved when her sister was super enthusiastic about something. Her words tended to tumble out of her like coins from a slot machine.
“That means ‘seize the day,’ and basically that’s about enjoying the moment you’re in while you’re in it, because who knows what will happen tomorrow.”
Ava smiled. “That’s usually my philosophy—living in the moment—but not necessarily on purpose,” she joked. “I’m glad you like your class. And don’t look now, but here comes Lindsey.”
