Crush Alert (3 page)

Isabel whispered to Maeve. “Are you okay? Why are you staring at the ceiling?”

Maeve’s face reddened. “I…I have something in my eye.”

Isabel saw immediately through her friend’s words. Those were definitely tears brimming in Maeve’s eyes.
Oh no.
Isabel stared, suddenly realizing that her romantic
friend was most likely crushing on someone who wasn’t crushing back.

As soon as lunch was over, Maeve raced off to the library. Inside, she made a beeline for her favorite swivel chair. For some reason, twirling around in a circle always helped her think more clearly. She took out her laptop and began to type.

Notes to Self:

1. Buy adorable dress I saw at Think Pink.
   
2. Ask Mom and Dad for a bigger allowance so I can buy the adorable dress at Think Pink.
   
3. FIND A WAY TO MAKE DILLON LIKE ME AGAIN!
   
4. Buy more guinea pig food.
   
5. Rename guinea pigs. Maybe Chocolate and Chip????
   
6. Practice my new monologue for acting class.
   
7. Study harder for pre-algebra. Pull C up to a B!!!!
   
8. TEACH AVERY TO BE UN-CLUELESS!
   
9. Ask Katani to style my hair in an Audrey Hepburn French twist.
   
10. Practice new acceptance speech for the Oscar I’m def going to win someday.
    

A
wesome poster,” Charlotte complimented Isabel. “It looks like we’re going to have a fabulous heart convention.”

“If I ever need someone to draw a heart, I know who to ask!” Chelsea Briggs grinned. The poster Isabel had designed for the Valentine’s Day Dance was pinned to a bulletin board outside
The Sentinel
’s office, right over a reminder about that day’s newspaper meeting. As usual, Charlotte, Isabel, and Chelsea were the first to arrive. Eighth-grade editor-in-chief extraordinaire Jennifer Robinson was already in the office, but she didn’t count. The BSG had a theory that she slept there.

“Did I go overboard on the heart thing?” Isabel asked.

“Of course not! It
is
the season of love, after all,” Charlotte teased.

Chelsea shrugged and shook her head. “Not for me!”

“Come on, Chels.” Charlotte put a hand on her arm.
“There’s got to be somebody you’d like to go to the dance with.”

“I don’t like anyone right now,” said Chelsea. “Really.” She used to be shy and quiet, absolutely sure that no one liked her because she was overweight. But ever since the class’s adventure trip to Lake Rescue, Chelsea had gotten pretty fit and confident.

“Isn’t there someone you think is even a tiny bit cute?” Isabel urged. “I mean, I do kind of like Kevin. We have so much to talk about since we both want to be artists when we grow up. I showed that poster to Kevin while I was working on it, and I swear we talked for two hours about the perfect shade of pink for the background!”

“Umm, okay…well, Nick is kind of cute,” Chelsea blurted out. “He’s got nice hair and a great smile. You’re a lucky girl, Charlotte!”

It was no secret Nick Montoya had a crush on Charlotte. Sometimes it seemed she was the only one who didn’t see it.

Nick Montoya was the cutest boy Charlotte had ever met, but thinking about him that way made her feel embarrassed. “We really don’t have to have dates to go to the dance. After all, we’re only in seventh grade. Avery doesn’t want to go with anyone.”

“What about…Chase Finley?” Isabel asked innocently.

“What?” Chelsea yelped. “No way! Sure, he’s
dreamy
Kevin’s friend, but talk about obnoxious!” The girls lost it laughing. Chase Finley was like everybody’s annoying brother, plus he could be really mean.

Jennifer stomped over to the door and flung it open. “Hello. This is a newspaper office, not gossip time. You’re late.”

Charlotte began to apologize to “the Queen of the Paper,” and Chelsea stepped back, leaning against the bulletin board with one shoulder.

Suddenly, it seemed like the whole wall was falling over! Chelsea twisted and reached behind her to push the bulletin board back up against the wall, but it was too late. Everything went pink, and with a huge crash, Chelsea was on the floor.

“Chels! Oh, my gosh, are you okay?!” A very worried Isabel plucked the pink thing—the Valentine’s Day Dance poster—off of Chelsea’s face. The bulletin board was on the floor, cracked down the middle. About a million pink and green announcements fluttered over Chelsea.
Is it time to die of total embarrassment?
a shaken Chelsea thought, also thinking that just might be preferable to getting up.

“You okay?” a concerned voice asked.

Chelsea opened her eyes slowly.

There was a boy standing over her. A boy she had never seen before. His cropped blond hair, tan face, and light green eyes were right off the pages of a surfer magazine. Were birds singing somewhere nearby? Was the sun shining down? Chelsea blinked. No, she was still on the floor in the Abigail Adams Junior High hallway, and the lights were all fluorescent. But the boy’s face was still there, and the worry in his eyes made her heart flutter.

“That thing smashed right on top of you!” he said.

Charlotte quickly grabbed Chelsea’s hand to help
her up. “Chels? Don’t worry; we’ll get this cleaned up.” She was usually the one to cause a major commotion, so she knew how horribly embarrassed Chelsea must feel.

“I can’t believe they let you kids out of elementary school,” Jennifer groaned, and started picking up thumbtacks.

The boy continued to stare into Chelsea’s eyes as she staggered to her feet.

“Oh,” she mumbled as she started to feel an ache in the back of her skull.

“Where’s the nurse’s office?” the boy asked.

“I…I’m okay,” Chelsea managed to stammer. Her head felt like it was going to split in two, but she held steady. There was no way she’d let this boy escort her to the nurse. That would be beyond humiliating.

Jennifer held a couple of thumbtacks out to Charlotte. “Make yourself useful and put these somewhere?” Then she turned to the new boy. “Can I help you?”

“Well, I was looking for the newspaper meeting….” He glanced at Chelsea again, with that same look of concern. Chelsea, meanwhile, wished she could crawl back under the bulletin board.

Jennifer smiled widely. “You’re in the right place! I’m the editor in chief and I’m always looking for fresh perspectives on my newspaper staff. Do you have experience?”

“Sure, I covered everything at my old school. Sports, drama, art—you name it….” He looked at Chelsea again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m Chelsea,” she stammered.
What an idiot! He didn’t
even ask my name. And why can’t I stop nodding? I feel like a bobblehead.

“Cool name,” the boy said. “I’m Trevor.”

“Well, Trevor,” Jennifer interrupted smoothly and opened the door to the office. “Why don’t you sit in on our meeting and we’ll find a job for you?”

Trevor gestured for Chelsea to go in first. Charlotte gave her a reassuring smile as she entered the room with Nick, who’d just come running down the hallway with a couple of other seventh graders.

Soon, the whole newspaper staff was assembled in the room, chattering and laughing about the bulletin board and the dance. Long writing desks with computers for the reporters lined the room. Nick and Charlotte sat together at one; Chelsea sat next to them, watching Trevor talk to Jennifer.

Finally, Jennifer rapped her desk with a pencil, surveying the room. Charlotte squelched her annoyance at Jennifer’s prima donna air.
This is just practice for when I have to deal with a real editor
, she reminded herself.

“Okay, everyone, I’d like to introduce you to a new student who may be joining our staff—Trevor Miller, from Santa Monica, California. Now, everyone come up with at least three ideas for this month’s issue. Think
love
and
romance
, people!”

There was a flutter of activity as students pulled out notepads and pencils so they could begin the process of brainstorming possible news topics. Chelsea couldn’t write. Her head throbbed, and she couldn’t keep her eyes off Trevor. He was just…so cool. How could he be
comfortable in a room full of strangers? Where did he get that confidence? She fought to pay attention to the meeting, but it was basically impossible.

Jennifer rapped her pencil again. “Earth to Chelsea! Give me one idea.”

Chelsea stared at her blank paper.

“Look,” Nick said, coming to her rescue. “I’m tired of doing the same old stories. I want to write something really newsworthy.”

“Give us an example, Mr. Montoya.”

Nick leaned forward. “Something real. Like an article about the unhealthy food the cafeteria dishes out each day.”

“What’s that got to do with love?” a kid at the other end of the table teased.

“Unless you’re in looooove with French fries!” the student next to him called out.

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Jennifer responded. “But let’s make it more general. Something about what the students at Abigail Adams love. We need a title….”

Chelsea wasn’t listening. She couldn’t concentrate. Trevor was twirling his beach blond hair around one finger, and he looked so focused. His shirt was pale yellow, the color of sunshine, and it seemed like sunlight sparkled in the air all around him.

“Love is in the air!” Chelsea blurted, then put one hand over her mouth.
Was that out loud?

“Perfect.” Jennifer stood up. “Nick, you write the article. Chelsea, take the pictures. Talk to people at school; get short interviews about what they love. Could be a
favorite pet, class, person, outfit—whatever. You can even do favorite foods, if you want. Get some shots of couples, too. It will go along great with a story about the Valentine’s Day Dance. Charlotte, you’ll cover that event.”

Charlotte didn’t want to write about the dance. She didn’t even want to think about the dance! Whenever she did, Nick’s face floated into her mind and her stomach filled with butterflies. But when she tried to raise her hand to tell Jennifer she would like to work together with Nick and Chelsea on their article, her elbow hit a big bowl of barbecue potato chips one of the eighth graders had brought to share.

It must be something in the air or klutziness is catching today
, an embarrassed Charlotte thought as she watched bright orange crumbs scatter all over her notes and Nick’s white shirt. He’d taken the brunt of the disaster. Charlotte bowed her head into one hand so she wouldn’t have to look at a barbecue-chip-covered Nick.

“I always wanted an orange shirt,” Nick whispered as he brushed chip dust off his clothing. Charlotte peered nervously through her fingers. But good-natured Nick was just sweeping chips back into the bowl and smiling.

Jennifer threw up her hands. “What is it with everyone today? You guys need to get it together and stop acting like you’re still in grade school. Why don’t you all just e-mail me any new ideas from home. I’ll post the assignments by the door tomorrow.”

“On what? The bulletin board’s busted!” shouted the French fry–loving troublemaker.

“That’s your assignment, Adam. Fix it!”

With that, Jennifer dragged Trevor over to her computer.

She’s probably going to tie him down with enough assignments for the rest of his life,
thought an annoyed Chelsea.

“I’ll walk you home,” Nick said to Charlotte as she got up to leave with Isabel. “I want to ask you something.”

“Wait!” a frantic Chelsea grabbed Nick’s arm. She’d just noticed how Trevor’s blond hair curled adorably around the nape of his neck.
I’ve got to stall until Jennifer’s done talking to him!
“Nick, we’ve got to plan out our article.”

“I’ll meet you outside in a few,” Charlotte promised as Isabel led her out the door.

“Chelsea, can’t the article wait for later?” Nick sounded exasperated.

Chelsea bit her lip. “Sorry, I mean, I’m just nervous about the whole approach to this thing.”

“All you have to do is take pictures!” Nick leaned out the door where Charlotte had disappeared. “You’re great at taking pictures.”

“Just a minute,” she stalled. “I know, but what pictures? Do we want candid or staged? Should we set them up like yearbook stills, or are you going to interview for captions?” Chelsea knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t help it. If only she could take a picture of Trevor right now! Chelsea framed the shot in her head. He was leaning on Jennifer’s desk with his beautiful hair shading his eyes. The light was a little low, but if she adjusted the lens filters…

“Chelsea? We can figure this all out tomorrow or
something. I’ve got to go.” Nick looked down the hall again.

“No! Wait. Ummm…let’s practice. What do you love?” Chelsea pretended to hold up a camera, but knew just as soon as she asked that this was the wrong question. Nick’s cheeks got all red and he seemed to be perspiring way too much for February.

A
s the wind gusted, an anxious Maeve stood by the front steps of the school waiting for Avery. Maybe the soccer game would be cancelled and the group could head off to Montoya’s for hot chocolate.

Maeve warmed herself with that hopeful thought. But as she looked around, she noticed that all the snow had melted into chilly mud puddles and the sun was shining stronger than ever. That was probably enough for the boys (and Avery) to head out to the soccer field.

Maeve couldn’t imagine why anyone would choose to run around for an hour on mushy dead grass, especially when it was still cold enough for her to wear her soft pink sheepskin boots. Her discount pair looked exactly like the brand name. Katani had even helped decorate the pink fur with sparkles.

But why didn’t her cool boots get Dillon’s attention? Everyone in school loved them! And Riley told her just this morning they were rad. Maeve gazed down at the
sparkles.
How can I get Dillon to notice me?
If only she could be a little bit like Avery. Avery had no trouble fitting in with boys. Probably because all she ever seemed to talk about was sports.

Maeve grinned and wriggled her toes. Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of it before? She knew how to get Dillon to look at her! It was so easy. She would show him that she was a complete sports girl.
After all, I’m an actress.
She threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “If it’s a soccer girl he wants, a soccer girl he’ll get!”

A passing ninth grader gave Maeve a strange look. She flashed him her best Academy Award acceptance smile and watched the last buses thunder away from the curb, spewing out smelly fumes.

“Miss the bus, movie star?” Joline Kaminsky jibed as she sauntered past with her partner in crime, Anna McMasters.
Wonderful,
Maeve thought.
The Queens of Mean.

“She’s waiting for her limousine,” said Anna. “Oh, wait! She’s too poor to afford one. Now that Maddie Von Krupcake dropped her, she has to travel like the rest of us.”

“Ah, excuse me, double trouble,” Maeve retorted. “I dropped Maddie for being a boring phony! You know all about phony, right?” Maeve knew Anna was jealous that Maeve had starred in a sort of movie and had gone to Hollywood with the über-rich Von Krupcakes. Charlotte always told her to ignore Queens of Mean comments, but sometimes Maeve couldn’t help herself. Anna was just
so
annoying.

“I know you’ll enjoy your long walk home,” Anna
said, and smirked as she tossed a yellow and blue soccer ball into the air and caught it behind her back.

“Show off,” Maeve whispered almost loud enough for them to hear.
Looks like the game’s on, after all…. Maybe I should go watch Dillon play.
This thought easily morphed into a fantasy. After the game, Dillon would ask her to the Valentine’s Day Dance. They’d dance just like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, her favorite ballroom-dancing actors from the old black-and-white movies she loved so much. Dillon would twirl her around the floor as she flitted about in a floor-length gown that rustled lightly as she spun across the dance floor. Maeve could see it now—Dillon’s arms holding her close as they swayed to the sounds of an orchestra, his face looking down at her with stars in his eyes.

“Hey, Maeve. What’s up?” said a familiar voice next to her. She turned with a gasp.

“Riley! Hey. Sorry I didn’t see you there.”

Riley stood there without saying anything, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
Why does Riley look so uncomfortable?
Maeve wondered. Was that sweat sprouting on his forehead? It wasn’t even warm outside!

After an awkward moment of silence, she finally asked, “What have you been up to lately?”

Riley hitched his backpack higher on his shoulders and grinned. “Uh…nothing much. Mustard Monkey has been practicing like crazy. We have a gig at a bar mitzvah in a couple of weeks.”

Maeve stopped twirling the strand of hair and looked up at him. “Really? That’s so cool! You guys are totally
taking off. It’s just like that movie I saw last year about the garage band struggling to become famous—they’re always performing in grungy nightclubs and stuff for, like, basically no money, and then one day they’re discovered by a famous music producer and the next thing you know, they’re huge rock stars!”

Immediately, she noticed Riley’s tense muscles relax. That was the great thing about Riley. He could act all jumpy and nervous with her one second, but when she talked about music, it always seemed to help him chill. Especially when he talked about
his
music and Mustard Monkey.

Maeve liked that Riley was totally committed to his music. It was inspiring. Maybe she and Riley could go to New York and be struggling performers together when they grew up. It would be so nice to have a friend in a big city like New York, she thought.

“Well I’ve written a couple of new songs we’re going to try out.”

Maeve leaned toward him, really getting into the conversation. “That’s fantastic! You know, I’ve always thought I should take voice lessons. If I’m going to be a movie star one day, I definitely should improve my singing voice. I mean, if I could act, dance, and sing, I’d totally be a triple threat.”

“I doubt you even need singing lessons,” Riley said. “Your voice is so pretty already.”

Maeve smiled. “That’s so sweet, Riley. I…” Maeve’s head snapped around, swishing Riley’s face with her red curls. Charlotte and Isabel were flying down the steps, laughing.

Maeve dashed up to sweep her friends into a group hug. Riley stood at the bottom of the stairs, swinging his guitar case, alone and forgotten. He waited for a few awkward minutes, then walked away, shoulders slumping.

“Maeve, the newspaper meeting was such a disaster,” Charlotte confessed. Her face flushed just thinking about her latest klutz moment and Chelsea’s bulletin board incident.

Isabel filled Maeve in on the latest events while Charlotte watched the door, hoping for Nick to appear.

“So why are you still here, Maeve?” Isabel asked after she’d finished describing the gorgeous new boy Trevor.

Charlotte wrinkled her forehead. “Yeah. You’re always the first one of us to run out of here as soon as the bell rings.”

Maeve rolled her eyes and hoped her face wasn’t turning pink with embarrassment. “Oh, I was just hanging around, waiting for you two to show up. I just didn’t feel like walking home yet. I can’t face my five tons of homework.”

“Well, I was going to wait for Nick. He wanted to ask me something,” Charlotte added.

Maeve sighed. “That’s so romantic! Walking home from school with your future husband. You guys are, like, one of the great love stories of all time.”

“Ha-ha, very funny.” Charlotte rummaged inside her crocheted purse and found a stick of gum, which she popped into Maeve’s smiling mouth. “Maybe that will help you lose your love obsession.”

“Obsession? What obsession?” Maeve joked in between slurpy chews.

Isabel pressed her lips together, her eyes dancing. “Now, Maeve,” she teased, “I’m sure Dillon will appreciate the sweet aroma of Tru Blu gum over that gross tuna fish sandwich you had for lunch.”

“Do you think?” she said wistfully.

“Oh, Maeve,” Charlotte replied, ruffling her friend’s mass of curls. “No one is as wrapped up in romance as you.”

“That’s for sure,” Isabel agreed.

The sound of the huge metal doors opening made them look up toward the school entrance. Betsy Fitzgerald walked down the school steps, a very serious expression on her face. Her hair caught up in a neat ponytail, she walked briskly as if late for an important appointment.

“What’s up, Betsy?” Maeve asked, stopping the serious girl in her tracks. “You look kind of stressed.”

Maeve hated to see anyone unhappy, especially when love was in the air. Charlotte was seconds away from having a date, and her own plan to snare Dillon was flawless! She didn’t want anyone to be that serious.

Betsy shook her head. “Oh, it’s nothing, really. I’m just thinking about ideas for the Valentine’s Day Dance decorating committee.” Maeve tried not to look at Isabel and Charlotte. She knew they were thinking the same thing.
Is there a committee at school that super overachiever Betsy isn’t on?

Oblivious to her reaction, Betsy just plowed on. “It’s so important that the dance turns out well. I mean, I’m the
head of the committee, and everything is resting on my shoulders, you know.” Betsy so loved impressing an audience with her accomplishments.

Isabel, who was also on the committee, nodded with sympathy. “We’ll get it done, don’t worry. This dance will be the event of the year!”

“Forget about committees!” Maeve struck a pose and held out her imaginary microphone. “Has anyone asked you to the dance yet?”

Betsy’s face brightened. “Yes. I’m going with Henry.”

“The Yurtmeister?” the three other girls exclaimed in shock. The BSG were totally blown away. Why on earth would Betsy want to go to the Valentine’s Day Dance with the seventh-grade class clown? Then again, Henry Yurt
was
the class president.

Betsy straightened her collar and explained. “Henry is really sweet when he isn’t trying to make everybody laugh. Besides—”

“But, Betsy,” Maeve interrupted. “I thought Henry was gaga over Anna.” Charlotte nudged Maeve as Betsy’s face darkened.

“Anna made fun of Henry last week, so he doesn’t like her anymore.”

“Whoa!” Maeve couldn’t believe it. Henry Yurt had been crazy about Anna since the beginning of school, even though she towered over him. Now he was going to the dance with Betsy?
Romance is so unpredictable
, a suddenly shaken Maeve thought.

“And, after all,” Betsy continued, “somebody who wins the class presidency has a lot going for him. I respect
that kind of ambition.” She hitched her backpack higher on her shoulder. “Well, I’ve gotta run. Mrs. Rodriguez gave me permission to write a five-page extra-credit essay on William Shakespeare. See you all later.”

The BSG watched Betsy glide down the sidewalk, her backpack weighted down with textbooks.

“That girl is going to own the world before she’s eighteen,” Isabel said with a mixture of horror and respect.

Maeve’s face paled. “Five pages! She doesn’t even
need
the extra credit.” Maeve had to work so hard just to get average grades. People like Betsy had it so easy—earning good grades as smoothly as collecting seashells off the beach.

Charlotte shrugged and glanced at her watch. Was Nick still in the newspaper office talking to Chelsea? What could they possibly be talking about all this time? Charlotte tried unsuccessfully to squash something very shaky gnawing at the pit of her stomach.

“So Betsy’s going with Yurt!” Maeve exclaimed. “And not one of the BSG has someone to go to the Valentine’s Day Dance with.”

“I wonder if Kevin will ask me?” Isabel pondered.

Charlotte forced a smile. “It’s only Monday! Don’t worry, Isabel. We can just go together. I mean, lots of kids won’t have dates. We’ll have more fun that way.”

Isabel’s face brightened. “Oh, I know. If no one asks us to the dance, it’s no big deal. We’ll have fun, just us girls!”

Maeve crossed her arms and frowned. “Speak for yourself. I’m going to get Dillon to ask me or die trying!”

Charlotte stared at the door to the school, willing it to open and let Nick out. “Maeve, you are going a little crazy about all this date stuff. It’s just too much pressure.” But suddenly she felt a tiny bit hypocritical. Wasn’t she going a little crazy, too, waiting for a certain boy with dreamy eyes to walk through the door?

“Trust me, if Dillon doesn’t ask you to the dance, you will survive.” Isabel danced around Maeve. “Besides, you can always ask him. This isn’t the olden days, you know.”

Maeve put her hands on her hips. “Well, I know, but I don’t want to ask him. Where’s the romance in that?”

Charlotte looked at her watch again. Marty was waiting for his walk. But where was Nick?
Oops, here I go again. I shouldn’t get myself all worked up waiting for him. I should just go.
Charlotte turned to her friends and announced, “It’s getting late. Marty’s going to go crazy if I don’t get home soon.”

Charlotte looked at the door one last time and smiled at the other girls, struggling to keep her voice light. “I guess Nick decided to stay later.”
Maybe he’ll ask to walk me home again tomorrow,
she thought regretfully.

“Okay,” said Isabel. “Are you coming, Maeve?”

Maeve shifted from one foot to the other. “Uh…not right now. I’m going to wait for Avery.”

“But she’s going to play soccer this afternoon,” Charlotte pointed out.

Maeve shrugged her shoulders. “I know. I…I thought I’d tag along and check out the game…maybe even play.”

Charlotte stared. “Wait a minute. Did I just hear you correctly?”

Isabel placed her hand on Maeve’s forehead. “She doesn’t have a fever…so she can’t be delirious. Maybe she’s been taken over by some alien life-form.”

Maeve pouted. “
Very
funny. But I’ll have you both know that I think soccer is a really cool sport. And as an actress it’s important I explore new things in order to become a well-rounded dramatic artist.”

Isabel and Charlotte stared at each other in disbelief, and then both of them burst out laughing. Maeve hated sports. Why on earth would the future actress want to spend a Monday afternoon in the middle of winter chasing after a soccer ball when she could be home trying on outfits and dancing to her favorite music?

“Uh…okay…whatever you say, Maeve,” Isabel said teasingly. “Have fun…with Dillon!” She ran off before Maeve could grab her sweater.

A Pretty Pink Poodle

At the bottom of Charlotte’s hill, Isabel spotted a familiar pink figure with magenta hair strolling down the sidewalk, a matching pink pooch beside her.

“Ms. Razzberry Pink!” Isabel waved to the owner of the BSG’s favorite store, Think Pink.

“Isabel, Charlotte!” Ms. Pink waved one hand. Her wrist jangled with rose-colored bracelets, and a constellation of pink jewels on her belt matched her dog’s collar. “I thought I’d take advantage of the lovely weather and get La Fanny some exercise. We’ve been busy!”