Crush Alert (5 page)

Suddenly, the ball was right there, bouncing across the mud.
This is it!
Maeve glowed inside.
I’ll make a goal, and Dillon will lift me up on his shoulders!
It didn’t matter that he was on the other team; Maeve knew he had to be cheering for her. She’d show him what she was made of, then he’d ask her to the dance!

Maeve stared at that ball as hard as she could. Timing was everything, in dance and in soccer. She swung back her leg…and timed it perfectly. One dirty pink boot hit the ball, but the other…went slipping, sliding, and then flying up into the air! Maeve hadn’t noticed the giant puddle directly in front of her feet.

As she fell, Maeve watched Dillon double over as the ball sailed past his head into the goal. He could have stopped it, but he didn’t. He was laughing too hard. Everyone was laughing! Even Avery. Maeve could hear her trying to hide her familiar high-pitched giggle. Flashes from Chelsea’s camera topped off the greatest public humiliation of the century.

Maeve could feel mud clinging to her hair, dripping down her nose, and oozing between her fingers. Anna and Joline were beside themselves whooping and hollering. As her team began to surround her, it didn’t even matter that people were actually cheering, too. Her dream crush was laughing. That’s all the late, great MKT could concentrate on. That and the disgusting feel of icky, oozy mud. Even the new boy, Trevor, was laughing so hard he could barely stand.

But Avery was the worst, kneeling in the puddle beside her, holding back great gasps of laughter.

“I…I’m sorry, Maeve, but that was the…the BEST goal…I have EVER seen!” Avery held out a hand, but Maeve ignored it.

“We won! That flip move totally saved the day!” Avery flopped down in the mud too, and splashed around a little. “See? It’s not so bad to get dirty sometimes! Hey, can I coach you? You could be really good! But you’ll have to ditch the boots.”

Maeve turned away and slowly, painfully got to her feet. “You’re crazy! I don’t want any more of your kind of coaching, Avery Madden.”

Just then, Dillon walked up. “Nice job, Maeve. No one EVER gets it past me when I’m in goal. That was quite the move. And that face plant? Awesome!” He reached out to high-five her.

Composure,
she thought, trying to ignore a large drop of mud trailing down her cheek.

“Thanks,” Maeve said. “I planned it all along.” And she high-fived him right back.

Then she dashed away from the field, to walk home—alone…covered in mud…with tears running down her face.

Notes to Self:

1. Try to forgive Avery the Traitor.
   
2. Future movie stars must be gracious and kind.
   
3. Stay away from soccer. Forever.
   
4. Make Dillon fall hopelessly in love
   with
   MOI
   !!!! A goal is a goal, after aall.
   
5. Convince my dad to have an Audrey Hepburn Film Festival.
   
6. Stay away from soccer. FOR ETERNITY.
   
7. Check out the new sales at Think Pink!
   
8. Learn the new line dance I saw on YouTube and teach it to the BSG—but maybe not Avery.
   
9. Practice acceptance speech for the Tony Award I plan on winning after earning my Oscar. And don’t invite Avery!
   

C
harlotte closed the front door behind her and climbed the winding front stairway to the second-floor apartment she shared with her dad. Where was Marty? Usually the little dude was waiting right there at the foot of the stairs, barking and wagging his stumpy tail with excitement—as if he hadn’t seen her in a month.

“Marty?” she called out. But there was no pitter patter of little dog feet.
Where is that little dude?
Charlotte went to check the kitchen. When Marty chowed down on his dog food, the house could fall down around him and he’d never even notice.

“Marty!” she shouted, but when she entered the sunny kitchen, there was no Marty. She glanced over at the answering machine to see if there were any messages. Maybe Nick had tried to call when he FINALLY got through with whatever he was doing with Chelsea. She sighed when she saw the red zero blinking on the answering machine screen.

She grabbed an oatmeal cookie from the cookie jar and went back into the living room. Surely the little dude would come running for an oatmeal cookie treat!

“Marty!” she yelled out again.

Okay. Maybe he was in her dad’s bedroom.
Oh, no
. Charlotte hoped he wasn’t chewing on her dad’s bedroom slippers again. The last time her dad left his slippers out, Marty chewed a huge hole in the left toe. Mr. Ramsey hadn’t been happy. “Those slippers have been around the world…twice,” he complained loudly to a cowed Marty.

“Marty,” Charlotte called in a singsong voice. Mr. Marté always came for her baby-dog voice. Except this time…he didn’t.

“Marty!” she cried louder, her voice growing unsteady. This wasn’t like him at all. Charlotte hunted frantically through the rest of the house, until there was only one more place to look: her dad’s office.

She pushed the door open and rushed inside. Then she saw it…a little furry foot poking out from under her father’s desk. She fell to her knees. “Marty? What’s wrong, little puppy?”

Marty stared at her with sad eyes, barely able to lift his fuzzy head. His tail weakly thumped against the floor.

Charlotte scooped him up into her arms and held him close. “Oh Marty, poor baby. Are you sick?”

Heart thumping, Charlotte raced back down the stairs to their landlady’s apartment and pounded on her door. “Miss Pierce! Miss Pierce! Something’s wrong with Marty!”

Thankfully, the door opened right away and Charlotte’s
landlady stood in the entrance. “What’s wrong, Charlotte? Are you all right?”

Charlotte tried to steady her breathing as she looked up at Miss Pierce. She cradled Marty’s face next to her shoulder. His warm body trembled in her arms as if he were standing in a freezer. “Marty’s sick, and I don’t know what to do.” Tears sprang to her eyes, and her words came out in a rush.

Miss Pierce motioned Charlotte inside. “Come in, Charlotte dear. Let me see him.”

Miss Pierce took the dog from Charlotte and settled him on the living room sofa. He huddled on the cushions and whined.

“Charlotte,” she said as she looked up, “I agree with you. Marty is not acting like a well puppy. You’d better ask your dad to take him to the vet as soon as he gets home. Would you like to stay down here with me until then? I’ll make us some tea. How about that lovely lemon tea you like?”

Charlotte snuffled back a tear and nodded as she gently stroked Marty’s fur.

Poor Little Doggy

At five-thirty, Charlotte finally heard her dad walk through the front door. At 5:31, Charlotte threw herself at him. He stumbled backward as she grabbed his arm and dragged him into Miss Pierce’s apartment.

“Dad, Marty’s really sick. I mean
really
sick! We have to take him to the vet, like, right now!”

Charlotte’s dad took one look at a limp Marty lying
curled up on the sofa and said, “You’re right. He doesn’t look like himself at all.” Scooping Marty into his arms, he ushered Charlotte toward the door.

“Have these two been down here with you all afternoon, Miss Pierce?” he asked.

“Yes, Charlotte came down directly when she discovered Marty in such a state. Do let me know what the vet tells you, Mr. Ramsey.”

“Of course,” he promised her. “And, thank you, Miss Pierce, for staying with the
kids
.” As a single dad, Mr. Ramsey was grateful for the kindly landlady’s support.

“Thank you so much!” Charlotte called out, never taking her eyes away from Marty’s sad face.

A Mystery Illness

When Charlotte, Mr. Ramsey, and Marty walked through the door at the Precious Paws Animal Hospital, the receptionist’s face creased with concern. “What’s up with Marty? This little guy’s not his usually bubbly self.”

“That’s why we’re here.” Charlotte sighed as she rubbed Marty’s ear. “We think he’s very sick.”

The receptionist nodded at Charlotte and her dad. “Go ahead and take a seat. The doctor will be with you as soon as possible.”

The animal clinic spilled over with animals of all shapes and sizes. A gray-haired woman by the door held a cockatoo in a cage on her lap. A fat bulldog squatted at the feet of a man reading a magazine. When the bulldog saw Marty, he lumbered to his feet, obviously anticipating
a yap hello. Nothing. Marty was just too weak to greet his favorite park pal, Louie.

Charlotte began to get fidgety. It seemed like Dr. Clayton was never coming. Even the talking cockatoo wasn’t funny anymore.

“If that bird asks ‘what’s your problem?’ one more time, I’m going to answer him,” Mr. Ramsey whispered to Charlotte. “Should I tell him about my student who’s failing, or my terrible singing voice?”

“Mr. Ramsey?” interrupted a friendly voice. It was Dr. Clayton. “Let’s check this little guy out.”

The vet directed them to an examination room, and Marty stood on the exam table obediently, watching Charlotte with a sorrowful expression while Dr. Clayton checked his heartbeat, eyes, and temperature. He didn’t even throw a fit when the vet had to poke him with a needle. It was as if all off Marty’s feistiness had leaked out of him!

The doctor left the examining room with a tiny vial of Marty’s blood.

“Do you think Marty has…you know…a serious medical condition?” Charlotte asked in a worried voice.

“I just don’t know, honey,” her father answered. “Yesterday he seemed perfectly fine, and that’s a good sign. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s nothing Dr. Clayton can’t handle.” He gave her a reassuring hug.

Charlotte nodded, but looking at Marty’s hunched-up little body, she wasn’t really sure she believed him.

When Dr. Clayton returned, she was smiling. “I don’t think there is anything seriously wrong with Marty.”
Charlotte heaved a sigh of relief. “But,” Dr. Clayton continued, “he does seem a bit subdued.”

Hello. Subdued!
thought Charlotte.
Marty is practically a zombie!

Dr. Clayton gave Marty a reassuring scratch behind the ears. “Let’s keep an eye on the little guy this week and make sure he drinks plenty of water and gets some exercise and rest. If he doesn’t perk up in a few days, bring him back in. We’ll do some more tests.”

“Thanks, Dr. Clayton,” said Mr. Ramsey.

Charlotte scooped Marty off the table and buried her face in his fur. “Thanks,” she mumbled.

During the drive home, Marty slept in Charlotte’s lap, snoring softly.

“I don’t understand, Dad,” said Charlotte. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know, kiddo. We’ll just watch him and see if he improves, like Dr. Clayton said. The good thing is that he’s not in any danger at this point. Why don’t you see if he wants to play outside when we get home? The doc said exercise would be good for him.”

When they got home, Marty definitely wasn’t in the mood to play. Even pulling the leash out didn’t generate any doggy excitement. Charlotte left him snoozing in the living room and went downstairs to tell Miss Pierce the news. She was sure she would want to know.

She rapped lightly on the door and waited. Moments later, the door opened and Miss Pierce stood in the entrance. Charlotte blinked. Miss Pierce had on makeup—wine-colored lipstick, muted eye shadow, pink blush—even a little
foundation. Miss Pierce hardly ever wore makeup. She also had on slim black pants, a white blouse, and a silver star-shaped necklace.

“Wow!” Charlotte blurted out. “You look really snazzy.”

The new-and-improved Miss Pierce’s eyes twinkled at the compliment. “Thank you, my dear. And how is our friend Marty?”

“Uh…he’s fine. At least, that’s what the vet says…but I’m still not sure. He’s so…lethargic.”

“Perfect description, dear. Marty did seem to have lost his spark.” She nodded as she held the door open.

“Little dog not have spark?” a gruff voice said from inside the apartment.

Charlotte peered around the landlady. “Yuri!” she exclaimed. When she had first met the Russian man who owned Yuri’s Fruit Stand, he’d seemed like a grouch. But he turned out to be Charlotte’s first friend in Brookline, offering her a piece of fruit every day as she passed his stand on the way to school. Even his rough tone couldn’t hide Yuri’s concern for Marty’s well-being.

Charlotte remembered how worried Yuri got when Miss Pierce went on a secret mission for NASA and no one knew where she was. The BSG thought something was up then, and now Charlotte actually had proof! The way Yuri looked at Miss Pierce could melt an iceberg.

Miss Pierce’s face turned several shades of pink as she followed Charlotte’s gaze. “Charlotte. Would you…would you like to come in?”

Yuri rose from the sofa and stood there with his hands
shoved in his pockets. “What is news? How is little dog?”

“Uh…the vet says he’s okay, but he’s really not acting like himself.”

Yuri’s mouth spread into a huge smile. “No worry, Charlotte. That little dude rock it out.”

Charlotte stifled a giggle. Yuri always sounded so funny mixing up modern expressions with his thick accent.

Miss Pierce’s hands fluttered off her pants, plucking invisible lint.

I should give them some space,
Charlotte suddenly realized.
And tell the BSG that we were right all along about Miss Pierce and Yuri!

“Well…I should go check on Marty again.” Charlotte turned and fled upstairs. Talk about some news! This was something she definitely needed to share with her best friends ASAP. Too bad she also had to break the bad news about Marty. Avery would be really upset. She was completely crazy about dogs, and Marty in particular.

“What do you want for dinner, Char…?” Mr. Ramsey’s voice trailed off as she zoomed past him and headed toward the stairs.

“Oh…anything, Dad,” Charlotte called down from her room as she logged on to the computer.