Letters from the Heart (5 page)

“Maybe later,” she said noncommittally. She glanced up at Anna. “Or you guys could come sit with US,” she suggested. That seemed like the perfect solution! All-inclusive, just the way Maeve liked.

Avery nudged her under the table. Clearly she wasn't exactly excited by the idea of having Anna and Joline join them.

Anna looked at Joline. “Uh…thanks, but we already put our stuff over there,” she said. Translation: We are WAY TOO COOL to sit with you guys.

“Okay,” Maeve said with one of her “fine with me” shrugs.

Anna and Joline exchanged glances. Clearly they weren't used to inviting someone to join them and being told “maybe.” But Maeve was having a good time right where she was, and she didn't feel like moving…especially since Dillon had just come through the door. And if Maeve moved to join ANYONE, it sure wasn't going to be Anna and Joline!

S
OMETHING'S
U
P
…B
UT
W
HAT?

“Hey! Anyone home?” Maeve called out, stuffing her keys back into her backpack as she let herself into the narrow front hallway. The Kaplan-Taylors' duplex apartment above the Brookline Movie House was really cool. The apartment had high ceilings and lots of charm, but not as much space as Maeve would have liked. The hallway was especially cramped. She practically tripped over Sam's backpack, which he'd left right in the middle of the floor. Three biographies of General Patton and a shoebox full of toy soldiers spilled over onto the floor.

Sam had absolutely no respect for Maeve's privacy—he even read her I.M. messages when she wasn't looking. Not to mention, he also had a pretty suspect sense of personal hygiene. Ugh—those grubby fingernails! Maeve shuddered. On top of that, his obsession with everything military, especially if it involved some obscure historical war that nobody else had heard of, was seriously annoying. Like who knew all the battles of the Peloponnesian Wars? Sam, that's
who. He had a huge laminated map covering one entire wall of his bedroom. He loved sticking little pins in it and pretending that he was a military tactician, mapping out a new battle scheme.

Maeve had never even heard of some of the countries Sam kept pretending to invade. And she couldn't see why on earth he'd want to read about WAR all the time. Well, sometimes he liked to read about viruses and other creepy stuff, too.
Boys
, she thought with exasperation. How could they start out like this and end up so totally cute? Dillon—had he ever been a grubby eight-year-old? Ms. O'Reilly was right, this history business was more complicated than it seemed.

Of course, Sam's teachers loved him. He got every answer right on every test without cracking a book, and he seemed like he'd learned how to read in his sleep. Most annoying of all, he was an ace speller. He could spell ANYTHING, even the names of those creepy generals he was obsessed with. Sometimes it was hard to believe that the two of them were even related. He owned exactly two sweatshirts, two pairs of pants—both hideous brown—and exactly one pair of shoes—and those were light-up sneakers. How uncool. He was positively fashion-impaired. As Maeve clambered up the steep staircase that led from the hallway up into their apartment, she scooped up some of her brother's stuff as she went.
There
. Another good deed for the day, she congratulated herself. Maybe Sam couldn't help being a whiz kid and a slob. She vowed to be nicer to him tonight. Maybe she'd even let him read her one of his World War II comic strips. She had to admit some of them were pretty interesting. Except the ones on Hitler. That crazy guy was just too scary for words.

Maeve heard voices as she approached the landing. Her
parents—that was strange, Maeve thought, checking her watch. Why wasn't her father still downstairs at the cinema? She opened the door into the kitchen, and sure enough, both her mom and dad were there. From the look on their faces she could tell that something was definitely wrong. Her mom was standing over near the fridge, her arms crossed and a frown on her face. Her dad was sitting at the kitchen table, fiddling with a paper clip. Both looked up at Maeve, but then her father looked away. He was obviously uncomfortable.

“Maeve,” her mother said, with a funny sound in her voice that Maeve had never really heard before. She didn't sound disappointed or annoyed. Something else was going on. She actually sounded almost—sad. “Where were you this afternoon?”

“I was—” Maeve stopped short, setting her stuff down. “I went to Montoya's with my friends. We were talking about our new social studies project,” she added quickly, trying to make it sound more like a study break than just hanging out.

“You were supposed to go over to work on your math homework with Matt, remember?” her mother asked. “He called here about half an hour ago, wondering where you were.”

Maeve winced. Oh no! So that was the appointment she'd half-remembered. Matt Kierney had only been her tutor for a few weeks. He went to Boston College and Maeve thought he was great—smart, serious, but really nice.

“Shoot—I totally forgot!” she cried, smacking her forehead. “I left my planner upstairs. I KNEW there was something on for this afternoon, but I couldn't remember what it was.”

Maeve waited for her mom to reprimand her. Usually, her mother got upset about this kind of thing.

But surprisingly, her mother didn't seem angry. Instead, she just looked a little worn out. Like her mind was on something else.

“I'll call Matt and reschedule,” Maeve volunteered.

Her mom nodded. The word “reschedule” didn't even seem to get her attention—and that was definitely not like her. Say the
schedule
word, and she'd have her gigantic wall calendar out, marking out the days in different colored pens. But not this afternoon. She seemed too preoccupied.

Maeve decided her parents needed cheering up. Why not lift their spirits by sharing her good news with them?

“Mom, Dad, you're not going to believe this,” Maeve said, “but I got nominated today for a community service award for my blanket project!”

“Maeve—that's wonderful!” her mother exclaimed, her face brightening.

Her father jumped up to give her a bear hug—just at the moment that her mother leaned in to embrace her. Both of them pulled back, and her mother's face turned red.

Weird, Maeve thought. Definitely weird.

She dismissed it, though—who knew why parents did what they did?—and proceeded to fill them both in on all the details about the award. They were really eager to hear about it. In fact, Maeve thought they seemed almost TOO eager. They kept asking more and more questions. Who would be at the ceremony? How many kids had been nominated? Finally, Maeve ran out of answers. She hadn't won yet! Why was everyone jumping to conclusions?

She tried three separate times to escape to her room—she was dying to check I.M. and see who might be online. But they didn't seem to want her to leave the kitchen.

Maeve decided that they were overreacting to her news
because this wasn't exactly an everyday event. Probably, she guessed, her life was a lot more exciting than theirs.
Parents
, she thought fondly. They really didn't have much perspective, did they? But she finally had to tear herself away and leave them to their own devices. They were going to have to wait to hear more details about the nomination later—she had to feed her guinea pigs, and she had to be over at Charlotte's house to help pack Marty up in less than an hour.

Maeve's guinea pigs were both female, but Maeve liked giving them romantic names from movies and TV shows, which she changed every time she felt like it. This week they were “Romeo” and “Juliet.” Maeve scooped them up to give them each a kiss. “Hi guinea babies,” she said sweetly, tickling Juliet's tummy and letting both of them run around her room. They needed some exercise after a whole day trapped in their cage!

Home sweet home, Maeve thought, looking fondly around her. Maeve's room was what Katani had labeled a “pink-fest.” Posters covered one half of the wall near her bed, including her latest “shrine to hotness,” with the cutest guys in Hollywood cut out of magazines and taped to the wall. Maeve was a collector, and her shelves were crowded with memorabilia—trophies and ribbons from dance classes all the way back to kindergarten, pictures of her friends, worn and fuzzy stuffed animals, glass figurines…“girly-girl” stuff, as Avery called it. Maeve loved every single bit of her room, even the ruffly pink canopy on her bed.

Ooops. There was her offending day planner, lying on her dresser where she'd left it. Maeve vowed to keep all her things in one place so she wouldn't forget an appointment again.

She flung herself across her bed with her laptop.

The house was quiet when Maeve let herself out an hour later, ready for the Marty transport. Strangely quiet. Her mom and dad were still sitting together at the kitchen table, but neither of them seemed to be saying much to the other.

They looked glad to see her when Maeve crashed through the kitchen, grabbing a snack from the fridge on the way out.

Her mom wanted to know when she'd be back and if she had her cell phone. The usual.

Her father wanted to remind her that she was supposed to help him with the film festival tomorrow. AND help watch Sam.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Maeve said.

“Oh, and Maeve. Don't forget about tomorrow evening,” her mother said.

“I won't forget,” Maeve assured her. She really didn't like this. What could possibly need this much buildup?

“Oh, and you guys, I need to talk to YOU, too,” she added, as she backed out of the kitchen door into the hallway. “I need to find out about your histories—both of you. So start
thinking about some good stories about how you grew up and where you both come from, okay? Ms. O'Reilly wants them to be REAL. We're doing this awesome Heritage Museum, and I need to find stuff that shows who we are as a family. So maybe you could think about how you each grew up and how different it was. Then I can interview you.”

Her parents exchanged glances, but neither of them spoke. Fine, Maeve thought, as she bounded out the door. Don't all jump at once to help me with my project!

Something was definitely up, but they didn't seem to be mad at HER.

Maybe we're MOVING, Maeve thought excitedly. Her parents might have found a wonderful house right near where they were living now. One with huge closets and tons of space and a nice gigantic new bedroom for Maeve.
Now we are talking
, thought Maeve.

But no matter what was brewing, Maeve hoped for the best. She was the kind of girl who, given the chance, always believed that the glass was half full, and not half empty. Lemonade out of lemons—that was her motto.

M
ARTY
I
NCOGNITO

“He keeps WRIGGLING,” Katani complained. “You guys, you have to be organized about this stuff!” She was trying valiantly to fit Marty's leash and toys in a neat coil inside his water bowl, and Isabel started to giggle.

“You really are a neat freak,” Isabel said with amusement.

“I can't help it,” Katani retorted. “I just like keeping things together. If you shared a bedroom as small as mine, you'd be super-organized, too.”

“I DO share a small bedroom, remember? Only mine's a
mess. My sister's half probably looks like yours—neat as a pin.” Isabel smiled. “My side looks like a tornado hit it.”

The four girls were over at Charlotte's, up in the Tower, trying to pack Marty up for his secret weekend in Avery's carriage house.

“Okay, I think that's everything,” Charlotte said at last. “He's got dog food, treats, toys, his bowls…everything I can think of. Oops! Can't forget Happy Lucky Thingy—Marty can't be without his favorite chew toy.” She bent down and picked up the pink chewy and stuffed it in the bag.

“You think he'll be okay in the carriage house all weekend?” Katani asked, worried. “What if it gets cold?”

It was autumn, and recently the temperature had dipped into the forties at night.

“Avery says the carriage house is pretty warm,” Isabel pointed out. “Come on, guys. Let's walk Marty over on his leash, and when we get to the Maddens' we can squish him into the soccer bag. We don't want to get Avery's mom upset.”

The girls followed Marty over to Avery's, which—as Charlotte pointed out—meant stopping at just about every bush and fire hydrant for a long sniff. As they got closer to Avery's, the houses got bigger and bigger, and the fences around them taller and taller. Avery lived in one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in town, and her house—a tall, stately colonial with pale gray shutters—looked even more imposing than usual as the girls walked up to the gate.

“Wow,” exclaimed Isabel as she pointed to a maple tree. “Those leaves look like they are on fire.” That was Isabel—always noting the color of things.

“Okay, little guy. In you go,” Katani said cheerfully, stooping down and opening up Avery's soccer bag.

Marty sniffed it suspiciously and backed off, whimpering. He didn't look excited to jump inside.

“Put a treat inside the bag,” Charlotte recommended.

In the end, that was the only way to coax Marty in. Once inside the bag, he started thrashing around wildly and barking. The girls looked at each other. They began laughing nervously.

“We kind of forgot about his sound effects,” Maeve said.

“Why don't you ring the doorbell, Maeve? Ask Avery to come out here. We can't chance it, with him barking,” Katani said.

Maeve looked at her. “What am I supposed to say? Why are we all showing up at Avery's on a Friday evening?”

“Improvise. You're good at that,” Katani told her.

Maeve rang the doorbell, trying to think up a good story for Avery's mother. To her surprise, a guy answered the door—a CUTE guy, in fact. He looked like he was about sixteen or seventeen, with sandy-brown hair and freckles.

“Hey,” Maeve said, staring. “Uh—is Avery here?”

He nodded. “AVERY,” he yelled into the empty space of the room behind him.

Avery came thudding down the stairs, two at a time. “Hey,” she said to Maeve, pushing her way past the cute guy. She looked closely at Maeve. “Why do you look like that? What are you staring at?”