'Tis the Off-Season (5 page)

He held up a hand to stop her.

“Ava, I realize it's a disappointment to you,” he said. “But it was a decision your mother and I made together. I can't have you blaming your mother for what we concluded was the best thing for you right now. We're trying to help you impose structure on your life, so you can be successful academically. Academics always come before sports, and you know how firmly I believe that. And that's that. Now, I really have to get back inside to oversee.” And with a quick pat on her shoulder, he left her standing there, grinding her teeth in frustration.

Ava walked home from school so she could practice her dribbling, even though her hopes of changing her parents' minds were fading as fast as the fall afternoon light. She didn't cry. To cry would be to admit that her parents had won, and she wasn't yet ready to accept their decision as final.

As she passed the park on Saragaso Way, she spotted Jack shooting around. She stopped dribbling and held her ball tightly with both hands, watching him work on a reverse layup. Why hadn't he just stayed at school to play with the rest of the kids at the gym? She felt a slight shock zing down her spine. Was it because she hadn't been there? Was he hoping
she
would walk past this park?

She knew that Alex had guessed she'd picked Jack when they drew names for Secret Santa, because Alex and Ava could usually read what was going through each other's minds in situations like that. She hoped she hadn't turned red or something. For now, what she and Jack had was just a friendship. Still, she needed to figure out what on earth she was going to make for him for a Secret Santa present. Good at crafts she was not, and it was supposed to be something homemade.

“Hey!” she called to him. She scrambled down the grassy incline and cut a diagonal through the park.

In answer, he passed the ball to her and pointed toward the rim to indicate that she should shoot from where she was. She dropped all her stuff and took a long-range jumper. It almost went in.

Jack grinned and retrieved the ball. Then he passed it back to her. “I was hoping you'd come along,” he said.

“Why? So I could school you in one-on-one?” she teased.

“Um, sure. Yeah, that, plus I need you to help me figure out what that sister of yours would want for a Secret Santa present.”

“Don't tell me you got Alex,” said Ava.

“Okay, I won't,” he said.

“You got
Alex
?”

“No. But I know the person who did, and that person wants me to ask you for tips because that person knows I know you.”

“You're making my head hurt,” said Ava. “But I will think about it and get back to you.”

“Thanks,” he said. “So, you want to play?”

She sighed. “I can't. I have to go work on my dumb thesis statement for my dumb persuasive essay, which is way overdue. But as long as we're asking each other cryptic questions—I happen to know the person who is your Secret Santa, and that person asked me to ask you what you want.”

Jack grinned. “Food,” he said. “You can't go wrong with food. I'm always hungry.”

Ava laughed. “Okay, I'll tell the person to get you a few bags of frozen lima beans and a bushel of brussels sprouts.”

“Awesome,” he said. He waved good-bye and went back to shooting baskets.

When Ava got home, she smelled vegetable lasagna baking. Her mother was on the phone in the kitchen. Mrs. Sackett waved to Ava, and then moved through the swinging door into the hallway, still talking to the other person in a low voice. Ava couldn't make out the words, but she got the distinct impression that her mother did not want her to listen in.

Alex, who'd come home on the late bus, walked in just a minute after Ava did. “It was so fun hanging out at the gym,” she said to Ava, who was searching through the fruit bowl for the perfect apple. “But I didn't get any further with the Corey-Lindsey situation. I'm just not able to tell whether Lindsey cares if Corey and I start liking each other.”

Ava took a bite of the apple she'd grabbed with one hand and then opened the oven door with the other. She peered in at the lasagna, which was starting to bubble and brown. It smelled amazing. She closed it and turned to face Alex. “Honestly, Al, I don't think it's really fair for Lindsey to be upset,” she said. “I mean, they've broken up. It's not like Corey is supposed to be in mourning for the rest of his middle school career or anything.”

“I know, but I just don't want to risk losing Lindsey as a friend.”

Ava sighed in exasperation. This whole situation made her head hurt. She didn't understand why everything had to be so complicated. She decided to change the subject. “Have you noticed that Mom has been really secretive recently?” she asked. “I mean, just a minute ago when I walked in, she was on the phone, and she immediately left the room so I wouldn't hear her conversation.”

“Hmm,” said Alex. “That
is
strange. I wonder if it's a Christmas surprise. Maybe she's arranging some big event with our old friends back home?”

Just then their mother came back into the kitchen, smiling pleasantly, and, Ava thought, a little artificially. Ava was still upset with her mom, but she knew better than to act sulky. She was still holding out hope that she could change her mother's mind about basketball.

“Girls, I have a favor to ask you,” she said as she put the phone back in its cradle. “You know my friend Mrs. Barnaby, who runs the day-care center at the community college? They're having their staff holiday party on Thursday afternoon and need coverage for the kids for just a couple of hours. I told her you girls could help out. Ava, you'll have plenty of time to get your homework done, as you'll be home before dinner.”

“Oh, is
that
who you were just talking to?” asked Alex. “We thought you were involved in some sort of high-level, top-secret negotiation!”

Mrs. Sackett furrowed her brow. “Just now? Oh! No, that wasn't Mrs. Barnaby just now. That was—” She seemed to reconsider what she'd been about to say. “That was someone else.”

Ava and Alex exchanged a look.

Something is definitely going on,
Ava thought.

On Wednesday after school a big group of Ashland Middle schoolers met up outside the school and walked to Carolee's Consignment store in search of ugly Christmas sweaters. Emily had called ahead to let Carolee know that they were coming.

“She says she looks forward to this every Christmas,” said Emily, as the group approached the store. “All year long, she collects and sets aside a huge bunch of sweaters just for us!”

“I've never been to a thrift store,” Charlotte admitted.

“I'm pretty sure none of the boys have either,” said Emily.

“Now that's just not true,” said Corey, pretending to sound offended. “Jack and I come here at least once a week, don't we, Jack?”

“Oh, sure, O'Sullivan, sure,” said Jack with exaggerated enthusiasm. “How else do you think I always find that ‘perfect accessory'?” He crooked his fingers into air quotes.

Alex laughed. This was such a fun, rare opportunity to hang out outside of school with their guy friends! Even Ava seemed excited about it, and Alex couldn't remember the last time Ava had looked enthusiastic about shopping.

She stole a glance at Lindsey. Was she upset that Johnny Morton wasn't with them? He'd had a dentist appointment or something. Alex wondered if Lindsey was intentionally walking near Corey and Jack, or if that was just a coincidence of walking in a big clump. She couldn't stop analyzing every little thing that Lindsey did.

Carolee greeted them warmly as they filed in. Although she was an older woman, Alex liked her style: upswept reddish hair, lots of necklaces, a plain but well-tailored black dress.

“There's a whole collection of Christmas cheer on that circular rack over there,” she said. “Have fun!”

Alex found the perfect sweater almost immediately. It was bright pink with green accents and big white snowflakes on the front. And the best thing was there were actual twinkling lights at the end of each snowflake. A tiny wire was stitched into the side seam and was attached to a small on-off switch that you could keep in your pocket. The lights didn't work, but Alex wondered if her mother could replace the bulbs or something. “Please let this fit!” she whispered, heading for the dressing room.

The changing rooms were small, with even smaller mirrors. Alex could barely turn around to see what her sweater looked like from the back. She'd seen a large, three-way mirror in the corridor of the changing area, so she stepped out to have a look—

—and almost collided with Corey, who was coming out of the changing room across the corridor.

He was wearing a ridiculously bright purple sweater vest with two big snowmen on the front. The garish color clashed hideously with his usually gorgeous red hair.

Alex forgot to be nervous. She guffawed with laughter at the sight of him.

He grinned. “Guess that's the response I'm going for,” he said. “You look pretty awesome yourself. Do those lights work?”

Alex turned to survey herself in the mirror. Of course it was an ugly sweater, but the bright-green trim actually complemented her green eyes, and the overall effect was, well, kind of snappy. Plus, she'd found a sparkly green hair clip that almost perfectly matched her sweater—and it looked really nice in her hair. It wasn't ugly, either. It was versatile enough to look good with anything. She wasn't planning to actually buy it, but she always tried to accessorize when she tried something on, just to see the potential. Her mother had told her she had good instincts when it came to fashion.

The sweater was a little big for her, but that just made it look even funnier. “The lights don't work, but I'm going to try to get them fixed,” she said. “What do you think? How do I look?”

Corey flushed so much that his cheeks matched her pink sweater. “It would be hard for you not to look awesome,” he said in a quiet voice.

Alex felt an electric thrill zoom up and down her entire body. She didn't dare say anything, which was probably a good thing because at that moment, Lindsey swung open the door of her own changing room and stood right between them. They both jumped back a step as though they'd been stung.

“Great sweaters,” said Lindsey, smiling sweetly at them. She was holding a small armful of sweaters.

“Thanks,” said Alex and Corey at the same moment.

“I love that hair clip, Alex,” said Lindsey. “It almost looks like it came with the sweater!”

“Ha-ha!” said Alex. She whipped it out of her hair. “I don't have enough money for the sweater
and
the hair thing, but I just figured I'd try it on.” She and Corey each ducked inside their changing rooms.

Alex leaned against the wall, gathering her wits. This was all so confusing!

Most of her friends managed to find a sweater they liked—or thought was appropriately ugly. Ava's was huge and baggy—almost like a sweaterdress. Kylie found a sweater with a cowboy Santa. Logan's was a pretty ordinary Christmas sweater, but it was clearly meant for a girl, which made it look really funny on him. Charlotte took the longest to pick one. In the end she bought several sweaters so she'd be able to decide the day of the party.

Mrs. Sackett came to pick up Ava and Alex, as well as Emily, Lindsey, and Charlotte, all of whom lived along the route home.

“Did you find your sweaters?” asked Mrs. Sackett as they pulled away.

“Did I!” squealed Charlotte. “I couldn't decide among four different sweaters, so I bought them all!”

“This is going to be the best party ever,” said Emily.

“Thanks so much for agreeing to host it, Mrs. Sackett,” added Lindsey.

Mrs. Sackett suddenly coughed, but managed to recover her breath.

“Oh, and Mrs. Sackett, my mom said to tell you that she knows an awesome caterer,” added Charlotte. “He makes
the
best passed hors d'oeuvres.”

Alex, who was sitting in the front passenger seat, saw the smile evaporate from her mother's face. Luckily, the other girls were busy chatting away in the back and didn't appear to notice.

A thought occurred to Alex. Had she forgotten to mention to her mother that the Sacketts were going to be hosting the party? Surely not. She was 90 percent, well, maybe 78 percent sure she'd mentioned that detail at dinner the night she told her parents about the party. Maybe 60 percent . . .