Ava and Pip (12 page)

AFTERNOON

DEAR DIARY,

This morning, Pip and I got haircuts, or in my case, a hair-fix. I got a B-O-B, like Maybelle.

On the way home, a flock of Canada geese honked in a V above us, and Pip turned to me all serious and said, “Do geese see God?”

I said, “What are you talking about?”

She spelled it out: “D-O-G-E-E-S-E-S-E-E-G-O-D?”

“Good one!” I said.

After lunch, Maybelle, Lucia, and Carmen came over. The twins were both wearing red, and we started playing a four-person card game of “I Doubt It.” But then Carmen had to go home. Lucia didn't want to stop, so she said, “Think you can get Pip to play with us?”

I said, “I doubt it,” and everyone laughed. But it occurred to me that Pip hadn't acted like a sore loser for a long time and hadn't been hiding in her room as much either. So I knocked on her door and asked her to play with us, and she said, “Sure,” and took Carmen's place. And instead of us doing Pip a favor, Pip was doing
us
a favor. Which was nice, to tell you the truth.

When she sat down, Lucia said, “You're in seventh grade, right?”

Pip nodded.

“Don't the seventh- and eighth-graders have a dance coming up?”

Pip said, “Yes,” and blushed a little.

“Are you going?” Maybelle asked.

“I don't know,” Pip said.

Maybelle sneezed and Pip said, “Bless you,” and I started thinking I should write Ben a note telling him that Pip likes him and asking if he likes her. But then I thought: nah, it's better to think twice (or three times!) before putting some things in print.

A-V-A WITH A B-O-B

AT 7:12

DEAR DIARY,

In the library today, I went straight into Spy Mode—A-K-A Keen Observation Mode.

Pip and Ben were on opposite sides of the room, sneaking peeks at each other. I kept watching them watch each other, and soon only two minutes were left in the period.

I wanted to jump up and shove them together. It was time for one of them to make a move!

Suddenly Ben stretched, stood up, walked toward Pip, and said, “Oh, hey, hi,” as if he'd bumped into her by pure accident.

“Hi,” she said, barely looking up.

Neither of them said another word. I wanted to shout, “Talk! Talk! Talk about music or sports or TV! Or the weather! Or anything at all!”

But it was like they had
talker's block
.

At last, Ben said, “I like your watch. What time is it?” This was a funny question since there was a wall clock right by the door.

Pip said, “1:59. Thanks. I got it for my birthday.”

They fell silent again.

His eyes landed on her book and he said, “
Great
Expectations
.”

“Have you read it?” Pip asked.

He said no, and Pip told him there was a character in it named Pip.

From the corner of my eye (not that eyes have corners), I could see Mr. Ramirez starting to take giant steps toward them. I knew he was going to ask them to “pipe down,” which is how he says, “Be quiet.”

Well, I couldn't let him ruin the moment, so I looked straight at him, human being to human being. And just like that, Mr. Ramirez stopped in his tracks. It was as if he read my mind and decided to do a good D-E-E-D and let Pip and Ben talk (or at least try to).

“Some of my friends are going to the dance on Friday,” Ben finally stammered. “Are you?”

I thought P-I-P might P-O-P, but she stayed M-U-M.

Then she said, “I haven't really thought about it,” which I knew was not true.

Then they both went quiet again! They were M-U-M as mummies!

I wanted to jump up and say, “Don't believe her! She
has
thought about it, and she's dying to go with you, you, you!”

The bell started to ring, and Ben managed to mumble, “Maybe we could go together.”

Pip looked up and said, “K,” very softly, and their eyes met for a split second, and then Ben went back to his seat.

Well, neither of them said another word, but I knew that inside, they were both all melty. And I felt sort of proud of them, and proud of myself too.

If Pip's life were a book, this would be the start of a whole new chapter! And I helped her turn some important pages!

AVA THE ALTRUISTIC

BEDTIME

DEAR DIARY,

Mrs. Lemons asked us to do some in-class creative writing, and instead of worrying or getting blocked, I just wrote and wrote as if I were writing in you.

I got so inspired that I wrote a three-page story called “Invisible Girl.” It's based a little on me and a little on Pip, but not quite on either of us. The first line is: “Once there was a girl who could disappear at will.” I read the story out loud, and my whole class liked it, including Chuck, all three Emilys, Pony Girl Riley, and of course Maybelle.

Tonight when Dad tucked me in, I showed him “Invisible Girl,” and he laughed at all the right parts. “Ava, this is good!” he said. “I like it even more than the other one.”

“Thanks.”

“You're a real writer,” he said. “You have the gift of gab.”

I said, “The gift of what?”

Dad said there's a castle in Ireland, and millions of tourists climb its tower, lean over backward while a guard holds their legs, and kiss the Blarney Stone so they can get the “gift of gab” and become better talkers.

“Is that a G-A-G?”

“No, I'm serious.”

“Is it scary?”

“No, it's fun!”

“Is it germy?”

Dad laughed. “Life is germy.”

“So why didn't you take Pip?” I asked.

“County Cork is a long way from Misty Oaks!” he said.

“I think she's figuring out how to talk anyway.”

“I think you're right,” Dad replied. He ruffled my hair, and I knew Mom must have told him about our conversation. I thought he was going to say, “Good night,” but he said, “Do you sometimes feel that way?”

“What way?”

“Invisible.”

My eyes stung, and the tip of my nose got all tingly as though I'd had too much wasabi on my sushi. I blinked a few times then said, “Sometimes. Maybe. A teeny bit.” I didn't want to hurt Dad's feelings, but then again, he was asking about
my
feelings.

Dad nodded. “Ava, I'm sorry. Next time I'm talking too much or joking too much or reading too much, speak up, okay? If Mom and I get sidetracked with work or Pip, just talk to us. Don't wait for an invitation. I want to know what's important to you and what's upsetting you.”

“Okay,” I said and blinked some more. “Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“I got another 100 in spelling. That's all I ever get. Nothing but 100s. The kids in my language arts class think I'm a genius because I can spell words like ‘genius.' And ‘invisible.' They're rooting for me to get every word right for the rest of the year. Even this boy Chuck who can't spell to save his life and wants to be a championship boxer.” I was talking way too fast, but the words came flying out. “Dad, I'm the best speller in the entire grade. I'm, like, a
great
speller!”

Dad kissed me on the head. “You know something, Ava? You're a great daughter too.”

I smiled. “It's good I never kissed the Blarney Stone.”

“What do you mean?”

“You once called me a ‘chatterbox.' What if I never stopped talking?”

Dad laughed. “You're a talker, but you know how to listen too.”

He was about to turn off the light when I asked, “Can I write for a few more minutes?”

“Sure.” He glanced at my diary and added, “Hey! You're almost out of pages, aren't you?”

“Yup,” I said.

He left, and I wrote down our whole conversation. Then I heard his footsteps and a knock on the door. “It's getting late,” he said, poking his head in. He added that in
Ulysses
, James Joyce coined the longest palindrome in the Oxford English Dictionary.

“H-U-H?”

“Tattarrattat. T-A-T-T-A-R-R-A-T-T-A-T. It means ‘knock on the door.'”

“Can I write that down?”

“Okay, but then lights out in one minute.”

“Okay.”

“And by the way,” Dad said, “I meant what I said.”

“About ‘lights out in one minute'?”

“About you being a great daughter.”

AVA (WITH AN AWW)

5:55

DEAR DIARY,

Bea asked if we could meet at her bookshop instead of our house. She said her parents like her to make herself “useful during the holidays” by unpacking boxes, shelving books, helping customers, and wrapping presents. December is their busiest season.

“Okay,” I said, even though I was
not
dying to run into her mom.

After school, Pip and I walked to Bates Books, and on the way, we passed Loudmouth Lacey. She actually squeaked—but just once. I pretended not to hear, and I think Pip really didn't hear, which, in its own weird way, might be lucky. (Maybe she'll always have minor “social issues”? Maybe Lacey will too??)

At the bookstore, I saw Mrs. Bates. At first I wanted to pretend I didn't notice her, but Pip said hi, so I had to say something. I thought of Pointer #4 and said, “I really like your bookstore. It's so cozy.”

Mrs. Bates looked surprised. “Why thank you, Ava. Having a bookstore was my dream ever since I was your age. Of course I didn't know what a challenge it would be.”

She laughed like we were old friends.

Bea came over and motioned for us to follow her to the back, so we did. She said she had something for us. I thought it might be gum, but she handed us two night-light pens that glow in the dark! If you click the tips, they light up! You could use them to write in the middle of the night if you woke up and didn't want your parents coming in!

When Bea handed me my pen, she said, “Ava, ‘Sting of the Queen Bee' was
not
my favorite story in the world, but if you keep writing, someday maybe we can sell your book right here at Bates Books.” She pointed to a bottom shelf. “We could shelve it next to E. B. White's.”

I liked imagining my name on a bookstore book. I began picturing a kid picking up a book by Ava Elle Wren, and maybe even looking at the front and back and skimming the first page and seeing what it was about and how it sounded and how long it was.

I also started wondering if the pen Bea gave me might feel magical. Then I realized that, magic or not, it was wayyy cooler than the library pen Alex got for his Ernie the Earthworm story because it was proof that Bea and I really had become friends after all.

“Does your mom know you're giving me this?”

Bea said, “Yes.”

“Did she say anything?”

Bea looked like she was deciding how to answer. “She said you're a ‘young writer with a lot to learn.'”

I couldn't argue with that, and I was glad Mrs. Bates called me a “writer,” just as Dad had. Lately I have been thinking about
becoming
a writer, but in some ways, maybe I already
am
one? All I do is write! Well, write and spell.

Bea turned and said, “Pip, you deserve a fancy pen too because you completed all five assignments.”

Pip thanked her and clicked the little light on and off, on and off.

“How'd the questions go this week, anyway? Did you talk to anybody good?”

“As a matter of fact…” Pip began.

Just then I saw a blur of orange. Was it the tip of a tail? I remembered hearing about Meow Meow and blurted, “Was it a cat I saw?”

“Great one!” Pip said. “W-A-S-I-T-A-C-A-T-I-S-A-W!” I didn't respond, and Pip said, “Ava, that's an amazing palindrome!”

“Palinwhat?” Bea asked.

“Palindrome,” Pip said. “A palindrome is the same backward or forward. Like P-I-P. Or A-V-A.”

“Wow,” said Bea.

“Or W-O-W,” Pip said. “Our parents Bob (B-O-B) and Anna (A-N-N-A) named us Pip (P-I-P) and Ava (A-V-A),” she continued, “and now we're all four word nerds!”

For the first time in my life, I wanted to tell Pip to shhh, be quiet, pipe down, and
shut
up
. Was I going to be sorry I'd helped Pip find her voice? Was Bea going to think our whole family was bonkers?

“But what are ya gonna do?” Pip added merrily. “Sue us? S-U-E-U-S?”

Right then, I swear, I wanted to evaporate. I actually
wanted
to be invisible.

But Bea just laughed and said, “My dad is weird about words too.” She said he was into alliterations, and that her parents' names are Bill and Beth, and they named their kids Ben and Beatrice. “Hey, Pip, have you met my big brother Ben Bates, my BBBB?”

Out of nowhere, her BBBB appeared, holding a striped orange cat. At first, no one said anything. Then the cat meowed twice and jumped to the floor.

“That must be Meow Meow,” I said.

“It is,” Ben and Bea replied at the exact same time. Ben turned to Pip, and their eyes locked. I have to say, Pip looked extra pretty, and for a tiny second, I pictured them married with two freckled toddlers, one boy, one girl.

Bea was staring at them too. “I guess you two
hav
e met,” she said.

Pip and Ben stayed M-U-M, and I figured it might help if their younger sisters weren't standing there breathing on them.

I scooped up Meow Meow and gestured for Bea to follow.

As we walked away, Bea whispered, “So the boy Pip had a crush on is…
Ben
?” I nodded and hoped she wouldn't mind that I hadn't told her earlier.

“They do have a lot in common,” she said.

“True,” I said and listed three things:

1.
Freckles

2.
Shyness

3.
Totally awesome sisters

Bea smiled. “Think they'll go to the dance together? Ben's still a little shy.”

“I know they will,” I answered.

“Huh.”

“H-U-H,” I spelled out, then suddenly noticed a copy of “Bookshop Cat,” framed and hanging on the wall. “Your story!”

“Yeah, my aunt framed it.”

“The psychotherapist?” I'd never said that word aloud before.

“Yeah,” Bea replied.

“Cool,” I said and asked, “Bea, did Ben read my story?”

She shook her head. “He wanted to, but he couldn't find it online. So he asked me if I had the library booklet, and I said yes, but that I'd torn out your story and fed it to the shredder.”

“And had you?” I said, surprised.

“The day I read it. Turning your dumb-head story into confetti made me feel better.”

“You mean, even future advice columnists are human?”

“Yup.” She laughed, so I did too.

AVA THE AWESOME