Letters from the Heart (19 page)

“Sorry, people, I know this is kind of boring,” Avery said.

Suddenly Maeve grabbed her arm. Her face had a funny look on it.

“Avery—did you hear that?”

Avery stared at her. “The doorbell?”

“No! I think I heard a whistle! A guinea pig whistle!”

“Omigod!” Avery shouted.

Her mother happened to be coming into the living room, her hand through the arm of a distinguished looking elderly gentleman. She gave Avery an encouraging look before
turning back to the gentleman. “Lewis, this is my daughter, Avery, and several of her school friends,” she said in an upbeat voice. “Katani, Charlotte, Maeve, and Isabel, say hello to Mr. Jameson.” Mr. Jameson extended his hand to each girl and by name told them how glad he was to meet them.

Avery was looking furtively around the room. Was it possible that Beckham was really here somewhere? She wished her mother would go and introduce Mr. Jameson to the other guests so she could get down on all fours and look for him!

“Avery,” her mother said, “Mr. Jameson is asking you a question.”

Avery sighed. Okay, the search for Beckham was going to have to wait. She wriggled around to try to make her skirt less bunchy and let her mother drag her through a bunch of tedious questions about being twelve and a half. “Well, Mr. Jameson. I guess it's kind of like it always was—you know, school, friends, sports. The biggest difference is that we have I.M.”

Mr. Jameson smiled. “Yes, I know about I.M. I use it with my grandkids. It's a great way to stay connected.”

Avery gave him an admiring look.
Not bad for an old guy
, she thought. But she wondered if Mr. Jameson would be surprised to know that the only thing this twelve-and-a-half-year-old was really thinking about was a missing guinea pig!

 

“I heard her. I swear, I heard her,” Maeve insisted as they walked away. It was five minutes to six, and any minute the girls were going to follow the grown-ups into the splendidly decorated dining room.

“Are you sure?” Katani demanded.

One good thing: worrying about Beckham was making Katani forget about being mad. She seemed to be thawing a little bit. And getting into the spirit of the hunt.

There were almost fifty people packed into the Maddens' living room, and now that it was crowded enough, the girls were using every free second to try to hunt for Beckham. Even Maeve was calling her Beckham now! She was almost certain she caught a glimpse of her running along the floorboard in the living room, but if it really was her, she was moving awfully fast.

“It could've just been a shadow,” she admitted regretfully. “It's a little dim in here—it's kind of hard to see.”

“I know. My mom calls it mood lighting,” Avery said.

“Girls,” Mrs. Madden announced, putting a hand on Avery's shoulder and Maeve's, and steering them toward the dining room, “It's time for dinner now. Please take your places.”

Maeve and Avery looked at each other helplessly. There was no choice but to follow her orders and head to the dining room. The hunt for Beckham was going to have to wait until dinner was over.

 

Avery's mother decided that toasts and speeches should come right at the beginning of the meal.

“I'm starving,” Avery groaned to Maeve and Isabel, who were sitting on either side of her at the end of the table farthest from their honored guest.

Charlotte couldn't believe how fancy everything was. Two crystal glasses at each place, and tons of silverware. The catering staff had dressed up in black and white uniforms and they were running around filling up water and wine
glasses like real waiters. It was kind of intimidating, not to mention majorly cool! How did they get a table big enough to seat all these people? Avery explained that they added on to the regular table with rented ones, but still! It looked like something right out of a fancy magazine.

Mrs. Madden got up to make a speech about her years at Talbot Academy. Charlotte found herself tuning out a little. She caught parts of it—stuff about “values” and “traditions” and “impressionable girls” and “making a fine contribution to society.” But mostly, she was watching the other people at the table. They were all looking eagerly at Mr. Jameson. He must be really important, Charlotte thought, if so many people cared so much about impressing him.

While Mrs. Madden was speaking, the caterers brought in the salad bowl. Charlotte had never seen anything remotely like it. It was ten times as big as the biggest salad bowl she and her dad had at home. And because it was silver—or at least, it LOOKED like silver—it was incredibly impressive, like something you'd see in a medieval castle.

It took two of the caterers to lift the bowl onto the table. Apparently, everyone was supposed to look longingly at the salad while Mrs. Madden talked, and then while Mr. Jameson talked, and then, FINALLY, they would serve the salad to everyone.

Charlotte wriggled in her seat. She was getting a little restless. This was all so formal.

Oh good. Mrs. Madden was sinking back into her seat, beaming, while everyone clapped politely. Now it was Mr. Jameson's turn. He got to his feet, lifting his glass, and began to cough.

“AVERY,” Maeve whispered frantically, tugging at her friend's sleeve.

“Maeve, we have to be quiet,” ordered Avery.

“No…you have to look.” Avery turned to follow Maeve's gaze. She was staring, stricken, at the enormous salad bowl. Charlotte followed her gaze, as did Katani and Isabel. Five pairs of eyes widened.

There, in the middle of the enormous bowl of salad, was Beckham, lifting her little head curiously right out of the middle of the bowl and sniffing wildly around her. She had bits of leaves in her mouth to show that she'd already tasted the lettuce, and it looked like she thought it was pretty good.

“And THAT,” Mr. Jameson said, setting down his wine glass, “is why it is vitally important to incorporate some of these programs into the curriculum.” Everyone gave a short round of applause, guessing from the sound of his voice that his speech was only just getting started.

Everyone, that is, but the five Beacon Street Girls. They were watching in fascinated horror as Beckham wriggled her way free of the lettuce, crawled to the edge of the salad bowl, and looking down like a diver from the high dive at an enormous swimming pool, jumped deftly onto the white linen tablecloth and scampered right down the center of the table toward Maeve and Avery.

“BECKHAM!” Avery shrieked, jumping up to make a lunge for the guinea pig.

“AVERY!” her mother cried, horrified.

Total mayhem broke out.

The women who were sitting on either side of the salad bowl jumped up, knocking over their wineglasses. One of them knocked over a chair in her hurry. Several other guests actually screamed, which Avery thought was a little much, but it must have been the shock, as she told Maeve later.
Nobody could scream at the sight of Beckham otherwise. A few guests began to laugh hysterically.

The guests were on their feet in an instant, pushing their chairs back and knocking into each other as they tried to get away from what Charlotte heard one woman call “that ENORMOUS RAT!”

“It's not a rat,” Carla corrected her from the butler's pantry. “It's a pig.”

“It's a guinea pig.” Avery corrected them again. “It's not a rodent. It's a pet.”

“Avery, I thought you had that thing in a CAGE,” her mother frantically shouted, looking around her at the upset table with an expression of mingled embarrassment, anger, and—was it possible?—just the slightest touch of humor, too.

“Beckham's an escape artist,” Avery said, chasing after the last sight of Beckham's tail, with Maeve in hot pursuit right after her.

They made quite a sight, as Charlotte informed them later. And really, if it hadn't been for Mr. Jameson and all the trouble that Avery's mom had gone to making the dinner so fancy, everyone had to admit that they really looked hilarious. Five girls chasing one very fast guinea pig. And much to their amazement, Mr. Jameson, in his fancy suit, decided to help with the chase!

 

“Well,” Katani said philosophically, when the mess had been straightened up and Beckham had been safely cornered, “I guess Mr. Jameson got a little more of today's girls' extracurricular activities than he bargained for.”

Avery kept showering Beckham with kisses, her brown
eyes rapturous. “Who knew,” she said with admiration. “I thought he was just a boring old guy. But it turns out he used to have a pair of guinea pigs named Milton and Plato.” Her mother had been impressed by what she kept referring to (over and over again) as Mr. Jameson's “understanding.” But Avery was just as impressed that a man his age could catch a guinea pig. Especially one stuck behind the radiator. Mr. Jameson calmly walked back to the table, got a piece of lettuce, wiped the dressing off, and then sat on the floor and held the lettuce until Beckham came to him.

“It was totally cool,” said Avery.

Everyone watched in admiring silence as Beckham perched on his hand and munched on the lettuce. “I rest my case,” he said to the admiring crowd, who almost broke into applause, then stopped clapping, not wanting to disturb Beckham and send her running off to parts unknown again.

“That,” Avery said with evident satisfaction, “was the most fun dinner party I've ever been to in this house! Beckham was a real superstar and she really broke the ice. Everyone had so much fun afterwards.”

The Beacon Street Girls started laughing. “It was pretty impressive, I'll say that much,” Katani admitted. She glanced at Maeve with a shy grin. Somehow, chasing Beckham around had helped her to feel a little more forgiving toward Maeve.

“So you're not really mad at me anymore?” Maeve whispered to her.

Katani shook her head. “You know me, Maeve. I huff and I puff, but I don't stay mad forever.” She gave Maeve a quick hug. “But promise you won't do that to us ever again,” she insisted. “I was scared for you.”

Maeve's eyes lit up. “I promise. And even better, know what I'm going to do to make it up to you?”

Her friends looked at her a little apprehensively.

“Maybe we should just let it go,” Charlotte began.

But there was no stopping Maeve. “Charlotte, can I borrow the Tower? I want to throw a sleepover party there in two weeks—for all five of us. I want to make it up to you guys for being…well, the way I've been lately.”

“Okay,” Charlotte said with a smile. “I'll check with my dad, but it sounds good to me!”

Maeve scooped Beckham up for one last snuggle. “I could bring Beckham…” she began.

But four voices cried out “NO” in unison.

Beckham, it appeared, was ready to go back to Maeve's house with Hamm. And it looked like she'd had all the salad she could eat for the foreseeable future.

 

Sunday afternoon, Maeve was sitting in front of her laptop at her dad's kitchen table, wondering if a pink font would be inspirational. She was trying to think of the best way to tell Dillon how bad she felt about Friday night. She typed out a few sample e-mails.

“I had so much fun on Friday night. Sorry about the last quarter, but—”

No. Too light-hearted.

“I am SO SO SORRY.” Maeve liked this one—the double “so” was her latest touch, and she thought it added a nice, personal emphasis. “Please tell your dad that, too. It was kind of a family emergency. Yours, Maeve.”

She liked that one. She opened up her e-mail and sent it off with a little ping.

Hopefully, Dillon would understand. She wasn't so sure about his father.

Just then, the door to her dad's apartment opened and Sam came in. He was walking slowly and he looked like he'd hurt his hand.

“Where've you been?” Maeve asked.

“In the park,” he muttered. He was trying not to look at her in that funny way boys do when they think that YOU won't see THEM.

“Hey,” she said, taking a closer look at him. “Are you Okay? You don't look right.”

Sam stared at her, his lip wobbling. “I got in a fight,” he muttered.

Maeve stared at him. Her brother Sam—in a FIGHT? For a kid who played war games 24-7, Sam loathed any kind of physical violence. He didn't even like playing football because it was too rough.

“It was Joey. He is SUCH a creep. He told me Mom and Dad aren't EVER going to get back together again.” Sam sniffled. “He told me that they're probably going to get DIVORCED. He said that's what always happens when parents say they need to separate for a little while.”

Maeve suddenly felt a wave of pity wash over her. Her brother looked so small and vulnerable. She jumped up and put her arms around him, engulfing him with warmth.

“What a mean thing to say. He doesn't even KNOW Mom and Dad,” she told him.

Sam stared up at her, his brown eyes questioning. “Maeve? Do you think Mom and Dad are ever going to get back together?”

Hearing her brother ask that question made Maeve stop short.

Maeve looked at his face, and swallowed hard. Part of her wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him
and assure him that they WOULD. But the look on his face made her hesitate.

“I don't know,” she said softly. “But Sam—”

He waited, and she cleared her throat.

“I know things are going to be okay for all of us,” she said finally.

“Okay,” he said. Just that—okay. But he actually looked a little bit less miserable. And he trotted off to their room, looking for his
Giant Book of War Facts
.

Go figure, Maeve thought. That seemed to be enough for him.

Maybe what she'd said to Sam wasn't actually that far from the truth. Maybe everything WAS going to be okay. That might not mean knowing what was going to happen. At this point, Maeve wasn't so sure that her parents would get back together. But she had the sense that they were going to pull through as a family, no matter what.