Just Kidding (6 page)

“So what's all the noise about, Isabel? You telling 'em all about Amanda and Kevin breaking up today? I heard you know all about that.”

Isabel stared at him. She couldn't believe he'd make a joke like that! She was so appalled that she couldn't even think of an answer, which made Chase think he'd really gotten her. He cackled in her direction as he walked away.

“That boy needs some social IQ lessons!” Katani fumed. “He always acts like his mouth hasn't heard from his brain in a month!”

“Come on, guys, we better go,” Charlotte warned. “We're all going to be late if we don't hurry!”

As they were rushing out the door, Avery saw Dillon waiting for her just outside, his eyes hopeful. “Uh, Avery, can I talk to you a second?”

The others looked at her, but she just shrugged. “You guys go on. I'll see ya later.” She turned to Dillon, whose face was reddening. “Well, this better be quick, because that's all I've got—about one second. What's up?” She didn't think she had to be too friendly to Dillon after the way he'd treated her in the hall.

But Dillon seemed genuinely miserable. “Ave…I just wanted to say I'm really sorry for what I did. You know, throwing you in the air before. It was a–a totally dumb thing to do, and I, I don't even know why I did it. It seemed like a funny joke at first but I guess it was really stupid.
Anyway, I'm really sorry. I mean, I like being friends with you and stuff, and I don't want you to feel bad.”

It wasn't the smoothest apology in the world, but it was sincere. Avery looked suspiciously at Dillon, but he looked uncomfortable and unhappy. Obviously he had been thinking about what he did and realized it was wrong. And it took a lot of courage to come apologize. “Well,” Avery said grudgingly, “I guess it's okay. But don't ever do it again, all right?”

“I won't!” Dillon said quickly. “I promise. Hey, you going down the science hall?” Avery nodded. “I am too. Let's go.”

They had to hurry, because there were only about thirty seconds left to get to class, but Dillon talked Avery's ear off all the way to her classroom. “You know,” he said, “you should think about going out for the sports committee. I bet you could even head it up. Everybody knows you're great at sports, and I'm sure they'd vote for you.”

“You think so?” Avery asked. She wasn't going to tell Dillon she was already planning to go all out for the sports committee!

“Oh, yeah!” Dillon assured her. “I'd vote for you. That's one vote right there!”

“Well, I might think about it,” Avery said as she opened the door. “Bye, Dillon.” She held out her hand for a high five and Dillon grinned as he slapped her hand with a
thwack
.

M
aeve managed to get all the way home after school without having had a single chance to tell her friends about her glorious idea for Spirit Week. She was so frustrated because it was such a great idea, and she just had to tell
somebody
!

That's it
, she thought.
I'll IM everyone tonight and call an emergency BSG meeting at Montoya's for tomorrow morning
. Besides getting feedback for her idea, she could start her day with a frozen hot chocolate—that would almost make up for the crazy morning she'd had that day!

Sam was already home when she walked in. Before she could even drop her backpack, he demanded, “Hey, wanna play cards with me?”

“Where's Mom?” Maeve asked, ignoring his plea. She was not in the mood for cards, especially since her brainiac little brother almost always won!

“She went to the grocery store. She said we needed
chicken for dinner. C'mon, will you
please
play cards with me? I'll let you beat me at Spit.”

“Sam!”

“Half an hour. Twenty minutes,” Sam bargained. “Okay,
ten
minutes. C'mon, Maeve!”

“Sorry, Sam. No time. I've got an amazing idea. This is going to be absolutely the
best
week of my entire life!”

Sam looked at her. “Bet I can guess why.”

“Oh really?” Maeve looked back at him, her hands on her hips.

“I know I can.” Sam smirked. “Bet our allowances this week that I can.”

Maeve knew better than to trust Sam when he bet their allowances on anything; she'd lost hers to him many times before. But there was no way he could know why this week was going to be the best ever. Sometimes you just had to pay out to get want you wanted.

She grabbed Sam's hand and shook it. “Okay, boy genius, you're on.”

“Hmm, let me think about it. This is hard.” Sam pretended to search the ceiling for an answer. He scratched his head and furrowed his brow. Then he looked up. “I got it. You're starring in the new school play,
Bride of Dracula
.”

Maeve gave him a dirty look and flung a stretchy headband in his direction.

“Okay, okay. I get another guess.” Sam thought for a minute. “I know. You're gonna be lead singer for Riley's new band, Mole and the Caterpillars.”

“
Sam!
”

“No, I know! The whole seventh grade except you got
really bad food poisoning, so you're the new head of the math team!”

Maeve swung around, her eyes blazing.

“I'm kidding!” Sam yelled. “Can't you take a joke?”

“That's not funny, and you know it!” Maeve was trying not to let her eyes well up. She was pretty easygoing about jokes, but not when it came to math. It felt awful to be teased about her worst subject, especially by her genius little brother.

She shook it off and put out her hand. “Game over, you've had your guesses. You're not even close. I'll take
your
allowance now, thank you very much!”

“One more guess!” Sam cried. “Just one more.”

“You've already had three. That's way more than you should have gotten. Give me your allowance. Now!”

“One more! I know I can get it,” Sam insisted. “What if I act it out?” In a minute Sam was cartwheeling all over the living room, chanting, “Rah, rah, rah, sis, boom, bah, gooooo, Abigail Adams!” Sam finished off with a flying split in the air.

“Sam, that's so not fair!” Maeve complained. “Who told you about Spirit Week?”

Sam laughed triumphantly. “I'll take your allowance NOW, Maeve.”

“Who told you?” Maeve demanded. “You knew somehow, I know you did; you couldn't have just guessed!” And she promptly started to chase Sam around the kitchen table. Sam gave his ear-piercing warrior cry and began to run for his life, but Maeve could be quick on her feet and within seconds she was at his heels.

Maeve had her fingers stretched out to grab Sam when she heard her mother shout, “What are you two
doing
?” Ms. Kaplan came in with a bag of groceries. “I'm gone for two minutes and I can't trust you to behave? What's going on here?”

“We're just settling a little disagreement,” Maeve explained carefully. She knew it was best to say as little as possible.

“It's Maeve's fault!” Sam cried. “She lost a bet with me and she doesn't want to pay up. She owes me her whole allowance!”

“You two know better than to bet!” Maeve's mother dumped the grocery bag on the kitchen table and turned to face them, arms folded. “Now, tell me the whole story!”

Maeve groaned. Sometimes it seemed like her mom made things way more complicated than they needed to be. It took a few minutes for Maeve and Sam to tell both sides of the story. When they'd finished explaining, Ms. Kaplan said sternly, “You both deserve to lose your allowances. I've said it before: no betting allowed in this household. Sam, I expect you to apologize to Maeve for those remarks about the math team. And Maeve, next time you're trying to ‘settle a disagreement,' find a better way to do it than chasing your brother around the house.”

“Sorry, Maeve,” Sam muttered.

Maeve didn't think he was especially sorry at all, unless he was sorry to have gotten caught! If her mother had come in five minutes later, his attitude would have been totally different.

“At least,” Maeve said to her brother, “tell me how you
found out about Spirit Week. I didn't think anyone outside Abigail Adams knew.”

“Harry told me,” Sam answered. He went to the kitchen to get plates and silverware to set the table.

“Harry?” Maeve didn't remember a friend of Sam's with that name. “Harry who?”

“Harry Wooster.”

Now she was really puzzled. “Who's Harry Wooster?”

“What're you, the FBI? Harry's my new friend.” Sam took down three plates, three bowls for salad, and grabbed a fistful of knives and forks from the silverware drawer.

“Okay,” Maeve said, trying to be patient. “And how does
Harry
know about Spirit Week?”

“His cousin told him,” Sam said, plopping the plates and silverware on the table. Maeve carefully took three glasses from the cupboard and filled them with milk.

“And…?” she asked. “Who's his cousin?” Sam gave her an exasperated look, which she returned. “Look, just spill it, Sam! This is getting ridiculous!”

Sam smirked, but when he saw the total lack of patience on Maeve's face, he knew it was time to stop teasing her. “Okay, okay. Harry's cousin goes to Abigail Adams. She wants to be head of the dance committee or something, and she was talking about it when we saw her after school. That's how I knew.”

“And her last name is Wooster?” Maeve couldn't think of any Abigail Adams student she knew with that name.

“No, that's
Harry's
last name, dopey. His cousin's name is Betsy Fitzgerald.”

Maeve groaned. “No! Not Betsy Fitzgerald! She wants
to head the dance committee? Why me? I'll
never
stand a chance against her!”

If the school ever voted on “The Student Most Fanatic About Building an Impressive Résumé,” Betsy Fitzgerald would win in a heartbeat. She was the most hyper-organized person Maeve had ever met, even more than Katani. Even if Betsy didn't have a great original idea for a dance theme, it wouldn't matter. She would campaign like crazy, work overtime, make charts, rally the students, and do whatever it took to be voted the head of the dance committee. Maeve knew kids would eventually give in and vote for Betsy. She'd convince them that she'd do a good job…and she probably would.

I stand NO chance at all of getting this
, a disappointed Maeve told herself.
And my great idea is going to rot before anyone even finds out about it!

As she thought more about the Birdland theme, she got upset and realized that she couldn't just give up. She just had to stick up for herself and go for it, even if the most together person in the whole of Abigail Adams wanted to be in charge. Maeve knew she had the best possible idea for a dance theme and that it deserved to be heard by everyone. She wasn't going to give up and creep away without even trying just because Betsy Fitzgerald also wanted the job. Besides, Betsy probably wanted everyone to dress up as Harvard students!

I need a plan
. Maeve made a mental note.
And I need some advice. Who can I go to who'll help me?

Then she realized: Who did she always run to when she needed help, especially when she had a fabulous idea?

“Mom!” she shouted, running into her mother's bedroom where her mom was changing into some sneakers. “Mom, can I run down to the Movie House right now? Please? It's an emergency.”

Her mother looked at her strangely. “Do you have to go right away?”

“It's totally critical. I really
need
to see Dad.”

Her mother nodded. “Well, for a little while. Don't take too much of his time while he's working.”

“I won't,” Maeve promised. She turned and bolted down to the Movie House at a run. It used to be the family business, but that was before her parents had separated and her mother got an office job. Before the separation, Ms. Kaplan and Mr. Taylor had run it together. Maeve loved sitting in the soft, comfortable plush velvet seats, watching old movies, eating real movie popcorn, and dreaming about the day when she would be up there in lights.

It was strange sometimes to think that her parents weren't together. At first it bothered her a lot. She would cry into her pillow at night and ask her parents “but why?” But her parents could never really answer why in a way that made sense to Maeve. The only good thing was that they both stayed in Brookline and that made it much easier to tolerate the separation. Still, though, some days she wished it could go back to the way it was when they were all together.

Right now, though, she needed to concentrate on the immediate…her idea for the dance. She found her dad, as usual, in the projection room, his thick dark hair slightly
rumpled. “Hi, honey,” he said with surprise, giving Maeve a big hug. “What's up? Isn't it dinnertime?”

“I know, Dad, but I really just had to see you.”

“Well, I'm glad you're here. You've got to see this new foreign short film that came in today—it's really moving. It's about Iraqi war orphans starting a business to sell sweets to American soldiers.”

When her dad got excited about a movie, Maeve knew better than to argue. She sat with her head on her dad's shoulder while he screened the movie just for her.

The movie told the story of Abdullah and his sister Maji, whose parents had died, but the siblings refused to go to the local orphanage where other parentless children lived. Instead, the two snuck into the local bakery every night and used the bakery equipment and ingredients to make cookies, which they then sold to American soldiers. The soldiers loved the cookies and the money kept Abdullah and Maji alive.

When it was over, Maeve wiped a few tears from her eyes. She saw her dad doing the same; he was a nut for movies just like she was. “It was great, Dad,” she said. “But I don't know if I could be strong like that if something happened to you.”

“Well, I wouldn't worry too much about it,” Mr. Taylor told her. “The world of international film wouldn't be able to function without me.”

“Dad!”

“Plus I'm strong and healthy
and
a black belt in Tae Kwon Do.” Her dad jumped up and proceeded to kick and chop his hands in the air. It looked like nothing Maeve had
ever seen before—it might be the Three Stooges' version of martial arts, but it wasn't anything Jackie Chan had ever done!

Maeve started to giggle, which turned into laughter, which caused tears to stream down her face. Her dad joined in, and they laughed until their stomachs hurt.

When they finally settled down, Maeve explained Spirit Week to her dad and told him how badly she wanted to head the dance committee. Even though she knew Betsy Fitzgerald was in the running, her idea was too exciting to give up. “I've got an absolutely amazing theme, Dad,” she said, “and I know nobody else could have a better one.”

“Well that's confidence for you. What is it?”

“The dance theme will be…Birdland,” Maeve announced dramatically, her eyes glowing with her vision of it. “We learned all about it in music today, and I think it's the coolest music I've ever heard! And Ms. Ciara brought in two high school students from the dance club to show us the dances that went with it—Dad, the dancing is fabulous! It made me want to quit hip hop and start jazz dance lessons right away. Not really, but you know what I mean. I know everyone's going to love this, and it'll be the most original dance we've ever had—don't you think so?”

“Hey, honey, you're preaching to the choir here.”

Maeve was confused. “What does that mean?”

“It means I'm not going to argue with you about it. I love jazz music, and I love the old Birdland stuff. So any dance that has that for a theme sounds perfect to me. Now, let me think…. What did I do with them?”

Maeve knew better than to interrupt her father when
he was thinking through an idea. He walked along the walls of the projection room, where there were big bins that held old movie posters. “Ah, yes, I think they're in here.”

He rummaged for a few minutes and finally pulled out two movie posters. “Here we go. These movies were made right at the time Birdland was going strong, and this one even has a scene set in the Cotton Club in Harlem. Same bands, same music…look!”

Maeve looked closely and was soon mesmerized by the women dressed in the slinky, elegant clothes she'd dreamed of for the dance. The men wore strange-looking suits—“zoot suits” her dad called them—with pants that ballooned from a tight waist to big puffy legs and then snugged in again at the ankles. Even though it was kind of a weird style, Maeve thought the dancers looked fantastic.