Ava XOX (11 page)

DEAR DIARY,

This is
not
a leap year, so today was the last day in February.

This morning, the twins next door, Carmen and Lucia, came over in pink jackets. Pip and I were in our pajamas, but we got dressed, and I told them about playing limbo two weeks ago. They thought that sounded fun, so we took turns holding up a broomstick while one person tried to scoot under it. I started talking about how my friend Chuck is great at limbo. (I think I just like saying—and writing—his name.)

Carmen said, “Is he your
boy
friend?” and I answered, “NO!” a little too loudly. Lucia dared me to invite him over, and I said “NO!” even louder.

Well, Tanya texted Pip and asked if she wanted to go for a walk, so next thing you know, all five of us were in the park playing Frisbee. The sun was shining and the snow had melted, and I'd forgotten how good it feels to run around and not be bundled up.

I thought of a baseball joke that Chuck had told me and told it to them:

“Once there was a boy who kept wondering why a baseball was growing larger and larger…and then it hit him!”

Everyone laughed.

Tanya ended up staying for dinner (a first) and helped us make roasted vegetables with shrimp. While we were cooking, Tanya told Dad that thanks to me, her whole family has been trying to eat better.

“Really?” Dad asked.

“Yes,” Tanya said. “I asked my mom to stop buying Pepsi and Oreos, and she thought that was a good idea and would save us money too. My little brother is mad because he's not heavy, but my mom said it's better for all of us.” Dad nodded. “She even put Ava's tips on our fridge.”

“With a refrigerator magnet?” I asked, trying to picture it.

Tanya nodded. She turned back to Dad. “Mr. Wren, Ava's gotten the whole school talking!”

“About me?” I asked, suddenly paranoid.

“No! About soda and vegetables and ‘paying attention' and stuff.”

Taco brushed against my leg to remind me that it was his dinnertime and I should pay attention to him too.

AVA, ATTENTIVE

DEAR DIARY,

You know how some people are hard-hearted? When it comes to Chuck, I might be
softhearted
.

I got to lunch early, and so did Chuck, and he put his tray down next to mine, which he never does. I looked around for Kelli but didn't see her.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi,” he said, and our eyes locked a little. (Can eyes lock a little? I just mean that I tried to look away but couldn't.)

I told him that Pip and the twins and I had played limbo over the weekend, and it was fun, but nobody was as good at limbo as he was. (Was that flirting? I did
not
giggle or anything!)

Our eyes locked again. They just did. It felt like there was something more we wanted to say to each other.

But the world of school came rushing in when Maybelle and Zara and all three Emilys came and sat down. Jamal too. (Do he and Zara like each other??) It was like our old “lunch bunch,” but with…boys. T-T-Y-T-T, it was a little awkward.

I remembered that Dad had printed out a riddle for me, and I'd stuck it in my backpack. “You guys, I have a riddle! Are you ready?”

Everyone leaned in, and to be funny, the three Emilys said, “Ready.” “Ready.” “Ready.”

“Okay,” I said. “I am the beginning of the end, and the end of time, and I am essential to creation, and I surround every place.”

They guessed “air” and “God” and “infinity” and “life” and “death” and even “love.” “Wrong!” I said. “It's the letter
e
!”

I showed them the paper and pointed to all the
e
's.

After a while, Chuck said, “I have a joke about a kayak.”

Zara said, “K-A-Y-A-K is a palindrome!”

“I know,” Chuck said and smiled at me. I smiled back, and our eyes locked again, and I totally had to
force
myself to look away. “Two people were in a kayak,” he began. “It was freezing cold, so they built a little fire in the bottom of the boat. But the kayak started burning up, and the people sank and drowned.”

“I don't get it,” said Emily J.

“That's not funny,” said Emily S.

“That's sad,” said Emily L.

“Let me get to the punch line!” Chuck said and pronounced, “So it just goes to show: you can't have your
kayak
and
heat
it too.”

Everyone laughed except Kelli, who suddenly appeared holding a chair and wormed her way between me and Chuck. “Can you tell it again?” she said.

Chuck frowned a tiny bit but repeated the joke. She still didn't get it and said she'd never heard the expression “You can't have your cake and eat it too.” Well, Chuck explained it, and she finally laughed, and I wondered if maybe some rich people
can
because they can buy two cakes, and then, when they eat one, still have one?

Lunch was
not
as fun with Headband Kelli there, so I said I had to go to the library. I knew that being here alone—well, alone with you—would help me relax.

Funny. Writing and petting Taco help me relax. Reading and drawing help Pip relax. Reading and cooking help Dad. And maybe what helps Kelli is prancing around with headbands on her head and putting cucumber slices on her eyes and calling Chuck's house and sitting next to him even though I was there first.

AVA AT SCHOOL

DEAR DIARY,

I went to Dr. Gross's after school because Pip and Dad both had plans and I'm not allowed to “go home to an empty house.” Soon I might be. Mom said that when she was eleven, she used to
get paid
to babysit for her neighbors.

I said that I like when I come home and, for instance, Dad is cooking, even when it's a Meatless Monday (like today). I also said I'm glad Taco is always home now too.

Anyway, I was doing my math in Dr. Gross's waiting room, and I was asking Penny at the desk about her three cats (one has just one eye) and her partner (whose name is Henny, which is pretty funny, since Penny rhymes with Henny). I was also noticing the containers of dog biscuits and cat treats and Dr. Gross's framed diploma from vet school. (He went to Cornell.) Well, guess who walked through on her way out the door? Mackie and BowWow!

I thought about pretending I didn't see them, but it's a small waiting room. I thought about pretending I didn't remember she was one of the girls who ganged up on me, but how could I forget? And then
she
said, “Hi.”

I said hi back and even asked if BowWow had eaten any more rubber duckies.

“No,” she said. “And it's a good thing! My dad said that operation cost a fortune!”

I didn't know what to say, because it's not like I'm the one who makes up the price for rubber duck removal surgery.

“He's been eating everything else in sight though,” Mackie said. “Dr. Gross said he's too sedentary, and I should take him for a thirty-minute walk every day.”

I know how to spell
sedentary
and that it means being a “couch potato” (or, in the case of a dog, maybe “floor potato”). But I was
not
about to comment on BowWow's physique.

No way.

No. Way.

No. Way. José.

While I sat there M-U-M, Mackie said, “You know what? It'll probably do me good to have to walk my overweight dog.” Suddenly Penny went to the back to check on something which meant Mackie and I were alone. She looked right at me. “Ava,” she said. “I feel bad about the other day.”

I stayed quiet.

“I should have told Rorie to chill,” she continued. “I swear, that girl has anger management issues. She knows she has to get in shape. She can barely walk up two flights of stairs! She had no business dragging the rest of
us
into it.”

I couldn't disagree. (Double negative.) So I mumbled, “She always makes me nervous.”

Mackie laughed. “She makes everyone nervous!”

BowWow started licking my fingers, which tickled, and was half nice, half gross.

“BowWow! Stop!” Mackie said.

“It's okay,” I said, because it was.

“Rorie made it sound like you were going around saying that you have to be skinny to be happy,” Mackie continued. “She said you'd crossed a line, and we needed to put you in your place. And yeah, you're pretty young to be dispensing advice, but I read your tips today and they weren't malicious. They were basically no big deal.”

I was glad Mackie said that, but I also felt bad for my tips. Were they “basically no big deal”? I'd worked hard on them!

“Anyway, I probably should have thought about it a little more before I piled on.”

“Thanks,” I said quietly. “I probably should have thought about it a little more before I made that poster.”

She sized me up and seemed to notice for the first time that I'm just a harmless fifth grader.

“You're a good kid,” she said.

“I know,” I said, even though I hadn't meant to agree out loud.

Mackie laughed and said, “Brave too.” That was funny because people sometimes say that about me, but I never feel brave.

Mackie dug into her backpack for her cap, and out came a little bag of Wise potato chips. She put the cap on and said, “I may regret this the second I do it, but let's consider it a science experiment.” She dropped the bag onto the floor. BowWow looked at her, confused.

I was confused too. I looked down the hallway and hoped Penny wasn't coming back right away.

“Five, four, three, two, one,” Mackie said, then stomped on the bag with her boot.

The bag popped, BowWow barked, and Mackie laughed.

“It worked!” she said. “I thought that mostly just air would come out, but I wasn't totally sure. Of course if all the chips
had
gone flying, BowWow would have licked them up. Still, that would have been a lousy way for him to start his ‘weight loss regime.'”

“An un
wise
way,” I said. The word slipped out, and I was relieved when Mackie laughed.

She tossed the smashed bag into a garbage can. “Well, no backsies. The real test now will be if I can pass the 7-Eleven on the way home and
not
buy a new bag.”

I almost said, “You can,” but I kept my mouth shut.

AVA AFTER SCHOOL

DEAR DIARY,

We just had a Meatless Monday dinner, and it was
really
good. I'd give it a 95. If vegetarian food were always that yummy, I would actually look forward to Mondays!

Dad and I made it together. It was eggplant parmesan, and my main job was to peel and slice the eggplants. The skin was beautiful, shiny, and sort of midnight purple. Dad said the French word for the color—
and
vegetable—is
aubergine
and asked me to try to spell it. I hesitated because foreign words can be hard, but I got it right. Dad high-fived me.

Then he started talking about how he used to cook with his father.

“Back then, not many fathers cooked,” he said. “Let alone fathers and sons.”

He told me his dad started the tradition of Irish breakfasts and Sunday sundaes. “He loved a good meal,” he said.

Dad doesn't talk about his dad very often, and I kept peeling because I wanted him to keep talking. All I really knew about my grandfather is that he died at age sixty, before I was born. And that everybody loved him. And that his hair was red, like Pip's. And that he was good with words and liked to come up with limericks and funny toasts.

“My father would have loved you, Ava. You and Pip.” Dad put down his knife and wiped his tomato-y hands on his apron. “He'd have taken you to plays and ball games and maybe even Ireland. I just wish he'd…taken better care of himself physically. His heart was in the right place, but it had to work too hard to sustain his body.”

“What do you mean?” I asked quietly.

“Well, it's possible my dad would have died at sixty of a heart attack anyway. But maybe if he'd taken the time to exercise a little more back then, he could have had a little more time now. And since
I'm
not as young as I used to be, I want to do what I can to take care of myself and of you three.” He smiled. “That's why
my
Sunday sundaes aren't as big as his were. And that's why when we have cake, we have slivers, not slices.”

“You're still pretty young, Dad,” I said. “Maybelle's dad has gray hair
.
” Then I added, “I wish I could have met your father,” because that was less shallow. And just as true.

“He was the original word nerd of the family, you know.”

“I know,” I said.

Dad showed me how to dip the slices of peeled eggplant into a bowl of beaten eggs, coat them with bread crumbs, and fry them, turning them each over once. Next we made layers: tomato sauce, eggplant, ricotta, and mozzarella, over and over again until we ran out.

“You're becoming more adventurous with food,” Dad said.

I said, “Thanks.” And then I added, “And thanks for taking care of us.”

AVA, ADVENTUROUS AND APPRECIATIVE

DEAR DIARY,

I just reread an Aesop fable called “The Bundle of Sticks.” It goes like this:

An old man who was about to die summons his sons to give them parting advice. He orders his servants to bring in a bundle of sticks, and he says to his eldest son, “Break it.” The son tries and tries with all his might, but he cannot break the bundle. The other sons also try and try, but they can't either. “Okay, now untie the bundle,” says the father, “and each of you take one stick.” They do, and the father says, “Break it.” Each son breaks the stick, no problem. “You see,” says their father. “Union gives strength.”

I've been thinking about the moral, and sometimes it's good to
unite,
but sometimes it's better to
untie
.

For instance, Rorie is
trouble
. Her clique is “strong,” but in a bad way. They're “strong” and
wrong
. And I get that it's hard to say no to someone like Rorie—I guess it was hard for Chuck to say no to Kelli. But Mackie ended up feeling bad that she went along with Rorie, and Chuck doesn't like getting stuck on the phone talking about Kelli's goldendoodle.

So maybe when you say yes to someone you
should
have said no to, you sometimes wish you'd just plain said no in the first place. Like, it might be better to be alone than with someone you don't like.

AVA, ASTUTE

PS Pip told me a joke. Why can't a bicycle stand alone? It's two tired. (Teehee.)