A Lot to Tackle (8 page)

“What did Alex do?” Ava asked.

“Lindsey says she only meant to send it to me, which is creepy enough.” He shook his head. “She said she sent it to Alex to show it to her for some reason, and she tagged Alex by mistake and then it went out everywhere. Why would your sister want pictures of us?”

“Maybe Alex
likes
you,” Jack teased.

“Maybe Alex is friends with Lindsey,” Ava countered. Boys could be such dopes. “Why doesn't Lindsey just ask Alex to take it down?”

“She's been trying to reach her.” Corey blew out a big breath. “I'm done.”

“Done with what?” Jack began shooting baskets again.

“Lindsey. I'm going to break up with her,” Corey said.

“Just because she posted some photos?” Ava asked, incredulous. “You two are the perfect couple. Everyone says so.”

“But we're not.” Corey kicked at the pavement with his sneaker.

“For real?” Jack asked.

“Lindz and I have been friends since we were babies. She's cool. Or usually she is. But I'm not into her. She thinks she's not acting like a good enough girlfriend or something, but that's not it. I like her . . . just not that intensely.”

“You could try,” Ava suggested. She had no idea if this was the right thing to say. She'd never really had a boyfriend.

“I did. Besides, I like someone else,” Corey said.

“Who?” Jack demanded.

“None of your business.” Corey turned to Ava. “How do I break up with her?”

“Why are you asking me?” Ava shot the ball. It flew wide.

“Because you're a girl.”

“That's my qualification?” Ava snorted.

“But you're cool like a guy. What do I say? I'm going to text her. Hey, you can help me write it now.” Corey pulled out his phone.

“Wait a second, Corey.” Ava rested the ball on the ground. “First, you cannot break up with her by text. That is so cowardly and cold. Second, I am not helping you break up with Lindsey. She and I are friends too.”

“But we're better friends. You're one of the guys, so you have to be on my side,” Corey pointed out.

“I didn't know there were sides,” Ava said.

“Fine, then there aren't.” Corey looked straight at her. “Just help me. I don't know what I'm doing here.”

“And Ava does?” Jack laughed.

“He's right for once,” Ava said, kicking the ball at Jack. “We should ask Alex to help. She's good at this kind of stuff.”

“No way!” cried Corey. “Look, Ava, if
you
don't help me, I'm going to text her and she'll be mad and that'll be bad.”

Ava sighed. “Okay, here's what I think. You tell Lindsey in person. Haven't your families been friends since forever? I think you owe her
that much. And just tell her the truth. Tell her that you guys work better as friends.”

“And tell her you like another girl,” Jack put in.

Ava glared at Jack. “Do
not
tell her that, Corey.” She knew very little about boyfriends and girlfriends, but she knew no girl wanted to be cast aside for another girl. For a moment, she wondered about the identity of this mystery girl. Could it be Alex? Her twin had once liked Corey . . . and it seemed like he had liked her, too. She shook her head. That was a while ago. Maybe Charlotte? She decided that she didn't care.

“Excellent!” Corey clapped his hands together. “You guys want to play H-O-R-S-E?”

“Don't you have to go break up with your girlfriend?” Jack asked.

“Not now. I'll do it later.” Corey pointed at Ava. “Don't tell anyone.”

“I won't,” Ava promised. But it wasn't going to be easy keeping this news from Alex.

Ava brushed Chester's dark mane with long strokes. “You like having your hair brushed, don't you?” she whispered into the horse's ear.

Chester was too busy swatting flies with his tail to answer.

“Well, I like it,” Ava said, patting his strong neck. “Grooming you is fun.”

“Yeah, when you get to do the brushing part,” Kylie McClaire said as she chipped the mud from Chester's hooves with a hoof pick.

“But you brush Chester every day.” Ava scratched Kylie's horse behind his brown, velvety ear. “You're so lucky that you get to groom all these horses.” Ava swept her arm in the
direction of the six horses standing in stalls in the large barn.

“But I also have to rake hay and shovel manure,” Kylie reminded her. Kylie had become Ava's closest
girl
friend in Ashland. Kylie was so unlike Lindsey and Emily and the rest of the girls who hung out with Alex. She wasn't into football or cheerleading. Kylie lived on a ranch on the outskirts of town, and every day after school she was expected to help, even though her family employed two ranch hands, Jorge and Luciana.

Like Ava, Kylie wasn't afraid to get dirty. With her dozens of little braids and her offbeat fashion sense, Kylie stood apart from the girls at school, but she didn't seem to care. She loved fantasy fiction and competed in junior rodeos. Ava had never been around horses until she met Kylie, but now she looked forward to spending a day in the McClaires' barn.

“Now that football's over, you can come here after school and Luciana can give you riding lessons,” Kylie offered. “By this time next year, you'll be good enough to do a mini rodeo.”

“I probably won't be here next year.” Ava stopped brushing. She figured they'd stay in Ashland until the end of the school year, but
what if they had to leave right away? What if the Tigers lost the game and everyone was so angry that her family was forced out of town? Her body swayed uneasily as she pondered this horrible reality.

“What are you talking about?” Kylie demanded.

Ava explained about Coach's one-year contract. Then she told Kylie about her failed attempt with Mr. Whittaker.

“You can't go!” Kylie cried.

“I know,” Ava agreed. “But how do I make sure we stay?”

Kylie sat back on her heels and thought. “Your dad's job made you move to Ashland, so if you want to stay, your dad needs a job in Ashland. He doesn't have to be a coach, does he?”

“I don't know,” Ava said. “All he's ever been is a coach. His whole life has been about football.”

“He could run a sports store,” Kylie suggested.

“Ashland already has Rico's Sports.” Ava thought some more as she began to braid Chester's mane. “He likes to bake, too.”

“How about that cupcake store in the mall?” Kylie asked.

“That's barely a store. It's more like a hut with one teenage girl selling cupcakes.” Ava could not
see Coach, with his broad shoulders, squeezed in there all day. Besides, he hated the noise of the mall. “No, I guess he has to keep being a football coach.”

“What about your mom?” Kylie asked. “It doesn't have to be your dad. If your mom gets a great job in Ashland, then you can stay here.”

“My mom has a job, remember? She started her ceramics business. She's been selling those blue-glazed pots.”

“That's a problem. If you guys move, her job goes with you,” Kylie pointed out.

“You're not helping!” Ava protested.

“Your mom needs a new job that can only be done here in Ashland.” Kylie led Chester into his stall and closed the door. “I have an idea. Follow me!”

Ava followed Kylie into the tack room. Worn leather saddles and bridles hung from hooks on the wall. Kylie picked up a folded newspaper from beside a basket filled with canvas work gloves. “Jorge always reads the
Ashland Times
.”

Kylie opened the newspaper to the help wanted ads. “We'll find your mom a job in here.”

“But I don't know that she wants another job,” Ava said.

“She will if we find her the perfect one. Her
fantasy job!” Kylie ran her finger down the list as she read aloud the choices. “Dishwasher? Receptionist? Housekeeper?”

Ava shook her head. “Why would she want to give up ceramics to wash dishes? She hates washing dishes.”

“She doesn't have to give up making ceramics. She just needs a second job in Ashland,” Kylie explained. “There are more here. Home aide for an elderly man? Plumber's assistant?”

“Do you really think unclogging toilets is my mom's
fantasy
job?” Ava cried, looking over Kylie's shoulder. “All these jobs are lame. Wait. What's this one?”

“ ‘Elementary school art teacher,' ” Kylie read. “The position is a replacement for a teacher who is leaving to have a baby. The ad says ‘potential for permanent employment.' That means if they like her, they'll give her a job forever. How great would that be?”

“My mom loves art, and she used to be an elementary school teacher when we lived in Massachusetts,” Ava said. “It's the perfect combination.”

“It's more than perfect. Look at the name of the school. Rosewood Academy!” Kylie cried.

“Is that the small private school with the red-tiled roof?” Ava asked.

“Exactly! And the principal, Mrs. Cookson, lives right down the road. Let's go talk to her now.” Kylie tucked the newspaper under her arm and headed out of the barn.

“Hold up.” Ava ran after her. “I admire your can-do attitude—I haven't seen a lot of that lately at my house—but don't you think I should ask my mom first?”

“Wouldn't it be so much cooler if you could go home and tell your mom that you already got her the job?” Kylie asked. She pointed to two bikes leaning against the side of the garage. “Mrs. Cookson is really nice.”

Ava imagined her family's faces when she announced that she'd solved their problem all on her own—and with a job that was perfect for her mom. If she did it now, Coach could relax about the big game. Winning would still be important, but the outcome wouldn't decide her family's future.

Ava and Kylie pedaled single file down the long dirt road that ran alongside the ranch. Few cars traveled on this road. The flat farmland stretched for miles under the huge blue Texas
sky. Around a sharp bend, a small stucco house on a slight hill came into view. As they walked their bikes along a winding path bordered by cactus, Ava told Kylie about Corey and Lindsey.

“I promised him that I wouldn't tell anyone,” Ava confessed. But the secret had been bothering her. And not sharing it with Alex felt wrong.

“Who am I going to tell?” Kylie asked. “I'm not close with those girls.”

“Yeah.” Ava had already considered this.

“This breakup is going to be huge. Everyone at school's going to be talking about it. Are you going to warn Lindsey?” Kylie asked.

Ava shook her head. “I don't want to be involved. Besides, Corey and I are friends.”

“You're taking Corey's side. That makes you involved,” Kylie pointed out.

“I'm not taking anyone's side,” Ava insisted. A tall young woman rounded the house as they approached.

“Hello there!” she called in a husky voice. She wore a flowing white tunic embroidered with tiny flowers over a long skirt. Her light-brown hair hung down her back in a braid, and she carried a basket filled with large, ruffled green leaves. “Kylie, what a nice surprise. I just picked
the last of the spinach from my garden. You can bring some home for your family.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Cookson.” Kylie introduced Ava.

How can this woman be a school principal?
Ava wondered. All the principals she'd ever met had been much older, and they wore boring, sensible suits and shoes. She glanced down at Mrs. Cookson's blue-polished toenails peeking out from her sandals.
Her school must be cool,
Ava decided. Her mom would like that.

As Mrs. Cookson led them inside her cozy house, Kylie explained that Ava's mom was looking for a job as an art teacher. Ava wasn't sure this was exactly true, but she didn't want to tell a stranger that her dad might be fired. Mrs. Cookson didn't make the Sackett connection, which was good. Ava doubted she was interested in football. Her kitchen was filled with Zen sayings and crystals.

Ava told her everything she could think of about her mom. “She's the most amazing artist. She can draw and paint. She's super creative and has lots of energy. She used to teach in Boston. We moved to Ashland about four months ago.”

“Really?” Mrs. Cookson turned to her with interest. “So she has a teaching degree?”

“She does. It's framed in our house. Little kids
love
her.” Ava emphasized this important fact.

“Why didn't she get a teaching job when she moved?” Mrs. Cookson began to rinse the spinach leaves in the sink.

“She wanted to try starting a ceramics business. She's gotten tons of orders,” Ava said proudly. The interview was going better than she'd expected. Then she noticed a laptop on the counter. “Do you want to see her website?”

Mrs. Cookson nodded, and Ava went over to the laptop and started typing. Her mom's home page appeared on the screen.
Laura Sackett Ceramics
flashed in a brilliant blue type that matched the color of her mother's pots in the picture below.

“She looks like you,” Mrs. Cookson commented, drying her hands on a dish towel. Then she oohed and aahed over the photos of the ceramics. The famous blue-glazed bowls. Ombré pots in a sunset palette. Stone-baked canisters with whimsical handles.

“I would certainly like to meet your very talented mom,” Mrs. Cookson said. “I'm in quite a bind. Our teacher had to leave earlier than we'd expected. Her doctor put her on bed rest, because she's having twins.”

“I'm a twin,” Ava offered.
Would that help?
she wondered.

“Fabulous. Your mom will understand my situation.” Mrs. Cookson regarded Kylie, then Ava. “She is interested in this job, correct?”

“Totally!” Kylie said before Ava had the chance. “Will you hire her?”