Ava and Pip (4 page)

IN THE LIBRARY

DEAR DIARY,

I wonder who else in school knows about the contest. No one is buzzing about it. (Get it? Buzzing??)

I keep picturing myself getting good news and telling Mom and Dad, “Now I won!!” (N-O-W-I-W-O-N).

A #1 AVA

AFTER SCHOOL

DEAR DIARY,

Another 100 on another spelling test.

A
VA WHO GETS
A
S ON FRID
A
YS

BEDTIME

DEAR DIARY,

In language arts, Mrs. Lemons said that good writers notice things, and today, while Pip and I carved a jack o' lantern, I noticed that Pip has fewer freckles in the fall than in the summer and that they are lighter now too.

“Wanna play the Homonym Game?” I said. It's when we make sentences with words that sound the same but mean different things, like NUN and NONE, and CHEWS and CHOOSE, and HAIR and HARE. And BEE and BEA and BE.

Pip said, “Not really,” but since she didn't say “no,” I started. I said, “The FAIRY took a FERRY.”

“She had to BURY a BERRY,” Pip replied halfheartedly.

“BUT a bee bit her BUTT!”

“They DISCUSSED it with DISGUST,” Pip said, then added, “I don't want to play anymore.”

“Oh c'mon,” I pleaded. “The tennis star hoped to CRUSH her CRUSH!”

Pip squinted at me and said, “I'm not telling you who my crush is, and I'm not playing anymore.”

Well, of course that meant I wasn't either.

On the one hand, I feel sorry for Pip. On the other, her bad moods are annoying!

AVA THE ANNOYED

SUNDAY MORNING

DEAR DIARY,

I asked Pip to tell me her Homonym Joke.

“Why?”

“Because I want to write it in my diary.”

She sighed as if telling me her joke was a big fat favor. Finally she said: “Why is six afraid of seven?”

“Why?”

“Because seven ATE nine.”

I jumped around repeating, “Because 7-8-9!” a couple of times, but Pip rolled her eyes. That got me mad, and I ended up shouting, “Why can't you ever just be happy?!”

Of course, that got
her
mad, and she stomped off and shut her door—which made me wish I'd shut my mouth.

AVA THE ANNOYING?

AFTER SCHOOL

DEAR DIARY,

Lunch was fish sticks. I saw Pip eating alone in the corner, but I sat with my friends.

We talked about the contest. Maybelle didn't enter because she's better with numbers than words. (She just joined Mathletes.) One of the Emilys wrote about zombies, and Mr. Ramirez had to break it to her that zombies are not living creatures. (Duh.) Matthew wrote about a fire-breathing dragon, but dragons are not living creatures either, and besides, he came up with only eighty-three words.

Riley wrote a love story about her pony. All she ever talks about is her pony. Some girls are boy-crazy, but Riley is pony-crazy.

The only other submission I know about in the fourth and fifth grade category is from a dweeby boy named Alex. He wrote about an earthworm named Ernie.

I feel sorry for the judge who has to slog through a story of a BORING worm that goes BORING in the dirt. (Homonym alert!)

At least my story has a beginning, middle, and end, as well as a plot twist. (
Buzz! Buzz!
Ouch! Ouch!)

I told Dad that I wrote about a mean queen bee, and he said that sounded clever. But he smiled in a way that made me wonder if it also sounded dumb.

Should I have given my four hundred words to Dad to fix? Too late now! I also thought of having Mom take a look, but she was always online or busy with Pip. Besides, Mr. Ramirez said we were supposed to write our stories “without any outside help,” and that “getting assistance would be inappropriate.”

Well, I'm crossing my fingers and hoping to win. If I win, it might be like a small step to becoming a real writer.

AVA THE APPROPRIATE

DEAR DIARY,

Question: Do I even want to be a real writer?

AVA THE AMBIVALENT (WHICH I'M PRETTY
SURE
MEANS
UNSURE
)

AFTER DINNER

DEAR DIARY,

After school, I went to the vet's, and I got to
pet
some
pet
s. A yellow lab named Butterscotch started wagging his tail the second he saw me. His owner goes away a lot, and Butterscotch always carries a stuffed-animal fox in his mouth. I also pet Panther, a black kitten with a pink nose. He started purring before I even touched him.

Poor pets! They deserve wayyy more attention than they get!!

I liked hanging out with the animals, but I
really
wanted to hang out with Mom. I even said so, but she said, “Ava, shhh. I have piles of files to get through before we have to pick up Pip.”

“Fine,” I said. But it wasn't fine. Sometimes it seems as if Mom cares more about Pip than about me. Pip, her precious firstborn.

Here are three pieces of evidence:

1.
Mom always buys Pip her favorite snacks (like pretzels and mangoes), but doesn't buy me mine (like grapes and cheddar cheese).

2.
Mom gives Pip an allowance, but I have to take the garbage out for nothing.

3.
Mom praises Pip's sketches more than my writing—not that I ever show her my writing, but still.

I didn't even tell Mom that I got another 100 in spelling (or that I got a 79 on a math quiz).

Since I didn't want to accuse Mom of playing favorites, I said, “Sometimes it seems like you care more about animals than about me.”

She looked surprised. “What makes you say that?”

“Do you even know what I've been working on?”

“Dad said you entered a writing contest.”

“That's right,” I said, hoping she'd ask about my story. I was thinking of showing her a copy and telling her that I want to get first prize.

But all she said was: “See? I pay attention.” Then she went back to her computer.

Question:
does
Mom like Pip more than me??

Well, at least writing all this down is making me feel a little better. Even though I still miss my magic pen.

AVA THE UNAPPRECIATED

BEFORE DINNER

DEAR DIARY,

The phone rang. Our caller ID said, “Misty Oaks Library,” so I picked up and said, “Hello.”

“Hello. This is Mrs. White at the library. May I please speak to Ava Wren?”

Since she was being formal, I said, “This is she.” Pip made a face because “This is she” sounds so dorky.

“I'm calling about the contest. Congratulations! Your story received an honorable mention.”

I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to get
mentioned
—honorably or dishonorably. I wanted to win. I wanted to be the ONE who WON!

Mrs. White said my entire family was invited to a 6 p.m. reception on October 28 with “punch and nibbles.” She said a famous author, Jerry Valentino, was the judge and would be there.

I was tempted to say, “I've never heard of him, so how famous can he be?” But I thanked her, stuck a note on Dad's computer that said “10/28 6 p.m. Library,” and shoved my turquoise pen to the bottom of my backpack.

Obviously, it's
not
a lucky pen, let alone a magic one.

AVA, ABOVE AVERAGE BUT NOT AWARD-WINNING

AFTER DINNER

DEAR DIARY,

I told Dad about the phone call, and he congratulated me. He also said that before Mrs. White got married, her name was Miss Bright, so now her full name is Wendy Bright White. :)

At dinner, I
mentioned
my honorable
mention
but didn't make a big deal of it because:

1.
I didn't come in first.

2.
Why bother?

3.
When Pip is bummed out, it doesn't feel right to act as happy as a lark.

Mom congratulated me, then said, “I wonder how many submissions they got.” Well, that made me wonder if the only reason I even got an honorable mention is that not very many people entered. And that made me upset inside.

Pretty soon we all went back to talking about regular stuff (except Pip who went back to not talking).

I wish Pip felt sunnier. Living with her these days is like living with a rain cloud.

That's a simile.

A simile, according to Mrs. Lemons, is when you describe something using “like” or “as.”

If I say, “Pip is quiet as a mouse,” that's also a simile, because I'm comparing Pip to a mouse.

I don't think Pip would appreciate any of my similes.

AVA WREN,
NOT
AS HAPPY AS A LARK

5 P.M.

DEAR DIARY,

Maybelle came over with ginger cookies from a batch that she and her mom had baked for a game.

We painted our nails orange and let them dry, and then we wet our fingers and made whistle-y sounds by rubbing them around the tops of our water glasses. We also slid down the stairs on a bath mat. It was fun until I landed on my butt. Owwww! Owwwwch!

I can't complain though because:

1.
It's embarrassing to talk about your butt.

2.
Mom and Dad might say I'm old enough to know better, or

3.
Mom and Dad might not say anything at all.

Here's what worries me: What if I broke my butt? Can butts get broken? Like arms and legs? And hearts?

AVA THE ACHY

BEDTIME

DEAR DIARY,

Brace yourself because I have a
lot
to tell you. I'll start with the good part, then get to the BAD part.

When Dad and I arrived at the library, Mr. Ramirez asked Dad if he was working on a new play. Dad said, “Yes, but tonight is all about my daughter.” He put his arm around me, and it was half-sweet, half-embarrassing.

Soon everyone sat down on folding gray chairs. None of the Emilys were there and neither was Chuck or Matthew (the boy who wrote about dragons). But Riley (pony girl) and Alex (earthworm boy) were. Alex is the kind of boy who burps without saying, “Excuse me,” but tonight he was dressed up and on his best behavior. There were kids from other schools too. Everyone was sitting in the room with the high ceilings and high bookcases. Mom and Pip were “on their way.”

Mrs. (Bright) White had on a black scarf dotted with pumpkins. She introduced the famous-ish author, Jerry Valentino. He was tall and skinny and looked like he'd forgotten to comb his hair. He said that when he was our age, he loved libraries: “the smell of books, the wooden tables, the peace and quiet.” He said his family was “loud and noisy,” so as soon as he could, he got a library card. It took him “many years and many rejection letters,” but when he was twenty-nine, he published his first children's book.

He lifted it in the air. It was called
Campfire
Nights
.

On the cover were three boys and a giant bonfire. I couldn't tell if they were roasting hot dogs or toasting marshmallows, but it was the kind of cover that if you judged a book by its cover, you'd want to buy it. For a second, I pictured myself as a famous-ish author talking to a roomful of kids and lifting a book in the air.

Judge Jerry said there were many “outstanding” submissions and that it had not been easy to choose winners. “We'll start with best story by a fourth- or fifth-grader,” he said. Riley and I kept sneaking peeks at each other. I think we each thought the other had come in first.

“This year's winning story,” Judge Jerry announced, “is about the underground adventures of an earthworm.”

What?! I couldn't believe it! Ernie the Earthworm snagged first prize? Top spot (T-O-P-S-P-O-T)?

“Alex Gladstone's writing is so detailed,” Judge Jerry continued, “I could smell the moist dirt! Alex, come tell us what inspired you to set your story deep in the bowels of the earth.”

Bowels of the earth? Earth bowels?? Eww!!

Alex stood up. He was wearing a navy jacket and maroon tie and looked even dweebier than usual. Judge Jerry lowered the microphone and Alex breathed into it. I felt almost sorry for him because you could tell that he hadn't expected to have to talk.

After a
lot
of breathing, Alex said, “Whenever I go fishing, I feel bad for the worms, so I wanted to write a worm story with a happy ending.” Everyone clapped, and Judge Jerry handed him a certificate and a shiny pen in a velvety box. I was jealous, even though I knew it was pathetic to be jealous of a worm-obsessed fourth-grader.

Judge Jerry raised the microphone and said, “The next two stories were so good that I am honored to award two honorable mentions.” He started reading a passage about a pony's “trusting brown eyes,” and I wanted to barf because it sounded as if now even Judge Jerry had a crush on Riley's stupid pony.

Riley strutted to the podium as if she were accepting an Academy Award. Her parents were there and so was her sister. Mom and Pip still hadn't arrived, and I kept thinking: “Where are they?”

When Judge Jerry asked Riley what inspired her, she said, “Ponies and horses are my favorite living creatures—besides people.”

I thought, “Oh puh-lease!” but everyone clapped, so I fake-clapped.

“The second honorable mention,” Judge Jerry continued, “goes to Ava Wren who wrote ‘Sting of the Queen Bee.'” My heart was beating really loudly, but no one else seemed to hear. I looked around again for Mom and Pip. Where were they??

“Don't you love that title?” Judge Jerry asked. “It's a
double
entendre
, which is French for ‘double meaning.'” (I didn't know that.) “I admire Ava's wordplay and vivid imagination,” he continued, “as well as her sense of humor and understanding of social dynamics. Furthermore, her depiction of the villain is both whimsical and believable. Or should I say, ‘BEE-lievable'?” He laughed at his own wordplay and invited me up. Dad gave my shoulder a little squeeze, and I stood up and walked to the front of the room. I must have been nervous because it seemed like it was a long, long way from my seat to the podium even though obviously it wasn't.

Judge Jerry met my eyes. “Ava, what inspired you?” he said and lowered the microphone.

Well, I couldn't exactly talk about how I'd wanted to get back at the seventh-grade bully who'd ruined my sister's birthday, so I said, “I enjoy observing older kids,” and hoped I didn't sound like a spy.

“Wonderful!” Judge Jerry said. “Keen observation is an important tool in every writer's toolbox.”

Everyone clapped, and for a second, I thought I spotted Mom in the back of the room. But I was wrong. She really had missed my big moment.

I sat back down next to Dad feeling one-third proud, one-third mad at Mom and Pip, and one-third worried about them, when the library door creaked open.

In walked not Mom, not Pip, but…Bea! Queen Bea!! With her family!!!

Bea was the
last
person I expected to see! Really! I was Ava the Astonished! And she arrived just seconds after Judge Jerry had exclaimed over my “BEE-lievable” villain!

I'd assumed that writing wasn't dangerous, but was I wrong? Dead wrong?

What if Bea finds out what I wrote? And why, oh why didn't I think of that earlier??

I'd tell you what happened next, but my hand is about to fall off. (Figuratively, not literally.)

To be continued…

AVA THE AFRAID