Lucky Charm (6 page)

“Don’t act like the Lone Ranger. You’re not the only one who’s been looking.”

Avery gulped. “I know you’re mad, Charlotte, but what else do you want me to do?”

Charlotte felt instantly guilty for what she’d said.
But it was all true
, Charlotte reminded herself. Marty wouldn’t be missing if Avery hadn’t been thinking of herself and baseball!

Then she remembered what Mrs. Weiss had said about not focusing on blame, but focusing on finding Marty instead.

“Come on,” Charlotte said, and offered her hand to Avery, pulling her to her feet. “Take a few fliers. It’s getting late. This has been a hard day for me, and I think I took it out on you.” That was as close as Charlotte could get to an apology. She knew she had been beastly, but losing Marty had made her feel so sad.

“What’s up Ave—did you…?” Isabel asked when they met up at the end of the section of vendors.

Avery shook her head.

Isabel gave Avery a hug. “Are you okay? You look awful.”

“I’m better now, actually,” said Avery. She wiped off her cheeks and jumped up and down to regroup. An anxious Charlotte was suddenly reminded of the super bouncy ball in Mrs. Weiss’s store.

“What’s next?” Avery asked. “We gotta DO something!”

“Maybe we could call the TV stations. The radio stations. The more people who know, the better,” Isabel suggested.

“That’s a great idea,” Avery said enthusiastically.

Charlotte wasn’t so sure. “Why would the TV stations care about a little lost dog? Boston must have much more exciting things going on than that.”

“Have you got a better suggestion?” Isabel asked with a tinge of annoyance in her voice.

Charlotte looked at Isabel and Avery. She had to admit that she was out of options. Calling the radio and TV stations was better than nothing.

“Come on, we can call from my house,” she said.

And the three girls walked dejectedly up the hill toward Charlotte’s house.

S
unday night Katani started her favorite routine—laying out her clothes for school the next day—when her mother called her from the other room.

“Katani, could you come into the living room for a minute? Your father and I would like to talk to you.”

Uh-oh
, the living room.
This must be serious
, she reasoned. The living room was reserved for special occasions in the Summers household. But Katani couldn’t imagine what was so important to discuss on a Sunday night just before bedtime. Nevertheless, she quickly folded up her jeans, laid them on the bed, and went to join her parents.

“In here,” Mrs. Summers said, motioning her into the small office off the living room. When Katani stepped in, her mother shut the door behind them both and sat next to her father on the small loveseat. She motioned for Katani to sit in the desk chair. What could this be about? Her parents looked so nervous. She knew that she hadn’t done anything wrong. Her heart gave a leap. She hoped they weren’t going to tell
her that something terrible had happened to Marty. Katani leaned forward.

“Marty—something terrible happened…?”

“No, no, honey,” her mother rushed to reassure her. “We haven’t heard anything.” Seeing the concern on her daughter’s face she added, “I am sure little Marty will be found. Your dad says the fliers are all over town.”

Katani heaved a sigh of relief and leaned back in her chair.

“So what do you want then? I hope it’s not more babysitting,” said Katani, folding her arms across her chest.

Her mother gave her the look that said, “No sass from you, young lady.” Katani sat up straight in her chair and listened up.

“Katani, I don’t know how much you overheard at the physical therapist’s office the other day,” began Mrs. Summers.

Katani gulped. Was she in trouble for eavesdropping? “Not much,” she stammered.

“Perhaps you overheard us talking about hippotherapy?” Mrs. Summers asked.

There was that word again.

Katani nodded. But a sudden stab of fear struck. Was something wrong with Kelley? Something serious?

“What does it mean?” she asked in a soft voice. “I know it doesn’t have to do with hippopotamuses.”

Mr. Summers’ lips crept into a smile.

“No, Ms. Know Everything. It’s horseback riding therapy.
Hippo
is the Latin word for horse. Hippopotamus actually means
water horse
,” he explained.

“Oh,” Katani answered, relieved. She couldn’t wait to somehow bring this up in front of Charlotte. The word nerd would be very impressed with her.

“We called the stable that the physical therapist recommended—the High Hopes Riding Stable,” her mother said.” “They have an immediate opening and can accept Kelley right away.”

Katani looked up at the hopeful tone in her mother’s voice. “That’s great,” Katani said, still wondering what all this had to do with her.

Her parents looked at each other.

“Well, Katani,” her father started. “Horseback-riding therapy helps improve many, many aspects of autistic kids’ lives. We feel very lucky to have found a stable that has a therapeutic riding program for autistic kids—one that had an opening.”

“Uh-huh,” Katani nodded, becoming suspicious. She knew her parents didn’t call her into the room to describe her sister’s therapy.

“Well,” her mother continued. “Claudia McClelland, the director at the stable, says it helps if the autistic child has a peer role model….”

The term “peer role model” set off alarms in Katani’s head. She’d heard this term before, many times before. It meant they liked to have a “normal kid” to cue Kelley on how to behave. Someone Kelley was familiar with, and someone close to her age. Usually, that meant Katani.

Mrs. Summers kept on, but Katani had zoned out. The idea of climbing on top of a 1,000-pound animal wasn’t her cup of tea. She just wanted to go back to her room and plan her outfit for tomorrow.

“So what do you think?” her mother asked.

“Think about what?”

“About accompanying your sister to therapeutic horseback riding lessons?”

“You mean like walking her there, like I took her to the physical therapist?” Katani asked, wondering how far away this place was. There weren’t any riding stables within walking distance that she knew of.

“No, your grandmother will be driving you to the riding stable.” Her mother was starting to look exasperated.

“So why do I have to go?”

Her mother sighed.

“Ms. McClelland says it’s easier for autistic children if they have a peer role model.”

There was that phrase again.

“Me? I’m supposed to be her peer role model?”

“Yes.”

“What do I have to do?”

Her parents made eye contact again.

“Katani, you’d be taking riding lessons as well,” her father explained.

“What! No! I’m scared of horses. They’re enormous. I don’t like this idea at all!”

“Neither does Kelley, but it would be so much easier for her if…”

“Easier for her? What about me! Does anyone ever think about what I might like to do? How I might like to spend my free time?”

“Katani…” her mother started.

“No way! Mom, I have enough to worry about with
school and all the things I want to do. And now Marty is lost and I have to help. Can’t Patrice do it?”

“Patrice is in high school with an intense workload, and she has basketball practice every day. And you know that we are hoping for an athletic scholarship for her.”

“Well…can’t you find someone else?”

“Katani,” her mother tried to sound optimistic, “look on the bright side. This could be fun for you.”

“Fun? When have I ever given you the idea that sitting on top of some old horse was my idea of fun? I don’t want to.”

“Well…Katani,” her father said in a strained voice. “We were hoping that you’d want to. But the fact is that everything has already been arranged.”

“What? My opinion doesn’t even count? You have got to be kidding me. That’s so unfair.”

“Katani…”

Her mother tried to describe the benefits and how important having a peer role model would be, but Katani was no longer listening.

She scrunched down in the chair.

“You didn’t even ask me first. This is so typical.”

Her father took a deep breath. He was a large man and when he breathed in deeply he seemed to double in size.

“Katani,” he said in an exasperated voice. “This is what being in a family means—making sacrifices for the people you love. Your mom and I love you as much as Kelley, Patrice, and Candice. But we have to balance everyone’s needs. I know it might not seem fair right now, but things balance out in the end. No one asked Kelley if she wanted to be autistic. But she is, and we all have to deal with it.”

Mrs. Summers closed the argument. “Being in a family with an autistic sister requires that you pitch in, that you do what you can. We’ve all made sacrifices for Kelley.”

Katani was silent. She knew deep down her parents were right. She remembered the summer when her sister’s friends went to camp, and Patrice had to stay home and baby-sit Katani and Kelley.

“Your first lesson is tomorrow afternoon.” Her father got up, patted her on the shoulder, and left the room.

Katani didn’t move.

Mrs. Summers sat quietly with Katani for a while. “I hope that you’ll see this is an opportunity for you as well.”

Katani shrugged and swirled the desk chair so her back was facing her mother. Mrs. Summers got up and leaned over to kiss her daughter on her cheek and left the room.

Avery’s Blog

Friends, family, countrymen, I need your help!

The BSG’s adorable, lovable little dog has run away!

Last seen running toward the creek at the Brookline 300 Festival on Saturday afternoon. He’s not wearing a collar, but answers to Marty.

E-mail me if you have any leads!

A
very was the last one through the door to English class when the bell rang.

Ms. Rodriguez had poems pinned up all over the room. Some of the poems were funny and some were kind of sad or confusing, especially the ones by poets who lived a long time ago. Some, in Avery’s opinion, were kind of ridiculous. They didn’t make any sense to her at all.

Every teacher since third grade had taught a poetry unit, which Avery usually hated. She had to admit that Ms. R had made her think about poetry in a different way. She said that it didn’t have to rhyme. That poetry could be about emotions and passion or a cause important to the writer. And to think of poetry as a puzzle. What was the writer trying to say? The hints were in the words and images. Ms. R described poems as a wonderful dessert, rich and sweet, full of flavors to nourish the soul. Avery liked the dessert analogy, but she still would rather eat a cupcake than read poetry—no offense to Ms. R.

Avery had struggled with the weekend homework
assignment. They were supposed to write a poem…something they were passionate about.

At first, Avery considered writing her poem about losing Marty. But she was afraid that if Ms. Rodriguez asked her to read the poem out loud, she might cry. It was bad enough that she had cried at the festival on Saturday. Good thing none of the guys, especially Billy Trentini, had seen her blubbering like a baby over a lost dog. So she decided to pick another topic.

Avery had stayed up late last night working on her poem. She thought long and hard. What was she passionate about? Just as she was about to freak out and say she couldn’t possibly do this, Scott walked into her room and threw a Nerf baseball at her head.

Perfect. The light bulb went on. “Go away, Scott. I have to write a poem.”

When she pulled her homework assignment out of her notebook, it was all rumpled because she had stuffed it into her bag in a rush. She began to smooth out the crinkled edges as she waited for Ms. Rodriguez to start class.

“Okay, class, settle down,” the teacher said. “How many of you went to the festival this weekend?”

Avery looked around. It seemed everyone’s hands shot up in the air. Usually her hand would have been the first up, but because of what happened with Marty, she didn’t raise hers.

“Well, I hope you all found time to work on your poems between the rides and games,” Ms. R said with a smile. Then she surveyed the room, making sure that her students had done their assignments.

“I have a poem that I love. It’s about spring, but I
remember it made me think of the festival because of all the balloons in the park. It’s called ‘In Just’ by e. e. cummings.”

Ms. Rodriguez walked up and down the aisles as she read the poem.

Avery sighed as Ms. R read the rest of the poem. That poem was okay, but what was with those old words like “
far and wee
”? They sounded so weird.

“Over the weekend you were asked to write a poem about something you are passionate about,” Ms. Rodriguez said.

Avery squirmed in her seat.

There were lots of sighs heard from around the class.

Dillon looked at Avery and rolled his eyes. Avery wanted to laugh, but she was afraid Ms. Rodriguez would see her.

Betsy Fitzgerald raised her hand. “I’d like to share my poem with the class, Ms. R.”

Now it was Avery’s turn to roll her eyes.
A poem by Betsy
.
Oh, boy, this was going to be good
. Avery could hardly wait.

“Let me guess,” she whispered to Pete Wexler, who was sitting right next to her. “Betsy’s probably passionate about how she color-coded the paperclips in her desk drawer.”

Pete squelched a laugh, which made it look and sound like a loud sneeze instead. Ms. Rodriguez glared at them both. Avery flashed her very best I’m-paying-attention-and-can’t-wait-to-hear-Betsy’s-poem smile.

Ms. Rodriguez raised her eyebrows. Avery knew she was
skating on thin ice. She’d have to try extra hard to show fake enthusiasm for Betsy’s poetry.

Betsy Fitzgerald stood up and went to the front of the room. She cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and began…“
Perseverance
.”

She paused and looked proudly around the room. Avery figured Betsy thought the title alone was impressive enough for applause.

Avery couldn’t resist: “Perseverance? That’s what she’s passionate about?” she said out of the side of her mouth. Pete didn’t make a sound, but he began shaking all over.

Betsy’s poem had a lot of big words and rhymed like she was reading something from Mother Goose. Now sometimes, thought Avery, Mother Goose is funny. But there was nothing funny about Betsy’s poem. It was boring with a capital B and really serious. And she read like she was on stage doing Shakespeare, pausing dramatically after every line, as if to give the class time to understand her
deep ideas.
Avery couldn’t help yawning and putting her head down on the desk. The poem seemed to drone on forever.
It’s too bad Betsy doesn’t have a cape and a sword
, thought Avery.
That might improve her performance.

By the time Betsy finished, Avery was afraid to turn around. What if everyone in the class had fallen asleep?

“Thank you for sharing, Betsy,” Ms. Rodriguez said as she clapped loudly. Ms. R always made everyone clap after someone got up and presented.
This time she probably wanted to wake everyone up,
figured Avery as she joined in. Betsy walked back to her desk, nodding to her classmates.

“Perseverance is very important. I bet we have some
other inspiring pieces as well,” Ms. R said, looking around at the restless class.

Pete Wexler raised his hand. “I wrote about pretzels.”

“Pretzels?” Maeve asked. “I can’t believe that you’re passionate about pretzels!”

“Yeah,” Pete said, “I am.” Unlike Betsy, he read his poem sitting in his desk chair.

Avery thought it was pretty funny, and so did the rest of the class. Ms. R called it “simply marvelous.” Pete blushed big time. Avery didn’t think anyone had ever complimented Pete Wexler on his schoolwork before. He was probably in shock. Avery was getting excited now. If what the class wanted was chuckles, wait until they heard her poem.

“Thank you, Peter. You sound very moved about pretzels, you sound…”

“I was. I got a humongous pretzel at the Sox game. Dillon and I went to Fenway on Saturday.”

“Awesome game,” Joey Peppertone blurted out. “I saw it on TV.”

“What happened?” Avery asked. She was usually the resident expert on the Red Sox, but she’d been so exhausted and upset from worrying about Marty that she’d only quickly checked the score a couple of times. Between Marty and having to write a poem, Avery had abandoned her beloved baseball team. She felt like a totally disloyal fan.

“Will someone please tell me?” she looked frantically around the room.

“Where were you? On the moon?” Dillon asked. “Flores broke out of his hitting slump on Saturday night.”

“He did?”

“Yup. A single, a double, and a three-run homer. Six RBIs in all.”

“Woooo HOOOO!” Avery shouted as she leapt up from her seat.

“Avery!” Ms. Rodriguez said, giving her a stern look. “Keep it down.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. R. It’s just that Robbie Flores is what I’m passionate about.”

“Me, too,” Maeve sighed.

“I even wrote my poem about him,” said Avery.

“Would you like to share it with the class?” Ms. Rodriguez asked.

“Yeah!”

Avery popped out of her chair and rushed to the front of the room, then spun around to face the class. She was so excited about Robbie Flores that she just knew the class, especially the Red Sox fans, would love her poem.

The poem was short. AND it could be acted out—at least a little. As Avery read her poem, she swung an imaginary bat and jumped up in the air, pretending to catch a fly ball in the outfield.

I was great
, Avery thought smugly as the class clapped and whistled. Avery smiled and took a bow. Pete and Dillon stomped their feet for emphasis.

Avery’s probably the only girl in the whole school who could get away with a performance like that
, thought Maeve, laughing.

“Enough,” Ms. Rodriguez said between laughs. “Avery obviously has a lot of passion for baseball, the Red Sox, and Robbie Flores in particular. Thank you for sharing, Avery. You can go back to your seat now.”

On her way back to her seat, Avery high-fived Maeve and Dillon.

Back to Reality

Charlotte felt sick to her stomach as Avery read her poem. How could she be so happy and carefree when Marty was lost somewhere? And to top it off, Avery’s poem was about baseball, reminding Charlotte what had started this whole mess. It’s a good thing she sat on the other side of the room. She was so distraught that she didn’t want to be near Avery right now.

“Can I go next?” Charlotte asked when the noise finally died down. Charlotte stood at the front of the room. She read her poem about losing Marty.

When Charlotte finished, she looked up from the paper. She looked right at Avery. Avery’s head was face down on the desk.

There was no yelling or whistling. There was no laughing or stomping of feet. Everyone seemed sad and serious.

“Avery,” Ms. Rodriguez said. “Are you okay?”

Avery raised her head and shook it sadly. Tears were running down her face. Ms. R grabbed some tissues and brought them to Avery.

Suddenly, Charlotte felt awful. She remembered Mrs. Weiss’s advice. “Everybody gets distracted sometimes.” Was she actually starting to be mean to Avery?
She’s obviously as upset as I am about losing Marty, she just doesn’t always show it the same way.

“As you can see from the four poems we heard today,” Ms. Rodriguez went on, “poetry can pack a big punch. Have you found little Marty yet?”

“No,” Charlotte said, her voice breaking. “We lost him on Saturday. He’s been missing for…” Charlotte checked her watch. “For forty-five hours. We’ve looked everywhere. It’s like he…vanished. Into thin air. I don’t know what to do.”

The class was silent. Everyone knew that the BSG were crazy about their little adopted dog.

“Maybe someone kidnapped him…you know,” Joey Peppertone suggested.