The Love Pug Page 9

  Theo kept his mouth shut about how he already knew.

  “Why would a boy liking you be embarrassing?” Hallie rolled her eyes. “Besides, I’m your best friend—you can tell me anything. What did you tell him at the party?”

  I shrugged, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. “I guess I pretty much gave him the idea that I didn’t like him back.” Of course, I couldn’t tell Hallie why I’d reacted so negatively to Frankie.

  “But now you’re not so sure?” Hallie asked.

  “Well, I was sure … At first I thought I’d offended him and that he’d never speak to me again. But I don’t know if he really heard me. He’s just been acting like everything is normal. Well, until now. It just got … confusing.”

  Suddenly Travis Meyer appeared at our table and plunked himself down.

  “Hey, Hallie. You’re feeling better, right?”

  Wait, what? Travis knew that Hallie had been sick? But then I remembered—Frankie had gone to Travis to get his zombie makeup done because of Hallie’s cold.

  “So, was I right about Gravity Falls?” Travis was asking Hallie. “Did it help get your mind off your cold?”

  Hallie nodded enthusiastically. “It totally did. You were so right.”

  Wait wait, what what? Travis knew Hallie was sick and gave her recommendations on what to watch while she was sick? I’d assumed from her text—and from her missing my party—that she’d been basically sleeping the whole time. But she’d been texting with Travis. And watching some show he recommended.

  “You okay, Emma?” Travis asked.

  I blinked. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Oh, ’cause Hallie and I were just saying that we were going to go get a jump on our art project, but you didn’t say anything.” I looked up and realized that Travis was holding Hallie’s tray like he was going to take it over to the trash for her.

  “Sorry! I was just thinking about … my trip.”

  “Emma won a trip to New York for her writing,” Hallie told him brightly, and Travis put the tray down to give me a high five.

  “Way to go, Emma!”

  “Thank you,” I said, surprised at his enthusiasm.

  “I won a poetry award last year, but I only got to go to Harrisburg,” he told me.

  Travis won an award for writing poetry? Why did I feel like my whole world was making less and less sense every day?

  Theo stood up too. “I have yet another makeup quiz to take. You okay if I head out?”

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  Before I knew it I was left sitting alone at the table as the bell rang.

  “Oh, Emma, I didn’t see you sitting there all by yourself—that’s so sad! Next time come sit with us,” Autumn told me in a loud voice as she walked past.

  I folded my arms and scowled at her retreating figure. Going away this weekend suddenly seemed like the best idea in the entire world.

  On Saturday, Theo, Ms. Bates, and I rode the Amtrak train to New York City. In Penn Station, we wove through a crush of people to transfer to the subway, which was a much bumpier and more crowded ride than the Amtrak had been. Ms. Bates explained that the Society of Letters was in a neighborhood called SoHo. Theo said that “SoHo” stood for “South of Houston Street.”

  When we reached SoHo, I was excited to get out onto the street. We emerged onto Broadway, a loud, bustling avenue. We were surrounded on all sides by office buildings, restaurants, cafés, and sleek clothing stores. Other tourists and serious-looking New Yorkers streamed around us. I stood close to Ms. Bates, feeling kind of overwhelmed. Theo, world traveler that he was, looked thrilled, and was snapping pictures of everything with his phone.

  Ms. Bates led us to the tall, old-fashioned building that housed the Society of Letters.

  “Here it is!” she announced. “This is a very historical building. Isn’t the detailing around the windows beautiful?”

  “What time period is it from?” Theo asked her.

  “Probably the late eighteen hundreds,” Ms. Bates began. My interest wandered from her lesson on the history of buildings to a little dog walking with his owner on a leash. The pup looked up at me as he passed, and I felt a pang, missing my Cupid.

  “We’re still a bit early for the reception,” Ms. Bates was saying. “Do you want to stop and have a cup of tea? Or you kids love your hot chocolate …”

  “Sounds good to me,” Theo said, and I nodded. Hot cocoa sounded great.

  When I pointed at a big chain coffee shop across the street, Ms. Bates said, “We can do better than that!” She led the way to a smaller independent café called It’s Bean a While. When we stepped inside, I was surprised that the place reminded me a bit of Morning Mugs back home. I was glad we’d picked someplace owned by people like Shana and Stella, rather than some giant corporation.

  “So, how are you enjoying your first trip to the Big Apple?” Ms. Bates asked me as we waited in line.

  “I’ve been here before,” I told her.

  “Getting off the school bus and walking up the stairs to the art museum for a field trip doesn’t count,” Theo pointed out.

  “Well, I was here, is all I’m saying.” I stuck my tongue out at him and he shoved my shoulder playfully with his own.

  “You kids behave! I promised both your parents that I’d watch out for you.”

  “Both my parents and Emma’s dad know this is how we are,” Theo said.

  I nodded in agreement. “My dad knows how difficult Theo is to deal with.”

  “Hey!” Theo said.

  Ms. Bates rolled her eyes. “What do each of you want? My treat.”

  “Oh, no, Ms. Bates,” Theo protested, reaching for his wallet. “I can get …”

  “No, no, Theo, please. It’s so fun to show you two around the city. I haven’t been in so long.”

  “Well,” Theo said, scanning the menu. “In that case, I’ll take a café au lait and a cranberry muffin.”

  “You drink coffee now?” I gaped at him.

  “Sometimes,” Theo said, sounding defensive.

  “Hot cocoa for me,” I told Ms. Bates. “Thank you.”

  “She’s too young for coffee!” Theo told Ms. Bates, and pulled me away to claim one of the tiny tables in a corner.

  I hit his arm. “So are you! Does your mom know you’re drinking coffee?”

  Theo gave me a smug look. “Emma, this is my mom we’re talking about. She let me try fermented horse milk in Mongolia.”

  I’m sure my face reflected my horror. “You drank that?”

  “Just a taste.”

  “Was it awful?”

  “Yes, it was,” he said, and I laughed.

  Soon enough, Ms. Bates joined us with our orders. “Here you go,” she said. “One café au lait, and a cranberry muffin. And, Emma, here’s your cocoa.”

  “Thank you,” we chorused.

  “What were you two talking about?” Ms. Bates asked, settling onto the little stool. “Emma’s prospects for winning? I don’t know anything about the competition, of course, but your essay is so good, Emma!”

  “Thanks, Ms. Bates. And thanks for entering me in the contest. And coming with us.”

  “Emma …” she started as she stirred her tea. “I wonder if, if you might not mind calling me Abby? And you too, Theo, of course. When we’re not at school, I mean.”

  I took a drink of cocoa too fast and burned my tongue a little. I swallowed, then nodded and managed to say “Abby” even though it sounded super weird.

  “I’ll try, Abby,” Theo said with a smile, raising his coffee up for a second as though toasting her. Somehow it sounded much more natural when he said her name.

  Suddenly I felt very hot in the small café, and I realized I had to take off my coat, even though I’d planned on waiting until we reached the reception. I stood up and shrugged out of my coat. I was wearing a blue skirt and a nice pink cardigan. Underneath the sweater was a T-shirt I’d ordered online to wear to school next month, on Valentine’s Day. I was wearing it toda
y as a sort of good-luck charm.

  The light pink shirt was screen-printed with the image of my adorable Cupid, dressed up as his namesake, wearing a pair of wings with a tiny quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder.

  “Oh my goodness, what an adorable shirt!” Ms. Bates exclaimed.

  “I just thought … for luck,” I said, and felt my cheeks turn pink to match my sweater and the Cupid shirt.

  “It’s awesome,” Theo said. “Now it’s like Cupid’s here too.”

  I smiled gratefully at him for knowing when to stop teasing me about my dog-attachment issues.

  After a few minutes of enjoying our drinks—which we agreed were good, but not as good as those at Morning Mugs—Ms. Bates looked at her watch and exclaimed that it was time to head over for the reception.

  It was just a short walk back, and before I knew it, we were standing in the lobby of the building for the Society of Letters. The Society was on the eleventh floor, according to the uniformed man at the desk. Ms. Bates even had to take out her driver’s license so he could make a copy of it. I thought of how often cars and buildings were left unlocked back home and was struck by how different everything was here.

  We got off the elevator, and a cheerful teenage girl with very curly hair, who was holding a stack of three clipboards, greeted us right away. “Hi, I’m Britt! Are you all here for the Young Writers’ reception?”

  I was surprised at the Southern twang of her accent, but then I supposed people from everywhere lived here in New York. “We are,” Ms. Bates said. “This is Emma Winters: She’s one of the finalists.”

  “Oh, congratulations to you, Emma. And this must be your sponsor, and your guest.” She looked down at her first clipboard, wrinkled her nose, then moved on to the second. Her “organizational system” reminded me of Ms. Bates’s.

  “Abby Bates and Theo Knight?” Britt asked at last, and Ms. Bates and Theo nodded.

  I shrugged out of my coat, and my phone clattered to the floor. “Oh, shoot,” I exclaimed, checking it anxiously for cracks. All clear. I remembered why I hated this coat. “Ugh, I forgot, everything falls out of the pockets of this coat when I take it off.” I frowned down at my pocket-less skirt.

  “Here, I’ll hold on to it,” Theo said, and I handed him my phone.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Britt said, handing me a fat envelope. “Here’s the official application for the Society of Letters Young Writers’ Summer Program. As a finalist, you are invited to apply. It’s two weeks in the summer, and the courses are taught by published authors. It’s very exciting!”

  I accepted the envelope from her with a polite smile, but I couldn’t imagine spending two whole weeks in the summer here. The city was so big, and so different from Highbury.

  “Right this way,” Britt told us with a smile, and we followed her into a large room with rows of chairs set up, and a small stage with a podium at the front. On both sides of the room were two tables set with coffee urns, a bowl of punch, and little pastries.

  “Cool, second breakfast,” Theo announced, before tearing into a mini cheese Danish.

  “You all can sit anywhere you’d like,” Britt explained. “The presentation will begin in a few minutes. Oh, and congratulations again!”

  I looked at Ms. Bates, who beamed at me. She seemed to think I was going to win this writing contest. I looked around the room at the other finalists and their guests. Maybe she was right … maybe I could win. After all, no one else could possibly have written about anything more wonderful than my Cupid. I looked down at the program Britt had handed me and skimmed through the titles of the pieces. Some were pretty standard: “My Best Friend” and “The Best Summer Ever.” A few titles were very strange, like “WHYBDL,” “that tragic duck,” and “#nobody.” I wondered if the Society of Letters wouldn’t prefer someone who knew how to capitalize properly.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats for the presentation!” a woman at the front of the room called, and Theo came back over to join us. He, Ms. Bates, and I claimed three empty seats. “Welcome to the thirty-fifth annual Young Writers’ prize sponsored by the New York Society of Letters. Young Writers, we are so proud of all of you, and remember, you are all winners.”

  She introduced an author, an older woman with short gray hair; I didn’t recognize her name, but Ms. Bates hummed beside me in excitement. I tried to pay attention to her speech, but all I could think about was my essay, and all the other writers in the room. What if an essay about a pug was silly? Ms. Bates had given me confidence, but now doubts chewed at my stomach.

  At first it felt like the introduction would never end, but then I still didn’t feel ready to hear the results.

  “Now, for the announcement of the pieces earning the top prizes this year,” the author said, reading off a sheet of paper. “Third runner-up, taking home a one-hundred-dollar gift certificate to Harrison’s Books in Brooklyn … Paige O’Malley.”

  The crowd applauded as Paige O’Malley, a tall girl about my age, moved forward and read a paragraph from her story. She was the author of “WHYBDL,” which turned out to be an acronym that stood for several different things in the story. The presenter said her story was “clever and moving,” and everyone clapped when she was done.

  I felt my stomach tighten into a knot at the suspense as the presenter began to announce the second-prize winner. Theo gave me a grin and raised his hand to show two crossed fingers. I figured I didn’t need the top prize, but it would be nice to go home and say that I’d won something, right? But as the presenter awarded the second and first runner-up prizes to other kids, I began to feel more nervous. What if I’d won the top prize after all? Ms. Bates sent me another hopeful smile. My stomach felt queasy and I was glad I hadn’t eaten any of the tiny Danishes.

  “And finally, this year’s top prize … goes to Remy Worrell, with his story ‘#nobody.’”

  Everyone began cheering. I felt all the hope I’d stored up in the last few minutes rush out of me, but my stomach was still tight, and I felt my cheeks turn pink. I didn’t want Ms. Bates or Theo to know that I’d wanted to win, or maybe even, in a little tiny part of myself, expected to win.

  Remy Worrell started reading from his story, and suddenly my essay about Cupid seemed very boring and uncreative. Now I felt even more foolish for thinking I might have had a chance.

  “I’m sorry, Emma,” Theo said in a low voice when Remy finished reading.

  “It’s okay,” I said. The presenter was saying that all the finalists should feel free to continue to mingle. “Can we go?” I asked Ms. Bates. My voice sounded small, and I felt a little pathetic, but at that moment, I just wanted to get out of there. I knew it wasn’t very gracious, and I was glad that Dad wasn’t there to remind me of that.

  But Ms. Bates just nodded once and began to lead the way out. I got a little tangled trying to quickly shrug into my coat, but Theo helped me, and before I knew it we were back outside on the busy city street. The cold air felt good after the stuffy room.

  “Well, there were certainly some very avant-garde pieces in the mix,” Ms. Bates said. “Who would have guessed that the winner would be the one with a hashtag for a title?”

  I had to laugh a little then, because I’d never heard Ms. Bates use the word hashtag before. “So, since we have some time before we need to eat lunch, and then get the train, perhaps you’ll indulge me in a trip to the Strand?” Ms. Bates asked. “It’s that big bookstore I’ve told you about.”

  “Sure, Ms…. Abby,” I told her, still feeling a little unsteady after the unexpected stress of the awards.

  We followed her as she began purposely marching toward the subway entrance. “Are you okay?” Theo asked me.

  “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” I said as we made our way down the subway steps.

  “You just seemed disappointed. Which is totally normal! I know I would be. But, Emma, it was a nationwide contest—it’s still a big deal to be one of the finalists who got picked.”

  “O
f course. I didn’t expect to win.” I hoped my red cheeks didn’t give me away.

  “Okay.” We reached the bottom of the stairs, and I swiped the card the way Ms. Bates had shown me that morning. I went through the turnstile and stepped onto the platform.

  “Oh my God—Abby? Is that you?” A woman in a bright blue coat standing on the platform turned and gaped at Ms. Bates.

  “Stephanie? What are the chances?” Ms. Bates and the woman were hugging and squealing and jumping up and down. Finally, Ms. Bates turned back to us. “Emma, Theo, this is my dear friend from college, Stephanie Lewis. Steph, these are two young people from my town—I’m chaperoning them; Emma was a finalist in a contest with the Society of Letters.”

  “Oh, how exciting, congratulations!” Stephanie said to me.

  “Thank you. I can’t believe you just found each other like that,” I said.

  Ms. Bates grinned at her friend and then back at me. At that moment, she looked so much younger than she usually did to me. “It’s New York City magic,” Ms. Bates announced with a wink at Theo and me.

  She turned back to her friend, and the two began talking a mile a minute. When the train came, they sat down together, and Theo and I ended up standing, holding on to a pole not too far from them.

  “Crazy how she found her friend like that in a city of eight million people,” Theo said.

  “Yeah, crazy,” I echoed. I would not have expected something like that to happen in a place like New York City.

  The subway lurched to a stop, and two seats opened up.

  As Theo and I sat down, I was thinking that maybe I could practice my writing more … maybe find a workshop or two … and then maybe I could even enter the contest again next year.

  “So, Emma, what do you think about that summer program that they gave you the application for?” Theo asked me. I looked over at him in surprise—it was like he’d been reading my mind.

  “Maybe …” I began.

  “Kids, this is our stop,” Ms. Bates called.

  The doors whooshed open, and I followed Theo, Ms. Bates, and Ms. Bates’s friend out among the crush of people.

  “Stephanie and I would love to catch up some more, if you two don’t mind,” Ms. Bates said to me and Theo once we reached the street. We were standing right by a wide square full of trees and benches and people crisscrossing busily. “We’ll all stay in this little area, but you can pick what you’d like to do for about an hour, before we head back toward the train.”