Chapter 5: Confidence
Ava talks to her dad
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In chapter 4: Old Pros, Ava and Greyson find out the animal shelter is in dire financial straits and decide to hold a fundraiser to save it.
Ava
The moment I pull my car into the driveway, the triplets rush out the door, like they watched for me at the front window. Julia probably kicked them out.
“Ava!” All three call in unison, holding up their water guns that I hope are full of water because I stink right now. They jabber as they surround me like hyper puppies waiting for a dog treat. The air swooshes around Jeremiah, Joshua, and James, only distinguishable by their shirt colors.
“Did a dog die?”
“Did you bring home a dog?”
“Tell Mom it’s not fair we can’t have a dog!”
“Why can’t we have a dog?” they all ask at the same time. “Pleeeeease?”
“Ask Julia and Dad,” I say, “It’s not up to me.” Greyson’s look at the meeting stuck in my mind. Given the way he babies the dogs, he wants to save the animal shelter, too. He’s annoying but I’ll do anything to save those dogs. Even work with Greyson Bertram.
“Eww, you stink, Ava.” Jeremiah wrinkles his nose.
“I’m gonna get you with my water pistol!” Joshua yells.
“Bet you can’t.” I take off running, all three chasing me with their water pistols around the yard. They whoop and holler. It’s Saturday, and the entire neighborhood seems to be doing yard work and getting an eyeful of our noisy production. I get drenched.
Inside, Julia will be flurrying around, doing her frantic meal prep and pre-guest cleaning that will be undone in a matter of seconds once the boys go inside. Better to keep them out here. I run back to my car, hoping that they’ll get the bright idea to wash it. Instead, they turn the guns on each other.
It’s a confused chorus of sounds and color, their voices indistinguishable. “Bang! Bang! Surrender your weapons, enemy, before I pull out my atomic bomb and blow you up! Remember the Alamo, men!” The battle is fierce, rivaling anything in War and Peace, if Tolstoy’s characters were five-year-olds with toy guns, gigantic imaginations, and a spotty knowledge of history.
“Don’t leave the yard!” I call, walking around the side of the house to the backyard. Dad is preparing for the barbeque this evening and is busy starting the brisket, which will take all day to do its thing, totally inefficient if you ask me. The charcoal smells good, though. Dad wipes his face with his shirt and the air above the grill wavers from the heat. “What happened at the animal shelter?” he asks.
The plan will work. The plan must work. First hurtle: getting parental approval. “We’re doing a fundraiser,” I say. “They’re really behind on rent.”
Dad doesn’t comment on his own father’s Scrooge-like attitude; there’s no point. “How much do you need to raise?”
“Ten thousand.”
He whistles. “What will you do?”
“A race. You know, people pay to sign up and run, something kind of short that won’t intimidate newbies, like a 5K.” I smile brightly.
“And you got roped into helping?” he asks, giving me a side-eye. He knows me too well and suspects this was my idea.
Smile. Act confident. This will work. “Not exactly. Greyson Bertram and I are in charge. We’re both experienced with how races work and you’ve said yourself that I’m brilliant at running events.”
“Correction. I said that you were brilliant at bossing people around.”
I wave aside the distinction. “Same thing.”
“And who’s this Greyson guy?”
“Newer volunteer at the shelter. Greyson’s on the cross country team, too.” Before Dad can point out that it’s less than optimal to run a huge event with a near-stranger, I add, “He’s in all my AP classes at school. Noah says—” Dad furrows his brow and I sigh. “Noah is Maggie’s boyfriend. You’ve met him.”
“Is he the one that yells about politics during every class?”
“No. That was Ian, three boyfriends ago. Keep up, Dad.”
He mutters under his breath.
“Noah says that Greyson is super-conscientious.”
“A teenage boy knows the word ‘conscientious’?”
“No, that’s just what I’ve figured out. Anyway, Greyson doesn’t seem like the type to leave me to do all the hard stuff. And he obviously loves the dogs, so he has a great motivation. You should see him with Ozzy. He’s so sweet with him, with all of them.”
Dad still looks unconvinced.
“The volunteer work will look good on our college resumes. He’ll care about that. He lives down the street, so that’ll be convenient—”
“Ah!” Dad points the meat poker at me. “You should’ve mentioned that first. The new people, the Bertrams?” I nod. “The man’s the new hire at Boeing in my division. Good guy. They keep their yard well maintained. I’ve seen the boy trimming the bushes.”
A surefire way of getting Dad’s approval: keep up the lawn to Isaac Barratt-level standards of perfection.
“See? He’s a hard worker.”
He lifts his eyebrows and a tiny smile lurks around his mouth. “Mmm.”
He deals with the brisket and then closes the lid of the smoker. “Do I need to have a little talk with this Greyson Bertram?” He smirks.
“Don’t you dare.”
“Are they coming to the barbeque tonight? Might be a good idea to talk to him then,” he muses. “Make sure his intentions towards my daughter are good. Otherwise …”
“Otherwise what?”
“The grill will be hot,” he says with a straight face.
“Dad! Don’t you dare! And please, please don’t make any corny dad jokes, okay?”
“Corny dad jokes, moi? I am always hilarious. Julia always laughs at them,” he says.
“Julia’s married to you. She’s supposed to find you funny.” A beat. “Anyway, Greyson and I are …” I search for the right word. “It’ll work out,” I say finally. “We’ll make this 5K run a huge success.”
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Check back on Friday for chapter 6.