Ava and Pip by Carol Weston Page A

Mrs. (Bright) White to take it off the town library website and also take it out of the running for the anthology. He said, “Why don’t we call her together?”
    I wanted to say, “Can’t you just do it?” but he punched in her number. I was hoping a machine would pick up, but Mrs. (Bright) White said, “Hello,” and Mr. Ramirez handed me the phone. I had no choice but to talk!
    â€œHello, this is Ava Wren, and I’m sorry,” I said, apologizing to my third grown-up in one day. I admitted that I should have given more thought to my stupid story before handing it in and said, “I wish you could just make it all go away.”
    Mrs. (Bright) White said she couldn’t “just make it all go away,” but that she could remove the story from the library site. “May I ask why?” she said, and I had to tell her that I’d based Queen Bee on Real Bea in a not-nice way. “Well, that’s a shame, Ava,” she said. “When you have talent, you owe it to yourself and others to put it to good use.”
    I felt like a puppy who’d piddled on the carpet, but I said, “If you have a contest next year, I’ll submit a story I can stay proud of.” I hadn’t expected to say that.
    â€œAll right, it’s a deal. I’m looking forward to reading it already.” It was funny that Mrs. (Bright) White was looking forward to reading a story I hadn’t started thinking up or writing down . “And I’ll notify the publisher that the author of ‘Queen Bee’ wishes to withdraw her story.”
    â€œThank you,” I said and added some more “I’m sorry”s for good measure.
    Believe it or not, after I hung up, Mr. Ramirez apologized to me . He said, “Ava, I’m sorry this all got so out of hand and that we didn’t discuss your story in the first place. In my day, kids could show poor judgment and their mistakes didn’t go on their permanent record.”
    â€œThis is going on my permanent record?!” I asked, horrified.
    â€œNo, no. I just mean, in the age of the Internet, you have to be extra careful. Mistakes can follow you around.” I pictured my mistakes swarming after me like stinging bees.
    I nodded, glad that at least Mr. Ramirez knows I’m not a bad person—I’m just a person who did a bad thing.
    AVA WHO DOES NOT WANT HER MISTAKES TO FOLLOW HER AROUND

11/21
    IN OUR CAR
    DEAR DIARY,
    Hi from the high way.
    Dad and Pip and I are driving back from shoe shopping. Dad and Pip are up front, and I’m in the backseat—with you.
    Bea called this morning and said, “Sorry about my mom.”
    I said, “It’s okay.” I told Bea that my runaway story had been taken off the school website and library website and that Mrs. (Bright) White had submitted it to be in a book, but I’d asked her to un-submit it.
    â€œWait. Why?”
    â€œBecause I want my story to disappear!”
    â€œWait a sec, Ava,” Bea said. “I’m glad people in Misty Oaks won’t be reading about the evil new seventh-grader named Bea, but I don’t care if kids in Alabama or Alaska do. If you can get it published, you should.”
    â€œI don’t know…”
    â€œWell, I know. If Mrs. White thinks your story is good enough to get into a collection—”
    â€œBut it’s not— ”
    â€œNever say no to yourself, Ava! Let other people do that for you. Because who knows? They might say yes.”
    I wondered if she’d gotten that from a quote book. “Too late,” I said. “I already told her to withdraw it.”
    â€œSo un-tell her! Let’s un-tell her together! C’mon, we’re biking to the library right now! I’m picking you up in five.”
    With Bea, there was no point in even protesting, and minutes later, we were pedaling to Misty Oaks Library.
    I was hoping Saturday was Mrs. (Bright) White’s