Ava and Pip Read Free

arms on the ground. It was all stretched out in front of me, long and skinny. Maybelle, Lucia, and Carmen started waving their arms too, and soon we were all jumping up and down—and so were our long skinny shadows.
    Maybelle said, “The moon is 240,000 miles away.”
    Lucia looked surprised, but I’m used to Maybelle being a math wonk and coming out with random facts.
    â€œAnother thing I like,” Maybelle said, “is that you don’t have to worry about moonscreen or moonglasses.”
    â€œHey, I brought moonscreen!” I blurted. “Smell!” I squeezed a pretend blob onto everyone’s palm.
    â€œLemon lavender!” Maybelle said.
    â€œGingerbread spice!” Lucia said.
    â€œStrawberry shortcake!” Carmen said.
    â€œGrape with a hint of honeysuckle,” I said, and then at the exact same time, we all went “Mmm!” (M-M-M).
    â€œI also brought moonglasses!” I said and handed out pretend pairs.
    â€œI’m putting mine on top of my head,” Maybelle said. “The movie star way.”
    â€œMe too!” Lucia said.
    â€œMe three!” Carmen said.
    â€œMe four!” I said, and we laughed.
    â€œWhat so funny?” Maybelle’s dad asked.
    â€œThe man in the moon!” Maybelle said, and we all kept walking and laughing with our moonglasses on top of our heads, in the dark but not-too-dark.
    I wish we could have walked for hours.
    And I wish my family liked to laugh and have fun together.
    AVA IN THE MOONLIGHT

9/13
    BEFORE SCHOOL
    DEAR DIARY,
    I told Mom how fun last night was, and instead of saying, “That’s nice,” she said, “You should have invited Pip.” Well, that made me mad because it’s not my fault that Pip doesn’t have real friends!
    AVA IN THE MORNING

9/13
    IN THE LIBRARY
    DEAR DIARY,
    Mr. Ramirez just asked how my story was coming along.
    My story? What story? I didn’t tell him that I don’t have a character or a plot or even a first sentence.
    At least I have a magic pen.
    O-X-O
    A-V-A

9/17
    8 P.M.
    DEAR DIARY,
    After school, I went to Dr. Gross’s and waited for Mom. She was really busy, so I had to sit in the waiting room. After a while, I said, “I’m bored.”
    Mom said, “Shhh.”
    She hates when I say, “I’m bored.”
    I hate when she says, “Shhh.”
    I also hate being quiet. Pip is the Queen of Quiet. She’s even quiet when she goes up and down stairs while I, according to Mom, sound like “a herd of elephants.”
    In school, Pip can go a whole day without saying five words. Last year, Lacey, a loudmouth girl with thick bangs and thick eyeliner, teased her and called her “Pipsqueak.” It made Pip even quieter!
    I don’t know why Pip is so quiet. She just is. It’s like she has permanent stage fright—and she’s not even an actress.
    I realize it must be hard for her, but does she realize that it’s hard for me too?
    Pip and I don’t look that much alike (I have longish brown hair and brown eyes and no freckles, and she has medium red hair and green eyes and tons of freckles). We also don’t act alike (I talk fast and a lot, and she barely talks at all, and I write a lot, and she draws a lot). To be honest, I’m glad most people don’t know we’re related. It can be embarrassing when kids find out we’re sisters. They say, “You mean the short pretty girl who never talks?” or “You mean the weird girl who eats lunch by herself?”
    Pip isn’t weird. She just has no life. Hardly anyone besides me even knows that deep down, she’s normal. And nice—well, except when she’s bratty.
    One thing I like about having a big sister is she tells me stuff about when I was little. Like, she says I used to call “marshmallows” “marshmelons.” And once I had a tick on me and called it a “ticket.” And once I got us both