Bravo, Mia Read online

  To Felicia Salinas, whose spirit I admire

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: There’s No Biz Like Squirrel Biz

  Chapter 2: Squirrel Power

  Chapter 3: These Boots Are Made for Skating

  Chapter 4: The Real Competition

  Chapter 5: The Coin of Destiny

  Chapter 6: Family Hearts

  Chapter 7: Fairy Godmothers

  Chapter 8: The Oakville Arms

  Chapter 9: Snug as Two Bugs in a Rug

  Chapter 10: Practice

  Chapter 11: The Skaters

  Chapter 12: The Buzz

  Chapter 13: The Routine

  Chapter 14: The Start

  About the Author

  Real Girls, Real Letters

  Preview of Tenney

  Copyright

  Here’s how to go from girl to squirrel in one easy lesson: Be in the wrong place at the wrong time—and be the wrong height. One moment my only worry was arriving on time at the rink, and the next thing I knew I had a four-foot gray tail sprouting from my back and an overbite that Dracula would envy.

  That Saturday, when my brothers and I headed for the Lucerne Ice Arena, the last thing on my mind was changing species. I was looking forward to taking a break from preparing for Regionals. Competing there was my reward for doing well at my skate club’s winter show last January, and Coach Schubert—yes, the Emma Schubert, the Olympic skater herself—had been training me pretty hard for the last eight months.

  For just one day, I was supposed to concentrate on cleanup rather than on double jumps. A chain of stores called Nelda’s Notions was celebrating its fortieth anniversary by offering free skating and free food for everyone at the Lucerne Ice Arena. There were also prizes for the best costumes—sewn, of course, from the stores’ patterns.

  The highlight of the party was to be a personal appearance by none other than Zuzu the Squirrel, and I was really looking forward to meeting her. Zuzu is the mascot for Nelda’s Notions stores, and she is everywhere. When my parents were kids, they watched Zuzu’s cartoon show on television every day after school. The show’s no longer on, but Zuzu still performs at schools and events like this, and she is a daily presence in advertisements in newspapers and on television and radio.

  However, as my brothers and I walked unsuspectingly through the front door, surrounded by witches, pirates, and zombies, Coach Schubert pounced on us. Well, on me, anyway.

  “What do you think, Nelda? Will she do?” the coach asked over her shoulder.

  Nelda is the owner of Nelda’s Notions, and she’s different from every adult I know. She’s in her sixties, and her white hair is permed and cut into an upside-down bowl shape, which always makes me think of a tall mushroom. As always, she was dressed all in pink, from the scarf around her neck to her fuzzy sweater to her slacks and boots.

  “You’ve got a good eye for size, Emma.” Nelda nodded. “You’re right—she’s Zuzu to a T.” And then she eyed my brothers. “And a bonus. You three look like certified elf material if I ever saw it.”

  The coach patted me on the back as she sent me off with Nelda. “Don’t worry about cleanup today. I’ll find someone else to handle it.”

  The next thing I knew, Nelda was ushering us to the rink’s backstage area, where I climbed into a squirrel outfit and my brothers were given elf ears.

  Nelda said that the person who regularly plays Zuzu had sprained an ankle on the way to the rink. When Coach Schubert heard about the problem and saw the costume, she estimated that I was the right size, and volunteered me.

  So suddenly there I was, trying to stand up—on skates!—in a giant squirrel costume. My body felt all wrong. I was at least a foot taller and a couple of feet wider, and I had so much extra weight around my waist that I swayed and shifted unexpectedly. And don’t even ask me what my tail was doing.

  It was dark inside the costume, too, so I felt as if I had been swallowed by a giant squirrel. My only opening onto the world was the little mesh window beneath the muzzle. I kept looking down through the window, but I couldn’t see my feet, only the white fur of my bulging squirrel tummy. How was I going to walk, let alone skate?

  The only things that kept me from…well…going squirrelly were my brothers, Perry and Skip, who were holding on to me on either side. That was a lot of support since Perry, who’s seventeen, is as tall as a skyscraper and Skip, at fifteen, is just a few stories shorter—that is, if skyscrapers had the pointed ears of elves.

  Through the mesh window, I saw my youngest brother, Rick, standing by the curtains that separate the backstage area from the rink. At thirteen, he’s two years older than I am. Like my other brothers, he was wearing elf ears that stuck up like spikes. I would have teased him, but it’s hard for someone in a squirrel suit to make fun of someone merely in elf ears. When it came to who looked silliest, I won paws down.

  Suddenly Nelda’s smiling face appeared in front of the mesh window. “Now, don’t be nervous, hon,” she reassured me. “Zuzu will handle all the cuteness for you. All you have to do is stay upright.” She gave me a big hug. “And thanks for doing this. Zuzu’s fans would have been so upset if she had missed this party, and so would Zuzu.”

  The voice of Bob Gunderson, who is the rink superintendent and my good friend, boomed over the Lucerne’s speakers, “And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for: it’s time for everyone’s favorite, fantastic, fantabulous furry friend…”

  At his cue, Rick drew one side of the curtains apart.

  Nelda gave me a little push. “Go on, hon. Make Zuzu proud!”

  “Ladies, gentlemen, and children of all ages, Zuzu is in the building!” Bob thundered, and then he played Zuzu’s jingle:

  “We’re just nuts about sewing.”

  Slowly, carefully, I skated forward to meet my—I mean Zuzu’s—public. After only a couple of steps, I began to think that just remaining upright might be too much of a challenge for me.

  The weight of Zuzu’s large tail pulled me backward, so I had to lean forward slightly to compensate. And when the costume’s head and the body started to sway in one direction, they wanted to keep going that way. I had to adjust constantly to keep my balance.

  I wasn’t worried about getting hurt if I fell. Nelda had assured me that there was so much padding in the costume that it was like having a mattress wrapped around me. But we squirrels have our pride. I didn’t want anyone to think that Zuzu was clumsy.

  As soon as my brothers saw me struggling, they slid up on either side and took hold of my paws, leading me out into the rink. Immediately, applause began echoing against the walls and ceiling. People had clapped for me at the Lucerne’s winter show last January, but not like this. This was like a warm, invisible wave from the whole town that rolled toward me—well, not the me who was Mia, but the me who was Zuzu.

  “Incoming skaters,” Skip warned.

  I couldn’t see Zuzu’s fans at first, but I could hear them dimly through Zuzu’s huge head. Dozens and dozens of skates were hissing across the ice toward me. I sometimes help out with the beginners’ skating class, the Twinkles, so I recognized the short, staccato rhythm little kids make when they try to skate.

  “Take your positions,” Perry ordered.

  We weren’t prepared for all the pirates, princesses, witches, vampires, and puppies that swarmed around us, but fortunately my brothers’ hockey instincts took over. My brothers guarded my back and sides and intercepted Zuzu’s fans as determinedly as if the kids were opponents with pucks trying to shoot a goal. They steered the kids so that they were in front of me where I could see them.

  When one little girl, dressed as a fairy, saw me, she skidded to a halt, covered her mouth with her hands, and broke
into happy giggles. Her parents smiled as if they were as pleased to meet me as their daughter was. As they escorted her away, I heard them telling their daughter how they had watched Zuzu on television when they were her age. They spoke about Zuzu as if she had been their friend since childhood.

  When there was a momentary lull, Dad skated over. Mom was busy at home preparing for a bake sale for Rick’s hockey team the next day, but Dad had volunteered to help at the rink. He was wearing an apron, so he must have been helping at the buffet.

  “Mia, is that you?” he asked.

  “Ix-nay, Dad,” Perry whispered firmly, and then in a much louder voice he politely asked, “Would you like to meet Zuzu, sir?”

  “I’d love to.” Dad broke into a wide grin, just as the giggler’s parents had.

  When I raised my paw and shook his hand, he looked as pleased as any little kid—and as if he had forgotten for a moment that I was his daughter.

  After Dad left, I must have posed for dozens of pictures. The flashing of all those cameras made me feel like a star, and even though no one could see my face, I found myself smiling from ear to ear inside Zuzu’s head. Was this what it felt like to be famous?

  Okay, it was Zuzu who was the actual star—but I like to think that Zuzu is bighearted enough to share some of her glory with me.

  After all, there’s no biz like squirrel biz.

  It was just a few minutes later that Vanessa Knowles skated past. Like me, she’s eleven, but she is a far better skater. Her parents make sure she has whatever she wants, including the latest fashions and fanciest costumes. She seems to think that her parents’ money entitles her to say whatever she likes, so almost everyone avoids her. She stopped, her lips curling up in a smirk. “Mia, is that you?”

  Since I had a little boy standing by me, I figured it was okay to fib, and I shook my head emphatically.

  “Can’t you tell it’s Zuzu?” Perry asked, trying to get her to play along.

  Vanessa jabbed a finger at him and then at me. “If you’re here, then that must be your sister.” She looked straight at me. “The look’s an improvement for you.”

  Through the mesh, I glanced at the little boy. To my relief, he was too busy playing with my paw to pay attention to Vanessa.

  Before she could do any real harm, she was bumped to the side by a flood of costumed kids, all crying “Zuzu!” With an annoyed expression, Vanessa turned and skated away.

  Unfortunately, there were now so many children on the ice that they overwhelmed my elves. Suddenly Zuzu was in danger of being loved to death as children tugged from all sides. When I moved to my left to maintain my balance, the suit was still jiggling to the right. I felt like a bowl of JELL-O in the middle of an avalanche and, just as I thought I was finally going to fall over, my friend Anya Sorokowski cried, “Oh, Zuzu! I’ve been dying to meet you!”

  Anya’s my best friend and the same age as I am. She stretched over all the little bobbing heads to wrap her arms around me—actually steadying me, although she was disguising it as a hug. Her face peered through the mesh window. “I thought it was you,” she murmured, “because only you would get yourself stuck in a mess like this.”

  With Anya’s help, my brothers managed to free me from the mob of adoring fans.

  Anya had brought her six-year-old sister, Alexandra, to see Zuzu. Alexandra was in a fancy pink princess costume, and at first I think she suspected I was her sister’s friend, but then, with my elves keeping the other kids temporarily at a distance, something strange happened. I stopped feeling like I was wearing Zuzu’s costume and felt more like Zuzu herself. I began playing patty-cake with Alexandra. She warmed instantly. Giggling like the other little girl had, she rocked on her skates with happy excitement. It was just as Nelda had said: Zuzu would handle the cuteness.

  Suddenly I heard Nelda exclaim, “Oh, look at Zuzu with that little darling. Don’t you want some footage of that?”

  The next moment bright lights flooded the rink, and through the mesh opening I caught a glimpse of a man with a huge television camera that had the logo of the local television station. With him was a reporter, Lillian Chin, with a big microphone.

  Lillian Chin asked me a question, but all I could do was give a big Zuzu-style shrug and wave to the camera. All the attention made Alexandra shy, so she scurried behind Anya.

  Lillian Chin was trying to coax Alexandra into coming forward again when Mayor Chuck “Chuckles” Weyberg roared over.

  “My darling Zuzu!” he boomed. The music playing in the background must have inspired him, because he grabbed one of my paws and said, “I’ve had a crush on you, Zuzu, since I was a kid. How about a dance?”

  Even if I could have protested, the mayor didn’t give me a chance. The unexpected motion was too much, and although I struggled to keep my balance, I finally toppled like a furry tree. There was a solid thunk as Zuzu’s big fiberglass head hit Mayor Chuck on his head, and we both fell together. I ended up landing on his chest.

  I’d been falling on the ice and getting back to my feet my whole life, but never in a squirrel costume. I started to get up, but I lost my balance and fell back onto the mayor. Where were my elves?!

  “Stop,” Coach Schubert ordered, “before you flatten the mayor.”

  By now, when the coach said to do something, I automatically did it. So I stayed still, crouched on top of the mayor, suddenly aware that in addition to the TV camera trained on us, digital cameras were flashing, and all around us people were laughing.

  As the coach helped me to my hindpaws again, I heard someone shout, “Zuzu for Mayor!” And others took up the chant.

  With a grimace, the mayor drew his hand across his throat in a slashing gesture, trying to signal the television crew to turn off its light and camera. But the light just kept on shining and the news camera kept on recording.

  Nelda and Coach Schubert led me off the rink before I could knock over anyone else. It was a relief to take off the suit and get back to being me. I apologized to Nelda, but she just grinned as she handed me a sports drink. “Didn’t you see all the folks? They loved it.” When she was sure I was all right, she excused herself to get back to her guests, including Mayor Chuck.

  I emptied the bottle and was about to go out and do my chores at the rink, but the coach caught up with me and told my brothers and me to go home.

  “You’ve done enough today,” she said with a chuckle. “Besides, I’m afraid that if you went out now, people would pay more attention to you than to Nelda’s party, and today really ought to be about her. Or,” she arched an eyebrow, “is there some other politician you want to crush?”

  Dad left with us, bringing home some bags of goodies from the buffet, which he distributed among us to carry. As we walked the three blocks home from the rink, Skip peeked into the bag he was holding and smacked his lips. “I can’t wait to dig in to all this stuff.”

  Free food was how I’d lured my brothers into going to the Lucerne in the first place. Between the expenses for my figure skating and my brothers’ private hockey teams, our family budget is tight. Besides their regular jobs, both of my parents work part-time as well. Unfortunately, though, local companies are cutting back, so things are even tighter than usual for us right now because Dad’s part-time job has shrunk to just a few hours a week.

  Less money coming in means that our parents have cut back on everything, including our food budget. We aren’t starving—not by a long shot—but my brothers are human vacuum cleaners who can practically suck up even the plates from the dinner table.

  “Dad, did you include any nuts for Mia?” Perry teased.

  Wincing, I said loudly, “Enough with the squirrel jokes, please.”

  “Or what?” Rick asked. “You’ll bite us?”

  I was tempted to do just that when kindhearted Skip tried to change the subject. “Did you see the princess outfit that Alexandra was wearing? It was like something from a musical.”

  “Lucky little girl to have such a nice costume.” Ri
ck started to laugh as he said, “Hey, remember that Halloween when Mom tried to save money by making all our costumes? And the seams were so twisted that everything fit weird?”

  Perry laughed, too, as he patted Rick between the shoulder blades. “You looked like a werewolf with a hunchback.”

  “Well, a hunchback wasn’t as bad as having three ears, like Mia did.” Skip jerked a thumb at me.

  “Yeah,” I agreed and glanced accusingly at Dad. “I wore that kitten outfit only because you fibbed and told me that it meant it was a special breed of cat.” I added, “I got teased for a month afterwards.”

  Dad scratched his nose as he pretended a sudden fascination with the sky. “Did I? I’m afraid I don’t quite remember.”

  “Mom does all right with a needle and thread, but she never got the knack of sewing those stretchy materials,” Perry said.

  “Like you would know which end of a needle to use,” I said, defending her. “Stretch material is tricky stuff. Not everyone can handle it.” I knew that because I had had my own catastrophes with sewing stretchy fabric.

  “After that Halloween, you always went as ghosts,” Dad chuckled.

  “That’s because all Mom had to do was cut holes in old sheets,” Rick said.

  Perry tugged at his ear as if he wanted to make sure it didn’t have a point anymore. “Elves have even simpler costumes,” he said and then sighed. “But appearing as an elf is not quite the way I wanted to celebrate.” Just yesterday, we’d found out that Perry’s hockey team had been invited to an important tournament, where only the very best teams would play. There would be plenty of college and professional scouts there. It was Perry’s big chance.

  “Look at it this way,” Skip teased. “You could be the first elf ever to play hockey.”

  I started to salivate the moment we came in through the back door of our home. The kitchen smelled of fresh baking, and Mom was taking a sheet of cookies out of the oven.

  Dad held his paper bag up triumphantly. “Beloved spouse, the foragers have returned!” he announced loudly over the talk show playing on the little black-and-white television on the counter.