The Exceptional Maggie Chowder, page 1
WHAT WOULD EAGIRL DO?
TWELVE-YEAR-OLD ASPIRING FOREST RANGER MAGGIE CHOWDER wants to be just like her favorite comic superhero, the Exceptional Eagirl. Maggie is determined to make the most of her new circumstances when her dad loses his job and her family moves from a house to a small apartment.
But then her best friend’s dad becomes a coach for the Seattle Seahawks. LaTanya gets to move into a big house and get a puppy—and Maggie can’t help feeling jealous. To make things worse, nitpicky, comic-book-hating Grandma Barrel comes to stay with Maggie’s family.
It may not always be easy to be strong like Eagirl, but with the help of an unforgettable trip to Comic Con, Maggie realizes that home is about more than a house, and families and friendships don’t have to change just because life does.
Albert Whitman & Co.
More than 100 Years of Good Books
www.albertwhitman.com
Printed in the United States of America
Jacket art copyright © 2020 by Albert Whitman & Company
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is on file with the publisher.
Text copyright © 2020 by Renee Beauregard Lute
Illustrations copyright © 2020 by Albert Whitman & Company
Illustrations by Luna Valentine
First published in the United States of America in 2020 by Albert Whitman & Company
ISBN 978-0-8075-3678-0 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-8075-3679-7 (ebook)
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 LB 24 23 22 21 20
Design by Valerie Hernández
For more information about Albert Whitman & Company, visit our website at www.albertwhitman.com.
To Zach Lute, who is one heck of a husband, dad, editor, support system, and chili chef. And to Maddie, Simon, and Cecily, who inspire me all the time.—RBL
To my mum, Joanna, and my agent, Alex; two amazing women who inspire me every day to be strong and believe in myself, no matter what life throws at me. Thank you for being my superheroines!—LV
The World of
The Exceptional Eagirl
EAGIRL
RANGER DANGER
POSSUM SAUCE
GRIZZLY BAIRD
BOSSTRICH
OSPREY GIRL
BAIRD CUBS
FOREST FIERA
1
“Good things are going to happen this summer,” I say. “Great things. Exceptional things.” It’s the first day of summer break, and I can just tell.
“You’re usually not this upbeat at the beginning of summer,” Mom says.
She’s right. My best friend, LaTanya, is going away to Vancouver with her family for the whole beginning of the summer, just like she does every summer. Her dad is the assistant coach for a football team there. Mom is going to drive me to LaTanya’s house for the afternoon so we can make friendship bracelets, which some people think is doofy, but LaTanya and I don’t care what other people think. When you’re twelve and you don’t have your own phone, which I don’t, Vancouver is basically as far away from Renton as Australia, but LaTanya and I are solid. And I refuse to let Vancouver or football ruin my summer.
“I’m experimenting with optimism,” I say. “Like Eagirl in The Exceptional Eagirl #62 when she tries to be more like Possum Sauce.”
“Possum Sauce is the sidekick?” asks Mom. “I can never keep them straight. In any case, I’m all for optimism this summer.”
Mom goes back downstairs, leaving me to finish packing. I stuff my case of bracelet floss and beads into an Eagirl tote bag I got at the comic book store downtown last winter. When I bought it, the bald guy behind the counter snorted and said, “Eagirl? Isn’t she some kinda forest ranger superhero?”
“Yeah,” I said. “She is.” I put my money on the counter and glared at him like Eagirl would.
He handed me my tote bag and didn’t say anything after that. Probably because of my intimidating Eagirl glare. Or maybe because he remembered he was wearing a Shrimpman T-shirt, and Shrimpman is the worst superhero. He’s not even a superhero. He’s Lobsterman’s sidekick. I try not to yuck other people’s yums, but Shrimpman really is the worst. He’s an actual shrimp man.
I’m going to be just like Eagirl one day, except I wasn’t raised by eagles. I’m going to become a forest ranger. I’ll uphold the law of the forest and assist those who need help, like she does.
“Maggie!” Mom calls from downstairs. “Almost ready to go?”
“Just a sec!” I yell back.
I pack a small brown teddy bear wearing a Seattle shirt into my tote, too. I bought it for LaTanya at the drugstore. They didn’t have any teddy bears wearing Renton shirts, and Seattle is the next closest city. I’m giving it to LaTanya in case she gets homesick when she’s in Vancouver, which she always does.
It’s raining lightly outside my bedroom windows, and everything in the yard looks fresh and green. Our yard backs up to the woods, so if I look out my window long enough, I almost always see a small, black squirrel racing up a tree or a silvery-blue Steller’s jay belching behhh, behhh, behhh from a conifer branch. When I’m lucky, I can spot a deer, or even a whole family of deer. Once there was a little black bear pawing at one of our suet feeders. Mom didn’t think he was as awesome as I did.
I swing my tote bag onto my shoulder and head down the stairs to the kitchen. Mom is in there, wearing her HOT CHOWDAH apron and crouching to look at something baking in the oven. Dad bought back Mom that apron when he was in Boston on a business trip. It’s kind of funny because our last name is Chowder. He brought back taffy for me and my four-year-old brother, Aaron. Dad travels a lot on business, but he’s been home with us this whole week, which is nice.
His job sounds boring—he’s a business-development-something-something at a software company—but he’s never boring when he talks about it. He does an impression of his boss that makes me and Aaron laugh until we nearly pee our pants. Dad pulls his pants up really high and rubs the top of his head and says, “Oh ah, well ah, these numbahs aren’t what we’re lookin’ for, bustah. Not what we’re lookin’ for at all. Can we get some bettah numbahs?”
“What are you making?” I ask Mom.
“Corn bread.” The oven beeps, and Mom turns it off. She pulls a round pan out and sets it on top of the stove. “To have with our chili tonight. Are you eating dinner with LaTanya’s family?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” She brushes her hands on the apron and tosses it onto the counter. “I’m ready to go when you are!” She cups her hands around her mouth and yells into the living room. “Aaaaron, time to get in the caaaaar!”
Aaron trots into the kitchen with his eyes on a piece of paper.
“What do you have?” Mom asks.
“My list,” says Aaron, still looking at the paper. I look over his shoulder. His list is actually a grocery-store receipt.
“Bananas,” I read out loud. “Cottage cheese, grapes, pretzels, ground beef.”
Aaron smiles at me appreciatively. “Frozen corn, deli ham, butter.”
“You’re a good reader, Aaron,” I say. Aaron is the only kid in his preschool class who can read. He is also the only kid in his preschool class who gets sent home with “couldn’t sit still during circle time” notes almost every day.
Aaron is four years old, and he’s autistic. That means he has some unusual and wonderful qualities, which is how Dad puts it. Aaron is really awesome at spelling and reading, and he loves making lists as much as I love Eagirl. When he’s excited or having trouble with something he’s feeling (like wet socks), he stims. For Aaron, that means jumping up and down or wiggling his fingers in front of his eyes. Or both. I think it’s super cute, but it can be a little alarming if you’re not used to it. I’m very used to it.
Aaron scowls at me because I stopped reading from his list.
“Carrots,” he says. “Hummus. Goldfish crackers.”
“Milk and bagels,” I say.
“Let’s load up,” says Mom.
Aaron carefully folds his receipt and tucks it into the pocket of his shorts.
On the short ride to LaTanya’s house, he pulls it out again. “Bananas, cottage cheese, grapes, pretzels,” he reads.
LaTanya’s house is my favorite house, besides my house. Hers is a small red trilevel across from Petrovitsky Park. There are always good snacks, and we’re allowed to eat them, even while LaTanya’s mom is cooking dinner. My mom never lets us snack before dinner.
LaTanya flings her front door wide open. “Hot fudge sundaes and manicures? We’ve got a lot of stuff to do and not much time!”
I follow her into the warm kitchen. LaTanya’s mom is rinsing a bowl in the sink.
“Mmm, it smells good in here,” I say. “What is it?”
“Pot roast,” says LaTanya’s mom, “so don’t fill up too much on your sundaes.” She winks at us.
LaTanya’s mom is my favorite mom, besides my mom. She never yells, and she is a very good cook. My mom says she looks like a movie star, but I think she looks like Dahlia, Queen Warrior from the Dahlia, Queen Warrior comics. Dahlia is LaTanya’s favorite superhero. She even went to a casting call when they made the Dahlia, Q
LaTanya scoops vanilla ice cream into two cold bowls she pulled out of the freezer. That’s a trick her mom taught us—it’s so the ice cream doesn’t start melting right away. “I’m going to paint my nails black and orange for the Lions,” she says. The BC Lions are the football team LaTanya’s dad coaches in Vancouver.
I study my nails. They’re short and uneven because I bite them. “I’ll paint mine blue and green for the Seahawks.” The Seattle Seahawks are a pretty big deal around here. During football season, all the store owners in Renton put out blue and green balloons. Aaron likes the mascot a lot. He would appreciate blue and green nails.
LaTanya’s mom points a spatula at us. “You know, LaTanya, you might want to think about blue and green nails, too. For luck.”
LaTanya sighs. “Daddy is still dreaming of coaching the Seahawks,” she says to me.
“Without dreams, nobody has much,” says her mom. “Remember that. And if Daddy has a dream, then we all do, because family members support each other.” She squeezes LaTanya’s shoulders. LaTanya’s mom always says smart things like that. And she’s usually right about everything.
LaTanya pulls a jar of homemade hot fudge out of the refrigerator and pops it into the microwave. “Blue and green nails it is,” she says. Her mom smiles at her.
Once our nails are dry, we sit on the floor of LaTanya’s bedroom threading beads together. The bracelet I’m making for LaTanya says V-E-R-Y-B-E-S-T. When I feel around in my tote for the wire clasp that goes on the end of the bracelet, I feel the little brown bear.
“Oh! I forgot. I got this for you.” I hand the bear to LaTanya.
LaTanya studies the bear, and then hugs it to her chest.
“Thanks, Maggie. You’re my very best. That’s why the bracelet I’m making says very best.”
“Whoa!” I show her the bracelet I’m making for her. “So does mine.”
“Brain twins,” says LaTanya.
“Girls!” LaTanya’s mom calls from downstairs. “Time for dinner!”
After dinner, Mom pulls up in front of LaTanya’s house. Aaron is in the car, and he hates getting in and out of his booster seat a bunch of times, so Mom waits for me to come out.
LaTanya and I give each other the longest, tightest hug in the history of hugs.
“I’m gonna miss you,” she says.
“I’m gonna miss you too.” I jangle my new bracelet around on my wrist. “I’ll wear it the whole time you’re gone.”
LaTanya holds up her wrist. “Same.”
LaTanya’s mom opens the door. “It’s only a month, girls! We’ll be back before you know it.” She waves to my mom in the driveway and holds one finger up like Maggie will be out in one minute. “It’s going to be a great summer. For all of us.”
LaTanya’s mom is usually right about everything. I hope she’s right about this summer, too.
FROM THE EXCEPTIONAL EAGIRL #62
2
On normal Saturdays, I eat waffles for breakfast and read an Eagirl comic and go shopping with Mom. That’s what I do this Saturday morning, too. I have waffles for breakfast. And I read The Exceptional Eagirl #16. That’s the one where Eagirl’s sidekick, Possum Sauce, wrestles a kidnapper and rescues a bus full of kids. And now I’m going shopping with Mom.
Aaron hates shopping. He only likes T-shirts from Target. He has all the exact same ones, in all different colors. That’s because Target T-shirts don’t have tags in them. Aaron hates tags and waiting in line, so Mom and I shop alone.
He’s pretty much always been who he is, but we didn’t know there was a name for it until he got a diagnosis last year. I think for a while my parents didn’t really know what to do with that, so things just kind of stayed the same. But recently things have been a little harder for Aaron, and his doctor suggested some therapies he could start this summer.
I skip down the brick steps of our white house and through the rows of giant trees that shade our driveway, stopping to heroically move some worms off the wet sidewalk before it dries. We had a big storm last night, and worms are always all over the sidewalk after a storm.
The trees are still dripping on me as I climb into the passenger side of Mom’s dark-green car and shut the door. Before I click my seat belt buckle, Mom makes a disapproving mmm sound from the driver’s seat.
“Maggie, it’s safer in the back seat. Can you please humor me?”
I lean my head back into the headrest. “But we’re having a Mom and Maggie day. We’re bonding. How are we supposed to bond if I’m sitting in the back and you’re driving me around in the driver’s seat? People in the back of police cars don’t bond with their drivers. Kids going to prom don’t bond with their drivers. People—”
Crack.
Crack.
Craaaaack.
It happens fast and slow at the same time. One of the big, old trees next to our driveway breaks in half. The top half whooshes down onto the car. I hear a thud. The sound of crumpling metal. And then I hear screaming. The screaming sounds far away at first, but then closer. I look at Mom. The screaming is coming from her.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” Mom shrieks. Her whole body is shaking. She fumbles with her seat belt, gives up, and leans over to cup my face in her hands. “My baby girl, oh my God, are you okay? Are you okay?”
I try to nod, but she is really squeezing my face hard. Big tears roll down her freckled cheeks. Strands of brown hair have escaped from her braid and stick to the sweat on her jaw and neck.
“I’m okay. I’m fine. Are you?”
She closes her eyes and nods, but she doesn’t seem okay.
“We’re fine, Mom.” I unbuckle my seat belt and hug her tight. She squeezes me back, and I can feel her breath slowing down.
We pull apart and turn at the same time. The fallen tree has completely crushed the back seat. Tiny pieces of glass are all over the floor and the seat.
This is exactly the kind of thing that would happen to Eagirl. Well, not exactly. She would have stopped the tree from falling in the first place. Or she would have saved a kid’s life from the—
Hold on. I saved a kid’s life from the tree.
“Whoa, Mom,” I say. “If I’d got into the back seat like you told me to, I would have—”
“No!” Mom yelps. Her face crumples up, and she presses it onto the steering wheel. Her back heaves as she cries.
“Hey, but I didn’t,” I say. I put a hand on her back. “And I’m fine! I just meant…”
Uh-oh. I made it worse. Eagirl never makes things worse. Only better.
Dad and Aaron appear in the windshield.
“Oh my God,” yells Dad. We can hear him clearly because the back seat and rear windows have all been shattered. He is gesturing widely with his hands. At the car, then the tree, then back at the car again. “Are you two okay? What happened?”
Mom looks up from the steering wheel. “What do you mean ‘what happened?’ What does it look like?”
“We’re fine,” I add quickly.
“Oh my God,” Dad says again. He presses his fingers into his forehead. “Thank God no one was in the back seat.”
Mom collapses into the steering wheel again, sobbing.
Aaron walks over to my window. He sighs. “A broken car,” he says, shaking his head sadly. “A broken tree.”
My stomach cramps up as I look back at the crumpled remains of Aaron’s booster seat, covered in glass…and tree. Aaron would have been killed if he had come with us. It is so lucky that Aaron hates shopping.
“Why,” Mom asks the steering wheel. “Why today? Why right now?” She looks up at Dad through the windshield. “I guess our decision has been made for us.”
Dad nods slowly at Mom.
What decision? I look back and forth from Mom to Dad.
“A broken car,” says Aaron, surveying the back seat. “This car is broken.”
