by Sheryl Berk
So there you have it. My two cents on Sadie Hawkins. Good luck, girls. I’m here if you need me.
XO,
Emma
As soon as she had finished typing up her post, her phone rang.
“Em, I need your help!” It was Harriet and she sounded very stressed out—even more than she had been at the afternoon’s assembly.
“Oh, no, not you, too,” Emma groaned.
“What do you mean? ‘Not you, too’?”
“My email is overflowing with girls who need help with the Sadie Hawkins situation,” Emma explained.
“Well, I’m your BFF. I should get a front-of-the line pass.”
Emma chuckled. “Okay, you can skip to the front of the line. What’s going on?”
“Like I told you in assembly, I’m not sure how to ask Marty, and I don’t want to do it all wrong. I mean, should it be face-to-face? I might get all red, or break out in hives, or worse, faint from anxiety. Can’t I just send him a text?”
“It definitely needs to be done in person,” Emma advised. “And it has to be personal. What does Marty like?”
“Me, hopefully,” Harriet replied.
“Besides you. What are his hobbies? His passions?”
“Well, we went to Comic Con together. He has this huge collection of comic books, hundreds of them—Spider-Man, Batman, The Hulk, Captain America. Oh, and he looked really cute in his Superman costume.”
“Then that’s it!” Emma exclaimed. “You need a superhero-worthy invite. Something that will really wow him. How would Supergirl do it?”
“She’d probably swoop down from the sky and hand him an invitation,” Harriet considered. “Just one small problem: I don’t fly.”
“Yet,” Emma said. An idea was starting to take shape—she could feel it. “You don’t fly yet.”
“Uh-oh. Whatever crazy scheme you’re thinking of, if it involves my feet leaving the ground, it’s a no. I don’t like heights.”
“Harriet, have I ever led you wrong?”
“I don’t have to remind you of the Crisco catastrophe, do I?” Harriet said.
No, she didn’t. Her parents had grounded her for a week. “You said you wanted your scooter to go faster,” Emma recalled. “How was I supposed to know the oil would make the wheels go so fast you’d fly off?”
“Three stitches in my head!” Harriet was still angry over the incident that happened five years ago. “I have a scar over my eyebrow, and that tree in my neighbor’s yard always leans to one side from me hitting it.”
“It was second grade,” Emma assured her. “I promise not to use any cooking oil in my plan to help you get Marty. Unless the harness on the wire is a little squeaky . . . you don’t want to get stuck up in the air.”
“Harness? Wire? Up in the air?” Harriet’s voice was now trembling. “Emma, what are you thinking?”
“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Emma said.
Emma knew that Harriet would be devastated if Marty turned her down, so she had to make her plan work. Being rejected was a horrible feeling—she knew this firsthand, and not just because of Jax. Her classmates had initially rejected her advice blog before they accepted her help. Ms. Bates had originally rejected her as a candidate for the National Student Congress before she agreed she would do a great job. Then there was the sixth-grade musical, the first time she had faced major rejection in her middle school career. As a soloist in the Austen Show Choir, Emma thought she was a shoe-in for the lead in Peter Pan—the audition had gone well and she’d belted out “I Won’t Grow Up” with confidence and perfect pitch. Then Ms. Otto pulled her aside and explained her casting choice.
“We need someone who can handle doing somersaults in the air,” the choir director explained. “Jordie does a lot of tumbling on the cheerleading squad—”
“But she only sings in the ensemble. I had solos in the fall and holiday showcases!” Emma insisted. “I sang the whole first verse of ‘Scarborough Fair’! Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme! That wasn’t easy to memorize.”
“You have a lovely voice, Emma,” Ms. Otto told her. “And I’m not saying you don’t deserve a large role in the show. I think you’d make a wonderful Wendy Darling.”
Emma frowned. “The show is called Peter Pan. Not Wendy Darling.” But she agreed to be a good sport and didn’t complain when Jordie soared high over her head, crowing in the spotlight. Everyone loved Peter Pan; he was fun and fearless. Wendy just whined and scolded her brothers and the rest of the Lost Boys. And she wore a nightgown the entire show—also not a lot of fun. Peter wore tights and a feathered cap and carried around his shadow. It was so not fair.
She remembered the student who operated that spotlight and rigged the harness to safely support Jordie for three standing-room-only performances: Winston Bingley. Winston didn’t say much; he mostly hung out backstage and made sure everything ran smoothly. But for what Emma was planning for Harriet, he would be the star of her scheme!
“Let me get this straight,” Winston said after Emma had explained the whole situation. “You want me to hook Harriet up to a harness and fly her over the stage for what purpose?”
“So she can be Supergirl and ask Marty to go with her to the Sadie Hawkins Dance.” Emma grinned; to her, the entire thing made perfect sense.
“And she couldn’t just—oh, I don’t know—email him?” Winston suggested.
“That’s way too impersonal and incredibly unsuperheroey. I mean, how could Marty possibly say no when Harriet goes to all this trouble to invite him?”
Winston rubbed his temples. “And I suppose you have a Supergirl costume for her to wear? Costuming is an important part of every performance.”
“Not yet. But I have Izzy on it,” Emma replied. “All we need now is for you to say yes to helping Harriet take flight.”
“And if I don’t?” Winston asked. He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “Will you keep bugging me until I do?”
“Yup, night and day,” Emma promised. “So you might as well just give in now.”
Winston sighed. “Fine. But let’s keep this short and snappy. I don’t want to get in trouble with Ms. Otto for hijacking her Peter Pan harness without permission.”
“We will be in and out—faster than you can say Tinker Bell,” Emma vowed. “We’re thinking next Monday right after Marty’s Lego Robotics Club meeting. I’ll get him to come to the auditorium, you hit the stage lights, and then zoom Harriet right into his arms. Isn’t it so romantic?”
Winston winced. “It sounds dangerous. I remember that Harriet wasn’t exactly the most coordinated person in the show.”
Okay, maybe she had tripped a couple of times onstage and knocked over Nana’s doghouse. It could happen to anyone.
“So, whaddaya say, Winston?” Emma pushed. “Are you willing to help Harriet wing it?”
“Fine,” Winston said. “It’s not like I have a choice, is it?”
“Nope!” Emma said, smiling. She left him moping in the Drama Club room and raced to find Harriet and Izzy who were waiting for her at her locker.
“We’re a go,” she told them both, excitedly. “Winston said yes.”
“And I’ve got an old blue gymnastics leotard that will be perfect for your Supergirl costume,” Izzy said. “I’ll sew a red S on the front, and you can borrow my red miniskirt to go with it.”
Emma and Harriet looked at each other—then at Izzy. “You sew?” they exclaimed in unison. To her friends, Izzy didn’t seem at all the industrial arts type.
“If you must know, yes, I sew,” Izzy admitted. “And I knit and crochet, too. Sometimes I’m sitting around for hours at a gymnastics meet waiting my turn. It’s a great way to pass the time and calm my nerves.”
“I make rainbow loom bracelets,” Harriet volunteered, not wanting to be upstaged.
“Guys, focus!” Emma snapped. “What about boots and a cape? Supergirl isn’t Supergirl without her super accessories.”
“It’s all under control,
” Izzy assured her. “I’ll dig through my little sister’s dress-up trunk. I’m sure she’s got a princess cape in there somewhere.”
“And I have an old pair of red ladybug rain boots,” Emma recalled. “That should work.”
Harriet shrugged. She wasn’t sure this was the best way to go about asking Marty to the dance, but Emma seemed positive that her plan was infallible.
“You get to the auditorium on Monday at three thirty and get in your costume and Winston will set you up on the harness. I’ll get Marty in there at three forty-five sharp. What could go wrong?”
Izzy and Harriet looked at each other, then at Emma. “Do you want a list of things?” Izzy teased. “Marty could be early, Harriet could be late, the harness could snap—”
Emma put her hand over her friend’s mouth. “We are going to think happy thoughts—just like Peter Pan instructs the Darling children. That’s all it takes.”
“I played Nana the nursery dog,” Harriet reminded her. “You’re leaving out the part about needing pixie dust to get up, up, and away.”
Izzy cracked up. “Great! So now we need to kidnap a fairy and have her work her magic on Harriet.”
“Fairies aren’t real, but love is,” Emma said, placing an arm around Harriet. “I promise you Marty isn’t going to know what hit him!”
By Monday, Emma had rehearsed her plan several times with her BFFs and Winston. Harriet was slightly terrified every time her feet left the ground, but Winston convinced her it was all perfectly safe—and Izzy just told her to close her eyes and keep them shut. All that remained was to lure Marty into the auditorium without him suspecting anything.
Emma waited patiently for the Robotics Club to wrap up their weekly meeting. Everyone came out of the room, except Marty. He was busy fidgeting with a pile of Legos and a small battery pack.
“Marty,” she called, poking her head inside. “Can I borrow you for a sec?”
He looked up, startled. “Me? Why do you need me?”
“Well, I know what a whiz you are at robotics and stuff. There’s this issue in the auditorium with the big screen that comes down from the ceiling? I thought maybe you could fix it.”
Marty raised an eyebrow. “Why would you need the big screen, Emma?”
She hadn’t planned on him being so inquisitive—and the clock on the wall read 3:48. Harriet would be waiting!
“Um, I need the screen because I’m doing a big presentation tomorrow,” she improvised.
“What’s the presentation on?” Marty asked, continuing to fiddle with what looked like a robot body mounted on a board with wheels.
Was he kidding? Couldn’t he just come with her to the auditorium without giving her a pop quiz?
“Well,” Marty repeated. “What’s it about?”
“If you must know, my advice blog, of course,” Emma continued, winging it. “The whole Sadie Hawkins thing has gotten all the girls in seventh grade worried and nervous. So I’m giving a presentation to help them ask boys to the dance.”
Marty put down his tools and took off his goggles. “So that’s what this is all about,” he said, smiling slyly. “You’re trying to get me to come with you to the auditorium so you can ask me to the dance. You’ve got something cool planned, right? Something creative, like you wrote about in your blog post?”
Well, at least someone was paying attention to what she wrote. But that didn’t make this any easier—not if he thought it was her who was asking him. “Why would I ask you to the dance?” Emma replied, shaking her head. “That makes no sense, Marty! Harriet likes you and she’s my best friend!”
“Aha! So Harriet is in the auditorium waiting to ask me to the dance!”
Emma bit her lip. She’d just blown the entire surprise! She had to cover . . . and quick.
“No, I didn’t say that. . . .”
“You didn’t have to,” Marty said, getting out of his chair and packing up his backpack. “But you kind of gave it away by trying to explain yourself.”
Emma didn’t know what else to do—so she spilled everything. “Marty, here’s the deal: Harriet is going to be totally brokenhearted if I ruin her proposal. So please just come with me to the auditorium and act surprised, okay?”
“Okay,” Marty said, cheerfully. “You coulda just said that in the first place.”
When they reached the auditorium, the doors were unlocked, but everything inside was pitch-black.
“You sure Harriet’s in here?” Marty whispered.
“I hope so,” Emma said. The way things were going so far, she couldn’t be 100 percent sure of anything.
She led Marty to the stage and up the stairs using the flashlight on her phone. “Okay, just hang out here a sec,” she announced loudly so everyone would think the plan was working. “I’ll try to get the screen down so you can check on why it’s sticking.”
“Right, why it’s sticking,” he repeated back to her. “That’s why I’m here. To fix the screen. That’s the only reason I followed you to the auditorium.”
Emma rolled her eyes. Seriously, could he be a worse actor? Harriet would surely sense he had a hunch about their plan if he kept that up!
“Shhh!” she hushed him. Then she shouted, “Okay, Marty! You stand right there and don’t move! Be right back!”
With that, a spotlight appeared stage right. Hidden behind the curtain was Harriet, dressed in her makeshift Supergirl costume and Emma’s red ladybug galoshes, waiting for her cue.
“I don’t have any idea what’s going on,” Marty said stiffly from center stage. “Not a clue. I’m completely in the dark—literally!”
Harriet looked at Emma, terrified. “OMG! He knows, doesn’t he? He guessed! He’s so smart!”
“No! Not at all,” Emma said, taking her by the shoulders. “Gimme your glasses so they don’t fall off when Winston flies you across. You’ve got this!”
She signaled at Winston and he began to pull Harriet gently up off the ground.
“Not too high!” Harriet begged. When she was about six feet in the air, Winston wrapped the rope around his waist and held it secure. The more he eased up on the tension, the more the harness moved.
“Wave your arms like you’re flying!” Emma coached her from the wings. Harriet obeyed, flapping her arms like a bird. She swayed back and forth in the air.
“She doesn’t look like Supergirl,” Izzy observed. “More like a blue jay in rain boots.”
To make matters worse, Harriet was also not flying—more like inching—her way across the stage. “Speed it up a little,” Emma called to Winston. “We’re going to be here all day.”
Winston released the rope a little too quickly and the harness suddenly lurched forward sending a startled Harriet flying toward Marty at full speed. Without her glasses, she couldn’t judge exactly how close she was—he looked like a big blur—so she held out her fist and announced, “Here comes Supergirl!”
“I can’t look,” Izzy said, covering her eyes with her hands. “Tell me when it’s over.”
Winston tried his best to put the brakes on Harriet, but at the speed she was hurtling toward Marty, he couldn’t reel her in. Suddenly, there was a crash.
“Get the lights!” Emma shouted. Winston flipped them on and they all saw what had happened: Marty was lying on his back, holding his nose, and groaning in pain, while Harriet dangled just above him.
“Oh my gosh! She punched him in the face!” Izzy cried.
“Sorry about that,” Winston apologized. “I guess the equipment’s a little rusty after a year.”
“Don’t you mean you’re a bit rusty after a year?” Izzy complained.
Winston lowered Harriet the last few feet down to the stage. “Marty! I’m so sorry!” she said, kneeling at his side. “It was an accident. I’m really nearsighted and I didn’t have my glasses on. Or maybe I closed my eyes like Izzy told me? I don’t know, but I didn’t mean to break your nose!”
Marty sat up. “I don’t think it’s broken,” he said, wiggling th
e tip with his fingers. “I think you just knocked the wind out of me.”
“I wanted to surprise you,” Harriet began to bawl. “And I ruined everything.”
Marty took her hand, trying to calm her down. “Well, you certainly surprised me,” he said. “And the Supergirl costume was a nice touch.”
Harriet peered down at her gymnastics leotard and rain boots. “Really? I don’t look silly?”
“You could never look silly,” Marty said, blushing. “At least not to me. I think you look great.”
“I think you look great,” Harriet gushed. “Even if your nose is a little swollen and bleeding.” She offered him the edge of her cape to dab it.
Emma breathed a sigh of relief—then stepped up to help her BFF seal the deal. “Harriet has something she wants to ask you, Marty. Don’t you, Harriet?”
“Oh, yeah! I almost forgot,” Harriet said, shyly. “Marty, it would be super if you would go with me to the dance. Get it? Super? Supergirl?”
Marty laughed. “I got it. And yeah, I’d love to go with you.”
“Yes!” Emma couldn’t help pumping her fist in the air. Her plan hadn’t worked perfectly, but it had worked.
“Thank goodness,” Winston said, mopping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “That was a close one.”
“So I don’t need to call 911?” Izzy asked everyone.
Emma grinned. “Of course not. Everything is fine. It’s more than fine. Harriet has a date for the dance!”
Word got around Austen Middle fast—soon everyone knew Harriet and Marty were going to the dance together, and that Emma was partially responsible.
“Your blog is very popular this week,” Mr. Goddard told her. He’d seen that her advice inbox was on fire.
