Excellent Emma

by Sally Warner

  She doesn’t say so, but I know it’s true.

  “Your mind is racing, isn’t it?” my mom says, shifting her legs a little and putting down her book.

  “Yeah,” I admit. “The boys in my class always say, ‘Think fast!’ And I guess that’s what I’m doing. Thinking fast.”

  Mom sighs. “I wish you could cool things down a little, Emma. I think you kids should tell each other to think slow. And in my humble opinion, you’ve got the whole spirit of Winter Games Day wrong. You’re putting entirely too much emphasis on winning—or on other kids losing.”

  “But there are going to be prizes,” I point out, feeling only a little bit sorry in advance for whoever-it-is who loses. “Someone has to come in last. And anyway, what’s wrong with winning? You’re always saying how special I am, Mom. Don’t you want proof?”

  “I certainly don’t need proof that you’re special, honey,” my mom says, laughing. “But do you know who you remind me of?” she asks, stroking my tangled-up hair again.

  “Who?”

  “Me. When I was a little girl,” Mom says, and I snuggle in for one of my favorite things in the world, a story about when she was a kid. Listening to her stories is like finding the lost pieces of a great big jigsaw puzzle. And when I finish the puzzle, I’ll know exactly the kind of kid my mom used to be.

  Will I ever finish that invisible puzzle?

  I think she and I would have been friends, if I had been on the earth way back then. Maybe not best friends, because she is a lot neater than I am, but still.

  “Tell,” I say, shutting my eyes.

  “Well,” Mom says, thinking back, “when I was about nine, your grandmama was organizing a fashion show to raise money for some charity she was involved in. And she needed a few children to be models, so of course she signed me up.”

  “You were a supermodel?” I ask, impressed. “Wow! But I thought you told me once that you were a tomboy.”

  That’s the weird-but-fun thing about my invisible mom-puzzle. Sometimes the pieces don’t fit.

  “They didn’t have many supermodels back in those days,” Mom tells me, laughing. “But in any case, I think you could have called me a not-so-super model that terrible afternoon. Because even though I wanted to make my mama proud, I experienced some—uh—technical difficulties.”

  “You did?”

  Mom nods, solemn. “It all started with the outfit I was supposed to wear. You know how much your grandmama loves clothes, Emma.”

  It’s true. Grandmama is a very dressed-up, old-fashioned lady. She lives far away in Michigan, and she sends me these weird outfits that no kid in California would ever wear.

  Except I have to, when she comes to visit. It is always very embarrassing.

  This is another good example of how fast my feelings sometimes change—from happiness that my grandmama is visiting, to horror that I have to go out in public wearing the clothes she’s given me: matching dresses and coats with fake-fur trim, and smocked girly dresses with puffy sashes, and holiday sweaters with fluffy snowmen knitted right into them.

  I nod my head.

  “So this other little girl and I were supposed to model swimwear together,” Mom says. “In other words, bathing suits. And as I said, I wanted to make Mama proud, and I wanted to do a better job than the other little girl who was modeling. You know the type, a little show-offy and stuck-up.”

  Cynthia, I think, hiding a smile. And probably Lettice Wallingford, too.

  “I mean, I really wanted to do better,” my mom is saying. “Because when we were introduced, this other little girl looked me up and down like she couldn’t believe I was in the same fashion show that she was! Nancy Something, her name was.”

  I grind my teeth together, wishing that I could bop that nasty little Nancy Something on her stuck-up nose to avenge my tomboy mom.

  Sometimes I get tangled up in time.

  “And I probably would have done okay,” Mom continues, “only the bathing suit Grandmama chose for me had a special long lacy cover-up that went with it. The kind of thing nobody actually wears in real life, especially not a kid.”

  “Uh-oh,” I say, picturing the outfit. Grandmama probably loved it.

  “So Nancy and I were weaving down the runway in the glittery flip-flops we had to wear,” Mom says, “and when we got to the end of the runway, I was supposed to take off my cover-up, and we were going to twirl around the way models do. And of course I decided to do a wa-a-ay better twirl than Miss Nancy. That’s all I could think about.”

  I nod my head, thinking that a better twirl was exactly what I would have done.

  “But when I was whisking off my cover-up,” Mom says, starting to giggle, “some of the lace got snagged on one of the jewels on my flip-flops. And down I went, taking snooty Miss Nancy with me.”

  “Oh, no,” I say.

  “Oh, yes! But that’s not all, because Nancy was so angry that she shouted out a bad word!”

  “Which one?” I ask, and Mom leans over and whispers it in my ear.

  “You’re kidding,” I say in a hushed voice. “Nancy said that word in front of Grandmama? The same Grandmama who scolded you when you were twelve because you kept saying ‘yeah’? Not to mention the time she washed your mouth out with soap because you said ‘butt’ instead of ‘bottom’?”

  “Nancy said her bad word in front of Grandmama—and about two hundred other ladies, who were all dressed up,” Mom says, still laughing. “So even though the whole fiasco was my fault, and even though Nancy was a whole lot prettier than I was, I was the one who ended up looking better that day.”

  “Yes-s-s! You won,” I say, pumping my fist in victory the best I can while still lying down. “And no one could be prettier than you,” I add loyally.

  “Thanks, Emma,” Mom says, making a move to get up from the sofa—because by now, it’s way past my bedtime.

  “No, wait,” I say, pressing my head down harder on the flowered pillow to keep her there. “Let’s stay here a little bit longer, okay Mom? And listen to the rain? We don’t have to talk or anything.”

  “Okay,” Mom says. “We’ll think slow for a little while.”

  “Think slow,” I agree. And dream about tomorrow, I add silently, crossing my fingers.

  9

  A Big, Dead Bug

  The little kids in kindergarten, first, and second grades were busy with their games day all morning, because our school only has one playground. Our games day, the real one, starts right after lunch, which we are just finishing, or trying to finish, because a few of us—me, anyway—are too nervous to eat. I feel as if I have a small flock of cabbage white butterflies in my stomach.

  I could barely finish my peanut-butter-and-lettuce-on-a-bagel sandwich.

  We will share the still-damp playground with fourth- and fifth-grade kids. Each class will compete on its own, thank goodness, because a lot of those fifth-graders are huge! You could fit two of me inside some of those gigantic boys and still have enough room left for a couple of baby Mur-phys. Or Murphies, whatever the plural of him is.

  But Ms. Sanchez told us that the jumping contest will be fair, because the judges will compare how short you are with how far you can jump.

  It’s hard to explain, but maybe you get the idea. I sure don’t.

  “This is gonna be awful,” Fiona moans as she drops her almost-full lunch sack into the trash. “People shouldn’t make other people do dangerous sports when those people have weak ankles.”

  I sneak a peek at Fiona’s ankles. They still look like pink pipe cleaners to me. I sincerely hope Fiona doesn’t end up looking like a kindergarten crafts project gone wrong by the end of the afternoon, with her feet pointing every which way. I mean, we aren’t best friends or anything, but I don’t want her to get hurt.

  “You’ll do okay, Fiona,” Annie Pat says, patting her shoulder sympathetically.

  Kry Rodgriguez has started doing some stretches and lunges that are making me nervous, because she looks like she’s
been practicing in secret, too, like Annie Pat and me. So I touch my toes a few times to look like I am also warming up.

  “Psst,” I say to Annie Pat, and she does some stretches, too. But she’s acting like she’d rather be someplace else, doing anything else.

  “How do I look?” Heather asks Cynthia, who of course is dressed in a brand-new outfit bought especially for Winter Games Day—even though Ms. Sanchez told us to wear old play clothes and comfortable sneakers.

  “You look adorable. But you have some lettuce stuck on your front tooth,” Cynthia says, not giving Heather and her purple track suit or her tooth a glance. She just knows these things, I guess. And Cynthia doesn’t bother to ask Heather how she looks, because Cynthia knows that her outfit—the matching velvety sweatpants and sweatshirt with big glittery flowers on them—looks cute.

  I am wearing red, white, and blue, like I am in the Olympics. I figured it couldn’t hurt, and it might help! Jared saluted me this morning, but I just ignored him.

  Annie Pat is wearing green pants and a green top. I think she is hoping she will blend in with the grass, and no one will notice her.

  I have tried to improve her attitude, but there is only so much a person can do.

  Around us, the boys in our class are shoving each other and shouting, which I guess is their way of warming up. None of them looks nervous, and no boy is asking any other boy how he looks.

  Typical boy behavior. If I had my nature notebook with me, I’d write it down.

  Twe-e-e-et! The sound of Ms. Sanchez’s whistle pierces through our excited chatter at exactly twelve thirty. “Gather on the playground, third-graders,” she calls out, a big smile on her face.

  When we get to the playground, which is half grass and half cement or something, lots of parents are waiting, including my mom. I give her a secret wave.

  “It’s time for Oak Glen School’s First Annual Winter Games Day,” Ms. Sanchez tells everyone, “and we only have about two hours to finish our three events and have the awards ceremony and celebration afterwards, and still get out of school on time. And knowing these boys and girls, we’ll need every second,” she adds, smiling at us kids. “But first, Fiona’s father has something special to pass out to all you participating athletes. Mr. McNulty?”

  A big man I have never seen before steps out from behind a bunch of people. He is carrying two boxes, on on top of the other. “Hey, kids,” he says, greeting us.

  Fiona shrinks back behind Kry, trying to be invisible. She’s shy. Even about her own dad, I guess.

  “Hey,” a few of us reply cautiously.

  “I am happy to honor you all today by giving you either a cap or a kerchief to wear and keep, courtesy of McNulty Extermination, located right here in beautiful Oak Glen since 1995 to take care of all your extermination needs,” he tells us.

  I don’t think I have any extermination needs. I’m not sure, actually.

  Fiona’s dad turns to the grown-ups in the waiting crowd. There are a lot of them standing on the playground, including EllRay’s mom with a cute little girl; Mrs. Masterson, holding drooly baby Murphy, of course; my mom; and Mr. Timberlake, the handsome man our beautiful teacher is going to marry someday. We hardly ever get to see him in person.

  Mr. McNulty opens the brown cardboard boxes to show us all what is inside.

  There is what is supposed to be a big dead bug on each cap and kerchief, but Mr. McNulty’s so-called insect only has four legs, not six, so he got it all wrong.

  Annie Pat and I know better, so we look at each other and bite back our smiles.

  “Cool,” a couple of boys murmur, impressed by the dead bug.

  “Do we have to pay for them?” Jared asks suspiciously.

  “No, son, they’re absolutely free,” Mr. McNulty says. “Now, who wants what? There’s plenty to go around.”

  “Quickly, children,” Ms. Sanchez calls out. “Tick-tock!”

  And so we dive on the boxes and start grabbing. Most of the boys want caps, and most of the girls want kerchiefs, but not always. Kry chooses a cap, for instance, and puts it on backwards, making her look even cuter and cooler than before. And Stanley rolls up a kerchief and ties it around his forehead so that he looks like a Native American warrior, which is also cool.

  And finally, finally, it is time to begin! I get ready to prove to everyone—especially to my faraway dad—that I am excellent. This is big. For me, anyway, because there is so much at stake.

  I really need to win.

  10

  The Jumping Contest

  The first contest—distance jumping—will be done four kids at a time, Ms. Sanchez tells us, with an adult volunteer measuring each kid’s jump. A math wizard will then somehow compare each kid’s jump to how tall the kid is, and then they will announce the first- and second-place winners for the boys and for the girls.

  “Okay, jump!” Ms. Sanchez shouts to the first batch of kids.

  Jared tumbles forward on purpose after he leaps, and he scoots his foot a few inches forward when he falls. “That’s cheating,” EllRay cries, because he was the next kid over, and he had a really good view of the whole thing.

  Most of us saw it, in fact, but Jared is not tossed out of Winter Games Day—which is what I would do if I were in charge of things.

  Grown-ups are never as strict as kids would be if they had that kind of power, that’s what I think.

  Instead, Jared’s measurer just marks the correct spot. But Jared accidentally-on-purpose shoves EllRay when they are trotting back to join the rest of the class at the edge of the big lawn, and In the second batch of kids, Fiona springs forward like a little cricket—and then crumples immediately to the grass, clutching at her ankle. But she lifts up her head to peek around and see whether or not everyone has noticed, so I know she’s faking.

  “Ow-w-w,” she moans loudly.

  “Oh, Fiona,” her mom cries out, streaking so fast across the lawn—like a gazelle!—that I’m glad she’s not in any of the contests. “Are you okay, my brave little sweetie-pie?”

  “I will be tomorrow, probably,” Fiona says, sounding courageous and wounded at the same time. “But, oh no!” she exclaims, like the thought just occurred to her. “This means I can’t do any more events.” And her mom and the volunteer measurer help Fiona limp back to the edge of the lawn, where Heather and Cynthia take over soothing her and staring at her ankle, waiting for it to swell.

  Don’t hold your breath, that’s all I’m saying.

  Kevin and Kry and Corey are in the next batch of kids in the jumping contest, and to our combined amazement, Kevin McKinley stuns us all by jumping really, really far. Corey and Kry jump far, too, but that isn’t such a surprise, because they’re both very good athletes. Nobody gets mad at them for doing well, of course, but for some reason, Jared is furious with Kevin. “What are you tryin’ to do, make me look bad?” he asks, sneaking a peek at the parents clustered on the sidelines.

  “I’m sorry,” a surprised Kevin says. “I don’t know what happened.”

  But he looks just a little bit proud.

  I am in the next batch of kids, along with Annie Pat, Cynthia, and Heather. “Good luck,” Annie Pat whispers to me.

  “Same to you,” I say back at her, rocking back and forth in place to get ready.

  And then it’s my turn, and—I jump!

  I slice through the cool December air, and when my feet finally hit the earth again, I try to dig in so I won’t fall forward like Jared, or collapse in a little heap like Fiona. And when I look around, I see that I have jumped farther than Annie Pat, Cynthia, or Heather.

  And I’m the shortest one of them all!

  “Yes-s-s,” I whisper to myself as the volunteer measures how far I jumped.

  Take that, Lettice Wallingford! You don’t need to be “just like a daughter” to my dad, because he already has a daughter.

  My batch of kids trudges back to the rest of the class. “Show-off,” Cynthia mutters to me. “You cheated. You practiced, and you
—you tried.”

  “Yeah,” Heather says, exchanging outraged glances with Cynthia. “No fair trying. Tomboy.”

  I wait for Annie Pat to come to my defense, but she doesn’t say anything. She just looks sad, as if she can see her jumping prize flying away on little white wings—straight out of the awards corner in her room.

  I feel bad for her and everything, but I don’t say a word. I’m too busy worrying about my own problems—because of course I don’t really know if I’ve won an actual prize yet. Like I said, they’re going to announce the winners as soon as they get it all figured out.

  So here is the only score I know so far: Annie Pat is miserable, Fiona is “injured,” Jared cheated and is mad at Kevin for doing well, and EllRay and Cynthia are also furious with someone.

  Way to go, PTA. We were perfectly happy, until you came along.

  “Attention, everyone,” Ms. Sanchez calls out, waving a clipboard in the air. “I have the winners here!” We all gather around.

  “For the boys,” she announces, “it’s Kevin McKinley in first place, and EllRay Jakes in second place.”

  “Yay!” almost everyone shouts, especially Kevin and EllRay.

  My heart starts to pound.

  “And for the girls,” Ms. Sanchez calls out, “it’s Emma McGraw in first place, and Kry Rodriguez in second place!” People seem to be cheering, but I can barely hear a thing, I am so excited.

  I actually won a prize.

  11

  Running

  Next comes running. “There won’t be any special calculations for this event,” Ms. Sanchez says. “So you boys and girls will race together—but in two batches. The grown-up volunteers will be at the finish line to pick the fastest two kids in each race,” she tells us. “Then there will be a run-off between the final four kids. And prizes will go to the two fastest kids, boy or girl.”