Emerson Page and Where the Light Enters
Page 1
emerson page
and where the light enters
emerson page
and where the light enters
christa avampato
Copyright © 2017 Christa Avampato
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by
any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical
events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other
names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s
imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published and distributed by Thumbkin Prints,
a division of Possibilities Publishing Company
possibilitiespublishingcompany.com
ThumbkinPrints.com
Fairfax, VA
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web
addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since
publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in
this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily
reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby
disclaims any responsibility for them.
Cover Art Copyright © 2017 Bonnie J. Liu and Tim Ford
Hummingbird artwork Copyright © 2017 Christa Avampato
ISBN: 978-1-947486-00-3
contents
Prologue
1 Something Old is New
2 Missed Connections
3 A Port in the Storm
4 A Meeting of Two Minds
5 Hope Grows from the Ground Up
6 A Hidden Power Comes to Light
7 A Long Way Home
8 A Refuge in the Stars
9 Lost in Thought
10 The Meaning of Place
11 When the Lights Go Out
12 All Aboard
13 Nowhere to Run
14 What Lies Beneath
15 Small and Mighty
16 Media Mania
17 Close Call
18 A Way Forward
19 A Request Denied
20 Visiting Hours
21 A United Front
22 Rise and Shine
23 When a House is Not a Home
24 To Be an Innkeeper
25 The World You Never Knew
26 A Welcome Fall
27 A Man-made Guardian
28 A New Revelation
29 Back in the Water
30 And Now You Know
31 Not a Stranger Anymore
32 A Plan Emerges
33 Live the Questions
34 Words Not Meant to be Heard
35 Another Kind of Living
36 Demanding Answers
37 A Room with a View
38 A Crushing Defeat
39 The Quartervois
40 A Rite of Passage
41 The Next Step Appears
42 Reading Between the Lines
43 Lose the Training Wheels
44 The Hardship of Teaching
45 Digging for Redemption
46 Fight or Flight
47 Blood and Water
48 The Power of Choice
49 In Reflection
50 The Weapons of War
51 The Ties that Bind
52 A Traitor Takes Aim
53 Behind Closed Doors
54 The Moment of Truth
55 Unleashed
56 A Door Closes and a Window Opens
Acknowledgments
To my nieces, Lorelei and Aubree,
who are the brightest lights I know.
≈
To Brian McCormack, for helping me find and stand in my own light
during my darkest times.
≈
To all people who live their creativity out loud—keep going. The world needs you.
author’s note
Dear young adult,
I wrote this book for you for many reasons. One of the biggest is that we don’t have enough women and girls at the center of young adult literature. So few books feature female protagonists, and there are almost no books in which a female protagonist takes control of her own life and destiny. As a young adult, I wanted someone to listen to me, to see me. Really listen to my ideas, my hopes, and my dreams, and care enough to understand how I saw the world. And I wanted someone to believe that I could make my dreams happen.
That hope brought Emerson Page into my imagination. A teenager who builds her own path through resilience, courage, and confidence, her touchstones are love and compassion. She’s strong and brave, and she cares about others—exactly the heroine I wish I had when I was her age. She’s the heroine you deserve to have now, and I’m so excited for you to meet her.
I want you to believe in the power of your creative spirit. It’s my greatest wish for you that you live the most beautiful lives you can imagine. Develop your mind, your heart, and your hands. They are the three most powerful tools you have to build a better world, one of your own design. You can’t always choose what happens to you. You can always choose your energy level, enthusiasm, and sense of hopefulness, and they will carry you through difficult times.
Life will undoubtedly hand you setbacks. When that happens, don’t give up. Make the setback mean something. Use it as fuel to work even harder. I always wanted to write a book and have it published. That has been one of my biggest dreams. I spent five years thinking about Emerson, writing down notes and ideas here and there. Then I spent two years writing her story, and another year pitching it and getting it through production.
Fourteen people rejected this book before I found my publisher. (And those are just the ones who bothered to send a rejection reply at all. Many others never even did that.) Don’t be afraid of rejection. Learn from it, but don’t let it stop you from moving forward. Your ideas have merit. Keep looking for the people who appreciate you, and don’t stop until you find them. You find what you look for. Believing is seeing. The book you hold in your hands right now is proof that dreams do come true so long as you don’t give up.
This book is also about community, and the power we have when we believe in ourselves and in others. Be good to each other. And when you see someone in crisis, don’t walk by. Help. You would want that help if the tables were turned, and someday they will be. Life is about give and take, and I’ve found that the more I give, the more it comes back to me.
More than anything, this book tells the story of a young person finding her way in a world that is often confusing and frustrating. The same thing happens to us from time to time at every age. When that happens to me, I look to the stars. They remind me that we’re literally surrounded by miracles. That we are miracles. We are the stars and the stars are us, and we’re all connected.
When Jasper explains Emerson’s ancestry to her in the Library of Imagination, when Samuel sits with Max in the Crooked Willow Café, and when Nora finds Truman in the In-between, an adult is supporting and encouraging a young person who feels alone. No matter how old you are, I hope this book makes you feel less alone.
Whenever I feel down about the state of socie
ty, I remember that you will one day be in the driver’s seat, and that helps me to keep going. You are the hope and light of this world. I’m cheering you on and I’m rooting for you. I believe in your value and the value of your ideas. The world needs you.
I always welcome the chance to connect with readers; it’s one of the best things about being a writer. I look forward to the conversation.
Wishing you the most magical life you can imagine,
Christa
Resources for teachers and bookclubs are available at
https://www.emersonpage.com
Email:
christa.avampato@gmail.com
Twitter:
https://www.twitter.com/iamemersonpage
https://www.twitter.com/christanyc
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorChrista
Instagram:
https://www.instagram.com/iamemersonpage
https://www.instagram.com/christarosenyc
Websites:
https://www.emersonpage.com
https://christaavampato.com
“The wound is the place where the light enters you.”
—Rumi
PROLOGUE
“I want this one,” said Emerson as she stood in front of her mother, Nora. Emerson’s arms were wrapped around a thick book that measured half her height. She could barely hold it as she grinned from ear to ear. The book was bound in sturdy, chocolate-colored leather, and the edges of the pages were gilded with gold.
“The History of the Muses,” read Nora from the cover of the book.
“It’s my favorite!” Emerson said as she plunked the book into her mother’s lap.
She climbed into her bed, and nestled herself right into the crook of her mother’s arm. With her hair twirled on top of her head into a massive bun and wearing her favorite pajamas that depicted the whole solar system, Emerson was in the mood for more than just a story tonight. She wanted to play a game, and show her mother that she was the cleverest 8-year-old in the world.
“I have an idea!” said Emerson. Her outburst made her mother laugh. “Why don’t you test me tonight instead of just reading to me?”
“Test you?” asked Nora, amused by her daughter’s playfulness.
“You ask me questions and I’ll get every one right.”
Nora arched one of her eyebrows and Emerson copied her facial expression. “Every question?” Nora asked.
“Every. Single. One,” said Emerson.
“You’re on,” said Nora with a smile. “Tell me—who are the muses?”
“Goddesses from Greek mythology who inspire creativity.” Nora’s smile grew wider.
“And who do they inspire?”
“Everyone who wants to be inspired,” said the girl as she threw open her arms.
“And how do we get inspiration from them?”
“We just ask for it.”
Nora opened her eyes wide. “And then?” she asked.
Emerson got very serious. “We have to listen.”
“Exactly,” said Nora. “How many muses are there?”
“Nine.”
“What are their names?”
“Calliope, Clio, Erato, Euterpe, Melpomene, Polyhymnia, Terpsichore, Thalia, and Ourania,” Emerson said in one breath.
“And what kind of inspiration does each muse give to people who ask for their help?” asked Nora.
Emerson closed her eyes, put both of her hands on the sides of her head, and imagined each muse exactly as she appeared in the book that now sat in her mother’s lap. She imagined the silky, heavy pages that made every picture look like a piece of fine art. The colors were so vibrant it seemed like they were glowing. On one page was a picture of one of the muses and the opposite page explained what types of creativity that muse inspired. The following chapter after the picture and description told stories of who that muse inspired and what they created with her help. Emerson took a deep breath and began.
“Calliope is the leader of the muses and she inspires authors,” she said. “Clio is an expert in history.”
In her mind, Emerson always put these two muses together because they inspire the great storytellers, the authors who capture history as it happens.
“Euterpe helps musicians and singers who entertain other people,” she continued. “Polyhymnia also helps musicians, but only the ones who make music to help people think more deeply about their lives.”
When Emerson learned about the difference between Euterpe and Polyhymnia, she started to listen to music differently. In the end, she thought these two worked well together.
“Thalia believes in laughter and gives jokes to people who want to be funny,” Emerson said with a slight giggle. “Melpomene is the opposite. She helps people tell sad stories so they can get them off their chest and feel better.”
Taking a pause, Emerson cracked open an eye to see if her mother was smiling at her. Nora wore an expression of pride, so Emerson continued with excitement, knowing she had almost done it.
“Terpsichore is the really good dancer. Erato believes in the power of love. And Ourania’s the one who’s a little different than all the others because she focuses on science, especially the stars.”
Emerson opened her eyes with a relieved sigh. “I did it!”
Nora threw her head back and laughed. “My sweet, smart girl. You are a wonder. Now one last question.”
“I’m ready!”
“What are you made of?”
Emerson smiled. She loved this question. “Stardust and light.”
“And?”
“And love. Lots of love.”
Nora’s expression suddenly changed. Her eyes filled up with tears, and that made Emerson nervous. Had she done something wrong?
“Mom, why are you crying?” she asked her mother. Nora took Emerson’s face in her hands and looked her in the eye.
“I want you to know how very much I love you. Everything I do, now and always, I’m doing for you, Emerson.” They smiled at each other. Emerson knew how much her mother loved her. She put her hands on her mother’s cheeks.
“And, Mom, I want you to know how very much I love you,” Emerson said smiling. “And everything I do, I do for you!”
This made her mother laugh, which is exactly what she wanted it to do. But she also meant it. Every word. Her mother was her favorite person. She closed her eyes and yawned.
“You tired?” Nora asked. Emerson nodded. All of a sudden, she felt incredibly sleepy.
She slowly crawled under the covers, and looked up at her mother to say their traditional goodnight together, holding hands.
“The light that is in me honors the light that is in you.” Nora kissed Emerson on the forehead.
“Goodnight, Emerson.”
“Goodnight, Mom. See you in the morning.”
Nora lingered for another moment, got up from the edge of the bed, and went downstairs. After a few minutes, Emerson heard her father come home just as she was about to drift off to sleep.
“Are you ready?” he asked Nora.
“I just have one more thing I need to do,” she said.
“Nora, we’re running out of time,” he said.
“I know. I’m sorry. I just forgot to do something this afternoon and I need to take care of it.”
“Now?” he asked, clearly getting angry.
“Yes. Like you said, we’re running out of time.”
“Okay,” he said. “But hurry. Please.”
“I won’t be long,” she said. “I love you.”
Emerson opened her eyes and wrinkled her forehead. She looked at the clock on her nightstand. It was almost 9:00pm. Where was her mother going? What did she need to do now? And why were they running out of time? These questions filled her mind, but her eyes grew too heavy.
Though she tried to stay awake, sleep proved more powerful and carried her away into the world of her imagination.
CHAPTER 1
SOMETHING OLD IS NEW
The approach to Stargrass Paper & Books on Broadway just past 96th Street was a well-trodden path. New Yorkers ran to catch a train, to get home, or to step out for the night. They always had somewhere to be, and they were always late. Emerson Page consciously rolled her feet from heel to toe as if she could make her footprints appear in the long-since-dried cement of the sidewalk. That muscle memory created the breadcrumbs to help her find her way home if she needed them. The oversized backpack stuffed with school books and papers made her petite frame look even smaller. Though many of her eighth-grade friends hated slogging their books from home to school and back again, Emerson didn’t mind. She imagined those books and her cat-eye glasses as shields, protecting her from anything that might harm her. Even on a balmy September day like today, she knew trouble could find her at any moment. She had experienced that too often to be fooled into believing otherwise.
Emerson’s intense anxiety since her mother’s death five years ago often paralyzed her mind and body. Having well-defined paths to familiar, safe places was a tool she learned to manage through anxiety when it arrived. Her faithful service dog, Friday, helped, too. A sturdy and sleek hound dog with serious herding tendencies, he matched her stride, as always, with the same concerted effort that Emerson used. Today’s whispery breeze rippled through his feathery, brindled coat the same way it tousled Emerson’s long, wavy hair.
On a drab, mostly gray block, Stargrass’s intricately carved emerald green wooden doors depicted dozens of golden hummingbirds flying up toward the sky. Emerson longed to grow her own wings and fly with them. She’d love to rise so high that she could shrink the mammoth buildings of New York that spent all their time making everyone here feel small.
With all her strength, she pulled open one of the Stargrass doors. Friday helped by using his muzzle against the inside of the door. A waft of jasmine and sweet orange rolled over them. Something was brewing inside. Probably tea. Maybe something more.
Emerson passed Jasper Peacock, the owner of Stargrass, on her way to the rare book section. Jasper, in his tidy tweed vest with his signature pocket watch chain looped in front, stood behind his mammoth mahogany desk. His rimless half-glasses were perched halfway down his long, narrow nose, giving him a wise and professorial aura. As always, he was surrounded by open books, and today he was deep in conversation with an older woman whom Emerson recognized from the neighborhood. She had privately nicknamed the woman “the levitating lady” because she seemed to float down the street every time Emerson saw her. She always wore a lightweight ankle-length jacket the color of lilacs that swayed effortlessly with her every movement. It gave her the grace of a dancer. Like Emerson, the levitating lady had a slight frame, made to appear even smaller by Jasper’s towering height.