“Oh, what is this?” she said. She looked all around. “It’s beautiful, beautiful …” Right away, she wanted to give me credit for it. “Emily!”
“Don’t look at me.” I gave her a cool smile over the kids’ heads.
“Me! I thought of everything, Mom,” Wilma said. “I made all the decisions. I picked out the recipe for the cake.”
“Mom, the balloons were my idea,” Chris said.
Mom kept going ooh aah, this is so great, so beautiful. I leaned against the wall with my arms folded. Mom complimented everything. When she saw the newspaper with the birthday greetings, she got teary. “I’m so proud … You’re all so sweet!”
I brought the casserole and biscuits to the table. I didn’t say much. Still, everything was okay until the cake. Then Mom said, “We should invite Len … to share!”
“Who?” I said. But I knew.
Mom sent Chris downstairs to get Mr. Linaberry. When he came in, he didn’t really come in. He just stood by the door in that hunched odd way of his. His blue eyes darted around from one of us to the other.
Mom went and took his hand. “Come and sit down, Len. Look at this party my children made for me. Look at this cake!” He sat down, and she cut him a slice of cake.
“Hello. Hello.” Mr. Linaberry bobbed his head to us.
I stared at him in sort of horrible fascination. How could my mother like him? How could she take his hand and touch him? I couldn’t understand it. He was ugly and strange. Maybe he was even stupid. I tried to feel sorry for Mom. She was lonely. No, it was worse than that. She was desperate, and it was making her act stupid.
I wished I would never have to see him again in my life. I hated the thought that he put his paws on Mom. Had he kissed her? Ugh! I fell back in my chair, staring at the cake. And then I started getting bizarre thoughts like Mr. Linaberry’s wife coming back, so he would lose interest in Mom. Coming back from where, the dead?
I poked at the cake, pushing it around on the plate. Everyone else was eating and laughing and talking. Why was I so upset? Mr. Linaberry wasn’t anything to me. Less than nothing! But sometimes a person who’s less than nothing to you becomes important in your life, whether you want them to or not. Like Marcia. She hadn’t been anything to me, either, until she became my stepmother. What was the difference if Dad chose a Marcia and Mom chose a Mr. Linaberry? Was she choosing him? My heart just seemed to fall away inside me.
I got up and went to my room. “Where’re you going, sweetie?” Mom said. She sounded so happy. I closed my door, but I could still hear everyone talking. “Mom’s birthday greeting cost us fifteen dollars!” That was Wilma. Next she’d be telling everyone I’d taken the money for it out of my bank account. I heard Mom laughing, I heard Chris talking, I even heard Mr. Linaberry finally saying something.
Mom called me again. “Emily? You coming back?”
“Maybe.” But I stayed in my room, reading and trying not to think of how Mom had taken his hand and brought him to the table; how she had said, Oh, we have to invite Len to share this with us.
Len. And did he call her Annie?
I read the same page over and over, not making any sense out of it, and I started to cry.
Chapter 13
The weather turned warm at the end of October. Everybody said it was Indian summer. Mr. Cooper, the gym teacher, took our class outside to play softball. I was doing okay. I made two base hits and caught one fly ball, then I saw Robertson sitting in the bleachers. And I lost it. I’m not the world’s greatest athlete, even under the best of circumstances, and it flustered me to have him watching. After that, I didn’t do anything good in the game.
Later, when I complained about it, Bunny just laughed. She thinks I exaggerate everything, anyway.
“I did so bad in the last three innings,” I said. “I know I’m just average in sports, but I want to be better! I hate that I did so bad.”
“Em, you’re an outstanding writer. You can’t be outstanding in everything. Look how doofy I am about writing. You’re too hard on yourself. You want everything and everyone to be perfect.”
Did I? I’d never thought of it that way. Were my expectations too high? Wasn’t it right to want to be the best and want other people to be the best, too?
That evening, Mom came into my room. “I want to talk to you,” she said, and she sat down on the edge of my bed. I closed my book. Mom didn’t say anything, just started brushing her teeth in an absent way. She was in her pj’s. Finally, I said, “Mom, did you come in here to brush your teeth?”
She looked at her toothbrush as if she didn’t even realize she had it with her. “Oh! Well, what I came to say is I think you have a wrong …”
I waited. “A wrong—”
“Idea.”
“About what?”
“… Len …” she said after a moment.
“I don’t have any idea about him,” I said quickly.
“Well, yes you do. And it’s wrong. He’s a very nice man. Quiet … still waters. You’ve heard, Don’t judge a book by its cover. And that’s what you’re doing, Emily.”
I thought of all the stories I’d read about people misjudging other people because of really superficial reasons, like the way they looked or sounded. And then in these stories they always learned that they were dead wrong. The person they’d misjudged turned out to be the one who saved their life or was the smartest or most courageous. Was that Mr. Linaberry? I didn’t think so!
“I know you’re not an intolerant person,” Mom said. “Or impolite.”
“I’m polite to him!”
“But not friendly—”
“Mom, you can’t force somebody to like somebody they don’t like.”
“You should be nice to my friends. I’m nice to your friends.”
“I know,” I muttered.
“So … will you?”
“What do you want me to do, Mom? Tell me exactly. Give me orders. I’ll follow them.”
Mom laced her fingers together. “Well …” She gave me a tiny smile. “Let’s not talk about that anymore, now. You just think about it.” She bobbed her head.
I stared at her. She was doing what Mr. Linaberry did—that same head-bobbing motion!
“Friday, we’re going out,” she said. “The movies. It’ll be a treat.”
All of us going to the movies together was a treat. “The twins’ll be excited,” I said.
“No, darling. I mean Len and …”
“Mr. Linaberry? You’re going out with him?” I was sort of trembling inside. “It’s a date?”
Mom nodded. “So, you’ll take care of the kids, won’t you?”
I started to say Yes, and then words came out of my mouth that I didn’t even know were there. “Friday night? Oh, no, I can’t, Mom. I’ve got a date, too.”
“You do? Who with?”
“A boy in school.”
“What’s his name?”
“Nobody you know.”
“Could you change it? Friday night is my last free night this month.” She was going on evening shift starting Saturday.
“I guess so, but—”
She bobbed her head again. “Oh, well, listen. Have your date. I’ll just change mine—or something.”
I pulled up the covers. “Okay. If you’re sure.” I was starting to feel guilty for ruining Mom’s date. But then I reminded myself I wasn’t doing it to be selfish. I wasn’t doing it for me. It was for Mom! I loved her, and I didn’t want her to be lonely, but Mr. Linaberry wasn’t the answer. She wasn’t setting her sights high enough. She deserved someone smarter and nicer, and yes—even if looks were superficial—someone better looking, too. Someone the twins and I could look up to and admire and like and be glad he was in Mom’s life.
Chapter 14
I was in the kitchen in the morning, fixing lunches and half listening to the radio, when I heard Wilma say to herself, “Open your hand and let the butterfly go slowly.”
It sounded so profound that I turned a
round and just looked at her. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Our teacher told us.”
“Oh.” For a moment I’d been hopeful that “let the butterfly go slowly” meant something so smart that it would light a candle in my mind and help me out of the hole I’d dug myself into. Big deep hole. I’d told Mom I had a date Friday night. And now I had to make it come true. Who was my date? Where was he? How was I going to find him?
There was a riff of music on the radio. Then the announcer’s voice. “And now let’s have a word with Barb Germander, a champion marathon runner. Barb, what’s the best thing about being a runner?”
“Well, frankly, Mark, what I love about the sport is that you’re half naked. When I run, it’s a little crop top, little shorts, maybe flower print tights—”
“Half naked,” Wilma shrieked. “Chris, did you hear that? It was on the radio. Half naked!”
I turned off the radio. It was all static in my head, anyway.
“Don’t you think Charlie Dana is perfectly adorable?” Bunny said. “His eyes are just like Nicholas whatshisface, the actor.”
“Uh-huh.”
We were standing by the corner window on the second floor, looking out over the playing field. That is our favorite place to talk. Bunny says someday, when we’re both famous, she as an athlete, me as a writer, the school will put up a plaque right here to our friendship.
Bunny sighed. “Charlie Dana. Isn’t that an adorable name? Only I hear he has a temper. Lucy Chen said she knows for a fact that when Charlie Dana doesn’t get his way, he throws a tantrum.”
“Really!” I was only half listening. Actually, Charlie Dana had given me a long look in the corridor yesterday. Bunny was right, he had gorgeous eyes. What if he asked me out on a date? What if I asked him? I couldn’t! I’d never have the nerve. Besides, if Bunny liked him …
“What do you think about Marshall Quinn?” Bunny said. “Is he the ugliest boy in the world, or is he not?”
“Oh, Bunny, no. He’s kind of cute in a funny way.” What if I asked Marshall to be my date?
“Cute? Marshall Quinn? He ought to have plastic surgery, so someone will go for him someday.”
“Even if he doesn’t,” I said, “if he’s got two legs and is male, some woman will want him.” I heard my voice wobbling.
Bunny put her hand on my arm. “Em, are you getting sick?”
I shook my head miserably. Then I told her about Mom and Friday night, and how I’d said I had a date. “Now what am I going to do, Bunny? I feel so stupid!”
“Em, take it easy. The answer’s staring you in the face. Robertson.”
“Bunny, I can’t go out with him!”
“Why not?”
“He’s too young. He didn’t ask me. I don’t want to. Are those enough reasons? No? How about this—I’ve been pushing him away for weeks, and suddenly I’m begging him to go out with me?”
“Not begging, Em, just asking. Uh-oh, speak of the devil, here he comes.”
I peered blurrily down the hall.
“Hi, young Robertson,” Bunny said.
“Bunny. Emily Beth. How do you girls feel about the difference between taking a shower and taking a bath?”
“Is this a dirty joke?” Bunny said.
“Absolutely not. It’s a sober question in the interest of truth. I’m taking a poll for the school paper.”
“In that case, I favor showers,” Bunny said.
“Would you care to say why?”
“Quicker. Cleaner.”
Robertson jotted it down in a little notebook he took out of his shirt pocket. “How about you, Emily Beth?”
I looked at him. My lips moved. Nothing came out.
“Shower or bath?” he said encouragingly. “Let me make that clearer. Emily Beth, do you prefer showers to baths? A simple yes or no will do.”
Once again my lips moved. This time, words came out. “Would you go to the movies with me Friday night?”
My fate was sealed.
Chapter 15
“I’m meeting him there, at the movie, Mom,” I said.
“He’s not picking you up at home?”
“Mom, I told you, I’m meeting him at the mall.”
“Well, when I dated …”
“I know, Mom, the boy always picked you up at home.” I knotted a scarf and tied it around my forehead. “What do you think? How does this look?”
“Everything looks wonderful on you, sweetheart.”
“Oh, Mom, that’s not true. Wilma, come here and tell me if this looks okay.”
Wilma surveyed me from head to toe. “The scarf is okay. The bracelet is gross.”
I took off the bracelet. I was wearing black jeans, a blue printed shirt, and a long knitted sweater that reached my knees. I was ready. Sort of. Before I left, I called Bunny.
“Give me some moral support,” I said. “Tell me again why I’m doing this.” I spoke with my hand cupped around the phone.
“Because you’re a rotten kid who doesn’t want her mother to enjoy herself.… Why are you still home?”
“I don’t want to be too early and just hang around.”
“Well, don’t miss the bus.”
“I can always take the next one, Bunny.”
“Then you’d be late.”
“Bunny, don’t make me more nervous than I am already.”
“You’re nervous about Robertson? Emily, it’s just little old, big old Robertson. You sound like you could use a joke to loosen you up. Did you hear the one about the three Martians who—”
“Bunny, no jokes. I’m not in the mood. I’m relaxed,” I lied. “I’m going off to meet Robertson with a smile on my lips.”
“And a song in your heart?”
“Right.”
“Good. Robertson couldn’t have put it better himself.”
When I got off the bus in front of the theater, he was waiting for me. “I got the tickets,” he called, holding them up.
“How much do I owe you?” I said, opening my purse.
“Nothing.”
“Robertson, I have to pay for my ticket.”
“No, you don’t. I have lots of money.”
“I don’t care how much money you have. It’s not a matter of money. That’s a very obnoxious way of talking.”
“I just meant that a couple of tickets won’t wipe me out.”
“I suppose you think it would wipe me out?”
“I didn’t say that,” he protested.
“Actually, I should be paying for your ticket, too. And I will. I’m the one who invited you.” I opened my wallet and took out money.
“You can’t pay for my ticket.” He shoved his hands into his back pockets. “I’m the boy!”
“Excuse me, what’s that got to do with it?”
“Boys pay,” he said, as if it were truth engraved in stone.
We stared at each other. I had my hand out with the money, and he had his hands pushed in his back pockets. What was I supposed to do—knock him down, sit on him, and shove the money into his pocket?
Finally, I put away my money, and we went inside. He bought a box of popcorn. I bought the sodas. We were early. The lights were still on in the theater, and we stood at the back, looking down the rows of red seats. “I like to sit up front,” he said. “Second row.”
“That’s too close for me.” I pointed at two seats in a middle row. “Those look good.”
He followed me, but when I started in, he said, “How about a little closer?”
I went down another row. “Okay?”
“It’s still too far back for me.”
“Robertson, if you want to sit up front, go ahead. I’ll sit here.” I sat down. He sat down next to me. “You can go up front,” I said. “Honestly, I won’t mind.”
“No, I’ll stay here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Emily Beth, I’d rather be with you. I’d rather
be with you than anything.”
“Oh,” my face got hot.
The lights went down and the coming attractions started. I slipped on my glasses. Movies were one place where I really had to wear them. “I love this stuff,” Robertson said. “Sometimes it’s almost as good as seeing the movie.” He stared at me. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”
“Do you think they’re ugly?”
“No, they’re cute. They look cute on you.”
“No, they’re ugly.”
“You’re wrong, Emily Beth.” He put his arm around me, squeezed me, and whispered, “Men are animals, and I’m no exception.”
“Adorable,” I said sarcastically, but it was, kind of.
An ad for an airline company appeared on the screen. Then another ad. Then a cartoon telling us to be polite and not talk during the feature. Then a warning against smoking. Finally the movie started.
And just then, two people went down the aisle on our right and sat down a few rows ahead of us. I stared at them disbelievingly. It was dark, but not so dark that I couldn’t recognize my own mother. Or the person with her.
Mom and Mr. Linaberry. Here! So, she had her date, after all! Even with all my planning. I took off my glasses and started chewing on the stems. Why would Mom come to the same movie I was at? Had she forgotten? She could be absentminded, but this was too much! And who was watching Wilma and Chris? Had she forgotten them, too? I couldn’t believe that. Maybe she’d asked our upstairs neighbors. But, why? They’d never been the least bit friendly to us.
Don’t ask me details of the movie. I spent more time watching Mom than anything else. When Mr. Linaberry’s arm dropped across the back of Mom’s seat, I almost leaped into the air. It was a miracle I didn’t shout out loud, Get your hands off my mother!
The movie seemed to go on forever. I sat there, turning hot and cold, seething and freezing, and making up speeches in my head, things I knew I’d never have the nerve or the presence of mind to say. Mom, you have to believe me—I want you to be happy. I’m not a hard-hearted monster. In fact, no matter how much you irritate me, I happen to love you a lot. I have your best interests at heart, and that’s why I’m telling you to drop Mr. Linaberry—right away! Fast! Forever!
E, My Name Is Emily Page 6
