by Lisa Yee
Hey, here’s an idea. Maybe you could send me a letter sometime. It’s hard to say much on a postcard. Oh! But don’t get me wrong. I love the postcard! The brown bear mascot on the postcard is soooo cute — he reminds me of TB! I showed it to Millie and she thought he looked more like a grizzly bear than a stuffed animal. Shows you how much she knows!
Really, Millicent does have so much to learn. Today at the mall I bought a new pair of strappy Liz Price sandals. As we were leaving Sandberg’s Shoe Emporium, I straightened up and whispered, “Millie, alert! Nine at two o’clock!”
“It’s not two o’clock, it’s four fifty-seven p.m.”
“Noooo, there’s a nine at two o’clock!”
“Nine what?”
“Millie, don’t you know how to rate guys? This homeschooling business has really put a cramp in your social life.”
Millicent looked pained and said, “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Okay, how about nine stands for how a boy is rated, ten being the best, one, the worst. Two o’clock means that if we were standing in the middle of a giant clock facing the twelve, the boy would be standing on the number two.”
“Is this a mathematical word problem?”
“Duh, nooooo. It’s a highly sophisticated code for rating boys. You try it. What do you rate the one at nine o’clock?”
Millie examined him for a long time as if he were a science experiment. “A three?” she finally said.
“No, he’s definitely a seven, or above. Try the two boys at eleven o’clock.”
Millie locked her eyes on them. “A two for the one with brown hair, and a three for the one with the baseball cap.”
“No way! I’d give the baseball cap an eight, and the buzz cut is a definite nine!”
After half an hour, Millie still had not rated anyone over a three. As we were scoping out the high school boys at four o’clock, I spotted Wendy from volleyball. She was with her mom, and they were both laughing really hard. Wendy’s pretty, with short reddish-brown hair that she wears behind her ears, and she always has great earrings. She isn’t one of those flashy girls. Instead, she’s the kind that once you meet her, you wonder why you hadn’t noticed her before, especially since she’s so nice. Maybe that’s why Julie doesn’t pick on her. She doesn’t see her.
“Hi Emily!” Wendy called out. “Hi Millicent!”
We both waved to her as she disappeared into Shah’s department store.
Just then, I thought I saw the boy from the drugstore. “Hey! Is that him?”
“Him who?”
“You know.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
The boy turned and walked past us. Darn! It wasn’t him.
“I thought it was the boy from the drugstore,” I said. “How would you rate him?”
Millie made a face like something was smelly. “He doesn’t even rate at all.”
“Millicent! Really, what do you have against him? I’d give him a ten.”
“Stanford Wong, a ten?” she croaked.
“Oops, not a ten,” I corrected myself. “A twelve!”
“You’re nuts,” she yelled as she shoved me.
“You’re nuts,” I laughed as I shoved her back. “Stanford Wong? So he has a name after all! You held out on me! I give Stanford Wong a twelve-plus.”
“Plus what? A dreaded disease? A lifetime of bad luck? A wretched odor serious enough to wipe out all humans, their pets, and most of the world’s rodents?”
I interrupted Millie’s rant. “So how do you know him? What can you tell me about him? Is he in our grade?”
“He’s just Maddie’s friend’s grandson. That’s all I know, okay?”
“Stanford Wong is hot! Stanford Wong is off the charts! Stanford Wong is better than the surfers of Solana Beach! Stanford Wong is —”
“Stop already!” Millie shouted, covering my mouth. “Enough of Stanford Wong! I’m sick of Stanford Wong!”
By the time we made it back to Millie’s house, dinner was on the table — spaghetti with homemade sauce.
“I made the pasta,” Mr. Min boasted as he served us. “Note that the noodles are different lengths. That’s how you can tell they’re homemade.”
“I made the garlic cheese bread,” Mrs. Min said as she slid an extra slice on my plate.
“I made the Boston cream pie,” Maddie volunteered. She held up two noodles side by side and eyed them. “These look like the same size.”
After a game of “Minopoly,” Maddie said, “Come along, Emily. Even though you and Millie slaughtered us, I’ll still give you a ride home.”
Maddie drives a cool-looking old car. She claims her husband won it in a poker game. “And good thing he did. If he had lost, we would have had to hand over our Chinese camphor chest, twelve gold coins, and my wedding ring.”
She held out her hand so I could admire her ring. I could barely see the diamond, but you could tell that she thought it was glorious.
“Maddie!” I yelled, covering my eyes.
“Oops,” she said, putting both hands back on the wheel and swerving to miss a mailbox. “Yes, Millie’s grandfather could pull quite a poker face when the odds were against him. You, on the other hand, would be better off taking your chances on the slot machines.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you are very expressive, Emily. That’s an admirable quality.”
I felt my face flush. Was I that obvious?
“How’s your mom doing?” Maddie put on her blinker and made a slow turn around the corner. I could hear the tires crunch on the pavement. “The last time you and Millie were over, you said Alice was acting strange.”
“She still is. I dunno, she dresses in weird tie-dyed clothes and just works on the computer all the time. Alice says she wants to ‘go with the flow,’ then she gets upset if her files are out of order. She’ll act all happy one minute and then sad or angry the next. If it weren’t for her mood ring, I’d never know how she feels.”
“Sounds like she doesn’t know either,” Maddie mused. “What about your father? Is he still on the road with the Tacky Boys?”
“The Talky Boys. Yep, he won’t come back until after school starts.”
“You miss him,” she said matter-of-factly.
I was glad it was dark and Maddie couldn’t see me. I’m trying so hard not to be a baby, but sometimes it feels like my heart is broken in two, and you and Alice each have one half.
By now this letter journal is pretty long. I can’t wait until you read it. It’s really weird, but now that we’re far apart, I can tell you much more than when we were together. Millie says there’s power in the written word. I wish I had the power to make you be here right now. I’m wearing your Members Only jacket, and I found half a roll of Cherry Life Savers in the pocket. I put it in a Ziploc bag to preserve it.
Love,
Emily
JULY 14
Dear Dad,
Alice was just sitting on the couch this morning staring at a flyer for Neighborhood Watch. It was spooky. Usually she’s working in her office. But just sitting and staring? That’s a new one.
Later, when I went to tell her I was going to Millie’s, she wasn’t in her office. So I went outside, but she wasn’t there either. I ran back into the house and searched the entire first floor. I was out of breath by the time I raced upstairs. My jaw got all tense as I screamed, “Alice? Alice!” When I finally found her in the closet, I yelled, “Why are you hiding? That’s so mean!”
She turned around, surprised. “Emily? I wasn’t hiding, I was putting away clothes.”
“You are so mean!” I shouted, storming off before she could make any more excuses.
After you and Alice had a fight, sometimes you’d be gone for days. Then when you two separated, I’d never know where you were for weeks. You’d never call. How come you never called? Once when I asked you about it, you just la
ughed and said, “You know me and phones. Phones are like a leash and I can’t be tied down.” Where did you go when you disappeared?
When I got to Millie’s house, her parents were chasing each other around the yard. I thought it was hysterical, but I could tell this disturbed Millicent and she was pretending not to know them.
“Shall we eat at the mall?” I asked.
“Yes, please!”
After lunch at Taco Bell, we went to Shah’s department store and looked at earrings. “Look, this pair matches our necklaces,” I said, holding them up. “I think we’d better get them. My treat.”
“I don’t have pierced ears,” Millie said.
“Well, you could get them pierced.”
“Sure thing,” she replied. “Right after I have my head examined.”
As we left the store, I spied the photo booth. I dragged Millie over. “C’mon, it’ll be fun!” We took tons of pictures.
“Millie, stop making faces and just smile!”
“This is my smile.”
“It looks like you’re in pain.”
“This is how I look!”
“Like you just ate a lemon?”
“Emily, not everyone has a toothpaste-commercial smile like yours. Whenever I see a camera, I think my upper lip is going to get stuck on my teeth and I totally spaz out and turn to stone.”
“Oh. Okay, never mind, it’s okay,” I said. Then, right before the flash went off, I tickled Millie. “Emily! Stop! Stop! Stop!” she hollered. “You’re in big trouble!”
I didn’t stop until Millie started smiling. We were laughing so hard that by the time the last flash went off, our stomachs ached.
“Wow,” Millicent said, as she stared at the photos. “I wish my school pictures looked this good.”
“I thought you were homeschooled?”
“Oh. I am.” She looked away. “I wasn’t always, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.”
“No, tell me!”
“I used to go to public school,” she mumbled. “But something happened and I don’t go anymore.”
She looked so sad.
“Millie, are you okay?”
“Tater Tots,” she said softly.
“Excuse me?”
Millie walked over to a bench and plopped down. I sat next to her. She was quiet for a while. So was I. Then she said, “A lot of kids used to make fun of me. But there was this one boy who thought it would be funny to throw Tater Tots at me at lunch.”
“How mean! Was it only once or did he do it a lot?”
“No, it was forever and it was awful, and everyone laughed at me. It wasn’t just Tater Tots. Grapes, chicken nuggets, hamburger … whatever was on the menu ended up being on me.”
“What did the lunch monitor do?”
“Nothing. I had to handle it myself.”
I leaned in toward her. “Millicent, what did you do?”
She let a small smile cross her face. “I made a salt-shaker bomb.”
“A bomb???!!!”
“A salt-shaker bomb. It doesn’t hurt, but it foamed him and everyone laughed.”
I grinned. She was amazing. “So he stopped throwing food at you! Brilliant!”
“Well, he stopped because I got kicked out of school.”
Millicent was quiet again.
No wonder she’s homeschooled. It all makes sense now.
When I got home, I put the photos of Millie and me on the bulletin board you bought me last week. It has yellow material over it, and colored ribbons that crisscross so you just slide things under them and they never fall. I’ve got your postcards on it too, and some pictures of Nicole and A.J.
I feel so bad for Millicent. Clearly, it was hard for her to tell me about that bully, but I am glad she did. I think we’re better friends for it. True friends can be honest with each other without fear of being judged. If anything, I think more highly of Millie now that I know the truth about her homeschooling.
Love,
Emily
JULY 16
Hi Dad,
You’re not going to believe this, but Maddie is moving to England! Get this: She’s taking her husband’s ashes because they were planning a trip there when he died. I think it’s terribly romantic in a totally tragic sort of way. Maddie’s going to go to school in London to learn how to arrange furniture. “Fung sway,” it’s called.
“This is crazy, she’s crazy!” Millie just stared straight ahead as she devoured Cheeto after Cheeto.
Millie was in my butterfly chair and I was on the floor. Alice brought us some chocolate milk. “Emily, don’t forget that our Neighborhood Watch meeting starts soon.”
“Whatever.”
“I’m sorry your grandmother’s leaving, Millie,” said Alice. “Maybe she won’t be away for long and you won’t feel so bad.”
I glared at Alice. What does she know about how someone feels?
“Thanks, Alice.” Millie drained her glass and handed it back for a refill. “I just don’t understand why she has to go. And why now?”
“Is there something that might prevent her from going? Is she in good health? Does she have the financial means?”
“Her health is fine, and she and Grandpa made a fair amount of money in tech stocks. Maddie consulted the tea leaves before any purchase or sale.”
“So then, is there another reason she shouldn’t go now —”
“Just stop!” I shouted. Millicent and Alice looked startled. “Millie and Maddie aren’t some magazine article, Alice. This is real life. Maybe Millicent has some feelings that she doesn’t want to talk about. Maybe her thoughts are private and personal, and not open to discussion.”
“Emily —”
“What?”
“I’m talking to Millicent, not you.”
We just glared at each other.
Millie stopped munching. “It’s okay. No, nothing else is happening at the moment.”
“Well,” Alice said before she left the room, “if you ever need to talk to someone, you know where I am.”
Millie gave her a sad smile. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”
“What’s wrong with me?” I asked when the door closed behind Alice.
“Nothing’s wrong with you.”
“No, I mean, if you need someone to talk to, you should talk to me.”
“I do talk to you.”
“I mean we’re friends, right?”
Millie was silent for a moment. Suddenly I got nervous. What if she didn’t consider me a good friend at all? I’ve misread people before.
“Emily,” Millie said slowly, “of course we are friends. Really good friends.”
“Really, really good friends.”
“Yes, really, really, really good friends.”
I hesitated. I hadn’t even known Millicent for a month, yet it felt like I’ve known her my whole life.
“Millie, would you say we’re best friends?”
Millie looked sort of spacey. Uh-oh. Why did I say anything?
“Best friends?” she stammered. “You want to be my best friend?”
I nodded and held on to my necklace.
She broke into a huge grin. “Okay. Yeah, sure. Why not? Yes! Best friends!!!”
“All right!” I shouted. I reached out to give her a hug, and she stiffened.
“I’m not one for hugging,” she said, looking stricken.
“Well, we’ll have to work on that then.”
“Come on, Emily, time to go!” Alice called out. “Millicent, why don’t you join us?”
“Get out while you can,” I urged my best friend. “Run, run!”
There were ten adults, two plates of homemade cookies, one plate of veggies and dip, one plate of mini hot dogs, one package of Mint Milanos, and one kid at the Neighborhood Watch meeting in Mrs. Neederman’s all-white living room. Her poodles barked the entire time, and everyone, including Mr
s. Neederman, pretended not to hear them.
“Okay!” the policeman said. “We’ve got a good crowd, that’s excellent. I’m Officer Joel Ramsey, and I’ll be your Neighborhood Watch contact. For those of you who are not familiar with Neighborhood Watch, it is a crime prevention program. We enlist the active participation of good citizens like you who, in cooperation with law enforcement, are instrumental in reducing crime in communities like Rancho Rosetta….”
Basically, it means that neighbors roam around with flashlights and spy on each other. I was more interested in looking at Officer Ramsey than listening to him. He looked like he could have his own television show. Well, okay, maybe not his very own show, but he could be on someone else’s TV show. Even though he’s sort of old (although not nearly as old as you or Alice), I’d give him an eight out of ten. At first he was a seven, then I gave him an extra point because of his uniform.
“I don’t like guns,” Alice was saying to Officer Ramsey.
Urrgggg, why does she always have to embarrass me?
“I don’t either,” he said. “Hopefully I’ll never have to use one again.”
Again? I wonder if he’s ever killed someone? I studied him more carefully. As he told us more about totally boring Neighborhood Watch, he handed out brochures and stickers for our windows. I got an extra sticker for Millie since she was smart enough not to come with us. The door to her room is covered with warning labels and looks really cool.
I glanced at the sign-up sheet. “Why is my name on here?” I gasped.
“I put both of us down,” Alice said. She passed the clipboard to Mrs. Neederman. “Neighborhood Watch is something we can do together.”
“We do enough together already.”
Alice smiled politely and said, tight-lipped, “Emily, not here and not now.”
I moved my chair near the food table, slumped down, and gnawed on a carrot. One of Mrs. Neederman’s poodles came over and stared at me. He started to bark, but stopped when I put the plate of mini hot dogs on the floor.
Alice is such a pain. Isn’t it enough that she’s dragged me across the country? Now she wants me to hunt criminals? It could be dangerous, life-threatening even. But does she care? Noooooooooo. She doesn’t care what happens to me at all.
