Another Day as Emily (9 page)

Mom nods. “If you want blue stars.”

“When?” he asks.

“In a couple days.”

“Okay,” he says. “But I’m wearing

this one till then.”

Later, Mom sneaks it off him

when he’s sleeping.

She throws it in the trash can.

Mom gets Mrs. Capra—

a master quilter—

to make the new cape.

“Lots of stars!” says Parker.

“You got it,” says Mrs. Capra.

Next Parker decides he wants

a haircut.

Dad takes him to the barbershop.

Then Mayor Paloma’s assistant calls

with instructions:

“Bring the boy to the mayor’s office

at nine a.m. sharp on the day

of the parade.”

The parade doesn’t start till ten,

but there’s going to be

a brief ceremony first.

Parker will get a medal.

There will be photos with the mayor.

It seems as though

the whole parade

is about Parker.

Oh well—my birthday

is coming up,

and Dad is going to take me

to a Phillies game.

Good seats … hot dogs …

root beer … rally towel …

maybe even an autograph

or two.

On July 15.

At least I’ll be a star

that day.

I’m walking home from Alison’s.

She wanted us to make fancy headbands

to wear in the parade tomorrow.

Suddenly the sky goes dark.

Lightning flashes.

Fat drops of rain fall.

I start to run.

Old newspapers fly past.

A trash-can lid clatters by.

Now it’s pouring, and I’m soaked.

I can’t see ahead.

Through the howling wind, I hear my name.

I move toward the voice—

It’s Mrs. Bagwell standing at her door.

“Hurry, Suzy! Come inside!”

I make it to her doorway.

Then the whole earth shakes.

My ears pop, and it feels like

the end of the world

as Mrs. Bagwell and I leap

into her hall closet

together.

It was not the end of the world.

It was the sixty-five-foot evergreen

in Mrs. Bagwell’s backyard

uprooting and crashing down

just inches from the house.

It was not the end of the world,

but it could have been

for me and Mrs. Bagwell

if the angle of the tree-fall

had been the least bit different.

It could have been

the end.

“I heard about the tree,” he says.

“Are you okay?”

I give him a thumbs-up.

“Thanks to your friend Mrs. Bagwell.”

“So I guess it’s true.” He smiles. “There’s

good in everyone.”

“Where were
you
in the storm?” I ask.

“At home,” he says. “Eating ice cream.”

We both laugh.

We sit there on the porch

just talking,

being.

The trees glisten green.

I’ve never seen

trees so green.

Parker is so wound up

before the parade

that he throws up

his cornflakes.

Twice.

Mom is so excited

about meeting the mayor

that she heads out the door

with two different shoes on.

Alison does my hair

with the fancy hairband.

She keeps saying:

“I can’t believe it! You were

almost crushed to death!

By a Christmas tree!”

A zillion people

drive past Mrs. Bagwell’s

famous fallen evergreen.

Some try to take photos.

Some succeed.

Some she chases off

with her flyswatter.

The parade goes fine

except when

Uncle Sam on stilts

topples over into the crowd

and sprains his ankle.

Oh, and when Paco the Parrot

squawks a stream of

bad words.

It’s an odd sort of day.

Alison blames it on the storm.

“Something’s in the air,” she says.

“I can smell it.”

I give her a look. “I can smell it too.

You’re wearing too much perfume.”

Parker wears his cape

and his medal from the mayor

to church.

Pastor McCleary actually mentions

Parker in his sermon.

All day Parker flashes the medal

in our faces.

He even goes into my room

to show off

to Ottilie.

At the fireworks

Parker struts around our blanket

flashing his medal,

flapping his cape.

Twice Mom tells him

to “please sit down.”

But there’s such a smile

in her voice

he totally ignores her.

I really don’t know

how much more

of this little hero stuff

I can take.

On Tuesday

on the way to Tween Time

Alison is all bubbly with

guess-whos

and guess-whats.

“Guess who
really
stole

Mrs. Bagwell’s ring?”

“Guess what Mrs. Bagwell

is doing
now
?”

“Guess what you and I

are going to do this Friday?”

I hold my hand up. “Whoa!

One guess at a time, please.”

“A crow!” Alison tells me.

She jabs her finger at me and repeats:

“A crow!”

I think Alison is getting goofy.

“Crows steal jewelry?”

“Yes!” she says. “The tree guy

found the ring in a crow’s nest

when he was sawing off the branches

of Mrs. Bagwell’s tree.

There it was all shiny—

couldn’t miss it.”

“And he gave it to Mrs. Bagwell?” I ask.

Alison grins. “Honesty is alive and well

in good old Ridgley.”

“But how—?”

“Seems Mrs. Bagwell was wearing

the ring last spring.

She took it off to pick up a clump

of muddy leaves.

She set it on her patio table.

A crow must have spied it.”

Of course at the bottom

of it all,

I couldn’t care less about

crow, nest, or ring.

“What about poor Gilbert?” I ask.

Alison grins again.

“I’m coming to that.”