Emma Jean Lazarus Fell in Love (6 page)

Kaitlin appeared at the back door of the cafeteria, and began calling to Colleen and waving her arms.

“Colleen!” Kaitlin called. “Laura's waiting!”

“Coming!” Colleen replied, hoisting her backpack onto her back and grabbing her tray. She paused for a moment, leaning in close to Emma-Jean.

“I just have this feeling,” she said, her voice rich with portent. “I think amazing things are going to happen, for both of us. I just feel . . . if you really believe in your heart, then anything is possible, you know?”

And then she scurried off.

Emma-Jean was dumbstruck by Colleen's words, for they reminded her of her father's favorite quote by Poincaré,

The meaning of those words had perplexed Emma-Jean. The heart, after all, was simply a muscle. It could not observe or analyze. One could not look inside one's own heart without the use of sophisticated machinery. And even then, what would one discover other than four chambers pulsing with blood?

But now Emma-Jean considered her own heart. Were there possibilities waiting to be discovered? How could she know?

These questions troubled Emma-Jean. But then she was struck by an intriguing notion: that her heart was like a poem.

She thought of the poems she often discussed with Ms. Wright, and how she had learned to look beyond simple words and fanciful rhymes to discover hidden meanings, profound ideas about life and death.

And just as Emma-Jean had learned to understand poetry, she believed, she would someday learn to read her own heart.

At that moment, Will Keeler went careening by on his way out to the blacktop, and the sight of him sent Emma-Jean's heart into its predictable frenetic rhythms.

She wondered if Poincaré had experienced a crush when he was young.

Probably yes, Emma-Jean thought, though she doubted that the object of the Frenchman's affections had chocolate milk stains on her shirt.

J
ust because Colleen was busy with her boy didn't mean that she could forget about her other important responsibilities, like her position as the head of the St. Mary's youth group snack committee. Tonight was Father William's birthday party, and she had to be focused.

This morning, she and her mom had gotten up at 5:00 to make four dozen chocolate marshmallow cupcakes. And this afternoon, Colleen would go to the church to get everything ready. Kaitlin had promised to help her. They had been talking all week about how they would arrange the flowers and balloons and set up the food table so it looked like a page out of one of Colleen's mom's magazines. Colleen would never want to brag, but she and Kaitlin were really talented at arranging baked goods. Maybe they'd start a business one day.

But just as Colleen and her mom were walking out the front door, the phone rang, and it was Kaitlin saying, “I'm not coming.”

Colleen couldn't believe it!

“You have to come!” Colleen said, but Kaitlin kept saying she wasn't in the mood, and finally Colleen's mom went outside and started the car, and Colleen had to go.

She hung up in shock.

How could Kaitlin just call her and cancel, like Father William's party was an orthodontist appointment? And how could Colleen be at the party by herself?

Because this wasn't a regular youth group party. Other kids from church were coming, kids who never came to youth group, like Will Keeler, whose dad had donated the rose bush they were planting in Father William's honor, and Brandon Mahoney, who followed Will everywhere.

What if Will and Brandon turned the party into a huge joke? What if they thought youth group was for dorks? What if Brandon made up a mean name for Colleen, like rotten cookie Colleen or gross snack Colleen . . . Colleen wasn't good at making up mean names, but Brandon was a genius at it. It was Brandon who thought of the name Emma-Jean Spaz-arus. And a few months back he had drawn a picture of a really fat man on Mr. Petrowski's blackboard with the words
Mr. Pigtrowski
written under it.

Oh gosh! What would Colleen do?!

She had to get the party ready, that was for sure. She loved Father William and would never want to disappoint him. But maybe she could get everything perfect and then call her mom and say that she felt dizzy and that her stomach hurt. It wouldn't be a lie because even thinking about the party was making Colleen's head spin and her stomach twist.

And so that was Colleen's plan.

Her mom dropped Colleen and the cupcakes off at the church. Colleen worked by herself to set up the room so it looked really gorgeous. By 6:30 she was finished, and there was still half an hour before the party, plenty of time for her mom to come and pick her up.

She started walking to the church office to use the phone.

But wait . . .

Suddenly she didn't feel like she was all alone. She looked around, and there was nobody with her in the room. But she had this feeling that someone was right there, watching over her, and not in the creepy horror movie way.

Her boy. That's who it was.

He seemed to be right there with her. And he was reminding her that she'd been so excited about this party, and that not even Brandon Mahoney would be mean on Father William's birthday.

Colleen took a deep breath. The room looked amazing and Father William would be so happy.

And with her boy close by, Colleen didn't have to worry about a thing.

D
inner was always a notable affair at Emma-Jean's house due to the superb meals Vikram created. But this evening was especially festive because of a special guest: Ms. Wright.

Emma-Jean had long suspected that her language arts teacher would fit in well at their dining table, and her instinct had been correct. Since their first meal together in March, Ms. Wright had developed a close kinship with Emma-Jean's mother and Vikram, and a long list of favorites from Vikram's culinary repertoire.

As usual, the animated conversation began the moment Ms. Wright entered the house with her radiant smile. Ms. Wright stood in the kitchen with Emma-Jean's mother while Emma-Jean chopped cilantro and zested lemons for Vikram's final flourishes. At one point Ms. Wright leaned over the pot of simmering chicken korma and inhaled deeply.

“Heaven,” she sighed. “That's all there is to say.”

They took their seats at the table, and Ms. Wright admired a large bowl, which Emma-Jean's parents had purchased while on their honeymoon in Turkey.

“I need a nice serving bowl like that,” Ms. Wright said. “I'm having a friend over this Saturday, and I have nothing really lovely to serve with.”

“Someone we know?” Emma-Jean's mother asked as she offered Ms. Wright a dollop of pineapple chutney.

“You must know Phil Petrowski,” Ms. Wright said.

“Of course,” Emma-Jean's mother said, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “The science teacher. I didn't realize you were friends.”

“We have our differences,” Ms. Wright said. “But lately I've come to appreciate Phil. He's a good man, a very good man.”

“Will this be a romantic evening?” Vikram asked delicately.

A chickpea fell off of Emma-Jean's fork, as though Vikram's shocking suggestion had caused it to faint. Was it possible that the graceful and enlightened Ms. Wright was in love with the blustery Mr. Petrowski, whose main passion was his red Cadillac Escalade?

If this was true, Emma-Jean knew even less about love than she had feared.

“No, nothing like that,” Ms. Wright said. “Last week I was mentioning that I loved fresh tomatoes, and on Sunday afternoon he stopped by with a tomato plant to plant in my yard. I said to him, ‘Phil, if I were twenty years younger, I'd have to marry you.' We had a good laugh over that one. Anyway, I'm going to make him a nice dinner, to thank him. I think he's . . . maybe a little lonely.”

Emma-Jean had never stopped to consider Mr. Petrowski's life outside of the seventh-grade wing. And now it saddened her to think that he went home each afternoon to an empty house. Perhaps she could suggest to him that he purchase a parakeet, like Henri, who could say hello in English, Spanish, French, and Hindi.

“Has Mr. Petrowski ever been married?” asked Emma-Jean's mother.

“No,” Ms. Wright said. “I suppose he never found the right person.”

“That's a shame,” said Emma-Jean's mother as Vikram gazed at her.

“Maybe he could still find someone,” said Emma-Jean.

Ms. Wright nodded. “Of course,” she said.

Emma-Jean hoped so.

“And what about you?” Emma-Jean's mother said to Ms. Wright.

This was a sensitive subject for Emma-Jean, for not long ago she was quite certain she had found the perfect match for Ms. Wright: Vikram. Of course, that was before Emma-Jean discovered that Vikram was in love with her mother. She still hoped to find a suitable match for her esteemed teacher.

“I don't think you need much help in that area,” Emma-Jean's mother continued, smiling at Ms. Wright.

“That's very nice of you to say,” Ms. Wright said. “The truth is that I am very content as things are. I'm not really looking.”

“It would not be easy to find someone for you,” Emma-Jean said.

Ms. Wright looked surprised.

“Why is that?” Emma-Jean's mother asked.

“Because few men are worthy of Ms. Wright.”

Ms. Wright smiled. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Emma-Jean said. “It is.”

“Well, no pressure. But if you happened to find an intelligent man out there with a good sense of humor and a love of music, you can send him my way.”

Emma-Jean's mother raised her glass. “To music and laughter,” she said, and they all tapped their glasses together with a most satisfying
clink
.

E
ven with her boy right there beside her, Colleen felt pretty nervous as the party got started, especially when Father William told everyone to huddle up.

“Let's give a hand to Colleen for putting together this beautiful gathering,” he said. “Colleen, you put your heart into this like you always do, and it shows.”

Usually Colleen felt totally embarrassed when Father William singled her out. Her cheeks would get bright red and she'd try to hide behind Kaitlin until people stopped clapping and staring.

This time, though, her boy wouldn't let her hide. He gave her a little nudge toward Father William, and told her to smile and enjoy this moment.

And the most amazing thing happened a little later, when Colleen was neatening up the platters on the snack table.

“Those look awesome,” said a familiar boy's voice behind her.

Was that Will Keeler? Talking to Colleen?

Colleen turned around and there he was, looking at her and pointing at the chocolate marshmallow cupcakes, which did look really delicious.

“Who made these?” he said.

Colleen's head popped off and flew into the air, but her boy caught it and put it back on her neck. She took a deep breath. She never talked to Will or any of the boys. There were so many times she'd wanted to talk to them, when she thought of something fascinating to say, like “How long is your bus ride?” or “Don't you think the cafeteria should get strawberry milk?” But then she would get nervous that her voice would sound all squeaky or that the boy would walk away without answering.

But now when Colleen looked at Will, she didn't see the handsome thirteen-year-old basketball boy. She saw cute little Willy K. from nursery school, with the yellow curls and tow truck T-shirt. She remembered how he used to hug his mom so tightly when she said good-bye at drop-off. Probably Will was still the same sweet boy now that he was then, only with hairier arms and bigger muscles.

“
I
made those,” Colleen said. “My mom and me.”

“They look good.”

“They are,” Colleen said.

Who said that? Was that really Colleen Julianna Pomerantz talking? Oh gosh, was she bragging?

“Really?” Will said, smiling at her.

Will looked at her right in the eyes. And if Colleen hadn't been totally in love with her boy, she would have thought that Will Keeler was the dreamiest boy she'd ever seen, or ever would see for as long as she lived.

No wonder Laura was in love with him! And Emma-Jean too!

Will picked up a cupcake and took a big bite. He chewed very slowly, watching Colleen. He swallowed in a cartoony way, which was really funny. Colleen laughed, and her laugh didn't sound squeaky. It sounded normal and funny, like she was an actress on TV playing the part of a girl with a good laugh.

“Those are the best cupcakes I've ever tasted.”

“Thank you!” Colleen said.

And just like that, Will Keeler and Colleen were friends. Colleen knew how that could be, how one funny little moment—like a tiny drop of superglue—was enough to stick two people together. Moments like that were really precious, Colleen knew, because she'd had some with all of her friends. She collected them, memorizing every detail. Sometimes in bed, she'd play these memories back in her mind, tiny movies that would lull her happily to sleep.

Just then someone slapped Will on the back so hard he almost fell face-first into a Bundt cake.

Brandon Mahoney!

“There you are!” he said to Will.

Brandon grabbed one of Colleen's cupcakes and stuffed the whole thing into his mouth.

“Mmmmm,” he said.

“Colleen made those,” Will said.