I, Emma Freke (7 page)

It had occurred to me more than once that I might end up alone like Stevie. I mean, I assumed she was alone since she never mentioned anybody else. And maybe living alone would be kind of nice. I definitely knew how to take care of myself. I could cook, clean, and do the laundry. I also had things that interested me like lots of academic subjects and, of course, the beads. And come to think of it, I could pretty much run a business all by myself.

“Are you done, Emma?” Stevie was back. She sat down and glanced over my paper. “May I read it?”

“Sure,” I said. “It's finished.”

She smiled and patted my arm.

“Do you know what this means?” she asked.

“That we're done for the day?”

“Better than that!” she exclaimed. “We're done for the
year
! Unless you just bombed this paper, which I doubt, you are forever done with the sixth grade.”

“I am? But don't I have one more week? I thought school got out next Friday?”

“It does, but you have nothing left to do. You sailed through your courses. Congrats!”

She put her hand out to shake mine, and this time, I squeezed and shook as hard as I could.

I gathered my things and stood to leave.

“So I guess I won't be seeing you for a while?”

Stevie looked up from my paper.

“Whyever not?” She pushed her chair back and crossed her legs in that familiar way. “Don't you like coming to the library?”

“Well, yah,” I answered.

“Then take the weekend off, and I'll see you Monday at noon. We have to have our end-of-the-year party!”

I had an idea.

“Could we meet at three o'clock instead?”

“Sure,” she said, “if that's easier. However, it does get busier in the afternoon.”

“I just thought it might be fun to bring a friend,” I explained.

Stevie grinned. “Even better!”

I waited by the display window at the shop for Penelope to arrive. It was fifteen minutes before three o'clock, and I didn't want to be late for my end-of-the-year party.

It's funny. At middle school, I dreaded any event like the last day of school or the afternoon before spring break or any unstructured time where students were allowed to mingle and . . . gab. But all weekend, I had grown more and more excited about Monday afternoon, mostly because I couldn't wait for Penelope and Stevie to meet.

Thankfully, everything was back to normal (if you can call it that) in our apartment. Late Friday night, exactly three days after locking herself in her bedroom, Donatella flung open her door, dressed for a night on the town.

“Don't wait up, kiddos!” she cried so loudly that she momentarily woke Nonno and Eggplant. They were sitting together, as usual, in their brown plaid recliner.

I sat near them on the sofa sewing a button back onto my shirt. I really needed some new clothes—everything was getting too tight and, of course, too short.

At first I was hesitant to meet Donatella's eyes so I continued with my sewing. But she marched directly over to me and punched my arm as if nothing had ever happened between us.

“What are you making?” she asked. She was chomping loudly on a wad of gum, something she often did when she was wound up.

I took a deep breath and peered up at her.

“Nothing. I'm just sewing a button back on a shirt.”

“Aren't you clever!” she hollered too loudly.

Her ink black hair was loose and poufy with an imitation diamond barrette pinned to the side of her head. I had never seen the dress before, a polka-dot pattern that wrapped around her waist in a complicated way. Make-up covered every inch of her face and an enormous pear-shaped green crystal pendant dangled on the end of a necklace.

It occurred to me that Donatella never wore any of the beads we sold. For that matter, neither did I. I sometimes made a bracelet or earrings to sell in our showcase, but I never thought to actually wear them.

“So where are you off to?” I asked. I really didn't care. I was just relieved to see her back to her old self.

She slipped a ruby red cape over her shoulders and buckled the large clasp around her neck.

“Got a date!” she announced between blowing a bubble and popping it with her teeth.

“Kevin?”

Did I just say that? How could I have let his name slip out of my mouth! And at the top of my list on
which subjects are off-limits
were Donatella's dates!

But luckily, she seemed completely recovered.

“Nah, Kevin has some hang-up about kids,” she said as she shook something out of one of her high heels. “Too complicated for him,” she whined, making little quotation marks in the air.

So Penelope was right. No wonder I didn't like the guy.

“Sorry,” I said.

“His loss,” she winked then popped her gum. “But tonight I'm seeing Antonio!”

The Italian roll of the tongue woke Nonno again.

“That's a
good
boy!” he said pointing at the ceiling. Then he drifted back into a slumber.

Donatella cocked her head, winked at me, and said, “I guess we'll just have to wait and see.”

Ugh. Gross. I sort of hoped he didn't like kids either.

I watched Penelope run diagonally across the street, where Driftwood and Harbor intersected. She wore a fancy blue dress trimmed with lace and bows that made her look even younger than she already was. She seemed to be having difficulty pushing through the wind while balancing a large tray covered in plastic wrap.

“What's that?” I asked as I opened the shop door.

“Coconut fudge truffles,” she grimaced as if they were chocolate covered nails. “Cynthia insisted on making them for your party. There's enough for everyone in the whole library
and
the town hall put together!”

“You didn't have to get dressed up,” I commented. “Do you want to change?”

“If I go back there, I'm telling you, those Gray Moms will make me wear a crown.”

I let myself chuckle a little. After all, it was pretty funny. Here I was grateful that my mother left her bedroom to join the real world again, while Penelope had more motherly attention and fussing than she could stand.

When we arrived at the library, Stevie was at her circular desk with an elderly couple who were researching their genealogy, so she asked us to wait for a bit. I noticed she glanced twice at Penelope in her puffy party dress lugging the huge silver tray.

Stevie put her arms out.

“Would you like me to keep that here for you?”

“Please!” said Penelope as she dropped the truffles with a thud on the reference desk. The elderly couple smiled.

“You can have one,” Penelope offered. She pulled back the plastic wrap. “You can have all of them!”

The old people each took a candy and smiled a silent thank you.

“We really aren't supposed to eat in the library,” Stevie whispered to me. “Why don't you take these back into the lounge, Emma?”

I felt very important leading Penelope behind the circulation desk to the Staff Only area. And she was impressed with the employee room, which included a full kitchen, a leather couch, and four matching leather armchairs.

“You're really allowed to come back here? Man, I like this place.”

I set the tray in the middle of the coffee table and wrote “Take One” on a piece of paper.

Back in the library, we waited for Stevie at the large glass table where I usually did my schoolwork. Just then that same group of eight teens and their teacher started clapping on the other side of the building.

“Are you allowed to make that much noise in the library?” asked Penelope, straining around in her seat to stare at them.

Her blue dress stuck straight out over her legs, and I could see that her feet didn't reach the floor. I realized I had not been Penelope's size in a very long time. It seemed as if it felt so safe to be so small. I, on the other hand, was like a gigantic target visible from outer space.

“For some reason,
they're
allowed to do whatever they want,” I said. “They're here a lot and do all sorts of things.”

“Who are they?” she wanted to know.

I shrugged and glanced back at Stevie. It looked as if she may be stuck for a while.

“Well what are they doing today?” asked Penelope, kicking the air with her shiny dress-up shoes.

“Beats me,” I mumbled. I was wondering if I should ask Stevie if she wanted us to come back later.

Next thing I knew, Penelope slid off her chair and marched directly toward the group of teens who were now oohing and aahing at something or someone.

“Penelope!
Penelope!
” I whispered as loudly as I could. But she didn't hear me and continued to stride confidently in her blue party dress toward the action on the other side of the library.

I was so embarrassed, I couldn't bear to watch. Why was she always doing stuff like this?

“Where's your friend?” asked Stevie.

I sighed.

“Um. Bathroom.”

“Well, I freed up my schedule so we could go out to celebrate—somewhere like the new Café Anchor. Have you been there? They have delicious scones.”

“No, but sounds good.”

We waited for a few awkward minutes. I figured Penelope had the sense to come back as soon as she figured out what the older kids were up to. But then a splash of laughter washed across the building. And in all that commotion, I could tell which laugh belonged to her.

Stevie stretched her neck to peer over at the group of happy kids.

“Hey, isn't that your friend?”

Slowly, I turned around. There she was being held up in the air, flat on her back, by the eight teenagers. Her blue dress glowing like a neon sign.

“Let's join her over in the Observatory and see what they're up to!” said Stevie in a voice that was a little too chipper.

This was
exactly
the kind of situation I dreaded more than anything in the entire world. And Penelope knew it. I was so upset with her right now that I wasn't sure I would ever speak to her again. This was my party, my day, and now it was ruined.

I followed Stevie across the carpeted floor to a separate domed area called the Observatory. Since we were the same height, I felt like I could slump behind her. I was completely aware of my too tight shirt and too short jeans and too pale skin and the very red bun in the back of my head. I crossed my arms and tried not to scowl.

“Gordon!”

“Hi Stevie!”

Gordon, the teacher, was handing out paper to all the kids including Penelope. They were now rushing around a table filled with tools and supplies, grabbing this and that.

“Okay everybody,” said Gordon. “I want you all to measure the strength of your hands using the drop weights. Then record your findings. Except you,” he said pointing at Penelope. “We need to weigh you on the scale.”

“Awesome!” Penelope cried.

I couldn't believe this was happening.

Gordon walked over to us, and Stevie introduced me using my whole horrifying name. For some reason, I couldn't lift my head. My gaze was glued to the ground. It took all my willpower not to throw up.

“Want to join us, Emma?” he asked. “We're trying to prove, using physics, how stage diving works when people are moshing at a rock concert.”

I had barely heard of “stage diving” or “moshing,” whereas not-even-ten-year-old Penelope appeared to be a professional. The sad truth was, I happened to be intelligent about some things, but for some reason, I never retained basic tweenage cultural knowledge. And that's exactly why I dreaded being forced into these social situations. Ms. Fiddle could counsel me until her eyes popped out of her head . . . . I would never fit in at school.

Luckily, Stevie came to my rescue.

“Actually, Gordon, we're heading out for a little celebration of our own. We just came over to fetch our friend in the pretty dress.”

“Listen up, people!” said Gordon as he snapped his fingers.

All of a sudden, I felt as if I might faint
and
throw up.

“You all know Stevie, we just met Penelope, and so this is Emma
Freke
. Can everyone say ‘Hi' to
Am a Freak
!”

I couldn't believe this was happening. It was like some middle school nightmare. The library began to spin as I braced myself.

“Hey! Hi there! Hello, Emma!”

I peeked over Stevie's shoulder.

Every single teenager was smiling at me.

“I know Emma!” yelled Penelope. “She's the smartest, nicest kid in the whole world,
and
she's my best friend!”