The Year My Sister Got Lucky (23 page)

“Did you do any new poses in yoga class on Thursday?” I ask Emmaline as I follow her into the den, which is jam-packed with boxes and bags.

“Actually, I canceled class and flew out to San Francisco to visit old friends,” Emmaline says, digging through a plastic bag in the corner. “There was something I needed to do. And look what I picked up there!” When Emmaline turns around, she’s holding a miniature gold Buddha in her hand. “An up-and-coming yogi should have one of these.”

A yogi
, I think, feeling a flush of satisfaction as I thank Emmaline for the Buddha and close my palm over it.
Yogi
sounds much more mature than
ballerina
.

“Plus,” Emmaline adds. “This way, you’ll have luck with you wherever you go.”

Emmaline and I settle in her living room, and I catch her up on our trip to the city, and how beautiful
The Nutcracker
was, though I don’t divulge Michaela’s secrets — any of them. Emmaline asks me about my Homecoming date, and I say it was a bust, but that there
might
be a new boy on the horizon. “I don’t want to jinx it, though,” I say, unconsciously rubbing mini-Buddha’s belly.

“Well, you don’t have to tell me anything until it’s more developed,” Emmaline says pragmatically, tucking her knees up under her chin.

Then I remember that it’s really
Emmaline’s
love life we should be discussing. This is my chance. I take a deep breath. “Emmaline?” I say, clutching my Buddha as I face her. “You know Coach Shreve? Who comes to yoga class sometimes?”

Emmaline looks at me blankly.

“I mean Tim!” I correct myself. “Timothy …”

“Oh — oh, yes.” Emmaline nods. “What about him? He’s your gym teacher, right?” Her face
might
be pinker than usual, but that could just be the rosy light of the living room.

“Well …” I fidget on Emmaline’s sofa as she watches me. “I was thinking … I know he’s single and he’s kind of good-looking, and the two of you are both into exercising and staying healthy … Could it hurt to … maybe slip him your number while you’re adjusting his Child’s Pose?” I say this breezily, as if I haven’t been concocting this plan for weeks now.

“Katie!” Emmaline cries, putting her hands to her cheeks. “Me … and Tim? You’ve really put some thought into this, haven’t you?”

I shake my head, and then nod. “A little. See … I feel like you should be with someone nice … and Coach Shreve is nicer than I thought he was, so …”

Emmaline sighs and wraps a blonde curl around one finger. “Katie, thank you for looking out for me. I appreciate it. I do.” She puts her hand on my knee and gives it a shake. “The thing is, you know how I said I went to San Francisco over Thanksgiving? It was … to see a guy.”

“Ah.” My heart sinks. Autumn was right. I only knew a little piece of Emmaline’s story.

“But it’s not what you’re imagining,” Emmaline adds hurriedly. “See, this guy, Mitoki, — we lived in Japan together, and then in San Francisco, and when
I came out here, we tried to make things work, but it was plenty hard.”

Oh.
The love of her life hadn’t died. He was just far away.

“So I finally called Mitoki and said I wanted to end things,” Emmaline continues, looking at me steadily, and I can tell that she’s relieved to be able to tell this story to someone, even if it’s her fourteen-year-old yoga student. “I went to California over Thanksgiving to say good-bye, to wrap everything up, I guess.” Emmaline lifts her shoulders. “And being out there with him, I realized I made the right choice. He’s changed and I’ve changed, and I’ll always love San Francisco, but Fir Lake is my home now. Until another land calls.” She smiles softly.

I’m beyond embarrassed. “God, Emmaline, I’m sorry I invented this whole thing about you and Coach Shreve —”

“It’s okay, Katie.” Emmaline laughs a little. “I’m just in no real shape to start dating again. But, to be honest … I have thought Coach Shreve is cute.”

“You have?” I feel my spirits lift. “I think he thinks you’re cute, too. I don’t know. Sometimes I think I may have a special feeling for these things.”

“You might.” Emmaline raises one eyebrow at me. “But do me a favor and please don’t slip Coach Shreve my number while you’re doing layups in gym or something?”

“I won’t,” I swear, although that’s not a half-bad idea.

“Get some sleep, okay?” Emmaline says as I leave, and I wonder if her light won’t be on as much now.

My thoughts are dancing around with Emmaline and Coach Shreve and me and Jasper as I walk over to The Monstrosity with my little Buddha. So, of course, the last person I’m expecting to see when I step onto the porch is Anders Swensen. I must have walked right by his car without noticing.

“What are you doing here?” I gasp. Not too polite, I know, but I want to warn Anders to duck and cover — our parents are going to freak when they see a strange boy lurking.

“Oh, hey, Katie,” Anders says, flashing me his dimpled smile. The times Anders has given me a ride to school, I always felt like he was ignoring me. But maybe that was because I was so intent on ignoring
him
. Now, his smile actually seems … genuine. Maybe Anders has finally figured out that, often, the way to a girl’s heart is through her sister.

“I’m here to pick up Michaela,” Anders adds, taking off his wool hat as I push open the front door and we walk into the foyer. “We’re —”

Both of us stop short at the sight of Mom and Dad in the living room. The fire is crackling in the fireplace, casting soft shadows on the room. Mom is in one chair, reading
Anna Karenina
and
drinking chai, and Dad is on the sofa, holding manuscript pages in his lap, an ink stain on his cheek.
They look at home
, I think, and realize that it must have been a hard road for my parents, too, adjusting to rural life. I guess we all needed some time to settle in.

“Well, hello,” Mom says in her most imposing college-professor voice, closing her book. She zeroes in on Anders with her own penetrating gaze. “You must be the famous Anders.”

Anders comes forward as Mom and Dad rise from their seats to greet him. I can’t believe my parents are meeting my sister’s boyfriend. Anders jovially shakes Mom’s hand, and says to Dad, “Mr. Wilder, it’s an honor to meet you.”

It is?
I doubt Anders has time for reading my dad’s novels in between football practices. I’d bet good money Michaela trained him to say that, but in any case, it works; Mom’s face lights up as Dad pumps Anders’s hand.

“Please, call me Jeffrey,” Dad says.

Oh, Lord. What’s next?
Call me Dad?

“Mrs. Wilder will do fine, thanks,” Mom adds, giving Anders a scrutinizing look. I know she’s not going to let him in that easily. “Where are you and Michaela going this evening?”

“To The Friendly Bean, for s’mores and hot chocolate,” Anders says, citing the Most Innocent-Sounding Date in the History of American Romance. The
weird thing is, I believe him, too. “I’ll drop Michaela back before midnight,” he adds, raising his chin.

So no sleepovers tonight, hmm?

“Eleven,” Mom says, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s a school night.”

“Fine, eleven!” Michaela grunts, galumphing down the stairs in her duck boots, freed from her punishment at last. She’s dressed plainly, with her hair in a low ponytail and no makeup. But as Anders gazes up at her, his mouth slightly open and his hooded blue eyes bright, he appears — without a doubt — smitten.

Michaela kisses Mom, Dad, and me good-bye, and Anders leads her out the door, putting an arm across her shoulders.

“Michaela looks happy,” Dad says, giving Mom a level look as the three of us stand in the living room together. “And Anders seems very sweet, doesn’t he?”

“No seventeen-year-old boys are sweet,” Mom says darkly. This sounds like it might be a new favorite expression. Then she glances at me. “Katie, what are you doing hanging around here? If memory serves, you have a good deal of homework to do before tomorrow.”

“What did you call me?” I ask, certain I’ve heard wrong.

Mom pushes her bangs out of her eyes. “Katie. What’s the big to-do?”

The blood rushes to my face, and I can feel Dad
watching the two of us. “If you want to keep calling me Katya, that’s okay,” I say, thinking of Jasper.

“Okay, okay.” My mother nods a few times, clearly uncomfortable with this moment of semi-affection. “Now, unless you have anything to add about Michaela and her boyfriend, I suggest you go upstairs.”

“Well …” I fiddle with the sleeve of my coat. “I think he really cares about her, Mom. I think you can trust him.”

Mom makes a
pfft
sound and looks at Dad. “Will you listen to our daughter?”

“She’s right, Irina.” Dad sits back down with his manuscript. “You should take it easier on people, be a little bit less of a cynic.”

I’m not sure I’ve ever heard my father speak to my mother like that. Is it because Dad finally got unstuck here in Fir Lake, that he’s been acting bolder? Last week, The Last Word, our local bookstore, called Dad up to see if he’d like to do a holiday reading of
Moon Over Manhattan
. “It’ll be exotic for town folks,” the store’s owner said. I can tell Dad likes the idea of being a small town semi-celebrity. Suddenly, I’m curious to read his latest book. I wonder if it’s about this move, about our strange new life. And how does it end?

As I climb the stairs with the mini-Buddha in my hand, I think about what Dad called Mom:
a cynic
. I’ve always felt that my father and I were on the same side in our family, and Michaela and Mom on the other. But I, too, have trouble trusting people. Maybe
I’m more similar to my mother than I ever realized — a thought that pleases and disturbs me at the same time.

At a quarter to eleven, I’m finishing up my math homework, when I hear Anders’s engine outside. This time, I don’t get up to spy on him and Michaela from the window, but continue doing my equations. Still,
X
seems to equal
Are they kissing?
and
Y
shouts
YES!

Antsy, I look up at the ballet photo of Trini, me, and the others that hangs above my desk. It’s been reassuring to see it there every night, alongside my New York City subway map. But, maybe because of the recent trip to the city, or even everything that’s happened today, I reach up and remove the photo from the wall. I don’t tear it up, but simply slip it inside my desk drawer. It could be time for a new decoration, though I’m not sure yet what that will be.

As I close my drawer, I hear the front door open and my sister’s footfalls coming up the stairs. “Katie?” She knocks on my door, then sticks her face inside. “I knew you’d be awake.”

“When haven’t I been?” I put down my pencil. “Was your date fun?”

I know Michaela will understand the weight of this word.

“Lots of fun.” My sister gives me an understanding smile. “Listen, if you’re done with homework,
it’s pretty mild outside …” She gestures toward my frosted-over window, which is shut tight.

“Is it?” I’m not making the connection between my homework and the great outdoors, but then Michaela big-sister sighs and says, “Stargazing, Katie! Do you want to go stargazing?”

“Stargazing.” Our tradition. But the activity has become so fraught. I give Michaela a meaningful look. “You didn’t stargaze with Anders tonight?”

“Nah.” My sister points and flexes her booted toe, out of habit. “He had to go do homework, and it’s been a long time since you and I …”

“Fine, but only for a couple minutes,” I say, rising from my chair.

“I’ll meet you outside,” Michaela replies gleefully.

My sister must be nuts to think it’s mild; outside, the cold night bites into my skin with fanged teeth. But in the garden, Michaela is sitting on a fleece blanket with another half-wrapped around her shoulders. She holds the other end up for me, and I sit beside her. Not since the bus ride home — and that didn’t really count, since there were lots of people around us — have Michaela and I been by ourselves. We lean our heads back.
Ahhh.
The sky is as it should be — dripping with white jewels. I want to pluck down four of them and hang them from my and Michaela’s earlobes like souvenirs.

“Hey, Mickey?” I whisper into the silence. I
haven’t used my sister’s nickname in so long. “You haven’t told Mom yet, have you?”

Michaela shakes her head. “I need to proceed carefully. First, let her accept that I have a boyfriend. Then, let her know that when I say I’m going to do ‘extra-credit homework,’ I’m actually working on my college essays.”

“Where are you applying?” I ask, my heart contracting at the thought of Michaela moving away, just when the two of us have become close-ish again.

“A lot of places,” Michaela says. “Fenimore Cooper, for one. Vassar, for another. University of Vermont — I hear they have a cool dance program.” She pauses and licks her bottom lip. “I just hope Mom doesn’t kill me.”

“She won’t,” I assure her. “Things went well with Anders, after all.”

Michaela brightens at this and moves in closer to me. “They did, right?”

“Anders isn’t like I imagined him to be at first,” I say.

“Mmm?” Michaela wraps the fleece blanket tighter around our bodies. “Let me guess. You pegged him for a pompous, redneck QB who eats with his feet.”

I laugh. I’d forgotten how wonderful it is to spend time with my sister.

“That was my first impression of him, too,” Michaela says, her breath warm on my cheek. “I know
I said I set out to have a boyfriend here, but Anders was not who I had in mind. I thought I wanted someone smarter, more introspective. And Anders can be kind of a jerk when he’s doing his macho jock thing.” Michaela rolls her eyes. “But you can’t help who you fall for, Katie. I fell fast and hard, and Anders fell, too, and soon we were changing each other in small ways.” She pauses and brushes some snow off her boots, which peek out of the blanket. “Maybe he’s not my destiny, but I guess I’ll figure that out when I need to.”

It’s a lot to take in, all this relationship stuff. “Hey … how does sex feel?” I ask. The words jump out of my mouth like naughty schoolchildren rushing out of class.