Two Naomis (14 page)

“Bessie, this must be your lucky day,” Sheera says as we walk into Morningstar.

Morningstar!

It smells so good. There's a coffee smell, of course, but also baking bread and sweet chocolaty things and all-around goodness. Oh my. So good. But maybe better—getting hugged by Bessie. “How has it happened that I'm never here when you are anymore? Look at you! I bet you've grown two inches!”

“Hello? I'm here too,” Dad says.

“Yes, you are, Tom,” Sheera says. “But Bessie missed Naomi more.”

I doubt I could smile any bigger. This is exactly what I need.
Everything has felt so wrong since Dad and Valerie got all . . . gross at the park. And before that, a different version of awful, with Dad mad at me for going to the Y.

“So what will it be, miss,” Bessie asks. “Croissant or bagel?”

Would you believe I can't choose? Like, seriously can't? Bessie starts laughing. Sheera says, “Now, come on! Do you want both? Because I can make that happen.”

Finally, I hear myself say, “Chocolate chip scone, please.”

Dad starts slow-clapping. “Change!” he says. “Change is good!”

“I don't know about that,” Sheera says. “But I do know our scones are good.”

Bessie takes off her apron and sits with Dad and me. She tells me about her little dog, Kerfluffle. She shows me at least seventeen pictures on her phone. She asks about Mom and says, “Oh, good!” and gives me a one-armed hug when I tell her Mom will be home for a whole month.

Dad sips tea and listens. I find myself telling Bessie about the whole mess with the DuoTek project and how things were pretty bad between the other Naomi and me but are now getting better. I skip over the part where Valerie called Dad and waited for him to show up at the Y to walk me home, when we had the first of about four billion conversations about street safety and trust. I jump ahead to how we had a There Are Plenty of Other Things to Celebrate get-together in the park with my friend Annie and Naomi's friend Xio and I definitely skip over the disgusting Dad-and-Valerie part.

A few people are waiting for coffee, and Sheera holds up Bessie's apron. “Break's over,” Bessie says. “But it sounds like you have an awful lot to look forward to. I'm happy to hear that.”

Before we leave, Dad lets me pick out cookies, which is very happy making. Maybe we're finally getting back to normal. I hope I can still recognize normal.

There are a dozen in the box when Dad says, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. That's a lot of cookies for three people.”

“Three?”

“Valerie's coming over.”

First of all, he is so wrong about that being a lot of cookies. Because even if it were three people, that's four cookies each, and that's not a lot. Math, Dad! But why isn't he counting us? Am I supposed to watch Valerie, Brianna, and the other Naomi eat cookies?

“Five,” I say. “Five people.” And then, turning back to Sheera, I say, “And two of the butterscotch chip, please, and do you have that one with chocolate sprinkles?”

“We're out,” she says.

“That's plenty, thanks, Sheera,” Dad says. “It's only Val coming today,” he says.

“No Naomi or Brianna?”

“That's right,” Dad says. He walks to the cash register, where Stefan rings everything up. When Dad's busy counting out dollars, Sheera hands me a frosted brownie in a sneaky, don't-let-your-dad-see way. “I missed you,” she whispers.

I smile at her, wondering why tears are making a surprise
attack in my eyes. I look down and say, “Me too.”

“Let's go, Naomi,” Dad says, and so we do.

As we're walking home, I ask, “Why is just Valerie coming over?”

Dad stops walking and looks at me, so I stop too. “What?” I ask.

“Is there a reason you don't want Valerie to come over? You know she had to tell me about you showing up at the Y, right? Any responsible adult would have told me.”

Hoo, boy.

“That's not what I meant,” I say. I don't say,
Because it's not like we haven't had this
you betrayed my trust, Naomi
conversation enough times to last my whole life
. “It's just that every time I've seen her we've also seen her kids, right? At their house, at our house, every Saturday.” My voice catches when I say that last part. Like a little leak of all the stuff I had been holding inside.

“Come with me,” Dad says, motioning to the park across the street. But we don't even go in. We sit on a bench outside the entrance, between two big trees.

“Talk to me,” Dad says.

“What?” I say.

“Talk.”

“It's not a big deal,” I say. “I was surprised it was only Valerie, because it's never been only Valerie.”

“Huh. I don't even think I realized that,” he says, sounding a little surprised. “Because I see Valerie, just the two of us, sometimes; but it's when you're doing other things—sleeping
over at Grandma and Grandpa's or spending time at Annie's—so okay. But were you almost crying when you mentioned Girls Gaming the System? I know it didn't end well and that you were mad about me signing you up without consulting you, but is there something else?”

Even though we already talked about it a billion times and it didn't feel like such a big deal when I did it, I'm still embarrassed and filled with guilt about doing something I wasn't allowed to do and it all bursts right to the surface in a big fat hurry and I'm crying and can't really talk and then I'm shaking my head because I can't even believe this. It's over and we already talked about it, but I can't stop myself from being a whole crying mess on a park bench in front of the whole world.

“I really don't know what this is,” I say. My feelings seem to be carrying on without me somehow. Maybe sometimes the sad sticks around longer than you think it should.

“What time is Valerie coming over?” I ask, wiping away the stupid tears. He gasps and looks at his watch. Then he grabs my hand and we start to run.

When we reach our house, she's not there yet. But before I'm even done washing my hands in the bathroom, I hear Dad talking to Valerie, and then, ugh, it's quiet, and I guess he's kissing her. I dry my hands and take a deep breath.

“Hi,” I say, as friendly as I ever am, when I walk into what's probably always going to feel like Mom's sewing room since Dad and I haven't done anything to change it into any other kind of room. Dad steps into the kitchen.

Valerie and I look at each other for a second too long, and I wish someone would say something like
So this feels awkward, doesn't it?
Because maybe then we could laugh or joke about it, but instead we share the awkward.

“I wanted to see you,” she says. “So we could talk about what happened.” Which is a terrible way to start. “And also, I brought you something.” That right there is a much better way to A) get my attention, and B) break up awkwardness of any kind.

“That was nice of you,” I say, hoping it's something delicious. But it's a book, with a bow on it.

“Have you read this?” she asks.

“I've never seen it,” I say. “What's it about?”

“Sisters. It's a beautiful book, but I don't mean that in the way some teachers do, because it's also a joy to read. And I thought that if I could give you a little something, Naomi, I would like that to be joy.”

There is really and truly something wrong with the tears in my body today. They keep thinking it's time to cry when it's really not. I eke out the words
thank you
. And then I make myself say, “And I understand why you had to tell my dad.” I don't add the words
kind of
, but it's possible I think them a little.

Valerie looks at me and then looks away, like she doesn't want to embarrass me maybe, and then she starts talking again. “I understand. Thank you for saying that.”

“And thank
you
for not bringing it up in front of everyone at the park. What did Naomi Marie say when you told her?”

“I didn't,” Valerie says. I think we're finally done discussing
this, but then she adds, “I thought we'd keep it between us.”

It takes a huge effort to keep myself from pointing out that there's no way Brianna didn't tell Naomi Marie the minute they got home. But I somehow manage to keep my mouth shut. And so does Valerie.

I'm afraid the quiet is going to keep growing, but then Valerie says, “What I especially like about this book is that each of the sisters is unique. Her very own person. And the sisters' dedication to each other is fierce.”

Dad starts to walk into the room, but Valerie gives him some secret eye message that sends him back into the kitchen.

“Are Brianna and your Naomi fierce like that?”

Valerie turns to me like I've asked a really thoughtful question. “In some ways. I expect there will be more of that as they get older.”

“I like being an only child,” I say. “But I've always wondered about sisters.”

“Interesting,” Valerie says.

Momma kisses my forehead. “Those were the best waffles you've ever made!”

“The bestest best ever!” sings Bri, throwing out her hands and knocking over my homemade brown sugar syrup. But I don't even mind.

Tom eats his last piece. “Delicious, Naomi Marie. Maybe you can give me your recipe.”

“NO, DAD!” says the Other Naomi quickly. “I don't think you should try this at home.” She looks at me and smiles. “They were probably the best waffles I ever ate, but I think . . . they're
your
special recipe, right? I'd rather have them whenever we come see you.” She raises her eyebrows. “My dad might . . . do something different.”

“Oh yeah!” I say. “It's my treat. It can always be my treat.”

Tom pretends to pout. “Is this a comment on my cooking abilities?”

“Yes!” we all say, and laugh.

But as we clean up, I whisper to the Other Naomi, “I can teach YOU how to make them if you want.”

“I'd like that,” she says. “Thanks.” She points to my sundress. “That's so pretty, all those blues and yellows. Is it tie-dyed?”

I hold the skirt out around me like I'm fancy. “Sort of. I went to a class at the natural history museum, and they taught us how to do this kind of dyeing called adire the way it's done in Nigeria. We took the fabric I worked on and made this dress.” She's a little dressed up today too. “I like
your
skirt,” I say.

“My mom sent it,” she says, twirling a little. “It's vintage. I would never have thought I'd wear something so . . . twirly, but I really like it. I added the flower.”

“There's this book I have on hold at the library. It's instructions for making your old clothes into new ones. It finally came in. Do you want to go to the library with me to pick it up?”

“Sure!” she says. We go to ask the parents, who say, “Of course!” and look like we just gave them a million dollars. Adults always have to make a big deal out of EVERYTHING.

“I need to help Bri de-syrup,” says Momma. She looks at Tom.

“I have to run a couple of errands,” he says.

“We can walk,” I say quickly. “It's not far.”

“Do you girls promise not to jaywalk, even if there aren't any cars coming?”

I look at Naomi. She looks back. I mean, parents!

“Promise out loud, please,” Momma says.

“Momma, we've got this,” I say. “Seriously.”

“Yeah,” says Naomi. “I've learned my lesson.”

“You sure have,” says Bri.

“What are you guys talking about?” I ask.

“I'll tell you later,” says Naomi.

“I won't, because I promised, and I kept my promise good this time!” says Bri.

“Okay, okay,” Momma says. “We'll meet you girls there. We have . . . a surprise to share later.”

“ICE CREAM!” yells Bri. “CAKE!”

“Can we go to Shelly Ann's?” I ask.

“Or Morningstar?” Naomi asks.

“Just go ahead to the library,” says Momma. “We'll figure it out.”

“Figure it out, figure it out, Naomi Marie and Naomi E.,” sings Bri. “Listen, you rhyme!”

“See you later, girls,” says Tom. “I'm just going to finish up a few things in the kitchen before I head out. Valerie, I'll swing back by here and pick you and Syrup Girl up, then we can head over to the library to get the girls.”

“I'll be ready in a minute. I just have to do something,” I say to Naomi.

“I'll meet you out front,” she says.

I follow Tom into the kitchen. He's wiping the table down, and even though it's pretty weird to see him so comfortable in
here, I notice that he's using the right spray, the one that smells like grapefruit.

“Tom?” I start, then stop. He looks at me and smiles.

“What's up, Naomi Marie?”

“Um . . . thank you . . . thank you for respecting my dad, and me, and . . . everything.”

He's still for a minute, then he nods. “It's my pleasure. I'm glad you're all a part of my life. You're a gift.”

I like thinking of myself as a gift.

“And . . . thank you for maybe taking us
out
to eat in the future,” I add.

He laughs and holds up his hand for a high five, so I give it. And when he takes my hand and squeezes it, I let him.

Ms. Starr looks up from trying to tape together
Viva Frida
. “I think this is hopeless,” she says. “Would you like to use it for one of your projects, Naomi? Such great colors. A collage, maybe?” She glances at the Other Naomi and smiles. “Hello.”

“Sure, thanks, Ms. Starr,” I say. “And I forgot to tell you—I'm being called Naomi Marie now.” I stand a little straighter. “I think it's more elegant, don't you?”

“Oh, I do,” she says. “And that suits you for sure. What's
your
elegant name?” she says to the Other Naomi.

“Oh! Sorry,” I say. “This is, um, my . . . friend. Naomi E.”

Ms. Starr blinks for a minute, then grins. “Two Naomis! In my library! I am a lucky lady.”

A boy comes to the desk with every volume of the Bone
series. I think that's so not fair to take them all out at once like that, but I don't say anything. I look around and am surprised to see that the computers are free.

“Where's Teen Gamez Crew?” I ask.

“Field trip,” answers Ms. Starr. “To the GameLife arcade. They're coming a little later.”

“Can we get on the DuoTek site here?” I ask. “It's a coding site for kids.”

“And collaboration and cooperation,” Naomi E. adds, and we giggle.

“I'm sure you can,” says Ms. Starr.

I look at Naomi E. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

“No,” she says.

“Remember what Julie said? DuoTek will always be here. . . . We can work on it on our own time.”

“Seriously?”

“I'm kind of interested in your stairs idea. . . .” I wiggle my eyebrows.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Doing my best also means being open to suggestions, you know.”

She looks at me for a long minute, then says, “Lead the way.”

“I knew you'd go for it,” I say. “Actually . . .” I pull a folded piece of paper from my pocket and hand it to her. “Here.”

“What's this?”

“My list . . . about you.” Suddenly I feel shy. “Like . . . the good things.”

“It doesn't look very long,” she says, smiling. Then she's quiet as she reads. After a minute she looks up.

“You think I'm creative? And . . . authentic?”

I nod. “You keep it real.”

“And have good taste in clothes?”

“Also excellent taste in friends,” I say. “And you understand important things, like cake and good books.”

“Can I keep this?” she asks.

“Sure,” I say. “I won't forget it.”

We pull two chairs over to one computer, which Ms. Starr says is okay since it's a Two-Naomi Special Occasion. Before we start, Naomi E. says, “What you said about being called Naomi Marie, are you really okay with that?”

I nod. “It's all good. It reminds me of . . . the fullness of love.” Maybe one day I'll tell her about Marie. “And it really is elegant.”

We get to work. We each take turns writing a line of code, and it's like we're writing this really fun choose-your-own-adventure type of story together. We put in cats, dogs, the Afro-puff ballerina, and a girl with a blue ponytail. And a big purple whale! We create a park for them (with a big lake for the whale, which Naomi E. says doesn't make sense but I say we can do whatever we want in games so I convince her to leave it). We add music, and make a click-and-drag part so that our characters can pack a picnic lunch consisting entirely of cakes and cookies! We're having fun, and I'm really surprised when I look up and realize that there are people standing behind us, watching.

The Teen Gamez Crew.

“Oh—sorry,” I say. “We were just using them while you guys were gone.”

“No, don't stop!” says the one who helped me get a book from a high shelf once.

“This looks cool! What game is this? We just saw all the latest ones at GameLife, but I don't remember this.”

“Uh, it's not out yet,” I say.

“Actually,” says Naomi E., “it's pretty exclusive. We're still in development mode. You're getting a first look.” She smiles at me.

A big grin spreads across my face. “Yeah, sorry, we're going to have to shut it down now. It's . . .
proprietary
stuff.” I hope that was the right word.

“Are you saying
you
made this?” says a girl who laughed at me once when I was handing out So Sewy flyers. “You know how to program?”

“You should join the Teen Gamez Crew,” says the first kid. “Sometimes we make exceptions for kids your age.” He looks over at Brandon Davis, who is staring at our game in a way that totally makes up for that terrible Presentation Day. “And the ones we have now can't even do stuff like this.”

“Thanks, but that's okay,” I say, shutting down the computer. “Maybe you can join my club.
Our
club. We don't just
play
games, though. We're about being creators, not just consumers.”

Naomi E. nods.

“Where's your flyer?” says the girl who's not laughing now.

“Oh,” I say, thinking fast. “We don't do flyers. You can just see Ms. Starr at the desk. She'll take your information . . .”

“And we'll get back to you,” says Naomi E.

“Part of the application process,” I say.

Some of them roll their eyes, but a couple of them nod, including the nice one who might be cute if I thought boys were cute, but since I don't I'll just say he's a nice high-shelf helper.

As they drift away, I whisper to Naomi E., “Thanks for having my back. Let's go tell Ms. Starr so she knows what's going on.”

“So are you really going to start a club?” Naomi E. asks.

“Yes . . . sort of. I mean, will you do it with me?”

She stares at me. “But I—well—this isn't my library. . . .”

“I think you'll be here a lot,” I say. “When you're hanging with me. And Xio. And Annie, if you want. We can do the meetings then.”

She thinks for a minute. “Are you asking, or telling, Naomi Marie?”

“I'm asking if you want to try it, and telling you that it's a good idea, Naomi E.,” I say. “And . . . maybe we can do something together at your library? Or someplace else you love?”

She nods slowly. “Maybe . . . yeah, that might be fun.”

And I believe that now—it really might.

We both smile. Big smiles.

We cross our arms and shake hands. Then we go tell Ms. Starr the news.