So Totally Emily Ebers Page 11

  Alice just stared off at the stars, and for the first time since we got to Rancho Rosetta she looked relaxed. It wasn’t until we had walked two blocks and she tripped on her long skirt that she remembered to turn her flashlight back on.

  When did the two of you become strangers? What happened? Does it just go away after twenty years of marriage?

  I don’t ever want to stop feeling the way I do about Stanford Wong. When I think about him I feel all tingly inside. Wonderful thoughts take over and push away any bad feelings, and everything just seems right.

  Ms. Martinez says that Romeo and Juliet has lots of complications. It’s about “star-crossed lovers.” I like the sound of that, even though I don’t know what it means. Juliet, Ms. Martinez told me, was only thirteen years old. That’s about my age. And to think, there was a famous play written about Juliet and her boyfriend. I still haven’t read it, but I plan to.

  If I were a better writer, I’d write a play called Stanford and Emily. Or maybe I’d make it into a musical and you could write the songs. Maybe Alice could help with the writing. It would just be the three of us working on a project. Wouldn’t that be great? Think about it, okay? It would be totally professional, I promise.

  Love,

  Emily

  AUGUST 7

  Dear Daddy,

  It’s safe!!! “The Emily Song” is still here. The batteries were dead, that’s all. Mr. Min figured it out.

  When I got back from Millie’s today, I scoured the house for quarters. I save them up, and when my Mongo Bongo cup is full, I feed the parking meters.

  “Emily? Emily Ebers?” It was Officer Ramsey. “May I ask what you are doing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh, it’s just that I thought I saw you putting money into that parking meter. I didn’t know your mother rode a motorcycle.”

  “She drives a Prius,” I informed Officer Ramsey. “You know, one of those hybrid, kind-to-the-environment cars.”

  “Well, that sounds more like the Alice I know.”

  What did he mean by that?

  “Please tell her I said hello, and I hope to bump into her at Stout’s again soon. Let her know that next time the coffee’s on me.” Alice and Officer Ramsey had coffee together? “Oh, and of course I hope you’ll be there too.”

  “I don’t drink coffee.”

  Officer Ramsey laughed. “Of course not! But maybe you can have a soda or a milk shake.”

  “I don’t drink sodas or milk shakes.”

  “Oh. What about lemonade? Maybe you could have a lemonade?”

  “I don’t like lemonade.”

  “I see. Well, maybe it was not a great idea.” He shook his head. “Sorry. Bad idea. Right. Okay, well, I’ll see you around town.”

  Millie was tying her shoes in the gym. She has a special way she loops the laces and claims she’s going to patent it. When she saw me, she leaped up and grinned. “Another day, another volleyball game.”

  “Alice and Officer Ramsey had coffee together.”

  “Wow, alert the press.”

  “Do you think he’s hitting on her?”

  “If having coffee with someone means he’s hitting on her, then that means he also hits on Maddie. She has coffee with him all the time. They’ve been friends ever since he arrested her for putting Greenpeace stickers on SUVs.”

  Before I could say another word, Julie aimed a ball at us. “Heads up!” she shouted. As the ball came speeding toward us, Millie threw herself at it and did the most incredible dig.

  “Good work, Millicent!” Coach Gowin cried. “See, when you use your whole body and not just your head, you get better results.”

  Midway through our game, Stanford showed up and I was so flustered that I missed an easy block. Julie nudged one of her backup singers and then waved to him. He waved back. I cringed, even though he waved to me and Millie first.

  “Shall we get ice cream?” I asked Millicent after the game was over. Stanford was no longer in the bleachers. I wasn’t sure where he had gone. I hoped he wasn’t with Julie.

  “No, I promised Maddie I’d catalog her postcard collection,” Millie answered. “But have a cone for me, okay? Chunk o’ Chocolate or something. You know what I like.”

  So there I was, standing in line and wondering if I really should have two ice-cream cones, when the door opened. I looked up and my eyes locked with his!!! It was Stanford Wong — in person. I tried not to faint as I attempted to stand upright and breathe at the same time. I couldn’t stop smiling, and then I remembered my crooked front tooth and what Dr. Jill said about braces. So I tried not to smile, but failed.

  “Hi Stanford! Can I buy you an ice cream?”

  Did my voice sound squeaky? Was I being too forward? Was it okay that I offered to pay? Alice always paid for everything and you never seemed to mind.

  Stanford looked surprised, then happy. “Hey, thanks. That would be nice, er, I mean cool. Whatever.”

  I exhaled.

  “Stanford.” It felt so great to say his name. Stanford. Stanford and Emily. Emily and Stanford. Stanford and Emily. Stanford. “STANFORD!” I heard myself say.

  “Huh? What’s wrong?”

  “Oops. Nothing. I was just wondering what flavor you’d like?”

  It was nearly impossible for me to take my eyes off of him and look up at the flavor board, but I forced myself to. I was afraid that if I looked at Stanford I’d start babbling again, or that I wouldn’t be able to stop repeating his name. Stanford, Stanford, Stanford, Stanford. Stanford and Emily. Stanford.

  S-T-A-N-F-O-R-D.

  “Uh, what are you having?”

  I hesitated. What if I ordered a flavor that he thought was weird? Or worse, what if I picked something he hated? I was trying to decide when Stanford suddenly whacked me on the shoulder.

  “Stanford?”

  “A bug?” he said. “You had a bug on you.”

  “Oh! Ewww. Thank you, Stanford. Was it a big one?”

  “What?”

  “The bug.”

  “Oh, the bug. Yeah, it was huge.”

  “I’m so glad you got it.” I really was. “I hate bugs.”

  Stanford Wong is my hero.

  “I think I’m going to try chocolate peanut butter,” I told him.

  “That’s exactly what I was going to get!”

  See, we are meant for each other.

  As I paid for the cones, I could see Stanford gawking at my credit card. “My dad gave it to me,” I said proudly. He was totally impressed.

  After we got our ice cream, Stanford suggested we go outside to the benches. Millie wouldn’t have sat down because of the bird poop, but Stanford sat on the poop side so I could have the clean part. What was it that Mrs. Buono always said? “Chivalry is dead.” Not in Rancho Rosetta!

  For a while it was sort of awkward with both of us just focusing on our ice-cream cones. I tried to think of fascinating things to say, but my mind kept going blank. Fortunately Stanford spoke up.

  “Emily, I just read a great book and thought maybe you’d like to have it.”

  “Really? Wow!” Stanford Wong was giving me something! “You must read a lot of books, so I am sure it’s a good one.”

  “Oh, it is,” he said confidently. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a paperback, and handed it to me.

  “The Outsiders,” I said, reading the title. I wasn’t sure if he was giving it to me, or loaning it to me, so I said, “I’ll be sure to get it back to you after I’m done.”

  “No, no, it’s for you to keep. Look, I’ve signed it on the inside.”

  I handed him my cone so I could open the book. There were basketballs doodled all over the title page. Near the bottom it read:

  I was disappointed it didn’t say, “Love, Stanford,” but still, he gave me a book. His favorite book. To keep! The Outsiders. I wondered if it’s about nature? I love nature. I wished I had something to give to him but the only
things I had in my purse were Lip Smackers, my credit card, a couple of quarters, and a plastic giraffe I got from a gumball machine.

  As I was rereading the inscription (Maddie was right about his penmanship), Stanford asked me not to tell Millie about the book. He’s afraid she might feel funny since she’s so bad at English.

  “Well,” I told him, “I certainly don’t want Millie to feel bad. All right, I won’t mention it to her.”

  He looked relieved.

  Isn’t Stanford Wong just the most thoughtful boy you’ve ever heard of? You can totally tell he’d never do anything to hurt anyone. Just thinking about him makes me happy.

  Love,

  Emily

  AUGUST 8

  Hi Dad,

  Want to hear something weird about Millie? This afternoon I was at Shah’s and had just paid for some earrings with my credit card when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Hi, Wendy, what’s up?”

  “Not much.”

  “I have to meet my mom in half an hour.”

  “Do you want to hang around until then?” I asked.

  “Sure, that’ll be fun,” she said. “Where’s Millicent?”

  “Probably at her grandmother’s or someplace.”

  “Are you two best friends?”

  I nodded.

  “Too bad you won’t be going to the same school.”

  “Oh, I know! I wish she wasn’t homeschooled.”

  “Homeschooled?” Wendy looked surprised. “I thought Millicent was in high school and she’s really, really smart, like freaky genius smart.”

  I had to laugh. Millie a genius? I almost told Wendy that she can’t even make it through English without Stanford Wong, but then that would have embarrassed Millie. So instead I just smiled and said, “Hmm … interesting.”

  I’m not going to tell Millie what Wendy said. It’s just way too random. Plus, I don’t want to make Millie feel even worse about needing a tutor.

  Wendy and I wandered around the mall, and I helped her pick out a new top, a burnt orange cami with lace trim. “This will look good if you layer it,” I said. “Or maybe add a pin near the shoulder.”

  “You really know fashion,” Wendy gushed. “Even Julie thinks so.”

  “Julie told you that?”

  Wendy took her bag from the Tavares Teens salesgirl. “Not exactly, but I did hear her tell that to Alyssa. And Julie’s known as the fashion queen at school, so for her to say that is a real compliment.”

  Julie talks about me and says nice things?

  Wendy and I said our good-byes when her mom showed up, and then I headed home. Alice picked up Italian takeout for dinner. As we were in the kitchen putting the penne on plates, she got some pesto sauce on her tie-dyed top. It sort of just blended in with the pattern. Alice didn’t notice, and I didn’t say anything. I’ll bet Alice is the only person who has ever ironed a tie-dye top. Hey, maybe she’ll win another award: Most Uptight Hippie.

  When she first started this hippie business she claimed she was “going with the flow, determined to be less uptight, more loose.” But the only thing loose about her is the ridiculous clothes she insists on wearing.

  I noticed she had pierced her ears again. When we moved here she wore clip-ons. Now she has a total of five holes in her ears. I’m afraid she’s going to get her nose pierced, or worse, get a tattoo. Not that there’s anything wrong with tattoos. Libby has a tattoo, and I really love your Talky Boys one, even if you did have to wear long-sleeved shirts when you sold houses.

  Thankfully, it was just Millie who had come to dinner. Nicole or A.J. would have said something about Alice’s top for sure. But Millicent isn’t that into clothes, no matter how much I hint that she could be slightly more fashion-forward. It doesn’t make sense. She’s already got the trendy faux briefcase and nailed the stark look in her room. I’ve even clipped pages in my magazines with examples of outfits she would look fabulous in. But she always just wears jeans and T-shirts with funny sayings on them. Last week she wore the exact same thing three days in a row.

  “Hey, Millie, have you ever seen Marieke’s Makeover Madness?” I asked as we sat down to dinner.

  “Is that the show where they rebuild ancient ruins in forty-eight hours?”

  “No, it’s where they make over how you look and dress and even walk and act and everything. It’s a great show.”

  “Why would anyone submit themselves to something like that? How degrading.”

  “I dunno, it might be fun.” I hesitated. “So, I guess that means you won’t let me do a makeover on you?”

  “Dream on, Emily Ebers.”

  Alice handed me the garlic bread. “Pass this to Millie, I know how much she likes it.” She turned to Millicent. “So how is your summer school class going? Do you feel you’re learning a lot?”

  “Everything’s just great,” Millie said. Usually it doesn’t seem to bother her that Alice bombards her with questions. But this time she got sarcastic, and I tried not to snicker when she said, “With each class I find myself gaining a greater critical and aesthetic understanding of poetry and its importance to our society.”

  “That’s pretty impressive for a middle school student,” Alice remarked as she picked up her glass of iced tea. “I’d love to talk to you and your father someday about homeschooling. It’s such a big trend, maybe I can do an article and you two can be in it.”

  Millie gulped. “My dad’s shy.”

  “He is not,” I chipped in. That was like saying Maddie acts like an old lady.

  “I find it interesting that you go to summer school to supplement your homeschooling.” Alice would just not drop the subject. Was I the only one who could see that Millie was clearly embarrassed? “Is it odd being the sole student in one venue and then being in a classroom full of kids for another?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Emily mentioned that you have a tutor.”

  “Mommmm …” I started to say, then caught myself. “Alice, really!”

  “That’s all right. Having a tutor is nothing to be ashamed of, is it, Millicent?” Before Millie even had a chance to answer, she went on. “It’s great that your father recognizes he needs assistance teaching English, and to have that boy, what is his name …?”

  “Stanford,” Millie and I muttered at the same time.

  “Yes, for that Stanford boy to tutor you is so thoughtful of him. He must be a very nice and smart young man.”

  “Oh! He’s supersmart,” I couldn’t help but tell her. “He knows everything about books. If it weren’t for him, Millie would probably fail her summer school class.”

  Millie looked like she was dying. “Well, it’s true,” I told her. “But don’t worry, Stanford won’t let you fail. He told me that if you’d just stop goofing around and start taking your studies seriously, you’ll do fine.”

  “You two talk about me? When?”

  I blushed. “We’ve bumped into each other a couple times around town.”

  “I’d love to meet him someday,” Alice noted as she sprinkled more cheese on her penne.

  Panic! Total and complete panic. I looked over at Millie and we both pushed our plates away and stood up at the same time.

  “Great dinner, Alice,” she said.

  “Yes, but we’re done,” I added.

  “But you both hardly ate anything. What about dessert? I bought a Snickers cheesecake….”

  We were locked in my room before she could even finish her sentence.

  “Phew, that was close,” Millie said.

  “Yeah, Alice is the last person I want to discuss Stanford with. But speaking of Stanford — ”

  “Ohhhh nooooo … Stanford this. Stanford that,” Millie started singing. “Stanford this. Stanford that. Ooooh, Stanford! Stanford, Stanford, Stanford, you are soooooooo cute … Stanford!”

  I threw a pillow at her and hit her right smack in the head. Volleyball has improved my aim immensely.r />
  After Millie went home I reread the inscription Stanford wrote in the book. I have it memorized, but still I look at it all the time. I’ve started reading The Outsiders, and it’s not about camping or anything outdoors. So far, it’s about dead parents and gangs and fighting. I wonder what Stanford is trying to tell me? What is he thinking? What do boys think about? Does Stanford ever think about me, I wonder? Do you?

  BTW, do you notice anything different? I’m using a fountain pen! I bought it at this fancy stationery store on Fair Oaks Avenue called Stahl Miller. It was a little pricey, but I figured that was okay because it’s for both of us. Me to write with, and you to read what I write!

  Love,

  Emily

  AUGUST 9

  Dad,

  I got the strangest letter today from A.J. At first I was happy, but when I began reading, she started saying all these insane things, like that her sister Celina saw you with some lady and a girl about my age at Radio City in New York!

  “Maybe it wasn’t really him. Maybe she just saw someone who looked like him,” Millicent reasoned.

  I was lying on the floor in the Mins’ living room, clutching a pillow. Millicent was watching the news and taking notes. I thought Alice was the only one who did that.

  “Or maybe your dad is dating some gold digger, and he’s not the person you think he is,” Millie added.

  I stopped punching the pillow long enough to glare at her. “Of course he is who I think he is. He’s my dad and he would never lie to me!”

  “Okay, sorry.” An RV commercial came on and Millie muted the television.

  “I really think A.J.’s sister was mistaken, like you first said,” I told her. “I mean, Celina always gets the surfers of Solana Beach mixed up, and she hardly knows my dad. A lot of men are balding and have goatees. And anyway, how could he be in New York City when he’s on the road with the Talky Boys?”

  “True,” Millie quickly agreed. “It probably was just a case of mistaken identity.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. A mistake. I just know my dad would never even think of taking someone else to Radio City Music Hall. Oh, Millie,” I sighed, “sometimes I wish I had never come to Rancho Rosetta.”

  Millicent closed her notebook and clipped her pen onto the front of it. “Well, there is one good thing about you coming to Rancho Rosetta.”