So Totally Emily Ebers Page 14

  “Look!” Wendy said reverently. “They’re here.”

  Through the parted trees, I could see why Wendy was gawking. There on the basketball court was a group of five incredibly good-looking boys. I was riveted by the sight of them, and one in particular.

  Stanford snuck the ball away from a red-headed boy. Then he leaped up like he was flying through the sky and made a basket. Three of the boys high-fived Stanford. One stood off to the side. I just stared.

  “Those are the Roadrunners.” Wendy whispered even though no one was near us. “The most popular boys in the whole school.”

  “Really?” I choked.

  “You know Stanford Wong, don’t you? We’ve all seen you talk to him after volleyball. He’s the leader of the group. Couldn’t you just die thinking about him?”

  I was dying as Wendy spoke.

  “Stanford is going to be on the A-Team when school starts. It’s, like, historic. No seventh-grader has ever played basketball on the A-Team. Usually it’s only eighth-graders. He’s that good — and sooooo cute too. Well, I’m sure you already know that. How do you know him?”

  “His family’s friends with Millicent’s family,” I mumbled.

  “Oh! That makes sense. Anyway, see the tall Roadrunner? His name is Stretch. He’s the one we both saw that day in the grocery store, remember?”

  How could I forget? The movie-star boy was right in front of me. The one who handed me the Doritos.

  “He’s the strong silent type,” Wendy was saying. “And I do mean that. It’s said he hasn’t talked for two years because his vocal cords got damaged when he saved toddler triplets from drowning. But who cares if he can talk or not? Just look at him, isn’t he the dreamiest guy you’ve ever seen?”

  Second dreamiest.

  “Over there,” Wendy went on, “the boy with all the really curly, dark brown hair, that’s Gus. He gets in lots of trouble for all the pranks he plays — he once released white mice into the girls’ locker room. But he’s super-funny and can make anyone laugh — even the teachers can’t stay mad at him. And the little guy, that’s Tico. He’s really nice and friendly. All the girls love Tico.”

  “What about that boy over there?” I pointed to the one with red hair. He had a scowl on his face.

  “That’s Digger Ronster. His dad owns Ronster’s Monster RV World.”

  “The one with the commercials on television?”

  “Yep, that’s him. The Ronsters are really rich, and Digger likes to remind people about that. Digger’s sort of scary. No one wants to get on his bad side.”

  We hid behind the trees and watched the Roadrunners play basketball. Sometimes Stanford made spectacular shots, other times he played just like the rest of the guys. Only, to me, he would never be just like anyone else. I miss Stanford. I miss you, too. How pathetic is it to miss people who don’t even care you exist?

  Emily

  P.S. I’m still writing this to you because I’m still holding out a teeny-tiny sliver of hope that I misinterpreted the phone call. So if that’s the case, then just ignore all the bad stuff I’ve written.

  Oh! And I bought you another pen. This one’s even better than the other ones. It’s called a Montblanc, and Mr. Miller of Stahl Miller guaranteed me that whoever owns one of these will never want to stop writing.

  AUGUST 21

  Dad,

  I wasn’t expecting anything good to happen today, but something sort of did. After volleyball Wendy raced up to me and shouted, “We’re in! We’re in!”

  “We’re in what?”

  She waved something in the air. “Look!”

  Wendy was holding an invitation to Julie’s pedicure party. Suddenly we were in with the popular girls.

  “I don’t get it. Why would she invite us? She hates us.”

  “Julie doesn’t hate us, she’s just very particular about who she has around her. But look!” As Wendy slid the invitation out of the envelope, some glitter fell to the floor. “We got invited. Do you know how hot invitations to her party are?”

  “I don’t think I want —”

  “Oh please, please, please, you have to go. Please! Julie said, ‘Wendy, you know Emily, right? Well, this is for both of you. Make sure Emily comes.’”

  “She said that?”

  Wendy gave me a huge hug. “Then it’s settled! We’ll go together. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  Alice and I got home at the same time.

  “Where were you?” she asked.

  “With Wendy. Where were you?”

  Alice turned red. “Nowhere,” she said. “Just out.”

  “I’ve been invited to a party at Julie’s,” I told her.

  “I should probably talk to Julie’s mother first,” she said, reaching for the phone.

  “Noooooooo!” I yelled. The last thing I needed was for Alice to embarrass me in front of Julie’s mom and ruin my chances of making any new friends. “Uh, no. That’s okay. Not a good idea. I mean, I’ve been playing volleyball with Julie all summer. I’m sure it’s fine. Besides, Wendy’s going with me.”

  “Will Millicent be there?”

  “It’s a really exclusive party. Wendy says only the most popular girls get invited to Julie’s.”

  “Millicent’s not popular?”

  “Not exactly,” I laughed. Instantly, I felt bad. When Alice didn’t chide me, I felt even worse.

  As I tried on dozens of outfits, the thought of going to the party started to cheer me up. Millie was never that interested in fashion or beauty, but Wendy is more like me. We’ve both had exactly one pedicure in our lives, and couldn’t wait for number two.

  “Come in, ladies.” Julie’s mom looked like she could be her sister. “Sodas are in the fridge, and the food is in the dining room.” She glanced at me. “There’s even celery and carrots if you’re on a diet.”

  “Thank you!” Wendy said brightly.

  “Gee, look, a carrot,” I said as I grabbed one on our way to Julie’s room. “Yum.”

  As we were led through the house, I looked around. There was a huge chandelier in the entrance hall and three couches in the living room. Wendy and I stuck close together.

  “More guests,” Julie’s mom announced as she opened the door to Julie’s room. There were a bunch of girls I had never seen before. Alyssa, Ariel, and Ariana were there too. Wendy calls them the Triple A’s. One of them looked up when we came in.

  “Hey, we’re just picking polishes. Gigi should be here soon.”

  “Is Gigi one of your friends?” Wendy asked.

  “Uh, noooo,” Julie said. “Gigi’s from the nail salon. Did you think we were going to sit around and give pedicures to each other?”

  “We’re not?” I asked.

  The Triple A’s burst out laughing. Wendy looked at them and then started laughing too. “Emily’s such a crack-up. Always joking, aren’t you, Emily?”

  She nudged me in the ribs.

  “Ouch! Oh. Yes, that’s me. Emily the crack-up.”

  Wendy took me aside. “Emily, please try a little harder. These girls are the ones who can make or break you at school. See that one over there?” I looked at a gorgeous girl with dark hair and a perfect golden-bronze tan. She seemed familiar. “That’s Betina. She’s a model. She’s been in Gamma Girl magazine! Isn’t this exciting?”

  I had to admit, it was exciting. Everyone looked like models with every hair in place. Millie mostly wore her hair in a ponytail using regular old rubber bands. And their clothes! Several girls were wearing outfits straight off the runway.

  “Emily, is that a Henri G. skirt?” Julie asked.

  I nodded.

  “Now that,” she announced to everyone in the room, “is a great skirt!”

  I couldn’t stop myself from grinning.

  “Ohmygosh, what time is it?” Julie yelled as she dove toward the channel changer. “We almost missed Marieke’s Makeover Madness.”

  We gathered aroun
d the television just in time to watch the before and after of some girl from South Pasadena, who Marieke transformed from “Serious Samantha to Sensational Sammy!” Marieke can work miracles.

  “Gigi’s here!” Julie’s mom called. “She’s setting up in the living room.”

  “Come on,” Julie ordered. “Let’s go! I’ll TiVo this.”

  As I was admiring the Red Rocket nail polish on my toes, Wendy remarked, “I just love Marieke’s Makeover Madness. Imagine going from plain to pretty in one week!”

  “Wait a minute,” Julie said. “We can do that!”

  “We can do what?” asked a Triple A.

  “A makeover. We’re fashion experts, aren’t we? All we’d need is someone to make over.”

  The room got quiet. All heads turned in my direction. I turned around, too, but no one was behind me. A smile crept across Julie’s face.

  I gulped. “Uh, Wendy, can I talk to you for a moment?”

  “Please, oh please,” Wendy begged. We were huddled in the bathroom. “It will be so much fun! Plus if you let her make you over, we have it made at school. Please say you’ll do it. Pleeease!”

  “Well, the makeovers in Gamma Girl are my favorite part of the magazine,” I mused. “But I’m not sure. What if I don’t like what Julie does?”

  “What’s not to like? She looks perfect, and so do the Triple A’s. Wouldn’t you just love to look like them?”

  “Actually, no.”

  “Emily —”

  “Gamma Girl says to follow fashion, but be your own person at the same time. Wendy, I can’t even tell any of them apart!”

  “Pleeease …”

  “Why don’t you do it?”

  “Because Julie picked you, not me. C’mon, Emily, haven’t you ever wanted to be someone else? To just change everything and start over?”

  There was a sharp knock on the door. Wendy opened it and Julie joined us. “Are you telling secrets?” she asked as she studied her invisible pores in the mirror.

  “No,” Wendy laughed nervously.

  “That’s good, because I’d hate to think you were talking about me. So, Emily, what’s it going to be? Are you in or are you out?”

  “I don’t know …”

  “Listen, anyone can see that you’ve got more fashion savvy than Ariana, Alyssa, and Ariel combined. All you need to work on is your looks, and that’s easy enough because you’re already pretty. You’ve got tons of potential, Emily. How about doing something for yourself? If you look good, you’ll feel good.”

  Two minutes later, I found myself sitting on a bar stool as Julie slowly circled around me. I was excited and scared. The Triple A’s stood nearby, each holding makeup or hairspray like nurses in an operating room. The other girls, including Wendy, watched from behind.

  “We’ll start by making a list of what’s wrong with her,” Julie said as she handed Betina a pad of paper. “Then we’ll tackle the problems one at a time.”

  As the group shouted out my faults, I felt like I was shrinking. I knew from the makeover shows that you had to make the person look bad before they could look good. Still, it was painful. “Read the list back to us,” Julie instructed.

  Betina took a deep breath and began. “Thighs, stomach, arms, face, too heavy, left eyebrow thicker than right one, hair limp, skin pale, lips not plump enough, smile lopsided, cheeks undefined, too many freckles, and pimple on forehead.”

  “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us,” Julie said, frowning. “Okay, let’s get started.”

  “Ouch!”

  “Sit still, or it will hurt more,” Julie ordered as she came at me with the tweezers again.

  Even though I’m the main makeover project, Julie decided to try to help Wendy too. “Emily’s not the only one who should lose some weight.”

  “I’m trying,” Wendy wailed. When Julie looked at her sternly, she said, “But I can try harder.”

  Julie turned back to me. “Emily, you need to go on a diet immediately. You have great bone structure, but it’s hidden under that baby fat. Once you shed some pounds, you’re going to be amazed by how much better you look.”

  It was after 11 p.m. when Wendy’s mom dropped me off. Alice was up working.

  “Did you have fun?” Rats. I was trying to sneak into my room without being noticed. “Emily, come here.”

  I stuck my head into her office. Alice squinted and turned her desk lamp toward me. “Why is your hair so big? Your eyebrows look … different. Emily, are you wearing makeup?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You know you’re only allowed to wear lip gloss.” I pursed my lips. “But I suppose since it was a party, you girls probably went crazy with Julie’s mom’s makeup. I remember when my friends and I used to play with our mothers’ cosmetics.”

  I didn’t tell Alice that it was Julie’s makeup I was wearing.

  “Libby gave me a piece of French silk pie to bring home. I could take a break and we could share it and talk,” Alice suggested, pushing her chair away from the desk.

  “Can’t,” I said, turning around.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m on a diet.”

  “A diet?”

  “A diet.”

  “But Emily, you’re not fat.”

  “If you can’t fit into small sizes, then what’s the point of even trying to look trendy?” I said, echoing Julie. “If I want to look good, I’m going to need to work at it.”

  “But you do look good, you look great, you always have.”

  “Alice, please,” I said impatiently. “What do you know about style and fashion? I mean, come on. Look at how you’re dressed.”

  Alice glanced down at her poncho and flared jeans. “It’s comfortable,” she said weakly.

  I felt bad that I hurt her feelings. Still, she really has no fashion sense. I wish I could do a makeover on her.

  Julie says that if I drop a few pounds and follow her beauty tips, I can be one of the prettiest girls at school. Me pretty? I’ve always considered myself fun, or crazy or carefree, but never pretty. Maybe I’ll go along with Julie just a little bit. What can it hurt?

  Emily

  AUGUST 22

  Dad,

  Right before I left the house for Neighborhood Watch, Stanford called and hung up. I wish I had just hung up when that lady answered your phone. How is it that someone you don’t even know can make you feel so miserable?

  At first I thought that maybe, maybe, you’d call me after you unpacked from your tour. That is, if you are even back. I’m thinking that you must be because I’m not getting any postcards anymore, even though your poster has you listed for more concerts. As for the map, I still have a lot of stickers left. I’ll save them, just in case.

  But whatever. It’s probably stupid of me to even hope you’re going to call. Why would you? After you and Alice split for good, I hardly ever saw you. Sure, you’d do things with me when I asked. But once in a while it would have been nice if it had been your idea to get together.

  As Alice and I patrolled the streets, I hoped that something exciting would happen. The biggest thing that’s happened on our block since we moved here was when Mrs. Neederman’s house was broken into and her oatmeal cookies were stolen. Later, it was discovered that her poodles had eaten them. There was indisputable evidence, Officer Ramsey told us. “Just ask the vet.”

  As we were shining flashlights into people’s windows looking for signs of “suspicious behavior,” Alice asked, “How are things with you and Millie?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Have the two of you spoken lately?”

  “No.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Mrs. Neederman rushed out of her house when she saw us.

  “Alice, Emily, look!” she cried. “I just got these photos. This is my daughter, you know, the one
I told you about.” Alice nodded and smiled as she aimed her flashlight on the photos. “And this is my granddaughter, Chloe.” Mrs. Neederman turned to me. “You’d like Chloe. You remind me of her. She’s a really nice girl. Chloe calls me all the time just to talk. She’ll say, ‘Gammy, I’m thinking of cutting my hair, what do you think?’ ”

  “She’s beautiful,” Alice said, handing the photos back.

  Just then Mrs. Neederman’s poodles started barking. “Mommy’s coming!” she called to them as she headed to the house.

  We walked around the corner, and Alice slowed down. She seemed weary. “Look, Emily, I know you’re mad at me and I don’t blame you.” I didn’t say anything. “It seems like I’ve been mad at my mother for most of my life, and I wish things were different. Perhaps I haven’t been as forthcoming as I should have been,” she went on. “My mother never wanted me to marry your father. She thought that marriage to a musician was too unstable. Plus he wasn’t Jewish. I didn’t think it mattered, but apparently it did. We stopped talking once your father and I got married.”

  “What did Dad think of all this?”

  “He thought that your grandmother and I were just being silly over something that wasn’t a big deal.”

  “Was it a big deal?”

  “It was to us. I don’t think your father ever understood how sad it made me.”

  I wondered if Alice knows how sad I feel that the two of you aren’t speaking.

  “Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

  “I don’t really know. I guess when I saw how happy Mrs. Neederman’s daughter and granddaughter made her, I wanted you to know why your grandmother hasn’t been a huge part of your life. And that, well, sometimes I really miss my mom.”

  “Sometimes I miss my mom too,” I whispered.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing.”

  We walked some more in silence. Then I said, “Now that you’re not married to that unstable non-Jewish musician anymore, maybe you could call her.”

  “It’s not that easy. So much time has passed.” She paused. “I’m not sure I can forgive her for not accepting your father. And I’m not sure she can forgive me for going against her wishes. But not a day goes by that I don’t think about my mother.”