Emily For Real (4 page)

Cory's waiting outside English class with his guitar and the other gear for our project. “Hey, you look awesome!” He's delusional. “You see Leo yet?”

When English class starts, Leo's still not here. When it's our turn to do our project, he's still not here.

Cory doesn't even take his guitar out of its case. “We'll just play this CD. Forget the live music,” he says. “I'll just say stuff about the song and then you do the bit about how it fits the play. We'll fake it from there.”

“Sure.”

“Don't say anything to Mr. Canning about practice or about Leo. I hate it when people suck up and make excuses,” says Cory.

We do okay. Our project's boring but accurate.

“How'd the English project go? You look hot,” says Jenn. Everyone's delusional today.

“Leo didn't show so we just did the basic blah, blah, blah. No live music.” I take off the turquoise scarf and cram it into my backpack.

“Let's go somewhere and get lunch,” she says.

I pick up this very miniscule sound in her voice and I know she's got something to tell me that she thinks I won't like. “What's up?”

She's walking away.

“Something going on?”

“Wait,” she says.

When we're in her car, she doesn't start it. She looks straight ahead like we're out there in traffic. “Okay,” she says, “I had sex with Ronny last night.”

It's obvious she thinks this is shocking news (okay, it is shocking) and that it's going to break my heart (give me a break).

“That's hysterical,” I say, but I'm not laughing.

“Are you mad?”

“Why should I be mad?”

“I don't know. Maybe because of last Friday.”

“I already told you nothing happened. Besides, I'm not interested in Ronny.”

“He's sexy,” she says a bit defensively.

“When he's sober,” I say a bit aggressively.

“Look, if you're going to—”

“No. No. I'm sorry.”

We're quiet for a minute.

“I'm not really hungry,” she says.

“Me either.”

I see Leo coming down the hall before Cory does. Almost everyone's already in class except for a few people grabbing things from their lockers.

“Oh yeah, so now you show up,” says Cory. “Thanks a lot, loser.”

Leo gives him this wild glare.

“Take it easy you guys,” I say. “The project's over. Forget it.”

“I could've flunked because of you,” says Cory.

“Oh, yeah? So am I the reason you flunked last year too?”

Cory's caught by this. Surprised. He slams his hand against Leo's chest. Leo pushes it away. This is no fair match. If Leo explodes, there'll be debris everywhere.

Cory dives into Leo and they fall hard against the wall.

Mrs. Delva comes out of her classroom shouting, “Boys! Boys! What's going on here? Cory, let go. Listen to me.”

Some people are squashed at the doorway of Mrs. Delva's classroom, trying to see this whole scene.

Cory lets go and takes a step back. His face is blotched red and he's not looking at Leo. Leo is watching Cory's every move.

Mrs. Delva turns to the spectators in her doorway. “Go back to your seats, please. All of you.” She closes the door. “Cory, I want you to walk in that direction. Cool yourself down. When this class is over, I expect to see you in Ms. Crosby's office and we'll hear your explanation for this attack. Emily and Leo, please walk in the other direction. No doubt Ms. Crosby will want to hear from both of you as well.”

No one moves for a second, then we all follow her orders like she's a traffic cop. I'm wishing she'd asked me to walk with Cory instead of Leo.

We're just about at the end of the hall when Leo says, “That guy's a friggin' hothead.”

“Oh, right. Like he got mad about nothing.” Because it was my project too. Then, before I can stop myself, I say, “At least he doesn't have anger issues.”

Leo takes off ahead of me. I'm already late for French class, but before I go down the stairs I make sure there's a lot of space between him and me.

In last class, Ms. Crosby comes on the PA and says she wants to see me. Embarrassing.

Leo's outside her office but I don't look at him. I sit as far away as I can.

She asks him to go in first.

While I'm waiting, I think about the fight, playing everything in my mind because she'll be asking me how it started. Well, Leo didn't show up for our project. But Cory called him a loser. Then Leo goes and makes that remark about Cory flunking last year. In a way, both of them started the fight.

Leo comes out of the office and walks away.

I tell Ms. Crosby the details I remember. Then she says, “Did you and Cory take the time to ask Leo why he wasn't in school for the English project?” Which means that whatever kept him from showing up this morning is no lame excuse. And it's something she's not going to tell us if Leo doesn't.

On my way back to class, I think about last night, how Leo was walking across the street alone, carrying his guitar, all hunched up against the cold. I get this sad feeling because he's probably alone like that a lot and there must be more stuff than just a cold night he has to protect himself from.

Today in English class, Leo sat by himself near the window and Mr. Canning didn't make him move back to the table with Cory and me. News travels. Cory was obviously still ticked off but he didn't talk about it. The more I looked at Leo over there by himself, the worse I felt about saying what I said to him about anger issues. I don't want the guy to hate me.

Jenn had to go to work after fourth class so I'm taking the bus home. Leo's at the bus stop. He's ignoring me. Surprise.

“Look, I shouldn't've said what I said yesterday. After the fight.”

“I didn't start that fight.”

“You didn't show up for our project.”

“I didn't start the fight.”

“So how come you weren't in English class?”

“Complications.” He looks in the direction that the bus will be coming. “May as well walk,” he says to himself and turns around and leaves.

The bus comes and I get on. Leo ignores the roar of the bus as it passes by because he knows if he looks up he'll see me sitting here looking out at him.

Four

Halloween used to be better than Christmas. You got to dress up and go out in the dark where everything felt so strange. Shadows and streetlights. Kids in costumes knocking on doors. Trick or treat!

I'm the one in charge of giving out candy. Dad was never into this, and now Mom has me as an excuse not to answer the door and pretend to be amazed and say, “What do we have here? Oh, my, a monster!” when all the time you know it's Sam or Finn from down the street.

Two kids dressed up as teddy bears are holding their pillowcases open. I say, “I don't think teddy bears eat candy. I'm sure they only eat berries.”

One of the kids pulls off her mask and says, “I'm not a teddy bear. I'm Lily.” That cracks me up.

I grab another handful of candy, and then I see Leo walking along beside a small pink rabbit. The rabbit's got long, floppy ears and sparkly whiskers and it's holding a basket. They turn and walk toward our door, where I'm standing with this handful of candy kisses and a surprised look on my face.

For a second there's an awkward silence. Leo's obviously surprised to see me too.

“Hi, pink rabbit,” I say. “Sorry I don't have any carrots tonight. Just boring ol' candy kisses. I don't think rabbits eat candy kisses.” Why not go for the same trick twice?

The pink rabbit looks up at Leo with a worried frown. I'm thinking she might cry.

Leo says, “Tell her you're a candy-eating rabbit and that carrots suck.”

All she does is look into her almost-empty basket. I dump a huge handful of candy kisses in there, and the rabbit looks at me and smiles. Her nose is painted pink on the very tip. She's so cute.

“Say thank you,” says Leo.

“Thank you,” says the rabbit.

“You're welcome, little pink candy-eating rabbit,” I say.

Another bunch of trick-or-treaters are crowding up on our doorstep as Leo and the rabbit walk away. There's a pirate, a gypsy, and a sailor who looks too old to be out trick-or-treating. I dump stuff into their bags, thinking that the rabbit must be Leo's sister. It's funny thinking of Leo with a pink-rabbit sister.

In English class, Cory and I still sit at the same table and Leo still sits alone over by the window. I don't say much to Cory these days. Not that we were ever best buds, anyway.

When the bell rings, I time it so I'm at the door just when Leo gets there. He isn't fooled.

“Who was that rabbit you were with last night?” I try to make this sound like a corny joke.

“Caroline.”

“She your sister?”

“Yeah.”

“She's cute.”

“Yeah.”

What am I doing? He obviously doesn't want to talk to me.

Leo keeps on walking and I'm still beside him for about three more steps. Then I fake forgetting something and say, “Oh, darn. I forgot something in English,” and I go back all the way into the classroom and stand there like an idiot.

Mr. Canning is erasing the board and looks at me over his elbow. “Do you need something, Emily?”

“Ah, no. I just thought I forgot something but I guess I didn't.” I leave before I look even more ridiculous.

Leo's a couple of people ahead of me in the cafeteria line, giving me a sideways look. He thinks I'm stalking him. As if I need this.

“Look,” I say when we're all the way through the line, “I'm trying to apologize for what I said the other day. I don't usually say sarcastic stuff like that.”

He hesitates for a second. Then he says, “Let's go over here,” and walks to an empty table.

I sit across from him, watching him jab a couple fries into a blob of ketchup. He's not looking at me.

I unwrap my tuna sandwich, lift the bread to make sure there's no extra mayonnaise, and take a small bite.

Leo smears another bunch of fries with ketchup.

I think of telling him that the ketchup they use in this cafeteria isn't the kind I like, and then I think of explaining how ketchup was invented in China a couple hundred years ago but it wasn't the same as the ketchup we have now.

By some miracle, I don't say anything.

“Caroline's almost six,” says Leo. “She's small but she's smart.” Now he's looking directly at me. “The reason I was late for English the other day is always the reason I'm late or don't show up.”

I keep listening.

“What would you do if it was your sister and your mother's passed-out drunk on the sofa and it's seven in the morning?”

I picture the little pink bunny rabbit with a lipstick nose and floppy ears, looking down at her passed-out mother. It makes me feel extremely sad.

“And the friggin' counselors say I'm supposed to take anger management. Pisses me off!”

That makes me grin. I can't help it. Leo knows it's funny too, but he's trying not to smile.

I get rid of my grin and say, “They just want to help.”

“How's anger management gonna help? Shit happens. You do anger management crap. The shit's still there. The anger's still there. Useless.”

Right now Leo's eyes are dark wells. He's down in there somewhere and so's his little sister Caroline. It's like they'll be down in there forever unless their mom wakes up and sees them and holds out her hand.

Mom's putting icing on brownies when I walk in the kitchen, and I know it's her second batch because there's another pan on the counter and most of those brownies are gone. The reason they're gone isn't because friends suddenly dropped by to gab and eat brownies for an hour. She ate those brownies herself. It happens all the time. Her doctor tells her she wouldn't eat them if she didn't make them.

“Mmmm, brownies,” I say, because I know she feels bad about eating so many and having to make more so there'd be some for me and Dad. I stick my finger into the bowl and lick the icing.

“Don't ruin your supper,” she says, but she doesn't see the irony in this. She makes sure I learn all these good eating habits and read labels and avoid junk, while she does all the wrong things when it comes to food. Mom's always going on a diet but then going off it.

“I suppose Brian will be home as soon as his exams are finished. Have you two made any Christmas plans?”

This makes me just about die because I've been trying to blank Brian out of my mind. I already know that when he gets home I'll see him everywhere I go, and that's definitely not going to be fun. “It's too early to think about Christmas.”

“You two got our tree last year. Maybe you'll—”

“We broke up.”

“You what?”

“It wasn't working, Mom. He's there. I'm here.”
She's there
.

I don't go into details. Just talking about it gives me this sick feeling in my stomach because I'm the one who was dumped. If eating a whole pan of brownies would get rid of this sick feeling then I'd be stuffing my face right now.

“I see,” says Mom, running water into the bowl and wiping off the icing spoon with a paper towel. Then she says, “You're young, Emily. You have plenty of time for other boyfriends in your life.”

I try to get the conversation off the topic of Brian. “Did you have lots of boyfriends before you met Dad?”

“Not really.” She's drying the bowl and I'm looking at how her wedding band is pinched on her finger.

Even though I just want to go to my room and squish down this sick feeling that's getting bigger and bigger in my stomach, I say, “Who did you like the most before Dad?”

“Oh, I don't remember.”

“Come on, Mom. You gotta remember guys you liked.”

“Well, maybe I didn't like any of them enough for that. One day when you don't remember Brian anymore, you'll know what I mean.”

That wasn't fair, but I know she doesn't mean it like that. Facts are facts for Mom. No sense smoothing over a situation with sympathy or empathy or any other pathetic pity. Sometimes I wish I could be like that. You're cold, wear a sweater. You're warm, take the sweater off. You're dumped, get over it.

We're all sitting around the kitchen table, drinking tea and eating brownies. Dad and Aunt Em are figuring out what to do with Granddad's stuff from his apartment.

“I'll call Family Resources,” says Aunt Em. “We could dry-clean clothes worth giving away. They also take furniture and distribute it. Is there anything of his you want?”

“I don't know,” says Dad. “What about you?”

Mom cuts in and says, “Where would we have room for anything else in this house?”

We all know she doesn't want any reminders of Granddad around here.

“Didn't his will say where his stuff should go?” All of a sudden I realize I've opened a can of worms. More like a time bomb. There is definitely something weird about Granddad's will. I can see it on their faces. It takes about a half a second for me to guess. “Cynthia Maxwell's in Granddad's will, isn't she.”

“Not exactly,” says Dad.

“Cynthia Maxwell's daughter is named in Dad's will,” says Aunt Em.

I suddenly connect the dots. “Ohmygawd.”

“So,” says Mom with a no-love-lost kind of voice, “your caring and thoughtful grandfather started his second family when your father and aunt were about fourteen. The quintessential family man.”

Dad and Aunt Em look at Mom in a depressed, defeated sort of way. Who could blame them? First you find out your father had an affair for years and years, and then you find out you've got a sister you didn't know you had. Doesn't matter that it sounds like a corny cliché. It still hurts. I know what I'm talking about.

“Did Cynthia Maxwell have any other kids? I mean with her husband?”

“No.”

“No wonder she was at Granddad's funeral. Why didn't the daughter come?”

Dad looks at Aunt Em and I can see another secret floating up.

“Don't tell me,” I say. “Let me guess. She doesn't know that Granddad's her father. This is nuts.”

“A soap opera,” says Aunt Em, trying to squeeze out a smile.

“And Cynthia Maxwell doesn't want you guys to let this daughter know the illegitimate facts of her life.” I'm on a roll. “She's bound to find out if she's in the will.”

“Dad's lawyer is giving Mrs. Maxwell a bit of time to deal with this,” says Aunt Em.

Mom isn't saying anything now. She's just sipping her tea and not eating any brownies. Any more brownies.

I feel like we're sitting around this huge jigsaw puzzle with pieces scattered all over, and now this lost little piece has suddenly been snapped into place. Dad and Aunt Em's sister. Weird.

In the dream, I'm sound asleep here in bed. But I can still see because I'm watching Brian walking in through my bedroom door. He just comes and stands beside my bed. He's wearing his blue jacket and it's zipped up like it was cold when he was outside. I want to wake up and tell him how happy I am that he's back, how much I missed him. I want to hold him and feel him holding me. Only I can't move and I can't talk. It's like I'm trapped inside myself.

Even though I'm asleep, I realize that this is only a dream and that Brian isn't actually standing beside my bed. So I try to wake myself up. With all my might I try to shake my head, but it won't move. I keep trying and trying. It makes me panic. I shake my head and shake my head until suddenly I'm out of the dream. I'm here in my bed and of course Brian isn't here with me. He won't ever be with me. I can't stand it.

Then all of a sudden I feel like I have to get out of here. I haul on my clothes and quietly go downstairs. On purpose I don't have my cell with me. I put on my jacket and scarf and I go out. Sneak out.

Our neighborhood looks deserted. I don't see one single other person, which I figure is a good thing considering it's the middle of the night. The sound of my footsteps seems like it's coming from somewhere else. Disconnected. All along this part of the street is a tall, thick hedge, and the streetlight is making my shadow fall on it. It's like there's a person I don't know walking right beside me.

I remember when I was four or maybe five. Mom bought me new red rubber boots and a bright blue raincoat with a hat to match. I insisted on putting everything on that very afternoon and going out, even though it wasn't raining. I went down our front walk and turned and waved at Mom who was waving at me. She let me go the whole way around our block all alone. I wasn't afraid because I knew Mom was standing in our doorway, waiting for me to finally make it all the way back home.

I shiver because it's cold and because I'm afraid.

I'm not sure if this was such a good idea. I picture people in these houses waking up and peering out their windows and saying,
My goodness! That's Emily Sinclair out there, walking in the middle of the night all by herself. Where is she going? Whatever is she thinking? Do her parents know where she is?