I, Emma Freke (4 page)

As far as I could tell, there were no home schooling students at the library. And the only old ladies were a couple of the librarians. In fact, I saw just two other people the whole time I was there.

I found a corner desk by the window that overlooked the port and part of Harbor Street. I leaned against the radiator and stared out at the view. The town of Homeport was quaint with brick walkways overgrown with vines and flowers. The antique buildings were various shapes and sizes, painted all sorts of crazy colors. The town was definitely cute, but it also seemed kind of messy to me. I mean, nothing matched. It was if the whole place were pieced together like an unplanned quilt made from leftover scraps.

In the distance beyond the port, filled with fishing boats and long piers, I could see the open ocean. It was kinda nice living by the water, particularly in the summer, but it also meant tons of crazy tourists. I couldn't stand it when they came into the shop, mixed up all the beads and then bought nothing.

When I opened
How to Learn at Home the Cosmic Way
and read the directions for Pre-Calculus Grade 11, I realized that Donatella had not bought the accompanying workbook. This volume only explained the concepts. The actual schoolwork was done in a second exercise book. I should have known.

I signed the sheet at the reference desk to use a computer and searched for the workbook on one of the book seller websites. But the whole series was completely out of print. I turned to the front of my copy to look for the most recent publishing date—1979.

1979? Donatella was still a
real
high school cheerleader in 1979. Didn't she know a few things had changed since then?

I reminded myself that I was an adult now and needed to think like one. Adults talked to other adults all the time. I took a deep breath and pretended that I was working at the store to get up the courage to speak.

“Um. Excuse me?” I asked the librarian who was sitting in the middle of the large, round reference desk. She looked up from her graphic novel and smiled.

“Yes?”

“Could you recommend a home schooling textbook for grade 11?”

She politely studied me for a second as if she had no idea what I was talking about. Her hair was blond and frizzy to her waist, and she wore bright purple reading glasses along with an assortment of earrings up and down both ears.

“Is it for you?”

I nodded.

“Well, what have your parents selected?”

I showed her the
Cosmic Way,
and her eyes bugged out like it contained instructions on how to build a flying saucer.

“Oh my, where did they get this?”

I shrugged.

The librarian stood up. I was surprised to see she was as tall as I was, maybe even a bit taller. And she was wearing flats.

“Do you own a computer?”

I shook my head, no, embarrassed. “But I can come here every day and use one of yours.”

She looked me up and down briefly, peering over the top of her glasses.

“You're in the eleventh grade, which means you're sixteen or seventeen?”

Her soft voice sounded a little suspicious. I stood up straighter.

“Sixteen,” I lied.

“Okay” is all she said and then, “what's your name?”

I glanced down at my feet. “Emma.”

She picked up the computer sign-up sheet and scanned the list.

“Emma Frrrra—Is that pronounced
Freak
?” she asked pointing to my signature.

Oh no, here it comes
, I thought to myself as I slightly nodded.

“Is that your name? Am a Freak?”

I swear her eyes swept the library as if someone from a prank television show was about to leap out and confess it was all a joke. But then I told her what I always told people.

“My mother forgot to say it out loud when I was born.”

The librarian grinned.

“Good answer,” she said.

Then I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing.

“Well, Emma Freke—”

I cut her off, “Just Emma.”

She smiled again. “Okay, Just Emma, come back tomorrow morning. I'll have some materials to get you started.”

The next morning, I got up a little later than usual since the library didn't open until 9:30. After breakfast and a shower, I decided to do some laundry. We had a small apartment-size washing machine but had to hang our clothes to dry on a retractable line that stretched from the front right corner to the bathroom.

“Thanks, you're a doll!”

Donatella was standing in the doorway of her bedroom in a long satin bathrobe, the color of pink bubble gum. Her black hair was piled on top of her head like cotton candy.

She stretched, then yawned loudly. “I've been meaning to wash those clothes all week.”

“I don't mind doing it,” I replied, which was mostly true since I knew all adults regularly did their own laundry . . . except my mother.

I grabbed a light jacket from the closet and my note-book from the coffee table.

“So see ya later.”

“Hold on a millisecond!” said Donatella. “Where are you off to?”

My mother didn't know where I was 90 percent of
any
day, so I found it annoying when she occasionally stopped me to act like a parent.

“The library?” I answered with a question. “Remember, I'm homeschooling now?”

“Oh, that's right,” she replied as she wandered over to the kitchen to pour a glass of wheatgrass juice. “How's that going? Is Nonno helpful?”

I almost told her exactly how it was going but decided to skip it. It wouldn't change anything.

“Fine and sort of.”

To my surprise, Donatella set down her juice, strolled back across the room, and squeezed my cheeks with her stubby manicured fingers.

“Look at you, Emma!” she said as she pressed up on her tippy toes to pat the top of my head. “You're suddenly so . . . so . . . so . . .
grown up
!”

Regardless of the fact that I had been as tall as a street sign and doing everything on my own for more than a year, that was one of the most affectionate gestures my mother had made in a long time.

“Did you have a date last night or something?” I asked, wary of her wonderful mood.

She grinned. “How did you know?”

“Was it that Larry or Gary guy?”

“As a matter of fact,” she said as she batted her eyelashes, which were still clumped with mascara from the night before, “I'm currently keeping company with Kevin.”

“Kevin? The guy from the docks who was in the store last week?”

Donatella swept her bathrobe across her front and re tied the satin belt tightly around her ample torso.

“Isn't he cute?” she giggled.

“Gross,” I mumbled under my breath. For some reason, I really hoped this one wouldn't last long.

A gust of wind blew through the apartment. Donatella crossed the room, complaining.

“I keep telling Nonno to stop opening the windows at night! It's been so chilly lately.”

The reference librarian was sitting at her round booth studying something in front of her. I didn't want to disturb her right away, so I settled down at the same corner desk I had chosen the day before. The library was very busy this morning with lots of little kids milling about with their parents. And way over on the other side of the building, a group of teenagers was gathered around a man who was holding a parrot. I wondered if they were on a field trip.

While I was waiting for the librarian to notice me, I decided to make one of my five-point lists. As I said before, making lists was kind of a hobby of mine, and they always included exactly five lines. For me, creating a list was as calming as sorting beads. I guess it was a way of organizing my meaningless life.

What You Need to Be an Adult

I stared at my neat handwriting and admired it. Each letter was consistently formed and spaced, every line uniform with the one above it. It was the one skill I was pretty proud of.

A blast of laughter echoed across the stacks and stacks of books. I turned around to see the older kids hovering around the large colorful bird. The parrot must have said something funny, I thought to myself. I leaned way back to get a better look.

“Good morning, Emma.”

Just then the reference librarian slid a chair over from the next desk and sat with me. She wore a ruffly white blouse to her knees, and her long, frizzy hair was tied back in a loose ponytail. I counted only six earrings today.

“Oh, hi.”

“I forgot to introduce myself yesterday. I'm Stevie.”

She stuck out her hand for me to shake. I took it limply, not sure what to do. It dawned on me that “shaking hands” was something I should have included on my list of adult stuff.

“Stevie?” I was confused. “Isn't that a boy's—” I stopped myself.

“A boy's name?” she asked, finishing my question. Then she smiled. “You know names and words hurt only if you let them.”

I wasn't quite sure what she meant by that, but then Stevie changed the subject.

“Before we get started this morning, there are a few things I need to clarify.”

I assumed she wanted to give me an assessment test to find out exactly how advanced I was. Or maybe I had to fill out forms with my address and my mother's name.

“Sure,” I replied.

“I called the school yesterday, Emma. They knew nothing about your homeschooling and said you've been absent since last Friday.”

The library began to spin a little. I stared down at my hands. They were trembling, which always happened when I knew someone was upset with me.

“They also said that you're only in the sixth grade.”

“Are they gonna arrest you?”

Penelope and I were nervously perched on my single bed with the door closed. The head guidance counselor from the school district, a member from the school committee, my mother, and Nonno were all having a meeting at the kitchen table. We couldn't hear anything other than serious-sounding murmurs.

“If they arrest anyone,” I whispered, “it should be Donatella for giving her only kid a fake birthday present.”

Penelope just shook her head. What could she say? No one else we knew had a lunatic for a mother.

Earlier that day at the library, after Stevie had informed me that she had called the school to make sure I wasn't “truant” (which means “skipping”), I burst out crying. Something I hadn't done in public since my hamster, Pippy, had died when I was eight. But I couldn't help myself. I knew deep down Donatella had never officially removed me from the school, so I wasn't really surprised. But the thought of going back sounded worse than going to prison.

Stevie had led me to the private library staff lounge where she made two cups of peppermint tea. After I caught my breath, she asked why I pretended to be older than twelve.

That's when it all came pouring out.

I don't know why I chose to confess all the miserable details of my pathetic life to someone I had just met. I guess no one, other than Penelope, had ever shown a real interest in me or my feelings. Ms. Fiddle didn't count. She was always
telling
me how I should feel instead of asking.

Then, to my surprise, Stevie said that she knew exactly what I was going through. That she too was the tallest kid in her grade (and the grade above). When I told her that it was more than being mega-vertical—that I had nothing in common with kids my age—she just smiled and nodded. It was like she really knew how I felt.

But now, trembling in my bedroom hours later, it seemed Stevie was the one who had completely destroyed my life by calling the school. As Penelope and I huddled together on my beige bedspread, I wondered if it was possible to run away or, at the very least, hide in Penelope's house until everything blew over. Perhaps the Gray Moms would take pity on me.

The door to my bedroom cracked open, and Donatella peered in. Penelope stood up on the bed.