I, Emma Freke (5 page)

“Is Emma going to the slammer?”

My mother smirked.

“Don't be ridiculous. But it's time for you to run home, little girl.”

I felt nauseous. Oh no. Were they sending me back to school?

“
Please
let me stay,” Penelope begged with praying hands. “I won't say a word, I promise.”

“Emma will phone you later. Now scoot!”

Penelope hugged my waist good-bye like she might never see me again. I even noticed her eyes were wet with tears. As she left the apartment, I could hear her loud sniffles all the way down the stairs.

I dragged myself over to the table of somber adults who stared at me. At that moment, I didn't feel grown up at all. I glanced at Nonno, who was studying his lap as if hiding a book under his napkin. I had a feeling he thought he had done something wrong but had no idea what it was. When I sat down, Eggplant waddled over and licked my sneakers.

“Who would like some boiled ginseng root?” asked Donatella. The kettle was already whistling on the stove.

Everyone mumbled, no thank you.

“Emma,” began the man across from me, grinning hard through crowded, yellow teeth, “my name is Mr. Millfoil—
Mill
like a wind
mill
and
foil
like aluminum
foil
—and I am in charge of the guidance department for K through 12 in Homeport!”

I couldn't help staring at him. The front part of his scalp was bald and shiny, but brown tufts of hair stuck out in back, and he had a mustache that turned up like fish hooks at both ends. He looked as if he might have been a circus clown in another life.

“And I'm Miss McFight with the Homeport school committee,” said the woman next to him. She had tiny eyes and wore the teensiest earrings I had ever seen.

All at once, a disgusting pair of odors met above the table. It was the combination of ginseng steaming in Donatella's cup and Eggplant's urgent need to go for a walk. The two guests tried to cover their noses without anyone noticing.

Nonno jumped up, obviously relieved to get out of the apartment.

“Nature call! Be back
pronto
.”

He slipped on the dog's leash and hobbled down the stairs on his cane as fast as he could.

“We need to wrap it up soon, if you don't mind,” said Donatella, checking her chunky square watch. “I have a client in fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, are you a therapist, Mrs. Freke?” asked the school committee lady.

“Bead-ologist, amongst many other intuitive talents,” replied Donatella.

The two guests stared blankly for a second.

“Okay then!” began Mr. Millfoil, as he clapped his hands loudly. “It recently came to our attention, Emma, that you were under the impression, or
mis
impression, that we had granted you, Emma, permission to be home-schooled by your grandfather, Mr. Salvoni.”

He spoke slowly in a very careful, choppy way.

“As I told you before, it was my birthday present to her,” said Donatella, stirring her cup of smelly potion and grinning contentedly.

“Telling a child they no longer have to go to school should not be positioned as a
gift
,” said Miss McFight.

“It was the
perfect
gift for Emma,” my mother barked. “She absolutely despises school.”

Our guests looked at one another and rolled their eyes.

At that point, I realized things were about as bad as they could possibly get. Even I knew that everything my mother said was the opposite of what a normal parent should say. Thankfully, she didn't take this stressful moment to offer anyone a foot massage.

“Regardless of your approach, Mrs. Freke,” said the guidance counselor, “there are specific steps you must take in order to receive permission to homeschool your child.”

“That's absurd,” said Donatella as she waved her hand at them. “In case you didn't know, this is a free country.”

“With laws that protect children,” said the school committee member.

“If Emma needs any protection, she needs it at that miserable school! Do you know that she doesn't have one single friend there?”

How did she know that? I wondered. But then I started to cough as loudly as I could. Anything to get Donatella to stop talking. She turned and banged me on the back as if I were choking.

“Which leads us to our
pro
-posal,” said Mr. Millfoil, who smiled broadly at Miss McFight as if reminding her to remain calm.

“That's right,
Emma
,” she said sharply. “We have decided that since there are fewer than two weeks until the end of the school year, it would be acceptable for you to take a mini leave of absence. You may finish up your sixth-grade lessons under the professional guidance of a school-appointed tutor.”

So they weren't going to send me back? I could hardly believe my ears. Donatella nodded confidently as if she had somehow won this battle.

“However,” said Mr. Millfoil, “for reasons we have carefully calculated and seriously surmised, we will not recommend a home school program for you in the coming year. Instead, Ms. Fiddle, the school psychologist—as you know an award-winning and outstanding expert in her field—would like to administer your registration at an appropriate academic environment for you to resume your studies in the fall.”

“What does that mean exactly?” asked Donatella, warily eyeing them both.

“It means,” said Mr. Millfoil, grinning so hard I could see his puffy gums, “that Emma has been referred to our new partner program for, what we like to call,
special students
.”

Then he added, “I think they might even have a basketball team!”

“Oh man, Emma!” cried Penelope. “They're sending you to the nuthouse for kids!”

We were licking ice cream cones later that afternoon down on the central pier. Mine was vanilla. Penelope had a double scoop of raspberry bear claw with sprinkles.

I had never heard of a nuthouse for kids and assumed she was making it up.

“What are you talking about?”

“It's about an hour from here. Cynthia used to work there part-time before I started pinching people at preschool for attention. Then she and Katherine decided a parent should be home with me all day.”

I crunched on my cone as I studied a seagull a few feet away. He was waiting patiently for leftovers.

“Why would they send me there? I'm not nuts. If any thing, I'm totally boring.”

“Think about it,” said Penelope, her full dark lips smeared with creamy red ice cream. “You go to Ms. Fiddle twice a week,
and
they've met Donatella, the nuttiest mother on the planet!”

All of a sudden, I lost my appetite. I stood up and threw the rest of the cone in the trash because I knew better than to feed the gulls. (They were supposed to eat fish and natural stuff, not people food.) I peered over the edge and saw my reflection in the water. I looked like a scary giant, like some sea monster lurking in the waves. Maybe I was insane.

I quickly turned away from myself.

“Do you really think that's what they meant?”

Penelope finished her entire cone before answering.

“Well, just to be on the safe side, this is what you should do.”

She stood up and paced importantly up and down the pier, rubbing her sticky palms together. The seagull followed her assuming he was about to finally get his treat.

“Tomorrow, when you meet your tutor, smile a lot and talk about all your friends.”

“But I'm only friends with you,” I corrected her anxiously.

Penelope stopped with her hands on her hips.

“You got to work with me, Emma!”

“Okay I got it, lots of friends.”

“And chat up going to the movies and the mall and junk.”

Penelope continued to pace.

“Why?”

“So you sound normal!”

I frowned.

“But where will this all get me?” I asked. “Back at middle school?”

Penelope licked her lips, then wiped her mouth with a napkin from her pocket. Out of nowhere, a gust of salty ocean air twirled up the pier and blew the seagull away.

“I haven't thought it all the way through yet,” she said like a detective on a difficult case. “But don't worry. The Gray Moms always say everything works out in the end.”

The Gray Moms did seem to know a lot, at least according to Penelope. But this time, I wasn't so sure.

That night I made a five-point list, just to be on the safe side.

How to Sound Normal

I was told to meet my school-appointed tutor at the library at noon everyday for three hours until I finished the sixth-grade curriculum. Which was fine with me, except that I didn't want to run into Stevie. I was still pretty steamed at her. After all, if she hadn't called the school, no one would have noticed that I quit. And Mr. Millfoil and Miss McFight wouldn't have shown up at our apartment interfering in my life.

I realized I had no way of knowing who my tutor was, so I sat down at an open table to watch for a tutorlike person to walk through the doors. Then it occurred to me that I would be easy to spot. Just look for the freak with bright red hair.

“Emma?”

Ugh. It was Stevie. I slumped over and leaned on my arm turning away from her.

“Hi,” I mumbled.

She was probably wondering why I wasn't back at school.

“It's good to see you!”

I still refused to look at her and opened my notebook as if I had something to do.

“Yep.”

There was silence for about ten long seconds. Then I heard that blast of laughter from the day before. Without thinking, I twisted around and saw the same group of teenagers across the building. They were standing around a sculpture by a fountain. I wondered who they were and what was so funny.

When I turned back, I noticed Stevie was watching me.

“Should we get started?” she asked.

Now I looked directly at her.

“On your schoolwork?” she said. “The guidance counselor dropped off everything you need to do to finish the year.”

“You're my tutor?”

It turns out Stevie had called back the school after our cup of tea in the staff room. She was the one who had suggested my “mini leave of absence” for the remainder of the year. And since she was the reference librarian, they didn't hesitate to take her up on her offer to tutor me. Besides, Ms. Fiddle was out with the chicken pox so they had no idea who was going to “oversee my file.”

That first afternoon, we actually got through four days' worth of geography and social studies in three hours. We even talked a little about it. I often had questions about science and history and stuff but never had anyone to ask. The discussions at school were so pitiful. No one even seemed to know the difference between the Revolutionary War and the Industrial Revolution.

“You were right, Emma,” said Stevie as I stood to leave at three o'clock. “You are advanced. Quite advanced for your age. You asked terrific questions.”

“Thanks.”

All at once, I panicked. I had forgotten everything on my list. I didn't mention any friends or the mall or the movies. And I never once giggled or used the lip gloss I borrowed from Donatella's makeup chest. The only thing Stevie knew about me was that I hated school. And that I was pretty smart.

“Stevie?”

She looked up from my pile of completed work and grinned.

“More questions?”

“Just one. Is there a school near here that's really a nuthouse for kids?”

She pursed her lips and pondered as if she wasn't sure how to answer.

“I guess there's probably a school for everyone.”

Someone rang the bell at the reference desk so Stevie jumped up and rushed away.

“See you tomorrow, Emma—same time!”