Boy Trouble

by Sheryl Berk

  “I just miss us,” she said quietly.

  “Maybe this isn’t forever,” Harriet said, trying to cheer her up. “Maybe it’s just a temporary hiatus. Like how my fave TV show The Zombie Chronicles takes a little break over the summer and comes back in the fall with new episodes?”

  Emma felt like crying. “We’re not zombies. And I don’t know what I would do if Jax didn’t talk to me until next fall.”

  “Maybe he just needs to miss you like you miss him,” Izzy said, thoughtfully. “How does that saying go, ‘Absence makes the heart grow bigger’?”

  “Fonder,” Emma corrected her. “It’s supposed to make the heart grow fonder.”

  “So wave your hands in the air like you just don’t care,” Izzy advised. “Buh-bye, Jax. I bet he’ll come running back to you.”

  Emma thought for a moment: “You really think he’ll come back?”

  “He’d be crazy not to,” Harriet agreed. “You’re a really great person who cares about everyone and always tries to be kind. He just doesn’t realize how amazing you are. It’s like the time my kitty, Romeo, ran away from home. I was worried sick! But, the next day, he realized he missed me scratching him behind his ears and feeding him his cans of tuna. He came home and never left again.”

  “So, the moral of this story is to make sure you stock up on tuna,” Izzy teased, trying to make her BFF chuckle. “Though I’m not sure how much Jax would like being scratched behind the ears.”

  “I’m not sure what he likes these days,” Emma said, ignoring the joke. “But it sure seems like he doesn’t like me.”

  Emma had a hard time that night focusing on her homework or even any of the questions waiting for her in her inbox. But, as bad as she felt, she knew someone in her grade was also troubled and needed her advice. She opened an email and began to read it:

  Dear Emma,

  This girl I really like has a birthday coming up, and I want to get her a present that will really wow her so she’ll like me back. But here’s the problem: I’m totally broke. When I last checked, I had only thirty-three cents in my backpack. I need to earn some money, but what can a kid who’s only thirteen do?

  Signed,

  Down on Dollars

  Emma’s dog, Jagger, came into her room carrying a tennis ball in his mouth and climbed up on her bed. “No drooling on my laptop,” she warned him. But it also gave her an idea of what to write:

  Dear Down,

  I don’t have to remind you that when it comes to gift giving, it’s the thought that counts, right? Why are you determined to buy her some crazy expensive present? She should like you for being you—not because you handed her a little blue box from Tiffany’s. That said, I’m all for being an entrepreneur and earning money—and I have a few suggestions. Why not start a dog-walking biz on your block? Personally, my dog wants to go out all the time, and I bet he’s not alone. Ask some neighbors if you can take their pooches out for exercise and in turn, they will pay you (and not in doggie treats). Or you could pick up a paper delivery route like my brother, Luc, did when he was younger. Fair warning, though: he had to get up at 6 a.m. six days a week. Because he’s now a teenager and needs his beauty sleep, he got a new job at Partytopia after school. I’m sure that will come in handy for my dad’s upcoming 40th birthday—they sell party hats, balloons, and candles shaped like golf tees! If party supplies aren’t your thing, you could always do what I do—babysit! Just make sure you’re cool with changing diapers and watching Sesame Street. If you’re good in a subject, you could tutor, and if you’ve got a green thumb, you could help garden or mow people’s lawns. I hope that gives you some ideas on how to score more cash. Good luck!

  XO,

  Emma

  Principal Bates rarely called a seventh-grade assembly that wasn’t scheduled—unless she had some big news she needed to convey. When the announcement came over the loudspeaker the next afternoon summoning all students to a last period meeting in the auditorium, Emma couldn’t imagine what could be so urgent. Did someone doodle all over the girls’ bathroom wall again? Were all the dodge balls in the gym deflated? Had the Animal Rights Club set the frogs free in the science lab?

  Elton caught up to her outside the auditorium doors. “The rumor is there’s a tater tot shortage,” he informed Emma. “They ran out of them at second-period lunch and everyone was freaking out.”

  “I doubt that would make Ms. Bates hold a grade-wide assembly,” Emma said. Then again, you never could tell with their principal—sometimes she just got a bee in her bonnet. “Was she really mad about it?” she inquired.

  Elton nodded. “Oh, yeah. She had to step between two sixth graders who were trying to wrestle the last one out of each other’s hand. It got ugly.”

  Well, Emma reasoned, maybe this was about a war over tater tots. That was certainly fixable: just buy more! Then she saw Ms. Bates stroll by and march into the auditorium with a huge smile on her face. This was not the look of a principal with a potato problem.

  “Okay, maybe I’m wrong,” Elton reconsidered. “She looks pretty happy. Which means we’re in for it. Big-time.”

  As the students filed in, Emma found a seat in the back with Izzy and Harriet. She saw Elton sit down a few rows in front of her, right next to Jax and their soccer teammates.

  “Still hasn’t apologized to you, huh?” Izzy whispered.

  “He hasn’t even looked at me,” Emma replied. “It’s like I’m invisible.”

  Ms. Bates tapped on the microphone and called for everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, please settle down.” She motioned to Mr. Goddard, who hit a button on his laptop. An image of a comic-book character popped up on the screen behind her.

  “May I introduce Sadie Hawkins,” Principal Bates said, pointing to a cartoon of a barefoot girl wearing denim shorts. “She’s a character in the Li’l Abner comic strip of the 1930s. She’s quite famous for getting her man—and she’s the namesake of Austen Middle School’s first ever Sadie Hawkins Dance.”

  Elton’s hand shot up. “Does that mean that we all get to dress up as our favorite comic-book characters? I call dibs on the Green Lantern.”

  Ms. Bates sighed. “No, not exactly. A Sadie Hawkins Dance is traditionally a social gathering where girls ask boys to go with them.”

  Harriet gulped and grabbed Emma’s arm. “Girls ask boys? So I have to ask Marty?” It was a given that Harriet would invite the boy she was crushing on in science class—but she didn’t have the slightest idea how to go about it. “Do I call him? Ask him in person? Send him a text? An email? A postcard?”

  The auditorium began to buzz nervously. All around her, Emma could hear her classmates panicking and posing endless questions: “What if a girl asks me and I don’t wanna go—I hate dancing!” “Wait! What if more than one girl asks me?” “I have to ask a boy out? I’ve never even been on a date!” “If I take a boy to the dance, does that mean I have to buy him a corsage?”

  Principal Bates clapped her hands together. “Quiet! Quiet! I know you all have lots of questions, which is why I called this assembly. While it might be fun for the girls to do the asking, it’s also perfectly fine for anyone to attend alone or with a group of friends. We want everyone to participate. The event will be held in three weeks in the school gymnasium—”

  “Ooh! Ooh!” Jordana Fairfax practically leapt out of her front-row seat. “The Austen cheerleading squad volunteers will be in charge of decorating!”

  Ms. Bates forced a smile. “Lovely. Thank you, Jordana, for interrupting me with that generous offer.”

  “I’m thinking pink streamers, pink balloons, pink tablecloths,” Jordie continued. Her minions Lyla and Saige nodded their heads enthusiastically. “Pink for girl power!”

  Izzy elbowed Emma. “So, if girls do the asking, maybe you should ask Jax?”

  Emma’s eyes grew wide. Ask him? Now? After his whole cold-shoulder act? “I can’t,” she said simply.

  “Can’t?” Izzy pressed. “Or won’t? Emma, it
’s the perfect opportunity to see once and for all how he feels about you. You take the reins—like Sadie Hawkins.”

  “Who are you asking, Iz?” Harriet interrupted her.

  “Yeah, Iz.” Emma was relieved to change the subject. “Who are you inviting to the Sadie Hawkins Dance?”

  Izzy smiled. “Well, isn’t that obvious? I’m captain of the girls’ gymnastics team. Elton is captain of the boys’ soccer team. It’s kind of a given that we go together.”

  Emma’s jaw dropped. “Elton? I had no idea you liked Elton!”

  Izzy shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure I like him, but he’s really athletic and a great team player just like me. Besides, it’s no biggie—we’ve been friends since kindergarten.”

  So both her BFFs had a plan for the Sadie Hawkins Dance—which left Emma feeling even worse about the Jax situation than she did before. As the assembly ended, she watched the cheerleaders huddle around Jordie, who was no doubt doling out orders. But then Elton and Jax joined their group.

  “Ugh! What is she doing talking to them?” Izzy said, noticing. “Elton’s my date.”

  “Technically, he’s not,” Harriet pointed out. “You haven’t asked him yet.”

  Emma watched as Jordie giggled and rested her hand on Jax’s shoulder. Double ugh.

  “Okay, you need to go do something about this,” Izzy said, giving Emma a shove in Jordie’s direction.

  “Me? Why should I do it?”

  Izzy placed her hands on her hips. “Why? Because you’re Miss Fixer-Upper Ask Emma, that’s why!”

  Well, if she put it that way . . .

  “Jordie!” Emma called. She approached the front of the auditorium where the queen bee was holding court.

  The smile faded from Jordie’s face. “What do you want, Emma?”

  “To help you—with whatever you need for the decorating committee.”

  “That’s so funny,” Elton said. “Jordie was just asking if she could come over to my dad’s hardware store this afternoon and pick up a few things.”

  So she was trying to rope Elton into helping her—Izzy was right! Jax was pretending to be disinterested in the conversation but suddenly spoke up. “That works for me, Jordie. I can be there and help you carry stuff home.”

  So now she had sucked Jax in, too? Emma had to think fast.

  “Did I mention that my brother works after school at Partytopia?” Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of that sooner?! “I’m sure he can get you a discount on whatever you need for the dance: balloons, streamers, giant cardboard hearts. And they do free setup and even rent a confetti cannon.”

  Jordie’s face lit up. “Really? That would be amazing! The more confetti the better.” She turned to Elton. “Thanks, but I think we have it all under control. We won’t be needing your help.” She dismissed them with a wave of her hand.

  Phew, Emma thought, that was a close one.

  “Meet us there at four thirty,” Jordie instructed her. “I’ll have a long list of Sadie Hawkins must-haves.”

  Izzy was waiting outside the auditorium for her. “Thanks, Em,” her friend said, gratefully. “Whatever you did, it worked. When Jordie left, she didn’t seem to have any interest in Elton anymore.”

  Emma wasn’t sure what she had promised Jordie—only that it would probably make Luc furious at her. She went straight to Partytopia after school so she could smooth things over with her brother before the demanding cheer squad arrived.

  “Emma! I only started working here two weeks ago!” Luc said. He was standing behind the counter, dressed in a red shirt that read, the fun starts here!, and a polka-dot party hat. “You’re gonna get me fired!”

  “Don’t be silly,” Emma said—then realized that was impossible given what he was dressed in. “Jordie is going to buy a ton of stuff for the dance and make you look like an expert salesperson.”

  Luc considered. “How much is a ton?”

  “Whatever she asks for, tell her she needs more, more, more,” Emma advised him. “Jordie’s motto in life is ‘you can never have too much.’”

  When the girls arrived, Jordie immediately sent them all scampering for shopping carts. “Where is your pink section?” she asked Luc with not so much as a “hello” or introduction. “I have a very specific décor design in mind.” She handed him a sketch, all drawn in pink Magic Marker.

  “Follow me,” he said, guiding them to a long aisle filled with every pink paper good and party supply imaginable. On one shelf, there were pink plates, cups, napkins, tablecloths, streamers, centerpieces, balloons, and plastic utensils. On the other were pink hats, party horns, boas, and boxes of twinkly lights.

  “We have seventy students in the grade,” she said, checking her list.

  “I think you’ll want double that amount for everything,” Luc corrected her. “Unless you want your guests to be underwhelmed.”

  Jordie pursed her lips. “I want them to think this is the biggest, best party Austen Middle School has ever thrown,” she said. “Because I’m in charge of making it pretty and pink.”

  She pointed at Emma. “You said they have confetti cannons.”

  “We do!” Luc jumped in. “Do you want large, extra large, or jumbo parade size?”

  “What do you think?” Jordie said. It was a rhetorical question. “I want a cloud of confetti. Actually, make that a tornado.”

  “One confetti twister coming up!” Luc said. His fingers could hardly keep up with tallying all the supplies Jordie needed. “Will that be all?”

  “For now,” Jordie said. “I’ll give you my dad’s credit card. Make sure everything is delivered to Austen the day of the dance.”

  “Oh, Luc will deliver it personally and set it all up with his merry little Partytopia elves,” Emma teased her brother. He actually didn’t seem to care that she was making fun of him; he was too busy totaling Jordie’s giant bill.

  “I bet I’ll get a bonus for this!” he whispered to Emma.

  Jordie handed him the credit card and snapped her fingers for Lyla, Saige, and the rest of her squad to line up at the checkout. “Well, that was certainly exhausting!” she said. Emma noted that she hadn’t pushed a cart or lifted a single item off a shelf.

  “Good idea, Emma,” Jordie said, patting her on the back.

  Jordie and her crew were happy; Luc was over the moon. All in all, it had been a very successful day.

  Emma always checked her email at least twice a day to see if her peers had written to her with any perplexing problems—once before school, and once when she got home before she started her homework. She wanted to check more often, but her parents insisted if she got too “involved” with her blog and it interfered with her schoolwork, she’d have to give it up. So twice a day seemed a reasonable compromise—even if she did sneak a peek a few more times just in case. Most days there were a handful of questions—maybe three or four—that she would dutifully sift through and answer each Monday and Friday in her Ask Emma blog posts.

  When she got home from Partytopia, she sat down on her bed and logged in to her Austen Middle School email account expecting one or two messages waiting for her since 8 a.m.—but this time the number next to her inbox read “29.”

  “Twenty-nine?” Emma gasped, paging down through them. “What is all of this?” She liked to feel needed, but this was a bit much! Each seemed to have a similar subject line: Sadie Hawkins Dance HELP!; Sadie Hawkins SOS!; 911! Sadie Hawkins emergency! She figured that a few girls would be stressing over which boys to ask, but she had no idea they would turn to her—or do it so quickly.

  “Emma, I desperately need your advice!” read one message. “I know who I want to ask to the dance, but I’m not sure how to go about it. I mean, are you supposed to give a boy flowers or chocolates and get down on one knee? Honestly, that’s what I would like. . . .”

  “If I ask him and he says no, does that mean I should ask someone else . . . or is that just not cool?” wrote another girl in her grade.

  “What if I ask
and he laughs in my face,” wrote yet another. “I’d be mortified!”

  Emma leaned back on her pillows and tried to concentrate. How could she possibly answer each and every one of these questions? She took a deep breath, let her fingers hover a few seconds over her laptop keyboard, and then began to type:

  Dear Seventh Grade Girls Stressing Out Over Sadie Hawkins,

  Judging from the truckload of questions I received today, you could use a little guidance on how to ask a guy to the upcoming dance. I’m not sure I’m an expert on the matter; I’ve never actually asked a boy out, so we’re all in the same boat. That said, I do know how I would go about it.

  First off, I would think about how to make it special and personal—not just “Hey, ya wanna go to the dance with me?” Have some fun with it and make it creative. For example, maybe he has a fave candy. You could make a card spelling out “I’m nuts about you!” in peanut M&M’s and give it to him. Or maybe he’s obsessed with sports. Scribble “Let’s have a ball at the dance!” on a basketball in Sharpie and dribble it up to him.

  Second, be sincere. Think about why this person is nice/smart/cool/great, etc. There has to be a reason you’re choosing him over all the other boys in school, and I’m sure he’d like to hear it. (Who doesn’t like a compliment?) Speak from your heart and be yourself. I always find I get my point across better if I brainstorm and jot down a few thoughts ahead of time—that way, my tongue doesn’t get all tied up. I might even rehearse it with my two besties (who are really good at giving me feedback). I also highly recommend talking to some of his friends about your plan first. Go ahead and ask them: “Do you think he would be into going with me? Does he already have a date lined up?” Better you know sooner rather than later, don’t you think?

  Lastly, I have one piece of advice for the boys (because I know you’ll probably be writing me for advice next when the girls start asking!): Be kind. When girls put their hearts on the line, you shouldn’t trample all over them. You should remember that we have feelings, and telling you how we feel about you can be really scary. You don’t have to say yes when we ask you to the dance, but if it’s a no, let us down easy. If a boy were going to reject me, I would hope he would do it politely and compassionately, not simply ice me out of his life with little or no explanation. I mean, who does that?