Boy Trouble

by Sheryl Berk

“Thanks to the Sadie Hawkins Dance,” Emma said. “It’s so romantic! The kind of stuff you read about in fairy tales or Jane Austen novels.”

  Her advisor seemed a little confused by her reaction. “Yes, well, Jane Austen certainly had a tremendous impact on British literature,” he replied stiffly.

  But love was all Emma could think about. She remembered what her grandma always told her: “There’s a lid for every pot.” That meant there was someone for everyone out there, someone who was the perfect fit. In her case, she believed it was Jax—at least it had been. She’d felt the connection instantly, from the moment he showed up and took the locker beneath hers. He was the new boy and no one knew anything much about him. But Emma peeled away the layers, one by one. She helped him confide in her and trust her, and he helped her find her voice as a writer. He gave her the confidence to say whatever was on her mind and be her true, authentic self. Someone like that . . . well, he had to be her missing lid, right?

  “I think you have your hands full,” Mr. Goddard told her. He meant with her blog, not with Jax, but both were true. Instead of going to lunch, Emma nibbled her sandwich in front of a computer station and began responding to her emails.

  Dear Emma,

  The boy I want to ask to the dance is really into spiders—he has a pet tarantula at home. Any idea how I can ask him in a creative yet creepy, crawly way?

  Sincerely,

  Sadie Hawkins Stumped

  Emma shuddered at the thought of someone actually keeping a huge, hairy spider as a pet! Personally, she preferred puppies, but if that was his passion . . .

  She began to type:

  Dear Stumped,

  Why not decorate his locker with some fake cobwebs and rubber spiders and hang a note from them? Keep your words simple and sincere, something like: “Sorry to bug you . . . but I’d love you to be my date for the dance.” I’ll leave the puns and prose up to you. Have fun with it and don’t stress!

  XO,

  Emma

  Dear Emma,

  I asked a boy to the dance and he told me he will “think about it.” What does that mean? Is he waiting for someone else to ask him? Is he not sure if he likes me and wants to go with me? Help!

  Sincerely,

  Utterly Confused

  Emma’s reply to this one was simple:

  Dear Utterly,

  I suggest you give this guy a deadline, then move on if he can’t stick to it. While he “thinks about it,” he’s leaving you hanging, which a) isn’t very nice and b) isn’t very fair. I don’t know his reason for not giving you an answer right away, but trust me when I tell you that you deserve one—or at the very least an explanation. This is a good opportunity for you to R-E-S-P-E-C-T yourself and make it clear to that boy that he’d be lucky to go with you. If he’s still hesitating, then ask someone else who can make up his mind about how great you are. Hope that helps!

  XO,

  Emma

  As much as she struggled to respond to several emails a day, Emma couldn’t keep up with all the Austen girls who wanted her advice.

  Saige stopped her in the stairwell. “Do you think I should write Xavier a proposal poem?” she asked Emma.

  Emma thought it might be a nice, romantic gesture but wasn’t quite sure a seventh-grade boy would appreciate it. “Does he like poetry?”

  “Well, I’m not sure. But I’m really good at rhyming. I once figured out a word that rhymed with tangerine.”

  Emma scratched her head. “Lima bean? Mezzanine? Mr. Clean?”

  “Those aren’t bad, but mine was better: Frankenstein!”

  “I think it’s Franken-stine,” Emma corrected her. Maybe Saige writing a poem wasn’t the best idea?

  “I thought I could do it in really pretty calligraphy on parchment paper—something fancy and formal.”

  Emma sat down on a step—this was going to take a while. “Do you know what you want the theme of the poem to be?” she asked.

  “Well, shouldn’t it be about Xavier?” Saige replied. “Wait, does anything rhyme with Xavier? Maybe wavier? Gravy-er? Misbehavior?”

  “Maybe you should try something more traditional,” Emma offered. “Like, ‘Roses are red, violets are blue . . .’”

  “Xavier, you’re awesome—I really like you!” Saige finished her sentence. Then she kept going:

  “Your hair is brown,

  Your eyes are, too.

  If you don’t go to the dance with me,

  I’ll cry boo-hoo!”

  “Well, that’s a good start,” Emma told her. “But maybe it could use a few tweaks here and there . . .”

  Undaunted, Saige continued composing her poem:

  “When we met at recess, I thought you were cool.

  I always smile when I see you in school.

  Your braces are metal, your legs are long,

  I wrote you this poem instead of a song!”

  OMG, Emma thought. There’s no stopping her!

  “We’re having a dance, so ask you I will.

  Here goes nothing—it’s no fire drill.

  If you tell me you’ll go, I’ll be the happiest girl.

  If you tell me you won’t, I’ll probably hurl.”

  Emma couldn’t take much more. “Saige, I love your spontaneity, but maybe you should slow down a bit?”

  “You hate it. You think my poem stinks,” Saige said, taking a seat next to her. “It’s okay, Emma, you can be honest with me. I asked your advice.”

  “Well, it’s original, that’s for sure,” she said trying to be gentle. “I just think it could be a little more romantic. Maybe leave out the hurling part.”

  Saige nodded. “Okay, I can give it another try. But you think I should write him a poem?”

  Emma actually didn’t hate the idea, even if Saige would never get a job penning greeting cards. “Sure. How could Xavier not appreciate words that come straight from your heart?”

  She thought that was the last advice she’d need to give on the spot until Lyla grabbed her just as she was about to walk into the computer lab a few minutes later.

  “I’m desperate, Emma,” she pleaded. “I need your help.”

  “Let me guess: You want advice on how to ask a boy to go with you to the Sadie Hawkins Dance?”

  Lyla shook her head. “No, it’s actually the opposite. I asked a boy and he said yes—but now I’m having second thoughts.”

  Emma looked puzzled. “I don’t get it. You want to take back your proposal?”

  “Exactly!” Lyla said. “I thought I wanted to go with Ty Torres but Jordie says no way, he’s not cool enough.”

  Emma knew Ty—he was in show choir with her and played tuba in the Austen marching band. He was also Lyla’s next-door neighbor and friend since preschool. Why was Jordie dissing him? Then again, Jordie dissed everyone. . . .

  “I think you should do what you want, not what Jordie says,” Emma told her. “This isn’t cheer squad, it’s your personal life.”

  “I know, I know,” Lyla said. “But Jordie says it will be embarrassing for us to double date.”

  Emma could feel her face start to burn—how dare Jordie judge? “Ty’s smart and talented and an amazing rapper,” she insisted. “Have you ever heard him do Hamilton?”

  Lyla nodded. “I have! I’m a total Hamilfan and his parents took us to see the show together on Broadway last summer for my thirteenth birthday. I asked him because I thought it would be fun to hang with him at the dance, but Jordie says none of that matters.”

  Emma looked Lyla straight in the eye. “Do you really want my advice? Don’t dump Ty; he’s your friend and it will crush him.”

  Lyla gulped. “Seriously? You think he’ll be that hurt?”

  “Devastated,” Emma insisted. “You can’t take back your proposal. Just tell Jordie she has to deal.”

  “I don’t know if I can tell Jordie that,” Lyla admitted. “Maybe you could help me convince her that Ty is cooler than she thinks?”

  Emma thought for a moment—the
n remembered the sixth-grade show-choir showcase. The choir had performed “My Shot” from Hamilton, with Ty singing the lead.

  “Find me at lunch in the cafeteria,” Emma instructed her. “We’ll put on a little show for Jordie.”

  It took very little convincing to get Ty to agree to rap a Hamilton song at seventh-grade lunch—he knew the entire show by heart and loved to perform. Principal Bates, on the other hand, was another story.

  “Explain to me again why you and Ty need to cause a disruption during second-period lunch?” she asked Emma.

  “It’s not a disruption—it’s a history lesson,” Emma improvised. “About our great country and its founding fathers.”

  Ty nodded. “Hamilton, Washington, Adams, Jefferson—they’re all in the show.”

  “And why do we need to learn this very important history lesson at this moment?”

  Emma knew her principal was suspicious—so she had to come up with a really good answer.

  “Well, a lot of kids don’t love history class. They think it’s boring and they can’t relate. We decided we could do something about that.”

  Principal Bates nodded. “Out of the goodness of your hearts. This has nothing to do with show choir showing off?”

  “Absolutely not!” Emma pretended to be offended. “I was totally inspired by visiting Washington, DC, and looking at the magnificent monuments to our founding fathers. I want to share that with my fellow students.”

  Ms. Bates raised an eyebrow. “Okay, Emma. I’ll let you do it. But I have a hunch you’re up to something more.”

  Emma smiled slyly. “Who? Me? Never!” Then she skipped off with Ty to the cafeteria.

  “Okay, you jump up on the table and do your thing,” she instructed Ty.

  “On the table?” Ty gulped. “In the middle of the entire cafeteria?”

  “Yup! We need to make sure Jordie has a front-row seat.”

  “But what if kids laugh at me?” he considered. “What if they think I’m weird?”

  “Been there, done that,” Emma assured him. “A lot of kids made fun of me when I first started writing my blog.”

  “I remember,” Ty said. “Ouch.”

  “Who cares if they laugh?” Emma said. “You shouldn’t. You should never let anyone dull your sparkle!” She pointed to the silver high-top Converse he was wearing. “This is your only shot if you want to go to the dance with Lyla. So get up there, Hamilton, and show ’em what you got.”

  Inspired, Ty leaped up on the table as Emma hit the Play button on a boom box she’d borrowed from the music room. The Hamilton song filled the cafeteria and Ty began to rap: “I am not throwing away my . . . SHOT!” The rest of the students—at Emma’s urging—gathered around and began clapping along.

  “Wow! Everyone says he’s as good as Lin-Manuel Miranda,” Emma whispered in Jordie’s ear.

  Jordie spun around, annoyed that her cafeteria clique was being interrupted and she wasn’t the one singing a solo. “Really? Who’s everyone?”

  Emma motioned for Elton and Izzy to back her up. “I heard some producer saw him and wants him to audition for a role in a Broadway show,” Izzy said.

  “Oh, yeah. Ty is going to be superfamous,” Elton added. “I guess we can say we knew him when.”

  Now it was Lyla’s turn to do some convincing. “He might be even more famous than that girl in our ballet class who did the Kmart commercial in first grade,” she told Jordie. “Remember how you invited her to your house every day for a playdate because you thought she’d help you get on TV?”

  Jordie twirled her hair. “Broadway, huh?”

  Ty suddenly jumped off the table and grabbed a potlid and pan out of the cafeteria lady’s hand and started drumming on it. The normally crabby woman smiled and clapped. Then he got down on the floor and started break dancing, spinning on his head like a windmill.

  “Woah! Dude can dance!” Elton said, genuinely enthusiastic.

  Ty finished his song and the entire cafeteria erupted in thunderous applause. He bowed and signed a few autographs on kids’ napkins.

  “Fine,” she told Lyla. “He can come to the dance with us. Just make sure I get front-row seats when he’s on Broadway—and he introduces me to his agent.”

  Lyla beamed and gave Emma a thumbs-up sign—then she hugged Ty.

  That’s another one I can check off my list, Emma told herself. Just two more happy people who owe it all to Ask Emma!

  Principal Bates was standing in the back of the cafeteria watching Emma at work.

  “That was very impressive,” she told her student. “I take it you’re trying to help your friends get through their Sadie Hawkins Dance dramas?”

  “I may be solving a few problems,” Emma admitted. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you the whole story. I just wanted to help them.”

  “I understand,” Ms. Bates said.

  Emma was surprised her principal wasn’t sending her straight to detention for lying. “You do?”

  Her principal sighed. “‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’”

  “You can say that again!” Emma took a seat next to her at a cafeteria table.

  “I didn’t say it. Shakespeare did. But he knew a few things about how difficult it is to find someone you truly care about who feels the same way about you.”

  Emma assumed she must have been alluding to her on-again, off-again relationship with Jax, until she noticed the sad look on her principal’s face.

  “Ms. Bates, do you have a date for the Sadie Hawkins Dance?” Emma asked gently.

  Ms. Bates chuckled. “Faculty do not bring dates to school dances. We have all of you students and the school to worry about. Trust me, it keeps us all very busy. But thank you for your concern, Emma, and good job today with your ‘history lesson.’”

  She walked back to her office and Emma couldn’t help but feel bad for her. Ms. Bates seemed lonely!

  “You are so not going there!” Izzy insisted when Emma shared what the principal had told her. “Emma, Ms. Bates doesn’t need anyone to play Cupid for her!”

  They were walking back to Emma’s house after school—and Harriet was just as adamant that she abandon the idea immediately.

  “Please, no,” she begged her. “If she gets mad, she could suspend you, or us, or everyone in seventh grade!”

  “I’m not playing Cupid.” Emma tried to calm them both down. “I’m just saying that everyone is entitled to find love. And Ms. Bates has no time to look for it, not with all her responsibilities.”

  “Then that is her problem—not ours,” Izzy told her.

  “But that’s what I do, I solve problems,” Emma declared.

  “But she didn’t ask for your help,” Harriet reminded her. “I think you’re just avoiding asking Jax to the dance, so you’ll do anything to focus on other people’s relationships.”

  “And what’s so wrong with that?” Emma responded. “Would you rather I just be a sad, mopey mess? I’m channeling my heartache into something positive. And I think that’s a good thing.”

  “It is,” Izzy jumped in, “but Harriet is right. All the other girls asked for your help, Ms. Bates didn’t.”

  “She doesn’t need to—I have a sixth sense about people needing assistance,” Emma continued, defending her idea. “Think about a time when you felt lonely. What’s better than someone caring about you and trying to help?”

  “I guess so, but what are you gonna do?” Izzy asked. “It’s not like you know a ton of single guys over the age of thirteen.”

  Izzy did have a point. Who did she know who was middle-aged and looking for a soul mate?

  “Is Uncle Billy still single?” she asked her mom when they walked into the kitchen and dropped their school bags on the counter.

  “Yes, my younger brother is still single,” her mom answered. “He’s also off tracking wild antelope in Africa for a National Geographic documentary.”

  “Ms. Bates wouldn’t want a long-distance relationship,” Harriet whispered
to Emma. “And Africa is really long-distance from Pennsylvania.”

  “What about the other doctors in Dad’s cardiology department at the hospital?” Emma inquired. “Aren’t there any heart doctors with lonely hearts?”

  Mrs. Woods put down the onion she was dicing for their Taco Tuesday dinner. “And why exactly are you asking about single doctors?”

  “It’s for Principal Bates,” Emma explained.

  “Emma, honey, I know you mean well. But you should probably stay out of your principal’s personal life.”

  “That’s what I told her!” Izzy exclaimed. “But does she listen to me? Never!”

  “Not if there’s some way I could help her find someone to take to the Sadie Hawkins Dance,” Emma insisted.

  “Why don’t you google it,” Harriet suggested, helping herself to one of Mrs. Woods’s oatmeal raisin cookies hot out of the oven. “That’s what I do when I need to find something.”

  “You can’t google ‘love,’” Emma scolded her. But Harriet cheerfully held up her phone and read out loud: “‘Five Ways to Find Real and Lasting Love.’”

  Emma snatched the phone out of her hand and read the first bullet point: “‘Sometimes love can be right there, right under your nose. Stop and look around you: Is there something or someone you have overlooked in the past?’”

  “Harriet, you’re a genius!” Emma said, hugging her.

  “I am? What did I do?”

  “You just gave me a great idea where to find a boyfriend for Ms. Bates. And the article’s right—it was under my nose the whole time.”

  Every Wednesday, Emma met with Mr. Goddard to discuss her posts and how things were going with her blog. Emma thought he was definite boyfriend material for Ms. Bates! Sure, he was balding and wore bow ties practically every day, but he was also kind and concerned about his students, and he always listened carefully to what they had to say. She was sure that underneath that wrinkled navy cardigan sweater was a big heart just waiting to find its perfect match!

  “So it looks like you had about a half-dozen more emails asking about the Sadie Hawkins Dance,” he said, looking over her inbox with her. “Do you plan on answering all of these by Friday?”