Excellent Emma

by Sally Warner

  “Good luck,” I whisper to Annie Pat, who is in the first batch of kids—but she comes in sixth.

  Uh-oh, I think, because I told her she was going to win for sure.

  Kry Rodriguez comes in first in that race, naturally, and Heather—Heather Patton, who is so nervous about doing everything perfectly that she can barely even move!—comes in second.

  It would have been Corey who came in first or second, considering his champion swimming muscles, but the boys in the first batch of kids were trying so hard to win that they kept tripping each other up and grabbing each other’s dead bug caps and Native American warrior kerchiefs and crashing into each other during the race.

  There’s a lesson there, but I’m not sure what it is.

  So now, Corey is mad at Jared and EllRay, and Jared is mad at—well, just about everyone, I guess.

  I am in the second batch of kids, and I am hoping there will be another kid-tangle in the middle of the race, because that’s my only hope of winning. And that’s exactly what happens! Cynthia trips—on a blade of grass, I guess, or on one of her pure white shoelaces—and stumbles into Stanley Washington, who goes down like a giant tree that has just been hit by a bolt of glittery pink-and-lavender lightning. And three other runners pile into them, so there’s a mountain of kids yelling and arguing on the lawn as Kevin and I cross the finish line.

  Kevin again. But at least I came in second. I get to race in the run-off!

  I wish my dad was here to see this.

  So now, it’s just Kry, Heather, Kevin, and me. The parents—including my mom, who bought a disposable camera at the supermarket just for Winter Games Day—move in close to take a few pictures of this historic event.

  I can tell that Annie Pat is totally in shock that she hasn’t won any prizes yet, after I got her hopes up and everything. She doesn’t even look at me, much less wish me good luck, and that hurts.

  Annie Pat is not being a very good sport. I guess it’s easier to be a good sport when you’re winning than when you’re losing, but still.

  “You better not win,” I hear Cynthia whisper to Heather. “Loser.”

  “You better not win, either,” Jared tells Kevin. “Loser.”

  That’s just not right. Also, it doesn’t make any sense, because Heather and Kevin are both doing great today—much better than Cynthia and Jared, that’s for sure—so how can they be the losers?

  But I can’t figure that out right now, because it’s time to race.

  “On your marks, get set, go!” Ms. Sanchez shouts in her ladylike way.

  And I run—like a deer! Like the wind! Like I am in a swamp, and there is an alligator scrambling after me, its mouth gaping wide! Kry runs faster, of course, but who cares? I come in second!

  “Congratulations,” Kry says, and she shakes my sweaty hand.

  “Thanks,” I manage to say. “Same here.” And I am still busy catching my breath as I wonder how I can make things right again with my sad best friend Annie Pat, who is usually the most cheerful person I know.

  Or she was until that baby came along.

  I feel some of my triumph trickle away, but just a little, because—I’m actually going to get another prize. And I can tell my dad all about it next time we e-mail each other.

  I don’t have to reveal every little detail.

  “Congratulations, Kry and Emma,” Ms. Sanchez says, beaming a smile our way. My ears are buzzing as I step forward so my mom can take my picture.

  I won two prizes, even though one was for coming in second. I cannot believe it. I have officially doubled the number of prizes in my room!

  “Now, gather ’round, children,” Ms. Sanchez is saying. “Because it’s time for our final fun event, and then we’ll all enjoy the lovely refreshments your parents have been kind enough to bring. Nice healthy carrot sticks, and cherry tomatoes, and apple slices, and string cheese, for those of you who are not lactose-intolerant, and a pitcher of nice cold water. But first, I need you to pay attention, because this might seem a little complicated.”

  12

  The Good Old-Fashioned Three-Legged Race

  “Listen carefully, girls and boys,” Ms. Sanchez calls out as we are herded into a group by Mr. Timberlake and a couple of the parents. “This last event is the good old-fashioned three-legged race,” she says, clasping her hands together. Her engagement ring flashes in the afternoon sunlight. “That means two kids run together as partners,” she explains, “and each kid has one leg tied to his or her partner’s leg. So each set of partners ends up running with three legs. Get it? And it’s not as easy as it sounds. You’re going to have to cooperate with each other.”

  Uh, wrong kids, wrong day, Ms. Sanchez. Most of us can’t even stand to look at each other by now. Take me and Annie Pat, for instance.

  And—a little complicated? Try a lot complicated!

  “This sounds dangerous,” Fiona says. But handsome Mr. Timberlake talked to her in private, and he tied a dead bug kerchief around her still-skinny ankle, and she was so thrilled she agreed to participate in this last event.

  “Now, you’ll all run at once,” Ms. Sanchez tells us. “And I’ll assign the partners, to save time. EllRay, you run with Fiona. Heather, you’ll run with Cynthia. Jared, I want you to run with Stanley. And Kry, you run with Kevin.”

  Uh-oh. She’s pairing up kids totally at random.

  “And Emma,” Ms. Sanchez says, “you and Annie Pat will run together.”

  Oh, no. Annie Pat? Who didn’t even wish me luck? Annie Pat, who is acting like she’s sorry I am winning even though she knows why I need to?

  Annie Pat raises her hand. “Ms. Sanchez? Ms. Sanchez?” she says, pleading.

  She is going to beg to be assigned to someone else.

  I could never forgive her for this, so I will beg first. “Ms. Sanchez?” I call out, waving my arm wildly in the air.

  “No time to chat, ladies,” Ms. Sanchez says, shooting us a simmer-down look. “In fact,” she adds, “I’d like you to give us all a quick demonstration of how to run this race, after one of the parents—Mrs. Jakes?—ties your inside legs together.”

  This doesn’t take as long as I wish it would.

  Annie Pat and I refuse to look at each other.

  “Go!” Ms. Sanchez shouts.

  And I start running, but Annie Pat is still adjusting her green shirt. “Ow!” we both yell, falling onto the grass in a big wad of tangled brown hair, two red pigtails, three legs, and four arms.

  Then we try to stand up, which is even worse, and nearly everyone on the sidelines is laughing at us. Even baby Murphy! My mom tries to hide her giggles and look encouraging. She gives me a thumbs-up.

  “Listen,” I mutter to Annie Pat. “Just go when I say go.”

  “No,” Annie Pat says, stomping her outside foot. “You go when I say go, for a change.”

  Did I mention before that Annie Pat can be stubborn? Or even impossible?

  Well, I didn’t know until three minutes ago!

  And I start to run, dragging Annie Pat behind me—but I’m not getting very far.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Annie Pat yells from down on the grass, reaching up to grab hold of my patriotic shirt. “We’ve gotta plan what we’re doing.” She struggles to her feet.

  Lots of people on the sidelines are shouting out suggestions, but we don’t listen to them, because I guess this has to be between Annie Pat and me.

  “Plan it like how?” I ask.

  “Like outside legs, inside legs,” Annie Pat says. “Outside, inside.”

  “Okay,” I tell her. “I get to choose how we start, though. Outside!” I cry out, and take a giant leap forward with my outside leg.

  But Annie Pat just stands there. No matter how many people shout at us, including Ms. Sanchez, Annie Pat will not be hurried. “All those in favor of starting with your outside leg, say ‘aye,’” she says to the air around me.

  I wait for her to vote, so I can vote the same way. Because otherwise, we may as well just mo
ve here! There is no bossing Annie Pat Masterson around. I have now learned this the hard way.

  And slowly, slowly, Annie Pat raises her hand.

  So I raise my hand, too.

  “Those opposed?” Annie Pat asks, looking around—which makes me want to shake her until her teeth rattle, because who else is there?

  But I don’t shake her, and no one is opposed, so Annie Pat’s motion passes.

  “Well, maybe we’d better get going,” I tell Annie Pat casually, as if a bazillion eyes aren’t watching our every move. “You say when.”

  “Okay. Hook your arm over my shoulder,” Annie Pat says. “When!” she cries. “Outside leg, inside legs. Outside, inside!” And once we get the rhythm right, we start flying, and laughing, and we’re as good as gold.

  And that’s better than a silver cup any day of the week!

  It is time for the real three-legged race, and all the kids in my class are lined up at the starting line, including Heather and Cynthia, Kry and Kevin, Jared and Stanley, EllRay and Fiona, and Annie Pat and me.

  Tied-up, is more like it!

  “I hope I don’t make you lose, Emma,” Annie Pat whispers just before Ms. Sanchez blows her whistle. “I wish you could do this without me. I know you really need to win, because of your dad and everything.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I wouldn’t want to do it without you even if I could.”

  I wish I could tell her that I think we already won, but I can’t exactly figure out how to explain it.

  Twe-e-e-et!

  “Go,” Annie Pat and I say together, and off we lurch, swing-bump, swing-bump, swing-bump, across the lawn, laughing so hard we can barely run.

  Kry and Kevin take the lead early, and they look like they’re going to keep it, streaking across the grass like the fastest three-legged animal in the world.

  But then EllRay and the miraculously cured Fiona whiz by Annie Pat and me like a three-legged cheetah, and I wonder if they’ll be the winners.

  Whatever happened to Fiona’s weak ankles? What a faker!

  Jared and Stanley struggle to catch up with EllRay and Fiona. They thump across the lawn like a wounded—but cooperative—hippopotamus.

  And somewhere behind us, I can hear Cynthia shouting at poor Heather, whose only goal in life so far has been to make Cynthia Harbison happy.

  Good luck with that, as Cynthia herself would say.

  In my opinion, Cynthia’s jealous that Heather has already won a prize, and she, Cynthia, has not. Cynthia doesn’t know a good friend when she has one!

  But maybe Cynthia’s just shouting because she has never cooperated with anyone a day in her life.

  Either way, they’re both doomed.

  Sooner or later, we all cross the finish line.

  “And it’s a two-way tie,” Ms. Sanchez shouts above all the cheering. “Kevin McKinley and Kry Rodriguez, and Fiona McNulty and EllRay Jakes!”

  13

  Awards

  “Over here, everyone,” Ms. Sanchez calls out over by the picnic table that has been set up on the playground, and Mr. Timberlake helps round us up from wherever it is we are being photographed and congratulated—even the kids like Jared, Stanley, Cynthia, and Heather, who didn’t win anything but who are still grinning and posing like crazy.

  EllRay’s mom has been photographing him again and again, and his cute little sister is almost glued to his side, she is so proud and happy. My mom takes a few pictures of me, then Mrs. Masterson takes Annie Pat’s picture while my mom holds a drooling Murphy Masterson to her chest.

  Seeing my mom do this makes me feel a little funny, but it also makes me daydream again about what it would be like to have a baby brother or sister. If that ever happens, I just hope it’s Mom who has the baby, and not my dad and Annabelle!

  I don’t know why, but that’s the way I feel about it.

  “Gather around,” Ms. Sanchez says again, and she blows her whistle to get our attention. “There are snacks waiting, and it’s time to hand out the awards.”

  That gets our attention.

  “As you remember,” Ms. Sanchez says, glancing down at her clipboard, “the winners of our jumping event were Kevin and EllRay in first and second places for the boys, and Emma and Kry in first and second places for the girls.”

  There is clapping and cheering as she hands out gold stars with blue ribbons hanging from them for first place, and silver stars with red ribbons hanging from them for second place.

  I try to look modest as I clutch my gold star, but it’s hard.

  “And for event number two, running, we have Kry winning first place,” Ms. Sanchez says, “and Emma winning second place.”

  There is more applause, and now I have a gold star and a silver star.

  Yahoo!

  “And finally, as you recall,” Ms. Sanchez says, “for our three-legged race, we have a two-way tie for first place. Kry, Kevin, EllRay, and Fiona, please step forward to receive your awards.”

  And we all clap like crazy as she hands out four more gold stars.

  “So that means,” Ms. Sanchez calls out over the uproar, “that EllRay, Kevin, and Kry have each won two first-place awards this afternoon. And Fiona and Emma have each won one first-place award. And special recognition must also go to Kry Rodriguez, both for her total of three—three!—awards and for her overall good sportsmanship today, and during the week leading up to this event. Kry, will you please step forward so we can all thank you?”

  “I would have been nice, too, if I knew it was gonna count,” Annie Pat and I hear Cynthia tell Heather as Kry receives an extra-fancy gold-and-silver star from Ms. Sanchez and everyone takes her picture.

  “Me, too,” Heather says. “Like that’s so fair.”

  “But I guess I wasn’t a very good sport, either,” Annie Pat admits to me as we scoop up dip with our carrot sticks during the celebration following Winter Games Day.

  “You were okay,” I say.

  This is what’s known as “a little white lie,” but sometimes, that’s the way to go.

  Also, I know that I was probably only a good sport because I was winning.

  “No, it’s not okay,” Annie Pat says, grabbing some string cheese for the two of us before the boys hog it all. “I didn’t stick up for you when Cynthia and Heather called you a show-off and a tomboy, and I didn’t say ‘good luck’ before you ran, even after you said it to me. And by the time we got to the three-legged race demonstration, I actually wanted you to lose. So there! That’s how bad a sport I was.”

  “You were probably just tired,” I say, trying to give her a good excuse. “I think Murphy is kind of messing you up lately, crying all night and everything.”

  “It’s not his fault he yells so much and is using up my mom,” Annie Pat says with a sigh, peeling off a thready strip of cheese. “Teeth pop into a baby’s mouth whether he wants them to or not, and when that happens, he’s just gotta cry—even if his sister has a big race the next day. It’s just nature.”

  “I guess,” I say, thinking about everything that happened this afternoon. “Do you really think I’m bossy?” I ask Annie Pat shyly. “Like, telling you what to do and when to do it all the time, like you said when we were demonstrating that race?”

  Annie Pat laughs, sounding embarrassed. “You’re not as bad as Cynthia, that’s for sure,” she assures me, pointing toward the snack table.

  Cynthia is over by the bowl of dip as we speak, guarding it against double-dippers. “That’s just disgusting!” Cynthia shouts at Jared, who has just scooped his actual fingers through the bowl—and licked them.

  “Yeah! Yuck,” Heather yells, backing Cynthia up.

  Heather has a very full reservoir of forgiveness, when it comes to Cynthia.

  “Well, that’s something, I guess, to be not as bad as Cynthia,” I say to Annie Pat. “Look,” I add, feeling sort of awkward, “I want to talk to you.”

  “Okay,” Annie Pat says, listening.

  “I want to say that
I think being a good friend is just as important as winning an award for jumping or running,” I tell her shyly. “Maybe it’s more important. And you’re my really good friend, Annie Pat.”

  “Even though I wanted you to lose the three-legged race?” she asks.

  “That was only for a second,” I remind her. “I never said you were perfect.”

  Annie Pat giggles.

  I take a deep breath. “So anyway,” I continue, “I want this gold star to be yours, in honor of us being such excellent friends.” And I give her one of my stars—a little slowly, but I do it.

  And it’s my best star, too.

  Annie Pat stares hard at the gold star that is now resting in my hand, as if picturing it practically glowing in her awards corner. “No-o-o,” she says slowly. “It’s got your name on it, see? ‘Emma McGraw, First Place, Jumping.’ And what about your dad?”

  “Number one, I can change what’s on the award,” I assure her. “I have construction paper and a glue stick and glitter markers at home, don’t I? And number two, my dad’s not even here to see the award, so what difference does it make if I actually have it up on my wall or not?”

  “Yeah. You still won,” Annie Pat says, thinking it over. “And you can still tell him about it when you guys e-mail each other,” she adds. “But—what about your mom? Won’t she be mad if you give away your best award?”

  I look over at my mom. She still has baby Murphy in her arms, but he has fallen fast asleep on her shoulder. It looks like she’s holding a little sack of potatoes with red hair on top. Mom is laughing quietly, and talking to a bunch of the other moms, but then she glances over at me and waves. “I love you,” she tells me, silently mouthing the words.

  I smile at her and wave back. “My mother won’t care,” I tell Annie Pat. “In fact, she’ll probably say it was the exact right thing to do.”

  14

  Almost Like a Daughter