by Lisa Yee
“And that would be …?”
“Me! We wouldn’t be best friends if you never came here.”
It was true. I would never have met Millicent or the Mins, or Maddie, or Libby, or Stanford, Stanford, Stanford Wong.
Millie had an odd look on her face. I hoped I hadn’t hurt her feelings. “Millicent Min, we’re best friends forever! I like that we can tell each other everything and not have to worry about what the other person thinks,” I assured her. “Like that Stanford is tutoring you. You were honest enough to own up to it, even though I know that was hard for you. I can’t tell you how much I admire you for that.
“I feel like you’re the only person I can be totally honest with. If I try to tell Alice about how I feel about Dad, she gets all weirded out and cries. Millie, you’re the only person I can totally trust.”
Millicent looked embarrassed, but then some people are funny and can’t take compliments. I am so glad Millie and I have each other. If you can’t confide in your best friend, who can you confide in? I mean, Mrs. Buono always used to say, “Honesty is the best policy,” right?
So, um, about Celina saying that she saw you with a lady and a girl at Radio City? Not that it really happened, but say, if it did, what was that all about? Who was that lady? That girl? Why were you at Radio City when you’re supposed to be on the road?
I can’t imagine that you’d go to Radio City with someone else. You didn’t, did you? Tell me you didn’t. Tell me it isn’t true. It just can’t be, can it?
Emily
AUGUST 10
Dearest Daddy,
First, I’m sorry if I got so spazzed out in my last entry. I’ve been thinking it over and feel pretty dumb. It’s just that things are a little weird for me right now. Sometimes I feel like we’re just here for vacation and will be back in Allendale in time for school to start. Other times I feel like New Jersey was lifetimes away and I’ll never see it again. Sometimes I’m even scared I’ll never see you again.
So sorry about my weirdness. Celina was just confused, I’m sure of it. She’s always been a little spacey. After I wrote in my letter journal yesterday, I headed to Zooi’s Zowie Music-teria, and you’ll never guess what I bought. A guitar! I know, I know, I don’t play the guitar — well, not yet anyway. Mr. Zooi teaches guitar and I might take lessons, or you can teach me. In the meantime, I’ve got this cool guitar, even if it doesn’t have any strings and is kind of battered. There are stickers all over the back. I wonder who used to own it. Was it someone who had their own band? Someone famous, possibly?
Things really turned around for me today. Are you ready for my good news? Stanford Wong called! He asked Millie and me to meet him at the mall.
“We’d love to!” I told Stanford. I tried not to laugh as Millie hit herself over the head with a magazine.
He was waiting for us in front of the sporting goods store when we arrived. “Hi Emily!” he called out. “Hello, Millicent.”
We had the best time. I kept hoping we’d bump into Julie, or at least one of her backup singers who would tell her they saw me with Stanford Wong. He ate three slices of pizza by stacking them on top of each other. I had one slice, and Millie said she wasn’t hungry. Afterward, we got all goofy playing Millicent’s Would You Rather game.
Stanford asked, “Would you rather fart really loud in an elevator full of your teachers, or in an elevator full of high school kids?”
I said teachers and Millie said students. Then it was my turn.
“Would you rather be in an ad for underwear or be in an ad for diarrhea medicine?”
“Do you actually have to take the medicine?” Stanford asked.
“No. But in the ad you have to look like you’re taking it and smile.”
“Can the underwear be really old-fashioned, like in the eighteen-hundreds when they wore those knickers that covered up everything?” Millie gets really serious when we play this.
“Nope, it would be whatever underwear you’re wearing now.”
“Then I’d go for diarrhea,” Millicent announced.
“Yeah, me too,” Stanford agreed. “At least with that you could say you were acting.”
“You just said that because your underwear is probably dirty!” Millie said, laughing.
“Is not,” Stanford shouted back. “Unlike yours!”
We all cracked up. It’s like I have two best friends again. Only one’s a boy who makes my heart want to sing.
As we turned to enter the bookstore, Stanford and I bumped into each other. I pretended not to notice, but my heart began to race and I couldn’t blink for the longest time. Millie and I took our time choosing Archie comics. We got different ones so we could swap when we’re done. She didn’t want Stanford to know she reads comics, probably because he’d tell her she ought to be reading more books. So I bought the Archie for her while she pretended to be interested in the history section of the bookstore.
Later, the three of us took pictures in the photo booth. It was fun cramming together, and at one point I had to sit on Stanford’s lap. Then right before the flash, he shoved Millie out of the booth.
“Hey!” she yelled when she hit the floor.
“Stanford,” I scolded. “That wasn’t very nice.”
“Oops. Sorry, Millicent,” he said, not sounding very sorry.
Don’t ever tell Millie this, but I was glad she wasn’t in the picture. I love having a photo of just Stanford and me together. Can you wear something out by staring at it?
Happily yours,
Emily
AUGUST 11
To Whom It May Concern,
I had been so happy that I felt guilty thinking about you all alone on the road with the Talky Boys. Plus, I felt awful that I believed Celina even for a second. Then I had this totally brilliant idea: I would leave a surprise message on your answering machine. That way, every time you called in — if you ever called in — you could hear me.
Even though it was almost midnight here, and 3 a.m. in New Jersey, I knew it wouldn’t matter what time it was since you weren’t home. So with the $1.34 left on my phone card, I dialed.
The phone rang three times.
“Hello?” The woman sounded like she had been asleep.
“Oh, I am sooo sorry. Wrong number.”
“Okay,” she said before hanging up.
How embarrassing was that?
I called again, this time making sure I was dialing the right number.
“Hello?” the same lady said.
“Hello?”
“Who is this?” she asked.
I was so confused.
“Is this David Ebers’s house?”
“Yes, it is. Who are you?”
“Is he there?”
“Who is this?”
“Peggy, who is it?” I heard you say.
“Prank call,” she said before the phone went dead.
I couldn’t breathe. You’re home? You’re not on the road? Is that why I haven’t gotten any postcards lately? Who was that lady? Why didn’t you tell me you were back? How come you never told me? Who was that lady? I couldn’t call you because I didn’t know where you were. But you knew where I was. I’ve been right here the whole time. You could have called me anytime. Who was that lady? Who are you? You’re not my dad, my dad would have told me he was home.
Emily
AUGUST 12
Dear Father,
Today I stayed in my room all morning. Each time the phone rang, I hoped it would be you. I told Millie I had to keep the line open since I was expecting a call.
“Don’t you have call-waiting?”
“Yes, but I don’t want to take any chances.”
“Did you tell him to call you back?”
“No.”
“Then why would he?”
“He just will, I know it.”
“Emily, he’s called exactly once this entire summer. Odds are he’s not going to call this mornin
g.”
“Whatever. Listen, Millie, I have to get off the phone.”
“But Maddie’s getting her passport photo taken and she said we could come make faces at her. If we can get her to crack up, she’ll buy us the Bottomless Bucket o’ Popcorn at the Rialto.”
It was tempting, but I had to decline. I clutched my friendship necklace and stared at the phone.
At lunchtime, Millicent came over and forced me to get out of the house. “You’ve got to eat sometime,” she said. Sometimes I’m glad she’s so bossy.
I made sure the answering machine was working before we left. The day got a thousand times better when we ran into Stanford at Mel’s and the three of us ended up walking near the train tracks. We were talking about cliques and I said, “I don’t think people should pretend to be something they’re not.” And all of a sudden Stanford got all serious and said, “Emily, you are so solid.”
I gasped. Stanford had never been mean before.
“He thinks I’m fat,” I whispered to Millie.
Instantly, she turned around and kicked Stanford really hard and then smacked him on the head with what looked like one of Maddie’s kung fu moves.
“Hey!” he yelled, hopping up and down on one leg.
“Emily’s not fat, you stupid, inconsequential pile of beetle dung! We hate you!” Millicent shouted before kicking his other leg.
“What?! I never said she was fat, I said she was solid. You know, not flaky like some girls,” he said, glaring at Millie. “I can’t stand flaky girls. Solid’s a good thing!”
“Oh. Then never mind,” Millicent said as she calmly picked up her briefcase and continued walking.
As bad as I felt for Stanford, who was still limping, it felt wonderful that Millicent would stick up for me like that. She really is a true friend.
So Stanford thinks I’m solid, and that solid is a good thing. Still, I wonder, does he think I’m fat? I wonder if I weigh more than him?
After the three of us parted, I headed down Fair Oaks Avenue to Stahl Miller. I bought boxes of stationery, pads of paper, and colorful envelopes. I even splurged on a whole set of fancy pens.
“Are all these for you?” Mr. Miller asked as I handed him my credit card.
“No, they’re for my dad,” I said as I signed the receipt.
“He must love to write letters.”
I just nodded.
When I got home I spread the stationery out all over my bed. I had bought more than I realized.
I stared at my phone for a while, then before I could chicken out, I dialed really fast.
“Hello?” It was that same lady. “Hello? Elise, is that you?”
I hung up.
Maybe that lady is your cousin? Do you even have a cousin?
I’m waiting for you to tell me the phone call was all a silly misunderstanding. There’s got to be a logical answer for what happened last night. Like, maybe that lady was one of the Talky Boys’ wives, and for some reason you had a big sleepover at your apartment. Or maybe you just got back from the road last night and that was some woman who was delivering pizza, and you were going to call me but were afraid it was too late.
Or, maybe, maybe you were home to get your things and that lady was helping you, and you’re going to call me and say, “Emily, I’m coming to Rancho Rosetta!” Or maybe you’re just going to show up and surprise me!
Well, whatever the reason is, I’m sure it’s a good one. I can’t wait to get this whole silly mess cleared up.
Sincerely,
Emily
AUGUST 13
Dear Person Who Is So Not a Part of My Life,
Last night I slept over at Millie’s again. At breakfast, Mrs. Min said, “Millicent, I’m going to the office now. Before I get home, I’d like you to get the good place mats out of the armoire. Please have it done before dinner.”
Millie was busy making words out of her Alphabets cereal, so I thought I’d help out. I always like to help Mrs. Min whenever I can.
It took a couple tries to get the armoire open. Finally I tugged hard on the handle and a bunch of stuff tumbled out. I was scared that something might have broken, so I quickly began picking all the things up and putting them on the dining room table. They looked like awards, probably belonging to Millie’s parents, I thought.
I was wrong.
“Emily, everything okay?” Millicent called out.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. I was in shock. A Quiz Bowl Champion silver cup? A First Place Math-a-lete trophy? A Junior Jeopardy! Grand Champion plaque? They were all engraved with Millicent’s name.
Slowly, then faster and faster, I started piling awards on the table. A Rancho Rosetta Middle School diploma, more certificates, chess trophies, debate trophies, Cryptarithm trophies. What the heck is a Cryptarithm? Plaques, newspaper articles, a framed photo of a young Millie on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno. These were all Millie’s! But why? It didn’t make sense.
Millie walked into the room. Before she could say anything, I asked, “What does this mean, Millicent? Are these all yours?” Her face turned pale. “Tell me,” I said as I gripped a framed article with the headline “Child Prodigy Enters High School at Age 9.”
“You were snooping!” Millie cried.
“I was not. I was getting the place mats and I found these! Are all of these yours? They have your name on them.”
Then I remembered what Wendy had said about Millicent being a genius. Duh! Suddenly everything made sense. Why Millie was so secretive, why Millie was vague about school, why Millie sometimes used big words and said things no one could understand.
“How could you do this to me?” I yelled. “I heard rumors, but I didn’t believe them. We’re never going to be in the same grade, you don’t even go to middle school anymore. You’re a genius, a stupid genius!”
She just stood there staring, like there was something seriously wrong with me.
“When were you going to tell me? Are you even listening to me? Millicent???!!! What’s the matter with you? Why are you just standing there? Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“Intelligence,” she began slowly, “merely refers to the all-around effectiveness of an individual’s mental processes….”
“Don’t you get it? Millicent, what is your problem?” She just looked at me blankly. “It’s not about how smart you are, it’s that you didn’t tell me! Didn’t you think I’d find out? Didn’t you think it would hurt my feelings to be the last to know? Didn’t you trust me? Didn’t you think at all? And why then, if you’re supposed to be so smart, do you even need a tutor? Why does Stanford have to tutor you …”
Then it hit me. Of course. I’d been so stupid. “You lied about that too, didn’t you? Stanford’s not tutoring you, you’re tutoring him. Geez, Millicent, you’re really something. I can’t believe I thought you were my friend. Best friends don’t lie to each other.”
I grabbed my overnight bag and ran out the front door. I hoped Millicent would try to stop me, but she didn’t.
As I marched through Rancho Rosetta I could barely see where I was going. My eyes kept filling with tears. I could not believe it. Millicent Min. A genius? And Stanford. Stanford Wong lied to me too. They both lied. I thought Millie was my best friend, and I really, totally trusted Stanford. I thought he was different from other boys. I thought he actually like liked me. What kind of a sick joke were they —
Boom! I bumped into someone and fell to the ground.
“Emily, is everything all right? You don’t look so good.”
Officer Ramsey helped me up and handed me my overnight bag. “I’m fine. Everything’s great. Just fine.”
“Okay.” He hesitated. “Just checking. Would you like a ride home?”
“I’m fine, really, I’m fine,” I said, wiping the tears from my face.
“All right then, take care. Give my best to your mother.”
By the time I reached home, I felt like thr
owing up. Alice was sitting on the floor going through boxes.
“Emily! You’re home early.” She looked me up and down. “You might want to change out of your monkey pajamas.”
I was breathing hard and trying not to cry.
“Honey? Is anything wrong?”
Alice rose and started toward me with her arms outstretched. I needed a hug, but I willed her to stop. “I’m fine. I was just, um, I was … jogging.”
“Jogging? In your slippers?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it? You don’t believe me?”
“Okay. Okay. You were jogging.” Alice took a deep breath and pasted on a smile. “Well, they found the missing boxes! Emily, look at this photo of us. It’s from that summer we vacationed in Vancouver, when you were in second grade….”
With every stupid thing Alice kept saying, I felt myself getting more and more tense. Finally she stopped talking and looked at me. “Are you sure you’re okay? Emily, please, talk to me. What’s the matter?”
“STOP ASKING ME SO MANY QUESTIONS!”
“Okay, Emily,” she said softly. “I’m just worried about you.”
“Well, if you were so worried about me, then why did you make us move here and leave everyone and everything behind? Why didn’t you ask me what I thought about anything? Instead, you just did what you wanted to do and didn’t even think about me!”
With every step Alice took toward me, I took a step backward.
“Emily …”
“Leave me alone!”
I slammed the door to my room, only it wasn’t my room. My room was back in our house in Allendale, waiting to be demolished. I took down your postcards and ripped them up. I shredded the quizzes Millicent Min and I did together, and when I got to the photos of Stanford and me, I stopped cold.
I dumped my Stanford Wong box onto the floor, took out his Zappo Zit, and flushed it down the toilet. It whirled around before going down and coming back up again. No matter how many times I flushed it, I could not get rid of it. Finally I fished the tube out and tossed it into the sink.
Stanford lied to me. This whole summer he and Millicent were playing some sort of stupid joke on me. A.J. and Nicole are probably laughing at me too. They’ve only sent me two letters this entire summer. And you. Do you and Alice have any idea what you are doing to me?