At the intermission, the whole audience got up and started moving around. People were talking to each other, and way in back, some people were singing a Lulu Belle song. A girl in a gray skirt was dancing by herself in the aisle.
I felt like dancing, too. If Emily had been with me, I think I would have, but instead I just stood up and sort of stretched and rolled my shoulders.
Paris’s “brother” looked around and stretched, too. He was shorter than me. He sat down on the back of his upraised seat. He had strong-looking, hairy legs. I fiddled with the strings on my pocketbook. I wondered how old he was. He kept looking at me. He was looking at my ears.
I put my hand up casually to my ear and covered it. “How many people do you have to talk to?”
“I don’t know.” He looked uncertain. “I have this awful feeling that I’m not going to be very good at this. I don’t know why I said I’d do it. Curiosity maybe.”
“Or maybe you’re so cheap, you couldn’t resist a free ticket.” I couldn’t believe I’d said that. Typical Bunny, anything-for-a-joke bit.
But he laughed. “Could be. I’m not the world’s biggest spender.… Where do you go to school?”
“Drumlins.”
“I have some friends in Drum.”
The cool way he said that—Drum—I knew he meant the high school, not the middle school. So he did think I was older!
“Do you know Laura Olsher?”
“No.”
“Keith Reitson?” He was looking at my ears again! “He’s a neat guy.… Well, I guess I ought to get up and talk to some people.” But he didn’t move. “I like your earrings,” he said suddenly. “They’re different.”
I was so relieved that he was looking at my earrings and not into my ear, that I gave him a really big smile. “They’re pretty, aren’t they? Zuni Indian good luck charms.” I didn’t say I’d borrowed them from my mother. That sounded so young.
He smiled back. “Do you like Indian stuff?”
“I don’t know that much about it. We got these in a gift shop in Nyack, New York.”
He laughed. “Do you always tell the truth? You just blew your big chance to impress me.… I didn’t tell you my name, did I? I’m James.”
I don’t know what happened to me next. I was more relaxed. I didn’t actually think what I was going to say. I just said it. “I’m Emily.” I got a shock the moment I said it.
“Hi, Emily,” James said.
Another shock, hearing him say it. Why had I done that? Maybe something had flashed through my mind—a thought, or half a thought. Don’t tell him your stupid name. So I said Emily’s name. But, really, it was something I did without thought. My impulsive self.
“So, what kind of school is Drum, Emily? I go to Sherwood. It’s a decent school.”
I said something or other. I’m Emily. I kept hearing myself say that.
“You know what, Emily?” James said. “Why don’t I start by interviewing you for my article?” He sat down and so did I. “Let’s see.…” He leaned on the arm of the seat, facing me. “Umm … tell me, Emily, what did you think of the show so far?”
“I liked it.”
“Okay. Can you say anything else?” He pushed his hair out of his face. “Do you mind doing this?”
“No. I always wanted to be interviewed.”
“Terrific.” James cleared his throat. “Emily, give me your frank, woman-in-the-street opinion. Is hearing Lulu Belle in concert as good as listening to her records?”
“It’s better! Much, much better.” I kept thinking, Tell him your name isn’t Emily. But I didn’t. What did it matter? It wasn’t like it was a big lie or something that would hurt anyone.
“You say it’s better to listen to Lulu Belle in person. Could you enlarge on that for our readers, please?”
“First, I get to see the band. Then there’s Lulu Belle, herself. I don’t think her record covers do her justice. She’s beautiful. Don’t you love her hair?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty nice hair,” he said.
“It’s great hair.”
“I can see you’re a real fan. Can you tell me what you like so much about Lulu Belle?”
“Well, she has a voice that’s husky and beautiful. Her songs are very well written. They’re sad and beautiful.” I thought that sounded pretty good. “Aren’t you going to write any of this down?”
“James, boy reporter, forgot to bring a pad and pencil, but don’t worry, Emily, I have a great memory.”
All through the second half of the concert, I kept sneaking glances at James. I really liked him.
When the concert was over, Lulu Belle threw kisses to the audience. “I love ya all. I love ya all.”
The lights came on. James was laughing. He put his head down in his hands. “Emily, admit it, Lulu Belle is corny.”
“No, I’ll never say it.”
“I like a woman who sticks to her convictions, Emily.”
Every time he said Emily, I got goosebumps. It was partly because of what I’d done, using Emily’s name, but more because of the way James said it. He’d look right at me, smile just a little, and say it. Emily.
We walked up the aisle together. I wondered if I’d ever see him again. Probably not. I tried to think of something sophisticated to say. It’s been a pleasure.… I guess this is good-bye.… Call me sometime.… Suddenly, I said, “Did you ever think of calling yourself Paris?”
“What?”
“Nothing.” I talked fast to cover my confusion. “Did you get enough for your article just interviewing me? Probably not. Why don’t you just write what you really feel about Lulu Belle? I mean, if you didn’t like the concert, you could just say so.”
“That’s a good idea. Maybe I’ll do that.”
We got caught in a traffic jam near the doors leading out to the lobby. James bent his head toward me. “Good thing crowds don’t bother us.”
We were standing really close. My ears were hot, and my neck, and then the back of my knees started burning. All of a sudden, I thought, Maybe I’m falling in love.
The traffic jam broke, and we moved toward the big glass entrance doors. One part of me wanted to stay back with him. The other part of me was thinking that my mother would be outside, waiting for me. I didn’t want her to see me coming out with James, and I definitely didn’t want James to see me getting in the car with her, like a watched-over infant. Besides, what if he yelled, “’Bye, Emily”?
I started walking faster. Then I thought, When am I ever going to see him again? I slowed down. “James, can I see the article when you’re done?”
“If I ever get it done. Maybe I should have asked you more questions.”
“You could call me up.”
“What’s your phone number?”
I gave him my number. I said it automatically. Then I thought, Oh, no, he can’t call my house and ask for Emily. Everything began to seem complicated. “I’ve got to go now,” I said, and I pushed through the crowd, weaving in and out, as if I were playing basketball and dribbling down the court.
“Hey, Emily.”
I heard him behind me. I turned around and waved, then I kept going.
Outside, Mom’s car was right there, waiting at the curb. I got in. “Hi, sweetie. Was the concert good?”
“Yeah, I liked it.” Clumps of people were all over the sidewalk. People kept coming out of the Civic Center. I saw James come out. I slumped down in the seat. “Let’s go, Mom.”
Mom turned on the key. The engine sputtered and didn’t catch.
James was looking up and down the street. Was he looking for me? The back of my knees got hot again.
Mom slapped the dashboard. “Come on, baby.” The engine caught and she pulled out into traffic.
I turned around and took one last look at James.
Chapter 7
The next morning, the first thing I thought of when I woke up was James. In my mind, I went over everything that had happened. I lay in bed and whispered to myself—what
he said, what I said. My dad walked by my room. “Did you say something, Bunny?”
“No, Dad.” I pulled the covers over my head. I remembered how James had said my name—I mean, Emily’s name. But he thought it was mine. He was saying it that way for me. Looking right at me, then a little smile. Emily. It was still weird to remember that I’d used Emily’s name. Could you be in love with somebody who didn’t know your real name? What if he’d asked me my last name? Would I have said Boots? Or Larrabee? Emily Larrabee. It sounded nice.
After a while I got out of bed. Today was the twins’ birthday party. I wanted to practice my clown routine some more. I put on an old shirt of my father’s over my pj’s and practiced falling down and running up a wall. Doing a good fall was really hard.
I stood in front of the mirror and tried to make up my mind which kind of clown I would be, sad or happy. I still hadn’t decided. I looked in the mirror, made a sad face. Bottom lip stuck out, eyes squinty, forehead wrinkled.
My mother looked in. “Bunny, what are you doing? Aren’t you coming down for breakfast?”
“Soon.” I tried the happy face—big turned-up lips, lots of teeth, wide open eyes. I decided on the happy face, because that seemed more natural for me.
I went downstairs and ate breakfast. My mind was going like this: James.… Too bad I can’t juggle four tennis balls.… James.… Should practice falling down more.… James.… Can’t tell any jokes, ’cause clowns are silent.… James.…
When I was ready to go, I asked Mom if I should put on my clown costume here or if I should get dressed at Emily’s house.
“Put it on here,” she said. “That would be fine.”
“Everybody would see me. I’d look like a freak.”
“A clown isn’t a freak. Everyone loves a clown, sweetie.”
“I’ll get dressed at Emily’s.”
Emily used to live three blocks away. But after the divorce, Mrs. Boots had to sell their house and move. Now they live in an apartment building, about a mile away.
When I got to Emily’s house, the landlord, Mr. Linaberry, was out in the yard. He’s a little bald man. He always looks at me suspiciously, like I’m going to rob his house. And no matter how many times I tell him my name, he always says, “Hello, you.”
“Hello, Mr. Linaberry. I’m Bunny, Emily’s friend.”
“Hello, you.”
I ran upstairs. Mrs. Boots opened the door for me. “Hello, Mrs. Boots. Am I late?” I peered around. I didn’t see any little kids. No Wilma and Chris. And Mrs. Boots was wearing an old bathrobe. “Mrs. Boots? The party—?”
“We called off.… Didn’t I—”
“You didn’t tell me, Mrs. Boots.”
“You’re sure?” she said. “Last night, I was calling everyone and—I talked to you, didn’t I?”
“Yes, Mrs. Boots, but I called you, to ask how Emily was.”
“Oh, Bunny, I’m sorry.” She gave me a kiss. “Oh, Bunny, you came for.… And I didn’t even! I’m terrible.”
“That’s okay, Mrs. Boots. I don’t care.”
“Who is it, Ma?” Emily called from her bedroom.
“It’s me, Em.”
“Bunny. Come on in.” I went in. Emily was sitting up in bed. She had a box of tissues next to her and a grocery bag for a wastebasket taped to the edge of her bed. There was a pitcher of juice on the bed table.
“I didn’t know you were still sick,” I said.
“Not just me,” she croaked. She blew her nose. “We all got sick. Wilma and Chris, too. No pardy. They were throwing up all night.”
I cleared stuff off her bureau and hoisted myself up. “So guess what?” I said. “I went to the concert last night.”
“I had a big evening, too. I slept and when I wadn’t sleeping, I wadched teevee.” She sneezed. “How was it?”
“Great.” I wanted to tell her about James, but I didn’t know where to start. “Where’s my book Paris Plus?” I said. I could show her the cover. Guess what, Emily? I met a guy last night who looks like Paris’s brother. I told him my name was Emily. And something else, Emily. I think I might be in love with him.
Emily waved vaguely. “Your book’s somewhere in this mess. I didn’t finish it yet. You still like old, corny Lulu Belle? ‘I love ya allll,’” she croaked.
“Em-ily.”
“Well, Buddy, she is so corny.”
“I know, Emily, you always say that.”
“Because it’s the trudth.”
“That’s what this guy said, too.” I waited. Emily didn’t catch on. She didn’t say, What guy? Her ears didn’t perk up. She really was sick!
“Corny.” She sneezed three times. “Corny. Corny.” She blew her nose.
“Emily, if you weren’t such a sick chicken, I’d kill you.”
“Do it!” Bloodthirsty little Wilma came in. Right behind her was Chris. They were both in pj’s.
“Hello, Wilma.… Hey, ugly face.” I ruffled up Chris’s hair.
“Don’t.” He smoothed out his hair.
“What do you two guys want, anyway?” I said. “Go away, I’m talking to Emily.”
“You can talk. We won’t stop you,” Chris said.
“Maybe I don’t want you to hear what I’m saying. Don’t you have anything to do? Why don’t you go throw up?”
“Yeech,” Wilma said. She sat down on Emily’s bed. “What’s in your knapsack, Bunny?” She opened my sack and started pawing through it.
“Go right ahead, Wilma. Don’t ask permission or anything. That’s fine with me.” My sarcasm was lost on her. Wilma thinks I half belong to her, anyway.
“What’s all this stuff, Bunny? What is it? Is this your clown stuff?”
“Clown stuff! Neat!” Chris said. “Can I see it?”
I took out the pants, which were an old pair of my father’s, from when he was really fat. I was only going to show them to Wilma and Chris, but then I pulled them on over my jeans and hopped around, holding them up. The twins, and Emily, too, thought that was pretty funny.
That got me going. I put on the flowered shirt and the old felt hat I’d found in our attic, wrapped a tie around my neck, and shoved my feet into a pair of Mom’s shoes. Her feet are even bigger than mine.
Chris stood up on the bed and shouted, “Bunny! You are so funny!”
That was all the encouragement I needed. I went into the bathroom and put on my makeup. White face. Big red, smiling lips. Dark lines around my eyes. I tied string around the pants to hold them up, and, finally, I put on a pair of extra-large-size rubber gloves that I’d stuffed with tissue paper.
I went down the hall and back into Emily’s room. The shoes flapped with every step.
Emily sneezed and said, “Buddy, thad’s a wodderful costume.”
“Where’d you get those hands?” Chris said.
I didn’t say a word. Just went into my clown act. First thing I did was fall over my own feet. I stumbled around, got my legs tangled up, fell again, rolled over, got up, flapped around the room, waving my arms. Chris and Wilma were laughing so hard I kept it going longer than I’d planned. It was great. It was so much fun.
I kept falling, trying to get to my feet, sprawling my legs out and flopping around like a fish on the floor. Mrs. Boots came and stood in the doorway. My finale was juggling three oranges in my big yellow hands.
“Well, Bunny,” Mrs. Boots said, “that’s just.… It really is!”
They all clapped for me. I took another bow, fell over my feet again, looked sad, and crawled out of the room. Then I popped my head around the side of the door and flapped my rubber hands in a good-bye wave. That part I just made up on the spot. I guess you would call it inspiration.
Chapter 8
On the way home I was thinking that maybe I’d go to clown college when I graduated high school. There’s a clown college in Florida. There’re a lot of things to learn if you want to be a real clown. It can be a lifetime profession. All at once I realized two important things had happened to me. I
fell in love, and I was figuring out what I was going to do with my life.
“Hello, I’m home,” I yelled, when I walked into the house. I dumped my knapsack in the living room and I went into the kitchen. Shad was fixing a sandwich and feeding one of his gerbils.
“Where’s Mom?” I said.
“Shopping.” He petted the gerbil. “It’s okay, it’s okay, honey. What were you yelling about, Bunny? You made Benjie nervous.”
“So sorry, Benjie. Where’s Dad?”
“Working in his study. You can’t go in there. He said not to bother him for anything. He’s trying to finish an article.”
The phone rang. “Answer it,” I said. I poured myself a glass of milk.
Shad picked up the phone. “Hello? No, there’s no Emily here. You’ve got the wrong number.” He hung up.
I almost choked on the milk.
“Second time asking for Emily,” Shad remarked. “Must be the same guy as before.” He took a jar of Vitamin C out of the cupboard and poured out a handful. “I think Benjie could use some vitamin therapy. Did you know calcium has a calming effect?” He took some calcium pills, then threw in a few wheat germ capsules. “I’m going to give him one of each of these twice a day.”
“Very good, doctor. You got the same wrong number twice?”
“Uh huh.”
“Why’d he ask for Emily?”
“How do I know? It’s a wrong number.”
It was James calling. I just knew it was him calling. “Was it a guy or a girl on the phone?”
“Guy.” Shad put the pill bottles back into the cupboard.
“And he had the wrong number?”
Shad looked at me like I was mentally defective. “Do you know any Emilys that live here?”
I sat down at the kitchen table. Sure, I do, Shad. Me! “Did he say his name?”
“I told you, it was a wrong number.”
“I know, I just meant, sometimes people say, Well, this is so and so.”
The phone rang again. Shad looked disgusted. “That bozo. He’s calling again.”
“I’ll get it, Shad. You go take care of Benjie.” I started to pick up the phone, then waited until Shad left the room. “Hello?”
B, My Name Is Bunny Page 4