First her mother answered. “Are you home, Bunny?” she said. “Emily will be so.… Let me call her! Emily! Guess who’s.…”
Then Emily got on the phone. “Bunny? Where are you?”
“In Toronto.”
“Why are you calling me? Aren’t you coming home tomorrow?”
“My beloved, I couldn’t go another day without talking to you.”
“Yup. It’s Bunny.”
“Did the twins have a good party?”
“Yeah, we took them to Burger King. They each got a crown, the works. They loved it. Is that why you called?”
“Em. Remember James?”
“El gorgeous male?”
“Yes,” I said. “Em.” I cleared my throat. “I have something to tell you.”
“You’re madly in love with him,” she said.
“That, too.”
She thought I was joking. “And what else, Bunny?”
“Em … this is sort of weird, but.…” I cleared my throat again. “Well, I told him my name was Emily.”
There was a silence. It seemed long to me.
Then Emily said, “What?”
“I told him my name was Emily,” I repeated.
“That’s what I thought you said. Why’d you do that?”
“Are you mad?”
“I’m—I don’t know. I’m confused. You told him your name was my name?”
“It just seemed … better,” I said.
“Oh,” she said.
I sat on the edge of the bed and picked at the bedspread. “Em, it’s not a big crime.”
“No, it’s just stupid. I’m just having trouble believing you did it.”
“Okay, okay, get it all off your chest. I did it, I did a stupid thing, if that’s what you think.”
“Yeah, it is what I think, Bunny.”
“Great. Thanks a lot.” I hung up the phone.
Chapter 11
I didn’t call Emily when I got home, and she didn’t call me. And the next day in school, I didn’t see her all morning. But at lunchtime, I walked over to our usual meeting place by the trophy case on the first floor. She was there. First we just looked at each other from opposite sides of the trophy case.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi,” she said.
“Well, you look the same.” She was wearing that green sweater.
“New jump suit?”
“Yeah. Grandma bought it for me in Eaton’s.”
“Uh huh.”
“You like it?”
“It’s nice.”
We were being so polite! And we were still looking at each other over the trophy case. Then, suddenly, without either of us saying anything, but at the same moment, we ran toward each other and hugged.
Then we went outside to sit on the steps. We ate our lunches and talked, telling each other everything that had happened over the vacation. We kept interrupting each other and laughing and saying things like, “You should have been there!… You should have been with me.”
Finally, I said, “Still mad at me for using your name?”
I guess I sounded a little anxious. I was a little anxious. I think when you love somebody and you have a fight and then make up, you feel so happy to be made up, it’s like you love that person ten times more than you ever did. And you definitely don’t want her to be mad at you for anything.
Emily linked her arm through mine. “No, I’m not mad. Can’t you tell?” She passed me half her apple. “My father called me last night.”
“There’s somebody else you were mad at.”
“I’m not mad at anybody, Bunny. I don’t get mad that much.”
“Tell me about it. What’d your father say?”
“Now he says he wants me to come visit this summer. Me and the twins at the same time. You know what that means, Bunny?” Her freckles were standing out all over her nose. “It means I’ll get stuck taking care of Wilma and Chris, as usual! Plus my other baby sister. I don’t mind taking care of her. I love her. But—free baby-sitting.… That’s what Dad wants.” She pressed her lips together.
I tapped her foot with mine. “Now that we’re all made up, I can’t stand seeing you look so depressed.”
She looked away from me.
“Emily! Cheer up!”
“Shut up,” she said. “Don’t. Don’t do that—Emily,” she added.
The way she said that made me jerk my arm out of hers. It came out of her mouth so scornful and sarcastic. “So sorry!” I said in my own sarcastic way.
Then we just sat there, each of us looking in another direction. Some reunion, I thought. Okay, I said a dumb thing. Did Emily have to get that nasty tone in her voice? And every time I did something the least bit wrong, was she going to remind me that I’d used her name?
“You can’t make somebody cheer up by ordering them to do it, Bunny,” she said.
“I know that!”
“Then why did you say it?”
“Emily, sometimes I just say things.”
“Obviously! Like you said my name.”
“I knew you were still mad at me about that.”
She bent her head down onto her knees. After a moment she said, “No, I’m not, Bunny. I’m sorry. I’m just being mean because I feel so bad about my father. I don’t think he loves me anymore. I really don’t.”
I put my arm around her. “Em? Let’s start over again. You just said your father only wants you for a baby-sitter. And you got sort of depressed. And this time I didn’t say anything, because I know what you mean. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Only I’m thinking something I want to tell you. I’m thinking it sounds that way about your father, but it doesn’t have to be that way.”
“Yes, it does.” She still had her head down. “If I want to see him, what am I supposed to do?”
I didn’t really know, I was just talking, trying to make Emily feel better. But then I remembered what my grandmother had said to me about taking a stand. At the time, I couldn’t figure out why she said it, but now I thought, Maybe she had some kind of ESP. Maybe she knew—I don’t mean actually, literally knew, but with some extra, different senses—that I would need that piece of advice.
“Emily, you know what I think?”
“What?”
“If you want something, you have to take a stand.”
“Meaning?” She turned and looked up at me.
I’ve heard my dad talk about counseling people, about saying what you want, stuff like that, a million times. I just pulled it right out of my head. “Tell your father what you want. Just be clear in your own mind, then tell him. Like, if you don’t want to go at the same time as the twins, you tell him that.”
“I can’t do that, Bunny.”
“Yes, you can.”
“It’s hard to say something like that to your father. I don’t want to hurt his feelings,” she said anxiously.
“Yeah. I know what you mean. But you still have to do it. He’s hurting your feelings.”
“Do you really think I could just tell him?”
“You could try. What’s he going to do? He could say, No, you have to come at the same time as Wilma and Chris. Or he could say, Yeah! Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Maybe I could write him a letter and say it. Or maybe a phone call would be easier. What do you think?”
“If it was me, I would write a letter. And then I would call him. I would do both.”
We got up to go inside. Emily linked her arm with mine. “You’re as good as Ann Landers.”
“I’m better, because I tell jokes, too. If you put three ducks in a crate, what do you have?”
“Bunny, I know all your jokes by now! A box of quackers.”
“Try this one. Did you hear about my aunt? Her name is Hortense Q. Story. She got married to Wappinger X. Short. Oh, I forgot to say, Aunt Hortense is seven feet tall. Poor dear. She had so much trouble finding clothes to fit her. But after she married Wappinger X. Short, she never had such
trouble again.”
“Why?” Emily said.
I tried not to smile. “Because getting married was a way of making a long story short.”
“A long story—” Emily began, then she got it.
When I got home from school that day, there was a letter for me in the mail.
Dear B. Larrabee,
I’m pleased you ennoyed (that’s what it said) reading my book Paris Plus. I don’t know the name of the young man on the cover. A professional model, I would assume. As to the more important question you ask, about inspriation (maybe his typewriter couldn’t spell), there may be such a thing, but it’s a mistake to depend on it. If you want to be a comedian or a piano player or a modle (modle?) or a basketball star, work at it. Don’t look for miracles.
Yours sincerely,
H. Diment
As soon as I read it, I called Emily. Wilma answered the phone. “You can’t talk to Emily now, Bunny. She’s in the toilet.”
“Wilma, you don’t have to say that.”
“Why?”
“You could just tell me she’s busy.”
“Why?”
“Well, suppose I was somebody else calling.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know who, Wilma. I’m trying to get a point across. You know me, but you don’t know everybody who calls. You don’t tell people on the phone everything.”
“Why?”
“Because I say so, Wilma. Get Emily, will you?”
“You can’t talk to her now. She’s in the—”
“Wilma! Just tell Emily to call me back later.”
I went upstairs and fooled around with Shad and his animals for a while. Then Mom came home and she was frazzled. That’s what she says the minute she walks in the house when she’s had a hard day. “I’m frazzled!” She yells it, actually. Two or three times. “I’m frazzled! Frazzled! Frazzled!”
I was in the kitchen helping her make supper when Emily called back. “Hi, Bunny. I was busy. I couldn’t call you before.”
“Em, you’ll never guess. I have something big to tell you.”
“Me, too. Bunny, you’ll never guess—I called my father and told him.”
“You told him?”
“Yes. Just what we talked about.”
“You didn’t!”
“I did! I really did it. I just this minute got off the phone. I yelled at him, Bunny. I got so upset, I just yelled and said, ‘Dad, that’s not fair! I shouldn’t have to take care of kids on my vacation, too.’”
“What’d he say? Are you glad you did it? Was he mad? Tell me everything.”
“He said he didn’t expect me to take care of the kids. He kept saying that I was coming to visit him and Marcia, that it was a visit and a vacation and I would have fun. I think that’s what he said. I’m sort of dazed. I don’t even believe yet I did it.”
“You did it! You really did it. I’m proud of you.”
“Me, too,” Emily said. She really did sound proud of herself.
“Get off the phone, Bunny,” Mom said. “Call Emily back later. I need your help now.”
“Mom, I just have to talk to Emily for a few minutes more. Em—”
“Later,” Mom said.
“Mom, five minutes—”
“You’ve already had ten minutes. I need your help NOW,” Mom said.
“What about Shad?”
“Bunny. Hang. Up. That. Phone.”
I hung up.
“And don’t sulk,” Mom said.
“I’m not sulking! Shad,” I yelled, “you come down here and help.”
“What’re you yelling about?” Shad said, walking in.
Mom stuck a broom in his hand. “Sweep. Bunny, get out the frozen peas. Then start the salad.”
“Sorry you’re not still at Grandma’s?” Shad said, sweeping around my feet.
“Believe it. This family is the worst.”
Dad came in a few minutes later. He had bought a frozen dessert. “Chocolate mouse,” Mom said. “I need something to make me feel better. I had a hard day and your daughter is giving me a hard time.” She gave Dad a kiss.
“Mousse,” Dad said. “Not mouse. Chocolate mousse.”
Mom pulled the dinner plates out of the cupboard. “Mooose. Mouse. What’s the difference? You don’t have to always correct me. There are certain words that I get mixed up. So what?”
“They’re not that hard to remember, Lorraine.”
“For me, they are. Especially today. I’m frazzled! So I get confused between the fish—which is spelled B-A-S-S—and the singing voice—which, for some reason I’ve never been able to understand, is also spelled B-A-S-S—and so what?”
“Mom, you just have to remember the fish is bass, like basketball,” Shad said, “and the voice is bass, like baseball.”
“I don’t think that helps at all,” Mom said.
“Even Shad knows,” Dad said.
“What do you mean, even?” Shad complained.
“Okay, my kid is smarter than me,” Mom said. “That’s all I need today! So I make a mistake. Do you have to correct me? Let me mispronounce stuff. Let me be not perfect, which is myself. Let me be a little goofy!”
“Who can stop you?” Dad said.
In the middle of all that, the phone rang. “I’ll get it.” I thought it was Emily again. It’s a good thing I answered. It was James.
“Hi, Emily,” he said.
“Hi!”
“Who is it?” Dad said.
“Get off the phone,” Mom said. “We’re going to eat. Tell Emily to call you back.”
“I can’t talk right now,” I said to James. “We’re just sitting down to eat supper. Can I call you back later?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. ’Bye.”
“’Bye,” he said.
“’Bye,” I said. I waited until he hung up, and then I did. “’Bye,” I said, under my breath. “’Bye, sweet James.”
Chapter 12
Saturday, when I was ready to leave the house, my father asked, “Where are you going?”
“To the mall.”
“Who are you going with?”
“Emily.”
“What are you going to do there?”
“Dad! What do you do in the mall? Shop.”
“Is that all?”
“Is that all what?”
“Is that all you’re going to do?”
“She’s returning a library book for me,” Mom said.
“And I’m going to buy that special toothpaste for you, Dad.” He has sensitive gums. I held up the list Mom had given me. “Okay? Can I leave now?”
“Have enough money?” he asked. He gave me a couple of dollars and I left.
As soon as I walked out the door, I felt better. The whole time Dad was asking me questions, I felt bad. I always feel that way when I’m lying. Not that I was actually saying anything untrue, but there was something I wasn’t saying. Which was that besides shopping in the mall, I was also going to meet James.
But first I met Emily at the south entrance. I had bought a bag of almonds on the way over. “Want some?” I asked, holding out the little white bag to her.
“No, thanks, I don’t like almonds.”
“You don’t? They’re my favorite nut.”
“Not mine. My favorite nut—”
“—is me,” I said quickly. I gave her a wrinkly grin.
“Beep. Beep. Beep! Baaad joke alert.” We went up on the escalator. “I thought so,” Emily said. “You’re nervous.”
“Me? I am not. Why do you say that?”
“You’re humming. You always hum when you’re nervous.”
“I do? Since when?”
“Since always,” Emily said firmly. “Don’t you know that about yourself?”
We got off the escalator and walked over toward the Häagan-Dazs ice-cream stand and got in line.
“You want raspberry, as usual?” Emily asked.
“Sure.” She ordered and got us napkins and too
k out her change purse to pay. I remembered how I’d paid for James’s gelato when I met him the first time. And I thought about him, about seeing him again. In just a little bit over an hour, I’d be sitting opposite him at the same table, where we sat before.
When I’d called him back Monday night, we’d agreed to meet today. “Same place, same time,” James had said. “I’ll bring a copy of the newspaper with the article to show you, Emily. Plus, I owe you a gelato. Right?”
I hummed under my breath. Was I nervous? I didn’t think so. Then, I heard myself humming. “Emily, I’ll never be able to hum again without thinking it means I’m a nervous wreck. Even if I’m not.”
“Well, I wouldn’t blame you if you were,” she said. She took the two ice-cream cones and handed me mine. “I would be, if I were you.”
“Why? I’m not meeting Jack the Ripper.”
“No, but he is a stranger, Bunny.”
“He is not.”
“You’ve only talked to him on the phone two times—”
“Three times, Emily.”
“Okay, three times. Big deal.”
“Plus, I’ve met him in person. At this very gelato place where I’m going to meet him today. And nothing horrendous happened to me. As you can see.”
“I’m sorry, maybe I’m just a worrywart type. You didn’t tell me the first time you met him—”
“I told you, it was spur of the moment. It wasn’t something we planned.”
“—or I would have been ten times more worried than I am now.”
“Then I’m glad I didn’t tell you, Emily. What good is worrying, anyway? I mean, if something is going to happen to me, it’s going to happen, right?”
“That’s ridiculous. Are you just giving up control over yourself?” She flung out her arms and lolled her head back on her neck. “What’s going to happen is going to happen,” she said, with an utterly dopey expression.
“I didn’t mean that.” I was so annoyed I pinched her.
So she pinched me back, but harder. “I just want you to be careful.”
“Okay. Okay. Okay. O. Kay. I will be careful. Feel better now?”
“I know you think I’m too cautious.”
“I never said that.”
“You’re the daring one.”
“Emily, what’s so daring about me?”
“Well, this whole thing with James. It’s an adventure. I wouldn’t have had the nerve to go through with it. I probably wouldn’t even have talked to your James the first time.”
B, My Name Is Bunny Page 7