Emma Moves In

by Clare Hutton

  Emma turned the knob. The room had a slightly slanting ceiling, low enough that she could reach up and touch it on the side where the windows were. She crossed the room to look out. The windows themselves, like Grandma Stephenson’s, looked out over the gardens toward the water, but Emma’s were high enough that she had a good view of white sailboats scudding across the big blue expanse of the bay. The other side of the room was lined with white built-in bookcases. There was no furniture, but the room was bright and sunny, and Emma could picture herself here.

  “Cool!” Natalia said approvingly, and Zoe nodded.

  “Once the house is ready, we can get our own stuff out of storage,” her mom said. “And if there’s anything you want from the attic for your room, you can have it, as long as Grandma says it’s okay.”

  There were fancy rugs rolled up in the attic, Emma knew. And a painting she’d found once when she was poking around. It showed a thin, green-eyed girl, who was probably an ancestor, dressed for a dance.

  “You could take one of those old trunks and make a window seat,” Natalia said.

  “Could I?” Emma asked. A window seat would be cool; she could sit and read or watch the sailboats. When thunderstorms came, she could watch lightning cracking over the bay.

  “Definitely,” Natalia said. “And you can keep stuff inside it. Just make sure to take one of those big, old, tough ones and you can put cushions on top and it’ll be perfect.”

  “I think that would probably work,” Aunt Alison said. “If you’re set here for a while, I’m going to go look at the progress the contractors have made with the kitchen downstairs.”

  She headed out and Emma’s mom looked like she was about to follow her, but then her phone rang. She looked down and said, “Excuse me, girls,” and went out into the new living room.

  “You’re lucky,” Zoe said.

  “Am I?” Emma asked. “I mean, it’s a nice room, but your room is nice, too.”

  Natalia rolled her eyes. “Our room is okay, but we have to share it. According to Zoe, sharing a room with me is total torture. That’s why she says you’re lucky.”

  “I just want you to pick up your stuff sometimes.” Zoe was using a slow, patient voice, as if Natalia was a little kid, and Emma wasn’t surprised when Natalia flared up.

  “Maybe if you weren’t so compulsive about everything being in the right place,” Natalia snapped.

  Zoe, looking hurt, was opening her mouth to reply when Emma broke in.

  “Please don’t fight, you guys.” She hated it when they started squabbling. They hadn’t always been like this, had they? Emma’s memories of vacations spent with her cousins were all about the three of them having fun together. Peacefully.

  Zoe sighed. “What I was going to say, before Natalia interrupted, was that you’re lucky that you get to start from the beginning and make this room exactly how you want it to be. We’ve been in our room since we were babies. Our mom and dad chose all the furniture, and our beds are in the same place they decided our cribs would go before we were even born.”

  “True.” Natalia agreed. “There’s no room for anything new. And you get to pick from all the old stuff in the attic, plus your own stuff. You could probably furnish, like, ten bedrooms with everything stored up here.”

  “Make a list, Emma,” Zoe said, grinning. “I’ve got some paper. And I can sketch out plans for where everything might go.”

  The three of them sat in a circle on the floor of the empty room and discussed the possibilities. Zoe and Natalia, Emma noticed, at first talked to her more than to each other, but after a bit, seemed to forget to ignore each other.

  “You could hang fabric on the walls,” Natalia said. “Like tapestries. It would be cool.”

  “Emma likes things clean and simple,” Zoe argued. “What about leaving the walls white and putting up white Christmas tree lights?”

  Out in the other room, Emma could hear her mother talking on the phone. Not the words, but she registered in the back of her mind that her mom sounded, not angry exactly, but exasperated.

  “What about a hammock?” Natalia was saying when Emma’s mom came back in. “No, listen, it would be great, and then during the day you could roll it up and you’d have more room.”

  “Like on a pirate ship,” Emma said, distracted. Her mom held the phone out to her.

  “It’s your dad,” she said.

  After they’d said hello, Emma’s dad asked, “What’s like a pirate ship?”

  “Oh, Natalia thinks I should sleep in a hammock,” Emma said. When her dad laughed, something that had felt knotted up inside Emma relaxed. She missed him, and he was far away, but her dad sounded happy and just like he always did.

  “I’m sorry I can’t be with you for our special last dinner before school starts,” he said. “How’re you holding up?”

  “Okay,” Emma said. “How are things with you?” She didn’t want him to worry about her, since he had so much else going on.

  Her dad told her about what he’d been doing—mostly working—and about helping in the search for another chef to replace him. “We interviewed one who seemed great,” he said. “He’d cooked at restaurants all over the country, and we all liked him. Then we started calling his references, and none of them had ever heard of him. Nothing he’d told us was true.”

  “Maybe he was a ghost,” Emma said in a deep spooky voice. “We had a cook by that name once, but he died fifty years ago on this very night.”

  Her dad laughed, but then his voice softened and got serious. “So the search for my replacement is taking longer than we thought it would. I won’t be home next week after all.”

  Emma’s heart sank. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been counting on seeing her dad until he said he wasn’t coming.

  “I can’t leave them in the lurch,” her dad said. “But I’ll be out there as soon as I can. I hope you understand.”

  “I do,” Emma assured him. And she did—of course her dad wanted to help find the right chef to take his old job. The restaurant, and the people who worked there, were important to him. But suddenly the idea of fixing up her new bedroom was less exciting.

  “I wish I was there with you, but I know you’ll have a great first day of school,” her dad said.

  “I wish you were here, too,” Emma said. As she hung up the phone, she hoped that her dad was right about tomorrow.

  When Uncle Dean picked them up the next morning, the sails on the Bonnie Jane (named after Aunt Bonnie, of course) were hanging limp. The outboard motor was rumbling quietly as he waited for them at the end of the dock.

  “Ready for the first day of school?” he asked, hopping out to help the girls into the boat.

  Emma smoothed down the blue-and-white-striped dress nervously. She didn’t feel ready, but she took Uncle Dean’s hand anyway and let him steady her as she hopped onto the Bonnie Jane.

  “Ugh, school,” said Natalia, making a face. “Can’t we just go for a sail instead?”

  “Nope, first-day-of-school sail has to involve going to school,” Uncle Dean said, picking her up and swinging her down into the boat.

  Until Zoe and Natalia told her last night, Emma hadn’t known that this sailboat trip was how the new school year always started for them. Uncle Dean turned the boat out into the bay, cutting the motor and raising the sail, and Emma settled back into her seat as the sail caught the wind and the boat surged forward.

  The breeze lifted Emma’s hair, and she looked out across water gleaming in the early morning sunshine. A seagull screeched overhead, and Uncle Dean turned the rudder, catching the wind and speeding lightly forward through the waves.

  Emma relaxed and tipped her face up toward the sun. Whatever happened today, this was a million times better than riding the school bus on the first day of school.

  They had time for only a short sail before the girls had to get to class. Uncle Dean tied up at the dock of a friend who lived only a block from the school, and the girls climbed out, straightenin
g their clothes and hitching their backpacks up onto their shoulders.

  “Thanks, Uncle Dean,” Emma said, and the twins echoed her. They waved good-bye as he headed back out into the bay, and they turned toward school.

  “There it is,” Natalia said, waving one hand at the brick school. “We’ve got three more years there, so resign yourself to the agony.”

  The sun was still shining brightly, but Emma felt cold.

  She’d seen the school before—it was hard to miss; Waverly wasn’t that big—and it was perfectly normal looking. Three stories of red brick with big windows and a playground in the back, it held all the grades from kindergarten through eighth grade—the town wasn’t big enough for a separate middle school.

  But now the building seemed to loom over her, its windows dark and ominous. And full of strangers. Deep breaths, Emma coached herself, sucking in air. I can stay calm.

  “Nine months of prison before summer comes again,” Natalia said mournfully.

  “Oh, it’s not that bad,” Zoe said. “Stop trying to scare her. It’s fine, Emma. It’s just a school.”

  Emma knew Zoe was right, but the perfectly normal redbrick school still seemed sinister, like it was casting a shadow over the nice sunny sailing morning she’d had. Zoe and Natalia didn’t understand, she knew. They had always been here; they didn’t have to meet everyone for the first time now. The deep breaths helped the sick, panicky feeling to lessen, but she was still scared.

  As they got closer to the building, they saw more and more kids—little ones being walked in by their moms, older ones climbing off school buses or out of cars, others walking by themselves or in groups—all heading for school. One kindergartner was clinging to her mom’s legs, wailing, “No! No! I don’t want to go!”

  I know how you feel, kid. Emma wondered how Zoe and Natalia would react if she tried the same thing.

  “Natalia!” A group of girls ran to catch up with them. Natalia’s friend Caitlin, whom Emma had met at the ice-cream parlor, was one of them.

  “Hi,” Emma said to her.

  “Oh, hi,” Caitlin said shortly, eyeing her, and turned away, starting to talk excitedly to Natalia. It wasn’t rude, exactly, but something in Caitlin’s look made Emma suddenly aware that she’d just gotten off a boat. She was probably all flushed. She put up a hand to feel her hair and realized it was frizzing out in all directions.

  “Hey, Emma,” Zoe said. “These are my friends Louise and Ava.”

  They both looked sleek and put together in the same way Zoe did. Ava’s dark hair was divided into many tiny braids and pulled into a side ponytail. Louise wore a crisp white sundress that popped against her brown skin. They said hi and Emma said hi back, but she couldn’t focus, suddenly so aware of how messy and frazzled she must look. Natalia’s hair, she saw, was windblown, but Natalia wouldn’t care. Zoe’s hair had fallen back neatly around her face. Emma felt hot suddenly, as if everyone was watching her. Deep breaths, she told herself again.

  “Do you have a comb?” Emma asked Zoe suddenly, interrupting something Ava was saying about their teacher. “Sorry,” she told her. “Excuse me.”

  Zoe looked Emma over and grinned. “Yeah, come on,” she said, pulling her inside and to the girls’ bathroom.

  Emma looked into the mirror and groaned. Her hair was as bad as she had thought.

  “What’s up?” Zoe said, taking a comb out of her backpack and handing it to Emma. “You’re not usually so freaked out.”

  “I’m not usually starting a brand-new school,” Emma said, a little sharply.

  “It’s going to be fine,” Zoe said.

  “You’ve been saying that to me all morning,” Emma snapped, exasperated.

  “Well, it’s true. Here,” Zoe said, taking back the comb, and she pushed Emma’s hair behind her ears and dug in her backpack again, bringing out a small silver barrette. “There,” she said, fastening it. “You look great.”

  I do look better, Emma thought. The tightness in her chest was receding. Zoe was good with her hands and good at making things look right, whether she was drawing a bird, decorating a room, or fixing hair. Emma’s reflection was more polished already, her hair smoothly framing her face. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll try to relax.”

  “Don’t relax too much right now, or we’ll be late for class,” Zoe said, and led the way back into the hall.

  When they walked into the classroom, Natalia was already there, sitting at a desk near the front and swinging her legs. “Hey, Emma, sit here,” she said, patting the desk next to her. “I saved you a seat.”

  Emma hesitated and glanced at Zoe, but Zoe was already sliding into a desk closer to the back of the room, beside Louise. They had said they didn’t hang out all the time at school, but she felt weirdly disloyal to Zoe as she took the desk next to Natalia.

  If I sit with Natalia, am I choosing her over Zoe? Is Zoe going to be mad? But Zoe wasn’t even looking at Emma.

  The room was filling with students. These are the kids I’ll be with all year, Emma thought, looking around. Most people were talking about their summers at the top of their lungs. One girl with a face-framing braid was reading quietly; a boy was staring out the window.

  “Good morning, class,” the teacher at the front of the room said loudly, and everyone got quiet. “Most of you already know me, but in case you don’t, I’m Mr. Thomas, and I’ll be your homeroom teacher this year.”

  Mr. Thomas was maybe a little younger than Emma’s parents, with brown hair and rounded silver glasses. He was kind of short for a grown-up, and his chin stuck out in a long point. He looked okay, Emma thought.

  “We have a new student joining us this year,” he said cheerfully. “Emma Blake, why don’t you stand up and tell us a little about yourself.”

  Emma froze, instantly changing her mind about Mr. Thomas. He was not okay. She’d seen teachers do this to new kids on TV shows, but she’d never heard of it happening in real life before. Her hands were sweating, and she awkwardly wiped them on the skirt of her dress.

  Mr. Thomas nodded at her encouragingly. “Come on, Emma. On your feet.”

  Slowly, she got up. Was this really necessary? Natalia was smiling at her. “Go, Emma!” she mouthed.

  She didn’t know what to say.

  Her mouth was dry, and she could feel everyone staring at her. “Okay,” she said, staring at her shoes. Her voice came out husky and quiet, barely more than a whisper. She licked her lips nervously.

  “Speak up, please, Emma,” Mr. Thomas said cheerfully. “And look up at the class.”

  Emma dragged her gaze back up to look at everyone. They were all looking back at her, almost thirty pairs of eyes, staring right at her. The nervous twist in her stomach was so strong it made her feel like she might throw up.

  “I’m Emma Blake,” she said, speaking louder this time. Her voice sounded funny to her own ears. She didn’t know what else to say, and the silence stretched longer and longer. Someone giggled. I can’t throw up, Emma thought. Not here. Deep breaths.

  “Where are you from, Emma?” Mr. Thomas asked.

  “Seattle,” she said, and swallowed hard.

  “Seattle! A terrific city,” Mr. Thomas said. “What’s your favorite subject, Emma?”

  “English, I guess,” Emma told him, and sat down quickly, before he could ask her anything else. She felt flushed and sweaty. Why did she have to be so weird and panicky? It was just school.

  “Well, welcome, Emma,” Mr. Thomas said. “Speaking of English, let’s move right along into class.” He reached for a stack of books on his desk. “The first book we’re going to read this year is Catherine, Called Birdy. I think you’ll like it.” He began handing the books out to the front row to pass back.

  “Ugh,” Natalia said, looking at the girl in medieval clothes on the front. “Historical fiction.”

  “No, it’s really good,” Emma said quietly, feeling more confident now that she had the safety of a desk in front of her, and now that she could think ab
out the book instead of about herself. She’d taken this out of the library last year. “It’s funny. Her father wants to marry her off, but she keeps getting rid of her suitors.”

  “Do the boys have to read this, too? This is a girl book,” one of the boys in the back of the room complained, but Mr. Thomas ignored him and smiled at Emma.

  “You’ve read it!” he said. “And you liked it! I can’t wait to hear what you have to say in the class discussions.”

  “I learned a lot about medieval history from it,” Emma said, feeling shy but pleased with her teacher’s praise.

  “And that’s the other reason we’re reading the book,” Mr. Thomas said to the class. “We’ll be starting with the medieval period in history class, and we can talk about what’s accurate in this book and what’s not.” He started to write an assignment on the board, and Emma pulled out her notebook to copy it down, the class’s attention no longer on her.

  By the time lunch came around, Emma was feeling better about school. Mr. Thomas taught the sixth grade both English and history, and he seemed like he was going to be interesting. They’d had science and gym in the morning, too. The science teacher seemed nice, and she’d said they were going to study marine life and take trips out into the Chesapeake Bay to learn about the ecosystem right around them. And they were starting with volleyball in gym, which Emma knew she was good at. Smacking the ball over the net was always satisfying.

  She’d only gotten lost once, and it wasn’t long before Zoe had come and found her, and Natalia had saved her a seat in all their classes. Maybe sixth grade is going to be okay, Emma thought hopefully as she followed Natalia into the cafeteria.

  Zoe and her friends were already sitting at a table near the cafeteria entrance. Zoe looked up as they came in and smiled at Emma, sliding over to make room for her. Emma hesitated, looking after Natalia, who had continued on into the cafeteria.

  “Emma, come on!” she called impatiently. Emma looked back and forth between her cousins, feeling awkward.

  Zoe shrugged at her. “It’s okay if you want to sit with Natalia.” Emma followed Natalia.