by Clare Hutton
“What I want to know,” Natalia said, plopping down at a table, “is why we have to take gym every day. I read that you’re supposed to give your muscles a rest and only work out every other day.”
“I think that’s for stuff like weight lifting, not playing games,” Emma said, sitting next to her and pulling out her packed lunch. She looked back at Zoe. She had always thought that, if she lived in Waverly, she and Natalia and Zoe would be one tight group, the way they were on vacation. What did it mean if they weren’t together? It felt weird to be with one of her cousins and not the other. Did Zoe mind? She had said it was okay, but maybe Emma should have sat down with her instead. She’d been with Natalia all morning. “How come you and Zoe don’t sit together?”
“We told you, we don’t hang out that much at school,” Natalia said, biting into her sandwich. “We’re so different. Plus, we just have different friends.”
Natalia, Emma thought, had a lot of friends. The table was crowded with them. Natalia was in the middle of everything, talking to about five different people. Caitlin, on Emma’s other side, leaned past her. “Hey, Natalia,” she said. “Did you see Dan’s face when Ms. Patel said no calculators?” Emma didn’t know who Dan was. She realized she was twisting her hands together nervously and made herself stop.
“Hey,” the girl across the table from her said. Emma thought her name was Vivian. “Do you want to trade desserts? My mom packed me these chocolate chip muffins I don’t like.”
“Sure,” Emma said, handing over her cookies. The muffins looked good, but Emma didn’t feel hungry.
It was so loud in here, and Emma couldn’t remember everyone’s names. She needed a break.
Pushing away from the table, Emma said to Vivian, “I’ll be right back.”
Going over to Zoe’s table, she stood awkwardly next to it for a moment. What if Zoe didn’t want her? “Hey,” she said.
“Oh, hi,” Zoe said. She moved over and let Emma sit down. “You okay?”
“Yeah, why?” Emma said, automatically smoothing her hair.
“I don’t know, you just look kind of worried,” Zoe said. Her friends, whose names Emma had forgotten, nodded.
“No,” Emma said. “Not really. I didn’t want you to think I was avoiding you. I just—Natalia wanted me to sit with her.”
“You know how Natalia likes to take things over,” Zoe said. She didn’t seem mad, though. One of her friends—the blonde one—started getting up and Zoe smiled apologetically. “We were going to go to the art room since we’re finished eating. It’s too loud in here. You want to come?”
“Um.” Emma looked back to see if Natalia was looking for her, but Natalia seemed totally absorbed in her conversation. “I haven’t finished lunch yet.” She was tempted, though. The art room was probably quieter than the cafeteria, and less crowded.
But Zoe was already getting to her feet. “Okay,” she said. “See you in math, then.”
“Bye.” Even though Zoe had invited her to go with them, Emma felt a little abandoned as she watched her walk away with her friends. She wasn’t ready to go back to Natalia’s table yet, either—it was too crowded. Emma chewed on her lip, then made herself stop. Everything’s fine, she reminded herself.
When she got back to Natalia’s table, her seat was gone. Caitlin had slid across the bench into Emma’s place next to Natalia, sliding her lunch over, too, so that there was no space for Emma. Emma’s own lunch box was closed and more toward the middle of the table. Vivian, chewing on Emma’s cookies and listening to Caitlin, didn’t look up when Emma hesitated behind her.
Emma stood there for a minute, waiting for Caitlin to move. Caitlin looked up but didn’t say anything. There was a tense moment where they just stared at each other.
Natalia didn’t seem to notice. “Hey, Emma,” she said. “We were just talking about whether to join theater club this fall. You should totally join, too! They’re probably going to do The Wizard of Oz this year.”
Caitlin frowned. Emma had the distinct impression that she would not be happy if Emma decided to join The Wizard of Oz.
Could Emma really ask Caitlin to move and give her seat back? It didn’t seem like something to make a big deal out of. She grabbed her lunch box and took another seat, a little farther down the table.
“Hi,” the girl next to her now said. “You’re Natalia’s cousin, right?”
“Uh-huh,” said Emma, and tried to smile at her instead of staring down the table at Natalia and Caitlin talking about theater. Natalia didn’t seem to have noticed that Emma had moved.
Losing her seat didn’t really matter, but there was something about the whole thing that made Emma’s chest ache. It felt like maybe, despite being part of a family who’d lived here for practically forever, she didn’t fit in here so well after all.
Emma flopped down on the school bus seat and leaned back, closing her eyes. “This has been the most exhausting week of my life,” she said, as the bus’s engine began to rumble.
Natalia bounced next to her in the seat, and Emma opened her eyes again. “It was great, though, right? You finally got to meet everybody! It was awesome!”
Her eyes were wide and hopeful. No, Emma sort of wanted to say. It wasn’t awesome. Your friend Caitlin seems like she hates me for some reason, and I wish you and Zoe and I were all together like we are at home.
Looking at Natalia’s enthusiasm, though, Emma chose not to say any of that. Instead, she said: “Yeah, but I’m just worn out. It’s hard being the new kid.”
She could see the back of Zoe’s head a few rows ahead of them. She and Louise were deep in conversation. She never sat with them on the bus.
When the bus pulled up to their stop, though, Zoe cheerfully joined them in climbing off, and Tomás hopped out of his front seat with the other first-graders.
“How was school today?” Emma asked Tomás. Tomás was the most enthusiastic first-grader ever, she’d discovered. Every day he had something exciting to announce.
Now his eyes widened and he turned to them excitedly. “Ms. DeVico said that I get to be attendance monitor next week!” He waited for their reaction to this big announcement.
“Good job, Tomás,” Natalia said.
“What’s attendance monitor?” Emma asked, and Tomás stared at her in disbelief.
“You don’t have attendance monitor? It means that next week I get to go down to the office every morning with a list of everybody who’s missing from class.”
“A very important job,” Zoe said.
“Oh. Good for you, Tomás,” Emma agreed. Tomás strutted down the sidewalk in front of them, proud of himself.
“Do you guys want to go to the movies tonight?” Natalia asked. “Caitlin and Bridget and some of those people are going.”
“Hmm,” Emma said noncommittally. “I’m kind of tired.” What she really wanted to do was call Amelia or one of her other friends back home. If she could get a minute alone.
“Mommy!” Tomás shouted, pushing the front door open. “We’re home!”
“We’re in the kitchen,” Aunt Alison called back.
Dropping her backpack in the hall, Emma followed her cousins to the kitchen.
“Hey, everybody!” Emma’s mom was pulling a pan out of the oven. “Special snack time!”
“It smells amazing in here,” Emma said. The air smelled like hot butter, maple syrup, and cinnamon. Emma’s stomach growled.
“We thought we would try out a few recipes on you guys,” Aunt Alison explained. Mateo, who got home an hour before the older kids, was already sitting at the table, drinking apple juice. Grandma Stephenson was sitting with him, stirring something in a mixing bowl, while Abuelita poured tall glasses of milk for the other kids.
“It’s time to work on the breakfast part of B and B!” Emma’s mom said joyfully. She put the hot baking pan down on the counter. It was full of what looked like French toast and fruit. “We have a bunch of recipes to try before we open.”
“Oh, yeah,�
�� Emma said, her mouth watering. “You know what? We should put Dad’s special crepes on the menu.” Her dad made these thin, crispy crepes and filled them with a fruit compote of raspberries and peaches; Emma had never tasted anything so good.
“Well, honey,” her mom said, picking up a knife and cutting into the French toast stuff, maybe a little more fiercely than necessary, “we’ll definitely put those on the menu, but I’m not sure when your dad is going to get here. So we’re going to need some other choices.”
Emma looked at her mom warily. “But I thought Dad was coming soon.”
Her mom shrugged a jerky, angry shrug. “I don’t know. He doesn’t know. It depends on the restaurant.”
“Oh.” Emma sat down at the table, feeling shaky. She hadn’t realized she was counting on her dad arriving soon, but now she realized she had been assuming he’d be home any day.
She took a bite of the French toast. It was sweet but thick in her mouth. Her throat felt tight, and she had some trouble swallowing it. “It’s okay,” she said. “Kind of dry maybe?”
Natalia sat down next to her, giving Emma a sympathetic nudge, and took the fork out of her hand. “Let me try,” she said, biting into the French toast. “It’s good. Is there any maple syrup?”
Grandma passed her a pitcher, and Natalia doused Emma’s plate.
“Hey, get your own plate,” Emma said indignantly.
“Yum, but this is a lot of carbs and sugar,” Zoe said. “Don’t you think we need some protein?”
“You are such a buzzkill,” Natalia said, shaking her head and stealing a syrup-soaked blackberry off Emma’s plate. Emma smacked her hand.
“Get your own. Mom, would you give Natalia a plate? She keeps stealing mine.”
“There’s two quiches cooling on the counter over here if you want something less sweet, Zoe,” Aunt Alison said. “One’s mushroom and Swiss, and the other’s sundried tomato and feta, but they have to cool for at least another fifteen minutes or they’ll fall apart when I cut into them.”
“Gross,” Tomás said. “Can we have pancakes?”
“I could make bacon,” Zoe said. “That’s a protein.”
“And super healthy,” Natalia said jokingly, digging into the plate of French toast Emma’s mom handed her. Zoe made a face at her and started looking for bacon in the refrigerator. Mateo knocked over his juice and Tomás laughed.
Emma rested her head on one hand and poked at a strawberry as the volume steadily rose in the kitchen. The French toast was good, but she was just so tired. Grandma Stephenson was looking at her, and, as their eyes met, they shared a secret smile. Emma was pretty sure that Grandma got as worn out by being around everyone all the time as she did.
Aunt Alison brought a row of tall glasses filled with layers of fruit, granola, and yogurt out of the refrigerator. “Try these,” she said, setting one in front of everyone except for Zoe, who was now heating her bacon on the stove. “Yogurt parfait.” She sat down at the foot of the table.
“Not bad,” Abuelita said. “I like a hot breakfast myself, but you’ll get some people in who only want cereals and yogurts and things. Smart to cater to them, too.”
Emma took a bite. The yogurt was sweet and creamy, and she liked the crunch of the granola.
Aunt Alison smiled at her. “So, how was your first week of school?”
“It was okay,” Emma said. “Some of the kids are nice, some not so nice.”
“What?” Natalia’s head jerked up, and she stared at Emma indignantly. “Who’s not being nice to you?”
“Well …” Emma hesitated. She didn’t want to get into an argument about Natalia’s friend.
Before she could decide how to answer, Zoe broke in. “She means Caitlin,” she said. She turned to face them, the bacon sizzling in the pan behind her.
“Caitlin?” Natalia frowned, confused. “What’s Caitlin done?”
“It’s not like …” Emma didn’t know how to explain it. “She’s just not that friendly.”
Natalia shook her head. “I haven’t noticed anything,” she said defensively.
“You know how Caitlin is,” Zoe said. “She gives Emma these looks all the time. She’s just jealous, Emma.”
Natalia frowned stubbornly. “I would have noticed. Are you just trying to make Emma hate my friends?”
Zoe glared at her. “I’m not making Emma do anything.”
“Girls …” Aunt Alison said, sounding tired.
Natalia opened her mouth to say something else, and Emma interrupted her. “Please don’t fight, you guys,” she said. “Caitlin’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” The last thing she wanted was for the twins to fight about her.
The bacon hissed, and then suddenly the pan was full of fire. Zoe shrieked and ran toward the sink.
“No!” Emma’s mom shouted. “No water!” She grabbed a lid from the drying rack and slammed it down on top of the pan.
The fire sizzled and went out. The kitchen was silent and full of smoke. After a moment, the smoke alarm began to beep, loud and insistent. Mateo burst into tears.
“Never put water on a grease fire,” Emma’s mom said, breathing hard. “It’ll just spread it. You have to cut off the air to the fire.”
“Wow,” Zoe said, staring at the stove. “I’m sorry. I got distracted.”
“Typical,” Natalia said, clearly trying to continue their fight.
“Not really,” Zoe told her coolly. “More like something you’d do.”
Aunt Alison had picked Mateo up to comfort him, while Abuelita pulled over a step stool and climbed up, reaching for the smoke alarm. After a moment, it squeaked and then went silent.
“It’s okay,” Emma’s mom said to Zoe. “It happens to everybody. Just try to be careful.” Zoe nodded, wide eyed.
Natalia reached for her glass of milk and frowned at Emma. “Caitlin likes you fine,” she said. “But I can talk to her if you want.”
Emma shook her head. She imagined Caitlin’s reaction if Natalia told her she had to be nicer to Emma. “Caitlin and I will work it out.”
Natalia shrugged. “Well, let me know if you want me to do anything,” she said, and picked up her plate and took it to the counter where the quiches were cooling.
Grandma Stephenson reached across the table and patted Emma’s hand. “If this girl is Natalia’s good friend, there must be something good about her,” she said. “Maybe you should try to get to know her on her own. If Natalia likes her and Natalia likes you, there’s probably something you’ll like about each other.”
“Maybe,” Emma said doubtfully.
Zoe, listening in by the stove, shrugged. “Might be worth a try,” she said. “Or you could come sit with me at lunch.”
Did Zoe mind that she sat with Natalia? Emma wondered, twisting the bottom of her shirt between her hands. It hadn’t seemed like she did, but it was sometimes hard to tell what Zoe felt.
“Stop trying to steal Emma,” Natalia objected from the counter. She was grinning, but there was an edge to the words, like she wasn’t entirely joking. Emma looked back and forth between her cousins, unsure.
Is it because of me that they’re fighting? She hadn’t thought of it before—was it her fault that her cousins didn’t get along as well as they had always seemed to? If I’m the reason they’re fighting, maybe I can get them to be as close as they used to be. Emma took a deep breath. She could do it. She would make the three of them like their cousin vow again—not just cousins and sisters, but best friends.
“These are going to be really cute,” Emma said Saturday morning, carefully running her paintbrush around the edge of a chair seat, leaving a stripe of sunny yellow. It was just her and her mom today—Zoe was at her art class, and Natalia was babysitting. It was nice to spend some time alone with her mom for a change. The worry she’d felt around the twins lately—that they weren’t as close as they used to be, and that she might be the reason—had become a low thrum of anxiety whenever she was with them, and it was good to be free of tha
t worry for a while.
“I think they’ll be fun.” Her mom had turned one of the small round tables upside down and was painting its legs pale blue.
They had all decided to replace the long formal table in the dining room of Seaview House with several small tables and chairs, all painted in pastel candy colors. Emma and her mom had been painting for a while now this morning, and there were two other chairs, pink and light green, drying on top of newspapers on the grassy lawn beside them.
“People who come to B and Bs don’t want to have to eat with a bunch of strangers,” her mom had said. “This way each set of guests can have their own private table.”
The sun was warm on Emma’s shoulders—it didn’t cool off in Maryland until much later than it did back in Seattle, and September here was just as hot as August—but it felt good. She could smell the flowers in the garden, and there were blue jays screeching raucously overhead.
“These are nice,” she said to her mom. She began to paint the back of the chair with short, careful strokes.
“They are,” her mom agreed. She put down her paintbrush and rolled back her shoulders, stretching. “Imagine what it’ll be like when we open.”
Emma could picture the bright little tables full of happy people—tourists and couples in love and families—enjoying French toast and arepas and her dad’s special fruit crepes. The dining room used to be too dark, Emma thought, with heavy drapes and the long dark table. But once it was full of guests and light it would be fun. “We should get some little lacy tablecloths and replace the curtains with something that lets more light through,” she suggested.
Her mom nodded. “That room’s always been a little gloomy.”
“We could put fresh flowers on the tables,” Emma suggested. “I could cut flowers out of the garden in the summer.”
“And in the winter we could make dried flower arrangements,” her mom suggested. “Or do something seasonal with holly or tiny Christmas trees. Or shells and pebbles from the beach, to make people think of summer.”
“That would be so cute,” Emma said. “You know who will have some good ideas for things like that? Zoe.”