Emma's Not-So-Sweet Dilemma

by Coco Simon

  “Wait a minute now. Not so fast! Why don’t we give them the details?” continued Mrs. Allen.

  Olivia was tugging on her mom’s arm to get her to leave, and her face was turning red.

  Quickly, I blurted, “So, Olivia, we’ll pick you up tomorrow around two o’clock for the event at the children’s unit of the hospital, okay?”

  She looked at me blankly, but it shut her mother up.

  Alexis quickly caught my drift and said, “You know. You’re coming with us to volunteer at the holiday party tomorrow for the kids at the hospital, remember?”

  Olivia looked at us suspiciously, and her mother said, “What’s all this?”

  “Wait, did I not send out that e-mail?” I said, smacking myself in the forehead.

  “No, I never got it,” said Mia, playing along.

  “Me neither,” said Katie, looking totally confused. “There was an e-mail?”

  “Okay, well, my mom is driving the minivan, so we have room. I’ll pick you all up around two tomorrow, more or less, and we’ll go for about an hour and hand out the cupcakes to the sick kids. Got it?”

  The Cupcakers all nodded emphatically.

  “Okaaay . . . thanks?” said Olivia.

  “No prob!” I said cheerily. “And don’t forget to send us the e-mail about your holiday party. We’d love to come!” I added.

  Olivia smiled in surprise. “Really? I mean, great! Okay. It’s next weekend. I’ll send you the info soon, I promise. See you tomorrow!” She practically skipped away down the aisle.

  As soon as she rounded the bend, I turned to look at my friends.

  “That was really nice of you, Em,” Mia said quietly.

  “Yeah, quick thinking!” said Alexis.

  “I . . . am not really sure what just happened there, but obviously you just did something really kind, Emma,” added Katie.

  “Thanks. Sorry. I just felt so bad for her. And her mom really is torture. Nothing like our moms, you know?”

  The other Cupcakers nodded.

  “She’s not as lucky,” agreed Katie.

  “Thanks for playing along, for getting it so quickly. You guys are the best!” I said.

  “No, you are!” said Mia, grabbing me in a hug. “And your face really is back to normal, by the way.”

  “Thanks. But I forgot when I was fibbing that we have to go to Katie’s first to finish making the cupcakes! So I guess we’ll just pick up Olivia after that.”

  “Perfect,” we all agreed.

  After the holiday boutique, Mrs. Brown brought us all to Katie’s to pick up our stuff, and we each headed home. I was pretty tired and looking forward to chilling at home and doing some homework, just to get it out of the way.

  My mom hugged me when I walked in and said, “I missed you, angel!” and that made me hug her back extra hard.

  “There’s a message for you on the answering machine,” she said. “From Mona.”

  “Interesting,” I said, and went to play it.

  “Hello, darling. It’s Mona for Emma. Darling, just to tell you I’ve finished with that loathsome man and will never work with him again. I cannot wait for you to come back to me for a show next week. Please ring to let me know if you’re free next Saturday. We’ve got a lovely designer’s things to show, and she’s as sweet as Mother Teresa. No more mean people! My apologies again for that horrible episode and kiss, kiss to you all, darlings! Ciao!”

  I smiled. I was back in business!

  “What was that all about?” asked my mom.

  I reminded her about the Harry Rosner thing and told her what had happened this morning, then I filled her in on the rest of my day and, while I was at it, all the Olivia Allen stuff.

  “Sweetheart! Why didn’t you tell me any of this? I feel so awful that you’ve been going through this all alone!”

  “I haven’t been all alone, Mom! I have my friends!”

  My mom smiled. “Yes, it’s true. I guess you do.” She rubbed my back and gave me a squeeze, and I stood up to go get some work done.

  Just after lunch on Sunday, we were back in Katie’s kitchen, finishing the Snowball Express cupcakes.

  “Your mom is so nice to let us take over your house for basically the whole weekend,” I said.

  Katie shrugged. “It’s awfully quiet without you guys here.” She thickly spread white frosting onto a cupcake and set it in the carrier. I was busy opening packages of napkins and stowing them in a small shopping bag, so they’d be ready to go when we got there. They were cute, with pictures of white fluffy snowmen against a dark-blue night sky. We thought the kids would like them. They were cheerful. Mia had brought some pine branches to lay around the cupcakes, and Alexis had three big white plastic platters we used regularly for parties.

  Alexis finished wiping out the final carrier and set it down, and we all loaded the remaining cupcakes into it.

  “Guys, I just have to tell you all, I’m still stumped on the holiday gifts for you,” I said.

  “Please! Don’t get us anything!” said Mia.

  “I want to. I just thought I’d luck out yesterday, and then it was an epic fail.”

  “It’s the last thing you should be worrying about at this time of the year,” agreed Alexis.

  “What should we be worrying about? Year-end tax write-offs?” teased Mia.

  “Well, one thing we do have to worry about is logistics when we get to the party,” said Alexis. “Here’s what we’ll do. We can each take a carrier, and we’ll find Kathy Dwyer, and she will show us where to set up. Then I think we should decide if we want to use all three platters and put out every cupcake, or just do one and keep refilling it. I think there will be tons of kids, so maybe the first option is better.”

  We were quiet for a moment, thinking about logistics, and then Mrs. Brown called from the other room “Emma! Your mom’s here!” and it was time for us to go.

  We bustled into our jackets and out to the car, crunching over the now-icy snow in the driveway, and we secured the cupcake carriers with bungee cords in the cargo area, then we set off to pick up Olivia.

  As soon as we pulled into the driveway of her pretty white house, Olivia popped out the door, calling something back over her shoulder (probably promising her mom she wouldn’t eat any cupcakes, I thought), and came bounding out to the van.

  “Hey, everyone!” she said, clambering in. The automated door whirred shut behind her as she found a seat. Everyone greeted her warmly, which was nice. Olivia looked like she’d taken extra care with her appearance today. Her hair was in two cute braids with red bows at the ends, and she had on a white turtleneck that was sprigged with tiny Christmas trees, and a cute fuzzy holiday sweater topped with a white down vest.

  “I love your outfit!” said Mia. “So cute!”

  “And the braids!” added Katie.

  “Thanks,” said Olivia. “I actually brought some supplies in case any of the kids want me to do their hair.” She patted her hobo bag at her side.

  “Oh. Wow. That was a good idea,” I said.

  Olivia shrugged. “Sometimes it helps to do something fun with the kids. Like an icebreaker.”

  “How did you think of that?” I asked.

  “Oh, my cousin was really sick when we were little, so I used to go visit her at the children’s hospital a lot for a while. The kids there can get really bored, but they don’t always feel well enough to be entertained.”

  “Oh,” I said. “That’s . . . hard.”

  Olivia nodded. “Yeah. You’ll find out,” she added. “The only thing I can’t really deal with is blood, but you don’t see much of that in the children’s ward.”

  I’m not good with blood either. I thought back to when Olivia and I had both fainted at the hospital after seeing blood (I was with Jake, who was getting tested for a tonsillectomy; she was trying out to model for a blood drive poster. It was not pretty). I hadn’t really been focused on the hospital part of the equation before this instant. I kept thinking “kids” and “holi
day” and “party,” but thinking about being at the hospital and that the kids might be actually really be sick suddenly made me feel nervous. Like, how should I act around them? And should I ask about how they were feeling? And would something make me faint?

  The minivan pulled into the main parking area of the hospital just as a kid was being pushed out in a wheelchair. Her eyes were closed and her head was tipped back, and she looked exhausted. In my heart, I said a little prayer that she had a broken leg or something and was just tired from all the X-rays, and then the van stopped and I jumped out to get the cupcakes, all nervous energy now.

  We said bye to my mom, and Alexis led the way to the desk where Kathy Dwyer had instructed her to go, and then we were onboard the world’s biggest and slowest elevator, heading to the kids’ ward on the top floor.

  As the doors opened, I took a deep, calming breath and followed Alexis to the left, with the rest of the Cupcakers and Olivia. Katie and Mia had stopped talking on the elevator, and I realized they were nervous too, but Olivia and Alexis kept chatting away.

  Down the hall, we followed the directions to the playroom and could suddenly hear Christmas music and cheerful voices, which relaxed me a little. I tried not to look in any of the patients’ rooms as we passed, because I didn’t want to seem nosy or like I was gawking or invading their privacy. So when we got to the playroom, I was relieved to look up and all around.

  It was a sunny, cheerful room, with a whole wall of windows looking out over a park at the edge of town, and there was a big menorah and a decorated Christmas tree, and cute paper decorations pinned all around the walls. It kind of felt like a preschool classroom.

  None of the kids were there yet, but Kathy Dwyer came over to greet us warmly and introduce us to the child-life coordinators, who help with schooling and entertainment, among other things, for kids staying at the hospital. There were also a couple of nurses and two parent volunteers. Everyone was superfriendly and bubbly, and I immediately began to relax. Kathy thought one platter was probably the better way to go, so we loaded it up and stowed the carriers under the tables. There was lots of other food—sandwiches, salads, cookies—but ours was the prettiest, if I did say so myself.

  And then it was time for the kids to come! My palms were actually a little sweaty, and Katie and Mia both had big, nervous smiles plastered on their faces, which was how I must’ve looked too. But as the first few kids came in—two in wheelchairs with IVs and one with a shaved head, on crutches—Olivia stepped forward to greet them warmly, and we all followed her, and it suddenly wasn’t as scary as it had been.

  Thank goodness we brought her! I thought. I never would have believed it.

  CHAPTER 10

  Angela

  By the middle of the party, everyone was saying “Thank goodness for Olivia,” even Kathy Dwyer. Talk about seeing a new side of a person! Olivia was comfortable from the get-go, chatting with the kids, making them laugh, bringing them things to eat and drink.

  Only around eight kids came to the party, but they’d all made an effort to be festive. Some were dressed up in fancy holiday outfits, some had wrapped tinsel around their crutches, and others had snowman stickers on their casts. They all loved the cupcakes, especially the chocolate surprise in the middle.

  Kathy came over to check on us at the refreshment table at one point and said, “Don’t forget to smile and wave for the camera!” She pointed at a security-type camera up on the wall.

  “Um, is that so the security people can get a good look at us?” I asked. “ ’Cause, we’re pretty good kids!”

  Kathy laughed. “No! It’s for the kids who can’t get out of their beds. They watch the events and entertainment on their TVs.”

  My head snapped back up to look at the camera. “Wait, what? There are sick kids watching the party on TV right now? How many?”

  “Oh, about twenty,” said Kathy, turning to smile and wave at the camera.

  I thought I might burst into tears right then and there.

  “So . . . what do they do to celebrate?” I asked.

  “Usually, we bring the party to them,” said Kathy. “So for example, after Santa comes here, he’ll go from room to room and hand out little gifts and chat with the kids. . . .”

  “And what about the refreshments and stuff?” I asked.

  “We usually just put it in the staff room after, and the nurses love it.”

  “Well . . . could we bring some cupcakes around, or are the kids too sick to eat them?” I asked.

  “Oh, certainly!” said Kathy. “Most of the time their parents will come pick up a plate for them, but if you’d like to do that, it would be lovely. I’d say most of the kids we have right now”—she squinted up at the ceiling as she thought—“can have cupcakes!”

  “Okay, great!” I said, now wondering what I’d gotten myself into. Hospitals, sick kids, potential blood . . . not my strong suit. Time to call in the reinforcements.

  “Olivia!” I called. “Hey, Olivia!”

  Olivia turned from where she was laughing with a little girl who seemed pretty okay, and I waved her over. I explained what Kathy and I had been talking about and asked if she’d do it with me and she readily agreed.

  “Sure! Those are the kids who really need company!” she said.

  “And cupcakes!” I added.

  I went to tell the others what we were doing, and they all thought it was a great idea, but all three of them were too nervous to join us. Alexis agreed she’d hold down the fort, and I grabbed a cupcake carrier full of Snowball Express cupcakes while Olivia grabbed a stack of napkins. We crossed the room to check in with Kathy, who gave us our marching orders (including a list of which room numbers to visit), and we set off.

  “How many?” asked Olivia as we turned right into the hallway, following Kathy’s directions.

  “Twelve,” I said.

  “Wow. That’s a lot of kids!”

  “To be sick. I know,” I agreed. We were silent for a minute, thinking about it, and then I looked at my list and realized we’d reached the first room.

  The door was halfway closed, and there was only a dim light coming from inside.

  “Knock, knock,” I whispered, tapping on the door. My stomach was in knots. I was so worried about what we’d find behind the door and how we’d react to it.

  Quickly, a young man was at the door. He opened it, nodding at us, and gestured for us to enter. We hesitated, since he wasn’t speaking, and we pointed at the cupcakes and asked if anyone might want one. Again, he waved us in, so we entered the room.

  It was dim, with only one light on in the corner, and cool, and there was a whooshing sound going regularly. As we rounded the corner from the entryway, we spied a tiny girl inside a huge, clear plastic tent.

  “Pneumonia,” said the man, thumping his own chest. “Alexandra, sweetheart. You have some visitors.” He reached the bedside and gently unzipped a wall of the tent.

  “Go on, you can get in, make yourself at home,” he said, like a totally normal host, as if we weren’t being invited into a tent in a hospital with a tiny child.

  I hung back and let Olivia go first. “Hi, Alexandra,” she said in a soft but friendly voice.

  The tiny girl nodded, a mask over her face. She couldn’t have been more than four years old.

  “We’re sorry you don’t feel well,” said Olivia.

  I looked at Olivia, then said, “We brought you a holiday treat. We can put it on your table here if you’d like.” She had a wheeled convenience table pulled up alongside her bed. It was covered with color­ing books and crayons that seemed untouched. The child was so thin and pale, she probably didn’t have any extra energy for anything. Alexandra nodded slightly at my offer, so I opened the carrier and busied myself with the cupcake transfer.

  Meanwhile, Olivia started to chatter in a quiet but upbeat voice, engaging Alexandra with yes or no questions that she was able to answer by nodding or shaking her head. Pretty soon, the questions were funny, and Alexa
ndra was giggling behind her mask. Olivia showed Alexandra her braids with the bows and offered to braid Alexandra’s own, long brown hair, and Alexandra nodded.

  I could see that this wouldn’t be a superquick visit, so I set down the carrier and waited while Olivia got the okay from Alexandra’s dad to go ahead. Pretty soon, Alexandra had two long braids down either side of her head, each with a big red bow at the end. Olivia withdrew a mirror from her bag and let Alexandra look at her reflection. Alexandra giggled again, looking at herself, and lifted her mask to say “I love them,” turning her head this way and that so she could see the braids from all angles. “Thank you.”

  “You look beautiful,” I said, noticing that a little pink had come into Alexandra’s cheeks.

  Olivia said, “Well, we don’t want to tire you out, and anyway, I heard a rumor that the big guy in the red suit might be coming to see you soon. . . .”

  Alexandra’s eyes lit up, and she nodded.

  “Okay, then. We’ll be on our way. Happy holidays!” Olivia said cheerfully.

  “Bye!” I said, smiling a little awkwardly.

  I picked up the carrier and we came out of the tent. Alexandra’s dad was grinning. “Thank you so much. She hasn’t been that animated since . . . well, since she got sick.” His voice caught in his throat for a minute, and he paused. “Thank you. That was wonderful,” he said. (I was so relieved that he didn’t cry!)

  “It was fun. She’s adorable,” said Olivia, totally relaxed and natural.

  “Yes, she is,” said Alexandra’s dad, glancing over his shoulder.

  “Happy holidays,” I said with a smile.

  “And to you too, girls. To you too,” he said as we left.

  Outside Alexandra’s room, I looked at Olivia, impressed. “You were really good with her!” I said.

  Olivia shrugged. “Like I said, I’ve had lots of bedside practice. Just as long as there’s no blood around, I’m fine.”

  “I agree,” I said, feeling queasy just thinking about it.

  We made our way through three more rooms that were pretty easy (a little boy with asthma in another tent; a field hockey player with a broken leg in traction and who was thrilled to have her hair braided; and a rather spunky three-year-old boy who’d just had an appendectomy). Everyone had cupcakes, including the parents, and I told Olivia I’d go back to get the other, full carrier and meet her in the next room.