Emma's Not-So-Sweet Dilemma

by Coco Simon

  By this point, I’d started to take my cue from Olivia. Light chatting, no pity, don’t focus on why the kids are there. Don’t use the word “sick,” and some other little details I’d noticed, like not sitting on the bed unless invited, and stuff.

  Back at the playroom, I waved at Alexis, Mia, and Katie, who were making Christmas ornaments and dreidels with the kids at the party (hard to tell who was having more fun), and swapped out the carriers. Kathy bustled over to see how it was going, and I told her it was great and that we were about halfway done.

  I walked briskly back down the hall to the room where I’d told Olivia I’d meet her, but there was no one in there—the rooms was clean and empty. I looked at the list from Kathy. Maybe she’d meant the next room?

  “Olivia?” I called, out in the hall. I ducked my head slightly into the next room, where I could hear a TV playing on low. “Olivia?”

  “Emma?” called Olivia. She sounded kind of weird. Like a little . . . panicky. I pushed open the door fully and walked into the room with the cupcakes, and what I saw took my breath away.

  It was a girl about our age, lying in the bed asleep, her face a zigzag of stitches, some of it swaddled in bandages. Her entire face was bright red and swollen and it all looked like it had just happened. A huge gash ran across her temple, and there was one down the underside of her jaw. Her right ear was wrapped in gauze that also circled her head.

  “Um . . .” I kind of staggered when I saw her.

  “Hi, honey,” said a woman I hadn’t seen. She was curled in a chair by the window, as if she’d been asleep. “This is Angela. We weren’t expecting any visitors today, but we’re happy to see you.” She sat up and fussed with her hair, straightening her sweater.

  Olivia was standing in mute shock at the foot of the bed, staring at the girl, like she’d been turned to stone by the sight of her.

  “Olivia!” I whispered sharply. She looked at me and kind of snapped out of it, but she didn’t do or say anything. Now what? She’d been the leader on all of this: calm, cool, and collected, and cheerful, too. I took a deep breath. I had to do or say something. I started rambling.

  “We’re volunteers from the holiday party down the hall,” I said. “I’m Emma and this is Olivia. We’re delivering cupcakes. Would Angela like one?” I asked. “Or would you?”

  The woman stood up, and I could see that she was tall and elegant, with a very beautiful, if exhausted, face.

  “That’s so sweet. Thank you. Maybe we could take two and save them for a little later, when she wakes up,” said the woman.

  “Sure,” I said in a cheery but quiet voice. I couldn’t tell if Angela waking up would be a good thing or a bad thing, but I was pretty sure she wouldn’t be eating cupcakes anytime in the near future. Still, I was glad for a task, so I busied myself with opening the carrier, and glanced at Olivia. She was still staring at Angela.

  “Olivia! Napkins, please!” I said in a kind of bossy voice.

  “Oh,” said Olivia, turning away from Angela and looking for a place to lay down two napkins.

  “Here is fine, thanks,” said the woman, gesturing to a shelf on the wall.

  I set out the cupcakes and then, seeing as how we couldn’t really chat with Angela and Olivia certainly couldn’t braid her hair, we turned to the woman to say good-bye. But on turning, I could see that she had started to weep quietly.

  Olivia and I looked at each other, and Olivia seemed terrified. I took a deep breath and said the first thing that came to my mind. “Would you like a hug? We’re handing those out too.”

  The woman laughed a little and said, “Sure, I’d love one. I’m so sorry. I keep losing it. It’s been such a long twenty-four hours since the accident. And seeing you two . . . about her age . . . It’s going to be a long road back.”

  She reached out her arms, and I gave her my biggest, best hug for a long time, rubbing her back the way my mom does with me and my brothers when we’re sad. Finally, she pulled away and found a tissue and blew her nose. “I’m so sorry! Weeping on a stranger’s shoulder, on a little girl! I’m completely losing it!”

  “It’s totally okay. Listen, we understand. We’re sorry for what happened to Angela. . . .”

  “She’s such a pretty girl, too,” said the woman, fumbling to show us a photo on her phone.

  The image came up, and we saw that the girl was truly beautiful.

  “Wow,” I said. “Gorgeous.”

  “So beautiful,” agreed Olivia.

  The woman clicked the phone off and put it away.

  We were all quiet for a minute, looking at Angela sleeping soundly in the bed.

  Then, impulsively, I pulled out my cell and showed the woman my football nose selfie. “Um, I don’t know if this will make you feel better or not but . . . kids heal pretty quick. This was me a week ago.” I held out the phone, and she looked at the photo, her eyes growing large and her jaw dropping.

  “Really?” She looked between the photo and me, back and forth, like it didn’t add up.

  I smiled. “Much better, right?”

  “Much.” She smiled.

  “Arnica cream, tea bag compresses, and parsley paste,” I said with a grin and shrug. “Worked like charms.”

  “I’ll do it,” she said. “Besides all the medicine she’s getting, that natural stuff could only help. Thank you.”

  I shrugged again. “It’s amazing what time and Mother Nature can accomplish together,” I said, thinking of Katie’s mom.

  Angela stirred in her bed, and the woman went to her side. “Honey, there are some nice girls here with cupcakes. I’ll save one for when you’re ready, okay?”

  “Well, we’d better . . . ,” I started to say.

  There was a tapping on the door, and a nurse pushed it open, stopping in surprise when she saw us. “No visitors yet for Miss Angela, please!” she said firmly.

  “No, it’s fine. . . .” interjected Angela’s mom.

  “We’re not visitors. . . .” I said, starting to explain.

  “They’re angels,” said Angela’s mom with a smile.

  I smiled back at her.

  Then I took Olivia by the arm, my cupcake carrier in my other hand, and we headed out. I called a soft good-bye over my shoulder. I got Olivia down the hall and around the corner and then found her a bench to sit on for a minute. She was clutching the snowman napkins in a death grip. I pried them from her fingers and set them on the bench next to her. Then I opened the carrier and took out a cupcake, peeling off the wrapper.

  “Here, Olivia,” I said. “Emergency cupcake medicine.”

  She took it, in a daze, and ate it, and she slowly came back to life. “I . . . don’t think we were supposed to go in there,” she said.

  I looked at my list. “Yeah, Angela was definitely not on my list,” I confirmed. “It obviously just happened, whatever it was. That poor girl. Her poor mother.”

  “I almost fainted,” said Olivia. “The blood . . .”

  “I know. Let’s not talk about it. Just think happy thoughts and know that she’ll be okay. A few scars, maybe, but only along the edge of her face. And at least she’s alive, and she seems to have a really good mom.”

  Olivia nodded. “I think I want to go home,” she said in a small voice.

  “Okay,” I agreed. We headed back to the playroom, walking quietly, lost in our own thoughts.

  CHAPTER 11

  Brainstorm

  Back at the playroom, the party was wrapping up. Alexis, Mia, and Katie were thrilled by how it had all gone, chattering a mile a minute, but they stopped when they saw us.

  “What happened?” asked Mia, her face full of concern.

  Quietly, I explained what we had seen, and they all shook their heads sadly.

  “That’s so sad,” Katie said, her eyes welling up.

  “I know,” I said with a sigh.

  Kathy came bustling over and said, “Oh, my dears, I just heard from the nursing station that you got off track. Totally my fault. I
’m so sorry. I should have sent someone with you. That poor child, Angela.”

  “What happened to her, if you don’t mind my asking?” I said. I wasn’t really expecting an answer, but Kathy gave me one.

  “Car accident. It wasn’t her driver’s fault, but Angela wasn’t wearing a seat belt, so it was way worse that it should have been. She’s lucky to be alive.”

  “Yikes,” I said.

  “No kidding,” agreed Kathy. “You wouldn’t believe how often we see it. It’s a shame.”

  “And at this time of year,” Alexis added, shaking her head sadly.

  “Well, you can look at it the other way too,” said Mia. “At this time of year, it’s lucky she’s alive. A holiday miracle.”

  “We have lots of those here!” Kathy said proudly. “And Angela will be fine. I promise.”

  We helped Kathy and her staff clean up, and we gathered our things to head downstairs. I had texted my mom to come get us, so we decided we’d just go wait outside for her. Walking out, we ran into Alexandra’s dad, who was so friendly and grateful again, and we waved at some other parents who were getting ice from the machine in the hall. All in all, it was a cheerful place, with recoveries around every corner.

  But Olivia had been pale and quiet ever since we’d been in Angela’s room. Outside the main entrance, the cold air and the sight of the pretty snow seemed to revive her a bit more than the cupcake had, but she still looked a little upset.

  “Are you all right?” I asked quietly.

  “Yeah,” she said, taking in deep breaths of fresh air. “It just caught me off guard. Her swollen face. And all the stitches. And . . . all I could think was . . . if that ever happened to me . . . I don’t think my mom would be so nice about it.”

  “Olivia! Don’t be ridiculous!” I said. “Your mother would be at your side every minute!”

  “I don’t know. I think . . . if I wasn’t pretty anymore . . . and part of it was my fault for not wearing a seat belt . . . well . . .”

  I didn’t like where she was going with this because part of me actually thought she might be right.

  “Don’t worry. We’d come cheer you up!” I said brightly, to change the tone of the conversation.

  “Who?” Olivia asked distractedly.

  “Us!” I said. “Your friends!”

  She looked at me in surprise. “You would?”

  I punched her lightly in the arm as my mom (thankfully) pulled up. “Of course!” I said, and I started toward the minivan.

  “Emma!” called Olivia.

  I turned back, and she was still standing there.

  “Thanks,” she said. And she smiled.

  “You’re welcome,” I said. “Now hurry up and get in the car with me. It’s freezing out here!”

  I noticed everyone buckled up quickly as soon as we got in the car. I filled my mom in on everything, without going into too much detail about Angela other than to say it was sad. I didn’t think Olivia would stand it if we dwelled too much on the subject.

  We dropped off the Cupcakers at their respective houses, and as the route had it, Olivia and I were alone in the car by the end. My dad called, and my mom started talking to him on the speaker­phone about dinner.

  Olivia said quietly, “Emma.”

  “Hmm?” I turned to look at her.

  “I’m sorry if I wasn’t nice about your nose.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t know what to say. “Well . . . you weren’t. Or maybe you were trying to be, but you just didn’t know how, or whatever. It’s okay.”

  “Well, I really am sorry,” said Olivia.

  “Thanks. Apology accepted,” I said. I held out a hand for her to shake, and she shook it, grinning.

  “You were really good with all those kids today,” I said admiringly.

  “Ugh. Not all of them, obviously.” She grimaced.

  “But, Olivia, we weren’t even supposed to be in there. Even Angela’s mom couldn’t deal with it. Come on. All the other kids—You were so cheerful and upbeat, and you were so smart to bring the ribbons and rubber bands and the mirror! I never would have thought of that!”

  “You were really good with Angela’s mom,” she said. “Really good. Even though I know you hate blood too.”

  “Well, someone had to be. We couldn’t both freeze!”

  “Still,” she said, “I was impressed.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Okay, girls, here we are!” called my mom, pulling into the Allens’ driveway.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Taylor,” said Olivia, climbing out.

  “My pleasure. Anytime!”

  “Bye, Olivia!” I called. “See you at school tomorrow!”

  “Bye! Thanks for including me!” She waved, and I slid the door shut.

  “What a busy weekend all you girls have had!” observed my mom.

  I yawned. “No kidding. All I want to do is lounge on my bed until dinner!”

  “Sounds like a plan, as long as your homework is done,” agreed my mom.

  “It is.”

  Back home, I wearily climbed the stairs, looking forward to sinking onto my bed. But from Matt’s room came grunts and groans of frustration.

  “Matt?” I called, taking a detour toward the room he and Sam shared.

  “What?” he called, all grumpy.

  I pushed open his door. He was at his desk; the large screen for his computer that he’d bought himself at a yard sale had tons of windows opened on it.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  Matt sighed heavily and spun himself around in his desk chair to face me. “My website is driving me crazy.” Matt runs a small graphic design business; he makes flyers for kids’ bands, and handouts for things like dog-walking businesses (mine!), and business cards for people.

  “Why?”

  “I can’t figure out how to add e-commerce to it, so people can pay with a credit card online or use PayPal. I watched a YouTube video on it, but there’s something I’m missing.”

  “Why don’t you go down to the computer lab at the mall? Can’t they help you and maybe jazz up the site a little?”

  “Nah, they’ll charge me,” said Matt in a defeatist tone.

  “Well, I’ll see if I can think of something,” I said. I was no computer programmer, that was for sure. “Sorry. Good luck.”

  I went to my room and spied my flute case. I’d neglected practicing all weekend since I’d been so busy. It was just the thing I needed right now—relaxing and satisfying! I pulled out my flute and started practicing the pieces I’d been working on with my flute teacher, and a new one we were doing with the school orchestra.

  After a while, I got bored and started just noodling around, kind of composing something. I thought of Angela today and how lucky I’d been with my injury, especially compared to hers. Seeing those sick kids today—it really put things in perspective. A bruised nose was nothing compared to what those kids were dealing with. Imagine being in a car wreck. Imagine breaking your leg and having to be in traction for eight weeks, especially if you’re an athlete. Imagine having to sleep in a tent because you can’t breathe. I was so lucky. And so were all my friends and family. I was glad to be reminded of it again this early in the holiday season.

  My thoughts continued to roam as I played, thinking about the holiday boutique and the sleepover and the blizzard. My mom had been right. It had been a superbusy weekend, and I still had to figure out what to get everyone else for the holidays.

  Suddenly, I thought: Why not compose a song for my friends on my flute? It wasn’t a knitted hat or a beaded necklace, but it was creative, and better yet, it was free. It would last forever, and it would certainly be unique. And maybe I could even play it for Matt to use on his website!

  Energized, I got out my lined music notebook and began scribbling; an hour flew by as I tried different compositions and variations, all repeating back to the same theme. I tinkered and toyed with it, and by the time my mom called us for dinner, I had something definite, though not clo
se to finished, down on paper, and I was so psyched! I’d tried to capture Alexis’s logic, Mia’s flair for the dramatic and her style, and Katie’s homespun simplicity and beauty. And what the heck, I even threw in a little of Olivia’s surprising poise and tenderness at the hospital. I felt very proud and creatively satisfied as I descended the stairs to dinner. I sat down at the table and Matt was smiling at me.

  “I liked what you were working on,” he said. “What is it?”

  “Funny you should mention it!” I laughed, still all energized from my session. “It’s a song I’m composing for my friends. But I wondered if you might like to use it as a soundtrack on your website?”

  Matt’s jaw dropped. “That’s a great idea! That would really make the site come to life! Are you serious?”

  I nodded, smiling, and saw that my parents were beaming at the two of us. That made me kind of roll my eyes. I hate when they get all sappy like that about our family. It’s such a TV show moment.

  After dinner, I dashed upstairs and texted my friends.

  Homemade gifts only this year. No spending big bucks, okay? Too late?

  Quickly, the replies flooded in.

  GOOD CALL! said Mia.

  INTO IT! wrote Katie.

  And Totally, replied Alexis.

  THANKS! I wrote, and I pressed send with a big grin on my face.

  CHAPTER 12

  Happy Holidays

  The Allens’ holiday party was not at all what I expected.

  First of all, their house is really warm and welcoming. It made me wonder why we’d never been over there before. Mrs. Allen had gone all out with the decorations, including outdoors, and every surface was gilded or scented or ribboned or flocked. I couldn’t imagine how long it would take to take it all down after the holidays.

  And the food! There were platters of ham biscuits, filet of beef on crostini, apple strudel, mini pots of seafood bisque, mini-pizzas and hot dogs, croquettes, cheeses, nuts, any kind of fruit you could think of—you name it. And the dessert room was insane! A whole hallway set up with folding tables covered in pretty tablecloths bore every holiday sweet in the world: Yule logs, beautifully painted holiday cookies, brownies, candies, and hand-dipped chocolates. Best of all, there was a chocolate fondue fountain with lots of treats to dip, like marshmallows, sugar cookies, strawberries, and bananas.