Girl Power

by Melody Carlson

  Morgan held up an almond cookie. “How about if we take Mr. Greeley some of these cookies, Amy? That’s sort of like honey.”

  So it was agreed, and they all marched over to Mr. Greeley’s with a bag full of the delicious almond cookies. Morgan was nominated to speak. She didn’t mind since she’d known Mr. Greeley the longest, and she wasn’t too afraid of him. Well, at least not when she had backups like today. His double-wide house was part office. It could’ve been nice looking, but it was dirty and dingy and had boxes of all kinds of stuff stacked around on the front porch. A scrawny-looking tiger cat rubbed against Morgan’s legs, and she reached over to stroke its back. The cat purred loudly and rubbed again. She doubted that Mr. Greeley ever petted the poor animal. It looked as if he hardly ever fed it.

  “Wha’d’ya kids think you’re doing on my porch?” called a gruff voice from around the corner. Mr. Greeley walked up with a sour-looking expression and a broken piece of glass in his hand. He did look pretty scary with wild wisps of uneven gray hair poking out from under a dusty old ball cap.

  “We … uh … we just wanted to talk with you,” began Morgan.

  “‘Bout what?” He scowled up at her.

  “Well, first of all, we wanted to share some cookies with you.” She reached over the porch railing and handed him the small bag of cookies. Her smile was met with a suspicious frown.

  “What for?” He set down the piece of glass and looked into the bag.

  “We just want to be neighborly. And we want to talk to you about an idea we have—an idea about fixing up Harbor View.”

  He scowled at her. “What are you talking about? Wha’d’ya mean by fixing it up?”

  “We mean we’d just like to beautify the trailer court so that—”

  “Just how d’ya kids think you’re gonna beautify the court?” He pulled out a cookie, sniffed it, then took a cautious bite.

  “We’ve made a list of ideas … “

  Amy held out their list, keeping her distance like she thought the old man might have cooties or something.

  He snatched the paper from her and quickly glanced down at it. “Yeah, well, that might sound fine and good to you little girls. But who’s gonna foot the bill? I got no money for silly frills like that.”

  “We thought we could raise some money,” said Carlie in a meek voice.

  He rubbed his grizzly whiskered chin and grunted. “Hmm. Well, I don’t want you making no messes. You mess anything up, you break anything, and I’ll have your parents pay. And don’t think I won’t.”

  Morgan wondered how they could possibly make things look any worse than they already were, but she just nodded solemnly. “No, sir, we won’t mess anything up. We only want to make it nicer.”

  “What for?” He peered straight into her eyes as if he suspected they might be up to some kind of mischief.

  “We just want to live in a place that looks pretty. That’s all.”

  “Humph,” he grunted. “Pretty!” He shook his head and walked away. “Just don’t you mess nothing up, ya hear?” he called over his shoulder.

  “Sure thing, Mr. Greeley.” Morgan gave the other girls a thumbs-up sign.

  “You did it, Morgan!” Carlie gave her a high five.

  Morgan smiled. “Yep, now we just better make sure we ‘don’t mess nothing up,’” she said in a deep Mr. Greeley-type voice. The girls laughed.

  “Should we start today?” asked Emily. “I mean, we could probably begin by pulling some weeds and picking up trash and stuff.”

  “Great idea, Em,” agreed Morgan. “I’ll go get some trash bags, and we can start out front by the entrance. Maybe if some of the folks around here see what we’re up to, they’ll want to help out too.”

  chapter six

  It was hard work, but working together made it seem almost like fun. Morgan turned it into a game, seeing who could fill up their bags the fastest. And before long the whole entrance was free of weeds and trash. It looked a little bare and plain, but at least it was neater and cleaner.

  “Not bad for a couple hours of work,” announced Carlie as she stood up and leaned on her rake. Her dad had provided the group with tools and encouragement, and they had managed to fill four huge garbage bags. “Hey, here comes Mr. Greeley.” The girls waved at him as he strolled toward them.

  He surveyed their work with a creased forehead then grumbled, “You just make sure you get those garbage bags into the trash. There’s supposed to be high winds off the Harbor tonight. Don’t want that stuff blowing all over the place.” He turned out of the entrance and continued walking toward town.

  “Man, he didn’t even say thanks,” exclaimed Morgan, removing her glasses to wipe the gritty sweat from her forehead.

  “And he didn’t even say it looked better. Is he blind or something?” Carlie tied off the top of her bag and brushed the dirt off her hands. She no longer wore the pretty pink outfit, but instead had on shorts and a T-shirt, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

  “You girls need some refreshments?” called a woman’s voice. They looked up to see Morgan’s mom walking their way with some bottles of juice. “I’ve got ice-cold ‘passion fruit–strawberry’ or ‘melon madness’ to choose from.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Morgan took the drinks and handed them to her friends, introducing Carlie and Amy. Her mom had met Emily already.

  “Thanks for the drink, Mrs. Evans,” said Amy politely.

  “You’re sure welcome. You can call me Cleo. It makes me feel like an old woman to be called Mrs. Evans. And I’d like to still think I’m young. Say, it looks like you girls are doing a fantastic job here. I’m impressed.”

  Carlie sniffed. “Well, Mr. Greeley didn’t seem very impressed. He just came by to make sure we threw the bags in the trash bin so the stuff doesn’t get blown all over the place again.”

  Cleo laughed. “That’s just his way, Carlie. He’s not what you’d call a happy camper. But I’m sure, deep down he appreciates what you’re doing.”

  “Maybe really deep, deep down. So deep that even he doesn’t know it,” suggested Morgan.

  “So, what are you girls going to do next?”

  “Flowers!” exclaimed Carlie, throwing her arms into the air. “We need to plant lots and lots of flowers. But first we’ve got to earn some money to buy them.” She kicked the toe of her tennis show in the dry dirt. “And we can’t wait too long. Because it’ll start getting warmer soon, and we’ll miss the best part of the growing season.”

  “Next week should be our money-drive week,” said Morgan.

  “Yeah,” chimed in Amy, turning to Morgan’s mom with a big smile. “We made a list of ways to make money. Maybe we should get started right away.”

  “We could start collecting pop cans tomorrow.” Morgan glanced at her mom. “After church, that is.”

  Cleo smiled. “I wonder if any of your friends would be interested in visiting our church, Morgan. Remember, we have that special music group coming tomorrow.”

  Morgan’s eyes lit up and she turned to her friends. “Oh, yeah. It’s this really cool group of college kids from Canada, and they sing and do skits and stuff. You’d probably like it—if you want to come.”

  “It sounds like fun, but we usually go to Mass on Sunday,” said Carlie. “Mass is sort of boring, but we always go out for pizza afterward.”

  Amy scratched her head. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been to church before. Not that I can remember anyway. It sounds sort of interesting. And I do like music.”

  “Great, you want to come then? How about you, Emily?”

  Emily’s cheeks grew red. “Well, it sounds nice—”

  “Great then,” interrupted Morgan. “It’s settled. Be ready by nine thirty tomorrow morning, and we’ll pick you up. Now let’s go dump these bags before Mr. Greeley has a cow.”

  chapter seven

  After they threw the bags into the trash bin, Emily and Morgan walked back to their end of the park together. Emily was quiet again,
and Morgan wanted to ask her what was wrong. Instead, she invited her to come home with her.

  “I want you to see how that dress turned out,” she told Emily. “You remember the batik material? I just finished it last night, and it’s so cool, you’ve just got to see it.”

  “I’ll bet it looks great,” said Emily as she followed Morgan into the house.

  Morgan pulled the dress out of the closet. “The hemline looks uneven,” she explained, just as she’d done with Grandma. “But it’s supposed to be like that.”

  “It looks really good, Morgan. I bet it’ll be even cuter on.” Emily collapsed into Morgan’s beanbag chair and sighed. She looked tired. Morgan suspected it wasn’t from working so hard today.

  “What’s wrong, Em?” Morgan sat on the futon across from her. “I can tell that something’s bugging you. Did I do anything to make you mad? I mean, I know how I sometimes say things too quickly. I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings. Mom is always telling me to think before I speak—”

  “No, Morgan. Nothing like that.” Emily sighed again.

  “Well, what then? You can tell me, Emily. I’m your friend. Maybe I can do something to help.”

  Emily shook her head. “I don’t see how.”

  “Well, you’ll never know if you don’t talk to me. You know this is exactly what friends are for.” Morgan fingered the braids in her hair. “I haven’t had a really good friend since Mom and I moved here to live with Grandma. I was sort of hoping that you and I could become good friends, ya know?”

  Emily leaned her head back and closed her eyes, but Morgan could tell by the way her eyebrows were pulled together that something was upsetting her.

  “Come on,” urged Morgan. “You can trust me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Maybe that’s it.” She opened her eyes and sat up straight again, looking as if she were studying Morgan, trying to figure out whether she could really trust her. Morgan smiled hopefully. “I guess I’m getting tired of pretending like nothing’s wrong,” said Emily. “Maybe I should just tell you.”

  “Yes,” agreed Morgan. “My grandma says you always feel better after you get things out into the open.”

  “But you have to promise not to tell anyone,” said Emily. “Can I trust you?”

  “Of course!”

  “Okay …” Emily took in a deep breath. “And the truth is I think I might actually explode or something if I don’t talk to someone. I write lots of stuff in my diary, but it’s not the same as talking to someone real.” She tugged a loose piece of rubber on the edge of her tennis shoes, snapping it again and again.

  “Well, I’m real, and I’m listening.”

  “Yeah.” Emily leaned back into the beanbag again, sinking in almost as if she wanted it to swallow her. “Where to begin?” she muttered. “Well, first of all, I was going to make up some lame excuse about not being able to go to church with you tomorrow.”

  “Why?” asked Morgan. “Are you an atheist? Or some other kind of religion? Our church is actually what you call nondenominational, so it doesn’t really matter if you’re a Baptist or Methodist or whatever-ist, Em. It’s pretty small, but it’s full of cool people who—”

  “No, that’s not it. I was just thinking of an excuse, because … well, I don’t even have a dress to wear.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. People wear anything they want. Even jeans.”

  “Really?” Emily sat up and looked slightly hopeful now.

  “Of course. It doesn’t matter what you wear. It only matters that you go. But is that really what was bugging you? Wow! I thought, like, maybe you had some really awful horrible problem or something. Like your mom’s an ax-murderer, or you’re hiding a wanted felon in your basement.” Morgan laughed. “Guess you don’t have a basement, huh?”

  Emily bit her lip. And suddenly Morgan realized that maybe Emily did have some horrible kind of problem. Morgan didn’t want to be too pushy. In some ways, Emily seemed kind of fragile, like a girl who had been through a lot. Morgan had been through some hard things herself. And she knew that talking about it was hard. Maybe Emily didn’t completely trust Morgan yet. So they just talked about silly things and listened to music, and after a while Emily went home.

  Morgan stood by the window and watched as Emily walked away from her house. She could tell by the slump of her shoulders that Emily was carrying a heavy load. Still, Morgan wasn’t sure how she could help. And so she prayed. She asked God to help her be sensitive to Emily’s feelings. And if there was anything she could do to help, she prayed that God would help her to do it.

  “Why didn’t you invite Emily to stay for dinner?” asked Grandma from behind her.

  “Huh?” Morgan turned around and stared at Grandma. “Why?”

  “Why?” Grandma laughed. “Why not?” Then she put her hand on Morgan’s shoulder. “I was talking to Emily’s mother just a few days ago. I introduced myself to her out by the trash bin. Mrs. Adams told me that she works a lot of hours at the new resort. She and her eighteen-year-old son are both employed there. And she mentioned how Emily is on her own quite a bit. She seemed concerned about Emily being alone in the evening.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?” said Morgan.

  “So give her a call,” suggested Grandma. “See if she likes ribs.”

  “Who doesn’t like ribs?” said Morgan as she reached for the phone. Then she stopped. “Hey, I don’t even know Emily’s phone number.”

  Grandma laughed. “That’s why the good Lord gave you legs, honey. Now just run over there and fetch that sweet little girl back here.”

  Morgan dashed down the street and up the steps to Emily’s house, knocking loudly on the door. All the shades were drawn, but she knew that Emily was home. Still, no one answered. “Emily!” she called loudly. “It’s just me, Morgan. Open the door, will ya?” She knocked again, even louder this time. Surely, Emily could hear her now. Then finally she heard the deadbolt lock click, and the door opened just wide enough for Emily to stick her nose out.

  “Say, girl, I was starting to get seriously worried. Why didn’t you answer the door?” Morgan scolded her.

  “Oh,” said Emily, opening the door just a little wider. “Sorry.” She frowned, but didn’t ask Morgan to come in.

  “What’s wrong?” Morgan asked, noticing that Emily’s eyes looked red and her cheeks were wet. Morgan looked over Emily’s shoulder, noticing that the living room behind her was completely empty of any furnishings. “Are you okay, Emily? Can I come in?”

  Emily opened the door and stepped back, allowing Morgan to come inside. But still, she didn’t say anything. Something really did seem to be wrong. Maybe Emily wasn’t supposed to let anyone in the house when her mom was gone.

  “I was going to call you, Emily, but I don’t have your number.”

  “We don’t have a phone.”

  Morgan nodded. “Yeah, well, you guys haven’t been here very long.” She nodded toward the living room. “Looks like your furniture hasn’t even arrived yet.”

  Emily didn’t say anything.

  Morgan glanced into the kitchen, noticing a box of cornflakes, a carton of milk, and a bowl on the counter. “That your dinner?”

  “Yeah.” Emily looked embarrassed.

  Morgan nodded as she strolled into the kitchen and looked around. “Hey, I have cereal for dinner sometimes. Like when Grandma has bunco night.”

  Emily still didn’t say anything.

  Morgan peered at the bowl of cereal, noticing that there were white chunks of something on top.

  “The milk was sour,” said Emily, picking up the bowl and dumping the contents into the garbage disposal and turning it on.

  “Well, that’s good,” said Morgan.

  “Good?” Emily turned off the noisy appliance and just stared at Morgan.

  “Yeah, Grandma’s cooking ribs tonight, and you’re joining us for dinner.” She took Emily by the arm and began escorting her out. “You need to leave a note or anything?” Emily found a pencil
and scratched a quick note on the back of an envelope, then silently followed Morgan out of the empty house.

  “Grandma talked to your mom the other day,” Morgan said as they walked toward her house. “So they’ve met and stuff. And your mom even told Grandma that she’s been worried about you being home alone and stuff. So I’m sure she won’t mind.”

  “She won’t be home until after nine anyway,” said Emily as they went inside.

  After a great meal of ribs, corn, and buttermilk biscuits, with lemon meringue pie for dessert, they went to Morgan’s room and sat down. Emily had been very quiet, but polite, during dinner. And although Morgan knew that it might just be because she was feeling shy, Morgan suspected it was something more. Something seemed to be troubling Emily, and Morgan wanted to find out what it was. They just sat there for a few minutes, Emily on the beanbag chair and Morgan on the futon. But neither girl spoke.

  “That was a good dinner,” Emily finally said in a sad little voice. “Thanks for asking me over.”

  “Better than cornflakes and sour milk?” teased Morgan.

  Then Emily started to cry.

  “I’m sorry,” Morgan said quickly. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I mean, I realize that something’s wrong. And I really wish you’d talk to me about it, Emily. I think it would help to talk.”

  Emily nodded, wiping her tears away with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Yeah, I know …”

  “I mean, it must be hard being new in town,” said Morgan quickly. “And not having your stuff at your house yet. And—”

  “My mom and dad never got along very good …,” began Emily in a quiet voice. Morgan leaned closer to listen. “The truth is my dad was pretty mean.” She looked at Morgan now, almost as if she expected her to be shocked or something.

  “Yeah, that happens a lot, Emily.”

  “Mostly he was mean to my mom.” She looked down at her lap. “Sometimes he would hit her. A lot.”

  Morgan nodded. “I’m sorry, Emily. That must’ve been really hard on you.”

  “Yeah … it was. And Mom tried to leave him a couple of times before, but we never got very far. He always came around and found us. And then he’d say he was really sorry. Then he’d give us stuff, and he would promise her that things were gonna be different.” She sighed. “Then we’d go back home with him, and for a while it would be okay. But then something would happen, and Dad would get mad, and it would be bad again.” She paused, closing her eyes as if she wanted to block it out. And suddenly Morgan wondered if she was making Emily remember things that were better off left behind.