by Noe Dearden
*****
The bus had dropped Emi off early, so she had some time to spare before her study session with Josh. At first, she was tempted to sneak past her old dance studio, but the thought of facing Madam Inese was too unpleasant. She had thought a lot about it lately. She felt so weird about not dancing any more. Ballet was always on her mind. Even in her dreams she thought about going back to Madam Inese and asking to take classes again. But her anger and hurt were still raw enough to dissuade her from acting on those impulses.
Instead of going to the studio, she wandered to Josh’s house early. That old neighbor, Lawrence, was sitting on his porch.
“It’s Emi the ballerina,” he said upon seeing her. “A very good morning to you.”
Emi gave a high wave and stopped at his fence. “Hi, Larry. Can I call you that? Larry?”
“If you wish.”
She plunged her hands into her pockets. “How’s the garden?”
He passed a glance over the yard. “Why don’t you ask it for yourself?”
“Ask the garden how it’s doing?”
He nodded.
Emi looked uncertainly at the tender branches of the plumeria tree stretching out to touch the sun. “Um…” she said to the tree. “What’s up?”
As expected, the tree did not reply. But the wind whistled through its branches, and there was a mynah bird chirruping from somewhere unseen. Emi’s eyes roamed the yard. She saw a gecko skitter nervously along the fence line and into the shrub they had planted yesterday.
“Hey look, it’s not dead yet,” she said, crouching to better inspect her handiwork.
Like a leprechaun dancing up to a pot of gold, Lawrence moved gracefully to the bush and beamed fondly down on it.
“Very true. And do you know what it is, Emi?”
“A bush?”
“A rose bush.”
“Oh,” she said. “But there aren’t any flowers.”
“They bloom in cycles, if you take proper care with them. But they can be persnickety, especially here in the tropics.”
Emi had a hard time believing that this ordinary looking plant would one day yield roses. It looked like any other boring plant.
“Have you grown roses before?” she asked.
“Oh yes,” Larry enthused. “I have a passion for them, you might say. If you care to venture around back, I’ll show you.”
He started tramping towards the back yard without waiting for her reply. Emi hesitated for a split second. The guy didn’t seem like a creepy serial killer, but the thought did cross her mind. Then again, she was also practically twice his height. She was pretty sure she could take him if he tried anything fishy.
She pushed through the front gate and followed Larry around the house to the backyard. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of what she found there.
“Larry. This is amazing.”
The garden was lush and full, like it didn’t belong in a city. There was a guava tree, as Iris had mentioned. And there were avocados, too. And puffy zoysia grass. And papayas. And bananas. And plants Emi didn’t recognize.
And then, in their own little plot of land, pruned quite precisely, were the rose bushes. They weren’t blooming yet, but Emi could tell there were tiny buds showing already. Perhaps some day, Larry said, she would see them in bloom.
By the time Emi waved goodbye to Larry, she felt unexpectedly uplifted. Maybe her father was right about communing with nature. It did feel pretty good.
It was Iris who answered when Emi pressed the Stokowski’s doorbell.
“You’re here for Josh,” Iris said knowingly. She had replaced her rabbit ear headband with glittery bug antennae. Now that Emi knew what to expect from Iris’ face, she didn’t find it as alarming.
“Yep, that’s right,” Emi said. “Can I come in?
Iris opened the door wider but remained standing in the way. “He might be a while. My little sister had an accident.” Iris raised her eyebrows and whispered loudly. “In the bathroom. If you know what I mean.”
“Gross,” Emi said. “Thanks for sharing.”
“You’re welcome. Come in.” Iris marched through the foyer, leaving Emi to close the door behind them.
The old house was shabby but colorful, with worn, powder blue wallpaper and a 1970s shag rug. Candid family pictures mounted on popsicle stick frames hung in the foyer, and the floor was littered with two dozen or so pairs of shoes. Emi slipped off her own sandals and added them to the pile.
She stopped and looked closer at the photographs on the wall. A few of the faces were recognizable: there was Iris and the Asian kid (except he had hair, and he was definitely a boy) and the girl in the wheelchair. There were many other children that Emi didn’t remember from yesterday. So, it seemed all those kids at the Handy Pantry were Josh’s siblings after all.
With a great clattering of dog-tags, two large golden retrievers came rushing over, tails thumping in unison. They sniffed the air curiously, circling her and pressing their wet noses into her outstretched hand.
“Those are Pickle and Petey,” Iris introduced. She led Emi through the photo-lined hallway into their kitchen.
That room was also an explosion of clutter. The sink was piled high with colorful plastic dishes, there were toys scattered to and fro across the floor, books were piled haphazardly along the walls, most of them picture books. On the kitchen table was a mess of spilled glue, glitter, tangled yarn and crayons. Tossed into the mix was a half-consumed Pop-Tart, two sippy-cups and an abandoned game of Monopoly.
The only other person in the room was a small boy. Emi recognized him as the helmet boy from yesterday, though he didn’t have his helmet on now. He was lying on his stomach using magic markers to fill in a page from a coloring book.
“You can sit wherever,” Iris said. “You’re name’s Emi, right? Is that short for Emily or Emma or what?”
“Emiko. It’s Japanese.” She found a seat at the table.
“You don’t look Japanese.”
“I’m a lot of things mixed together.”
“Oh. I’m white. My parents were from Russia. My sister Meera is Indian,” Iris said. “Red dot Indian, not feather Indian. Do you want something to drink? We have apple juice, two percent milk and ice water.”
Iris spoke with such rapid-fire speed, that Emi had trouble following her train of thought.
“That’s okay. I just ate breakfast.”
After pouring herself a glass of milk and taking a purple curly straw from a drawer, Iris walked to the kid with the coloring book who was lying on the floor.
“This is Tate,” she said, nudging him with her toe.
Tate didn’t look up from what he was doing. He was totally absorbed by his work.
“How many brothers and sisters do you have?” Emi asked Iris.
“Five plus me.” She started counting of on her fingers. “Josh is the oldest one who still lives here – he’s fifteen. Then there’s Seneca who is twelve, and me – Iris, duh -- I’m nine. Then there’s Meera, my little sister you saw yesterday, she’s eight. My brother Logan is six. And Tate.” She sort of kicked him with her foot but he didn’t move. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“No. But I wish I did.”
“It’s kind of fun, but kind of annoying.” Iris suddenly froze in place. “Oh my god, I love this song!”
She scuttled over to the radio and turned it on loud. The bass shook the window glass.
“Do you know it?” Iris shouted above the drumbeat.
It was one of those old Motown hits that came on the Oldies radio channel.
With wild abandon, Iris began to dance, and she wasn’t half bad, either. The odd proportions of her body lent her movements a comical inelegance, but Iris clearly did not seem to care. She threw herself into the music, twirling and jumping, tossing herself back and forth. She was uncoordinated and ungainly, but nothing could detract from the effect of her pure enthusiasm. It was infectious.
Emi found herself tapping her f
oot in time to the music. Whenever she saw someone dancing, she had to join in. It didn’t matter if it was jazz or tango or ballet. She had to try it.
Impulsively, she took Iris’ hand and tamed the girl’s frenzied motions enough to help her find the beat. After a few measures, Emi threw in some disco moves she had seen on TV. Iris mimicked her, like a video camera with a two second lag.
The song ended and the music shifted into a slower ballad. Iris turned down the radio.
“You’re good,” she told Emi.
The compliment was genuine coming from Iris, which made it all the more rewarding.
“You’re pretty good yourself.”
Iris was still jiggling around and half-dancing in place. “I take hip-hop classes at the Y every Wednesday. It’s pretty much my favorite thing ever, especially when we have recitals and stuff. We’ve been rehearsing all summer and we’re going to do our routine at Kahala Mall tomorrow. You should come. Will you come, Emi?”
She laughed. “I don’t know. I’ll have to check my calendar.”
A sound of footsteps caused them both to turn in unison.
Josh had entered the kitchen with his French books stashed under one arm. His house wasn’t air-conditioned, so his ever-present green hoodie was missing. Emi couldn’t resist a quick up-down, admiring his toned body in that t-shirt, with those board-shorts sitting so nicely at his hips.
Iris hopped over to him and burrowed her head affectionately into his stomach. He ruffled her hair. It was a very tender, non-jerk-like gesture.
“Did you offer Emi something to drink?” he asked.
“Yessss.” Iris drew out the word. “I’m not the rude one here, Josh. You’re the one who kept her waiting.”
Josh caught Emi’s eye. “She’s right. We’d better get started. Let’s go to my room.” He turned back to Iris. “Keep an eye on the others, okay? You’re in charge, but I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”
He led Emi up a narrow staircase to a small room containing two beds.
“I share it with my brother Logan,” he explained. “That’s why there are Legos all over the floor.”
“You mean they’re not yours?” Emi joked.
It was pretty obvious which side of the bedroom was Josh’s. His bed was made neatly, there were countless books lined up along the shelf, and the school-issued laptop was on his desk. On the windowsill were all his athletic awards.
Finding a seat at the foot of his bed, Josh flipped open his three-ring binder and started searching for the project assignment.
“Iris is hilarious,” Emi said. She joined him on the bed, flopping stomach first onto his pillow. “She’s like a bundle of pure energy.”
“She has a big personality,” Josh agreed.
“So, what’s the deal with your family exactly?” Emi asked. “Are your siblings adopted?”
Josh gave her a sarcastic look. “Nothing’s lost on you, Sherlock.”
Emi swatted him with the pillow. “You don’t have to be so mean, Josh. It was a perfectly reasonable question.” She looked around. “Where are your parents, anyway? I feel I might need adult intervention if you keep being so mean.”
“They’re out,” he said vaguely.
“Out where?”
He gave her a look. “You’re awfully nosy.”
“Wouldn’t it be more awkward if I pretended I didn’t have a million questions about your siblings who look nothing like you?”
Josh set his blue eyes on her with a challenging expression. “Fine,” he relented stiffly. “What do you want to know?”
“So, your siblings are adopted?” she prompted.
“Some of them. Some are in foster care.”
“And you are too?”
“In foster care? No. Deb and Marv adopted me a long time ago.”
“And, so… Deb and Marv aren’t around a lot, I guess. And you have to watch all these kids? That’s why you have so little time in your schedule?”
Josh looked back down at his binder and busied himself with hunting for the assignment handout. “Usually, I don’t babysit this often. But my mother’s been busy.”
Emi had about a billion other questions. Like, why were all his siblings sick? There was the girl in the wheelchair, and the kid who looked like he had cancer, and Iris with her strange features. What was that about? But she didn’t want to push him too hard.
Emi pulled a document out of her backpack and laid it on the bed. “I already wrote the French report for us last night. You just have to memorize your lines by Friday.”
He thumbed through the pages. “You wrote the whole thing?”
“Yeah. I hate procrastinating. But don’t worry. I won’t tell Ms. Labarge that you’re a slacker.”
Josh tried returning the paper to Emi. “I can do my own school work, but thank you.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t. But it sounds like you have enough on your plate right now. It would only make unnecessary work for us if you rewrote it. It’s a perfectly decent report.”
He tossed the document onto his desk and stood up. “So you came town-side from Kailua to deliver this? You couldn’t email me and save yourself an hour’s drive?”
She gulped and fumbled for words. “I guess… I wanted to hang out with you,” she said awkwardly.
“Hang out?”
“Is that such a novel concept?”
He shook his head. “I don’t get it. You’ve ignored me for three years, and all of a sudden you want to ‘hang out?’”
“I’ve ignored you?” Emi said. “I don’t recall you ever making any grand attempts to initiate friendship.”
He gave her a disgruntled look. “Well, I can’t hang out this afternoon. I have to make lunch and run some errands for my mother. But thank you for writing the report. I’ll have the lines memorized by Friday.
She knew this was her cue to leave, so she stood up.
“Maybe we can meet one more time to rehearse our lines?” she asked.
“Maybe,” Josh said. “We’ll see.”