Emma's Not-So-Sweet Dilemma (11 page)

“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 close 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.

T
he 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.

We ate and ate and then made our way to the playroom, where long tables were set up for people to do holiday crafts. The cool thing was it wasn't just the kids doing it but adults, too! There were little jars to make holiday terrariums, with a selection of evergreens, and tiny reindeer and elves to use, and chubby corks to close it all up. There were picture frames you could bedazzle with jewels, and mosaic stickers that looked totally professional. Wooden dreidels sat on little stands, so you could paint them with enamel paint. And there was a section for making your own Christmas stocking or wooden clog for Santa to fill on Christmas morning. It was so fun.

Best of all, out in the garage, they'd taken out the cars, and a photographer had set up an old-time photo shoot, where you could put on costumes, have your picture taken, and get a sepia-colored print of it. We decided to do it, but Mia suggested grabbing Olivia, too, so we waited on line and then
got all dressed in these wacky hats and wigs and dresses and posed really serious and unsmiling for the photo. When it came out, it was hilarious. We really looked like old-time people!

Olivia bustled around the party, actually relaxed and having fun, and her mom seemed to be in good spirits. It turned out Olivia's dad was really nice, and I guess he set the tone for the party, because he was superfriendly and a really good host, chatting with all of us, making sure we had places to leave our coats and that we got enough to eat and drink. It made me see that maybe Olivia's mom and dad represented the two sides of her—the nice and the not-as-nice. I just hoped she'd grow up to be more like her dad, even if for her own sake.

By the end of the night, we were flopped on the floor in Olivia's room, looking at photos on her laptop, talking about past holidays and laughing about what dorks we were when we were little and all the things we used to ask for the holidays.

“I was soooo into Barbies!” admitted Olivia.

“Shocker!” I laughed.

“I always liked American Girl,” said Alexis.

“Me too,” agreed Katie. “Especially all that furniture.”