Authors: Sally Warner
Happily Ever Emma (10 page)
“Aw, thanks, Anthony,” I say, because this is a major, major compliment. “Only you can’t ever have a
big
sister, because that means she’d be older than you. And you’re always going to be the oldest kid in your family.”
big
sister, because that means she’d be older than you. And you’re always going to be the oldest kid in your family.”
“I’m the
only
kid in my family,” Anthony points out. “And I can have a big sister if I want one.
The End,”
he adds, scowling. He snaps his scissors at me a couple of times to emphasize his point.
only
kid in my family,” Anthony points out. “And I can have a big sister if I want one.
The End,”
he adds, scowling. He snaps his scissors at me a couple of times to emphasize his point.
For some goofy reason I can’t let this big sister thing pass. “You can maybe have a
little
sister one day,” I try to explain, “or a little brother. But you’ll always be the oldest kid in your family. It’s just the way things are, Anthony.”
little
sister one day,” I try to explain, “or a little brother. But you’ll always be the oldest kid in your family. It’s just the way things are, Anthony.”
“But I don’t
want
a little brother,” Anthony shouts, and
ka-pow!—
construction paper strips go flying everywhere.
want
a little brother,” Anthony shouts, and
ka-pow!—
construction paper strips go flying everywhere.
I can see that I was an optimist to think we would get enough paper chains done tonight to decorate both our Christmas trees.
“Don’t cry, Anthony,” I say, trying to calm him down.
“I wanna be the only boy in our family,” Anthony wails. “And anyway, Mommy’s not even preg-mump.”
“Preg
nant.
Preg
nant,”
I say, nervously looking around as I correct him. Because what is Anthony’s mom going to think if she walks into the room right now and I’m talking about how babies are born?
nant.
Preg
nant,”
I say, nervously looking around as I correct him. Because what is Anthony’s mom going to think if she walks into the room right now and I’m talking about how babies are born?
Especially when I’m not even sure of all the details myself?
Explaining things to Anthony Scarpetto is tough, but someone has to try. “Look, Anthony,” I say. “First your mom and your dad had you, so you’re the oldest kid. And if they have another kid, it’ll be—”
Anthony springs to his feet in a rage. “You’re not the boss of me,” he cries. “And I can have a big sister if I want one, because
I’ve been good.
Anyway, it’s not up to you, it’s up to Santa!
The End.”
I’ve been good.
Anyway, it’s not up to you, it’s up to Santa!
The End.”
“Well, you’re not being very good right now,” I grumble, picking up the construction paper strips.
“What?”
“I said,
Okay!
What-
ever,”
I tell him, and he settles right down.
Okay!
What-
ever,”
I tell him, and he settles right down.
“What-
ever,”
he echoes, satisfied. “What-
ever.”
ever,”
he echoes, satisfied. “What-
ever.”
“But don’t go around saying that,” I tell him, nervous once more. “Because it’s kind of rude, according to my mom.”
“Okay,” Anthony says, searching for his scissors. “So do you like him now?” he asks me after he has found the scissors and is looking around for something to cut.
“Who?”
“The falling-napkin guy who took you out for flying meatballs,” Anthony says. “Do you like him?”
I flap my own construction paper strips back and forth like a skinny fan and frown while I think about Anthony’s question. “Dennis is okay,” I finally say. “He really is. Of course, I wish my mom would just stay home with
me.
But if she has to go out with someone, I guess he’s not the worst person in the world.”
me.
But if she has to go out with someone, I guess he’s not the worst person in the world.”
“But—what if he wants to be your new daddy?” Anthony asks, worried.
“Well, he can’t be my daddy,” I snap. “Because I already have a real one. In London. So
The End
to you, too.”
The End
to you, too.”
“I never seen your real daddy,” Anthony says, his brown eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“‘I never
saw
him,’” I say, correcting him.
saw
him,’” I say, correcting him.
“So, ha ha,” Anthony says, like he’s just won an argument.
I just sigh, because I have walked right into that crazy, invisible Anthony wall once more. It’s hard to avoid it, really.
“But Merry Christmas early, Emma,” Anthony says. “Even though you’re so wrong about stuff. And I
am
going to get a fire truck, because I already seen it in the hall closet.”
am
going to get a fire truck, because I already seen it in the hall closet.”
“Congratulations,” I tell him. “And Merry Christmas early to you, too, by the way.”
“What-
ever,”
Anthony says, busy with a few construction paper strips once more.
ever,”
Anthony says, busy with a few construction paper strips once more.
But then he flashes me a sideways grin, and all of a sudden I feel sure that everything is going to be okay.
I’m pretty sure, anyway!
Turn the page to peek inside more Books featuringg the irrepressible Emma . . .
You are always the boss—of other kids, anyway—when you are at your own house. That’s the rule, even though no one ever wrote it down.
Until now.
“Oh, let’s not get carried away, Cynthia,” I say, which is actually something my mom says to me fairly often. Only she calls me
Emma
, not
Cynthia
, of course.
Emma
, not
Cynthia
, of course.
Mom says “in a pickle” when she means that a person is in trouble. Or else she says “in a jam.” She likes food talk, I guess.
Annie Pat and I are getting ready for Thanksgiving—ten days away, Mom says—by stretching our stomachs. You have to do this from the inside, with food, because outside stretching doesn’t work. We already tried that.
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