Me & Emma (3 page)

Momma and Mrs. Phillips have talked on the phone, but | don’t think they like each other much. Momma always says she ruins Emma and me for anyone else. I guess she’s talking about all the food we eat

ME & EMMA

when we come over—we’re never hungry for dinner when we finally drag ourselves home.

Forsyth is my best friend outside of Emma. We been going to school together since we were smaller than beans. We sit together at lunchtime and then we play on the jungle gym at recess when I’m not

getting hit by a dodgeball. Usually she’s in a better mood than this. “What’s the matter?” I ask her, trying to ignore Emma. She shrugs just like Emma always does. “Tell me.”

She shakes her head. She has curly red hair with freckles to match. “Is it your momma?”

She shakes her head again. “Your daddy?” Again, no.

“It’s gotta be school, then,” Emma says.

“It’s Sonny, isn’t it,” I say.

Sonny’s the school bully. If someone falls down the stairs, Sonny’s usually up at the top, laughing. If something’s gone missing, it’s usually in Sonny’s backyard. And if somewhere in the recess yard a fire breaks out, Sonny’s usually the one holding the lighter.

For the first time since we came into her room, Forsyth looks up from her Old Maid cards. She nods and the mop on her head shakes

like Momma’s Christmas Jell-O mold.

“What’d he do?”

Tears spill past her rims onto her freckled cheeks. “He’s meaner than spit, is all,” she cries, the way you would if you were choking.

“Tell me something I don’t know. He’s our second cousin, don’t forget.” Sonny’s the one who short-sheeted our bed last summer. Sonny’s the one who made me put my tongue to the bottom of an ice tray and

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then led me around his house laughing. Sonny truly is meaner than spit.

“When God gave out brains, Sonny thought he said trains and he

ran for it,” Emma says, flipping through the cards, trying to shuffle. “What’d he do this time?” I ask Forsyth.

“He pulled down my pants at band,” she cries, “and everyone saw.” This is worse than I thought.

“What?” I ask her, but I’m glaring at Emma, who’s trying real hard not to crack up. I think Emma secretly likes Sonny but I couldn’t tell you why.

Forsyth is nodding her head, assuring me that I have indeed heard correctly. “I stood up to play.” Forsyth plays the recorder. “And just like that he reached from the row behind and pulled on my pants and the next thing I know everyone was laughing at me,” she cries even harder. “And I didn’t even have my good panties on.” See, there’s another difference between Forsyth and us. There’re no such things as “good panties” in our family.

“You want me to talk to him?” I ask her. Please, Forsyth, say no. “No,” she practically screams at me. “Carrie, promise! Promise you won’t talk to him about it. Promise.” She’s clutching at my arm like I’m a log in the river she’s drowning in.

“I won’t,” I say. And that’s the God’s honest truth. “Honor bright?” “Honor bright.”

I get to thinking and it hits me. “You know what?” I pause to make sure they’re listening real good. “Sonny needs to taste his own medicine.”

“Huh?” Emma says. Even Emma looks interested in what I’m going to say.

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“Seriously, we’ve got to get Sonny back for everything he does to us all the time,” I say. Forsyth isn’t looking away so I keep going.

“What can we do to get him back?” I think. Emma thinks. Forsyth

thinks. “There’s got to be some way to get him “

“We should sic Richard on him, is what we should do,” Emma mumbles. Forsyth pays no attention.

“We could pull his pants down,” Forsyth says, all excited-like.

I shake my head. I don’t know what these two would do without me sometimes, I’ll tell you what. “It’s got to be something no one’s done before. Something he won’t expect. But it’s got to begood.”

“What’re you thinking?” Forsyth asks. She’s leaning forward, waiting to catch my idea as it leaves my mouth.

“We could take his G.I. Joe and get one of Jimmy Hammersmith’s firecrackers, take G.I. Joe’s head off, put the firecracker in his body and watch him explode!” Emma shouts out.

Forsyth looks like this might be the way to go but I have my doubts, and once she sees the look on my face she starts acting like she doesn’t like the idea, either. She’s sort of a copycat, if you want to know the truth.

“It’s got to be even better than that,” I say. “But that’s good, though.” I sound just like our teacher when he doesn’t want to make us feel stupid.

“Well, what, then?” they both ask at the same time.

“Cookies are ready!” Mrs. Phillips calls up from downstairs and I cain’t take it any longer. I stand up and I know they’ll follow me since I’m Miss Idea.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I say, making sure I don’t grab, like Momma always warns us.

“Help yourself, sweetie.” Mrs. Phillips smiles while she shovels two

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ELIZABETH FLOCK

more from her pancake turner onto the plate in the middle of the kitchen table, just like a television commercial. This kitchen is already tidied up—wet measuring cups and mixing bowls lie next to the sink air-drying in the V-shaped rack made just for that purpose.

We carefully wait for her to leave the room so we can plot our revenge.

“I’ve got it!” I say, with my mouth full.

Forsyth practically jumps out of her chair, which, by the way, has its very own cushion on it so you never get uncomfortable sitting on hard wood. “What? What?”

“How about,” I say real slow-like, drawing it out ‘cause it’s fun to be the center of attention every once in a while. “How about we go into the boys’ washroom before he goes in to use it and we grease the

toilet seat so he slips in when he goes to the bathroom!”

Two sets of huge eyes blink back at me.

“My mom has Crisco,” “I can scout it out and give a signal when he asks permission to go,” “I’ll guard the bathroom door so we know it’s him who’s going in and not anyone else,” “I’ll spread the word that something really funny’s about to happen in the bathroom so everyone can go in and see him all dripping wet!” We talk all at once and whammo! We’ve got ourselves a plan.

After we eat so many cookies I can feel the dough rising in my stomach, we go back upstairs to Forsyth’s room and work it all out so we’re sure it’s foolproof. You’ve got to be foolproof with a boy like Sonny.

“He’s in room 301 second period,” Forsyth says. “I know ‘cause that’s across the hall from me. After second period he’s bound to have to go to the washroom.”

“Yeah, they have snack period after first, right?” Emma asks. She

ME & EMMA

looks like she loves this plan as much as Forsyth does, which is funny considering she’s the only one Sonny hasn’t picked on. Truth to tell I think Sonny’s a little afraid of Emma since he knows she has no fear whatsoever.

“Yup,” I say. “Okay. So, Emma will scout him out and make sure he heads to the bathroom down the hall next to the gym. Forsyth, you

have to come get me when Emma gives you the signal.”

Forsyth looks confused.

“Oh, yeah,” I say, “we’ve got to come up with a signal.”

“How ‘bout I call out ‘My favorite color is blue!’” Forsyth says.

“You can’t yell that down the hall,” Emma sneers at her. “He’ll

know something’s up our sleeves.”

Forsyth nods.

“I know,” I say, “the signal will be that Emma will scratch her chin when she sees Sonny ask Mr. Stanley for the key. Then I’ll run down ahead of him with a pat of the Crisco in a bag under my shirt and, Forsyth, you watch the washroom door and make sure no one’s in there when I go in.”

“Wait! How’re you going to get into the boys’ washroom without

a key?” Emma asks. And she has a point.

I think on this for a minute.

“Well,” I say out loud, but in my head I have no idea how I’ll finish this sentence. Then it comes to me. “I know! I’ll go to the bathroom right when I get to school ‘cause that’s when the janitor cleans them and leaves the doors open for them to air out! I’ll click that thingy in the middle of the doorknob that keeps it from locking when it closes and that way I’ll be able to slip in when you tell me he’s coming!”

Now, that’s a darn good plan, if you ask me. Foolproof. Emma and

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Forsyth look like they’re thinking the same thing. They’re both smiling like cats that ate canaries.

“Okay, then how’re we going to get everyone in there so they can see him after he falls in?”

I’m thinking again. How come I’ve got to come up with the whole dang thing?

“How ‘bout we count to ten so we’re sure he’s falling in and we tell anyone who’s around us in the hall that there’s a bag of free candy in the boys’ washroom.” Emma shouts this out she’s so excited. “Everyone loves candy. Especially when it’s free!”

That’s my little sister for you. She always comes through in the clutch.

“That’s it, then,” I say as Forsyth falls back on her bed of daisies. “Don’t forget to bring the Crisco in tomorrow morning,” I remind her.

“I won’t.” She smiles up at the ceiling. “This time tomorrow Sonny Parker’ll be the laughingstock of the whole entire school.”

Emma stands up and stretches her arms up over her head—after leaning back on them for so long I expect they’re stiff. “We better go on home before Richard gets to five.”

“You asleep, yet?” Emma whispers, knowing full well there’s no way I’m sleeping.

“You reckon it’ll work for real?”

“It cain’t not,” I say, but inside my head I’ve been thinking it over and now I’m not so sure.

“What if he doesn’t have to go to the bathroom?” she asks.

3O

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ME & ]MMA

“He’s got to go sometime,” I say. “Besides, say he doesn’t go after

second period. We just scoot the plan up and do it after fourth.” “You think?” “It’s foolproof.”

“You’re right,” she yawns. “It’s foolproof.”

I don’t remember sleeping, but I must have because the next thing I know Momma’s calling up to us from the landing. “Rise and shine!” She sounds like she’s in a good mood, but we won’t know for sure till we get downstairs and see what’s waiting for us in the kitchen. When the cereal bowls are already out on the counter we’re home free. Sometimes, though, she says, “You got arms to reach up, don’tcha?” And other times she’s not there at all…still sleeping. Sure enough it’s a breakfast-bowl-on-the-counter morning. Phee-you. One less thing to think about today.

We ride the bus to school and there isn’t much to say about that except that Patty Lettigo (who everyone calls Patty Let-Me-Go and then runs away like she’s holding on to them too tight for real) glares at us when we walk up the aisle to the back of the bus where there’s an open two-seater. Patty Lettigo always glares. It’s her job or something.

My stomach’s in knots. Emma’s clutching her books close to her chest even after she sits down so I’m betting she’s as nervous as I am.

“Remember,” I whisper to her with my hand up to her ear just in case anyone can hear over the loud bus engine, “get the bag of Crisco from Forsyth the minute you see her at your locker and then pass it to me when I come by after homeroom.”

“Okay, okay, stop reminding me,” she hisses at me. “I’m just saying.” “I got it.”

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But after we pass three farms and the second flashing stoplight she leans over and whispers in my ear. “Where’re we meeting up again after?”

“Jeez! We’ve been over this a million times! At the end of the hall

that leads to the gym. You’re going to be the signal girl.” “Right,” she nods, remembering. “Got it.” “You sure?”

“Yes. Sure as manure.”

I smile, thinking about how I told her that Daddy always used to say that to me. He’d rhyme the words and it made me laugh every time.

The bus lurches to the curb right in front of our school, squeaky brakes and smelly fumes. Emma hits my arm and I look to where she’s looking and sure enough it’s Sonny at the bike stand, pulling his books out of the trap that’s fixed over his back wheel.

“Here we go,” I say to no one in particular, and we head in through the front doors just in time for the first bell.

“Bye,” she calls to me, which is weird ‘cause we never say goodbye to each other at school—we just sort of walk away. But in a nice way. Yep. She’s nervous all right.

Homeroom drags by so slowly now it’s me who can feel her hair grow. Miss Fullman calls attendance and everyone’s got to add their funny little thing they say back instead of “here” like boring old me. Mary Sellers: “Is the best!” (everyone laughs—she changes this every day). Liam Naughton: “Yell-oh!” (laughs). Darryl Becksdale: “Who?” (not so many laughs, but still better than “here”). The list goes slowly while Miss Fullman gives everyone the evil eye and says, “People. That’s enough now, people,” and waits for the laughter to die down before she calls the next one on the list.

ME & EMMA

The second bell rings almost as loud as my heart is beating. It just occurred to me that this whole thing is riding on me. I cain’t chicken out now. I just cain’t. Forsyth would never speak to me again.

First period goes by even slower than homeroom did, but the good thing is we’re right on track. Forsyth passed a slab of Crisco wrapped in plastic to Emma, who gave it to me just like we planned. Now I’m sitting here in second period with Crisco grease in the space between the snap and zipper of my pants and my stomach. I wore a looser shirt than I normally wear for this exact reason. Planning ahead works every time.

Bzzzzzzz. Second period is over and as we file out of the room I bump into two desks because I’m concentrating on my heart, which is beating in my chest like a bird flapping its wings against a cage, trying to get free. Oh, Lord, please help me carry this out.

Out in the hallway in front of the gym Forsyth is standing in front of the boys’ washroom like she should be but I cain’t see Emma over the heads of the other kids in the hallway. I didn’t think about how tough it’d be to see her in the crowd! Oh, God. Oh, God. Emma? Where are you?