Another Day as Emily (8 page)

On the way home,

Alison hooks her arm

into mine.

“I know I’m a pain.”

I don’t say anything.

“A first-rate complainer.

Don’t deny it, Sooze.”

I don’t deny it.

“It’s in my DNA.

Blame my aunt Gertrude.”

Silence.

Alison turns, gives me

a big hug.

Right there

on the sidewalk.

“Thanks for putting up

with me,” she says.

You gotta love her!

Dad asks if we tweens

walked around the cemetery,

if we looked at headstones.

“No,” I say. “We just had a picnic.”

Dad says: “Maybe you and I

can go for a walk around Old Elm

someday. Check out

the headstones.”

The part about

looking at headstones

sounds pretty depressing.

But I do like the part about

me and Dad doing something

together.

Just us two.

Without

the little hero.

On Wednesday morning,

Mrs. Harden calls

to see if I want to

help her make

a gingerbread cake

for Gilbert.

Today is his birthday,

and gingerbread

is his favorite.

Mrs. Harden measures the flour.

I crack eggs,

pour molasses.

Ginger

and cloves

and cinnamon

go into the bowl.

I used to like licking the bowl

until Alison told me

raw batter

can kill you.

While the cake is baking,

I make Gilbert a card.

Red and white

with baseball stickers,

because Gilbert likes the Phillies

almost as much as I do.

I print
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
inside—

though how happy can it be

with a dad who drinks too much

and a neighbor who thinks

you are a thief.

The cake is finished.

Mrs. Harden dusts it

with powdered sugar.

She puts it in her cake carrier.

She asks me to bring

Gilbert’s present along.

It’s a Phillies T-shirt

in a Phillies backpack,

and doesn’t the card

I made for Gilbert

go perfectly.

I’d never been to Gilbert’s house.

We drive ten blocks.

I expected a small house—

maybe with Gilbert’s dad

drinking beer and slouching

on an old lawn chair.

But there’s no sign of

Gilbert’s dad.

As for the house,

I was right.

It
is
small.

But there’s something

I didn’t expect:

it’s also very

pretty.

I tell Ottilie

about Gilbert’s house.

About the blue shutters

and window boxes

dripping pink petunias.

I tell Ottilie

about the wind chimes

twinkling.

The brick patio

Gilbert built himself

with bricks from

the old print shop.

I tell Ottilie

how Gilbert’s mom

brought us iced tea

with fresh mint

from her herb garden.

And how she served the cake

on flowered plates—

so what if they didn’t match.

I tell Ottilie

how glad I am

that Gilbert’s life

isn’t just about

his dad’s drinking.

Or not having much money.

Or Mrs. Bagwell

saying bad things about him.

It’s also about his nice mom.

His pretty house.

And his friends sharing

homemade birthday cake

on a patio he built himself.

That I find myself

thinking about

Gilbert.

A lot.

Like a big brother?

I ask myself.

Not really.

How about a cousin?

Nope.

Or a special friend?

Getting close.

A
very
special friend?

BINGO!

All of a sudden

everyone is thinking about

Ridgley’s Fourth of July parade—

which will be on July 3 this year

because the Fourth falls on a Sunday.

Mr. Capra says

he and the people he works with

are putting together a bike brigade—

streamers and flags,

fancy baskets and bells.

Mr. Kim is refurbishing

his float from last year,

patching the rocket with aluminum foil,

blowing up another yellow beach-ball moon,

repainting the clay astronauts.

Ridgley High’s marching band

is practicing on the football field.

Mr. Ellis has Mom dust off

his George Washington costume.

Alison and I are signed up

to walk with the Ridgley Library group.

We’ll wear T-shirts that read

I LUV MY LIBRARY
.

And Parker,

the little hero,

gets to ride in Mayor Paloma’s

cool blue convertible

with the top down.

Mom tries to take Parker’s ratty old cape.

Parker clutches it around his neck.

He howls.

“You don’t need a cape

to be a hero,” Dad tells him.

More howling.

“It’s ripped,” I say. “And it smells yucky.”

Parker holds his nose.

“
You
smell yucky, Suzy Poo-poo,” he says.

Mom wheedles. “Now, Parky, what if we get you

a new cape? Something really nice for the parade?”

Parker stops clutching. He sniffles.

“Will it have blue stars?”