What a Doll! (4 page)

This weekend I had a sleepover with Lizzy. She gave me a haircut. It wasn't quite what I had expected. We made purple cows, which are the best smoothys ever. Blending blueberries and bananas together is a beautiful thing. On Sunday it rained and I stayed home. And that was my weekend .

Oh well. The writing lacked her usual enthusiasm. It was stiff and clunky. But it was technically a complete paragraph.

When she learned she would be paired with Lizzy, she had the same feeling that she had when she looked in the mirror and saw her short hair. Like her stomach was melting. They swapped papers. Lizzy had written:

Best Saturday Ever

By Liz Draper

This Saturday I spent the day with my friends and it was perfect in every way. We got up early, but it was worth it to go strawberry picking. After we had picked enough delicious strawberries to fill Cadence's dad's trunk we went to Manhattan. First, we went shopping and I bought a gorgeous new sundress. I can't wait to wear it. And then we went to a Broadway show, which was so cool because I want to be an actress when I grow up. It was definitely the best day ever.

It was time to discuss each other's pieces. They traded papers and spent a minute reading them. Then Lizzy spoke first.

“You spelled ‘smoothies' wrong,” Lizzy told Emmy, tapping the word on Emmy's paper with the eraser of her pencil. “It's
I-E
, not
Y
. Other than that, it's perfect.”

Emmy erased the
Y
and replaced it with
I-E
. “You think it's
perfect
?” she said. She hoped Lizzy would get what she was saying. As in, the weekend had been the exact opposite of perfect.

“I mean, it's fine,” Lizzy said. “You go.”

“Um, yours is good,” Emmy said. What was she supposed to say?
Glad you had such a super weekend, Lizzy? Thanks for mentioning our sleepover.
“I'd put a comma after ‘trunk,'” she added. “It seems like it needs a comma there.”

“That's it?” Lizzy said.

“Yeah,” Emmy said. She guessed that really was it.

“Okay, we're done then,” Lizzy said.

“I guess we are,” Emmy said, and couldn't help but notice the double meaning contained in the sentence.

For the rest of class, Emmy couldn't stop thinking about that strawberry shortcake. Specifically, she thought about how the cake was made. You mixed together all these ingredients, and then when you baked it, it became something totally different—a cake. It was still all those ingredients, like sugar and flour and egg, but it had changed form.

That's what had happened to Emmy's sadness after lunch. It had somehow turned into something different—anger. Anger she felt through her whole body. She felt a little dizzy because of it, actually. And all she could think was,
I swear, Lizzy, I will find a way to let you know how angry I really am.

CHAPTER 4

As she walked home from school, Emmy threw a little pity party for
herself in her head. What a rotten day it had been. That scene at lunch with the
strawberry shortcake, having to be editing buddies with Lizzy, feeling self-conscious
all day about her short hair, nobody really caring enough to say anything about her
haircut. But then she heard her dad's voice in her head.

“You should do something nice for yourself,” her dad would
sometimes say to her mom if she'd had a bad day. Her mom would do little things,
like go to the gym and sit in the sauna afterward, or go for a manicure, or buy herself
something she really wanted. It didn't have to be something big; even her favorite
candy bar would do the trick.

Buying herself something nice suddenly seemed like a brilliant idea, and
Emmy did have some money in her wallet. And her favorite little store, Zim Zam, was
right on the corner of her block.

Zim Zam was like a toy store for older kids. They sold things like purses
shaped like owls, mood rings, cool cards, journals, mugs, giant pencils, and other fun,
quirky stuff. Whenever Emmy needed to buy anyone a present, she went to Zim Zam. The
owner, Christine, was friendly with her mom and Lizzy's mom, and knew Emmy and
Lizzy by name. They had all been going there forever.

The other excellent thing about Zim Zam was that there was a resident cat
named Zoom. He was a sleek, handsome black cat who greeted the customers in such a
friendly way that Emmy referred to him as a “puppycat.” He was more like a
dog than a cat.

When Emmy opened the door, the familiar bells chimed, announcing her
arrival. That always made her feel special, like royalty being announced, though she
knew it was just to let Christine know a new customer had entered. Still, here in this
familiar place, she felt her dark mood begin to lift a little bit. And there was Zoom,
rubbing against her leg and purring loudly.

“Hi, Emmy,” Christine called. She was unpacking a box of
erasers shaped and colored just like real stones. “Great haircut!”

Emmy put her hand to her head. “Thanks,” she smiled. It may
have been her first real smile of the day. She started looking at the new animal puppets
in one corner of the store, which were arranged in a rotating tower. Emmy knew she was
getting too old to add to her enormous stuffed animal collection, but she couldn't
help admiring these puppets. There was a sea turtle she especially liked. She put her
hand inside the puppet and saw that you could control the turtle's head with your
hand, sticking it out and pulling it back into its shell.
Wouldn't it be great to be a turtle and hide my head inside my shell whenever
I wanted to?
she thought.
Like
when I get a bad haircut, for instance. Or every day at lunch when I have to watch
my old best friend sit with her new best friends.

“Aren't those puppets great?” Christine called across
the store, noticing Emmy's interest.

“They really are,” Emmy replied. “I wish I had enough
money for one.” She dug her wallet out of her bag and checked out her cash
situation. She had exactly four singles, a quarter, a nickel, and two pennies.
Definitely not enough for the $19.99 puppet.

“Start saving in your piggy bank,” Christine suggested.
“You'll have enough soon, I bet.”

“Maybe,” Emmy answered. “Good idea.” She spun the
puppet tower around a little to see what other puppets there were, and as she did, she
noticed something she had never seen before. Behind the tower was a closed door. At the
same time that she saw the door, she smelled something strange. Some sort of strong,
flowery smell.

Emmy had thought the toy store was just the one square room and that
Christine did all her desk work at the front counter. How had she never noticed a door
back here? Feeling nosy, she tried the knob and pushed the door. It swung open with a
loud creak. Christine didn't look up. Then suddenly there was a face right in
front of her—like three inches from her face.

“Oh!” Emmy gasped. It was as if someone had said
“boo!” But no one had. Instead, there was an older woman standing just on
the other side of the door. She was heavyset and had long white hair. She wore a
loose-fitting blouse and a long, flowing skirt.

“What's the matter?” the woman asked kindly.

“S-Sorry,” Emmy stammered. “I didn't know anyone
would be in here. I was just looking at the puppets.” She removed the sea turtle
puppet from her hand and put it back on its post.

“Puppets are nice,” the woman said. “But there are more
things to see back here. Didn't you know?”

“No,” Emmy said, shaking her head. “I didn't know
there was anything back here.” She peeked in a bit. The room was dimly lit and had
a sort of red glow. It was so unlike the rest of the store that Emmy thought she must be
dreaming.

“What's your name?” the woman asked.

“Emmy,” she said, suddenly shy. The woman looked like the kind
of fortune-teller Emmy had seen in the movies and on television. She wore giant dangly
gold earrings, bangle bracelets around her wrist, and had a large mole on her cheek.

“Come in, Emmy,” the woman said warmly, and Emmy slid behind
the puppet tower and into the room. She felt she had left the bright, silly world of Zim
Zam far behind, and as she stood in the scented room, her mood took a nosedive as she
remembered her horrible day.

“What's wrong, Emmy?” asked the woman, sounding like
Emmy's grandmother.

“Oh, I just had a bad day,” Emmy said softly as she looked
around. The room was small, but its shelves and counter were packed with all kinds of
weird stuff.

There were lots of little dolls, and lots of candles in different shapes,
sizes, and colors. There was a glass countertop that held bracelets, necklaces, and
earrings. There were also jars of beads for making jewelry.

Emmy noticed little containers of oil and perfume, wooden sculptures of
people and animals, and a tall stack of old books. Plus, there were glass goblets,
crystals, drums, wooden instruments, dried gourds, shells, snakeskins, skull figurines,
and blocks of wax. So many strange things!

“What happened?” the woman asked. She seemed so kind that Emmy
decided to just tell the truth.

“I'm losing my best friend,” Emmy whispered.

“Ah,” the woman said. “And every girl needs a best
friend, doesn't she?”

“I suppose so.”

“This best friend of yours,” the woman said. “What makes
you say that you're losing her?”

“I don't know.” Emmy shrugged, feeling very odd
discussing this with a total stranger.

“Well,
something
must have
happened,” the woman pressed.

“Oh, things happened all right,” Emmy said, suddenly shy no
longer. “Like, she's totally treated me like I'm an annoyance all
year.”

The woman nodded, encouraging Emmy to continue. So Emmy did.

“And then this weekend she chopped all my hair off!” She
gestured to her head.

“Wow,” the woman said, still nodding. “You must really
hate her.”

Emmy felt strangely happy, hearing those words said aloud. She certainly
hadn't said them before, or even dared think them.
Hate is a
strong word,
her parents always said. She knew it would upset her mother if
she told her that she
hated
Lizzy. But standing there in this
weird back room with this old woman, that's exactly what she felt. She hated
Lizzy.

“Yeah, I really do,” Emmy said. It felt so good to admit it.
Then she tried saying it out loud. “I hate her.”

The woman seemed proud of Emmy for admitting the truth. “I think I
have just what you need,” she said, folding her arms across her chest, standing
back, and looking Emmy up and down. Then she pointed to the shelf with the small dolls
on it.

Emmy stared at the shelf. She hadn't gotten a doll in a few years,
since she'd outgrown them. But these didn't look like regular dolls. They
were smaller and made completely of cloth, with embroidered faces and button eyes.

“They're nice,” Emmy said.

“They're more than just nice,” the woman said.
“They'll keep you company the way a best friend does. I'm sure one
would keep you better company than this former best friend of yours.”

Emmy highly doubted that, but she did like them. “How much are
they?” she asked the woman.

“Let's see . . .” The woman took out an
old, dusty calculator from under the counter. She punched in a few numbers and then
said, “With tax . . . four dollars and thirty-two cents.”

Emmy gasped and held her hand to her mouth.

“What is it, Emmy?” The woman spoke to her like they were old
friends.

“That's
exactly
how much I
have—I just counted!” Emmy said.

“Then it was meant to be.” The woman smiled. “Choose
one, Emmy. Choose a little doll.” She led Emmy behind the counter, where Emmy
noticed a candle burning. Emmy looked at all the dolls. They were brightly colored and
handmade. They were all the same shape and size, but had different colors and
embroidered patterns. Without even realizing it, Emmy picked one that looked a lot like
Lizzy, with yellow yarn coming out of its head that had a similar shade as Lizzy's
blond hair. She took it off the shelf and looked at it closely.

“Is that the doll that is meant for you, Emmy?” the woman
asked in a very serious voice.

“I think so.” Emmy nodded. And as she did, she was absolutely
sure of it.

“Then you must give it a name,” the woman said. “And it
must be the first name that comes into your mind.”

Well, that was easy.

“And you must say it out loud,” the woman added.

“Lizzy,” Emmy whispered. She stared at the doll and said it
again, a bit louder this time. “Lizzy.”