What Would Emma Do? Part 1

What Would Emma Do?

by Eileen Cook.

1.

G.o.d, I've been thinking about our relationship. The way I see it, most people look at you as either (a) a Santa Claus figure they pray to only when they want something, their wishes granted depending on if they are on the naughty or nice list, or (b) a bearded vengeance seeker who gets his immortal jollies from smiting those who annoy him. It occurs to me I've been talking to you my whole life and I don't really know who you are. In fairness, I've always relied on formal prayers, which really haven't given you a chance to get to know me, either. I'm thinking we need a bit more honesty in our relationship-you strike me as the kind to support honesty-so from here on I'm just going to tell you what's on my mind.

We spend a lot of time at Trinity Evangelical Secondary discussing "What would Jesus do?" You have to wonder how the Son of G.o.d finds himself in so many ethically questionable situations. I'm guessing he hangs out with a bad crowd.

We've covered how Jesus feels about:.

low-rise jeans (negative).

underage drinking (although this is the same man who brought us wine transformed from water, we've decided he would just say no) gossip (to be avoided-which goes to show he would never make it in Wheaton, where gossip has been perfected to near Olympic levels) All in all, the Son of G.o.d is coming across as a very no-fun kind of guy. I prefer to see him as not so uptight. This puts me in the minority here, where the motto for our church could be "Trinity Evangelical: Sitting in judgment on others since 1849."

At the moment we were supposed to be discussing in great detail, as if this is an issue the president of the United States might need to consult us on, what Jesus would do if he accidentally came across the answers to the math test before the exam. Everyone stared off into s.p.a.ce, pondering how our savior might handle this tricky situation.

I left the issue of exam ethics to my capable cla.s.smates and went back to trying to get my best friend Joann's attention. I risked a look over my shoulder at her. Mr. Reilly, our religion teacher, has been known to hurl erasers at the heads of students he feels aren't paying attention, so being subtle was key. Joann was either ignoring me or in a catatonic state. I gave a fake cough to draw her attention. Nothing. I coughed again, this time drawing it out as if I might be in the final stages of TB, but not even a glance.

Darci Evers raised one perfectly manicured hand in the air. Darci looks like she jumped out of a spread in Seventeen and the teachers always talk about how she makes a great role model, but don't be fooled. She's the kind of person who laughs if you trip in the cafeteria. If your mom forces you to wear the sweater your nearly blind grandmother knit for you, she gives a brittle, thin smile and says, "Nice sweater." Then her posse of friends giggle. In elementary school she dotted the i in her name with bubbles and hearts.

"If Jesus saw the test before the exam, he would tell the teacher and ask for a new test, one where he didn't know the answers," Darci said. She paused, her head c.o.c.ked to the side as if she was getting direct communication from heaven. "Our Lord doesn't like cheaters."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. The rest of the cla.s.s all nodded, seemingly relieved to have this conundrum solved and Christ no longer at risk for blowing the h.e.l.l out of the bell curve. Mr. Reilly smiled. He adores Darci Evers.

"Excellent answer."

I raised my hand. Mr. Reilly's smile withered.

"G.o.d is all-knowing, right?" I asked.

"Yes, Emma. He knows everything, what you've done and even what you will do." Mr. Reilly took this moment to look out over the cla.s.sroom in case anyone had evil or impure thoughts in their hearts.

I looked to see if Joann was following my line of intellectual debate. Joann has never been a huge Darci fan, and I figured it wouldn't hurt to remind her that we had this in common.

"So if G.o.d knows everything, won't he know what questions the teacher is going have on the new test too?"

Mr. Reilly's head started to turn red, and I could see the vein in his forehead bulge. For a guy so close to Jesus, he has a lot of repressed rage issues.

"Are you trying to be smart?" Mr. Reilly said.

I hate questions like this. There is no right answer. If you say you are trying to be smart, you get in trouble for being a wisea.s.s, and if you say you're not, you're admitting to being stupid. It's what they call a lose-lose situation. What would Jesus do if faced with this question? I'm guessing he would go for honesty, but Jesus didn't have to worry about getting lower than a C in cla.s.s and losing his track eligibility as a result.

"No, sir," I answered.

Mr. Reilly gave a snort and turned back to the board. Darci shot me a look of annoyance and raised her hand again. Joann still wasn't paying any attention to me.

"Mr. Reilly, do you mind if I make an announcement? It's related to student council business," Darci said.

Darci never misses an opportunity to make an announcement. She finds excuses in nearly every cla.s.s to take center stage. I suspect that if it were up to her as senior cla.s.s president, she would get to wear a small crown or sash to denote her overall superiority. I'm shocked she doesn't demand that the rest of us scatter palm fronds on the floor in front of her as she walks through the halls.

"As everyone knows, the big spring dance is coming up in just a few weeks, and we still need volunteers to help with the decorations. This year we've selected the theme 'Undersea Adventure.' Please show your school spirit by helping to make this a great event. Even if you haven't been asked to the dance, you could still decorate. We'll be accepting nominations for king and queen for the next two weeks, and the three couples that get the most votes will be announced as the court. The queen and king will be announced at the dance."

"I nominate you," Kimberly said so quickly she must have b.u.mped her nose on the way to kissing Darci's a.s.s.

Darci placed a hand on her heart as if she were overcome by the honor.

"Why, Kimberly, thank you so much! I feel a bit funny about putting myself down on the list, but if you insist." She pulled out her pink gel pen to inscribe her name before she forgot it.

"Why do we even have a king and queen?" I asked.

"We've always had a king and queen of the spring dance. It's tradition," Darci shot back.

"Maybe it's time for a new tradition." As the challenge shot out of my mouth, I couldn't tell who was more surprised, Darci or me. It felt like the air was sucked out of the room for a second as people held their breath, waiting for Darci to whack me back down to size. At least I had Joann's attention now.

"You can't have a new tradition. Then it's not tradition, it's the opposite; it's new," Darci said, giving me a look, as if shocked that someone of my low intelligence was even allowed in school.

I slunk down in my seat.

"What would Jesus do?" asked Todd.

The entire cla.s.s turned around to face him. Todd Seaver is the guy in our cla.s.s who never says anything. There have been rumors that he's an elective mute. Todd has the dubious honor of being from "away," a non-Wheaton native.

"What are you talking about?" Darci asked.

"Would Jesus approve of people setting themselves above others? Sounds like false G.o.ds."

"It's not like that at all. Besides, you're Jewish, how would you even know what Jesus would do?"

There was a gasp. It's an unwritten rule that we don't bring up Todd's Jewishness. In a town that is all born-again, his religion is like a deformity, one of those things everyone is painfully aware of and tries to act like they don't notice.

"He was one of the tribe when he started out, you know," Todd said. "I'm thinking he would see the whole king and queen thing as a bunch of false idols, golden calves." He gave Darci a lazy half smile and then looked over at me.

I slunk farther down in my seat, not meeting his eyes. If I went any lower I would slide completely out of the chair and onto the floor. Part of me was glad someone else was standing up to Darci. I just wished the person I was aligned with wasn't the cla.s.s pariah.

"Interesting point," Mr. Reilly said, tapping his thin fingers on his Bible. He adored Darci, but stamping out fun was his favorite thing in the world.

"It's tradition," said Darci, her voice cracking.

"I think we need to discuss the dance at the next advisory board meeting," Mr. Reilly said as the bell rang.

Darci's mouth opened and shut silently like a fish flopping on a dock. A fish with pink-bubble-gum-scented lip gloss. Everyone got up and moved toward the door. I stood up and grabbed my bag.

Darci b.u.mped into my back. "Way to go, Emma," she hissed, shoving past me.

"Yeah, way to go," Kimberly parroted, following two steps behind her.

Joann walked up next to me, and I gave her a smile.

"My mom already bought me a dress for the dance," she said, crossing her arms. "Why can't you leave some things alone?" She walked away without another word.

Recent events, combined with years of religious study, have clarified for me that at the ripe age of seventeen, I am pretty much already d.a.m.ned to h.e.l.l. Let's recap: The Seven Deadly Sins Gluttony: I have, on more than one occasion, eaten the entire gut-buster ice-cream sundae at the Dairy Hut that you get for free if you can finish it. What can I say? I run a lot; I get hungry.

Greed: I have a pa.s.sion for my running shoe collection that others might reserve for the members of a boy band. It's not just fashion; it's also about function.

Sloth: Every time my mom sees the state of my room, she is compelled to say, "If you're waiting for the maid to come along, you've got a long wait ahead of you." Then she sighs deeply, like being my mother is her burden in life.

Wrath: I detest Darci Evers, and if I had the opportunity it is quite likely I would replace her shampoo with Nair.

Envy: I would give just about anything, including possibly my soul, to run like Sherone Simpson (ranked number one in the world for the hundred meters).

Pride: I won the state championship last year for hurdles and plan to repeat this year. I've been accepted to Northwestern, and if I can nail down a track scholarship, I've even got a way to pay for it and a way out of town.

l.u.s.t: I kissed my best friend's boyfriend over Christmas break.

Yep, it's pretty much the last one that's going to do me in.

2.

G.o.d, I know you're busy, and to be honest, what with famine, pestilence, and war I feel a bit bad about bugging you in the past over silly things like getting b.r.e.a.s.t.s (although-hey, it's never too late), but the situation with Joann is really bugging me. Is there any way you could remind her that we're best friends? A small vision, perhaps? I really am sorry for what happened with Colin. Think of the benefits: If we were close again, I wouldn't need to come to you with the small things, I could sort them out with her. Consider it less like granting a prayer and more like a time-saving device for yourself.

There is no greater sin than kissing your best friend's boyfriend. It's such an obvious screwup it didn't even make the Ten Commandments. G.o.d figured he shouldn't even have to make a note of that one.

I've known Colin since I was two, which is long before he started dating Joann. Not that I'm trying to offer that up as an excuse, more of an explanation. After my parents divorced, my mom (for reasons that have never been clear to me) moved us from Chicago (a perfectly good city without a single silo, which is more than I can say for Wheaton) to live near her parents, my grandparents. Colin's family farm is right next to my grandparents. We grew up together with everyone making smoochy kissy noises around us with elaborate winks and nudges. His dad and my grandpa would always joke about how the fence between their two farms could come down with no trouble at all. Then there's the humiliating childhood photo that gets pulled out every so often, of the two of us around age five sharing a bath. It was expected that we would become a couple, which pretty much guaranteed it was the last thing that either of us would ever want. In a small town like Wheaton, it is an accepted fact that getting married is the high point of your life. Big church wedding with big hair and a big bouquet and then a bad buffet at the Veterans' Hall. Shoot me.

Even though I never planned to date Colin, I always liked him. I don't mean like him like him. Just regular like. He's a good guy. He doesn't mind renting chick flicks, and he introduced me to the Matrix movies (which despite having Keanu Reeves are pretty good). He's into football, but if I ask, he'll watch me run on the track, and he'll scream out my times as I fly by. Since I've known him forever, I can tell him stuff without feeling like I'm talking to a guy. He'll tell you the truth about how you look in stuff (like if your jeans make your a.s.s a mile wide). Colin even asked me what I thought about him asking Joann out this past summer before he did it. I did the emotional reconnaissance for him, so he knew she would say yes. I was glad they hit it off. Honest.

It was my idea to drive into Fort Wayne and go to the mall at Christmas. Wheaton is so lame we don't have a mall. There is one clothing store in town, the Hitching Post. All their clothing smells like old people and has an elastic waist. Wheaton is not exactly fashion central. Colin was trying to figure out what to get Joann for Christmas. They had been dating since July, and this was their first major "couple" holiday, which put on the pressure for gift giving. The Hitching Post was not going to cut it. A trip to a real shopping destination was required, and who better to help him with the gift selection than his girlfriend's best friend?

The mall was insanely busy. They had decorated with huge garlands covered with ornaments the size of border collies strung between the stores, and there was a giant winter wonderland in the center. A single loop of Christmas songs kept repeating over and over. Every time you walked into a store, one of the clerks would yell, "Season's greetings!" in this frantic voice like they'd had one too many rounds of eggnog. Colin was starting to drag, and I could see he was ready to buy something and leave. I gestured to the Gap up ahead and started to lead Colin into the store.

"Let's go sit on Santa's lap instead," Colin said, pulling me down the slick white floor.

"Santa? Don't you think we're a bit old?"

"You're never too old for Santa."

Colin was practically racing down the hall. We stood in line for Santa with all the little kids. The kid in front of us had his finger jammed up his nose and watched us warily while doing his nasal drilling. I tried to ignore him.

"What are you leaning toward getting Joann?"

"I can't decide. What do you think of the sweater?"

"She'd like it."

Colin sighed.

"What? She would. She looks nice in green," I offered.

"There must be something that she'd really like. A sweater seems boring. I mean, I got my mom a sweater."

"Well, don't get Joann the same one. That's creepy."

"Thanks, Freud," Colin grumped, and then pushed me forward. Santa could see me now.

I sat down slowly on Santa's lap. The last thing I needed to do was hurt the old guy. Up close he didn't look that old. Nor were his eyes very twinkly. However, he was built for the part: His belly had definite jellylike status. I think sitting on Santa's lap used to be better when I was a kid, or else I was too young to notice the ick factor back then.

"What do you want for Christmas?" Santa asked with what looked an awful lot like a leer to me.

"Santa?" Colin asked, his voice low and serious. Santa and I both turned to face Colin, who was standing next to the elf photographer. "Santa, why have you taken Christ out of Christmas?"

I burst out laughing just as the camera flashed. I thanked Santa for his time and chased after Colin, who was dancing near the printer, waiting for the photo. When it came out, it was worse than I expected. My mouth was wide-open, midlaugh, and my eyes were squeezed shut. Santa looked confused and annoyed. I gave Colin a shove. The elf a.s.sistant gave us a look, and I noticed that Santa was getting up to take a break. I'm guessing minimum wage was not cutting it to put up with people like Colin and me.

"Must you torture Santa?" I asked. Colin grabbed the photo and paid for it.

"Christmas is more than shiny paper and Rudolph. I would hope as a student-no, an amba.s.sador-of TES, you would know that. Have you forgotten the real reason for the season? Has Satan won you with nothing more than a shiny jingle bell and some cookies?" Colin asked in a solemn voice before his face cracked into a smile.

"Lemme see the picture again." I took it out of his hands. "I look like someone who wanders around with tin-foil on her head."

"No, you don't. You look good." He took the picture back.

"Good? My mouth is hanging open, and see that shiny bit there? I think that's drool. I drooled on Santa."

"You never like your pictures. It's nice."

"You're a freak. Tear it up."

"I'm not tearing it up, I paid for it."

"Just because you were dumb enough to pay for it doesn't mean I want a picture of me like that hanging around." I reached for the photo, and Colin held it above his head. He's annoyingly tall, so I was reduced to jumping up and down trying to s.n.a.t.c.h it from him.

We were laughing, and Colin kept yanking the picture just out of my grasp. I leaned in to try and take it. Suddenly our faces were inches apart, and then he kissed me.

Or I kissed him.

It's possible we met in the middle. The picture fell out of his hand and drifted down to the floor like an autumn leaf. We just stood there, looking at each other.