What Would Emma Do? Part 16

"I can be nice, you know."

"Oh, I know you can be nice. I'm just wondering what you're hoping to get from it."

"Thanks a lot, Mom. You make me sound like a really great person. I can be nice just for the sake of being nice, you know."

I could tell she didn't believe me. I went back to the kitchen and loaded up the plates with spaghetti. I delivered them to the table with a flourish.

"How are things at school?"

"I'm not in trouble."

"I've noticed Joann hasn't been around much."

"Yeah." I twirled the spaghetti around on my fork and tried to figure out how to explain it.

"One of those things where you're both mad and you're not even sure why you're mad anymore?"

I looked over at my mom, surprised.

"I wasn't born a mom. I went to high school myself." My mom put her fork down and pushed her chair away from the table. "Did I ever tell you why I left Wheaton?"

"No. I figured you wanted to do something different."

"Sort of. When I was in school, I had a crush on Thomas Evers."

"Reverend Evers?" My mouth curled up in disgust, and my mom burst out laughing.

"He wasn't a reverend then, he was just Thomas. He was two years ahead of me, and he was handsome and popular, and I think every girl in school had a thing for him."

"Did he do that nasty Donald Trump comb-over thing back then?"

"No. He used to keep his hair cut really short, sort of like a military buzz cut. He had this great body because he played every sport. He worked out all the time."

"Mom, I'm eating here. Could we please not talk about his body?"

"Fair enough. Take my word for it: Thomas was attractive. I thought about him all the time, mooned around, wishing he would notice me."

"Mooned?"

"Not dropping-pants moon, mooning meaning I liked him, but he didn't know I was alive. I used to write him these long poems where I would describe how much I loved him. Really bad romantic poems. They were a bit steamy." She blushed. "At any rate, Sheila Hunter found one of the poems. It must have fallen out of my notebook. We had math together."

"Sheila Hunter? Isn't that Mrs. Evers?"

"It is now."

"Oh my G.o.d. She gave him the poem, didn't she?"

"Worse. She read it out loud in the cafeteria."

"No!"

"Yes. I wanted to crawl under the table and disappear."

"What happened?"

"Not much really happened. I was a freshman and Thomas was a junior. He continued to pretend I wasn't alive. People teased me about it. They used to call me Lord Byron."

"I saw that nickname in your old yearbooks. I thought it was because English was your favorite subject."

"Nope. It came from my poetic ability." My mom made finger quotations around "poetic ability."

"That must have sucked."

"Thomas and Sheila started going out that year. When I look back at high school, I realize I spent most of my time hating being there. I couldn't wait to leave. I knew I wanted to live someplace where no one knew about the poem incident. I wanted a fresh start."

"I completely get that."

"But that's the thing. I thought if I moved away, I could move away from all of it, but the memories were still with me. The fact that I was shy and awkward didn't change just because I changed locations. I made the same mistakes, but in a new place with new people."

"No matter where you go, there you are," I said.

My mom looked over and broke into a smile. "That's right, pretty wise words. How did you get so smart?"

"Genetics," I said. "Apparently b.i.t.c.hy genes can also be pa.s.sed down: Darci is just how you describe her mom."

"Apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"You're doing that cliche thing again."

"Do you know why they don't send mules to college?" my mom asked.

"n.o.body likes a smarta.s.s?" I said.

This joke has been knocking around our house for a long time. My mom raised her fork in acknowledgment and we shared a smile. I watched her eat. I tried to imagine what it would be like to have someone read your hot love poems out loud. I felt bad for my teenage mom. She looked up and noticed me watching her.

"I'm sorry things got so messed up," I said.

"Sometimes a wrong turn leads us to exactly where we need to be, not where we wanted to be. If I hadn't gone to Chicago, I wouldn't have met your dad."

"That might have been a good thing."

"But then I wouldn't have had you."

"And you wouldn't have had to drop out of college and move back here. You could have done anything you wanted."

My mom stood up suddenly and came over to my seat. She kneeled down so we were face-to-face. She took my chin in her hand and forced me to look her straight in the eyes.

"Never think for a minute that I regret having you. You are the thing I am most proud of in my life and the best thing that has ever happened to me. From the moment you were born, I knew my destiny was to love you with my whole heart. If I could do anything I wanted, anything in the whole world, then I would choose all over again to be your mom." She paused and looked at me, her face serious. "No matter what questions you have in life, the one thing you should never doubt is how much I love you."

My throat felt tight, and I could feel the tears in my eyes. I knew if I said anything, I was going to start crying and this would turn into one of those made-for-TV movie moments. My mom didn't break eye contact for a long time. Finally she leaned over and kissed my forehead and went back to her chair. We didn't say anything else for the rest of dinner. I stood up to clear the dishes, but she waved me off and started to collect everything off the table.

"I owe you an apology," she said.

"For what?"

"Sometimes parents want so badly to save our kids from getting hurt that we make a bad decision. I'll call Coach Attley and ask him to put you back on the team. You're a smart girl. You'll make the decisions that are right for you. I need to remember that they're your decisions to make now." She looked over her shoulder and gave me a smile as she left the room. I could hear her piling the dishes in the sink and the water running. I stood up and followed her into the kitchen.

"Mom?"

She turned off the water and faced me.

"I was being nice earlier with dinner and everything because I was hoping to convince you to call Coach Attley. I wasn't doing it just to be nice."

"I figured you had your reasons."

"I'm sorry."

"Well then, we're both sorry, so let's call it even, okay?"

I stepped forward, and my mom and I hugged. It had been a long time since we'd had a good hug. I squeezed her tight.

"You're a good mom," I whispered into her hair.

"I've got my moments." She gave me an extra squeeze and let me go. "Why don't you go for a run? You're going to have to get yourself into shape if you want to be ready for the meet on Sat.u.r.day."

"You sure?"

"Be home by eight." She looked at me. "And when I say eight, I mean eight, not eight fifteen or eight thirty. This touching mother-daughter moment doesn't mean I'm getting soft on curfew."

"I would never think of you as soft." I promised, holding my hand up as if I were taking a pledge. As I turned and headed out, my mom gave my b.u.t.t a slap with her wet towel.

31.

G.o.d, you used to show up all the time down here. Burning bushes, visions, pillar of clouds, personal messages to your chosen. Lately you seem to be keeping your appearances to things like showing up on the side of a grilled cheese sandwich. I'm all for a good melted cheese sandwich (especially if you make it with like a stick of b.u.t.ter and that otherwise nasty Kraft cheese that comes in the plastic wrapper), but I'm thinking you can do better than revealing your likeness on the side of toast. It's like Madonna choosing to play in a mall food court. Way beneath your level, is what I'm trying to say. Maybe like some bands, you don't want to be bothered with taking the show on the road anymore. Fair enough. So what I'm wondering is, would it bother you if I worked a little miracle magic on my own? Think of it as me being like one of those tribute bands-never as good as the original, but if you can't see the original, not half bad.

I didn't need to run very far before I realized who my potential reinforcement could be, even if it meant having to swallow my pride. I ran past Todd's house. The stroller mommy vigilantes were gone, but I was willing to bet the neighbors were watching the house like it was free cable. Spying on neighbors is an accepted activity in Wheaton. If I went up to the front door, it would take less than one minute for the news to spread through town, and that might mess with the plan. I ran down the street and then doubled back through the greenbelt so that I could approach the house from the back.

Victory. I could see Todd walk past one of the upper-story windows. I picked up a small stone and hurled it at the window. It plunked on the siding and fell back to the yard. It hardly made any sound at all. It's clear why running is my sport and not softball pitching. I picked up another stone and tried again. This one hit the ledge, but I still missed the window. I bent down, found another rock, and hurled it. I would have hit the window that time too, except for the fact that the window was now open and Todd was leaning out. I nailed him right between the eyes.

"s.h.i.t," Todd said, grabbing his head and then checking for blood. He winced and looked out. I gave a halfhearted wave.

"Proctor? Is that you?"

"Can you come down?"

He didn't say anything, but he shut the window and the light went off. I paced back and forth in the tree line while I waited. He came jogging out the back door. He was wearing a giant sweatshirt, and he pulled the hood up as he came out.

"You know, there is this brand-new technology you might have heard of called a doorbell. Or, if technology freaks you out, then you could try the traditional door-knocking thing."

"You okay?"

"You threw a rock at my head. I thought the towns-people had finally come to stone me."

"Sorry." I made patterns in the fallen pine needles with my shoes. "How have you been?"

"Do you mean how have I been since everyone thinks I've been trying to poison my cla.s.smates, or how've I been since I kissed you and you ran away without saying another word?"

"I meant more of just a general how have you been." I shuffled in place. "About when I was here last time. I left for a reason."

"Let me guess, it's complicated." Todd looked at me, then gave a sigh.

"You could have called me," I pointed out.

"Life's getting complicated here, too. My parents are talking about moving."

"Moving? Are you serious?"

"TES is a private school. They can kick me out with or without any proof. That means I either need to take my GED or transfer somewhere for the last couple months of school. Not to mention that everyone around here thinks I'm a psycho. I think my parents are afraid this could affect my self-image in a negative way. To be honest, I think their whole dream of living in America's heartland hasn't really panned out the way they thought. I think they want to go back to Chicago." He shot me a look. "I'm sort of surprised to see you."

"I wanted to talk to you, but I was grounded."

"Because you went out with me?"

"Sort of, more because my mom was doing this freak-out thing."

"Would she be mad that you're here now?"

"I don't think so, we've worked a few things out. I wanted to talk to you. I need your help with something."

Todd looked at me. I could tell he was trying to figure out what I was up to and if the whole thing was a joke.

"Okay."

I followed him into the back of the house, giving a quick look to see if any of his neighbors were watching. We walked through his kitchen; Mrs. Seaver was clearly a fan of the country look. I hadn't really looked around last time I was here. The house was stuffed with antiques, and the walls had old metal signs advertising oatmeal and coffee. The signs were dinged up and faded, but cool. I paused to look them over. The room smelled like caramelized sugar and chocolate. Someone must have been baking. My nose twitched like a rabbit.

Todd walked into the living room, flopped into a big leather club chair, and motioned to the sofa. I sat down and sank into the piles of pillows. It was possible I would need a crane to get out of there. I noticed that Todd hadn't chosen to sit next to me, which gave me the feeling he wasn't quite over the whole walkout incident.

"So what's up?" Todd asked.

"I wanted to know if you could help me with something."

"Depends."