E, My Name Is Emily by Norma Fox Mazer

Author:Norma Fox Mazer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media

Chapter 13

The weather turned warm at the end of October. Everybody said it was Indian summer. Mr. Cooper, the gym teacher, took our class outside to play softball. I was doing okay. I made two base hits and caught one fly ball, then I saw Robertson sitting in the bleachers. And I lost it. I’m not the world’s greatest athlete, even under the best of circumstances, and it flustered me to have him watching. After that, I didn’t do anything good in the game.

Later, when I complained about it, Bunny just laughed. She thinks I exaggerate everything, anyway.

“I did so bad in the last three innings,” I said. “I know I’m just average in sports, but I want to be better! I hate that I did so bad.”

“Em, you’re an outstanding writer. You can’t be outstanding in everything. Look how doofy I am about writing. You’re too hard on yourself. You want everything and everyone to be perfect.”

Did I? I’d never thought of it that way. Were my expectations too high? Wasn’t it right to want to be the best and want other people to be the best, too?

That evening, Mom came into my room. “I want to talk to you,” she said, and she sat down on the edge of my bed. I closed my book. Mom didn’t say anything, just started brushing her teeth in an absent way. She was in her pj’s. Finally, I said, “Mom, did you come in here to brush your teeth?”

She looked at her toothbrush as if she didn’t even realize she had it with her. “Oh! Well, what I came to say is I think you have a wrong …”

I waited. “A wrong—”

“Idea.”

“About what?”

“… Len …” she said after a moment.

“I don’t have any idea about him,” I said quickly.

“Well, yes you do. And it’s wrong. He’s a very nice man. Quiet … still waters. You’ve heard, Don’t judge a book by its cover. And that’s what you’re doing, Emily.”

I thought of all the stories I’d read about people misjudging other people because of really superficial reasons, like the way they looked or sounded. And then in these stories they always learned that they were dead wrong. The person they’d misjudged turned out to be the one who saved their life or was the smartest or most courageous. Was that Mr. Linaberry? I didn’t think so!

“I know you’re not an intolerant person,” Mom said. “Or impolite.”

“I’m polite to him!”

“But not friendly—”

“Mom, you can’t force somebody to like somebody they don’t like.”

“You should be nice to my friends. I’m nice to your friends.”

“I know,” I muttered.

“So … will you?”

“What do you want me to do, Mom? Tell me exactly. Give me orders. I’ll follow them.”

Mom laced her fingers together. “Well …” She gave me a tiny smile. “Let’s not talk about that anymore, now. You just think about it.” She bobbed her head.

I stared at her. She was doing what Mr. Linaberry did—that same head-bobbing motion!

“Friday, we’re going out,” she said. “The movies. It’ll be a treat.

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