Another Day as Emily (13 page)

I’m so excited

I keep Ottilie up

half the night

talking.

The phone rings.

Could it be Giselle?

Would she call this early?

Did I get the part?

Mom pokes her head

in my room.

“It’s for you, Suzy Q.”

My heart flaps.

I pick up the phone.

It’s Alison.

She has a question:

“Are we walking

to the library

as Sarah and Emily

or getting changed there?”

Alison and I carry

our outfits to the library.

We get dressed in

the ladies’ room

with the other Tween Time girls.

Besides Sarah

and Emily,

there’s a Florence Nightingale

and an Annie Oakley.

Ms. Mott greets us as

Harriet Tubman.

She carries an old railroad lantern.

The one boy is Chief Joseph.

Ms. Mott asks who wants to go first.

I raise my hand.

Ever since the audition

I’ve been feeling more

confident.

“I’m the poet Emily Dickinson,”

I tell the group.

“I was born on December tenth,

1830.

When I was a young girl,

I did regular stuff.

I went to school and to parties.

I liked to sing and draw

and play the piano.

I wore pretty dresses. All colors.

When I got older,

I stayed in my room more,

writing poems.

If I did go out,

it was only to my garden

or to visit my friend Susan

across the yard.

I helped in the kitchen.

I enjoyed baking.

Sometimes I lowered

gingerbread and other treats

from my window—in a basket—

to the neighborhood kids.

I had a dog, Carlo.

In my later years

I wore only white.

I died on May fifteenth, 1886.

Most of my poems

weren’t published until after

my death.

I’ll read one now.”

“Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul
.

And sings the tune without the words
.

And never stops at all
.

“That’s the first stanza

of the poem called Hope.

I chose this one

because I’ve been

feeling grumpy lately.

But now I’m not.

Now I’ve got hope

perching in my soul.”

Ms. Mott leads

the applause.

Annie Oakley tells

how she was the star

of Buffalo Bill’s

Wild West show.

She pulls out two

cap pistols.

She twirls them

round her fingers.

She points them

at the ceiling.

POP! POP! POP!

I expect

one of the grown-ups

in the library to hiss

SHHHHHHH!

But no one does.

The girl who is dressed as Florence

says she didn’t have much time

to prepare because

they had a house full of

out-of-town company

over the weekend.

She tells us that

Florence Nightingale’s parents

hated the idea

of her becoming a nurse.

And then the girl

opens up

a toy nurse kit

and gives each one of us

a Band-Aid.

Sarah, aka Alison,

glides to the front of the room

like she’s getting an Oscar.

She tells how Sarah Bernhardt bought

her own coffin

and sometimes slept in it

instead of her bed.

She says it helped her

to understand

her tragic roles better.

“Creepy,” says Annie Oakley.

Ms. Mott—as Harriet Tubman—

goes next.

She tells how she escaped

from slavery

and helped others escape

using the Underground Railroad.

She sings a song she loved:

“Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.”

People from other parts

of the library

come and stand in the doorway

listening.

We all get a little teary-eyed

when Chief Joseph says:

“Hear me, my chiefs; I am tired.

My heart is sick and sad.

From where the sun now stands,

I will fight no more forever.”

Ms. Mott passes around

a box of Kleenex.

Alison and I are too anxious

about Giselle’s phone call

to take time to change our clothes.

We wear our 1800s outfits

down the streets of Ridgley.

Some teenagers call out a car window:

“A little early for Halloween!”

After I leave Alison,

I start to run home.

It’s not easy running

in a long dress.

I nearly catch my foot

in the ruffled hem.

Whew! I would not

want to ruin

Mrs. Harden’s mother’s

graduation dress.

So I speed-walk instead.

When I go into the house,

I hear Mom on the phone

saying: “I’ll tell her.”

“Wait!” I yelp. “I’m here.”

But Mom has already

hung up.

The phone call

was
for me—

but it wasn’t Giselle.

It was Alison

asking if I’d gotten

the call yet.

I pull up a chair.

I sit by the phone.

Dad walks past,

pats me on the head,

says: “A watched phone

never rings.”

I stop watching the phone.

It rings before dinner.

It’s Giselle.

She is saying nice things

about the audition.

“You did really well, Suzy.

I especially enjoyed your cackle.

I hope you’ll try out for us again.”

“Again?” I say.

“For another play,” says Giselle.

“Gee, everyone was so good. But

we only needed four kids.

Hard choice. Really hard choice.

I’m sorry.”

My heart crumples.

I go up to the bathroom.

I turn on the tub water full blast

so no one will hear

my stupid sobs.

Mom taps on the bathroom door.

“You okay in there?”

“Uh-huh.”

Somehow she knows

not to ask about the phone call.

She says: “You’re taking a bath?”

“Yeah, I was hot and sweaty.”

“Five minutes till dinner, sweetie.”

“I’m not hungry.”

I’m in bed

reading about Emily Dickinson.

Mom brings me dinner on a tray.

I wave it away.

Mom takes my hand in hers.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get the part,”

she says.

I shrug. “I feel worse for Alison.”

“You do?”

“Yes. She’s the one who wants to be

an actress.”

Mom gives a sigh. “What makes you think

Alison didn’t get the part?”

“We auditioned together,” I said.

“Would Giselle really take one of us