Best Friend Emma (5 page)

“I don’t
want
to be even,” Cynthia says, narrowing her eyes. “I want to win! So, tough. It’s not gonna happen, Emma.”

“Tough,
back
,” I echo, not backing up anymore.

I didn’t want to fight with
anyone
, even Cynthia.

But it looks like round one of our fight for

     
5
     

Kry Rodriguez is already in class when Cynthia and I finally go inside. Kry is sitting in her newly assigned seat near Jared Matthews, Stanley Washington, one of the girl church-friends, and one of the girl neighbor-friends. I don’t get to sit near Kry, but at least Cynthia doesn’t, either.

Annie Pat isn’t here today. I hope her stomach didn’t pop.

I also hope that she’s okay by Saturday, Marine Universe day.

“Let’s sit up straight and pay attention on this cold, wet Tuesday, ladies and gentlemen,” our beautiful teacher Ms. Sanchez says after she has
taken roll. “We’re going to review how to write a book report this morning, because I want your finished reports handed in before Thanksgiving. And then, after recess, you’ll take turns subtracting multidigit numbers at the board.”

Next to me, Corey Robinson groans. I’m not sure which is worse for him: multidigit subtraction or having to stand at the board in front of everyone. But put the two things together, and Corey would rather be swimming in a small tank with sharks. And not the fun kind of sharks, either.

“Now, what are my two main rules for doing book reports?” Ms. Sanchez asks, perching on the corner of her desk. She looks extra pretty today. She is wearing a rose-and-cream flowered dress and shoes with tiny high heels and narrow bows on the front. I’ll bet she’s going out on a date with her fiancé after school is over! His name is Mr. Timberlake,
but he’s not the one on MTV. Ms. Sanchez’s Mr. Timberlake works in a sporting-goods store.

You should see her engagement ring.

Hey, that’s something I could talk to Kry Rodriguez about! Because Ms. Sanchez is the prettiest teacher at Oak Glen, and the girls in my class
love
talking about the details of her life—even though we don’t know very many of them. But that doesn’t slow us down.

I could be the one to bring Kry up to speed about the stuff we
do
know, however. She’ll be so grateful! She’ll
definitely
want to be my—

“Emma?” Ms. Sanchez is saying. She gives me a scowl.

I blink. “Yes?”

“What is my first rule about book reports?” she asks a little too patiently—as if it is not the first time in the last minute that she’s asked me this question.

“We have to read the book. The
whole
book,” I add hastily. Because Ms. Sanchez does not believe
in skimming. For instance, you can’t read
Sarah, Plain and Tall
and then just say it’s about a plain lady who is also tall.

“That is correct,” Ms. Sanchez says with a sharp, satisfied nod of her head. “And EllRay, can you stop bothering your neighbor long enough to tell the class my second book-report rule?”

EllRay—who has been making upside-down faces at Heather—stares up at the ceiling, thinking hard. His jaw sags open a little. It is so quiet in class for a moment that you can hear
the big wall clock tick.
Ka-chuck, ka-chuck
.

“EllRay? Are you still with us?” Ms. Sanchez asks.

“Oh! Oh!” Heather says, raising one arm high and leaning over her desk.

Ms. Sanchez barely hides her sigh, because Heather
always
thinks she has the answer to a question—even when she doesn’t have a clue. “Yes, Heather?” Ms. Sanchez says.

“The second rule is that we have to end the report right,” Heather says, triumphant. “We can’t just say,
‘To find out what happens next, you’ll have to read the book!’”

Ms. Sanchez looks pleasantly surprised. “That is correct, Heather,” she says, smiling. “Good girl. Now, let’s move on to book-report headings. Who knows what information to put at the top of your report?”

During morning recess, which comes between language arts and math, Kry has to stay inside
with Ms. Sanchez and fill out some forms. So no one can try to make friends with her.

The sun finally comes out—right after recess, naturally, but that raises my hopes.

And when the lunch bell rings, Ms. Sanchez asks
Cynthia
to stay behind for a few minutes so she can go over a subtraction problem with her. Score! It’s my big chance to make an impression on Kry Rodriguez without Cynthia being there to bother me. But how can I do it?

I could tell Kry a joke, but I can never remember jokes when I need them.

I could say how nice she looks today, which she does, but after she says, “Thanks,” then what?

I could give her half my sandwich, but she might not like my current favorite, peanut butter and crunchy lettuce on a bagel. Not everyone does.

For instance, Annie Pat’s favorite sandwich is tuna and sliced dill pickles on pumpernickel bread.
Urk
.

Annie Pat’s probably not eating that particu-lar
sandwich today, not if she still has “tummy trouble.”

“Hi,” Kry says to me—to me!—when I get near the table where the third-grade girls usually eat She is sitting at one end of the table, while Fiona and Heather sit at the opposite end of the table, silent. The other girls in our class are probably eating in the cafeteria today.

Fiona and Heather probably don’t even
want
Cynthia to make friends with the new girl, because where would that leave them? Or maybe they are just feeling shy—the way I am. And we aren’t even the ones who are new.

Kry peeks up at me through her long, straight bangs, and she smiles, waiting.

“Uh, hi?” I murmur, turning my reply into a soft, wimpy question.

“How’s your friend?” Kry asks, looking concerned. “The red-haired girl who—who didn’t feel good yesterday?” she adds, stumbling a little as she tries not to say “throw up,” “puke,” or “hurl.”

Kry Rodriguez has very good manners! Now I
really
want her to be my friend.

Besides, it will drive Cynthia crazy if she loses this battle, and then she and I will
really
be even. Because—why did she turn against me for no reason?

Even though I have Annie Pat, it still hurts.

“Who? Annie Pat?” I ask, as if I have lots of sick friends Kry might be asking about, though I think she might be referring to this particular one. “Oh, she’ll be fine,” I say, instantly dismissing whatever is wrong with Annie Pat.

(Sorry, Annie Pat.)

“That’s good,” Kry says, and then she pats the bench next to her. “Want to sit here?” she asks, smiling at me again.

Do
I? This is going better than I could ever have planned!

“Sure. I guess,” I say, shrugging in what I hope is a casual way—because I want Kry to keep on thinking that being friends with me is
her
idea. That’ll really drive Cynthia nuts! “I—”

“Sorry!
Taken
,” a high, shrill voice rings out, and Cynthia Harbison flings herself onto the picnic bench—right where Kry just patted.

My seat
!

And then Cynthia flashes me a triumphant smile.