Emma Jean Lazarus Fell in Love (9 page)

By abandoning her for her boy.

Colleen tried to catch Kaitlin's eye. More than anything, she needed just one look—a blink—to let her know that she could make things right. But Kaitlin was busy writing. And then Kaitlin stood up. She walked to the front of the room and took the bathroom pass. She glanced at Colleen just before she walked out.

Wait, had she meant to look at Colleen?

Was it a signal?

Did she want Colleen to follow her, so they could talk?

Colleen wasn't sure, but thought she'd better go after her just in case.

Colleen raised her hand.

Señora Weingart came over.

“Mi amiga . . .”
Colleen whispered. “
Yo soy . .
.”

“
Sí?
”

Colleen searched her mind, which was swirling around . . .

What was the Spanish word for
friend-isaster
?

E
mma-Jean was still in the utility room when she heard footsteps approaching from the eastern end of the hallway. She held her breath, hoping to see Dylan or Barry or Aki or Andrew moving stealthily toward Colleen's locker. It occurred to her that she should have brought her camera, to capture the moment. It would be impressive to include photographic evidence when she presented her final report to Colleen.

But it was Kaitlin.

Emma-Jean was tempted to signal to her, to invite Kaitlin into her observation post and to reveal the details of her plan. Given Kaitlin's doubts about Emma-Jean's abilities, it might reassure her to see Emma-Jean so diligently working on Colleen's behalf. Perhaps she might even want to assist.

Emma-Jean was about to open the door, but something in Kaitlin's manner caused her to hesitate. She was walking very quickly, with her head down and her curls in front of her face, as though she wished to hide. And then Emma-Jean wondered what had brought Kaitlin to this end of the building. She had Spanish this period, with Colleen. The foreign language wing had a newly renovated girls' room and working water fountain. Kaitlin's locker was on the other side of the school. There was no reason Emma-Jean could think of for Kaitlin to be on this end of the school building.

Kaitlin had stopped right in front of the utility room. Emma-Jean dropped to her knees. Very slowly she rose up, balancing on the balls of her feet so she could peer through the window. She watched as Kaitlin reached into the back pocket of her blue jeans and extracted a folded piece of paper. She looked around, then fed the folded paper into the vents of Colleen's locker.

What was Kaitlin doing? Could it be . . .

The floor beneath Emma-Jean seemed to tilt, and Emma-Jean leaned heavily against the door to steady herself. But the door was not properly closed. Emma-Jean's weight caused it to fly open with a piercing shriek. She stumbled into the hallway, stopping just a few feet from where Kaitlin was standing.

“Emma-Jean!” Kaitlin gasped.

“What are you doing?” Emma-Jean said.

Kaitlin did not answer.

But as a single cell can reveal the DNA code of an entire organism, the look in Kaitlin's eyes told Emma-Jean everything she needed to know:

That there was no secret admirer, no left-handed boy yearning for Colleen, waiting for her to ask him to the Spring Fling.

Kaitlin had written the note.

And far more shocking was the fact that Emma-Jean hadn't realized this the moment Colleen first showed her the note. Because right now, all of the clues lined up in Emma-Jean's mind like signs along the highway: Kaitlin was left-handed, Kaitlin had been eating buttery popcorn just before Colleen discovered the note, Kaitlin often wore a Band-Aid on her right index finger to conceal the large wart that so embarrassed her.

And of course there was the note itself. Who else but Kaitlin would write that Colleen was “the best girl in the whole grade”? How many times had Emma-Jean seen Kaitlin turn to Colleen and exclaim “You're the best!”?

“It would have worked,” Kaitlin said in a defeated whisper. “But you figured it out.”

“No, I did not,” Emma-Jean said. “I had no idea.”

Kaitlin studied Emma-Jean for a moment, then she closed her eyes and shook her head.

“It doesn't matter,” she said. “Colleen will never forgive me. She—”

“Forgive you for what?” said a high, quavering voice behind Emma-Jean.

Colleen seemed to have appeared out of thin air.

And now she stepped forward.

“What's this?” Colleen said, plucking the note that was still stuck in the vent of her locker. “What are you doing?”

“I'm really sorry, Coll,” Kaitlin said, and then she fled down the hallway.

Colleen stared down at the folded note, holding it lightly in her fingers, as though it was very hot.

“It was Kaitlin?” Colleen said.

Emma-Jean nodded.

“Were you in on it, Emma-Jean?” she said. “Did you know the whole time?”

“No,” Emma-Jean said, in a voice that sounded curiously far away, as though she was speaking from deep within a cave. “I did not know, not until just a moment ago.”

Colleen looked at Emma-Jean. And her look was not one of hope and trust. Her eyes appeared cloudy, like windows on a misty day.

Colleen looked down at the floor, and tears splashed onto the tiles. Emma-Jean stepped forward, wishing to offer her some comfort. But Colleen turned and hurried away, leaving Emma-Jean in the hallway. And though she knew that the rooms around her were filled with boys and girls and teachers, Emma-Jean felt entirely alone.

Dear Colleen,

I wrote the note to you.

I didn't do it as a joke or to be mean. I did it because I wanted you to know what an amazing person you are.

I never thought everything would get so out of control. I never ever wanted to hurt you. And I'm so, so, so sorry.

No matter what happens, I will always think of you as the best friend in the world.

Love,

Kaitlin

Colleen read and reread the note as she sat on a bench in the empty girls' locker room. By now the note was soggy from her tears, which poured down her face.

How had she been so stupid? She should have known that a boy would never write her a note! Her bird was probably laughing at her from his branch. He'd probably told all his friends, and probably now they were all giggling at Colleen, or whatever birds do when they think something is really funny.

She had been so wrong, about everything. And now any minute a huge sadness would come crashing over her. And it would last for days and days, like it had after the disaster with Laura. She wouldn't be Colleen-er anymore. Any minute, all those happy and brave and strong feelings would drain out of her heart. She hoped it wouldn't hurt too much.

She watched the clock on the wall, with the jumping second hand, tick-tock, tick-tock . . . She felt like Cinderella at 11:59 p.m, except that Colleen's mom would never let her wear a glass shoe, especially one with such a high heel.

Colleen closed her eyes, but the tears kept pouring down.

What would she do now? How would she face everyone? And what about the Spring Fling? While all of her friends were having the best night of their lives, Colleen would be home alone with her mom and her sock puppets.

Colleen sat on the bench, waiting for the sadness.

She waited.

And waited.

But nothing happened.

What was wrong? She looked up at the ceiling, expecting to see a dark cloud gathering above her. But the ceiling was bright white.

She wiped her eyes.

And a tiny speck of an idea flickered in her mind:

Maybe this wasn't so bad.

The idea disappeared for a minute, but then there it was, sparkling a little brighter.

Maybe she didn't have to be sad.

Of course she did. She should feel totally horrible and humiliated and lonely and stupid.

So why didn't she?

Because even though she was sitting here in the locker room, which smelled like old socks and bleach, some part of Colleen had been able to fly away up to that branch, where it was sunny, where the breeze blew softly into her face and dried her tears. Her bird wasn't there, because he was off doing something more important than laughing at Colleen, like looking for worms for his wife and babies. Colleen was up there by herself, looking down at the school, through the windows and down the hallway to the locker room. And she could see herself sitting there.

And sure, her eyes looked all puffed up and red from crying, and her bangs were mashed down against her forehead. But she didn't look so bad. She didn't look like her life was ruined. She looked like a girl who was a little sad and disappointed but who could, if she wanted, stand up, take a deep breath, wash her face, and go out there to find her best friend in the world and make things right.

Because nothing terrible had happened to Colleen. Nobody important had moved away. She hadn't hurt anyone and nobody had tried to make her into a big joke. In fact, wasn't the opposite kind of true? Hadn't Kaitlin written that secret admirer note because she wanted Colleen to feel better about herself, because Kaitlin
cared?

And guess what? It had worked! The note had made Colleen Colleen-er. And now that she was Colleen-er, she could stay Colleen-er, if she wanted to.

She wanted to.

But could she do it?

She could try.

And so Colleen stood up. Her knees felt wobbly at first, but then stronger. She walked to the sink, washed her face, and fluffed up her bangs. She took a deep breath and looked at herself in the mirror. She smiled a little, a sad smile, but kind of brave too.

It felt like hours had passed, but only seven minutes had ticked by on the clock. If she hurried, she could maybe make it back to Spanish before the bell.

But wait!

She couldn't go just yet. There was something she needed to do before she headed out into the world.

Colleen had to say good-bye to her boy.

E
mma-Jean wasn't sure where to go after Colleen and Kaitlin left her, and so she returned to the utility room. She closed the door and sat down on the cold tiles. Her mind continued to race and she was sweating. She had the sense that the delicate equilibrium of the William Gladstone universe had been upset and that chaos lurked just outside. She remembered Colleen's grief in the aftermath of the ski trip, how she had yelled at Emma-Jean.
“Why would I want help from YOU?”
she had sobbed.
“Why are you even here?”

Those were the last words that Emma-Jean had heard before she fell from the tree. She did not want to hear such words again.

And so she determined that she could stay in the utility room until the dismissal bell rang and the buses had rumbled away. She would then hurry through the empty halls and out the door, and run home to her room. The thought comforted her—Henri's velvety cheek against her own, the dogwood out her window, the smell of curry and garlic, her father's picture smiling out at her.

Yes, that's what she would do. She would get home. After that, well, she couldn't be sure what she would do. The situation was too unstable to make plans for the future.

The dismissal bell rang, and Emma-Jean heard the muffled pounding of hundreds of feet against the floor, the slamming of lockers, the giggles and hoots of her peers. And then she heard screaming.

For a moment she thought it might be Colleen. But no, the timbre of Colleen's voice was not so shrill. And now it wasn't just one person screaming. It sounded like a whole crowd of girls screaming in panic.

Emma-Jean scrambled to her feet. Something was seriously wrong in the seventh-grade wing, and Emma-Jean could not simply sit idly while a crisis unfolded. Her peers were clearly in need of assistance.

She flung open the door and rushed down the hall in the direction of the chorus of screams.

Emma-Jean could see a crowd of girls huddled together, and Laura Gilroy's golden head in the center. But before she could get close, Colleen came bounding up to her. And she did not look panicked or distressed. She was smiling, and Kaitlin was right behind her, holding Colleen's hand.

“Everything is okay!” Colleen said.

Relief rushed over Emma-Jean with such force that tears came to her eyes. Colleen wrapped her arms around Emma-Jean, her thin arms holding her with surprising strength. Emma-Jean did not step back as she normally did when one of her friends became overly exuberant in their affections. She rested her hands lightly on Colleen's back and stood very still. She had the feeling that not even the strongest gust of wind could knock them down.

Finally the shrieks around them became too loud to ignore.

“What has happened?” Emma-Jean said as she and Colleen parted.

“You won't believe it,” Kaitlin said. “You know Mr. Johannsen's grandson Carl? The one on TV?”

“Of course,” Emma-Jean said.

“He's coming to town,” said Colleen.

“Mr. Johannsen told me,” Emma-Jean said. “There is a retirement party.”

“Did he tell you he was going to invite Laura so she could meet Carl?” Kaitlin said.

“No,” Emma-Jean said. “Why would he do that?”

Emma-Jean knew that Mr. Johannsen did not think highly of Laura, who was bossy and rude, even to staff members, and routinely threw her gum wrappers onto the floor.