I, Emma Freke (8 page)

“Man, this is delicious!”

Penelope was leaning over her plate of Boston Crème pie at Café Anchor and devouring it as if she hadn't eaten in days. Her blue hair ribbons were coming loose and slipping down her braids.

“I come to this place every chance I get,” said Stevie.

She was eating a cranberry lemon scone with coddled cream and a cup of espresso.

I had chosen an oatmeal cookie.

“From now on,
I'm
coming here every chance I get!” said Penelope.

I was still trying to sort out what had happened back at the library. I wasn't that upset with anyone anymore, but the whole scene had left a queasy, shameful feeling in my stomach. And my heart was still racing. It was so strange how nice those kids were to me, especially after hearing my whole weird name
twice
. Did they really mean it, or were they forced to act like that? And I couldn't stay mad at Penelope for putting me in that situation. She couldn't help being super sociable any more than I could control my freakiness . . . and in the end, she stuck up for me in front of everyone.

“So what are your plans for the summer, Penelope?” asked Stevie. “Will you be going to camp?”

“Let me tell you, my Gray Moms have everything mapped out,” she said sticking up her fingers to count off her activities.

“I got horseback riding lessons, I got swimming lessons, I got tennis lessons, I got African dance camp for two weeks, I got musical theater camp for two more weeks, and then we're taking our annual surprise trip. They never tell me where we're going until we get to the airport. They like to see
the thrill
written all over my face.”

I forgot that Penelope was either gone or overscheduled during the summer. Every year, just when I thought I would be happy to be out of school, my one and only friend disappeared for most of the vacation.

Stevie grinned warmly at Penelope and laughed in between her finger counting. I was glad that the two of them had finally met, but I also felt kind of jealous. What was it that people loved so much about Penelope? And why didn't I have any of whatever it was that made her so . . . appealing?

“What's your favorite thing to do out of all those activities?” asked Stevie.

“None of the above,” answered Penelope as she scooped up the last bite of pie and took a long slurp of strawberry milk. “My most favorite thing is to go to the beach and bodysurf the waves! But sometimes we're so busy in the summer, I don't even get the chance to do that. And the ocean is right down the street!”

“Well, I bet a lot of kids wouldn't mind being in your shoes,” said Stevie.

You can say that again, I thought to myself. I was nibbling on my cookie. It was dry. I wished I had thought to get a glass of water.

“So what are
you
doing this summer, Stevie?” asked Penelope. She had a serious adult expression on her face, like a professor or a scientist, and rubbed her chin.

Stevie giggled.

“Well, thank you for asking, Penelope. I'll spend most of my days at the library. But in the summers, we close on Fridays, so I get a bunch of three-day weekends. That's when I go up to northern Maine to meet friends of mine, and we camp under the stars and kayak on all the beautiful ocean inlets. And I'll also fly home to Oregon at some point to see my family.”

“I didn't know all that,” I said.

Stevie tilted her head. “Didn't know all what, Emma?”

“That you liked to camp and that you had friends in Maine and that your family was in Oregon. I didn't even know you had a family.”

“Doesn't everybody have a family
somewhere
in the world?” asked Penelope.

Stevie smiled. “You would think so.”

I thought about what it would be like to have no family at all. And for some reason, it didn't sound so bad to me. After all, my family barely knew I existed.

Then Stevie asked, “What about you, Emma?”

“Huh?”

“Are you doing anything special over vacation?”

I glanced at Penelope who stared down at her empty plate. She knew that nothing special ever happened to me.

“Um. I'll just be working in the bead shop, I guess.”

We stopped at the library to get Cynthia's silver tray. Most of the coconut fudge truffles had been eaten by the staff, so we placed the remainder on a paper plate.

Penelope held the shiny tray in front of us, which made a fuzzy mirror image of our two faces. Beyond our sizes, I never realized how super different we looked . . . and how pretty Penelope was, especially standing next to me. But instead of pointing out my dreadfully droopy features or bizarre freckles, Penelope swung her arm around my waist and blurted into the tray, “Look at that, BFFs!”

It was almost as if she saw something else.

We said bye and thanks to Stevie. I promised that I would stop in at the library over the summer, and she promised to drop by the store.

On our way home, Penelope seemed to talk nonstop. She was always so excited about life and told every story as if it had more meaning than the last. And if she ever caught someone's attention on the street, she called out
Hi there!
and grinned as hard as she could. She truly liked people. All people. And everyone liked her. Even when she wore a ridiculous blue party dress and strolled down the street swinging her arms next to the tallest, palest, saddest girl in all of Homeport.

Penelope gave me a big hug around my middle when we got to her house. She lived across the street and a few doors down from us, but it was like another world. Her home was practically a mansion. For some reason, I didn't go inside her house too often. She seemed to like being at the bead shop more than being at home. I guess she just got tired of the Gray Moms always babying her. But I knew they did it because they loved her more than anything else on Earth. I wondered what it felt like to be loved that much.

“Man, that was fun!” she said. “Stevie's so cool.”

“Yep.”

I picked up a pebble that resembled a granite bead we sold in the store.

“So when's your last day of school?” I asked her.

She pulled the loose ribbons out of her hair and started to unlace her party shoes and yank off her socks. I noticed her toenails were painted a pretty bright pink.

“Day after tomorrow.”

I threw the pebble down the street. It landed in a gutter.

“Well, have a good summer if I don't see you.”

“What are you talking about?” she frowned. “You'll see me.”

Next thing I knew, without knowing why, I dropped down onto the mansion's wide top step and buried my head in my arms. The breeze began to pick up, and I felt little drops of rain on the back of my neck.

“Are you okay, Emma?”

Penelope sat down next to me and put her hand on my knee. I didn't know what was wrong with me. All I knew was that I hated my life and didn't know what to do about it.

The rain came down harder, and the wind picked up more speed. But I didn't budge.

“I think we better go inside,” said Penelope, tossing her fancy shoes against the door. “It's gonna storm. Do you want to come in?”

“No.”

I stayed in the same position. I think I was crying, but it might have been the rain. Or both.

“Emma,” Penelope said softly. “Remember when I said I wanted to ask you something the other day?”

I sniffled into my arms.

“Sort of.”

“Can I ask it now?”

I shrugged my shoulders. At that moment, I didn't care about anything.

Penelope put her hand on my back and gently patted it, the way the Gray Moms probably patted her back when she was upset.

“Do you think that maybe you're adopted?”

The rain was coming down even stronger now. And the wind was swirling so hard my bun had unraveled. Long stringy pieces of red hair fell against my arms. I lifted my head slowly.

“Adopted?”

“Well, I don't want to brag,” said Penelope, “but we adopted kids have a sixth sense about these things. It's always seemed so obvious to me. You don't look or act one ounce like anyone in your family. And I've met them all, from Uncle Spaghetti to Second Cousin Ravioli.”

She was right. I didn't have a single thing in common with anyone in the entire Salvoni clan. And there were a ton of them who lived on the north side of Boston. Every Christmas Eve, we all got together at my aunt Lucia's home for dessert and presents. At least forty-five people would be crammed into the first floor of her duplex eating panettonne and cenci and playing dumb games and lighting candles. And the gifts I got, like tubes of lipstick and oversized earrings, were never anything like me. In fact, every year I felt less like I belonged. To top it off, Uncle Raimondo would always holler—
Look everybody! It's the freakin' Frekes!
—as soon as he spotted me. And, of course, Donatella always thought that was hilarious. She would laugh and laugh . . . .

“And let's face it,” Penelope continued. “Your mother has never come clean about who your father is. She acts like she doesn't even know. But believe me, women know these things.”

That was true too. I never pushed Donatella for biological information because she always changed the subject, making it too awkward to discuss. And once, when I asked Nonno who my father was, he just grinned and told me it was like picking out a piece of linguine in a bowl of fettuccine.

Penelope went on, “And another thing—” But then she paused.

I rubbed my nose and sniffed back tears. “What other thing?”

She shifted a little and wiped the rain off her face with the back of her hand.

“I don't want to say too much.”

“Go ahead,” I said, “say it.”

“Well. Sometimes it seems like—” She hesitated again.

“Like what? Seems like what??”

“That Donatella—”

“Yah?”

Penelope shook her head. “I'm really not sure I should say this, Emma. I don't want to hurt your feelings. You're my best friend.”

“I promise,” I told her, “
none
of this is hurting my feelings. In fact, it all makes perfect sense.”

“Then I guess I'll just say it . . . . ” said Penelope and she took a deep breath. “It seems like Donatella may have adopted you just to wait on her and run the store like you're her servant.”

I stared straight ahead, my mouth wide open, as if in shock. On some level, I
was
in shock. Rain was blowing against the back of my throat, but I hardly noticed.

“I mean think about it. You work more at the store than she does. And she's practically denying you an education so you'll have to work for
her
the rest of your life. Plus you do most of the housework. Heck, you even had to figure out how to fix that old leaky faucet 'cause she's too cheap to call a plumber! And what about the fact that she doesn't want her boyfriends to know you exist? It just goes on and on and on. All the pieces of the puzzle fit, Emma . . . . She won't even let you call her Mom.”

I almost felt as if I had fallen into some sort of trance.

“And my name,” I whispered.

Penelope twisted around. “Your name?”

“What kind of person,” I wondered aloud, “would name her only child,
Am a Freak
?”

Right then, a powerful explosion of lightning and thunder lit up the skies. It jolted me straight out of my daze. We grabbed each other and screamed.

And just as quickly as it started, the rain stopped. The clouds parted. The wind died down. The sun peeked through and (as if I had willed it) cast a faint rainbow from one end of the port to the other.

“Penelope!” I said, practically leaping up and down with excitement. “If this is really true, where do you think I'm from?”

“Well, I've given that some thought too,” she said. We were both dripping wet but neither of us cared.

“I'm guessing Russia.”

“Wow. Russia?”

“Or maybe, Poland.”

“Wow. Poland?”

“Finland's another possibility.”

“Wow. Finland?”

“Definitely one of those eastern, Baltic, tall, pale countries.”

It was as if I could see the European horizon on the other side of the ocean. And that other land and that other life were calling to me.

“Emma!” said Penelope, shaking me out of my spell.

“What?”

“It's time you sat down and had a tell-all with Donatella,” she said firmly, pointing at my nose. “I think she's got some explaining to do.”

The bead shop was open, but no one was there. I wasn't surprised. Donatella often left it vacant to run upstairs and eat a snack or to watch a certain TV program. She left a pair of cymbals on the counter for customers to bang if they needed assistance.

I climbed up the narrow steps to our apartment. I opened the door and stood frozen staring in. Leftover rain from my wet clothes dripped on the floor. Nonno and Eggplant were directly in front of me asleep on the brown plaid recliner.