Free Another Day as Emily by Eileen Spinelli Page A

it
    out loud,” she says.
    I keep staring at the words.
    Finally I speak:
    “Be Sue while I am Emily …”
    Mrs. Harden is smiling at me.
    “Sue,” I say.
    “Susan,” she says.
    “Suzy,” I say.
    “It’s like”—Mrs. Harden reaches out
    and touches my face—
    “she wrote those words for you
    those many years ago.
    She left a message for you.”
    Mrs. Harden’s smile
    is getting blurry.
    “For me.”

I BREEZE IN
    Back home,
    Mom and Dad
    and Mr. and Mrs. Kim
    are in the dining room
    playing Scrabble.
    I breeze into the room.
    “Who’s winning?” I ask.
    Mom and Dad exchange glances.
    Mrs. Kim points to her husband.
    “He had the
z
and the
x
.”
    I give Mr. Kim a big smile.
    And a thumbs-up.
    Mom says, “Uh—want to join us?”
    “No thanks,” I chirp.
    “I’m going to hang up this poster
    Mrs. Harden made for me.
    Maybe another time.”
    Mom’s mouth is hanging open—
    she gawks.
    Dad just shakes his head.
UPSTAIRS
    I hang the poster
    above my desk.
    I get into my nightie.
    I slip my red Phillies shirt
    over the nightie
    and find my Phillies cap.
    I brush off a dust bunny.
    I get the letters
    I tossed aside earlier.
    One from Ms. Mott.
    One from Alison.
    I read them aloud
    to Ottilie.
MS. MOTT’S LETTER
    Dear Miss Emily,
    We missed you at Tween Time today.
    Please consider coming next week.
    I will set a chair behind the bookcase
    for you.
    You may have all the privacy
    you like.
    Just come.
    Yours respectfully,
    Ms. Mott
ALISON’S LETTER
    Hey, Sooze,
    Remember me—
    your best friend?
    Guess what?
    Giselle is looking for a helper,
    someone to be “on book”—
    that’s when an actor forgets his lines
    and the person on book reads the lines back.
    Also to do other stuff around the theater.
    I thought of you right away.
    Doesn’t this sound like more fun
    than being a twelve-year-old hermit?
    Call me!
    Alison
SOUNDS LIKE FUN
    It’s too late to call Alison now.
    But I do like the idea.
    I never really wanted to be an actress.
    But this—this does sound like fun.
    “Good night, Ottilie,” I say,
    climbing into bed.
    I trace my mouth with my fingers.
    I’m grinning.
    I’ll tell Dad in the morning
    about the game.
1:15 A.M.
    I can’t sleep.
    I grope through my room
    in the dark
    down the hallway.
    I open
    my parents’ bedroom door.
    I listen to them breathing.
    I call out:
    “We’re going to a game!
    A Phillies game!
    August eleventh!
    Against the Mets!
    We’re going to a Phillies game!”
    I close the door.
    I go back to my bed.
    I’m asleep in a minute.

WHEN I WAKE UP
    The first thing I think about
    is Emily’s list
    and what activity
    I’m going to choose—
    and then I remember!
    I’m not Emily anymore.
    I’m
me
.
    Suzy Quinn.
    I grab the list
    and tear it
    into tiny pieces.
    I toss it in the air—
    confetti!
    And go down to breakfast.
AT BREAKFAST
    Mom is scrambling eggs.
    She eyeballs my Phillies shirt.
    No comment.
    “Want toast with your eggs?”
    “I’ll make it,” I say.
    “Okay.”
    “Where’s Dad?”
    “Left early for a class.”
    “How about Parker?”
    “Went to Franky’s for the day.”
    Mom spoons scrambled eggs
    onto my plate.
    “Funny thing—
    your father and I
    had the same dream
    last night.
    You were standing
    in our bedroom
    shouting something about
    going to a Phillies game.”
    I sprinkle salt
    on my scrambled eggs.
    “It wasn’t a dream,” I say.
    “Gilbert’s father won tickets.
    They’re taking me and Dad.”
    My mother dumps
    the rest of the eggs
    onto her plate.
    “And Miss Emily—would she
    go to a Phillies game?”
    I start gobbling down my eggs.
    “Emily?” I say. “Emily who?”
    Mom freezes.
    She gapes at me—
    with big eyes,
    kind of like Ottilie does.
    A couple seconds like that
    and then she gets it.
    “You’re Suzy again?”
    “The one and only,” I say.
    “Yahoo!” she yips.
    And yanks me out of the chair
    and we go dancing around
    the kitchen table.

ON BOOK
    When I call Alison,
    I half expect her to tease