Another Day as Emily Read Free

animals,
    and flower arrangements.
    All for Parker,
    who is becoming
    more obnoxious by the minute.
    “Stay away from my balloons!”
    “Don’t touch my cookies!”
    “Hands off my animals!”
    “Don’t smell my flowers!”
     
    Little hero?
    How about little monster?
RING, RING, RING
    The phone doesn’t stop ringing.
    Mom calls.
    She tells Dad to pop a copy
    of the
Ridgley Post
in the mail
    care of Grandma Fludd—
    “Today!”
    Mrs. Capra calls
    to say she saw the article.
    “Isn’t it just wonderful!”
     
    Alison calls.
    “How does it feel?”
    she asks.
    “How does what feel?”
    I say.
    “Your brother’s a hero.”
    “Yeah—hero brat.”
     
    The mayor’s secretary calls.
    She tells Dad:
    “Mayor Paloma would like
    your son to ride in her car
    in the Fourth of July parade.”
     
    I tell Dad: “I’m going
    over to the creek
    to look for rocks.”
     
    No phones at the creek.

ROCK
    The creek isn’t far.
    I leave my bike home
    and walk.
    I carry an old toy beach pail.
    I’m fussier about my rocks
    than I used to be.
    I know I won’t fill the pail.
    I’ll be happy if I find
    just one special rock.
    I’m ankle-deep in water
    when I finally see one.
    Smooth. Speckled green.
    Like the egg of a rare bird.
    I can feel myself smiling
    as I pick it up.
    Sometimes I put one of my rocks
    in Ottilie’s tank.
    Some rocks I let Parker borrow
    for when he plays with
    his plastic cowboys.
    Not this one.
    This is one of the all-time
    beauties.
    This baby is all mine.
DID YOU HEAR?
    “Did you find one?”
    I turn. It’s Alison.
    “Your dad told me
    you were here.”
    “Look,” I say, all excited.
    I show her the green speckled rock.
    She ignores it. “Did you
    hear the news?” she asks.
    “Do you see my gorgeous rock?”
    I ask.
    Alison gives me a look.
    “It’s a rock,” she says.
    I give up.
    “Yes, I heard the news.
    Parker’s invited
    to ride in the mayor’s car
    in the Fourth of July parade.”
    “Wow!” Alison squeals.
    “That’s really something. But
    it’s not the news
    I’m talking about.”
ALISON’S NEWS
    There seems to be
    a rumor going around
    that Gilbert
    is the one
    who robbed Mrs. Bagwell,
    took her ring.
    Mrs. Bagwell says
    she’s 95 percent certain of it.
WHERE’S THE PROOF?
    Dad says Mrs. Bagwell
    shouldn’t be accusing Gilbert
    without proof.
     
    Just because
    Gilbert moved some boxes
    from Mrs. Bagwell’s attic
    and had to pass by
    her bedroom
    where she keeps her jewelry
    doesn’t mean he took her ring.
    “No more than I took it,”
    says Dad, “when I fixed
    her ceiling fan.”
NICE
    Mrs. Harden is being discharged
    from the hospital tomorrow.
    I’m making a Welcome Home card
    for her.
    Parker wants to make one too.
    He comes into my room
    with his can of broken crayons
    in one hand
    and a fistful of cookies
    in the other.
    He’s still wearing
    his hero outfit.
    (He even sleeps in it.)
    “Can you help me, Suzy?”
    I give him a look. “Can you be nice?”
    “I can be nice,” he says.
    He holds out his fist.
    “Here. Take a cookie.”

STAYING WITH MRS. HARDEN
    Mrs. Harden is home and
    looking tired.
    Her nephew, Paul,
    has an important meeting today.
    He asks if I will stay
    with his aunt
    for a couple hours—
    “just to make sure
    there are no problems.”
    “Sure,” I tell him.
    And it’s a good thing
    I’m there,
    because as soon as Mrs. Harden
    goes up to her room
    to take a nap,
    the doorbell starts ringing.

    It’s the mailman
    with a package.
     
    It’s the florist
    with a dozen roses.

    It’s Mrs. Capra
    with a bowl of stewed plums.
    And then Mrs. Kim
    with cookies.
     
    Last, it’s Mrs. Bagwell
    with one of those
    rotisserie chickens
    from the supermarket.

    I don’t like how
    Mrs. Bagwell is blaming
    Gilbert
    for stealing her ring
    when she has no proof.
     
    I act polite, though.
    I tell her Mrs. Harden
    is resting.
    I thank her for the chicken.
     
    I feel like throwing the chicken
    into the garbage.
    But I don’t.
    The chicken