Another Day as Emily Read Free Page A

didn’t
    accuse Gilbert.
THE DOORBELL AGAIN
    Mrs. Harden is up from her nap
    when the doorbell rings again.
    It’s Gilbert.
    He’s carrying a big planter of mint.
    “Keep it in the pot,” he says,
    sounding like a garden pro.
    “If you plant it in the ground,
    it will take over.”
     
    Mrs. Harden smiles.
    “I’ll set it on the patio tomorrow,”
    she says. “For now, put it on
    the coffee table
    so I can smell it.”
     
    I’m careful not to mention
    Mrs. Bagwell’s accusation.
    For a while I think Gilbert
    is doing okay until I realize
    I didn’t hear him whistling
    up the walk.
SOMEDAY
    I walk out with Gilbert
    to the end of the driveway.
    I want to say something
    that will cheer him up.
    “So, Gilbert. Want to do something?”
    “Sure. But you’re busy now.”
    “Right—so … someday?”
    “Okay. Good. Someday.
    Do what?”
    “Right. What?”
    “Well?”
    “Want to collect rocks with me?”
    Gilbert frowns.
    “Scratch rock collecting,” I say.
    “No offense,” he says. “I’m just
    not into rocks.”
    “I understand,” I say. “So … let’s think.
    What do we both like?”
    “How about food?” he says.
    “Food—” I say. “Can’t go wrong
    with that.”
    “Ice cream,” he says.
    I give him a high five. “Ice cream!”
    “Someday,” he says.
    “Someday,” I say. I head back
    to Mrs. Harden.
    Suddenly I turn and call to Gilbert:
    “My treat!”
    Gilbert gives a fist pump.
    “Yes!”

HAPPY NEWS
    Mom is coming home!
    On Saturday.
    Grandma Fludd is much stronger.
    And she has lots of friends
    at Sunshine Terrace
    if she needs anything.
    I didn’t realize how much
    I missed Mom
    until I burst into tears
    when Dad told me.
SHIRT
    It takes a lot of convincing,
    but finally I get Parker
    to accept the fact
    that he can be a hero
    without the Superman shirt.
     
    I tell him it’s starting to stink.
    I tell him the bad guys
    will smell him coming.
    He lets me pull the shirt off.
    He puts on the Phillies shirt
    I got him last Christmas.
     
    I can’t talk him out of
    the cape.
JUST A FRIEND
    Alison stops by.
    I tell her I’m going to Bean’s Books.
    “Mom is flying home on Saturday.
    I want to get her a gift card.”
    Alison says she’ll come along.
     
    On the way
    Alison brings up Gilbert
    and Mrs. Bagwell’s ring.
    I tell her: “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    “Why not?”
    “It’s gossip and Gilbert is a friend.”
    Alison raises an eyebrow. “Aha!”
    “A
friend
.“
    “A
boy
friend,” she squeals. “Wooo-hoooo.”

    I poke her. “Back off. He’s just a friend.
    Who happens to be a boy.”
    “Well, anyway,” says Alison. “My cousin Tara
    says he probably did it.
    Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”
     
    “That’s it,” I say. “I’m not going to
    talk about it.”
     
    Alison clamps her lips together. “Fine,” she says.
    “Fine,” I say.
MOOD CHANGE
    One thing about Alison—
    she doesn’t stay in the same mood
    for long.
    By the time we get to Bean’s,
    she’s back to being chatty.
    “So,” she says, “what do you want
    for your birthday?”
    “Well, there’s no point asking for
    my own phone or computer,” I say.
    “Dad already told me. Not till I’m thirteen.”
    Alison’s parents have told her the same thing.
    She rolls her eyes. “Parents!”
MY BIRTHDAY UPCOMING
    My birthday is July 15.
    I’ll be twelve.
    I’ve been calling myself twelve
    since school let out.
    Mom says not to wish my childhood away.
    But I don’t think of myself
    as a child.
    Parker is a child. I’m a kid.
    There’s a difference.
    I’ve already told my parents
    what I want for my twelfth birthday.
    I want to go to a Phillies game.
EXPENSIVE
    Citizens Bank Park—
    home to the Philadelphia Phillies—
    is a two-and-a-half-hour drive
    from Ridgley.
    Going to a game
    means staying over
    at a hotel in the city.
    So it would be
    an expensive
    birthday present.
    But hey—it’s the big one-two.
    A person turns twelve
    only once.
CHAT WITH