“Was it?” Klara asked. She giggled, her voice too high. “I mean, I know I won’t win, but I’ll do my best. Unless I get distracted. Sometimes I get distracted.” She blushed. “Please pretend I’m making actual sense.”
“When I entered, I submitted a plan for how to build a lute,” Nate said. “It had nothing to do with any of the questions, but it was what I wanted to spend my time on.” His blush matched hers. “Does that count as distracted?”
Klara giggled again, and Emily cocked her head, fascinated. Would a boy have an effect like this on her someday? Would she affect a boy like this someday? It seemed far-fetched, but here it was happening right in front of her eyes. Not to herself, but to her best friend. To her best friend and her brother!
She didn’t mind, she discovered after poking and prodding her insides. For one thing, they weren’t ready for any sort of romance. Klara was a seventh grader. Nate was two grades older.
Also, Emily trusted Klara’s feelings for her as well as her brother’s feelings for her. Emily wasn’t a third wheel. Instead, there were two overlapping sets of wheels: Emily and Klara, as best friends, and Emily and Nate, as sister and brother.
The biggest reason she didn’t mind was because . . .
She blushed. But if one day Klara and Nate did date, did fall in love, did, ah, get married . . .
If that happened, what an abundance of love. She and Klara would be sisters, or sisters-in-law. She grinned, and Klara shot her an embarrassed grin in return.
After settling down with snacks in Emily’s room, Emily asked Klara flat out if she liked Nate. She already knew the answer, but if she asked, and Klara answered, then there’d be less of a chance of Emily slipping up and referring to Klara’s crush by accident.
Klara leaned against the end of Emily’s bed and pursed her lips. They were sitting on the carpet so that they wouldn’t get Dorito dust on Emily’s comforter. Klara’s hands rested on her lap, forming a bird’s nest for her chips.
“I do,” Klara said. “But I’m not allowed to go out with boys until high school, so it’s not, like . . . you know.” She swiveled her head to look at Emily. “Do you mind?”
“It’s weird, but nah, I’m okay with it,” Emily said.
There was a knock on the door, and Emily’s mom entered before getting permission.
“Well, hello!” she said in an overly bright voice.
“Hi, Mom,” said Emily.
“Hi, Mrs. Blok,” said Klara.
Emily’s mom smiled at Emily and Klara expectantly. Emily shifted uncomfortably. What did her mother want?
Her mother’s smile grew strained. She gave Emily a meaningful look, and Emily pushed tentatively at her mother’s thoughts.
Oh. Der.
“Mom, this is Klara,” she said. “Klara, this is my mom.”
“What a pleasure to meet you, Klara,” said Emily’s mom.
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Klara said politely.
“I’m thrilled you and Emily are friends. I hope you’ll teach her how to talk to people without scaring them away!” She trilled a giddy laugh.
Emily wanted to sink through the floor. “Mom.”
“Klara knows I’m teasing,” her mom said, waving away Emily’s concern. “Or, I’m not”—again, that giddy laugh—“but I only say it out of love. You know that, Klara, don’t you?”
“I don’t know,” Klara said. “Emily is pretty scary.”
Emily’s mom blinked. Then she said, “Now you’re teasing me, you funny girl.” She pulled her features together in an odd way. “People don’t really think she’s scary, do they?”
Klara shot Emily a look. Emily was too mortified to respond.
“Everyone thinks Emily’s great,” Klara said with a shrug. “Plus, she’s the best artist in the school. Did you know that?”
“Yes, Emily is quite talented,” Emily’s mom acknowledged. “I suppose artists have the right to be eccentric.”
“I guess,” Klara mused. “Is she eccentric, though? She’s . . . just Emily.”
She’s just Emily, Emily imagined her dad saying. For heaven’s sake, Rose, let her be herself.
Longing stabbed Emily’s heart. She missed her father terribly.
Emily’s mother studied Klara, noting her cute outfit, her cute hairstyle, her cute everything. Emily heard her thoughts loud and clear:
If only Emily . . .
Maybe Klara will rub off on her?
It’s a start, at any rate.
“She painted my nails,” Klara blurted. She transferred her remaining chips into one palm and held out her fingers for Emily’s mom to see. “She’s painted them three different times for me. She’s really good.”
Emily’s mother put her hand to her chest and made a small sound, her mouth a perfect O. Eyes shining, she crossed the room, leaned over, and gave Klara a hug.
“Mom!” Emily said.
“I adored having mani-pedi parties with my friends when I was your age!” Emily’s mother gushed. “I am just . . . I’m so . . .” She made that small sound once more, an almost animal sound of gratitude. “You have fun, girls. And Klara, you are always welcome here, okay, hon?”
Beaming, she backed out of the room and pulled the door shut behind her.
Klara looked at Emily.
Emily looked at Klara.
Klara giggled. Her giggling grew, and Emily cast aside her horror and joined in. Their laughter was mutinous and exhilarating: Emily and Klara versus her mom. Emily’s chest expanded. The “and Klara” part made all the difference.
“Your mom,” Klara managed when they’d passed the laughing-est part of their fit.
“I warned you,” Emily said.
“She hugged me for introducing you to the feminine art of nail polish,” Klara said. “Is she always like that?”
Emily blew air out of puffed cheeks. “I’m not exactly the daughter she wants me to be.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re a great daughter!”
“I know she loves me. Just, she thinks I’m weird.”
“So? What’s wrong with weird?”
“I remind her of her mother.”
“Does she not like her mother?”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry.”
Emily felt Klara’s gaze rake across her. Don’t hug me, Emily begged, knowing that such an act of kindness would undo her. Don’t do it, Klara.
“Come here,” Klara said, sliding her arm around Emily’s shoulder and pulling her close.
Emily fought back tears.
“Shhh,” Klara murmured. “You’re okay.”
Emily let the words wash over her, and she didn’t come
