Read Online Another Day as Emily by Eileen Spinelli - Free Book Online

what?” says Mom,
    coming into my room.
    Parker and Franky follow.
    Dad yells: “Close the door!”
    I say: “There’s a chipmunk
    behind my desk.”
    “I want to see!” says Parker.
    “Somebody get me a bucket,”
    Dad says.
    “And a towel too.”
    “Chipmunks bite,” says Franky.
    “I’ll get the bucket,” I say.
    “I’ll get the towel,” says Mom.
    “Take the boys with you,” says Dad.
    “Don’t get rabies, Mr. Quinn,”
    says Franky.
    “Out!” says Dad.

CAPTURE
    I come back to my room
    with the bucket,
    Mom with the towel.
    Dad tells Mom and me
    to move the desk
    from the wall.
    We do.
    Dad corners the chipmunk,
    which scoots right into
    the bucket.
    Dad flips the bucket up
    and slaps the towel on top.
    He goes to stand up
    and hits his head on the desk.
    He says a bad word.
    “I heard that, Daddy,” says Parker,
    who is in the hall with Franky.
    “Be quiet,” Mom tells him.
    Dad takes the bucket
    out to the backyard
    and sets the chipmunk free.
OUT OF PATIENCE
    Dad’s head is bleeding.
    Mom pulls him
    into the bathroom.
    She cleans the wound
    with a washcloth.
    I hear Dad say,
    “I’m running out of
    patience with
    this Emily thing.”
    Mom tells him
    to hang on a little longer.
    I figure I’d better
    smooth things over.
    I check my Emily list.
    Next is
Make breakfast
.
    I can’t wait till morning.
    “How about I make supper
    tonight,” I say to Mom.
MAKING AMENDS
    I make ham steaks
    with pineapple,
    one of Dad’s favorites.
    Also green beans.
    And for dessert
    chocolate-mint ice cream.
    Dad has a lump on his head,
    but he’s cheery during the meal.
    After supper, he gets up. “I’ll
    do the dishes.”
    I give him a hug. “I’ll do it.
    Wash dishes
is next on my list.”
    Dad looks at Mom. “List?”
    “Don’t ask,” she says, pulling him
    into the living room.
APPROVAL
    On Monday morning,
    I
dust
,
    then
water plants
.
    Mom tweaks my cheek.
    “I’m beginning to like
    this Emily.”
    Parker tugs Mom’s skirt.
    “Hey,” he says, “what about me?”
    EMILY’S WAY
    The phone rings.
    Mom hands it to me.
    “It’s for you.”
    I back away.
    “Who is it?”
    “Alison.”
    “Tell her to write.”
A HALF HOUR LATER
    The phone rings again.
    Dad tells me, “It’s Alison,
    and it’s an emergency.”
    This time I take the call.
    “What’s the big emergency?”
    Alison giggles. “I miss you.”
    “Put it in writing,” I say.
    “That’s goofy, Sooze. You are
    not
Emily Dickinson.”
    “I never said I was Emily
Dickinson
.“
    “You’re not Emily
anybody
.“
    “People change their names all the time.”
    “Whatever,” says Alison. “So—want to
    go to the dollar store?
    They’re having a half-price sale.”
    “I don’t go places,” I tell her.
    “You went to church.”
    “Mom made me.”
    “You’re just being goofy.”
    “Then don’t call anymore.”
    “Maybe I won’t.”
    “Fine.”
    “Fine.”
OF COURSE
    Of course she’ll call.
    Alison wouldn’t know
    what to do
    without me.
    I’m her best friend
    in all the world.
    I bet she stops by
    to try to trick me
    into seeing her.
    Any day
    now.
THREE DAYS LATER
    No call.
    No letter.
    No tricky visit.
    “Alison must be
    sick in bed,”
    I tell my goldfish, Carlo.
    “With a really,
    really bad
    summer cold.”
LOOKING
    I go into the kitchen.
    Mom looks up from
    her iced tea.
    “Aren’t you hot in that
    long dress?” she asks.
    “Not at all,” I say,
    peeking into the freezer.
    “Looking for a Popsicle?”
    “No,” I tell her.
    “I’m looking for chicken
    to make broth
    to send to Alison.
    She must have a terrible cold.”
    “I don’t think so,” Mom says.
    “I saw her this morning
    at the dollar store.
    She looked fine to me.”
BIKES
    I decide to go for a bike ride.
    But nowhere does it say
    Emily Dickinson ever rode a bike.
    I don’t even know if they
    were invented back then.
    Dad’s in the driveway,
    tinkering with a lawn mower.
    “Hey, Dad,” I say. “When
    were bikes