Super Emma by Sally Warner Page B

Emma,” Mom says, holding on to a wet tangled hunk of my hair, which is long and brown. It smells like a mixture of apples androses after I wash it. Mom is trying to work the comb through my hair.
    “Ow,” I remind her.
    “This doesn’t hurt,” Mom informs me. “See,” she says, “I’m holding it.” Mom claims that if you pinch hair, you can comb the ends without it hurting. Luckily, hair doesn’t feel pinches.
    “Yes, but it might
start
hurting,” I remind her. “Mom?” I try again.
    “I’m still here,” my mom says, moving her hands to another part of my head.
    “Ow. Um, guess what happened during afternoon recess today?”

    My mom stops combing. “What?” she asks. She already sounds concerned.
    See, that’s the trouble about not talking verymuch about school. When you
do
talk, your mother listens too hard. I shake my head a little to remind her about the combing. “Well,” I begin, “these two boys were having a fight.” I peek up at her.
    Mom’s eyes get big and shiny. “A fight?
What
two boys?”
    “No, wait, that’s not the important part,” I tell her. “Ow.”
    “What
is
the important part?” Mom asks. She tries to shove one of her sleeves up without letting go of my hair. She wiggles her nose as if it itches.
    I sigh. “Well, the important part is that I was the one who made them stop fighting,” I say. I leave out the part about me upsetting the boy-girl ecology of my entire class.
    Mom stops combing again and pulls back a little. She looks at me as if she is watching
The Emma Channel
with all her might. “Good foryou, Emma,” she says, smiling. “I’m proud of you, honey.”
    “Well, don’t be,” I tell her gloomily, “because now some kids hate me.”

    Mom scowls. “What kids?” she asks. She can be like a mother bear who wants to bite anyone who bothers her cub. I’ve seen it before, on Animal Planet.
    I’m her cub, and that’s another reason I don’t tell her stuff, sometimes.
    “It was Jared and EllRay,” I say. “Jared took EllRay’s toy during recess and then called him a name.”
    “A bad name?” Mom asks.
    I think for a second. “Kind of,” I finally say. “But it was actually EllRay’s own real name.”
    Mom tilts her head. “Which
is
?” she asks, obviously expecting me to tell her EllRay’s real name.
    “Lancelot Raymond,” I whisper. “We had a substitute, and she gave it away.”
    Now Mom shakes her head and smiles. “Poor EllRay,” she says. “But how did
you
get involved, Emma? I just can’t picture it.”
    “Me either,” I admit, “but—I guess I jumped right in the middle of the fight and rescued EllRay’s toy, then I gave it to him. He was scared of Jared, and I hated seeing that.”
    My mom scoops me into a hug and ruffles my wet hair. “I’m proud of you,” she says again, whispering the words into my ear. It tickles.
    “But I wasn’t being brave,” I tell her. “I didn’t even think before I did it.”

    Mom gives me an extra squeeze. “Well,” she says, “I can see how
Jared
might be a little bitirked, being shown up by a girl that way, but who else is angry with you?”
    “EllRay is,” I say, and I make a face to hide the way I feel—which is sad.
    “Oh, dear.”
    “For no reason!”
    “I have to say I’m not surprised,” Mom says.
    “But why?” I ask her.
    Mom shrugs. “Maybe it’s because he feels bad that he couldn’t stick up for himself.”
    “But he probably would have,” I say, “if I hadn’t jumped in and done it first.”
    My mom stands up and stretches. “I think maybe you embarrassed EllRay a little, that’s all. He’ll get over it.”
    “But should I tell him I’m sorry?” I ask. I fiddle with my pajama top, which is all cold and wet around the neck, thanks to my hair.
    “
Are
you sorry?”
    “Yeah, I am. If I really embarrassed him, I mean. But I’m not sorry I made Jared lookdumb in front of all those people. He’s so mean to everyone!”
    Mom plugs in the hair