by Claire Eamer

Emma and I were laughing so hard our sides hurt. We grabbed our cars and scooted home through the trees, while the kid waded into the spray pool to get his hat. Emma could talk pretty well by then, but she never said much. I asked her how she lifted the hat, but she just beamed at me. That nice beamy feeling filled me and I decided not to worry about it. It was just Emma.

I started to worry about it when she was nearly ready for school. By then, I was old enough to know that being different was a bad thing in school. What if the other kids found out what she could do? Or even worse – what if the teachers found out? A lot of teachers don’t like it when kids are different. They want to fix them so they’re the same. They might try to fix Emma, or even take her away to find out why she could do stuff like that.

I didn’t want Emma fixed or taken away. She was just fine the way she was. I tried to explain to her that she shouldn’t lift stuff at school, but she didn’t seem to pay much attention. It was almost the end of summer holidays and I was getting really worried. Maybe Mum and Dad could figure out something – if only they knew about Emma.

If I just told them, they’d think I was making it up, just like before. Then I had an idea. For my birthday, I’d got this really neat rocket. You filled up the launcher with water and pumped it, and then stomped on the launcher and the rocket shot into the air. Sometimes I could get it higher than the roof. Emma loved the rocket.

I waited until everyone else was busy inside. Then I put the rocket launcher out on the lawn where we usually played with it, and I threw the rocket onto the roof of the house. It took five tries before I got it to stay there, and I was terrified someone would hear me, but I was lucky. Then I went to find Mum and Dad.

I told them I had something extra-special to show them, but they had to promise to stay in the playhouse and not make a sound. I could tell they thought it was a bit silly, but they agreed.

I found Emma in her room.

“Emma, you got to help me. I shot the rocket off but it landed on the roof and it’s stuck. Come on. You can get it down.”

I took her hand and she trotted along beside me. Mum and Dad must have been hunched down in the playhouse, ‘cause I couldn’t see them. I felt awful, playing a trick on Emma, but it was for her own good.

I showed her were the rocket was, stuck right near the top, half behind the chimney. “You can get it, can’t you?”

She didn’t say anything, just looked at me and at the rocket. Then the rocket lifted off the roof, as if hanging from an invisible string, and glided smoothly down to hang right in front of me. I reached out and took it.

“Thanks, Emma.” I gave her a quick hug. “Mum! Dad! Did you see? I told you she can lift things.”

Mum and Dad scrambled out of the playhouse, and all my worries poured out at once.

“You wouldn’t believe me, so I had to show you – and I’m sorry, Emma. But if you do that at school, you’ll get in terrible trouble. Won’t she, Mum? People will think she’s weird or sick or something. I don’t want her changed or taken away or anything like that….”

Emma just stood there and looked at me with solemn dark eyes. Mum grabbed me and hugged me.

“Peter, dear, I’m so sorry. Don’t cry, dear.”

Dad stood with his hands on his hips and looked down at Emma. “Young lady, you know perfectly well you’re supposed to tell us if you find you can do things other kids can’t.”

Emma squirmed and shifted from foot to foot, but didn’t say anything. She looked up at Dad, very serious, nodding her head but not saying anything.

I pulled away from Mum. She straightened up and took Dad’s hand.
“What does he mean?” Now I was really confused. “Why should she be able to do things like that? I mean, she can, but....”

“Oh, Peter. You were so young when Emma came. Too young to understand. And then the time never seemed right to explain.” Mum sighed and leaned into Dad for support. “We had no idea this was going on.”

Emma edged toward me and I put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. Her little arm clung to my waist.

“What do you mean? She isn’t exactly a regular kid, but she’s okay, isn’t she? She’s not sick or crazy or something?”

Mum looked at Dad, and he nodded. She turned back to me.

“You understand that Emma’s adopted, dear?”

I nodded. I knew what the word meant now.

“A friend who lived with me when I was your age asked us to look after Emma and keep her safe. There was some kind of trouble, well, out there where her people are.” Mum waved toward the sky where the moon was already hanging pale against the blue. “We were going to explain it to you when you were old enough, but it never seemed like the right time.”

“You were right to worry, Peter.” Dad glared at Emma pretty fiercely. “It’s important that everyone thinks Emma’s an ordinary human child. She knows she supposed to be careful. I’m very annoyed with you, Emma.”

Emma snorted. I looked down. Her lips were pressed tight together and she was trying to look serious and ashamed and meaning-to-do-better-ish. Then she caught my eye. Suddenly the laughter burst out, and we collapsed on the grass together, unable to speak. No wonder she was strange – she was a stranger. A Dopted. I laughed harder, and so did Emma.

Finally the giggles drained out of us and I looked at Mum and Dad’s startled faces.

“Aw, don’t worry, you guys. Emma and I can take care of it. She’s safe with us. And she’s way better than a regular sister. She’s a Dopted.”

Emma looked at me with her dark, dark eyes and beamed – and the nice, beamy feeling lapped around us all.

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