Emmy and the Home For Troubled Girls by Lynne Jonell Read Free Book Online Page B

backward over the gunwale, his mouth open in a soundless shriek.
    There was a very small splash. Peter Peebles, absorbed in watching the end of the race, hadn’t noticed. The racers had eyes for nothing but the goal ahead. No one seemed to have seen the Rat go overboard—no one but Emmy.
    Emmy leaned over the gunwale. The Rat, his paws thrashing, looked up at her with panic in his eyes. He tried to speak, got a mouthful of water, and went under.
    Emmy sighed. Bleakly, resigned to her fate, she got up on the deck, leaned past the balance point with a convincing sort of lurch, and dropped in. She realized, one moment too late, that she was still holding her towel.
    The water was cold, with the chill of a very large lake that iced over every winter and never really warmed up until August, and Emmy sneezed violently as she bobbed to the surface. She grabbed for the Rat and stuffed him in her life vest without anyparticular tenderness. She swam around to the ladder at the boat’s stern and climbed up, dripping and miserable, to meet the white and frightened face of Peter Peebles and the scornful glance of Kate, who was crossing the finish line in last place.
    Emmy sneezed all the way to the yacht-club restroom. She was just making the discovery that a fistful of paper and a hand blower were a poor substitute for a dry towel when Meg came through the swinging door.
    She looked at Emmy curiously. “Why did you fall in?”
    Emmy rubbed her goose-pimpled arms. “My towel,” she said vaguely, waving at the soggy mass of terry cloth on the counter.
    â€œYou went in after a towel ? Why didn’t you just use the boathook?”
    â€œBecause I was stupid,” Emmy said bitterly. She wished she could disappear and be done with it, but no—she was going to have to answer questions. She sneezed again.
    Meg pulled a duffel bag from a locker. “I always pack extra dry things. Most sailors do.”
    â€œI’m not much of a sailor,” Emmy confessed.
    â€œYou sure sounded like an expert yesterday.” Meg unzipped her bag and handed over a towel.
    Emmy received it gratefully. “Um—I heard something once from a real expert about what to do if a boat went backward, and it just happened to work.”
    â€œLucky for us. Listen, here’s a dry set of clothes—we’re about the same size.” She hesitated. “I could pick them up after I help Kate put the sails away and tidy up the boat.”
    â€œThanks!” Emmy said, startled.
    â€œThat’s okay. I bike right past your street on the way home.” Meg grinned, a little shyly. “Besides, I’ve always wanted to see the inside of a castle.”

E MMY WAVED GOOD-BYE to Peter Peebles as the blue-and-white boat roared away from her dock.
    All right—this was her chance. She was about to make a normal, regular friend, only this time no rodents were going to interfere.
    â€œCan I get out of the life jacket now ?” Raston pleaded. “I’m wet, and cold—”
    â€œAnd whose fault is that?” Emmy asked severely as she walked into the boathouse, a stone building at the water’s edge that they used for storage. She hung the jacket on a hook, found a dry rag for the sodden Rat, and turned as Thomas trotted in.
    â€œOh, good, you’re back,” he said, panting. “Mrs. Brecksniff was no fun. She made me wash my snails off in the sink and then wait while she scrubbed the floor. Now can we go up in the tree fort?”
    â€œCabin boy,” Emmy commanded, “come to attention when your captain is speaking.”
    Thomas straightened instantly, two fingers to his forehead in a salute.
    â€œYou remember your duty, boy?”
    â€œYes, sir! To obey orders, sir!”
    Emmy considered telling him to address her as “ma’am,” but she let it pass. “All right. This pirate”—here she indicated the damp Rat—“was—um—forced