Stammered Love

Chapter Ten|Spilt Milk

"Do you remember the Clarke Lennon?" asked Mom.

It was the second week of November late on Sunday morning. Well actually, it was noon, but I had just gotten out of bed, and was still in my pajamas as I hit myself breakfast.

Paula and Mom were, as usual, already dressed and wide awake. They had just returned from a walk in the light snow.

When Mom asked that question, I gave a start and accidentally knocked over my glass of milk.

"What?" I asked, as I snatched a dish cloth off the table to mop up milk.

"The Frosts," said Mum again, starting to take off her hat and gloves.

"Hey, you mean Lennon's girlfriend?" said George, coming downstairs wearing a smirk. His hair was a mess and he was still in his Spider-Man PJ's.

"Are you just waking up?" demanded Mum, looking exasperated. "But no, not Victoria's family-"

"No, not Victoria Lennon's-girlfriend," said George, "I mean Emmy Lennon's-girlfriend. Remember she would always knock things over whenever anyone mentioned his name?"

I felt a flush creeping over my neck as I tried to subtly put my cup of knocked over milk in the sink.

"Nonsense," said Mom, "Emmy was never Lennon's girlfriend, but yes that's the family. They moved back here. Emmy goes to Crawford High now."

"Yeah, I know," I said, without thinking. I poured myself a second glass of milk.

"How do you know?" said Mom in surprise.

"Oh . . . ," I said. "Well, she lives on the same road as Brody, and I've seen her around school."

"Does she still walk into things when she see's you?" asked George, smirking at me.

"No," I muttered.

"Oh, shut up, George," said Paula, her eyes flashing as she sat down at the table. "That was ages ago. Bedsides, Emmy is really nice!"

"Oh yeah? How'd you know?" asked George, popping two frozen waffles in the toaster.

It was Mom who replied as she sat down at the table. "We just saw Emmy and her mother at Squirrelies -"

"They would shop there," muttered George, and I snorted.

Squirrelies was a tiny store filled with miscellaneous junk. Mom and Paula loved it.

"I've invited them to dinner on Friday," Mom continued.

"WHAT?" I cried in alarm, upending my second glass of milk. I stared at Mom in horror as milk dribbled into my lap.

Mom frowned at me. "I've invited them to dinner."

I slumped in my chair. Emmy Clark
at my own house? What a nightmare.