Monday morning, I told Emmy what Mom had said. “You should have dinner at our place sometime. My mom wants to meet you, and my little sister Tiffany has heard a lot about you from her little schoolmates, so I want her to get to know you to set the story straight.”

“What has she heard about me, and from whom has she heard it?” she asked, curious about what I’d said.

“I guess some of her classmates have older siblings at FHS, and you know how stories get distorted when they get passed along.”

“How interesting. What has your sister heard?” Emmy wasn’t going to let it go, and I saw no way around it, so I decided not to sugar coat it. After all, Emmy’s got to have heard it all by now, right?

“Her classmates told her that you were some kind of alien, or maybe a vampire or something,” I said, rolling my eyes to indicate how ridiculous it was.

Emmy laughed, and asked “Does your sister believe them? Maybe I should put on some false teeth, or perhaps some antennae.” She put the backs of her hands on her forehead, wiggling her index fingers around like strange alien antennas.

I laughed, too, relieved that Emmy was taking it so well. “No, I don’t think she does believe any of it, mainly because I’ve told her the truth.”

“And what is the truth?” she asked, moving her hands to her mouth to make big fangs with her fingers. “Am I a monster?”

“What? No! You’re just a regular person, that’s all.”

“But I don’t look like a regular person, do I?” Emmy asked, pushing the topic farther than I was comfortable going. “Will my appearance scare your little sister? Will I give her nightmares? After all, she already expects me to be something frightening.”

“No, she won’t, and no she doesn’t. Look. I’ve been telling her all about you, and she understands the difference between first-hand accounts from a friend compared to third-hand from somebody who doesn’t know you at all. She expects you to look a little unusual, but that’s all. She knows that judging someone by their looks alone isn’t appropriate.”

“I am glad to hear that. I would also like to meet your family. It would be lovely to have dinner at your house. When do you think I could come over?” Emmy asked, apparently satisfied that Tiff wasn’t going to run in fear when Emmy walked in the door.

“Any time this week, I guess. Maybe Wednesday night? We usually have dinner around seven.”

“I will ask my parents for permission, but I expect they will say yes.”

We had arrived at school by this time, so as we shouldered our backpacks and walked to Home Room I decided to tease Emmy.

“You know, you are kinda scary, sometimes.”

“Really?” she looked appalled. “Only sometimes? I must need to practice more.” With that, she started walking like a velociraptor from Jurassic Park, slinking along with her arms held in front of her, clawing at invisible enemies. She bared her teeth and snarled, making me laugh out loud.

“Nope. You need to work harder at it. I don’t think you could scare anybody like that. Maybe kill them with laughter, I suppose.”

Giggling, the two of us walked to our first class of the day.

“Is there anything I should bring? Perhaps a bottle of wine?” she asked.

“What? No! I don’t think my mom would take it too well if you brought wine,” I said, aghast at the thought.

“Why not? Is she a- what do they call it- temperance?” Emmy asked, puzzled.

“No, it’s nothing like that. She just doesn’t approve of underage drinking. I mean, I think she knows I sometimes drink, but she tries to ignore that fact and act like it doesn’t happen. But me drinking in front of her? No way!”

“Oh,” Emmy replied, with a regretful expression. “Should we not have had wine with dinner at my house last Friday?”

“No, it was nice. It’s not like we got stupid drunk, or anything like that. And besides, there was a designated driver, right?”

“Designated driver? You mean Edouard? He is our driver, but what does that mean ‘designated’?” The puzzled look on Emmy’s face was priceless.

“A ‘designated driver’ is someone who specifically doesn’t drink at a party or whatever so he or she can drive everyone home safely afterwards. So nobody drives drunk,” I explained.

“Ah, I understand. But if I am not to bring wine, is there something else I can bring?”

Sheepishly, I suggested “If you happen to have another of Marie-Anne’s tortes lying around, I wouldn’t say no to dessert. I can’t believe how good that was the other night.”

Grinning, Emmy said “I believe there might be one ‘just lying around’ tomorrow. I will be certain to steal it when nobody is watching.”

The next morning, I was surprised by Edouard’s gentle knock on the door. Sometimes 6:10 AM rolls around way, way too early. When I slid into the big sedan and its wonderfully soft leather back seat, I asked Emmy what was up. “You’re still coming to dinner, right?”

“Of course I am!” Emmy replied. “I would not miss it. I am very much looking forward to it.”

Emmy gave some directions to Edouard, and I heard the word “café” in there somewhere. Sure enough, he turned into the drive-through lane for the coffee bungalow a few blocks from school. It was an unexpected, but pleasant, surprise. Caffeine is a very good thing. I noticed that Edouard didn’t get himself anything.

“Edouard, you aren’t getting coffee?” I asked.

“No, Miss Farmer,” he said with his thick French accent. “It is too late in the day for that.”

Late in the day? It was twenty after six in the morning! Well, whatever. It wasn’t too late for me to enjoy the sweet siren call of the roasted bean. I was grateful for the stop.

“Ah, coffee,” sighed Emmy. “It is a life saver.” I nodded my agreement as Edouard pulled up to the curb to drop us off for the daily slog.

After school, when Edouard opened the door for us to climb in, a wonderful aroma greeted my nose. There on the back seat, in all its delicious glory, was one of Marie-Anne’s fabulous masterpieces, a chocolate torte.

“Oh. My. God.” I said, breathing the smell in as deeply as I could. “My mom and Tiffy are such chocolate fiends that we’ll be lucky to get any. In fact, I think we should eat it right now, before we get home. Just to make sure we get our fair share.”

“No, no, no!” Emmy said, making sure she sat between me and the torte. “It is for everybody. We must wait to have it with your family.”

The smell- that deep, dark chocolate fragrance, that sweet delicious goodness, filled the car to such an extent that I thought I was going to pass out from sheer choc-overdose before we got to my place. I was practically delirious when Edouard pulled into my parking lot.

“Mom and Tiff won’t be home for another hour or so,” I explained as we walked up the stairs. “So we still have time to eat that torte and hide the evidence.”

“You are terrible!” laughed Emmy, as she held the torte farther away from me. “It is for sharing with everybody.”

Laughing, I unlocked the door and we went in. I asked “Does the torte need to go in the fridge?”

“No, it is better if it does not,” Emmy replied. “Marie-Anne just made it, and it will be good for a few hours just as it is.”

Looking around I saw that mom had done an amazing job cleaning up. The place was immaculate. Relieved, I refrained from just throwing my stuff on the couch like usual and carried my stuff to my room, Emmy following me. Sitting on my bed, she asked “May I play your father’s guitar again? I promise I will only play happy songs.”

“Of course you can. In fact, you can even play sad songs if you want. Just warn me so I can get the Kleenex.”

She took Dad’s old guitar off the stand and checked the tuning. Satisfied, she started strumming some chords. When she started singing, I realized it was that old Led Zep tune about going to California. I think she sang some of the lines wrong, though. She sang about finding a queen who cries in response to singing, and I’m pretty sure that’s not correct. In fact, the big wink she gave me as she sang it convinced me she was doing a bit of improvising with the words. To show that her tease had not gone unnoticed I gave her a shove on her shoulder, which just made her smile all the more. She continued to play, and somehow every song referenced me in some way. It was funny enough, and her ability to modify lyrics as she went along was amazing. Somehow she made it all work well enough that if I didn’t know the words I would swear that her version was right.

Emmy was singing ‘Lovely Leah, meter maid’ when she suddenly stopped.

“I think your mother and sister are here,” she said. Sure enough, I heard Tiff’s voice saying something to Mom outside my open window on the stairs. I’d been so wrapped up in listening to Emmy’s singing that I hadn’t even heard them drive up, even though Mom’s car needs a new muffler.

Emmy set Dad’s guitar gently on its stand and walked to the living room, so I followed.

The shocked look on Mom’s face when she actually saw Emmy for the first time only lasted for a moment, and thankfully she recovered quickly. “You must be Emmy. I’ve heard so much about you. Emmy, this is Tiffany,” Mom said, pulling Tiff from out behind her where she had ducked to hide from the odd-looking (possibly alien) stranger.

Emmy replied with “I am very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Farmer. And you too, Tiffany. Thank you for inviting me into your home.”

“Did I hear you playing the guitar?” Mom asked. “It sounded great. Lee had told me that you played, but I think that she didn’t do you justice. It’s nice to hear that old guitar making music again.”

“You do not mind that I was playing the guitar that belonged to your husband?” asked Emmy, uncertainty in her voice.

“Oh, of course not. Not at all. In fact, it brings back pleasant memories.” With that, Mom motioned to the kitchen. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get dinner ready.”

Tiff had finally gotten bold enough to approach Emmy. Looking up at Emmy’s midnight black face she declared “You aren’t a alien. You’re just a normal person,” more to reassure herself than anything else.

“It is true- I am not an alien,” Emmy said, making antennas with her fingers again. “But I am not a normal person, either. See?” and Emmy did the fangs thing with her fingers. “Look at my big teeth!”

That seemed to break the ice. Tiff responded by grabbing two pens from the cup on the side table. “Oh yeah? My teeth are bigger than yours!” she said, tucking the pens under her lip like two big sabre teeth.

Emmy laughed in that musical way of hers, and admitted defeat. “Yes, yours are much bigger than mine. I had better be careful you do not eat me for dinner!”

“I would never eat you,” Tiff replied. “People taste bad.”

“Oh, but not me,” Emmy said. “I am deliciously sweet.”

Chuckling at this exchange, I wandered into the kitchen to see if I could help with dinner. When I got close to where Mom was standing by the sink washing vegetables, Mom said “She really is just the way you described her. I thought maybe you were exaggerating a bit, but there she is,” in a quiet voice so that Emmy wouldn’t hear.

“Yeah,” I said in the same low voice. “I couldn’t have made her up.”

As we started the cooking process, I heard Emmy playing the guitar in the living room. Both Mom and I paused for a moment to listen to Emmy sing the first verse of ‘Somewhere over the rainbow’.

“She has a beautiful voice,” Mom said as we resumed work.

“Yeah, she does. She told me that she’s taken music and singing lessons from the time she was a baby. She practices every day.”

“Well, it shows. She has a lot of talent.”

A little bit later, I glanced into the living room to see how things were going. Emmy was playing ‘Octopus’ garden’ at one end of the couch while Tiff lay back and listened attentively.

Mom had actually prepared the casserole the night before, so all we had to do was to heat it, steam some vegetables, and fix a salad. It couldn’t have been more than half an hour before everything was ready, so I called Tiff in to set the table.

Surprisingly, there were none of the usual “Why do I hafta?” type of complaints. In fact, Tiff seemed to want to impress Emmy, so she did her job with care and soon the table was set and everything was ready. Emmy had returned the guitar to my room and was standing by the table, unsure what to do next.

“Have a seat,” Mom said to Emmy. Tiff sat down in her usual seat and indicated Emmy should sit next to her.

Emmy took the seat Tiff had suggested so I sat down on the other side of her, opposite Tiff. That left the seat opposite Emmy for Mom.

“Please help yourself, Emmy. We’re pretty casual around here,” Mom instructed. I started dishing up the casserole, putting a small piece on Tiff’s plate. “How much would you like?” I asked Emmy.

“The same as Tiffany is having, please” Emmy replied. “And may I please have some vegetables? They smell very good.”

Conversation was a little awkward at first, but soon Emmy, Tiff and Mom were all chattering away as if they were old friends. Emmy seemed particularly amused when Tiff told her about the stories Tiff’s classmates had been telling about Emmy. She also seemed very interested in Mom’s stories about teaching at the community college, too. In fact, pretty much everything that came up seemed to be very fascinating to Emmy. She just drank it all in, asking questions and making comments that showed that she was paying attention better than I ever do.

After dinner, when I got up to carry the plates into the kitchen, Emmy stood up to help but Mom waved her away. Seeing her opportunity to monopolize Emmy, Tiff grabbed Emmy’s hand and dragged her back to the living room. Tiff pulled her over to the couch and when Emmy sat down next to her, Tiff whispered something into Emmy’s ear. Emmy whispered back, and soon they were giggling, which led to tickling and loud laughter.

Mom and I sat at the table and watched as the two whispered secret plans of some sort, peeking furtively at Mom and me. All of a sudden, they jumped off the couch and rushed us, Tiff attacking Mom with tickling fingers, and Emmy tickling me. She was very gentle, though, unsure whether it was O.K. or not. To show that the game was fine by me, I tickled Emmy back, standing up to get a better angle. She fled away to the couch and I pursued. I’m not very ticklish at all, but as it turns out, Emmy was- much to her disadvantage. After a bit, we were exhausted, laying back and panting.

By this point, Tiff was sitting on Mom’s lap, just watching Emmy and me. Out of the blue, Tiff asked “Emmy, if you aren’t a alien, why do you look so weird?” I saw Mom tense up, appalled at the rudeness of the question, but Emmy didn’t seem disturbed at all.

“Can you keep a secret?” she asked Tiff.

“Yes,” Tiff replied, a bit hesitantly.

“This is a very big secret, so you have to promise me you will never tell anyone, ever. Can you promise me that?”

Intrigued, Tiff responded more forcefully this time. “Yes, I promise. Cross my heart,” she said, making an ‘X’ on her chest with her finger. Mom was interested, too, and I have to admit that Emmy had aroused my curiosity with her unexpected response to Tiff’s thoughtless question.

“I will tell you then. This is my big secret. I am not an alien. I am a- what do you call it, the shadow that hides under your bed or in your closet, and steals children away?” she asked, looking at me.

“A bogeyman?” I suggested, perplexed.

“Yes. A bogeyman. I am one of those scary monsters who sneak in at night and steal small children away to eat them. I hide in the shadows waiting for my moment to strike.”

“You don’t eat children!” Tiff replied indignantly.

“No, no I do not. In truth, my people stopped doing that centuries ago.”

I glanced at Mom, and saw the amused smile on her face, and the concerned look on Tiff’s.

“You are not a bogeyman! You’re too nice! Bogeymen are evil, and they scare people. You don’t scare anybody,” Tiff said, trying to convince herself.

“I do too scare people. I love to do it,” said Emmy, with a reproachful tone in her voice.

“Prove it,” Tiff demanded, feeling a little more sure of herself.

“O.K., I will show you,” Emmy said, sitting upright on the couch. “Close your eyes, and keep them closed.” When Tiff did as instructed, Emmy said “Now tell me where I am right now.”

“You’re on the couch, next to Lee,” Tiff said, her eyes still shut tight.

“Point at me,” Emmy said, and the moment the last word exited her lips she jumped up utterly silently and rushed over to where Tiff sat on Mom’s lap without making the slightest sound. I was amazed at the speed and complete silence of Emmy’s actions. There’s no way I could have done anything like it.

As Tiff pointed at the couch with her eyes still shut, Emmy leaned in behind her and whispered, “boo” in Tiff’s ear.

Squealing with surprise, Tiff’s eyes opened wide as she looked back behind her to where Emmy stood, grinning. Emmy then scooped up Tiff in her arms and carried her back to the couch where the tickling resumed in earnest. I had to get up to get out of the way of Tiff’s flailing legs, so I sat next to Mom, who was chuckling to herself at the whole scene. Even Sylvester abandoned her spot on the couch’s back, fleeing the activity.

“She really is amazing,” Mom said. “I can understand why you’re so in love with her.”

“What?” I asked, wondering what Mom meant by that. “I’m not in love with Emmy,” I replied indignantly.

“Oh, honey. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that you talk about her all the time, and now I understand why. She’s exotic, she’s pretty, and she is very charming. What you told me about the way she deals with peoples’ reactions to her unusual looks makes me think she’s also very determined and sure of herself. It’s a winning combination.”

Tiff and Emmy were running out of steam by this point, so Mom called out “Hey, I forgot Emmy brought dessert. I hope you two still have some room left- it looked delicious.”

Remembering the torte, I said “It was baked this afternoon. It smelled fabulous on the drive home.”

As I’d predicted, Tiff and Mom had plenty of room left for the amazing chocolate cake. I can’t really talk, though- I ate my share, too. Emmy was the only one who restrained herself, with just a very small slice.

After dessert was done, Tiff settled down to do her homework while Mom washed the dishes. Emmy and I retreated to my room, where we just talked about school, my upcoming V Ball tournament, and other stuff that I can’t remember. Before I even realized, it was ten o’clock and Emmy had to leave.

“Are you going to call Edouard?” I asked.

“No, he knew to return at ten o’clock. He is waiting in the parking lot.”

“Well, O.K.” I replied, thinking about what a pain all the extra driving was for Edouard that day just so we could have a freshly baked dessert. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

Out in the parking lot, standing next to the big, dark sedan, I gave Emmy a quick hug. “Thanks for coming over tonight.”

“It was my pleasure,” she replied. “It was wonderful to meet your family, Leah. They are very lovely, your mother and sister. I had a superb evening. Thank you very much.” With that, she gave me a kiss on the cheek and got into the car. Edouard waited until I’d gotten back to my front door to get into the car. Just making sure I was O.K., I realized. What a strange family, and what a different way of life.

Returning inside, I saw that Mom was sitting at the table, reading student essays. I sat down opposite her, but didn’t say anything.

Mom looked up, putting down the papers. “She really is remarkable, you know.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, unsure where Mom was going with this.

“Well, when you’d told me she was really black, I figured she must be of African descent, perhaps Masai or something like that. Some of them are pretty dark. Emmy, though, doesn’t look like that at all. In fact, she looks like nothing I’ve ever seen. Tiffy’s friends were right, in a way. She does look like an alien more than she looks like what I’m used to thinking of as normal. Her coloration is well outside what I’ve always thought of as the range humans come in.”

“Well, honestly, I’m not sure what to think,” I admitted. “When she first came to school, she said she had a medical condition kinda like albinism, and didn’t have normal protection against the sun. She always stays out of the direct sunlight if she can, and wears sunglasses all the time. She showed me her hair has no color to it at all. You can’t even see it when she puts a strand of her hair in water. It pretty much just vanishes. So I’d pretty much just accepted that whatever the condition was, it turned her skin black like that. But then I met her parents, and they’re even blacker, if you can imagine that. Maybe they are aliens,” I said, only half jokingly.

“I doubt that,” Mom replied. “Still, it is mighty odd…”