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healthier, anyway.”
    â€œI hate eating vegetarian,” grumbled Marshall, but he pushed off after his wife and swam strongly toward the sandy point, the water streaming behind his head.
    Emmy wandered out to the end of the dock, ignoring the muskrats. The waves slid in, great slabs of water that smacked the rocks to her left with a fine white spray.
    â€œThat’s a pretty little sailboat.” Menna’s voice came faintly back from the cattails. “I do so like a white sail.”
    Emmy turned as a small boat glided into view around the point. Two figures with ponytails, silhouetted by the dipping sun, suddenly ducked their heads and shifted sides.
    â€œThey don’t know how to handle it, though,” said Marshall gruffly. “There, what did I tell you?”
    â€œOh dear,” said Menna. “They’ll be on the rocks in a minute.”
    Emmy, watching, could see that the girls were in trouble. They had been trying to change direction, but something had gone wrong. The sail was flopping uselessly, and they were being pushed by the wind straight at the rocky shore.
    â€œThey’ll smash,” said Marshall furiously, “and serves them right. Put your tiller to starboard, sailors!”
    The girls didn’t seem to understand the squeaking coming from the cattails.
    â€œPut your tiller to starboard!” Emmy called, clear and strong.
    â€œBut that will put us on the rocks!” cried a panicked voice from the boat.
    â€œNo, you lubbers!” spluttered Marshall. “The wind’s pushing you backward, so the rudder works backward, too!”
    Emmy looked at Marshall, then away. “The wind’s pushing you backward,” she shouted through cupped hands. “So the rudder works backward, too.” She grinned privately. They didn’t have to know she was taking directions from a muskrat.
    â€œHuh!” grunted Marshall, turning his furry face toward Emmy.
    â€œNow what do I do?” cried the girl at the tiller. The sailboat was still moving toward the rocks, but it had begun to turn.
    Emmy glanced at the muskrats.
    â€œShe needs to loosen that sheet a bit,” Marshall muttered. “When she feels the wind take hold of the sail, she’ll have to straighten out the tiller quick.”
    â€œLoosen that sheet a bit!” Emmy said confidently. “When you feel the wind take hold of the sail, straighten the tiller right away!”
    There was a flurry of action on the sailboat. And then, hesitatingly, the white sail puffed lightly out, the boat began to move away from the shore, and the girls on the boat cheered in relief.
    The one steering leaned toward her companion. “Isn’t that the new kid?”
    Sound carried surprisingly well across the water, Emmy realized as she recognized her former classmates. At the tiller was Kate, who always had a crowd around her at recess. Meg, near the mast, had sat in front of Emmy the whole year.
    â€œHer name’s Emmy,” Meg murmured.
    â€œShe sure knows how to sail. Hey, Emmy!” Kate called. “Want to crew for me at the race tomorrow?”
    As the sailboat angled past the dock, Meg clasped her hands. “Please?” she implored. “Then I won’t have to. I’m a terrible sailor!”
    Emmy was dumbstruck. This was what she had been waiting for! If she became friends with Kate and Meg, she’d be invited to parties and sleepovers and go horseback-riding and biking and swimming and—
    â€œWith an expert like you,” Kate added persuasively, “I might even win!”
    Emmy’s dream crashed like water on rock. She was no expert. Without a certain muskrat along for the ride, she would be so hopeless that Kate would hate her forever.
    The sailboat was slipping away from the dock. Emmy took in a breath. “I’m sorry,” she said wretchedly. “I can’t.”
    Â 
    Peter Peebles came at last, but dinner was boring. The