The Luckiest Girl Read online

  “Hi, Webfoot,” Philip drawled, turning toward her.

  “Hi.” Shelley half whispered the syllable. They were so alone and Philip was so close. She was aware of him, clean and tan in his letterman’s sweater, as she never had been before. She was aware of the rough wool of his sweater and the stripe on his sleeve just five stitches wide, the texture of the block S like thousands of tiny French knots, the clean white T-shirt, the golden tan of his skin, that tiny mole just below his left ear lobe…. Shelley did not know why, but she felt frightened.

  Philip took Shelley’s hand in his. His hand was thin and hard, the way a boy’s hand should be. “Shelley—” he began, and stopped.

  Shelley managed to raise her eyes to his. She knew with a panicky feeling that he was about to kiss her.

  Philip, lowering his eyes in his shy way, looked down at her hand in his. “Nothing,” he said quietly. Slowly he released her hand. The moment was over.

  Shelley realized she had been holding her breath and tried to let it out quietly so it would not sound like a sigh. Enclosed in the car, even with the rain beating on the roof, she was sure he could hear her breathe and perhaps hear her heart beat. She struggled to swallow without sounding as if she were gulping. It was funny how being alone with a boy and close to him could be so exciting and at the same time so embarrassing.

  “Maybe we better run for it,” she said reluctantly. “I mean—we can’t just sit here all afternoon, can we?”

  “Maybe we better.” There was reluctance in Philip’s voice, too.

  “It’s awfully wet out.” A silly thing to say, with the gutter running like a river.

  “Yes….” Philip was looking at her. She could feel it. “It’s pretty wet.”

  All right. They agreed it was wet.

  “Here.” Philip pulled off his sweater. “You’d better wear my sweater or you’ll get soaked. That sweater of yours is pretty thin.”

  “But what about you? You’ll get wet.” Philip’s sweater was a temptation to Shelley.

  “If I get too wet I have a sweatshirt in my locker in the gym.” Philip draped his sweater around Shelley’s shoulders.

  “In that case, all right.” Shelley slid her arms into the too-big sleeves, which made her feel fragile, like someone who needed to be protected from the elements. The wool, which was rough against her skin, smelled pleasantly of Philip.

  Another couple ran past the car toward the gym. They were wearing slickers, and soldier hats folded out of newspaper. The girl, who carried her shoes in her hand, was barefooted.

  “Wait till I get the wagon wheels out,” said Philip as he ducked out of the car.

  Shelley followed him. The rain was cold against her face and legs but she did not care. She took one of the wagon wheels from Philip and together they raced, rolling the wheels like hoops ahead of them. They arrived at the door of the gym wet and laughing. Inside, the committee and Mr. Lutz, the teacher of commercial subjects and sponsor of the dance, were hard at work.

  “Hi, there,” called Jeannie. “Trickle in and go to work. We’re leaning the wagon wheels around the bandstand.”

  Shelley ran her finger through her damp hair and looked around. Wires had been strung from one end of the gym to the other, and over the wires hung yards of blue cloth that hid the ceiling and hung down over the windows. Although the cloth did not succeed in looking like the sky, at least it diminished the gymnasium look, particularly in the dim light produced by the spotlights. Sheets of brown paper had been tacked up at the end of the gym, where members of the art class were painting barn scenes with poster paint.

  A girl who was painting a row of cheerful, smiling cows stood back to look at her work. “Talk about contented cows,” she said admiringly.

  “They may be contented,” said Frisbie from the top of a stepladder where he was adjusting a spotlight, “but they are knock-kneed.”

  “It’s the effect that counts,” answered the girl.

  Leaving a trail of wet footprints behind them, Shelley and Philip rolled their wagon wheels to the bandstand, where Jeannie and two other girls were making a scarecrow.

  “I’m going to change into my sweatshirt,” said Philip, and went off to the locker room.

  Shelley was pleasantly aware that the other girls were looking at her in Philip’s sweater with the sleeves pushed up above her elbows so they would stay up. Although it was not the custom in San Sebastian for a girl to wear a letterman’s sweater (Shelley had found that out the first week of school), still there was something special about a boy even lending a girl his sweater with a block letter—especially when the boy was Philip.

  Philip came running out of the locker room in his sweatshirt, dribbling an imaginary basketball. He stopped, caught it, and made what was obviously a difficult shot.

  A cheer went up from the committee.

  “Isn’t that sweater awfully damp to be wearing around?” asked one of the girls, whose name was Arlene. She was in Shelley’s English class and was the kind of girl who enjoyed catching the teacher in mistakes.

  “Not especially,” answered Shelley lightly. She did not mind the girl’s jealousy a bit. Not one little bit. She went to work pinning a pair of garden gloves to the scarecrow’s sleeves.

  “Hey, Friz,” yelled one of the boys. “You’re giving us too much light.”

  “I’ll fix it,” Frisbie yelled back.

  “Now wait a minute,” said Mr. Lutz, coming over to Frisbie’s stepladder. “What we need is more light, not less.”

  Voices rose in protest. “Aw, Mr. Lutz, nobody wants to dance around in broad daylight!” “Aw, Mr. Lutz, that’s no fun.” “Be a sport and let us dim them some more.”

  “I’m prepared to be scientific about this.” Mr. Lutz pulled from his pocket a light meter, the kind amateur photographers use, and held it up toward the spotlight. “Sorry,” he said, squinting at the red indicator on the meter, “but the light meter has to read one foot-candle for each spotlight. It’s a rule.” Then he grinned. “I have to keep one step ahead of you kids.” The boys grumbled good-naturedly and went back to work.

  The afternoon went quickly for Shelley. Reluctantly she took off Philip’s sweater, but not before she was sure everyone had seen her wearing it. It was such wonderful fun to be part of behind-the-scenes. This had never happened to her at home. She enjoyed every minute of the committee’s clowning. One of the boys caught Arlene and put a dab of red poster paint on the tip of her nose while she squealed, “Let go! You’re hurting me!” and everyone knew Arlene enjoyed it. And when it came time to sprinkle the special powder for dance floors on the floor of the gymnasium, Shelley joined the others in running and sliding. What fun she would have writing home about this! Dear Rosemary, she would write. I had the craziest afternoon. We were having a barn dance at school and Philip and I were on the committee…. Dear Mother and Daddy, This afternoon Philip and I helped decorate for the barn dance at school. He is such a nice boy. I know you would like him a lot….

  Finally, when the work was done and Mr. Lutz was off someplace seeing that the stepladders were put back where they belonged, Jeannie looked around thoughtfully. “I wish we had some hay,” she remarked to Philip and Frisbie. “It doesn’t seem like a real barn dance without a few bales of hay.”

  “That’s easy,” answered Frisbie. “I know where we can get some. You know that place up near the mountains that has the horses? I know the man who owns it.”

  “I never thought of that,” said Jeannie. “Could you really get some?”

  “Sure, if Phil will help,” answered Frisbie. “We can load it into the station wagon and get it here in plenty of time. Phil and I will drive out and get the hay and pick you girls up half an hour early. That will give us time to bring the hay in before the crowd arrives.”

  Mr. Lutz began to turn out the lights in the gym, and the few committee members left straggled toward the door. “Shelley, you look as if you thought something exciting was about to happen,” remarked Jeannie as she a
nd Shelley paused in the doorway of the gym and looked out into the rain, which was now falling steadily.

  “I’m going to the dance tonight,” Shelley answered, remembering that Hartley had once made the same observation about her.

  Jeannie looked curiously at her. “And you feel that a school dance is something to get excited about?” asked Jeannie.

  “Of course,” said Shelley. “Aren’t you excited?”

  “I suppose so.” Jeannie sounded doubtful.

  “But Jeannie, what is a dance for if it isn’t fun and excitement?” Shelley wanted to know. To her a dance was an occasion, something to anticipate. She reminded herself that she was going with Philip and Jeannie was going with Frisbie, and that might make a difference.

  Jeannie did not answer, because Philip and Frisbie joined the two girls and together they ran out through the rain to their cars.

  The rain continued to fall and was still falling at seven thirty, when Philip was to call for Shelley. She had, with concealed reluctance, returned his sweater to him when he had brought her home that afternoon. Now, when Philip twirled the doorbell, she realized she had to wear some kind of wrap. “Let him in, Katie, will you?” she called down the stairs. She always enjoyed showing Philip off to Katie, who quite plainly agreed that he was the most wonderful boy in San Sebastian.

  Shelley snatched from her closet shelf a box that she had stuffed into her trunk unopened when she had packed and that had remained like that on her closet shelf since she had come to California. From the box she pulled the pink raincoat with the velveteen collar and the little hat with the black velveteen button on top. Oh, well, she thought, and slipped the raincoat on over her blouse and full cotton skirt. She put on the hat and patted the button on top while she looked at herself in the mirror. It really was a pretty raincoat.

  Shelley drew the line, however, at galoshes. She had vowed she would never wear galoshes in California, and she would not. But Shelley, she could almost hear her mother say, you’ll get your feet wet and you’ll ruin your shoes. But Mother, she could hear herself answer, I’m in California now and I’m not going to wear galoshes. I’ll run quickly through the rain, but I won’t wear galoshes.

  Philip was wearing jeans and a blue plaid shirt under his letterman’s sweater. “Hey, look at the glamorous raincoat,” he said when he saw her.

  At the foot of the stairs Shelley twirled around for his inspection before they ran out through the rain to the station wagon. They slid into the second seat in front of two bales of hay.

  “Whew! It smells dusty in here,” remarked Shelley.

  “What a pretty raincoat,” remarked Jeannie from the front seat beside Frisbie. “Is that what they wear up North?”

  “Some people,” answered Shelley, remembering the front steps of school crowded with girls in slickers. She discovered the price tag still dangling from one sleeve. Carefully she untied it and put it in her pocket. It was an expensive raincoat, more expensive than her family could really afford. She was sorry she had behaved the way she had.

  “We’d better not let the hay get wet,” said Frisbie. “Remember that hay Mr. Ericson soaked in water?”

  “And we looked at a drop of the water under the microscope,” added Jeannie. “It was swimming with all sorts of squirmy little things.”

  When they reached the gym they all climbed out of the station wagon. “Look!” exclaimed Jeannie, pointing. “I see a couple of stars over there. Maybe it is going to clear up after all.”

  As Philip and Frisbie dragged one of the bales of hay out of the station wagon and carried it up the steps of the gym, Frisbie sang, “‘Lift that barge, tote that bale,’” in his deepest voice. He pounded on the door and the janitor, who was turning on the lights, let them in. “Where do you want the hay, Jeannie?” Frisbie asked, while the janitor, protector of the gymnasium floor, eyed their wet feet with disapproval.

  “Down at the end of the gym,” directed Jeannie. “Did you bring some pliers?”

  “Sure did,” said Frisbie, pulling them out of his hip pocket and snapping the wire around the hay.

  Jeannie and Shelley scattered the hay across the end of the gym while the boys carried in the second bale. By the time that bale was scattered, the orchestra had assembled, unpacked their instruments, and were blowing a few experimental notes.

  Frisbie grabbed Jeannie and danced her around, singing at the top of his voice, “‘I want a buddy, not a sweetheart.’” They were an odd-looking couple. Frisbie was so big and Jeannie was so small.

  Philip put his arm around Shelley, still in her raincoat, and began to dance with her to the tootling of the band. Shelley laughed and thought how different she would have felt at home. At home she would probably have slunk off to the checkroom the very first thing to get rid of the raincoat before anyone saw it. Here she did not care who saw it. That’s funny, she thought. I wonder why.

  The door of the gym opened and Mr. Lutz entered with a man in the uniform of the San Sebastian fire department. They stood looking around at the decorations. Then the man from the fire department saw the hay. “Has that hay been fireproofed?” he asked.

  The two couples stopped dancing, “Why—no,” confessed Jeannie, because she was chairman of the decorating committee.

  “Where did it come from?” asked Mr. Lutz.

  “We brought it, sir,” said Philip.

  “Who gave you permission?” demanded Mr. Lutz.

  “Nobody,” admitted Frisbie. “We didn’t know we needed permission.”

  “It didn’t seem like a barn dance without hay,” explained Jeannie.

  “So we drove up toward the mountains and got a couple of bales,” continued Frisbie.

  “Sorry,” said the man from the fire department. “You’ll have to get it out of here. It’s a fire hazard.”

  “But nobody smokes at a school dance,” protested Frisbie.

  “That doesn’t matter,” said the man from the fire department. “It’s still a fire hazard. You can’t leave it here.”

  By this time couples were arriving and gathering around to see what the discussion was about.

  “But what will we do with it?” asked Jeannie. There was a lot of hay in two bales.

  “Take it out to the incinerator and burn it,” said Mr. Lutz. “Every bit of it.”

  “In the rain?” asked Frisbie.

  Mr. Lutz grinned. “You got it here in the rain, didn’t you? And anyway, the rain has just about stopped.”

  Frisbie and Jeannie groaned. The orchestra began to play and couples began to dance. “Now,” said Mr. Lutz sternly. “I thought I had managed to stay one step ahead of you kids, but you put one over on me this time.”

  Shelley joined the others in gathering up armfuls of hay. “‘Lift that barge, tote that bale,’” Frisbie sang, and the other three joined in as they trooped toward the door of the gym. The rest of the crowd stopped dancing and began to clap hands to the rhythm of the song. The orchestra stopped what they had been playing and one by one the instruments took up the tune. The two couples, with their arms full of hay, splashed through puddles under the clearing sky and, while the fire inspector watched, threw the hay into the yawning cement mouth of the incinerator. They returned to the gym for a second load and then another and another. Everyone saw Shelley in her pink raincoat and the hat with the velveteen button on top, but she did not care. She thought the whole incident was funny, just one of those wonderful crazy things.

  As Shelley made her way out the door of the gym with her last armful of hay, she found herself face-to-face with Hartley, who was entering with a girl from her English class. For some reason Shelley was startled. She had not expected to see Hartley at the dance and certainly not with that girl.

  “Well, hello there,” said Hartley.

  “Hello,” answered Shelley uncertainly. If Hartley wanted to bring that girl from her English class to the dance, there was no reason why he shouldn’t, was there? Hartley and his date went on into the gym and Shelley went
on out to the incinerator, trailing wisps of hay behind her.

  The fire inspector had touched a match to the hay, which was burning merrily. “Too bad we don’t have some marshmallows,” said Frisbie, brushing hay from the sleeves of his sweater.

  Philip stood close to Shelley and as she watched the sparks fly up and disappear into the night, she laughed from sheer happiness. Shelley felt Jeannie looking at her and knew that Jeannie was probably thinking wistfully that Shelley had fun in strange ways. Shelley did not care. Since she had come to San Sebastian everything had been fun, surprising and exciting. Even wearing the raincoat that had once caused her to stuff roses into the Disposall now seemed part of a delightful adventure. It almost seemed like magic, the way her feelings had changed.

  And all at once Shelley understood why she was having such a good time in a raincoat she had once said she would never wear. When a girl comes to a school and makes a name for herself with a good idea and is interviewed for the school paper and liked by a boy all the other girls like—a boy who wanted to kiss her and who lets her wear his letterman’s sweater while she decorates for a dance, it doesn’t matter what kind of raincoat she wears. Any kind will do.

  Chapter 8

  When Christmas vacation arrived Shelley was surprised to learn that in California spruce and pines and even hemlocks were used for Christmas trees. She had always thought Christmas trees were Douglas fir or they were not Christmas trees. She was even more surprised at the Michies’ admiration for what was to her the ordinary holly wreath that her mother sent. They hung it on the front door and everyone who entered the house exclaimed, “Real English holly!” as if it were something rare and beautiful.

  The days went quickly. There was shopping to do and packages to mail. Shelley helped Katie make a gathered skirt and spent hours watching Mavis at the potter’s wheel in her studio. The spinning clay beneath her fingers was like a living thing. Shelley was fascinated. She experimented with a simple bowl and made up her mind that someday she would have a potter’s wheel too.