The Luckiest Girl Page 17

  The afternoon seemed unusually lively, even for the Michies, so lively that Shelley had little time to think about her mother’s letter. First of all Shelley was dismayed to see that the poppies she had arranged so carefully had folded their petals as if it were night and instead of two gay bouquets, they became stiff bunches of pointed buds. Probably in protest against being picked, Shelley decided.

  “That’s all right,” said Mavis. “Just put them in a dark cupboard for a while and they will open up when you bring them out into the light.”

  Amused at the idea of trying to outwit flowers, Shelley did as she was told. This crazy mixed-up California vegetation!

  After Mrs. Stickney had unpacked, she settled herself with her knitting needles and some bright green yarn that Katie could not help staring at so apprehensively that Shelley, to end her suspense, finally came right out and asked Mrs. Stickney what she was knitting.

  “A pullover for Luke,” she answered. “I am making it out of his school colors.”

  Shelley and Katie exchanged a look of conspiracy, while Luke’s expression became worried. Only lettermen wore sweaters in school colors, but a grandmother could not be expected to know that.

  “Luke, what are you up to these days?” asked Mrs. Stickney, pausing to measure her knitting.

  “I’m helping Dad in the grove and using the money I earn for parts for my motorcycle,” answered Luke. “I’ll get it running one of these days.”

  “Now, Luke,” protested Mavis. “We’ve been through this a dozen times. You’re just wasting money on that old wreck and even if you do get it to run, which I doubt, you are too young to get a license.”

  “Nonsense,” said Mrs. Stickney. “The boy has to grow up.”

  “I’m going to be sixteen,” Luke told his mother.

  Mavis looked as if she were about to say something but thought better of it. Instead she told Katie that she had to practice her piano lesson, both the rhapsody and her scales, before she could go over to Pamela’s house. Katie observed that she never had any fun and began to play the Hungarian Rhapsody. Suddenly, as if she had had an inspiration, she speeded up her playing until the music sounded as if it were being rattled out by an old-fashioned player piano.

  “Katie!” shouted Tom in his basketball court voice.

  The playing stopped. “Mommy said I had to play it through before I could go over to Pamela’s,” answered Katie plaintively.

  “Now Katie,” said Tom. “Time is just as much a part of the music as the notes. You know that. Now play it properly.”

  The music continued with only one lapse into Pop Goes the Weasel. Then Katie went to work on her scales. Shelley was the only one who noticed an open copy of Betsy Devore, Girl Sleuth resting on the music rack while Katie’s fingers flew up and down the keyboard.

  When Mavis went into the kitchen to put the roast into the oven, Mrs. Stickney went along to visit with her daughter. Soon Shelley heard their voices rising through the transom.

  “Mother, I know what I am doing,” said Mavis. “This isn’t the first roast I have ever cooked, you know.”

  “Mavis, I have been cooking roasts longer than you have,” said Mrs. Stickney, “and I can’t bear to see you ruin that meat.”

  “I know you have been cooking longer than I,” said Mavis. “And sometimes the roasts were too rare and sometimes they were overdone. That is why I am doing it scientifically. By inserting a meat thermometer into the roast I can tell exactly when the meat is medium-rare.”

  “If you plunge that dagger into the bosom of that roast,” said Mrs. Stickney dramatically, “all the juice will run out.”

  “Oh, Mother,” said Mavis, and laughed.

  Things were equally lively at dinner. The roast was excellent. The confused poppies opened their petals when brought from the cupboard as if they were greeting the morning sun. Everyone argued with everyone else.

  Katie said it was Luke’s turn to feed the dog and cat, because she fed them the night before. Luke said it was Katie’s turn, because the only reason she fed them the night before was that the night before that he fed them when it was really her turn and she had gone off to that creep Pamela’s house and he couldn’t let the animals starve, could he? Shelley said she would be glad to feed the animals if it would settle the argument. Luke and Katie told her to please keep out of their affairs. Mrs. Stickney said when she was a girl, children did their chores cheerfully and did not argue at the table. Mavis said she and her brother always argued at the table and everyplace else. They still did. Tom told Katie to feed the cat and Luke to feed the dog and now couldn’t they introduce a new topic of conversation?

  They did. Mrs. Stickney said she was thinking of a trip to France next year—she had always wanted to see the château country. Mavis asked her mother please to promise not to ride a bicycle in France, not at her age. Mrs. Stickney said nonsense, she might be getting on in years but her bones were not that brittle yet.

  Tom changed the subject by asking his mother-in-law who she thought would be elected the next president. Mrs. Stickney said she did not believe in discussing politics, especially with relatives, but…Mavis did not agree. She believed the man was more important than the party, but…Katie said her social science teacher, who was not even supposed to discuss politics in the public schools, said…Luke said Katie was only in junior high and what did she know about it anyway? His history teacher said if a man was to be elected president it was essential that he be born east of the Rocky Mountains. Mrs. Stickney said that was nonsense. The way the West was expanding, it was high time the East realized the United States included the West.

  “Whew!” exclaimed Shelley when supper was over and she and Hartley were on their way to the carnival, which was being held on the school’s tennis courts. “I didn’t know families could argue so much. And the funny part of it is, the Michies argue a lot but it never really seems to make any difference.”

  “I guess that’s the way it is with families. Some families, anyway,” said Hartley. “My dad and my brothers and I are always hacking away at one another but it doesn’t really mean anything except maybe that we like one another. It would be different if we all kept still.”

  “I suppose,” said Shelley thoughtfully, “that when there are a lot of arguments going on, no single one seems so important.” She rode in silence awhile before she said, “I got into the silliest argument with my mother once over a raincoat. At least it seems silly now. I got so mad I stuffed a whole bouquet of fresh roses into the Disposall and ground them up.”

  “Why, Shelley,” said Hartley, after they had laughed together over the incident, “you always seem so composed, it is hard to picture you doing such a thing.”

  “I guess I usually seethe within, but that time I boiled over,” said Shelley as Hartley parked the car near the tennis courts. She could laugh about the incident now, but could she, she wondered, when she returned home? She hoped so but she was not sure.

  The tennis courts were a square of light in the fragrant night. Music poured forth from loudspeakers and mingled with the shouts and laughter of the crowd that wandered from one booth to another eating candied apples and popcorn, yelling encouragement or derision at those who were trying their skills at various booths.

  When Shelley and Hartley entered the tennis courts, Shelley wondered a little uneasily what others would think at seeing her with Hartley when Philip had to stay home. Then she told herself she was worrying unnecessarily. Philip had never said anything about going steady, had he? But she could not help feeling that she would have a better time if Philip were here, with his usual crowd of boys—or even with another girl.

  Shelley and Hartley wandered about, pausing to watch the boys from the print shop fill orders for calling cards, lingering at the nail-driving booth. “Oh, look,” cried Shelley as they moved on. “The Garvel Club is selling personalized shrunken heads—it says so on that sign.”

  “The debaters must have been hard up for something to sell,” rem
arked Hartley as they walked across the tennis courts to look at the shrunken heads.

  “Step right up, folks!” yelled the barker. “Have you ever wanted to shrink the head of one of your teachers? Don’t miss this golden opportunity, the chance of a lifetime! Just twenty-five cents, one quarter of a dollar! Get your shrunken heads here!”

  The heads were walnuts with faces painted on the wrinkled brown shells and black string glued to the top for hair. Hartley bought one of the heads, wrote something on the attached tag, and presented it to Shelley.

  Shelley laughed when she saw Mr. Ericson’s name on the tag. “Since I got ninety-six on that last quiz, I’m not eager to shrink his head,” she said, “but I’ll take this home as a souvenir of San Sebastian.”

  Shelley and Hartley wandered on to the Block S Club’s booth, one of the most popular concessions at the carnival. Members of the football team were taking turns wearing a helmet and poking their heads through a hole in a blanket. Students bought three balls for a dime and tried to hit the football player’s helmet before he could duck. Shouts went up when a ball slammed against the top of a helmet. The crowd booed when the player ducked out of the way of the ball. Hartley paid his dime and picked up three balls. The first hit the blanket to the left of the player. The second was close but landed to the right. The crowd booed, and Hartley took careful aim. The third ball landed square on top of the helmet. Shelley cheered with the rest of the crowd. One of the nicest things about Hartley was that he did everything well, even throwing a ball at a carnival.

  “Hartley, do you suppose I could hit a football player?” Shelley asked.

  Hartley laughed. “I don’t know, but you could try.” He laid down a dime for Shelley’s three balls.

  “I’ll bet she can’t even hit the blanket,” said one of the girls in the crowd.

  Shelley laughed, picked up a ball, and threw as hard as she could. It hit the blanket, but that was about all you could say for it. The football player laughed at her. The crowd groaned. “She throws like a girl,” someone commented.

  “Well—I am a girl,” said Shelley, and picked up her second ball. This time the football player grinned at her and did not even bother to duck. “Hey,” protested Shelley. “Don’t just stand there sneering. It’s bad for my morale.”

  She aimed carefully the third time and came close enough so that the football player was able, by straining against the blanket, to lean over to the right and bump his head against the ball.

  “See?” crowed Shelley. “I hit him.”

  “With a lot of cooperation from your target,” scoffed someone.

  “Shelley is an excellent shot,” said Hartley. “She just has an individual style.”

  “Thanks, Hartley,” said Shelley, flushed and laughing. Then as they started to leave, because the crowd was growing, they turned and found themselves face-to-face with Jeannie and Philip. Shelley stopped in surprise when she saw Philip, but the surprise did not last. Of course Philip had to go out sometimes. A boy’s father could not keep him prisoner because he flunked biology. She should have known that.

  Philip’s face turned red with embarrassment. Shelley was aware that the crowd was watching to see what her reaction would be. Jeannie was looking at her and at Philip with bright-eyed interest, a little detached as if she were observing a scene instead of taking part in it. Shelley found that her only reaction was one of relief. Philip was not shut up at home with a pile of books while she was out having a good time. “Hi,” she said, feeling uncomfortable only because so many people were watching. “Having fun?”

  “Uh—Shelley,” Philip began. “Jeannie and I got together at the library so she could go over my biology notebook before Mr. Ericson looks at it and then we—we decided to drop in here for a few minutes.” Those were the words Phillip spoke. He was silently asking Shelley not to mind.

  “I’m glad you came,” Shelley answered sincerely. “We’ve been having a lot of fun.” She was happy to see the tense look on Philip’s face relax. Now she knew where they stood. It was over for both of them. She need no longer have that vague, guilty feeling that had bothered her so often when she was with Hartley. Shelley’s heart was light as she turned to Jeannie and said, “I hope you have as much fun as we’ve had.”

  Jeannie smiled and her eyes told Shelley how happy she was to be with Philip. It was a look that only another girl could appreciate. Philip looked at Shelley and gave her his slow, shy grin, a grin that no longer made Shelley catch her breath. It was just a nice smile from a boy whom she had once liked and still liked, but in a different way.

  “I just hit a football player,” said Shelley.

  “Jeannie, do you want to try?” asked Philip.

  “Good luck!” said Shelley.

  Hartley put his hand on Shelley’s elbow to guide her through the crowd. “You really didn’t mind what happened, did you?” he remarked into her ear when they had left Jeannie and Philip.

  Shelley smiled over her shoulder at him. “I’m glad,” she said honestly, and when they were out of the crowd she faced Hartley and said, “I guess I have felt sort of guilty about Philip. As if it were my fault he flunked biology and was not allowed to date or play on the basketball team. And now I don’t feel that way anymore.” Shelley knew that she had been mistaken to have felt that way in the first place; Philip had earned his F the same way she had earned her D—he had not studied enough. His grades were not her responsibility.

  Perhaps the whole unhappy incident was really for the best. If it had not happened she would have gone on dating Philip and eventually, because he was not really the boy she had wanted him to be, she would have come to feel about him the way she felt about Jack. Not that Philip would have said, “Penny for your thoughts.” It would have been something else that he did—ordering those greasy grilled peanut butter sandwiches, probably—that she would wish he would not do, and then she would know that she was tired of him. And by that time it would have been too late. Everyone would have assumed they were going steady, and her beautiful year in San Sebastian would have ended in disappointment.

  “I know what,” said Hartley. “Let’s get out of this madhouse and drive over to Vincente for some doughnut holes.”

  “In memory of our first date,” agreed Shelley. It was all over with Philip now and she knew that her year would not end on an unhappy note. Her wonderful year that made her feel as if she were seeing the world for the first time. Because she was so happy, she smiled at Hartley, suddenly and radiantly.

  He looked down at her with a mixture of tenderness and amusement. “You always have fun, don’t you, Shelley?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Shelley answered as the noise and the crowd of the carnival became a bright spot behind them in the darkness and the perfume of the orange blossoms hung heavy on the night. “Yes, I do have fun.” And that was the way it should be when a girl was sixteen.

  It was then that Shelley knew that she was not going to the mountains with Jack and his family over the Fourth of July, no matter what her mother had said. She would write him a nice note….

  She did not have time to think about the note, though. Hartley leaned over and kissed her on the tip of her nose.

  Chapter 15

  Suddenly the days were going much too fast for Shelley. She wanted to catch each hour and hold it just a little longer. The green hills were turning to gold, the sky was blue, laced with the vapor trails of jet planes, and Shelley’s spirits were high.

  Shelley found that even biology, after weeks of memorizing definitions and classifications, became interesting. When the class reached the chapter on heredity, she was fascinated. It seemed marvelous to her that Luther Burbank could decide that he wanted a large white daisy with a smooth stem and by working with three different flowers from three different continents could, in fifteen years of controlled breeding, produce the Shasta daisy, which was exactly what he wanted. If Luther Burbank had wanted a California poppy that would stay open after being picked, he could have bred o
ne by crossing the sleepy poppy with some wide-awake variety.

  Journalism was Shelley’s favorite subject and when the Journalism 1 class put out the cub issue of the Bastion, Hartley was chosen editor—an honor that certainly meant he would be made editor of the paper in his senior year. Shelley had been made feature editor because Mrs. Boyce had been so pleased with her interview with Jonas Hornbostle. It was fun to stay after school working on the paper in the untidy room that students had decorated with signs that said, “Thimk” or “Don’t just do something—stand there.” It was fun because she and Hartley were sharing a real interest. Each moment spent bending over the dummy of the cub issue was precious.

  The one flaw in Shelley’s happiness was the thought of leaving San Sebastian so soon. She tried to stuff this thought into the back of her mind and slam a door on it, but the thought slipped out at the most inconvenient times. When Hartley tossed a paper from another high school onto her desk and asked her what she thought of its feature page, she picked it up and looked at it but she had trouble really seeing it. She was thinking that this was probably the last time in her whole life that Hartley would toss a paper onto her desk. Surely something would happen to spare her having to say good-bye to him. If only she had not wasted so many months before getting to know him better!

  The same sort of thought pursued Shelley at the Michies’, too. When a letter arrived from home, Shelley’s first thought was, Only two or three more letters from home before I have to say good-bye to Hartley. When she joined Tom and his two children in packing their lunches for the next day, she thought, only ten more lunches on the lawn with Jeannie before I have to say good-bye to Hartley. When Luke and Katie argued over whose turn it was to feed the animals, Shelley counted the number of times that were left for her to hear this argument.

  When Katie began to talk about the last dancing class of the season, the class that was to be a party, Shelley shared her anticipation, hoping that this time Katie would not return from the party dejected because there were not enough boys to go around, or because all the boys were too short, or because Pamela had danced three times with Rudy while she had to dance with a boy with clammy hands whose shoes made black marks all over her new white slippers.