The person who wrote “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” must have sat next to a Lucy Raleigh in school. Lucy ran over toward the girls’ lunch table, her face exploding with news of some kind.
She plunked herself down between Frieda and me, and couldn’t stop panting. All of that panting was meant to have us on a string. Then she’d feel extra special because she held a secret or some news. Finally she stopped panting and said, “You won’t believe what I just heard.”
Lucy was an office monitor. She sometimes heard what we either weren’t supposed to know at all or know yet. We weren’t supposed to know that Mrs. Katzman went on leave because she had a nervous condition. I guessed Lucy’s news was the other kind and she wanted to beat the office memo to our parents.
Lucy couldn’t just tell us. She had to, as Pa would say, “dangle the carrot.”
“You will not, will not believe it.”
“Believe what?” My voice was dry and cool. I wouldn’t let Lucy Raleigh get me jumping around all giddy about what she knew.
“If you must know,” she said, “it’s about the dance.”
So much for dry and cool. My ears, along with everyone else’s, must have stood as straight as a Doberman pinscher’s ears. “The sixth-grade dance?” at least four of us asked at once.
She gulped and nodded. “They picked the day.” The PTA hosted the sixth-grade dance. Last year the dance was held just before the spring break. Usually they waited until June.
Shouts of “When?” came from all around.
Lucy was in her carrot-dangling glory. “Guess!” she said. “It’s not on St. Patrick’s Day.”
I cleared my throat. “Decorum. Decorum, upperclasswomen,” I said in Mr. Mwila’s African-English accent. “And the grade-six dance shall not be on Groundhog Day.”
That got a few chuckles, but none from Lucy. She hated it when I stuck a pin in her balloon. That was fine because I hated it when everything revolved around what Lucy knew and said.
“Har, har, Miss Too Cool to Care How You Dress. You won’t be laughing on Valentine’s Day when you’re going to the dance alone.”
The whole table went, “Ooh.” She got me good. There was nothing I could say.
But then Frieda said really quickly, “Valentine’s Day. That’s less than four months away.” Then everyone forgot about me and squealed as if the dance was happening tomorrow.
Just when everyone was chattering about what they’d wear, Lucy said, “Maybe your grandmama could sew you something nice to wear.”
So I said, “Maybe your mama could buy you some manners at Korvettes.”
“Manners. Ooh,” Lucy said.
“Korvettes. Ooh, Lucy Ray.” I made sure I said her name good and country like her mama would.
Sooner or later Lucy and I were bound to go from hot to cold. We always did. Then we’d be hot-and-fast friends again. Frieda was always in the middle.