We’re ready.
Someone’s father’s got a Xerox machine, and we’ve got all the copies of the song.
One person in each homeroom quietly distributes the paper.
There’s a note attached.
IF YOU CARE ABOUT IMPROVING THE QUALITY OF CAFETERIA FOOD, SING THIS AT ASSEMBLY TODAY. IF YOU DON’T, JUST KEEP QUIET. NOBODY LIKES A SQUEALER.
We march into assembly, sitting down quietly. It’s the kind of quiet where you know that something’s going to happen.
The Principal announces the speaker, a member of the D.A.R., Daughters of the American Revolution.
Somehow that seems appropriate.
The Principal continues. “Now, let’s all welcome her with a rousing rendition of our school song.”
Rousing isn’t quite the word for it.
I don’t think the real song has ever been sung so clearly, so loudly, by so many people.
Probably the Principal, Mr. Beasley, doesn’t want to create a scene about what’s just happened, although he’s got this weird look on his face, like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Some of the kids, and teachers too, do laugh. Even when the speaker is talking about how her ancestors took part in the American Revolution, every once in a while there’s a little chuckle from someplace, and trust me, this lady’s not doing a comedy routine.
The bell rings.
After applauding the boring speaker, we file out.
All day long everyone’s expecting something to be said by Beasley. But nothing is. Amazing.
By the end of the day there’s still no word.
I’m at my locker, getting ready to go home.
Dave shows up. Even though his locker’s at the other end of the hall, he seems to be in this vicinity a lot.
“So what do you think they’re going to do?” He holds my books as I put on my coat.
“I don’t know.” I take back the books. “I kind of expected something, like putting all of us in front of a firing squad, or detention, at least.”
He says, “Well, on to Phase Two tomorrow.”
“I know. They won’t be able to ignore that.”
We walk out to the bus.
Drat. He’s not on my bus. I wish he were. But then I’d have to make a decision about who to sit with, Dave or Rosie.
Today I can’t sit with either of them. Rosie’s not going home on this bus. She’s got detention for cracking her knuckles in Music Appreciation class. She was doing it in time to the 1812 Overture. Some teachers have no sense of humor.
We stop in front of my bus.
“What’s your middle name?” I ask. “Since I don’t have much homework tonight, maybe I’ll try to figure what it is rearranged.”
“A-L-L-E-N.” He brushes the hair out of his eyes. “How about letting me know what you come up with when we go out this Saturday night? . . . That is, if you want to go out.”
Want to go out? Do I want a million dollars? Do I want the sky to fill with rainbows?
I calmly say, “I’d love to.” Inside I feel like my body’s got a Ping-Pong game going on.
“Okay, you kids. No playing Romeo and Juliet,” the bus driver bellows. “This bus is going to leave on schedule.”
“See you in school tomorrow,” Dave says as he rushes off to catch his bus.
Rushing up the steps, I have to listen to the driver say, “You kids think the world waits for you.” She points a finger at me. “Remember. Next time I’ll leave you behind.”
As the bus lurches forward I take the first available seat I find. It’s next to this kid in my gym class. Lark McKeon.
She looks up from her math homework. “Lucky. I’d give anything to have Dave Shore pay that much attention to me.”
I look at her face to try to figure out if she’s being nasty but decide that she means it.
Lark says, “Actually I do have a boyfriend, but he’s in the Army . . . . Doesn’t that bus driver just drive you nuts? Last year, my boyfriend, who was a senior, and I were two minutes late getting to the bus and she drove off without us. She saw us running and she left anyway . . . . Look, do you want to see a picture of him?”
Before I can even answer, she’s got her wallet out and she’s showing me pictures. Lark and Mark at the Prom . . . at the Library Fair . . . Mark in uniform. She’s the fastest talker in the world. I don’t even have a chance to say anything.
Finally she puts her wallet away. “Actually I started going out with him because I like the way our names sound together. Lark and Mark. But then I really started liking him. I miss him. I miss having a boyfriend here. It gets boring without one. Actually it’s pretty boring even with one.”
Actually I’m beginning to think that Lark’s pretty boring . . . . No wonder her life isn’t exciting. She’s got to listen to herself talk all day.
I stare at her forehead, right between the eyes. It’s something I’ve learned to do when I’m supposed to look interested. It comes in handy in school and other places.
The bus pulls up at her stop.
As she stands up to leave she says, “We’ll have to talk more often. That was fun. When Mark comes home on leave, maybe we can double.”
“But Dave and I aren’t a couple.” I manage to get in a word, several in fact.
“Good. That’s settled. I’ll tell Mark when I write to him tonight.”
She’s gone.
Some girls turn into absolute fluffbrains when they go out with a guy. Something tells me that Lark started out that way though.
The bus pulls up at my stop and I get out.
“Don’t forget what I said,” the bus driver yells.
I pretend not to hear her.
My father’s out by the pool, painting the view of the reservoir.
There are leaves all over the pool cover.
Winter is definitely on its way.
I stand on the patio and look down at him. “Want to take a break?”
He looks up. There’s a smudge of paint on his cheek. “Oh, hi, honey. No thanks. I want to keep working as long as there’s light.”
“Okay, see you later.” I go into the house.
I really wanted to tell him about my date with Dave . . . and what happened in school with the assembly. Sometimes I get jealous of the time he spends painting, and then I think that’s better than his being with some woman I wouldn’t like.
Going into the refrigerator for juice, I see that he’s made dinner for tonight. Salad. A cheese casserole.
I’ll prepare a special dinner for him on the night I go out with Dave so that he doesn’t feel lonely.
Before I start my homework, I take out my notebook and tear out little scraps of paper and put a letter on each one.
DAVIDALLENSHORE
It takes forever to come up with a good combination.
Finally I come up with something . . . . It sounds like one of those awful romance novels.
Wait till I tell Rosie . . . . HIS DEAR LOVE LAND and PHONE BREAKS A BOON are going out.