CHAPTER 14

Trouble at the Picnic

“Oh, Rhoda, that’s terrific! When did you decide to go?”

Rhoda grinned at Meg. They’d met in front of the apartment, where Rhoda had been waiting, a wide straw hat in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other.

“Mr. Walsh—that’s the adviser I talked to about my schedule for next year—called last night and asked if I wanted to go to the class picnic. He said it’d be a good chance to meet the kids before next fall, and he’d take me around and introduce me to everybody. At first I was going to say no—but then I thought, ‘Why not?’” She cocked her head jauntily. “When I told him you and I lived in the same building, he said you could do the introducing instead of him. You don’t have to do that, though,” she added hastily. “I’ll just tag along after you, okay?”

It was more than okay. Meg had never said more than a “Good morning” to Mr. Walsh, but he must be the best adviser in the entire school.

“If I’d known last night, I’d have told you not to bring lunch,” she said excitedly. “We have the food all organized, and we’re going to have twice as much as we need.” The girls started up the block together. Looking around her as they walked, Meg noticed, for the first time, that it was a beautiful day, just right for a picnic.

When they reached the school grounds, buses were waiting to take the three seventh-grade homerooms to Westerbrook Park. Chris Svenson had saved seats in one of them for their group, and the girls easily made room for Rhoda.

“She’s nice,” Chris said softly, as the bus started up. “But when I saw you both coming across the schoolyard, I thought, ‘Meg must have a little brother I don’t know about.’ And then when you got closer, I saw the person walking with you was wearing those tiny gold earrings—”

“I’m going to be a late bloomer,” Rhoda said, popping up over the seat in front of them. Chris ducked her head in embarrassment. “If I don’t grow up to win the Nobel Prize in chemistry, I expect to be a sex symbol. Either way, you can say you knew me when.” She joined in everyone’s laughter, then sat back and asked the girl next to her about Westerbrook Park and what would be happening at the picnic. Meg knew she wouldn’t have to spend much time introducing Rhoda to her classmates. By the end of the day she’d probably have talked to everyone, and everyone would like her.

As they pulled into the Westerbrook parking lot, Meg saw Gracie stepping down from the other bus. For a moment, they stared at each other through the dusty window. Gracie looked pale, and there was a dangerous glitter in her eyes.

“That’s Gracie, right?” Rhoda was peering over the seat again. “Wow! Either she’s still mad about the party or she always looks as if she’s going to kill somebody. Which is it?”

“Come on, people—out of the bus!” Mrs. Cobbell saved Meg from having to answer. The girls gathered up their boxes, bags, and suntan lotion and hurried down the aisle. As they stepped out of the bus, a member of the Picnic Committee handed each of them a card.

“It’s for the softball games,” Meg explained. “Everybody gets to play.” She looked at her card. “Game number one—girls against boys. Blue team.”

“I’m blue, too,” Rhoda said. “How’s that for luck!”

The girls crossed the lawn to a table where Chris collected the food they’d brought. “We’re going to have a feast!” she gloated. “I wish we could eat right now.”

“Tennis first,” one of the girls said. “See you later.” She hurried off toward the courts, just as a whistle sounded shrilly from the baseball diamond.

“That’s for us,” Meg said. “Game number one. Come on, Rhoda.”

The teams organized quickly. Jean Monroe was named captain of the blue, and Meg found herself in line after Gracie in batting order. Jean came next, then Rhoda.

“Let’s go, team!” The girls met Jean’s shout with cheers, and the game began. The first batter struck out, and then it was Gracie’s turn. She looked stiff and angry as she stalked to the plate, and the blue team grew silent. The first pitch was fast and low, and Gracie swung at it carelessly. Bat and ball connected in a solid hit.

“Run!” Jean screamed. Meg joined in the clapping as Gracie, jolted into action, raced to first base.

Meg was up next and struck out. Then Jean went to bat. She let two pitches go by and swung at the third. The looping ball went over the second baseman’s head into center field, for a single. Gracie moved to third, and Rhoda picked up the bat.

It looked too long for her and too heavy.

“Join the Little League, kid!” one of the boys shouted from the outfield. Rhoda didn’t seem to hear him. Her face was calm, and a funny little smile tugged at her lips. There was something about the way she stood there, waiting for the pitch, that made Meg hold her breath.

Smack! The sound was like a small explosion. Some of the teachers turned to look, and the blue team screamed with joy. The ball streaked high and fast across the field and disappeared into the bushes beyond. Two fielders scrambled after it, while Gracie, Jean, and then Rhoda came flying into home.

They were met with cheers and hugs, and for just a moment Meg and Gracie were part of a shrieking tangle of players. Then Gracie pulled away and ran over to the sidelines.

The game continued, with Rhoda making another homer and driving in two more runs.

“Where did you learn to hit like that?” Meg demanded when the last inning ended and the teacher-umpire had announced the final score: Girls 9, Boys 7. Meg and Rhoda sat on a blanket under a maple tree and rubbed tanning lotion on their faces and arms.

“My dad was a Little League coach when we lived in New York.” Rhoda kicked off her sneakers and wiggled her toes. “I never joined a team, but I used to sub once in a while, and my dad and I practiced together a lot. Back when I was a mere child,” she added with dignity, and they both laughed.

Some of the picnickers produced Frisbees, and soon the air was full of flying saucers. Rhoda proved to be as skilled with a Frisbee as she was with a baseball bat, and the girls played until their legs gave out under them.

Promptly at noon Chris assumed her position as organizer of the feast. She spread a checked cloth on the table they had claimed and set her magnificent chocolate cake in its center. “Let’s eat,” she called, and soon the rest of the food was arranged in boxes and plastic bowls around the cake centerpiece.

Rhoda sat across from Meg. Her wide-brimmed straw hat was tipped far back on her head, and she ate with cheerful concentration.

“What kind of sandwich is that, Rhoda?” Chris asked. “It looks yummy. I’ll trade you this ham-and-cheese for whatever it is.”

Rhoda took another foil-wrapped packet from her lunch bag. “It’s my own invention. Peanut butter, bologna, pickles, and just a tiny bit of horseradish—on pumpernickel,” she said. “You’ll love it.”

Chris withdrew her outstretched hand. “I guess I’ll stick with what I have.”

“Anybody else want one? I brought plenty.”

Rhoda just laughed when the other girls shuddered and refused. Nothing bothers her, Meg thought. She is who she is, and she doesn’t worry about things that aren’t important, or things she can’t change. Meg remembered what Bill had said the night before. I’ve got my life to live. He and Rhoda liked other people, but they liked themselves, too. It was a good way to be.

Chris’s cake was as delicious as it looked. Meg was finishing her second piece when she looked up and saw Gracie a few feet away, glowering. Jean Monroe was with her.

“Some people don’t care whom they eat with.” Gracie’s voice was loud, meant to be heard. Silence fell over the group gathered around the table.

“I wouldn’t eat lunch with a snitch if you paid me,” Gracie continued. “You’d better be careful. If anybody says one little ‘damn,’ she’ll run off and tell a teacher.” Jean put out a protesting hand, but Gracie stepped away from her.

“Oh, for pete’s sake.” Chris wiped chocolate crumbs from her chin as she spoke. “If you’re going to talk like that, go somewhere else, Gracie. We don’t want to hear it.”

Gracie whirled to attack. “Don’t tell me what to do, Chris Svenson,” she stormed. “You can be friends with a sneak if you want to, but just wait until she gets you into trouble. Then you’ll be sorry.”

When Meg opened her mouth to defend herself, no sound came out. The other girls looked down, embarrassed, or pretended to be busy packing up the remains of the lunch.

“Anybody want to go for a walk?” Rhoda asked. “I have to work off all those terrific peanut butter and bologna sandwiches.”

Gracie made a strangled sound. Her face was white with patches of red, and the cords in her throat were taut. Meg thought, She’s almost hysterical.

“You may know how to bat a ball, but you don’t know how to pick your friends,” Gracie screamed at Rhoda. “Unless you like finky little tattletales!”

Jean grabbed Gracie’s arm and tried to pull her away. “Come on, that’s enough,” she pleaded. “What’s the use of calling names? It’s not true, anyway. Meg didn’t snitch about that party.”

“She did!” Gracie looked betrayed. “She called the police.”

“No, she didn’t. Or if she did, she wasn’t the only one. The Bells’ neighbors called the police because the noise was keeping them awake. They thought the police would tell you to pipe down and that would be the end of it, but some of the kids were smoking grass. Linda’s looking for someone to blame, but the whole thing’s her own fault for having marijuana and liquor at the party. So why don’t you just forget it?”

“You’re lying!” Gracie shrieked. “You don’t know anything about it!”

Jean looked frightened but determined. “I know because Mrs. Bell is in my mother’s bridge club, and she told my mother last night that it was the neighbors who called the police. They knew Mr. and Mrs. Bell were away, and they were pretty sure Linda wasn’t supposed to be having a party when they weren’t home.”

Gracie began to cry—breathless, childlike sobs that made Meg feel sorry for her in spite of the ugly things she’d said.

“I don’t believe you,” she wept. “Anyway, Meg Korshak, if you’re not a snitch, you are crazy. Why else would you run away from a party a few seconds after you got there? If you didn’t leave to call the police, then you left because you’re crazy. And don’t say that isn’t true!”

Meg sat very still. Her ex-best friend was calling her crazy, and the word thundered in her ears. But Meg wasn’t just listening; she was thinking about why Gracie was so terribly angry. She pictured the shabby little flat where Gracie lived. She thought of the father Gracie hadn’t seen for years, and the mother who was irritable and suspicious during the few hours each day that she was at home. Linda’s friendship must have meant something very special to Gracie—perhaps the beginning of a new life, much more interesting and exciting than the one she had. Now the friendship was over, and she felt cheated. She didn’t care whose fault it was. She had to blame someone.

“I hate all of you!” Gracie spat out the words and turned to run.

“Wait!” Meg was on her feet and running, too. Someone else was right behind her, but she kept her eyes on Gracie, who had darted across the lawn toward the little woods that ringed the picnic area.

Mrs. Cobbell bobbed up in front of Meg, her red hat askew. “You girls mustn’t play over there!” she exclaimed. “The river is out of bounds for the picnic—polluted—no place to swim!” She shouted the last words after Meg, who had ducked around her and kept on running.

“Gracie, please wait!”

“She won’t stop.” Rhoda caught up to Meg and ran beside her. “She’s too upset to hear you. Talk to her later, Meg.”

“No!” Meg raced on. A row of forsythia bushes stretched in a golden wall ahead of her. She circled the hedge and found herself standing on the bank of the wide river. Below her, Gracie scrambled down over the steep cliff.

“What’s she doing?” Rhoda puffed. “There’s no place for her to go down there.”

But Gracie had seen something they’d missed. A rowboat was pulled up on the shore, half in and half out of the water. As the girls watched, Gracie put one foot in the boat and pushed out with the other. The little boat floated free of the weeds.

It was an old boat, weatherbeaten, painted red.

“Oh, Gracie, don’t!” Meg’s head whirled. The water, the boat were exactly as she had seen them in her dream. But it was the Milwaukee River, not Lake Superior, that was carrying the little red boat away from the shore. It was Gracie, not Meg’s father, who was in danger.

“I’m going for help!”

Rhoda glanced at Meg, surprised. “Why do that? She doesn’t need help. Let her row for a while—maybe she’ll calm down.”

Meg was already running back the way she’d come.

“Mrs. Cobbell,” she screamed. “Somebody! Come quick!”

But what could Mrs. Cobbell do, if Gracie was in danger of drowning? Meg rounded the row of forsythia bushes and cut diagonally through the woods. There was an entrance gate at the end of the road, with a small office beside it. Meg ran faster than she’d ever run in her life, ignoring the startled looks and shouts of her classmates as she tore past them. There had to be someone in the office who could help. There had to be!

“What’s the matter, kid?” The boy in the office looked up as she burst through the door.

“A girl—in the river—needs help.” Meg’s teeth were chattering. “Please—hurry!”

The boy reached under the counter and picked up a telephone. He dialed swiftly and repeated the information that Meg gave him, his face grave. “You kids weren’t supposed to go near the river,” he said when he hung up. “Didn’t your teachers tell you that? The police launch is on its way, but if your friend’s okay she’ll get a real bawling out when they pick her up.”

What would he say if he knew Meg hadn’t seen Gracie fall out of the boat but had only dreamed it? And what would Gracie say if she didn’t fall out, and the police arrived to rescue her? It wasn’t hard to guess the answer to that. Meg would have earned the name of tattletale forever.

But it was too late to worry. Meg thanked the boy and raced back toward the river. The picnic area was empty now, and when she passed the row of forsythia bushes she saw why. Her classmates and teachers were lined up on the edge of the bank. Far out in the middle of the river, the little red boat floated—empty. As Meg joined the crowd, one of the men teachers was wading into the river. He began to swim toward the boat.

“Oh, Meg.” Rhoda’s face was white under its sprinkling of freckles. “She fell in right after you left. One of the oars slipped and she reached for it and went over the side. It was awful!”

A cloud slid over the sun, and the river darkened as it had in Meg’s dream. She looked down toward the bridge at the south end of the park and saw a police launch coming around the curve in the river. Her legs gave out, and she sat down hard.

There wasn’t a sound from the watchers on the cliff as the launch drew close and cut its motor. One of the policemen leaned over the far side of the little red boat.

Meg closed her eyes. Please let her be hanging on somehow, she prayed. Please, please, please. She looked again as the policeman pulled Gracie’s limp body from the water, then helped the teacher into the launch.

“Is she—?” Meg couldn’t say the word. She pulled her knees up to her chin and put her head down.

Relieved laughter burst around her. Rhoda dragged Meg to her feet. “It’s okay,” Rhoda gasped. “Look, Meggie, it’s okay! Gracie just sat up and hugged the man who pulled her out of the water. That’s a pretty good sign, I’d say.”