Mrs. Johnson left, and Ashley scooted down to make herself at home with two little boys in the play kitchen.
Had to be a coincidence, Christy thought. Or maybe my mom knows her and told her I needed a job to pay for cheerleading.
The next hour and a half zoomed by with little-kid activities scurrying all around Christy. The room full of toddlers demanded her complete attention, and she and Katie barely talked to each other.
One little boy sat by himself most of the morning. He wore glasses strapped over ears that were too big for the rest of his head. The combination of his ears, the glasses, and the strap made him look peculiar.
He finally joined the other kids toward the end of class, when paper and crayons were passed out.
“You made a funny picture,” another boy said when the little guy in glasses held up his work.
“I did not!”
“Yes, you did! It’s funny.”
The boy burst into tears and, poor thing, couldn’t get to his eyes because of the strapped-on glasses.
Christy and Katie both went immediately to the scene since the teacher had her hands full with a wildly kicking toddler in the corner.
“What’s the problem here?” Katie asked firmly.
“He made fun of what I made,” the wounded boy cried.
Sober-faced and appearing innocent, the other child explained, “I only said it was funny because it is.”
“But you made fun of what he worked hard to make.” Katie lifted the crying boy while Christy went for a tissue. “Tell him you’re sorry.”
“No.”
“You need to tell him you’re sorry.”
The boy froze, defiant and determined not to say the words.
Katie forced the issue by using a stern voice and an angry look. “You say you’re sorry. Now!”
“Sorry.” A peep from a chick would have come out louder.
Katie seemed satisfied that justice was served, and she left the coloring table because the first parents were arriving to pick up their children.
Christy, about to walk away, heard the defiant apologizer say in a low voice, “You have funny ears and a funny face!”
The memory of Friday night with Todd rushed upon her. Christy spun around and looked sternly at the child. In a quiet, firm voice, she said, “Don’t you ever make fun of what God made. Do you understand me? God made that little boy. Don’t you dare make fun of him!”
The boy sat perfectly still, his head down. Christy realized her words had frozen the little guy. She had used the same words Todd had, but the way Todd said it had melted, not paralyzed, her.
Christy wanted to walk away from it all. It felt awful quoting Todd, especially when she wanted to still be angry at him. She didn’t want Todd to be right about anything, and she detested the way she had imitated his spirituality.
She busied herself by sorting toys, cleaning them, and placing them in the appropriate boxes. This gave her time to calm down and sort through her feelings, putting them back into their appropriate boxes.
She didn’t see the little guy with the big ears sneak up behind her. He tugged on her skirt. Christy turned and looked into what could have been the face of an angel—his expression shone. His smile, so wide and so sincere, overshadowed the glasses and large ears. He looked up at her as if her reprimand to the bully had changed his life.
“Bye, Teacher,” he said in a squeaky voice. Then he galloped over to the door, where his father stood waiting.
People look on the outside. God looks on the heart. As much as she hated her thoughts and the way they forced more of Todd’s words to the front of her mind, she let them linger a brief moment, remembering the little boy’s smiling face.
Katie got Christy’s attention and motioned from the door to the classroom. “Come on. Let’s go.”
The two girls slipped out of the toddler room and into the bathroom to check their hair before beginning step one of their prom plan.
“Okay,” Katie began, “it’s by the book now, Christy. Just as we planned yesterday. Lance is going to be waiting for us, and you let me take it from there.”
“But Katie—”
“I don’t want to hear it. This is no time to turn fainthearted on me. Come on. Exactly as we planned. Follow my lead.”
They stepped out of the bathroom, and there was Lance, waiting for them as Katie had predicted. Lance was a unique guy. He dressed wildly—always. And his hair changed week to week, not only the style but usually the color as well. One thing could be said for Lance: Everyone at school knew him, and most people knew he was supposed to be a Christian. At least he was really involved in the youth group.
“There you are,” he said dramatically, offering Katie his arm. “May I escort you to church?”
Katie played along with the dramatics, which Christy thought looked kind of cute for those two.
“Have you seen Rick?” Katie asked, giving Christy a glance over her shoulder. “We need to check and make sure everything is all clear with him, you know, about making it a foursome on Saturday.”
“He’s around here someplace. Let’s go find him.” Lance spoke like some kind of cartoon character. Then he did a little hop and walked off like Charlie Chaplin.
The church hallways filled with people moving to and from classrooms and the sanctuary. The three friends stayed together and found Rick talking to a group of girls out front.
When Rick saw them, he kept talking, indicating that the group he now entertained carried more importance than the threesome approaching him. Christy started to feel more nervous than she thought she would. This whole thing wasn’t settling well inside of her.
Katie took over as only Katie could. “Yo, Doyle! Get your brown eyes over here. We have plans to discuss.”
Suddenly, Christy lost all nerve. Going after guys like this had never been her style. She wished she had never agreed to Katie’s prom plan.
Too late now. Rick sauntered over, cool, calm, and confident. Christy thought about how great Rick would be for a deodorant commercial. He had a nothing-can-faze-me look on his face. Christy, on the other hand, felt like a perspiring mess. Rick gave Katie and Lance a smile but deliberately did not make eye contact with Christy as they talked.
Is he mad about Friday night and Todd? Or is it my killer eyes? Is he afraid to look at me because he might read something deep and desperate in my eyes? Is that what I am? Desperate? I must be. At least I’m desperate enough to let my friend run my dating life for me, such as it is. Oh, this is really getting pathetic. I wish …
Before Christy could complete her “wish,” Katie had sewn up the prom plans—and in less than three minutes. All that needed to be decided was what time the limo would come by to pick them up. It had to be a world record in persuasive speech. Katie even told Rick to get flowers that would go with a red dress, since she had heard he liked Christy in red.
Why did Katie blurt that out? How embarrassing! And where am I going to come up with a red dress by Saturday?
Rick’s glance finally fell on Christy, and he jokingly said, “Not going to cause waves with Moondoggie, am I?”
“Who?” Christy scanned her memory until she remembered that Moondoggie was the name of a surfer in an old beach movie. She forced a laugh with the others and shook her head. “No.”
“Believe me,” Katie said, “there’s no chance of that relationship surviving. ‘Moondoggie’ is long gone.”
Rick’s gaze shot directly to Christy’s wrist, where the ID bracelet she had worn since New Year’s was now conspicuously absent. She never knew Rick had noticed it before. Only her girlfriends knew Todd had given it to her.
“Is that right?” Rick’s charming smile showered Christy with his approval. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her to his side. “Good,” he said in a low voice, “really good.”
So it was decided. They were a foursome for the prom, and to make it official, they all walked into church together and sat where everyone could see them.
Christy didn’t hear a word of the service. At this moment she knew of nothing she wanted to hear from or say to God.
By the time church let out, Christy had convinced herself that all of this scheming and forcing together of the pieces was fine. So what if she didn’t have Todd and those dreams; she could make this prom plan work! She would go with Rick and be beautiful and have a wonderful time, and everyone would be happy for her. Everyone except one person whom she forgot to include in the prom plan.
Her dad.
“No, Christy. Absolutely not,” he said at the kitchen table after their Sunday meal. “You are not going to any prom. It’s completely out of the question.”
Christy went on as if she hadn’t heard him. “But Dad, it’s not really a date because four of us are going together, and see, they’re counting on me. Lance’s dad already rented a limo for us.”
“A limousine?” Mom blurted out. “I don’t understand you, Christina! Did you think for one minute that your father and I would ever approve of your going to a prom? And in a limousine?”
“Well, I thought maybe you’d make an exception because I’m going with my friends from church, and like I said, it’s not really a date.”
Mom and Dad looked at each other as if silently urging the other to go first. Christy still felt she could persuade them, so with polite persistence she asked, “Could you just explain to me why I can’t go?”
“For starters, you’re not allowed to date until you’re sixteen,” Mom said.
“And,” Dad cut in, looking upset, “we don’t approve of proms and dances.”
“But why?” Christy asked.
“The music—”
Mom cut in. “We don’t let you listen to that kind of music at home. Why would we let you go to a dance and listen to it all night?”
Dad pressed on with his list. “And the atmosphere, the way the girls dress, and the …” He cleared his throat. “… The suggestive dancing. The answer is no, Christy. You’re not going.”
“What if I went, but I promised not to dance?” Christy turned to her mom, hoping for support. But Mom’s gentle face had a firm, set expression.
“That’s not the whole issue, Christy. Other parents from church may let their kids go, but your father and I don’t want you to go. You will have to tell this boy that you can’t go.”
“I can’t.” Christy’s voice came out as more of a whine than she had intended.
“Of course you can. You simply tell him, ‘Thanks for asking me, but I can’t go,’ ” Mom coached.
“But he didn’t exactly ask me. I, well, I kind of asked him.”
Mom stared at Christy. “You did what?”
“I kind of asked him. Actually, Katie asked him for me, because she wanted to ask Lance. And she did, and so now we all have to go together.”
Her father rose from the table, pressing his knuckles against the tabletop. “You handle this, Margaret. If I do, I’ll regret it later.”
He pushed away from the table, leaving Christy with a mother who looked flame-broiled.
“What’s this boy’s name?”
“Rick. Rick Doyle. You know him, don’t you? He’s really nice, Mom.”
“Do you have his phone number?”
“Yes.”
Mom pressed her lips together. “I want you to call Rick right now and tell him you’re sorry, but it was a big mistake and you’re not going to the prom.”
“I can’t, Mom.”
“Yes, you can.” The words came out evenly spaced and with quiet intensity.
Christy swallowed a lump of tears and pride. How could she possibly tell Rick she was sorry, but the plans were off?
It would be best to get it over with. The scariest moment of her life had to be the moment Rick answered the phone.
With her mother standing next to her, Christy forced out, “Rick? Hi, it’s Christy.”
“Hi, Killer. What’s up?”
“Rick.” She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t tell him the plans were off.
“Yeah?”
Mom moved closer and said firmly, “Would you like me to talk to him?”
Christy shook her head and turned away slightly. Mom stepped back and waited.
“Um, Rick, something has come up, and well … I can’t go to the prom.”
Silence.
“I … I’m sorry.”
Click. Dial tone.
Christy turned to her mom, holding out the buzzing receiver like a dead mouse. “He hung up!” She burst into tears.
Mom replaced the receiver and did her best to comfort Christy.
As she had been doing a lot lately, Christy swallowed back the onslaught of tears and tried her best to cover up her feelings. As much as her mom was trying to console her, it wasn’t helping. Christy was anxious to be alone in her room.
Her mom let her go, saying, “I know it’s hard, honey. I know it’s hard.”
Then why did you make me do it? What’s so awful about going to one stupid little dance in my life? Why do you treat me like such a baby? You don’t care about what’s really important to me! You just don’t care.
Christy flopped onto her bed, ready for a long cry. But her dad tapped on the closed door and let himself in. Christy wasn’t sure if she should hide her feelings and turn off the tears, or go ahead and make a real scene. There was a wild, random flit of hope that if she threw a tantrum, he might change his mind. Not that he ever did change his mind once he had made his decision known.
She gave him a strange combination of the two options, turning an expressionless face to him. A face that said, You can’t hurt me. I won’t let you. The only problem was, the tears refused to turn off and cascaded down her cheeks.
Dad lowered himself to the edge of her bed, and the whole side sloped downward. Rubbing his hands on his lap, he began to string his words together.
Christy lay motionless, inwardly pleading, Don’t yell at me. Please don’t tell me what a stupid mistake I made getting all wrapped up in this prom thing. Don’t lecture me. Just hold me. Couldn’t you just hold me and let me cry my heart out?
He ran his big fingers through his thick reddish-brown hair. “You know, things are different now from when your mother and I were your age.”
She knew that.
“And some things are different here in California from Wisconsin.”
She knew that too.
“You need to understand that guys are different from girls.”
She definitely knew that!
“I know what guys think about when they dance, especially nowadays with the suggestive words in songs—”
“Dad—” Christy tried to interrupt, but he had more to say. He held up his hand to silence her.
“I know how it is, Christy, and I don’t want some guy thinking about my daughter that way. And I especially don’t want my daughter trying to make herself fit into that kind of a … a … into that kind of environment.”
Christy sniffed. The tears kept flowing.
“Your mother and I want you to be what you are and not try to be something you aren’t. You’re fifteen, not sixteen. And you’re the daughter of a dairyman, not some movie star who rides around in limousines.”
The way he said it sounded so absurd that a spontaneous cough-laugh popped out of Christy’s throat. Her dad’s face softened. His eyebrows relaxed, so they weren’t as scrunched together.
“You’re going to have to trust your mother and me, Christy. You may not like the decisions we make, but we’re doing the best we know how.”
“I know,” Christy said softly, her heart turning a little bit tender. “I’m sorry. I got kind of wrapped up in my dreams. You know. It’s important to a girl like me to be able to dream of getting all dressed up and feeling, well, really special. I need to feel that I’m special, Dad.”
The statement surprised her. She hadn’t realized it until she said it. It was the most deep-core, honest thing she had said to him in months. Maybe years.
“
Nothing wrong with dreams,” he said, still trying to look stern but not succeeding. “We all need to have dreams. The question is, does the dream control you, or do you control the dream?”
Christy nodded her understanding, blinking the final tears off her eyelashes. This felt good—talking to her dad almost like they were both adults. And he hadn’t even yelled at her. At least not yet.
Christy felt ready for a final tender moment with her father. Maybe she should try to explain to him the crazy thought she had just now. The thought that if he would make her feel more special, then maybe it wouldn’t be quite so important to her that she got that kind of attention from other guys.
She didn’t know how to tell him. But she knew what she wanted. She wanted him to hold her moist face in those huge, rough hands of his and kiss her on the forehead the way he did when she was little and he tucked her in at night.
But just then David knocked on the bedroom door. “Christy, phone.”
“Who is it?”
“Some girl.”
Christy made a face at her dad that said, “Little brothers!”
He smiled.
“What’s her name?”
“I dunno. I told her you were crying your eyes out in your room ’cause you were getting yelled at for not having a boyfriend.”
“David!” Christy yelped and sprang from the bed then shot a glance at her father. “Is it okay if I go see who it is?”
He nodded, and she was out the door, grabbing David by the shoulders. “Why did you say that?”
David trembled—a mocking kind of “Help, I’m scared!” tremble. His words matched his comic actions. “You told me to always tell the truth on the phone.”
Christy brushed past the little clown and retrieved the dangling receiver. “Hello?”
“Christy?”
“Yes, this is Christy.”
“Hello! How are you? This is Alissa!”
“Alissa? You’re kidding!” Christy had met Alissa on the beach last summer. They had written a few times but never called because Alissa lived in Boston.
“How are you doing, Christy?”
“Fine! How are you?”
“We’re doing wonderful.”
“We?” Christy ventured. “You mean you had the … I mean, you had your baby?”
Christy Miller Collection, Vol 2 Page 7
