Glory Girl

by Betsy Byars

  With his left hand on the control, his right index finger on the firing button, Matthew began shooting. His smile grew tense. Galaxians was easy at first, but soon the aliens got quicker, shiftier, more threatening.

  Joshua leaned over Matthew’s shoulder, giving advice. By now whole invading parties were coming—red, purple, yellow. If a player was good enough to hit the yellow flagship, he got eight hundred extra points.

  At a nearby table sat Anna and Angel. Anna was watching her brothers. Angel was gracefully shredding a paper napkin with her slender fingers.

  Suddenly the door opened, a burst of cold damp air hit Anna’s back, and she turned to see who had entered.

  “Angel, that’s him! There he is!” Anna turned back to her sister. “Remember I said I thought Uncle Newt came in at the end of the performance? Well, don’t look now, but that’s him!”

  Angel lifted her head and looked directly at the man.

  “Angel, I said not to look!” Anna ducked her head in embarrassment.

  “Yes, that’s Uncle Newt,” Angel said. “I see him all the time.”

  “What do you mean—‘all the time’?”

  “Well, he was walking past our house two days ago. I usually don’t notice people, but I remember him because when he saw me he ducked his head and walked away real fast. You know, like people do when they’ve done something wrong?”

  “What else?”

  “Yesterday he was parked in a car down the street, just sitting there like he was waiting for somebody. Only when he saw me, he started up the car, did a U-turn, and drove away.”

  Anna watched as Uncle Newt slid into a booth. He took off his hat and set it on the table. He kept his face turned to the window.

  “Oh, here’s the pizza,” Angel said. “I just want the pepperoni.” She pushed the napkin shreds aside so the waitress could set the pizza in front of her.

  Anna was still looking at Uncle Newt. His head was lowered, his face hidden now behind the menu.

  “Did you say anything to Dad about seeing Uncle Newt?”

  “To Dad? Are you kidding? With the mood he’s in?” Angel selected a piece of pepperoni and took a bite.

  Anna glanced over at her father. He was angrily spearing his spaghetti, using his fork the way a farmer used a pitchfork. Mrs. Glory called, “Joshua, Matthew, the food’s here.”

  There was no answer. Both boys were bent forward, hunched toward the video screen, intent. Whole invading parties were swarming. The screen lit up as Joshua, firing steadily, dropped a yellow invader. Whoosh … kabam … he fired, ducked, fired, and then scooted to the side of the screen, but a purple alien collided with his ship and the game was over.

  Matthew’s shoulders sagged. “Ask Mom for another quarter.”

  “You ask her. I asked the last time.”

  “Boys,” Mrs. Glory called. “Come on. The food’s getting cold.”

  “We’re coming,” Matthew called back. He was still holding on to the control. “You know what somebody at school told me? He said there’s a game called Berserk, and when you go up to it, it says, ‘Coin—detected—in—pocket.’ It talks to you.”

  “I tell you what I like to play—Frogger. You have to get these frogs across the highway without getting squashed, and then you have to cross a river—you jump on logs and turtles—and then—”

  “Boys!”

  It was Mr. Glory this time. Everybody in the restaurant glanced up. “We’re coming,” Joshua said. The twins crossed the restaurant so quickly they slammed into each other getting into the booth.

  “I wonder if Dad’s seen Uncle Newt sitting over there,” Anna said to Angel.

  Angel reached for another pepperoni. “If he had, we’d know it,” she said.

  The Incident at the Pizza Parlor

  “YOU GIRLS FROM AROUND here?”

  Anna looked up, startled. She had been so intent on watching Uncle Newt that she had not noticed the two boys approaching their table.

  One boy was standing back, looking at the floor. The other was grinning at Angel, scratching his chest through his plastic jacket, as if he were strumming a guitar.

  Anna did not bother to answer. She looked across the room at Uncle Newt. The waitress was at his table, taking his order. Uncle Newt had spoken so softly that the waitress had to lean down to hear what he wanted.

  “Just coffee?” she asked, straightening.

  Uncle Newt nodded and looked out the window.

  Ever since Anna had seen Uncle Newt come in, she had been trying to decide what to do. She knew he had come into the pizza parlor knowing they were there, yet now he was acting as if he did not want to be seen.

  “What do you think?” Anna asked Angel. “Should I go over or—”

  “Where are you from? You look familiar.” The boy touched Angel’s shoulder to get her attention.

  “Look, we’re trying to eat,” Anna said coldly. She was used to handling this situation. Boys were always trying to meet Angel. Sometimes Anna felt like Angel’s bodyguard, only these two couldn’t have appeared at a worse time.

  “You look lonesome, like you could use some company.”

  “Well, we couldn’t.”

  “I’m not talking to you.” He tugged a lock of Angel’s long hair. “You’re the one looks lonesome.”

  “We are trying to eat.” Anna glanced over her shoulder at her father. He was bent over his spaghetti, scowling. “Leave us alone.”

  Sometimes the boys who wanted to meet Angel were funny. One time in Belton a boy had pretended to be Hungarian and had gotten another boy to pretend to translate, but these boys weren’t funny. There was something almost threatening about the way the one in the plastic jacket was pressing against Angel’s chair.

  “Mind if I sit down?”

  “Yes!”

  The boy pulled out the chair next to Angel’s and snaked his hips onto the seat. He unzipped his plastic jacket and strummed his chest. “Aren’t you a cheerleader from Central High?”

  “Look, will you get out of that chair and leave us alone?”

  As Anna spoke, she glanced over at Uncle Newt’s booth. He was watching what was happening at their table, but when he saw Anna looking at him, he ducked his head. He stared intently at the napkin and spoon the waitress had brought him.

  Angel put a piece of pepperoni into her mouth. She licked her fingers. She did not seem to be aware that anything disturbing was going on.

  “Listen, that is our father over there in the third booth,” Anna said, “and he does not allow us to talk to strange boys.”

  “Yeah, that’s your father, and that fat lady with him is my Aunt Bessie.”

  “I’m serious. I—”

  “Look, I’m trying to talk to your friend, all right? You talk to Monk. Monk, sit down here and talk to the girl.”

  “Come on,” Monk said uneasily. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Monk, the girl is lonesome. Look at her. She—”

  His words were cut off by the sound of chairs being pushed aside. Monk looked up and stepped back. The boy in the plastic jacket threw back his head in time to see Mr. Glory crossing the restaurant, his face twisted with fury.

  The boy made an effort to get up, but Mr. Glory got there first. He yanked the boy to his feet. The chair fell backward, and the boy’s feet churned the air, trying to get back on the floor.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Mr. Glory’s face burned. His voice choked with fury. His hands shook with a killing rage.

  The boy tried to speak, but Mr. Glory had twisted his jacket into a noose.

  Monk stepped out of the way. His hands were lifted to show that he had no part in the dispute. He backed into a chair and then, on second thought, picked it up and held it in front of him, ready to use it like a lion tamer.

  “You punks stay away from my daughter!”

  There was such fury, such intensity in Mr. Glory that the boy stuttered. “I’m s-sorry. I—look, I—” He regained his footing. He twisted free f
rom Mr. Glory’s hand. “L-look, I thought I knew her, all right?” He pulled at his crumpled jacket. “We thought she was a cheerleader from Central, didn’t we, Monk?”

  Monk shrugged, keeping the chair carefully in front of him.

  Mr. Glory looked closer at the boy. “Aren’t you the same punks who—”

  “Dad, that was over in Conway,” Anna interrupted quickly.

  “They look the same.” All boys who were after Angel looked the same to Mr. Glory. He turned to Anna. “You could have prevented this. I think you enjoy—”

  “I couldn’t—I don’t—”

  “You know my feelings about boys.”

  “I asked them not to sit down, didn’t I, Angel? I told them. I—”

  “We’re going!”

  “I haven’t eaten anything yet. I—”

  “I’m through,” Angel said, getting to her feet. All the pepperoni was gone.

  “Maudine! Boys! We’re leaving!”

  “I haven’t had one single bite!” Anna protested.

  “Bring it along,” her mother said quickly as she passed.

  Anna began slapping pieces of pizza onto a napkin. Her head twisted in Uncle Newt’s direction in a look of helpless anguish. Behind Anna, the boy zipped up his jacket and stuck his hands in his pockets.

  “Is your old man crazy or what?”

  Anna shrugged.

  “He ought to be careful who he goes around calling punks, right, Monk?”

  “It’s over. Let it go,” Monk answered.

  Now that the boy was no longer in danger, his voice rose with a fury of his own. “Nobody calls me a punk. I don’t like being pushed around. You know that. I don’t let anybody push me around.”

  “He’s crazy, man, don’t fool with anybody crazy.”

  “We’re leaving!” Mr. Glory announced, slapping money down on the counter. He took two steps and slammed the door shut behind him.

  Holding the pizza in both hands, Anna crossed the hushed restaurant. She was determined to speak to Uncle Newt before she left. She got to his booth at the same time as the waitress.

  The waitress said, “Here’s your coffee—black.” She set a mug before Uncle Newt, and he stared intently at the dark steaming liquid. He seemed to know that Anna was waiting behind the waitress.

  “Uncle Newt!”

  Still he did not look at her.

  “Uncle Newt!”

  “Anna!” It was Mrs. Glory, sticking her head back in the door. “Your father’s starting the bus! He’s leaving!”

  Anna heard the backfire of the engine. She said again, “Uncle Newt!”

  As the waitress stepped out of the way, he looked up. He squinted, as if he were looking into a light that was too bright.

  “I’m Anna.” She smiled nervously. “I just had to say hello. I—”

  “Anna!”

  “You better go.”

  “Yes … good-bye.”

  She ran for the door and crossed the graveled parking lot in the rain. She got to the bus as Mr. Glory closed the door. She beat on it. Glaring down at her, he snapped it open and Anna climbed in.

  She stumbled onto the front seat, and her pizza hit the floor with a splat. “I’ll get it,” Mrs. Glory said quickly. “It’s not ruined. I can brush it off.”

  “I don’t want it any more,” Anna said.

  Holding onto the seats, she made her way to the last seat on the bus. She wiped a clear circle in the mist on the window and looked at the restaurant.

  Inside, the two boys were still standing by the table, arguing. The one in the plastic jacket was pointing at the bus, his finger jabbing angrily at the air.

  With a crunch of gravel the bus jerked into motion. In a wide arc it turned onto Rockford Road.

  Anna kept her face to the window. In the rosy glow of the neon sign, she could see the round oval of Uncle Newt’s face watching them as they drove away.

  Followed!

  ANNA SAT ON THE last seat of the bus, staring out the window. She was watching for car lights on the road behind, but the road remained dark and empty. Only one truck had passed since they left the pizza parlor.

  Rockford Road was a long stretch of worn blacktop that was not heavily traveled. On one side ran Sugar Creek, a stream that overflowed its banks regularly; on the other, a steep bank of rock. The white center line had not been painted in years.

  Anna dropped her face onto her arm. She knew now that Uncle Newt was not going to follow them. She felt she would never see him again. She had scared him off by rushing over to him in the restaurant, and that was the last thing she had wanted to do.

  The rain was coming down harder now. It washed back over the bus in sheets, and the wind rattled the old windows.

  Anna did not notice the noise. She was going over her meeting with Uncle Newt. Again and again she repeated in her mind what she had said. “I’m Anna. I just had to say hello,” and then he said, “You better go,” and then she said, “Good-bye.” That was all. She sighed with dissatisfaction.

  If those stupid boys hadn’t come up, she thought as she stared with slitted eyes at the long stretch of dark road behind them. If that boy in the plastic jacket hadn’t sat down beside Angel and—

  “John!” Mrs. Glory cried out in the front of the bus. Her voice was sharp with concern. The Glory bus had started to shimmy when it hit forty miles an hour, and this scared her.

  “You want to drive?” Mr. Glory did not take his Pall Mall from between his teeth or look at her.

  “No, but—”

  “Then shut up.”

  “But the shaking … and … the windshield wipers.” She was unable to remain silent, yet afraid to say anything more.

  It seemed to her that nothing was right with the bus tonight. Not only was it shaking in a terrible way, but the windshield wipers didn’t seem to have enough power to push the heavy rain away. The click of the blades was getting slower and slower. If the blades stopped … She clutched the ruined pizza tighter.

  Mrs. Glory watched her husband anxiously. He was leaning forward over the steering wheel, peering through the sheets of rain. His back was tense, his shoulders hunched. He puffed constantly on his cigarette. Mrs. Glory had the feeling that if it hadn’t been for the faint white line down the center of the road, they would already have been in the ditch.

  “Please don’t go so fast, Dad,” Angel asked from the third seat. “It makes me sick after I’ve eaten.” It was so unusual for Angel to say anything about his driving that Mr. Glory slowed down slightly.

  The trembling of the bus stopped, and Mrs. Glory looked around gratefully at her older daughter. “Thank you,” she mouthed as she turned back to watch the road ahead. The pizza in her lap dropped to the floor again, this time unnoticed.

  On the back seat Anna had heard her father’s sharp retort. Her father was so different now from the way he was onstage. She knew how hard he worked on his stage appearance—Grecian comb to turn his hair black again, makeup to hide the bags under his eyes, scarves to hide his sagging neck.

  But when he leaned so close to the mike that the audience could hear him breathing, and when he said in that low, sincere voice, “And now it’s hymn time, and tonight we would like to do my grandaddy’s favorite, ‘The Old Rugged Cross,’” Anna would forget all that. She would believe with the audience in his absolute goodness.

  She turned back to the empty road that stretched behind the bus. She was more worried about Uncle Newt than about her father’s driving. Where would he go now? What was he going to do?

  The Glory bus rounded a curve, veered over the white center line, and Mr. Glory brought it back with a sharp spin of the steering wheel. At that moment the windshield wipers stopped completely.

  Mrs. Glory gasped and folded her hands beneath her chin in prayer. She closed her eyes. As she waited, she heard the labored click as the windshield wipers started up again. Her sigh trembled with relief. She opened her eyes to watch for the next crisis.

  On the fourth seat of the
Glory bus Matthew was curled up with his eyes closed. He was passing the time by planning revenge on Joshua. All evening, even when they had been sharing the game of Galaxians, revenge had been in the back of his mind. Now he was giving the matter his full attention.

  This particular revenge had to be something special, he told himself. He couldn’t just pretend to lose balance and fall on him or something. It had to be right. Matthew was particular about his acts of vengeance.

  As he lay there, listening to the rain, he began to go over the incident again. He remembered Joshua pushing him out of the way, saying, “He’s nobody. Just my brother.” Nobody! That wasn’t fair. He had as much right as Joshua to sign autographs. And the girls—well, there had been two of them. Joshua could have shared.

  Suddenly he noticed a movement across the aisle. Joshua was scratching his stitches, something he had been forbidden to do. “You are not to touch those stitches,” he had been told at least a hundred times.

  “Mom, Joshua’s scratching his stitches,” Matthew sang out happily.

  “I’m not scratching them,” Joshua protested. “I’m scratching around them.”

  “Huh-uh! I saw him. He was scratching his stitches.”

  “You boys be quiet.”

  Mrs. Glory turned and swatted the only twin she could reach—Matthew.

  Matthew scrambled up in his seat. “That’s not fair! He scratches his stitches and I get hit!”

  A second swat silenced him. Now, he thought darkly as he settled down again, he would have to have double revenge.

  At the back of the bus Anna straightened. She could see car lights in the distance. She widened the clear circle on the window.

  It was Uncle Newt! She had not scared him away, after all. Anna leaned her chin on her arm and watched, smiling, as the wavering car lights came closer.

  Danger from Behind

  A SILENCE HAD FALLEN inside the Glory bus. Both Mr. and Mrs. Glory were tensely watching the road ahead through the faulty windshield wipers. Angel was twisting her hair around her fingers, her eyes closed, her head laid back. The twins had fallen asleep on opposite seats, curled forward in identical positions. Anna was looking out the back window.