And then— as though the day couldn’t get any better—Molly called and said she was sorry she hadn’t called me on Friday, but she’d seen the doctor and her blood work was great; she could start the fall semester at the U.
“Hey, Molly!” I cried. “That’s the best—the very best—news of all!”
“I’m in remission, no guarantees. But I’m going to give it all I’ve got,” said Molly.
“Your best has always been better than anyone else’s,” I told her. “I can’t wait to tell the others. No, I’m going to let you do that yourself. It’s too exciting.”
When I put down the phone, I went out on the back porch, where Dad was working the New York Times crossword puzzle.
“Dad, about religion … ,” I said.
He was mouthing the letters as he filled in the little squares on the paper. “Yes?” he said at last, looking up.
“I don’t know if I’m a Christian or not. I don’t even know if I believe there’s a God. If somebody asked me what religion I was, I’d probably say I’m still finding out. All I know is I want to be part of everything that’s good and true and real. That’s sort of what’s happening with me, just in case you’re interested.”
Dad patted the cushion beside him. “That’s a terrific place to begin,” he said, smiling. “Help me finish up this puzzle and we can talk about it some more.”
So we sat there rocking on the glider, smelling the spareribs, and figuring out forty-eight down and fifty across.
What’s next for Alice and her friends?
Here’s a look at Alice in Charge.
I caught up with Amy after seventh period when I recognized her somewhat lopsided walk at the end of the hall. I sped up. From outside, I could hear the buses arriving.
“Amy?”
She looked around, then stopped and turned. Her face lit up like a Pepsi sign. “Alice!”
“Your hair looks nice,” I told her, and it did. “How are things going?”
“I curl my hair on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Oh, and on Sundays,” she said.
“Are you taking a bus home?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I have a favor to ask, and I could drive you. We can talk about it in the car,” I said.
She stared at me in delight, like a kid being offered a marshmallow cookie. “Sure! Anytime! You just name it and I’ll do it! Except sometimes I’m slow on account of I’m slow, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do something. I have to stop by my locker.”
“Okay. Why don’t I meet you at the statue in about five minutes,” I suggested.
“If I’m not there in five minutes, I’ll be there in six minutes, maybe, on account of I’m slow,” she said.
“I’ll wait, don’t worry.”
“Because if you don’t wait for me and I miss the bus, I can’t get home. Then I have to call my dad, and he has to leave an important meeting or something to come get me and he says, ‘Amy, I am not pleased.’”
“I’ll be there, Amy. The statue near the entrance.”
“Yeah. The man on the toilet.”
I laughed. “That’s The Thinker, Amy. By Rodin.”
She laughed too. “I knew that, but he still looks like he’s on the toilet.”
Amy’s a small girl with a nice figure. Tiny waist. She sat in the passenger seat with her knees together, shoulders straight, a bit like a soldier at attention.
“Is this your own car?” she asked as I turned the key in the ignition.
“No, it’s Dad’s. Sometimes I drive him to work, and Sylvia picks him up and brings him home.”
“If you ever asked me to drive this car, I couldn’t,” Amy said.
I smiled. “I wasn’t going to ask you that. I wanted to talk to you about—”
“… because I’d get the brake and the gas pedals mixed up, Dad says.”
“Don’t worry. I can’t let anyone else—”
“… Or maybe the windshield wipers and the lights.”
This is a huge mistake, I thought, but I took the plunge. “I have a question to ask you.”
She grew quiet.
“You read The Edge, don’t you?”
“Of course! I’m up to seventh level now, and Mrs. Bailey says I’m doing great.”
“Good! So here’s the thing. We’re missing a roving reporter for the issue after next and wondered if you’d like to try out.”
Amy turned sideways and stared at me. Then she faced forward again. “No,” she said.
“Really?” I glanced over. “Why not?”
“Tryouts make people laugh,” she answered. No non sequiturs there.
“What I meant was, we’ll give you a question to ask, and then you ask it to maybe five or six people and write down their answers. We’ll choose the best ones and help edit them. And if we use yours in the newspaper, we’ll print your name, as reporter.”
Amy shook her head. “I don’t have a car. I can’t drive anywhere, and when I’m twenty-one, I probably still won’t have a car.”
“You don’t need one, Amy.” I turned off East-West Highway and looked for her street. “You just ask kids at school. You can choose anyone you like, and you won’t have to leave the building.”
“And you’ll help me?”
“Absolutely.
Phyllis Reynolds Naylor includes many of her own growing-up experiences in the Alice books. She writes for both children and adults and is the author of more than 135 books, including the Alice series, which Entertainment Weekly called “tender” and “wonderful.” In 1992 her novel Shiloh won the Newbery Medal. She lives with her husband, Rex, in Gaithersburg, Maryland, and is the mother of two grown sons and the grandmother of Sophia, Tressa, Garrett, and Beckett.
To read more about the Alice books, please visit AliceMcKinley.com.
Intensely Alice Page 18
