When We First Met

by Norma Fox Mazer

  Chapter 5

  “Don’t give me that cross-eyed look,” Rhoda said. “Maybe you don’t appreciate it, but Hamburger Heaven is fantastic preparation for life. I don’t have to work,” she went on, unperturbed by Jenny’s groans, “so I don’t. My folks give me anything I want—”

  “I know, I know,” Jenny said.

  “—within reason, of course,” Rhoda continued. “And in one way I’m glad. I’d hate to have to work in Hamburger Heaven—”

  “But it’s good enough for the peasants.”

  “Oh, shut up, Jenny. The point is, I worry about me. I’m so protected. Do you see what I mean? I’m serious, you know.”

  “Rhoda—” Jenny put her arm through her friend’s as they came out of the mall. It was Saturday morning and they’d been shopping for two hours. “I really don’t think you should worry. Believe me, Hamburger Heaven is about as far from real life—”

  “You’re wrong,” Rhoda said. “When I was in there last week, it struck me just like real life. A bunch of people grabbing things and screaming and shoving each other around.”

  “It’s really funny you’d say that,” Jenny said as they crossed the street. “Nobody screams in your house.”

  “My point exactly,” Rhoda said. “My home is unreal.”

  “Rhoda, you’re going to make out fine in the world. People like you. They follow you. Why should you worry?”

  “Look, Jen, sometimes I feel like I’m in a bubble. Like there’s a piece of glass around me, something between me and, and reality.”

  “Why do you think reality is working in a greasy hamburger joint?” Jenny argued. “That’s ridiculous. Just because your life is different doesn’t make it less real.” As she said it, she saw two boys rounding the corner and approaching them. Ferd Govenda and—him.

  “It’s just a feeling I have about myself,” Rhoda said. “I see the way you are, and your family, and it makes me feel like I—we, my parents and I—like we’re living off in this little ivory tower.”

  The boys came closer. Now he saw her and smiled. “I see what you mean,” Jenny said, but she had hardly heard Rhoda. “Isn’t that Ferd?” A smile came over her face, brilliant and longing, uncontrollable. “I wonder who’s with him. Do you know who that is?” Her voice sounded high and fatuous. Rhoda must see through her pretended innocence.

  “Rho-da!” Ferd said, stopping. A look of doggy appreciation filled his eyes.

  “Hi,” Rhoda said, coolly smiling.

  “Where you going? What are you two doing?” Ferd said.

  Jenny and the boy nodded to each other. He was wearing his rainbow suspenders with a pen clipped to one suspender. He grinned at her, rocked back and forth on his heels, then hooked his thumbs through his suspenders. She smiled at this gesture—yes, I think you’re mighty cute!—looked away, looked back, the smile growing. Should she say something? Or wait a little longer? Let him speak first? I like your suspenders. Your eyes are beautiful. Do you want to kiss me, Blue Eyes? Hello, I’m Jenny.

  “Okay with you guys?” Rhoda said.

  “Mmm, fine.” Something had been agreed on between her and Ferd, something about food … a pizza. They walked down the street, clustered together. Ferd—big, thick-shouldered—was ebullient. Of course; he had Rhoda to himself. He’d bought a new baseball glove and continually punched his fist into it to soften the leather.

  He—the he of her dreams, the boy in the rainbow suspenders—walked next to Jenny. Their shoulders touched lightly. All at once, he tugged one of her braids, the merest tug, a little playful pull. Her cheeks were already hot; now her face, her neck, and her ears heated up. She blew her breath up on her face, then mischievously reached out and snapped one of his suspenders. How about that? You tug my braid. I snap your suspenders. He laughed out loud. Maybe they’d go on this way forever, not talking, only signaling everything with their eyes.

  In the pizza place a wave of warm, spicy air greeted them. “This way.” Rhoda led them to a booth near the back. “Sit here, Ferd.” It was all arranged. Jenny and Rhoda on one side, the boys on the other. Jenny directly across from him. Would she be able to eat? To do anything as normal and ordinary as bite into a pizza, chew, swallow, wipe her lips, take another bite …

  “Girls, what’ll you have?” Ferd said. “Order anything you want.”

  “You’re not paying for us,” Rhoda said.

  “Aww, Rhoda,” he whined. “I didn’t know you were one of those libbies.” He chucked her under the chin.

  So Ferd was something of a fool. Did that mean, since he was with Ferd, he was also a fool?

  Rhoda leaned back, looking a trifle bored. “I’ll leave it up to everyone—whatever you guys want.”

  “What do you think?” he said to Jenny.

  “We can each pay for our own. It’s fairest.”

  “That’s fine with me.”

  Aha, a conversation! Real talk, at last. And so practical, so down-to-earth. We can each pay for our own. That’s fine with me. She took back her doubts about his mental stability. Excuse me, pardon me, you’re not at all Ferdish.

  “I’m paying for Rhoda,” Ferd said in a loud, aggressive voice.

  Rhoda smiled faintly. “No, you aren’t.”

  “Aww, Rhoda—”

  Poor old Ferd. Jenny’s heart softened toward him. He was in love with Rhoda, and, of course, it was hopeless.

  The pizza came, the drinks. Rhoda described their shopping trip, Ferd talked baseball. He ate his pizza, watching Jenny all the time. She rolled up her pizza, nibbled a corner, put it down. No appetite. What had Rhoda said earlier? That she, Jenny, lived in the real world? Something like that. Yes, yes, very real, to sit woozily across from a boy she’d been dreaming about and still not know his name!

  She reached for the cheese sprinkler; so did he. The sprinkler tipped over. “Go ahead, take it,” he said.

  “No, you take it.”

  “That’s all right—go ahead.”

  “You were there first.”

  “Hey, Rob,” Ferd said, “Rhoda doesn’t believe I once did six hundred sit-ups.”

  Rob. “Is that short for Robert?” Jenny asked.

  “Robin. I don’t know your name.”

  “Jenny. Short for Jennifer.”

  He took the pen off his suspenders and wrote her name on a napkin. Upside down she saw that he’d written it incorrectly.

  “It’s Jenny with a y,” she said.

  “J-e-n-n-y?” She nodded, and he wrote it again. “Jenny,” he said, as if tasting her name. “Jenny, I saw you working in that hamburger place, Jenny. Is that when you work there, on Tuesdays?”

  “Yes, and Thursdays, and Sundays all day.”

  “That’s why I didn’t see you there on Friday.”

  Had he gone looking for her? Silence again, and then they both spoke at the same moment.

  “You first—”

  “No, you—”

  “But I took the cheese shaker. You take the conversation.”

  “I was going to ask—you’re new in Alliance High?”

  “I used to live here. I moved away a couple of years ago to live with my father in Binghamton, after my parents divorced.” They were leaning toward each other across the table. “My sister, Jade, stayed on with my mother. But now Jade’s moved, my father got married again, and my mother’s alone. So I came up to live with her.”

  She nodded. “I see.” She saw that he was kind, that he cared about his mother being alone. She imagined his family—father a look-alike, sister someone exotic (Jade! what a wonderful name), his mother brave but lonely.

  “Do you have a boyfriend, Jenny?” Rob asked quietly.

  “What are you two whispering about?” Rhoda said.

  Ferd raised his hand for the waitress. “Check,” he called importantly.

  Jenny shook her head. “No boyfriend. Do you—”

  “No,” he said quickly. “No one. I’ll call you tonight. Is that all right?”

  “I’ll be home
.”

  “I’ll call you. What’s your last name?”

  “Pennoyer, we’re on Pittmann—”

  “Pennoyer? Your name is Pennoyer?”

  “Yes, and you’re—”

  “Montana,” he said, he said, slowly.

  Then it was her turn to repeat. “Montana?”

  They stared at each other.

  “A red rose,” he said finally. “Would you know anything about a red rose?”

  Jenny stood up.

  “Where are you going?” Rhoda called after her. “Jen—”

  She pushed open the door. The high glare of the street struck her face.

  “Wait,” Rhoda called behind her. “Jenny!”

  Chapter 6

  “Snap to it, Jenny.” Awful Albert gave her a shove. “Customers waiting!” Sweat rolled off Albert’s face, and there were orange half-moons under his arms. Jenny grimaced and moved away. Rushing past, Phyllis patted her. “Don’t let Awful get to you,” she whispered hastily.

  Jenny packed a tray with burgers, fries, and orange sodas for a man in a white leather jacket. She punched numbers on the register, pulled out the bill, handed it to the man. All night long the name Montana had woven through her dreams. And when she woke up, it was the first thing she thought. Montana … Montana … Montana … Was it possible she’d misunderstood. Know anything about a red rose? No, it was certain.

  “Thank you for coming to Hamburger Heaven. Have a nice day.” Automatic words. Automatic smile.

  “Little lady—” The man in the white jacket was back. “You gave me five dollars too much.”

  “Oh! Thank you.”

  “Good thing I’m honest,” he said in a loud voice. He looked around to see if anyone was noticing. “Five dollars too much.”

  Awful rushed over. “Is anything the matter? What’s the problem?” he panted.

  It had not been a good day for Jenny. She’d splashed soda on her uniform, given a cheeseburger to a woman who had ordered a fishburger, and didn’t even see a very small man, a midget actually, waiting for his order. “Am I being discriminated against?” he said. Jenny winced. Why did all the dissatisfied customers have such loud voices?

  Late in the afternoon, Rob came in. The early supper-hour customers were straggling in. He was wearing a short khaki slicker and Bean boots, a businesslike outfit. He came right up to Jenny. “I want to talk to you. What time do you get off?”

  “Five o’clock.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “You can’t just hang around here.” She glanced at Awful. He was famous for sniffing out anything “personal”—all such things being strictly forbidden on page twelve, paragraph three, line five of the Hamburger Heaven Employees Handbook.

  “I’ll have, ah”—Rob glanced at the menu—“a burger and a glass of milk.” He sat in a far corner, stretched out his legs. Every time Jenny glanced over, he was just sitting there, tapping the table, not eating.

  At exactly five she punched out. In the employees’ room she stuffed her uniform into a plastic bag. Outside, wind lashed the trees. The sky was overcast. She walked through the parking lot and, as she came around the side, Rob fell into step beside her. “Why’d you run away yesterday?”

  “I didn’t run away.”

  “You ran away from me,” he insisted. “Why?”

  “Why do you even ask? You know the answer. Our names,” she threw at him. “Pennoyer. Montana.”

  There was a moment of silence, then he said, “Jenny. Rob.”

  They turned onto a quiet street, small one-family houses and little stores crowded together. It had begun to rain. In the light from the houses, his face was vivid. His eyes shone. For a moment she forgot everything, forgot their names, forgot her sister and his mother and her mother—forgot it all.

  The rain fell hard, wetting their heads. They ran for shelter under a tree, leaned there panting and laughing. “Jenny?” he said, and they came together, held each other tightly, their faces pressed together. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.” A car approached; headlights shone through the falling rain. They broke apart, resumed walking. A wind came up, and the trees groaned.

  “There’s no month like March for weather,” he said.

  “I don’t like March,” Jenny said. “My sister died in March.”

  A space grew between them. She walked faster, walked ahead of him. After a moment he caught up with her. “I’m sorry—I didn’t think.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It just shows how impossible it would be for us. That’s why I didn’t hang around yesterday. It’s pointless. We can’t be friends.”

  “I don’t believe that,” he said in a stubborn voice.

  “Look.” She hesitated for a moment, then said flatly, “Your mother killed my sister.”

  “It was an accident, Jenny.” A roughness, a tremor, came into his voice. “Something happened—something terrible, but—”

  “Your mother was drunk,” she said. It had to be said.

  “She had one drink.”

  “What difference does it make!”

  “One drink.” He said it again. “Anybody could have one drink. She was at a party, and it was raining, like now. She doesn’t drink, she’s not a drinker.”

  Jenny held her peace. They hurried along, hunched against the wind and rain.

  “What does it have to do with us?” he said. “We’re us, we’re not our families.” She shook her head, felt somehow much older than he.

  Taking her hand, he said, “Say my name?”

  “What?”

  “Say my name.”

  “Why?”

  “Just to hear you say it.”

  “Rob.” she said. “Rob Rob Rob RobRobRob …”

  The way he was looking at her! A giddiness overtook her. He grabbed her, she knew he would, a bear hug, both arms around her, trying to wrestle her into submission. She swung the plastic bag, hit him on the legs and the back, broke free. She ran, and he ran after her, both of them splashing through puddles. He caught her at the corner. “Got you!”

  “I let you.”

  They walked again. He put his arm across her shoulder. She loved it, and said, “Look, we can’t. It’s still no good.”

  “I hear you, but I don’t believe you. I have so many feelings about you already, I can’t believe we’re not going to be friends. At least we could give it a try,” he said. “What do you think will happen?”

  They kept walking, long easy strides, the way she liked to walk. What will happen? Nothing catastrophic, Rob, nothing dramatic. Only I will never be able to say your name in my house. I will not be able to bring you in, as Frankie brings Mimi. You won’t eat with my family, you won’t meet my parents, you won’t exist at all for them. And I don’t know how I can see you and not remember what I’m remembering now, that it was your mother who—

  “Tell me about you,” he said. “I want to know about you.”

  “I have two brothers, a sister.” Once I had two sisters. “My grandfather died. Do you have a grandfather?” Safe subject.

  “Yes, and a grandmother.”

  “Do you like them?”

  “I love them both very much.”

  How sweetly he said that. How easily and unself-consciously. She remembered once, years ago, sleeping over at Rhoda’s and suddenly saying, “I love you, Rhoda.” And then being incredibly embarrassed. But she had meant it. She still loved Rhoda in a special way, and she loved her grandfather, Carl Pennoyer, who had been dead for almost five years, and her sister Gail, and …

  I’ll never be able to tell Gail now that I love her, Jenny thought. They had spent so much of their time fighting. She had hated Gail passionately, often.

  At the corner of Pittmann she said, “This is where I turn.” She held out her hand. “Good-bye, Rob.”

  “I’m not saying good-bye,” he said. “Where’s your house?” And he kept walking with her.

  In front of her house she stopped again. “This is the end of the line.�
�

  He took her hand, squeezing it painfully. “I’m not giving up, Jenny. Don’t go in. Let’s walk some more. I want to talk to you some more. Do you mind the rain? Here, take my slicker.”

  “I like walking in the rain, but my feet are wet.” As if that were all that kept her from staying with him.

  “Change your shoes, put on your raincoat, and come on out again,” he said. “We have to talk. We have to settle this.”

  She understood that “settle” meant to do things his way. The streetlight at the corner gleamed blue. She looked at him, at the high cheekbones, the broad, smooth forehead. “I don’t think I should come out. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  She shook her head impatiently. “There’s too much against us. It’s not as if our families had a little insignificant spat.”

  “Our families don’t even know each other. Look, just tell me this: Do you want to go in your house and not come out? Do you want me to go away? Is that what you want, Jenny? Is that what you really want?”

  “Rob, I’m sorry, it’s just no use. I don’t see how … I can’t be your friend. I just can’t,” she said. She hurried up the steps and didn’t look back.

  Chapter 7

  “Hello?” Jenny said.

  “Hello! Do you always answer the phone in your house? Can I count on it?”

  Saturday morning. The first time in a week they had spoken. She had told herself, Avoid him. It can’t be, therefore there’s no point in even speaking. But, in fact, every day she had spoken to him silently. And what had she said? All sorts of things. Important and unimportant. Big and small, silly and serious.

  There are so many things I’d like to know about you; everything, actually. For instance, what foods you like, are you going to college, do you take school seriously (I do), and as far as that goes, is it possible that blue is your favorite color (it’s mine) because I see that you have three different blue shirts.

  Do you like music? (I saw you in the band room … is that serious?). How about reading? What are your favorite TV shows?

  I see that you’re taking AP Math. So am I, section two. A good thing we’re not in the same classes, that would be too hard.…