by Judy Blume
“He never showed up?”
“Oh, he showed up all right.”
“So?”
“Still nothing . . . not even a kiss.”
“Weird.”
“And I’m sure he likes me. He asked me to his school play . . . he’s got the lead.”
“I heard. I’m going with Michael.”
“I know . . . Artie said he’ll arrange for you two to bring me.”
“Fine.”
“If he doesn’t try anything after the play I’m going to do something about it. I can’t sit around waiting forever.”
Mr. Kolodny looked up from his desk. “Will you girls in the back please stop talking and get to work.”
I pulled a sheet of notebook paper, wrote Like what? and shoved it at Erica.
She wrote back, Something drastic!
On the night of the play Michael, Erica and I sat together in the fourth row of the auditorium at Summit High. The play was Butterflies Are Free and Artie played the blind boy trying to make it on his own. Michael was right—Artie really surprised me. He was as good as a professional. Somehow, he seemed different on stage—more sure of himself. He made me forget he was Artie Lewin, game freak.
Sybil played his mother and Elizabeth played his girlfriend but they couldn’t compare to Artie. It didn’t help that Sybil looked fatter than ever and kept fidgeting with her gray wig. Elizabeth’s costume consisted of the world’s skimpiest bikini and when she first came on stage Erica nudged me with an elbow. For some stupid reason I felt I had to say something to Michael—something to show I’m not the jealous type. So I leaned over and whispered, “She’s very pretty.” How did I ever think up such a clever remark?
“Uh huh,” Michael said.
When the play ended Artie got a standing ovation.
“I had no idea . . .” Erica said over and over. “I just can’t believe it.”
“Me neither.”
“I told you,” Michael said. “It’s the most important thing in his life.”
As I watched Artie take another bow I could see that Michael was right again.
We tried to go backstage but there were two teachers in charge of keeping everyone out since the custodians were anxious to lock up the school for the night. Erica said she’d wait for Artie and that we should go on to the party.
I wasn’t looking forward to going to Elizabeth’s house and facing her close up. But there was nothing I could do about it without being obvious. Besides, how would Artie feel if his best friend didn’t show?
Elizabeth’s house was on a street a lot like mine. Her mother answered the door.
“Michael . . .” Mrs. Hailey said, “it’s so nice to see you again.”
“Mrs. Hailey . . . this is Katherine Danziger,” Michael told her.
“Hello,” I said.
“Come in . . . come in . . .” Mrs. Hailey said, looking me over. “Everyone’s downstairs . . . Michael, you know the way.”
Could she have said that for my benefit, just to let me know that Michael had been there before?
It was a big party—maybe thirty or forty kids—and as soon as the cast arrived everyone surrounded them, offering congratulations. Michael gave Artie a couple of friendly slugs, then bent down and whispered something to him, and Artie smiled, nodded and said, “Thanks, buddy.”
Elizabeth’s father took movies of us for the next half hour. Artie really hammed it up. Michael kissed Elizabeth on the side of her face and said, “That part was made for you . . . you were great.” And Elizabeth answered, “I’m glad you thought so.”
I walked away with a sinking feeling in my stomach. Sybil was standing in the corner talking to some boy. I went over to her and said, “I enjoyed the play a lot . . . you were good.”
Sybil laughed. “Thanks, but I know better . . .” She introduced me to the boy who turned out to be Elizabeth’s younger brother. I wondered if he would make her list.
Erica took me aside, looked in Artie’s direction, and said, “He’s flying very high . . . I wouldn’t be surprised if tonight’s the night . . .”
“Good luck,” I said, without enthusiasm.
“Oh, here you are.” Michael stood next to me and reached for my hand.
“Have we met?” I asked, pulling away.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Just forget it.” I made my way over to Artie, who was sitting on the couch surrounded by fans. When I got a chance I said, “I know you’ve heard this all night but you were really sensational.”
“Thanks, Kath.” He moved over, making room for me beside him.
“How’d you do it? You actually convinced me you were blind.”
“I don’t know . . . it just comes naturally.”
“Seriously, Artie . . .”
“I’m serious. I don’t know how I do it. I’ve always wanted to act . . . ever since I can remember.”
“You mean for real . . . professionally?”
“Yeah . . . it’s tough to get started but I’m going to give it a try.”
“I think you’re going to make it.”
“I hope you’re right . . . where’s my buddy?”
“Over there . . . talking to Erica . . .”
“Hey . . .” Artie called, motioning for Michael and Erica to join us.
This time Michael didn’t reach for my hand.
I watched and waited all night for some secret look to pass between Elizabeth and Michael but as far as I could tell nothing happened and when we finally got around to talking she was just plain friendly and even said that she remembered me from New Year’s Eve, which only made me feel worse.
The party was still going strong when Michael said, “Let’s get out of here.”
“Why . . . aren’t you having a good time?” I asked.
“Not especially . . . are you?”
I didn’t answer. I went upstairs to get my coat and sulked all the way home. Michael didn’t say a word. He didn’t even look my way.
When we got to my house I unlocked the front door. “Are you coming in?” I asked him.
“Do you want me to?”
“If you want,” I said, like it really didn’t matter.
“It’s up to you,” he answered.
“Don’t do me any favors.” As if I hadn’t been waiting all night to be alone with him. I stepped into the foyer.
Michael followed me. We took off our coats. “Did I do something . . . is that it?” he finally asked.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Oh, I don’t know . . . just everything . . . thinking about you and Elizabeth . . .”
“You’re jealous?” he asked.
“Maybe that’s it . . . I’m not sure.”
“That’s why you’ve been such a bitch all night?”
“I guess.”
He started to laugh. “I didn’t know you were the jealous type.”
“I’m not!” But as soon as I said it I realized how dumb it sounded and I laughed too.
“Hey . . . I dreamed about you last night,” Michael said.
“What was I like?”
“Very sexy . . .”
I took his hand and we went into the den. “I’m sorry I was such an ass tonight.”
“Forget it,” he said. “It’s nice to know you care. Just promise me one thing . . .”
“What?”
“From now on we’re honest with each other. If something’s bothering you, say it, and I’ll do the same . . . agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Good.”
We lay down on our rug and after a while, when Michael reached under my skirt I didn’t stop him, not then and not when his hand was inside my underpants.
“I want you so much,” he said.
“I want you too,” I told him, “but I can’t . . . I’m not ready, Michael . . .”
“Yes, you are . . . you are . . . I can feel how ready you are.”
“No . . .” I pus
hed his hand away and sat up. “I’m talking about mentally ready.”
“Mentally ready,” Michael repeated.
“Yes.”
“How does a person get mentally ready?” he asked.
“A person has to think . . . a person has to be sure . . .”
“But your body says you want to . . .”
“I have to control my body with my mind.”
“Oh, shit . . .” Michael said.
“It’s not easy for me either.”
“I know . . . I know . . .” He put his arm around me. “Look . . . we can satisfy each other without the whole thing . . .”
“We will . . . soon . . .”
“If I didn’t know better I’d think you were a tease.”
“I’d never tease you.”
“Yeah . . . I know that too.”
“You want me to be honest, right?”
“Uh huh.”
“Well . . . the thing is . . . I don’t know exactly how to do it . . . satisfy you, I mean.”
“It’s the easiest thing in the world,” Michael said, loosening his belt.
“Not now . . .” I told him.
“When?”
“Soon, but not tonight.”
“Promises . . . promises . . .”
After Michael went home and I was in bed, trying to fall asleep, I thought about making love with him—the whole thing, like he said. Would I make noises like my mother? I can always tell when my parents are making love because they shut their bedroom door after they think Jamie and I are asleep. It’s hard not to listen. My room is right next to theirs. Sometimes I’ll hear them laughing softly and other times my mother will let out these little moans or call Roger . . . Roger . . . Even though I know it’s natural and I’m glad my parents love each other I can’t help feeling embarrassed. What would it be like to be in bed with Michael? Sometimes I want to so much—but other times I’m afraid.
7
“Guess where we’re going over Washington’s Birthday?” Michael asked.
I shifted the phone to my other ear. “I give up.”
“Skiing.”
“But I don’t know how.”
“I’m going to teach you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah . . . we’re going to my sister’s place in Vermont . . . she’ll be calling in a little while to fill your mother in on the details.”
“You’re serious?”
“You better believe it. Listen, you’ll like Sharon, and her husband, Ike, is okay too.”
“It sounds great.”
“It will be . . . and Kath, wait till you see the snow.”
When I hung up I ran into the living room. “Guess where Michael’s invited me?”
“To his prom?” Dad asked.
“No . . . nothing like that.”
“Well, tell us,” Mom said.
“To Vermont . . . to go skiing . . . his sister’s got a place there. She’s going to call you.”
My mother looked at my father.
“I can go, can’t I?” I said.
“Well . . .” Dad began.
“Please!”
“You can’t expect us to say yes just like that, Kath,” Mom said.
“We’ll have to think about it,” Dad told me. “After we hear the details.”
Later, when the phone rang, I said, “That must be Michael’s sister . . . her name’s Sharon.”
“I’ll take it upstairs,” Mom said, but by then Jamie had already answered and was calling “Hey, Mom . . . telephone . . . somebody named Sharon something.”
“What’d she say?” I asked when my mother came back downstairs. “Did you tell her I can go?”
“She sounded very nice,” Mom said.
“Go on . . .”
“She said she and her husband would drive you up to Vermont on Friday. It’s about a seven hour trip. Their place is near Stowe.”
“When would they come home?” Dad asked.
“Monday afternoon.”
“That’s three nights.”
“What’s the difference?” I said.
“They have plenty of room, Roger,” Mom told him, and I knew then that she was on my side—that she would let me go. “They share the house with two other couples but they’ll have it all to themselves over the weekend. She said there are three bedrooms.”
“I don’t know,” my father said.
“Her husband’s a resident in internal medicine,” Mom said.
“So you won’t have to worry about me getting sick,” I told my father.
“Just breaking a leg or two,” Dad said.
“I’ll be very careful . . . I promise.”
“I don’t know . . . skiing is a dangerous sport.”
“No more dangerous than riding in a car,” I argued.
“Give us a chance to talk about it tonight,” my father said. “And we’ll let you know tomorrow.”
“I don’t see what there is to discuss . . . it’s all very simple.”
“I don’t like making hasty decisions.”
“Mom . . .”
“Dad’s right. Let us sleep on it, Kath.”
“I want to go very much.”
“We know,” they both said together.
I don’t know how I got through the next day. Talking to Erica helped some. “My mother will let me go but my father seemed kind of scared to say yes.”
“That’s logical,” Erica said. “Fathers have complexes about their little girls. They can’t stand the thought of their precious darlings having sex.”
“You think that’s what’s bothering him?”
“Absolutely. It has nothing to do with breaking your leg, like I said . . . it has to do with breaking your cherry.”
“Oh, Erica!”
She laughed. “But I’m willing to bet your mother talks him into letting you go.”
“God . . . I hope so.”
“I’d love to go away with Artie.”
“I take it things have improved between the two of you.”
“That depends on what you mean by improved.”
“You know what I mean.”
“They haven’t improved that way . . . but at least we’re getting honest with each other . . . and you can’t have a decent relationship without honesty.”
“That’s just what we were talking about the other night . . . Michael said practically the same thing.”
“It’s true.”
“Yes . . . but you said you were going to do something drastic if nothing happened after the play.”
“I did . . . when he took me home from the party and kissed me goodnight on the cheek I came right out and asked him, Artie, are you queer?”
“You didn’t!”
“Want to bet . . .”
“What’d he say?”
“He said, I don’t know, Erica, but I’m trying to find out.”
“Jesus . . .”
“So I asked him, Artie . . . how can you find out when all we ever do is play games . . . Monopoly, bingo, chess, backgammon . . . they’re coming out of my ears.”
“And?”
“He said, I’m scared to try, Erica. Now that’s being honest, wouldn’t you say?”
“Definitely.”
“So I told him not to worry . . . that I’ll help him find out and he said he’d really appreciate that. So next weekend, while you’re in Vermont . . .”
“If I get to go,” I said.
“If you get to go . . . Artie and I will be trying to get at the truth.”
After school I walked over to the library. “It’s okay,” my mother said, before I could ask. “The stores are open late tonight and when I passed the Sports Center at lunchtime I noticed this terrific looking ski jacket in your size . . . reduced ten dollars.”
“I really can go?”
“Why else would you need a ski jacket?” Mom asked.
“Oh Mom!” I hugged her as hard as I could. “You’re the greatest . . . you’re the best mother that
ever was!”
“Remember that the next time we disagree.”
Later that night, when Mom and I came home from shopping, I modeled my new ski clothes for Jamie and Dad. My jacket is yellow, red and blue and I bought navy ski pants and a hat to match out of my savings.
“At least it’s bright enough for them to find you if you’re buried in an avalanche,” my father said.
“How can I get buried in an avalanche with Michael watching out for me?”
“They don’t have avalanches in Vermont, anyway,” Jamie said. “I wish I could go too.”
“Not this time,” I told her.
“I’d do all the cooking.”
“Sorry, Jamie.”
“Michael loves my cooking.”
“No way.”
“Drats!”
When Michael called I told him it was all set. “I even got ski clothes.”
“You didn’t have to go out and buy anything. Sharon was going to lend you a parka and warm-ups.”
“Well . . . now she won’t have to . . .”
“Yeah . . . but you’ll still have to rent your boots and skis.”
“I know . . . don’t worry about it . . .”
“Your lift ticket’s on me, though.”
“Okay, if you insist . . . and Michael . . .”
“Yeah?”
“I can’t wait until Friday.”
“That makes two of us.”
Before I went to sleep my father came into my room and sat down on the edge of my bed, like he used to do when I was little. He took my hand.
“I’m glad you decided I could go to Vermont, Dad.”
“Well . . . you’ll be off to college in the fall . . . I have to let you go sooner or later . . . I guess you’re not a little girl anymore.”
“I guess not.”
“You have a lot of common sense, Kath. You’ve always made intelligent decisions . . . still, you and Michael are very young.”
“We’re not planning to elope, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not worried. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I told you, I’ll be careful.”
“Not that kind of hurt, Kath.”
“Oh Dad . . .”
“I like Michael . . . and it’s not that I don’t trust him . . .”
“Daddy . . . he’s not a sex fiend . . . so please stop worrying about us.”
“I can’t help it.”
