Stu followed me outside. "Where are you going, Gordy?"
"I can't stand being cooped up in there another minute," I said, taking a deep breath of fresh air. "Barbara's right. You ought to buy a house. Not just because of June and me, but to get away from old bags like Mrs. Reilly."
Stu stood on the sagging porch steps and stared glumly into the dark. Not far away, a train whistle blew. The Calvert Road crossing signal flashed red and the bell started ringing. A few seconds later, I saw the locomotive's light. The whistle blew again, and the freight rumbled past, shaking the porch.
When the train was gone, the night seemed very quiet. Down in the swamp across the tracks, tree toads peeped, a sign spring was coming.
"It's not easy for Barb to live here," Stu said. "She's used to nicer things."
I nodded, remembering Barbara's parents' house and how big it was. Probably Mr. and Mrs. Fisher had an even better place in Florida, with palm trees and stuff. Flamingos and alligators, too.
"If you'd stayed in the army," I muttered, "you could have gotten a GI loan and bought a house with that. It would have paid for college, too."
Stu looked at me. "You know how I feel about the military. Why bring it up?"
"Maybe because people are always saying stuff about it."
Stu put his arm around my shoulders. "I'm sorry it bothers you, Gordy."
I pulled away. "You shouldn't apologize all the time. It makes you sound like a chump."
Stu shrugged and opened the door. "Come back inside, Gordy. I'll help you with your math."
"No, thanks," I said. "It's a nice night. I think I'll take a walk."
Stu hesitated like he didn't think it was a good idea to turn me loose. "Be back by eight," he said.
"Come on, Stu, it's already past seven! Let me stay out at least till nine."
Before he could answer, Barbara came downstairs. "Stu, Brent wants you to read him a story."
Stu sighed and turned to me. "Eight-thirty, Gordy. And not a minute later."
I headed down Erskine, thinking I might see what Toad was up to, but when I got to Garfield, I decided to walk past Lizard's house. A light was on in the living room, and I could see the blue glow of her television set. I stood at the end of her sidewalk for a few minutes, wishing I had the nerve to walk up her steps and ring the bell. She'd open the door and invite me in. We'd sit on the couch, eat popcorn, and watch television. Maybe Lizard would let me kiss her, a real kiss this time—no slap afterward, no bloody nose. Fat chance of that.
I walked on, wishing I could do something to make Lizard like me. What if I bought her a present? A box of candy, maybe. Flowers. Or better yet, what if I gave her that album she loved so much? Maybe she'd be so grateful she'd break her date with Pritchett and go to the dance with me—Gordon P. Smith, Esquire.
The trouble was that Lizard had been right about my dollar. It wouldn't buy a three record boxed set like Carousel. I don't know why I'd even offered it to her.
But suppose I stole the album? If I got away with it. Lizard would never sneer at me again. How could she? She'd be so happy to have Carousel, she'd forgive me for every stupid thing I'd done to her in elementary school. She'd be my girlfriend. It would be my jokes she laughed at, my hand she held walking home from the streetcar. For a payoff like that, no risk was too great.
Before I went inside, I looked through the record shop window. A different guy sat at the cash register, talking to a bunch of giggly college girls. Without giving him a glance, I strolled to the back of the store and started thumbing through the albums till I found Carousel.
Trying to act casual, I read the back of the box. It was the story of a guy who worked for a carnival. He treated this girl real bad, but after he died he was given a chance to come to back to-earth for one day to prove he wasn't a worthless bum after all. Just the kind of corny stuff dames went nuts over.
In the front of the store, I heard one of the college girls say, "I can't believe you don't like Frank Sinatra! We just adore him."
"I prefer big bands," the guy said. "I've got almost every record Glenn Miller ever made. Tommy Dorsey, Benny Goodman, Duke Ellington."
"Oh, I love swing," the girl said quickly. "How about Woody Herman? Isn't he fabulous?"
While the girls swooned all over the clerk, I slid Carousel under my jacket and walked out of the store, taking my time, trying to act natural, hoping nobody but me could hear my heart thumping.
Once I was safely on the other side of Route 1, I ran into the dark, empty lot behind the Little Tavern and collapsed against a fence, sure I'd never breathe normally again. It was the first time I'd stolen anything bigger than a pack of gum or a candy bar, and I was scared sick. Not that I'd have admitted it—if Doug and Toad had been with me, I would've tricked them into thinking I was a natural-bom thief, afraid of nothing. But the way I felt now, I was glad I didn't have to make the effort.
As soon as my legs steadied, I headed for Lizard's house, but, when I got there, I didn't have the nerve to ring her doorbell—probably because her father's police car was parked in front. While I hesitated, a light went on upstairs. A couple of seconds later, I saw Lizard pass the window. Her bedroom—she was in her bedroom.
If only she had a balcony. I'd climb up like Romeo and make a flowery speech, maybe even kiss her. But there wasn't a vine, bush, or tree anywhere near the house. I'd have to try something else.
Crouching down, I crept into Lizard's yard like a spy sneaking through enemy territory, staying in the shadows, making no noise. When I was under her window, I hurled a couple of pebbles at it. They clicked and clacked against the glass, but nothing happened.
I threw a few more. Finally Lizard came to the window and peered down at me. I could tell I was the last person she'd expected to see. Or wanted to see, for that matter. But she raised the sash and leaned out. "Gordy Smith," she hissed, "get out of my yard. Right now. Or I'll call my dad."
"Wait," I whispered. "Don't get mad. Don't call your old man, either. Let me tell you something first."
"What makes you think I want to hear anything you have to say?"
"I came to apologize," I said quickly, scared she'd slam the window shut and pull the blind down, too. "I'm sorry I goofed off in the record store, I'm sorry I bumped you on the seesaw yesterday, I'm sorry I asked you to the dumb dance, I'm sorry I got fresh with you in the snow. In fact, I'm sorry for everything I ever did to you—all the way back to kindergarten."
There. Now let her say I had bad manners. Grandma herself couldn't have gotten a more polite apology out of me. And it had been my own idea. Nobody had made me do it.
Lizard stared at me. "You're apologizing? You? Gordy Smith? Pinch me, I must be dreaming."
I held the album up. "Look. I have a present for you. A peace offering."
"What is it?" Lizard leaned farther out the window. "I can't tell from here."
"Come down and see. I'll wait for you in the alley." When she hesitated, I added, "It's something really nice, honest it is."
"This better not be a trick." Giving me a long, hard look. Lizard lowered her window. I didn't know whether she'd come or not, she hadn't said, but I ran across her backyard and ducked into the garage's shadow. I hoped she wouldn't send her big brother, Joe—or worse yet, her father.
The cocker spaniels across the alley started running up and down their side of the fence, barking and growling at me. Just as I was thinking I'd better run before somebody saw me, a woman yelled, "Bad dogs! Be quiet! How many times have I told you to ignore that stupid cat?"
At the same moment, Lizard stepped around the corner of the garage. Her hair was silver in the moonlight, her face pale. She was wearing her fuzzy pink sweater and a pair of blue jeans. No jacket—I guessed she wasn't planning to stay long.
"I must be crazy," she said. "My dad would kill me if he knew I was out here talking to you. I don't even know why I came."
I didn't know what to say, what to do. I'd never been alone: in the dark with a girl before. So I stood there l
ike a dummy, holding the album behind my back, hoping she'd try to grab it.
But Lizard kept her distance. "I thought you said you had something for me."
"I do."
She tossed her head, and her hair swirled around her face like cotton candy. "What makes you think I want it, G.A.S.?"
I swallowed down my annoyance at being called G.A.S. "Trust me for once," I muttered.
"Don't make me laugh." Lizard began edging away. "I wouldn't trust you to take out the trash."
As usual, things weren't working out the way I'd hoped. Scared she'd leave, I thrust the album at her. "Here. Now you don't have to go to the record shop. You can hear it whenever you want."
Lizard took the album and stared at the cover. "Where did you get the money to buy this? I've been saving my baby-sitting money for ages."
I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets and shrugged, not sine how to answer Lizard's question. Should I tell her I bought it? Or would she be more impressed if I told her the truth? Anybody could buy a record album, Pritchett included. But how many guys loved Lizard enough to swipe one for her?
Lizard studied my face. "You didn't steal it, did you?"
Misreading the look in her eyes, I grinned. "The guy at the record shop was so dumb I could have walked out with a dozen albums under my jacket and he wouldn't have noticed. But all I took was Carousel—for you. Lizard, so you—"
"You stole this?" Lizard stepped back and stared at me, her eyes wide. Before I knew what she was doing, she threw the album at me. "Do you think I want something you stole?"
"But, Lizard, I—"
"You're going to end up in jail, Gordy Smith! And the sooner the better!" With that, she turned and ran into her yard.
"Wait, Lizard." Leaving the album in the dirt, I dashed after her and caught her arm to stop her from going inside. "I just thought—"
Lizard jerked away and swung at me. I ducked before she could start another nosebleed.
"You don't understand!" Grabbing her sleeve, I pulled her toward me. I wanted to tell her I loved her, but the words stuck in my throat. So I tried to kiss her instead.
At that moment the back porch light came on and lit the whole yard. The door flew open, and Mr. Crawford stepped outside. "Get in the house, Elizabeth!" he yelled. "And you, Smith, beat it!"
For all I knew, Crawford had a gun pointed at me. Stopping just long enough to pick up the album, I headed for the train tracks as fast as my feet would take me. A locomotive was coming, blotting out the stars with smoke. I opened the album and hurled the records through the air like flying saucers. They hit the tracks, and the train ground them to bits, scattering the songs like cinders.
I tossed the empty album into the weeds and walked off. The moon floated along beside me, its face glum. If the so-called man in the moon could have talked, he'd have said, "Boy, are you dumb, Gordy Smith. Now she really hates you."
15
THE NEXT DAY AT LUNCH, TOAD TOLD DOUG AND ME HE'D heard you could go to the Sweetheart Dance without a date. It was called going stag, he said.
At first I said it was a stupid idea, but by Friday I'd changed my mind. Although I'd probably be sorry, I wanted to see Lizard. Maybe I'd do something to impress her, something to make her like me better than Pritchett. What it would be I didn't know. The record hadn't worked. Maybe nothing would.
I borrowed Stu's one and only sports coat and walked to Doug's house. Mr. Murray drove the three of us to school. When we were almost there, he said, "Are you sure you boys don't want me to come back when the dance is over and take you home?"
"I told you we're going to the Hot Shoppe afterward," Doug said. "That's what everybody does—you know, to get french fries and hamburgers and shakes."
Mr. Murray sighed and let us out of the car a block away from the school. Doug's idea—he didn't want anyone to see us getting out of his father's car, an old Ford with a busted headlight.
"Be home by eleven," Mr. Murray said, "and for God's sake, behave yourself."
Doug saluted. "Yes, sir."
I touched my clip-on bow tie to make sure it was still attached to my shirt collar and smoothed my hair. Barbara had combed it back with some of Stu's Vitalis, and it felt as stiff as if she'd shellacked it. Even worse than my hair was Stu's sports coat. It was so big, I looked like the movie star Charlie Chaplin. The little tramp, they called him.
"Come on," Toad muttered. "Let's see what's what."
We sauntered through the gym doors like we went to dances every Friday night, which was a laugh since none of us knew the first thing about it. We'd just had three weeks of social dancing in phys. ed., supposedly learning the two-step and the jitterbug, but I'd spent most of the time hiding. I hated the girls in my class. They must have been the snobbiest bunch in the whole school. You'd think I had both bad breath and BO, the way they acted. Plus every one of them was taller than me. A class of giantesses, that's what they were.
The gym was decorated with red and white crepe paper streamers, and the walls were plastered with hearts cut from red construction paper, but the place still smelled like sweat and old tennis shoes. The lights were dimmed, though, and the phys. ed. teachers had set up a table for the record player. They sat behind it, picking records and keeping an eye on us. No smiles, no laughs—they were the wardens and we were the inmates. One sign of trouble, and they'd call in the riot squad.
The first girl I saw was Magpie. She was sitting on a folding chair with a bunch of other girls, all pretending they'd come to the gym to talk to one another, not to dance. Except for her glasses and being so tall and skinny, Magpie looked pretty good in a blue dress made out of some kind of silky stuff. Her hair was curled, and she'd put on a little bit of pale pink lipstick. Nylon stockings, too, and flat-soled shiny black shoes that must have been size thirteen.
Lizard was out on the gym floor jitterbugging with Pritchett. She was wearing a blue dress, too. The top was made of something soft, velvet I guess, and the skirt was full and rustly. Her hair reminded me of the gold Rumpelstiltskin spun in that old fairy tale.
Just looking at her made me want to punch Pritchett. Especially when the record changed to a dumb love song and he started slow dancing with her, holding her close, pressing his cheek against her cheek.
"Why don't you cut in on her?" Toad asked me. "See if she'll dance with you?"
"Bad idea. Toad. She'll slap Gordy and make his nose bleed again." Doug glanced at me, smirking a little. "I bet you wouldn't have the nerve anyway."
I glared at Doug. "What's the use? I can't dance."
Toad studied the couples gliding around the gym in slow motion. "It doesn't look so hard," he said. "You just hold her tight and kind of shuffle and sway to the music."
"Nobody expects you to be Fred Astaire," Doug said.
Toad snorted. "Gordy's chicken. He's scared of Bobby."
Lizard danced past, smiling at Pritchett. For a second our eyes met. Then, with perfect timing, Doug gave me a shove and I bumped into Lizard and Pritchett. They stopped and glared at me, but I figured I might as well take advantage of the situation. "May I cut in?" I asked Lizard.
Lizard looked like she couldn't believe I'd dared insult her again. But before she could say anything, Pritchett said, "No, you can't, shorty."
I shoved my jaw at him. "Says who?"
"Says me." Lizard put her hand on Pritchett's shoulder and gave him a smile so sweet it almost made me puke. "Shall we dance, Bobby?"
"Let's get some punch, Gordy," Toad said. If he hadn't stepped between me and Pritchett, the jerk would have gotten some punch, too—the pow-in-the-kisser kind.
On the way to the refreshment table, I ran into Magpie—bumped right into her and made her spill her drink. Luckily, it missed her dress and hit the floor with a splash. Her face turned crimson like she was scared people would think she'd wet her pants or something.
"Sorry, Magpie," I muttered.
"It's okay," she whispered, edging away from me. It was the first time I'd been n
ear her since we'd gotten thrown out of the record store, so I guessed she was still sore about that. Or maybe she was scared to turn her back on me. As far as I could figure. Magpie thought I was the devil himself come to College Hill just to torment her.
So I was surprised when Magpie continued our conversation. "I didn't think you'd be here," she said, which I translated as meaning she'd hoped I wouldn't show my ugly face.
"It was Toad and Doug's idea. Not mine. I'll probably leave soon." I looked around for my buddies, but they'd disappeared into the crowd around the refreshment table. Knowing Toad, they'd stay there till every crumb was gone.
Magpie cleared her throat. "I'm stuck here till Elizabeth leaves. I came with her and Bobby. Jeff came, too, but I don't know where he went." She looked around uneasily. "It wasn't exactly a date. Just a ride, I guess."
I didn't know what to say. It sounded like Jeff had dumped poor old Magpie.
"I think he came with me so he could see Sonia Higgins," Magpie went on. "That's who he really likes, but she likes Tony Reynolds."
"Sonia's a snot," I said, "and Jeff's a jerk."
Magpie twisted her paper napkin around one finger and cleared her throat again. "Do you know how to dance, Gordy?"
I shook my head, scared she wanted me to dance with her. I only came up to her chin, for Pete's sake. We would have looked ridiculous.
"I'm not very good at it" Magpie admitted.
"Then how come you're here?"
She blushed and shrugged her skinny shoulders. 1 was on the decorating committee," she said. "I wanted to see how the gym would look with the lights and all. It's beautiful, isn't it?"
I shrugged and tried to think of something to say that wouldn't hurt her feelings. "It's okay, I guess."
Out on the gym floor. Lizard and Pritchett were jitterbugging to "Pennsylvania 6-5000," an old Glenn Miller song I remembered hearing way bade during the war. Every time Pritchett twirled Lizard, her skin spun out, showing a lot of good-looking leg. One consolation—I was probably getting a better view than he was.
Magpie must have noticed who I was looking at because she said, "I wish I was as good a dancer as Elizabeth."
As Ever, Gordy Page 8
