by Lois Duncan
Most of the winners weren’t present for the drawing. The exception was Tammy Carncross’s parents, who were chaperoning. They received a set of stainless steel steak knives.
“Now all we need are the steaks to go with them,” Mrs. Carncross said lightheartedly as her husband returned from his trip to the band platform to collect the prize.
“Look on the bright side. There’s no law that says we can’t use them on hamburgers.”
“The way I fry hamburgers, I’d say that’s a good idea.”
They laughed together. Lil Carncross’s hamburgers were a family joke.
“It’s just that hamburgers are such boring things to cook,” she would explain apologetically after each disaster. “They lie there in the pan doing nothing for so long that your mind starts to wander, and the next thing you know they’ve taken off on you and turned to charcoal.”
After twenty years of marriage, Dan Carncross accepted his wife’s wandering mind in the same way that he accepted the dreamy eyes that floated soft and unfocused behind the lenses of her glasses and the disarray of curly hair that wouldn’t lie in one direction. They supplied a certain winsomeness in sharp contrast with the image of the professional journalist whose witty commentaries on small-town life appeared on the pages of national magazines.
“Congratulations!” Ann Whitten called as she worked her way toward them through the crowd. “That’s what Dave and I were hoping to win, but Madison blew it. She pulled out your ticket instead!”
“You’re the ones who should be congratulated,” Mrs. Carncross said warmly to the bright-faced girl and the broad-shouldered young man beside her. “I haven’t seen you since the announcement in the paper. Will it be a June wedding?”
“It was going to be,” Ann said, “but plans have changed a little. Now we’re thinking more like a year from this coming Christmas.”
“Ann’s won herself a scholarship to art school,” Dave Brewer told them. “A real well-known one in Boston. It seemed like too good an opportunity for her to turn it down.”
“That’s wonderful, Ann,” Dan Carncross said. “I didn’t have any idea you were applying for something like that.”
“Well, actually I didn’t,” Ann said. “Ms. Stark is the one who did it. She mailed in some of my sketches. She studied under Mr. Griffith, the head of the institute, back when she was in college. She wrote and recommended me. I almost passed out when I found out about it. I still can’t believe it! It’s like a miracle.”
“Which reminds me, I’ve never seen the miracle woman,” Lil Carncross said. “All you girls talk about Ms. Stark so much, I’d like to meet her. Is she here tonight?”
“She was supposed to be chaperoning, but I haven’t seen her,” her husband said.
“Oh, she’s here now,” Ann told them. “She came in just a minute ago with Kelly. That’s another miracle. Tam and I tried and tried to get Kelly to come tonight, and she wouldn’t even listen. Then, somehow, Irene got her here.
“There she is, Mrs. Carncross. That’s Irene up there on the edge of the platform, talking to Madison. They must be getting ready for the presentation.”
“The woman in green?” Lil stood on her toes, steadying herself with a hand on her husband’s shoulder to get a better view. “Oh! She’s certainly not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” Dan Carncross asked with interest.
“From Tammy’s description, I pictured her as one of those enthusiastic young teachers right out of college, the kind the kids relate to so easily. Pretty, and very hip. Like how Madison Ellis will be five or six years from now.”
“She’s definitely not that!” Ann said, laughing. “But I think she’s really pretty in her own way. And she understands us all so well, it’s like she’s one of us. If you’re confused about something, Irene can sort it out so it makes sense, and all of a sudden everything falls right into place.”
“What’s Erika doing up there?” Mr. Carncross asked.
“As club president, she’s going to be with Madison when she makes the presentation. Paula is too. She’s our token athlete. It was her idea to—oh, they’re going to start!”
Erika and Paula were mounting the steps at the side of the stage to join Madison at the microphone.
The queen reached up a graceful hand to adjust the weight of the crown and smiled at her audience. “Will Mr. Shelby and Coach Ferrara please come forward?”
There was a hum of friendly chatter as everyone on the dance floor parted to make a path so the two men could reach the front of the gym.
“Did you girls do well with your raffle this year?” Lil Carncross asked Ann in a low voice.
“Much better than last year.”
“Ferrara will be happy about that,” Mr. Carncross commented. “Those warm-up suits the basketball players have been wearing are shredded.”
“Oh, but he’s not—” Ann began.
“May I have your attention, please?” Madison spoke into the microphone and her light, sweet voice filled the room. “We’ve been having so much fun tonight, it’s hard to settle down to something serious, but I promise you it won’t take long. In just a minute we’ll get back to the dancing.
“Erika, will you take over?”
“Thank you,” Erika said a trifle stiffly. Less at home with the mic than Madison was, she leaned too close and jumped back with a start at the protesting screech from the amplifier. Drawing a deep breath, she leaned cautiously forward and began again.
“Thank you, Madison. As all of you know, Daughters of Eve is sponsoring tonight’s dance. Each year our school project has been to raise money for the athletic fund. This year, thanks to the wonderful merchants of Modesta who contributed such fine prizes and to the generous people who bought so many tickets, the raffle brought in one thousand and fifty dollars—the largest amount we’ve ever raised!” There was a burst of applause, and a group of boys on the left side of the gym, members of the football team, let out a roar of approval. Mr. Shelby grinned broadly. Coach Ferrara, looking very dashing in a gray-checked sport jacket, raised his fist in a victory salute.
“We’re pleased, too,” Erika said. “Paula Brummell will make the presentation.”
Paula stepped forward. Her eyes met Erika’s, and the girls exchanged a quick smile.
“Mr. Shelby and Coach Ferrara—” Paula spoke slowly and distinctly. The audience grew more attentive, aware suddenly that something different was in the offing, something apart from the ceremonies of previous years.
“On behalf of the Daughters of Eve, it gives me great pleasure to present you with this check,” Paula said. “Your endorsement signifies your agreement that this money will be used only for the organization and purchase of equipment for Modesta High’s first all-girl soccer team.”
At 10:47 p.m. Laura Snow sat alone in the living room, her hands folded in her lap, waiting for the sound of the doorbell. She’d been waiting now for two and a half hours.
“I can’t bear not being here to meet him,” her mother had said when, at 8:40, Peter hadn’t yet arrived. “It’s just that the girls in my card club get so upset when we don’t start playing on time.”
“I know, Mom,” Laura had told her. “You go on.”
“But this is your first date! Such a big, big event! To leave you here all by yourself—”
“I don’t mind, Mom.” She did mind, really, but for her mother, not for herself. She couldn’t remember seeing her quite so happy as she’d been during the past week. On two different occasions Laura had found her waiting in the parking lot after school to drive her to Adrian on shopping expeditions to find “the perfect dress” and “exactly the right shoes.”
The shoes hadn’t been difficult—Laura’s short, plump feet were easy to fit—but the dress had been another matter. They had found it at last in a small, exclusive shop that specialized in “clothes for the regal figure.”
A pale blue silk satin halter, the dress was cut in Empire style, fitted across the chest and f
alling straight to the floor, where it swirled suddenly into a light ruffle.
“Lovely,” the salesgirl had murmured when Laura tried it on.
“Adorable!” Mrs. Snow had exclaimed. “You look like a fairy princess!”
Even Laura had smiled when she saw herself reflected in the elongated mirror. The dress was becoming, that was indisputable; the lines were flattering and the color good with her light hair and fair skin. Better still, however, was Laura’s secret knowledge that the slimming effect wasn’t due entirely to the cut of the material. In the past two weeks, she’d lost almost six pounds.
It wasn’t the first time she’d gone on a diet, but it was the first time she’d done so with such grim determination. Always before, she’d let her mother in on the project. Together, they’d agonized over how much mayonnaise could be spread on a slice of bread before a sandwich became “really fattening” and whether cookies made from brown or white sugar contained fewer calories. These ventures had seldom lasted longer than several days, at which time Mrs. Snow would become concerned that her daughter was “getting run-down” and “losing energy.”
“You can carry these things too far,” she would say worriedly. “After all, a growing girl does need to stay healthy.”
This time Laura had decided to handle things herself in the simplest way possible: She’d stopped eating except for when she was in her mother’s presence. The lunch that was so lovingly packed for her in the morning was deposited, unopened, in the school cafeteria garbage can. The brownies, set out for her after-school snack, were carried to her room, and from there to the adjoining bathroom, where they were flushed down the toilet. If Mrs. Snow left the table during dinner to answer the phone, Laura scraped whatever was left on her plate down the disposal. She felt guilty about such subterfuge, but it seemed kinder than putting her mother through the worry that the knowledge of such curtailment of food intake would cause her.
And the diet was necessary. There were no two ways about it. Peter Grange’s girlfriend couldn’t embarrass him by looking like a blimp at their first public appearance together.
Except that he’d never arrived to take her.
Alone in the quiet living room, Laura examined possible reasons, turning them over and over in her mind the way she’d fingered pebbles at the lakeshore as a child. Maybe he was sick. That intestinal flu was going around. Maybe he’d gotten his dates mixed up and thought the dance was next weekend. Maybe he had car trouble on the way over and had been forced to tinker with the engine or change a tire. He couldn’t do that in good clothes, so he’d have had to return home to change and, once the car was fixed, to get cleaned up and redressed. That could take a very long time.
Or there might have been a family emergency. A beloved grandparent in a distant state might have died suddenly, throwing the whole family into chaos as they scrambled to pack and rush to the airport. Or one of his parents might have been involved in a car wreck. Or his little brother could’ve been thrown from his bicycle. Kristy had mentioned once how stupidly Eric rode that bike, zooming in and out of driveways and darting through stop signs as though he owned the whole road.
Or, Peter himself—no, she wouldn’t let herself think about that possibility. Peter was all right. One of the other things must have happened. But which?
The answer was as far away as the phone. All she had to do was dial his home number—he’d never given her the number for his cell phone—and in another minute she would know.
In her mind she could hear his voice, embarrassed and apologetic.
“Hey, I’m sorry. We had this family emergency. I didn’t think about the time until the phone rang, and right away I thought, ‘Crap, I was supposed to pick up Laura a couple of hours ago!’ Can you forgive me?”
She could, of course. She could understand how such a thing could happen. There would be other dances.
So why didn’t she just call him? Why did she continue to sit here, staring at the wall, waiting for the doorbell to ring, when by now it was obvious that it wasn’t going to? It was after eleven. The dance would be over in less than an hour. If Peter were coming at all, he would have been here before now.
The doorbell rang.
At first she thought she’d manufactured the sound within her head, willed it into existence with her wishing. Her hands clutched each other tighter. She didn’t move from her chair.
The sound came again. Bling—blong! The chimes that meant a visitor was at the door. Her mom maybe forgot her key? But, no—that wasn’t possible. Mrs. Snow carried her house key on the same key ring with the car keys. Since she’d driven herself to her card club, she had her house key as well.
Slowly, Laura got to her feet, smoothing the folds of the blue dress so that the creases wouldn’t show, shaking the ruffle into place. She was stiff from having sat in the same position for so long. One of her legs was asleep. She put her weight on it gingerly, wriggling her toes within the confines of the wedge-heeled pump to start the blood flowing. The unaccustomed height of the heels tipped her forward, and she found herself wobbling unsteadily as she crossed the room to open the door.
The boy on the front steps was wearing old cords and a gray sweatshirt with MODESTA HORNETS lettered on it in orange. He stood with his hands in his pockets, hunched slightly against the chill of the crisp night air. His dark hair tumbled over his forehead, and with his face half-lost in shadow, she thought for a moment that he was Peter.
Only for a moment. He raised his head and smiled at her, and the resemblance ended.
“What are you doing here, Niles?” Laura asked.
Chapter 12
“What am I doing? Nothing special. I was passing the house and saw the light still on. I thought you might be sitting around or something.” He shivered. “Hey, it’s cold out here. Can I come in?”
“Where’s Peter?” They were the only words that she could utter.
“Pete? I don’t know. Out somewhere. I don’t try to keep track of my big bro’s comings and goings. I said, is it okay if I come in for a few minutes? I’m half-frozen.”
“Sure,” Laura said stonily, stepping back from the door.
She didn’t know why she said it. The last person she wanted sitting in the living room was Niles. She’d always felt uncomfortable with Peter’s brother. There was just something about him that made her uneasy. Perhaps it was the slight but definite resemblance to Peter, which made him seem both familiar and strange. The dark good looks were there, but in Niles’s case they were slightly distorted, as though viewed through a warped sheet of window glass. The fineness of Peter’s features was missing. Niles’s face was broader and coarser, with the brown eyes set back a trifle too far, giving an illusion of opaqueness. His mouth was wider than Peter’s, but thinner-lipped, with one corner a little higher than the other, so that he always looked as though he were trying to keep from smiling. There were girls who found the odd half-smile attractive. Laura didn’t.
“Are your parents in bed?” Niles asked, stepping into the room and shoving the door closed behind him.
“I live with my mom. She’s out tonight.”
“You look nice,” Niles said, “all dressed up.”
“Thanks.” She’d started back toward the chair that she’d so recently vacated, but Niles seemed somehow to have gotten himself in the way of it, so she sat down on the sofa instead. To her surprise, he came over and sat down beside her.
“It’s gotten really cold out,” he said conversationally. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there was an early snow.”
“I hope not,” Laura said.
“You don’t like winter? Snowboarding and skiing and stuff?”
“I’ve never tried those things. I don’t like being cold.”
“You’re one of those girls who likes to curl up by the fire, right?”
“I guess you could say that.” She looked down at her hands. Her mom had taken her for a manicure in honor of the evening. The little pink ovals gleamed up at her against the sof
t material of the blue dress.
“Niles—about Peter—you’re sure you don’t know where he is? We were supposed to go out tonight.”
“He stood you up, you mean?” Niles sounded shocked.
“I don’t know what he did. I just know that he was supposed to be here at eight fifteen, and he never came.” She struggled to keep the tremor from her voice. “I thought… maybe… something happened at home—some emergency—”
“You were giving him the benefit of the doubt, right? That shows what a nice person you are, Laura. Most girls would be pissed off.” Niles’s voice was warm, sympathetic. “So you’ve just been sitting here waiting?”
“It’s been hours and hours.” She blinked hard to keep back the tears. “When the doorbell rang, I thought it was him—that he’d come to tell me what happened—and maybe we could still go over to the dance for the final hour.”
“And it was just me, the sidekick brother. No wonder you looked so disappointed. I’d take you to the dance myself, but I’m not exactly dressed for it. This is a big deal and they don’t let you in without a jacket and tie.”
“That’s all right. It wouldn’t be the same. I mean—” She realized too late the rudeness of her response. “I’m sorry, Niles. It was nice of you to think about doing that. It’s just that—Peter—”
She began to cry softly.
“Hey, now, baby,” Niles said. “It’s not as bad as that. A dance is just a dance, huh?”
He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her over against him so that her face was pressed against his shirt. The material was thick and smelled faintly of smoke. Niles himself smelled of shaving lotion. It was the same brand Peter used, and the familiar spicy scent, combined with Niles’s surprising gentleness, broke through the last shreds of her control.
“He promised!” she burst out wretchedly. “He said we were going! I got the dress and the shoes—everything—just for tonight!”
