Chasing Lilacs (16 page)

She rearranged the furniture, putting the couch under the watercooler and Daddy’s platform rocker on the opposite wall, with
the TV in front of the west window. I cringed. Daddy would not be able to see the six o’clock news with the glare of the evening
sun.
Not good.

“Now that we’ve freshened things up a bit, you can buff the furniture. Hard work is good for the soul. Helps work out the
grief in a body.” And that’s the way the whole day went, her directing me to dust this, move that, until I wanted to scream.

After a while Aunt Vadine flopped onto the sofa and finagled a throw pillow under her feet. “Whew! Guess I did a bit too much
today. Think I’ve strained my back. Maybe when you get through polishing the end table, you could heat up some of that ham.
The one with the cloves, not the canned one. That slimy gel turns my stomach. Your daddy will be home soon, and he’ll be hungry.”

While I worked in the kitchen, heating up leftovers, Aunt Vadine called out, “Maybe an ice bag would help my back, Samantha,
if it’s not too inconvenient.”

Then she wanted the television channel changed and asked me to fetch the Doan’s backache pills from the medicine cabinet.
On and on. I wanted to shove the pills down her throat. Maybe going back to school wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Tuwana came by after supper, and we sat on the front porch. “You’ll never guess who’s playing for the fall formal. Sonny and
the Spinners. Everyone says they are so cool. Mike’s cousin is the drummer, which is why we were so lucky to get them. Can
you believe it? Our first dance.”

“Since when do they let the junior high kids go?”

“Since never, but they’re trying it out this year. Mike’s mom is on the committee, and he’s already asked me. A real date.
Maybe Cly will ask you.”

“I don’t think so. We’re just friends—you know that. Besides, I don’t have anything formal to wear.” And going to a dance
would not be right. Not so soon after someone’s mother died.

“You don’t have to wear a formal; they just call it that. Suits for the guys and nice dresses for us. Like that new ruby sweater
and skirt your mom got you before school started. That would be perfect.”

“I don’t know. I’ll probably wait until next year.”

“The dance isn’t until the first Saturday in November. You’re going to have to get back in the groove sometime. Mother says
the best medicine is moving on after a tragedy. You’ll see.”

She stood up and tossed a tennis ball for Scarlett to chase and then pulled something from her pocket. “I almost forgot. Mrs.
Gray asked me to give you this.”

She handed me an envelope with my name printed in neat block letters on the front. My heart skipped a beat.

“Go ahead, open it, before it gets too dark to read out here.” Tuwana tapped her foot.

I slid my finger along the seal on the back flap and took the note out. It had a fresh, flowery scent.

Dearest Sammie,

How saddened I was to hear of your great loss. My innermost sympathy to you and your father.

I have reserved a place for you on the
Cougar Chronicle
, the name chosen for this year’s junior high newspaper. Your writing and your summer paper impressed upon me your kindness
and ability to capture the essence of good reporting. We would love for you to work with us if you can.

With regards,

Mrs. Gray

A catch came in my throat.
Mrs. Gray wants
me
for the paper.
A warm feeling came over me, and all of a sudden I couldn’t wait for tomorrow so I could go back to school.

Cly waved me back to his seat when I got on the bus the next morning. He stood up and let me in beside him. Tuwana gave me
a little finger wave from the seat in front where she sat with PJ. They had out their compacts and giggled while putting
on mascara as the bus bumped along.

Cly stared straight ahead while I turned to look out the window. “Sam, I’m sorry…. I know I should have come over or something,
but… well, I think you know what I mean.” He smelled of Vitalis and something sweet.

“Yeah, I know. I saw you at the service. That was nice.” I shrugged and smoothed out a wrinkle in my skirt.
Cherry Life Savers.
That was the smell.

“Got any more Life Savers?” I tilted my head toward Cly.

He peeled the foil and wax paper from the roll, handing me one.

I popped it into my mouth. “So, did you go to the football game?”

“Nah, Doobie’s pop had to work. Besides, Slim needed company. He feels lousy about your mom.”

“Oh.”

“We all do.”

A gap hung in the air. I sucked my Life Saver down till it was as thin as paper. “How’s basketball?”

“I made the first cut on the team. Me and Doobie.”

“Congratulations.”

The rest of the ride to school he told me about basketball defenses and offenses, drawing X and O plays on the back of his
algebra homework.

When we got off the bus, he handed me the roll of Life Savers. “Here, you might wanna suck on these once in a while… to get
your mind off stuff. It helps me sometimes.”

The day went by in a blur. I figured out if I let my eyes float in their sockets I couldn’t see people giving me strange looks.
Like when Gina hugged me and her lips got all quivery, I looked off
at the blackboard and smiled. Things like that. Mostly kids barely nodded at me or acted like nothing had happened, and the
teachers went on teaching in their ordinary way. When Mr. Apple announced a pop quiz in fourth hour, my stomach lurched, and
I ran out of the class into the restroom and locked myself in the stall. I pulled out a cherry Life Saver and sucked it down
to the last sliver. Cly was right, I did feel better, and later Mr. Apple told me not to worry about the pop test; he hadn’t
meant for me to take it anyway.

When seventh hour arrived, I marched into Room 12 and told Mrs. Gray I was ready to work on the
Cougar Chronicle.
Her topknot had slipped off center, and strands of toffee hair had worked their way out and flew about her face like wispy
feathers.

“Hey, everybody, welcome Sammie Tucker, our newest reporter on the job!” She took my hand and pulled me into the circle of
students. We discussed the first edition, dividing up who would cover what. Mrs. Gray tacked a mock layout on an easeled board
and gave a lesson on choosing the best headlines to capture the audience. The paper would come out the last Friday in September.
My first assignment would be an article for the “Meet the Teachers” section. From a box Mrs. Gray had with all the teachers’
names, I drew out a name. Mr. Howard.

A ripple went through me. Not the scary kind, but the head-to-toe thrill you get from riding the monkey cages at the carnival.
Sammie Tucker. School Reporter.
I couldn’t wait.

The tingle carried me all the way home. That, and a couple more cherry Life Savers. Like when Belinda Zyskowski smiled at
me through the gap in her front teeth when I got on the bus after school.

“I’m sorry about your mother. My fish Bubbles died, and we flushed him. Mommy says I can get a new fish soon, so maybe you
could get a new mother too.” I knew she didn’t mean it like that. Still, it cut through me.

When I got off the bus, I found Scarlett at the end of a rope, one end tied to the leash, the other to the fire hydrant beside
the driveway. “Don’t tell me; let me guess. You’re in trouble with Aunt Vadine.” I set my books on the porch and unsnapped
the leash from her collar, and together we trooped into the house.

“I’m home,” I hollered.

“Take that mutt right back outside. She’s been nothing but a nuisance all day.” Aunt Vadine emerged from the bathroom smelling
like ammonia. More cleaning?

“I don’t think she liked being tied up.”

“Then keep her out of my way.”

I took Scarlett to my room to change clothes. When I opened my dresser drawer to get a pair of pedal pushers, I found it filled
with cotton panties and long, chiffon nightgowns. Aunt Vadine’s undies? In my drawer? A quick check, and I found the next
drawer also held her things. She’d left the bottom two for me. I raced to the closet. Her three suitcases stood at attention
on the floor.

A clammy, sick feeling came over me.
Mama’s memory box!
I rummaged in the far corner, throwing out a stuffed bear and my old Betsy McCall doll, and felt my heart skip a beat when
I found the shoe box on the floor. Looking inside, I found all of Mama’s things. Untouched.

What to do? I couldn’t keep it in the dresser or the closet.
Think.
Somewhere safe. Nothing seemed safe from Aunt Vadine. I jammed everything into my purse except
Gone with the Wind.
That went in my desk under a stack of old school papers.

“Samantha, I could use your help,” Aunt Vadine barked from the other side of the door. Sweat broke out on my forehead as I
threw on my clothes and reached for my Keds. Then I stopped.
What made her think I wanted to help her? That Daddy and I even wanted her here? She wasn’t my mother, even though she seemed
to think she could boss me around and yell at me. Not to mention the way she insulted Mama. I didn’t have to face her if I
didn’t want to.

Sitting at my desk, I pulled out a sheet of notebook paper and wrote down the questions for Mr. Howard’s interview. Name.
Where he went to college. Why did he want to be a principal? Things like that. When I’d exhausted my choices, I doodled in
the margins.

Aunt Vadine stuck her head in after a while and glared at me. I smiled and pointed to the books on my desk. “Homework.” I
pulled out my math book and did my assignment on fractions. Then I read about Patrick Henry and the minutemen in my history
book. By the time Daddy got home, all my makeup work from school was done. And I hadn’t had to listen to Aunt Vadine or do
any fetching for her.

T
HE DAY OF MY INTERVIEW
with Mr. Howard, I wolfed down the beanie weenies, spinach, and fruit cocktail in the lunchroom so I wouldn’t be late.

Tuwana raised her eyebrows when I stood to leave. “What’s the rush?”

“Big interview for the paper.”

“And who, pray tell, would that be?”

“You’ll see.” I tried to act mysterious to cover up the nervous twinges in my stomach.

Heading to the tray dropoff, I felt Tuwana’s eyes following me. I turned and gave her a finger wave before leaving the cafeteria
and marching toward Mr. Howard’s office.

“Come in, come in.” Mr. Howard waved me in, his mouth stuffed full, a piece of lettuce ruffled around his lips.

“Thanks. I’m here for the interview for the
Cougar Chronicle.
You’ve been chosen for our featured teacher of the month, although technically you are the principal, not a teacher.” The
words flew out of my mouth, and my knees shook.
Calm down.

“True, quite true. Although I did do a semester of student teaching before I went on to get my principal’s credentials.”

“What did you teach?”

“Geography. Quite a subject for a poor farm boy who’d never been more’n fifty miles from Happy, Texas.”

“Good. You just answered one of my questions. Your background.” I fumbled with the paper in my hands, trying to read the questions
I was supposed to ask. “Where did you go to college?”

“West Texas State Teachers College. Down in Canyon. Please, Sammie, have a seat. This might take a while since I’ve got a
few questions for you too.”

Mrs. Gray hadn’t mentioned him being allowed to ask questions, but then, as principal of the school, he did have
credentials
, like he said. I sat down on the edge of the chair, scribbling about his family, why he wanted to become a principal.

“Actually, I didn’t. I wanted to be a tree surgeon. My parents promised me a new car if I went into education. Sweetest roadster
you’ve ever seen.” His face flushed red.

“What’s the most important thing you’d like to say to students here in Mandeville?”

He thought a while, chewing the last of his sandwich. He scrunched his face. “Keep your nose clean. Abide by the rules. Don’t
take any wooden nickels.” He stuffed wax paper into a bag and slurped milk from a lunchroom carton. Then he leaned back in
his chair, folded his arms across his chest, and looked at me with a stern expression.

“From all accounts, I’ve learned you’re a good student, Sammie. Dreadful thing, your mother. How’re you doing?”

Goose bumps popped out all over me. I rubbed my arms trying to get them to go away so he wouldn’t notice. I lifted my chin
and smiled. “Great, everything’s fine.”

“It may seem fine now, but…” I braced myself for the
If there’s anything I can do
speech I’d heard from all my teachers and the people at Graham Camp. Mr. Howard leaned forward on his elbows. “It’s been
my experience that children in homes with only one parent make poorer grades and have more detentions than regular kids. Some
even become problematic in their encounters with the law. Juvenile delinquents, so to speak.”

“Is this something you would like me to include in my article?”

“No, this is about you. A friendly precaution, shall we say?”

“Me? A juvenile delinquent? Is that what you think?” I sucked in my breath.

“No, no, of course not. At least we hope not. Fact is, you’ve got a double whammy. Mental illness in the family
and
being raised by a lone parent—a father at that. You’d be wise to heed my advice, what I told you earlier. Keep your nose
clean. I’ll be checking on you regularly.”

“Uh, well… you do that. Thank you for the interview, Mr. Howard.” My head felt like it was spinning. I gathered up my notes.
Mr. Howard thinks I’m a looney tune.
No way. I took a deep breath through my nose. “And just in case you were wondering, I am not a mental case.”

I stumbled from the office toward my math class. Too bad he hadn’t become a tree surgeon—he would have been good with a chain
saw.

The idea that I might turn into a juvenile delinquent stayed with me all day. I tried out different scenes in my head. Flouncing
around in a skimpy outfit, smoking a cigarette, and hanging out on the steps at Willy’s store. Stealing cars and whizzing
through the countryside with my hair blowing out the window. Personally, I didn’t think I’d ever seen a juvenile delinquent,
so it must be Mr. Howard’s way of scaring me. Like telling us to be on the lookout for Communists. How many Communists had
I seen? None that I could recall.