Fire from the Rock (17 page)

“I know,” she replied quietly. “I've been thinking the same thing.”

You got it! You got it!” Sylvia crowed excitedly.

Instead of the coffeepot, Sylvia's mother had redeemed the green stamp books for the record player. Made of pink plastic, it was sitting on the little table next to Sylvia's bed when she got home from school. She ran to her mother and hugged her tightly.

“Thanks, Mama.”

“You've been under a lot of stress lately. You make good grades, you help me around the house, and there's no telling what's going to happen this fall. Our yesterdays and tomorrows are written in the stars.”

Sylvia ignored her mother's quote of the day and hugged her once more. “You're the best,” Sylvia told her mother.

“Maybe the record player will help. But don't play that rock-and-roll stuff too loud when Daddy is home. You know he doesn't like it.”

“I promise.” She ran back to her room and even showed Donna Jean how to set a record carefully on the turntable, then place the needle on the record as it spun.

“You gonna buy a million new records now?” she asked as they listened to a Johnny Mathis song.

“No, not a million, but maybe a few. Records cost about forty-nine cents, so I'll have to save my milk money for a couple of weeks.”

“Which one are you gonna buy first?”

Sylvia grinned. “‘You Ain't Nothing but a Hound Dog,' by Elvis Presley! Daddy will love it!”

The two girls collapsed on the bed in laughter. Sylvia sat up when the telephone rang.

“You think it's Reggie?” DJ asked.

Sylvia didn't have a chance to answer out loud.

“Sylvia, come downstairs,” her mother called from the bottom of the steps. “Gary, you and Donna Jean as well.”

The children trooped down the steps and into the living room. Everyone's face was a question mark. “Who was on the phone?” Sylvia asked finally.

“That was Miss Ethel Washington.” Their mother paused. “The list of potential students to go to Central has been narrowed to seventeen. Sylvia Faye, you're on that list.”

I
Love
Lucy
was playing on the television, but no one in the living room noticed as Lucy tried to sneak once more into Ricky's band. No one laughed as she fell over with a huge headdress made of bananas. Everyone instead looked at Sylvia like she had won a prize or something. It made her feel uncomfortable.

“What happens now?” Donna Jean asked as she gave her sister a squeeze.

“Are you scared?” Gary asked Sylvia. “You want me to teach you how to fight?”

“Gary!” his mother said sternly.

Sylvia looked down at her small, brown hands and curled them into balls—fists obviously too weak to do any fighting. “I wouldn't know what to do,” Sylvia said helplessly.

“She's going to need to know how to protect herself! I've seen what those people can do, and I'm not going to let them harm my sister!”

“All you're going to do is get her hurt,” Mr. Patterson said sternly. “Why do you have to fight all the time? Isn't it possible that integration can happen peacefully?”

“No!” Gary yelled. “It is not possible!” Sylvia had never seen him so upset—and he was always angry at something.

“Shut up, boy!” his father demanded. Sylvia glanced at DJ, who blinked in surprise. Gary took one step back. Smoky feelings hovered over the quickly silenced room.

“I heard Miss Daisy Bates is going to try to teach the young people how to approach difficult situations with peace and nonviolence,” Mrs. Patterson said, her voice purposely calm and quiet. “There is a meeting on Saturday at her home. I guess we'll find out more then. Peace is a powerful panacea.”

“It won't work,” Gary replied, his tone much quieter, but still argumentative. “And neither will your quotes, Mama. You're trying to fight battles with proverbs instead of swords.”

Mrs. Patterson flashed her eyes at her son. “Don't push me, young man. You will respect me in my house, or I'll show you a side of me you don't want to meet!”

Gary bowed his head. “I'm sorry, Mama.” Then he raised his eyes again, pleading with both his parents to understand. “You gotta try to see my point. This is no Sunday school picnic—it's a war for our survival! Even her boyfriend agrees with me.”

Sylvia cringed, waiting for her father's reaction.

“What boyfriend?” her father asked, bristling even more.

“You started talking to me when I was fifteen, Lester,” his wife reminded him. “But that's not the issue here. The problem is your boiling point, Gary. I worry about you.”

“I'm sorry, Mama. But for once I'm right, and you and Daddy are wrong!” Angrily he opened the front door and stormed out of the house. The slamming of the door echoed throughout the house.
There sure has been a lot of door-slamming lately,
Sylvia thought sadly.

The perplexed parents looked at each other in helplessness. The world was starting to spin faster than anyone in the family knew how to handle.

Sylvia had barely said a word since the phone call. She honestly did not know what to say.

Sylvia awoke to an absolutely lovely morning—the last day at Dunbar for the ninth graders. The bad weather of the week before had disappeared. This was to be a day of finality and good-byes and uncertain futures for all of the graduates of Dunbar. The sun shone brightly, and if clouds awaited any of them, no one could tell by the bright possibilities of the sky that morning.

“Dipped in brown gravy and dressed in white.” That's how her mother described Sylvia as she left for school that morning. She wore a white, flared spaghetti-strap dress with a crinoline slip. Her mother had worked for hours on her sewing machine, making sure it was perfect—and it was. Sylvia felt like a princess. She wished every day could be this delicious.

At school the girls strutted up and down the halls, all in lovely dresses of blues and greens and yellows—a rainbow of giggles and press-curled hair. They flirted with the boys, who wore slippery-soled new shoes, and spent lots of time in the bathroom mirrors, applying the pale pink lipstick and pancake makeup that Lou Ann had brought in her purse.

All the boys wore dark suits, white shirts, and skinny little ties. Calvin was so proud of his new suit he kept the price tag on it—$9.98 from Sears! Sylvia knew she would miss silly old Calvin.
If I go to Central, who will make me laugh?
she thought desperately.

Candy Castle showed up, the last one to arrive at the building, of course, in a cherry-colored velvet party dress. She made no pretense of hiding the lipstick and bright red fingernail polish she wore. “What difference does it make if I'm late?” she said with a laugh. “It's the last day of school.” Sylvia chuckled to herself, figuring if she was a princess today, then Candy had to be the Wicked Witch of the West. Candy cheerfully ignored the looks the girls gave her, and passed out pieces of red-and-white peppermint candy to anyone who wanted them—mostly the boys.

Sylvia jumped when she realized Reggie had eased up close behind her. “You look lovely in white,” he whispered. “She looks like a clown.”

Sylvia relaxed, turned to face him, and smiled. “Actually, I feel a little sorry for Candy,” she said.

“How come?”

“Well, she lives with an elderly aunt and uncle who basically ignore her. I think she just needs someone to love her—as long as it's not you,” Sylvia added shyly.

“No worry about that,” Reggie replied. “I'm working on somebody else right now!” He grinned.

“And who would that be?”

“Miss Ethel Washington!” he cried out. Then he ran down the hall laughing. Sylvia watched him run, enjoying every step he took.

“Looks like you got Reggie's nose sewn up tight—for now,” Lou Ann said as she approached.

“I'm working on my stitches!” Sylvia replied with a grin. She was glad Lou Ann was in a good mood and speaking to her today. “You've been a big help, Lou Ann.”

“I guess you're on your own now, kid,” Lou Ann said, frowning a little. She wandered off to get autographs.

Each graduate had an autograph book and they spent most of the day getting signatures from every single person they knew—teachers and students both. Some kids just signed their name on the colorful pages, but some tried to be clever and write little verses. Calvin Cobbs wrote in Sylvia's book, “I like you, I like you, I like you so well; If I had a peanut, I'd give you the shell.” She knew she would really miss sweet, silly Calvin.