Jean and Johnny (14 page)

“What about one of the Indians from the variety show?” suggested Elaine.

“No,” said Jean. “There was such a bunch of them that I don't remember any one especially.”

“Homer!” said Elaine triumphantly.

“Homer?” echoed Jean.

“He's a boy and he knows you,” said Elaine.

“Yes, but—Homer. I never thought of him as a boy to dance with,” protested Jean.

“You can start,” Elaine informed her.

So Jean leaned back against a locker, her books clutched in her arms, and thought about Homer as a boy to take to a dance. It was not easy, because she had always thought of him as a boy who tagged around after Johnny. Or used to. Now that she thought about it, she had not seen them together lately.

“He's not really homely, or anything like that,” Elaine pointed out. “And he shouldn't mind your glasses, because he wears glasses himself. And he has nice manners. He isn't anybody you would be ashamed to be seen with.”

“N-No,” said Jean. He was not anyone she was especially eager to be seen with, either. Still, there was nothing actually wrong with him now that she took the trouble to think about him. Perhaps the only thing wrong with Homer was that he was so easy not to think about. Like me, thought Jean. I am awfully easy for boys not to think about.

“Remember your dress and your high heels,” said Elaine, as if she were dangling bait in front of Jean.

Jean was tempted. “What if he has a date?”

“He won't have,” said Elaine confidently. “Go on, Jean. Ask him for—for the sake of womanhood. You don't want to be downtrodden by someone like Johnny, do you?”

Jean could not help laughing. “Oh, Elaine, the way you put things! All right. I'll ask him for the sake of womanhood. The worst he can do is turn me down.”

“Good!” Elaine was jubilant. “You'd better ask him right away.”

“Before I lose my courage?” asked Jean.

“Partly,” admitted Elaine, “and because you can't wait until the day of the dance to ask him. It wouldn't look right.”

“Elaine, I can't telephone him.” Jean did not think she could ever bring herself to telephone a boy again.

“Ask him the first thing in the morning and
don't change your mind
.”

“I won't.” Jean sounded less certain than her promise. Together the girls walked down the hall. Jean found it pleasant to be walking the familiar route with Elaine once more instead of lingering outside her Clothing classroom, hoping that Johnny's whim might bring him toward her. She had never found any real pleasure in those uncertain moments, and now she wondered why she had waited at all. She felt as if she had suddenly been set free. As they passed the foot of the central stairs, both girls saw Homer descending from the library, a book in his hand.

“Here's your chance,” whispered Elaine, and disappeared.

Here goes, thought Jean, glad that she would not have time to change her mind. “Hi, Homer,” she said when he had reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Hello, Jean,” Homer answered. He hesitated and then started to walk down the hall.

“Homer—could I talk to you a minute?” Jean asked nervously.

“Why sure, Jean.” Homer turned back.

“Homer—” Jean had to force herself to utter the words. “Homer, would you go to the Girls' Association Dance with me?” The invitation was offered, and now the worst that could happen was his refusal. She could take it bravely if she had to.

“Why—” Homer's face turned crimson.

Just the way mine does sometimes, thought Jean.

Homer's face relaxed into a smile. “Why—sure, Jean,” he answered, looking flustered. “Gosh, that would be
swell
!”

“Swell,” said Jean, weak with relief.

“I mean—that would really be
swell
,” said Homer.

He honestly means it, thought Jean. How different was his reaction from Johnny's…and how pleasant it was to watch. Jean and Homer looked at each other and this time Jean really observed him. He is a nice boy, she thought, and he has long eyelashes behind his glasses. She felt ashamed that she had not taken the trouble to look at him before.

“Golly, I never expected a girl to ask
me
to go to a dance,” Homer blurted out.

Jean was touched by Homer's humility. Then she remembered Johnny, and wondered if Homer knew she had asked him first. If he did not already know, he was sure to hear it. Jean did not want this boy's feelings to be hurt. She bit her lip for a moment while she decided that the best thing to do was to tell him herself. Right now.

“Uh…Homer,” she began. “I guess maybe I had better confess. I asked Johnny first and then he—he broke the date.”

If Homer was disappointed, he concealed his feelings from Jean. “That's okay,” he said awkwardly. “I guess there are some fellows who just naturally get asked first.”

“I don't suppose anybody will believe me, but I was sorry I had asked him and I really wanted to break the date myself,” Jean explained. “I mean, I am not heartbroken or anything like that because he broke the date.” Naturally a boy would not enjoy going to a dance with a girl whose heart was breaking over another boy.

“That Johnny!” was all Homer said.

“My mother will drive us,” said Jean. “I'm not
old enough to get a license.”

“That's all right. She doesn't need to go to that trouble,” said Homer. “I can get our car.”

“Could you really?” asked Jean. It would be lots more fun to go in the boy's car.

“Sure,” said Homer. “I'll be glad to.”

Jean did not know what to do with the conversation next. Homer had accepted and he would supply the transportation. There seemed nothing more to discuss.

“I'm sure glad you asked me,” said Homer, “even if I wasn't first.”

The wonderful part was, he meant it.

“Well, I have to go now,” said Jean. “I'll probably see you before Friday.”

“Sure,” said Homer. “I'll see you around school.”

As they parted Jean turned to watch this boy walk down the hall. There was no mistaking it. His walk was jauntier than she had ever seen it before. Elaine was by her side, seeming to appear from nowhere.

“What did you do?” asked Jean. “Disappear in a puff of smoke?”

“I went into the nearest room. I thought it was the right moment for me to tactfully disappear,”
Elaine explained. “Did he say yes?”

“That's right.” Jean looked thoughtfully at Homer, who was going out the door at the end of the hall.

“Hooray!” exclaimed Elaine. “That will show old Johnny.”

Jean wondered. Probably Johnny would not even know, because the activities of the Jeans and Homers were scarcely news around Northgate High. And if he did find out, she doubted very much that he would care.

“Tell me about it.” Elaine was always impatient for details. “He didn't just say yes and walk off. What happened?”

“You know something, Elaine?” said Jean wonderingly. “He
wants
to go to the dance with me. He really does.”

“And now you can wear the dress!” Elaine sighed happily. “And the heels.”

“Yes, I can wear my dress,” said Jean dreamily. Maybe Homer wasn't a boy she would have chosen to take to the dance if she had had the whole school to choose from, but he was a boy who really wanted to go with her. He was actually enthusiastic and wasn't afraid to show it. Jean smiled to her
self. Maybe Homer wasn't the handsomest boy in school or the most popular. She didn't care. He was a nice boy and he was eager, really eager to go to the dance with her. And that, Jean discovered, made up for a lot of things.

Jean practiced wearing her brown linen pumps. She walked across the carpet, she walked on the bare floor. She danced forward, she danced backward, she whirled in circles, and all the while the phrase, “She walks in beauty,” whispered through her thoughts.

Mr. Jarrett rubbed the soles of Jean's new shoes with sandpaper and, feeling more secure, she wore the shoes every possible moment until it was time to dress for the dance. Without her saddle shoes she felt light enough to float. It was a joy to slip into the new dress, now shortened to a becoming length, and have Sue pull up the long zipper for her. Carefully she knotted the brown-and-apricot sash.

“Your turn for the mirror,” said Sue, who had had first turn at the bathroom and who had now finished dressing. She and Kenneth were going to drive across the bay to see some old movies that were part of a series called “The Development of the Motion Picture As an Art,” which was being shown at a museum. “You look darling and I hope you have a wonderful time with Homer.”

Jean smiled into the mirror at her sister, who seemed to shine with happiness tonight. “Thank you. And I don't have to hope you will have a good time. I know you will.” She combed her bangs into place before she asked, “You really like Kenneth, don't you?”

“Mm-hm,” answered Sue. “He's—he's just wonderful, that's all.”

“I'm glad,” said Jean sincerely and wistfully. It would be so nice if she could feel that Homer was wonderful too.

The doorbell rang. “He's here!” Sue snatched her coat from the closet, and was gone.

Jean enjoyed having the bedroom to herself. She fluffed the ends of her hair and admired her dress all over again. Johnny and the clerk in Northgate Apparel were right. She was attractive. It was funny, too, because she had the same brown hair
and the same too-short nose that she had always had, and yet now she was different. She felt attractive. Maybe wearing glasses and being too short did not matter as much as she had believed. I am attractive, she told herself. I believe it now. But in the back of Jean's mind lurked an unhappy thought. If she was attractive, why didn't Johnny want to go to the dance with her?

“Jean, why don't you come out and let us see how you look?” Mrs. Jarrett called from the living room.

Feeling suddenly shy in front of her mother and father, Jean made her entrance.

Mr. Jarrett whistled.

“You look lovely, dear,” said Mrs. Jarrett. “That dress is most becoming.”

“Thank you,” said Jean. It was comforting to know her family was proud of her.

“And I can tell you one thing,” said Mr. Jarrett. “That fellow Johnny is going to be sorry he changed his mind.”

“No danger,” said Jean. “He won't be there.”

“Not that I ever thought he amounted to a hill of beans,” said Mr. Jarrett, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He took out two one-dollar bills and handed them to Jean. “Since
this is a girls' affair, you had better take this along. A boy gets pretty hungry dancing.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” It was thoughtful of her father to do this and just before payday, too. Jean took the money into the bedroom and slipped it into the pocket of her coat—really her mother's coat, borrowed for the occasion. Maybe Homer would like to go to the drive-in after the dance, because that was where everybody went.

The doorbell rang for the second time that evening. Where had the moments flown? Jean had not had time to start being nervous about Homer's arrival, and here he was already. She snatched up the coat, which she dropped on a chair in the living room, and hurried to open the door. “Hello, Homer,” she said. “Won't you come in and meet my mother and father?”

Jean, who had rehearsed this introduction in her mind for several days, managed it smoothly. Reading approval on the faces of her parents, she tried to view Homer through their eyes and saw a serious-looking boy in a white shirt and gray flannel suit, with his hair mowed short. Because he was wearing a necktie he looked more grown-up than he looked at school, and he was quite at ease with her parents, which surprised Jean. Somehow,
she had expected him to blush and stammer.

“Shall we go, Jean?” Homer asked, as he picked up her coat.

“Have a good time, children,” said Mrs. Jarrett, as Homer put his hand on the doorknob. Jean, who was often annoyed with her mother for what she considered the careless use of the word
children
, did not mind this time. It was a loving word, the way her mother spoke it, and Jean felt that now her mother was extending her warm feelings to include this boy who was happy to go to the dance with her daughter.

“Take good care of my daughter,” said Mr. Jarrett.

“Oh, Dad.” Jean laughed, embarrassed by her father's remark.

“I will, sir,” said Homer seriously.

Jean experienced a pleasant feeling of being cherished. After she had walked successfully down the steps in her high heels, and she and Homer were seated in the car, he handed her a clear plastic florist's box that protected one perfect white camellia. “I know this isn't a formal dance or anything like that,” he said bashfully, “but I—uh—thought you might like a flower anyway.”

“Why, Homer—” A boy had given her a flower!
“Homer, it's lovely!” Jean would never have guessed that Homer was the kind of boy who would give a girl a flower.

“Do you really like it?” asked Homer, as he started the car. “I wasn't sure whether it was the thing to do or not.”

“I love it,” said Jean. This waxy camellia was more than a perfect blossom to Jean. It was thoughtfulness boxed in plastic, and after Johnny, Jean found a boy's thoughtfulness a lovely thing to hold in her two hands. She held the gift carefully all the way to the gymnasium, where she left the box (which of course she wanted to keep forever) in the car. After she had checked her coat she pinned the camellia to her dress with the stem up, took it off, and repinned it with the stem down.

When Jean joined Homer at the edge of the dance floor and handed him her coat check, she was suddenly frightened. “Homer, maybe I should tell you,” she said hesitantly, listening to the beat of the orchestra. “I'm not a very good dancer.”

“Neither am I,” Homer confessed cheerfully. “Not this kind of dancing. I'm pretty good at folk dancing.”

Nevertheless, Jean felt her palms grow cold as Homer dropped her coat check into his pocket.
Her mouth felt as dry as Kleenex and she made an excuse to step over to the drinking fountain. The water seemed the most delicious she had ever tasted. She longed to postpone the moment when she had to step onto the dance floor, but they had come to dance, and dance they must. Fortunately there were not many couples on the floor yet, so there would not be many people to bump into. And Jean had the satisfaction of knowing that she was becomingly dressed. That helped a lot.

Homer put his arm around Jean, took her hand, and together they moved onto the floor. Almost immediately Jean stumbled. “Excuse me,” they both said at the same time, and laughed nervously.

They started to dance again. Homer stepped squarely on the toe of Jean's new pumps.

“Excuse me,” repeated Homer, “but you are always supposed to start with your right foot. I start with my left.”

“Oh, excuse me,” apologized Jean, recalling that Elaine had told her this. They began actually to move along with the other couples. Homer's hand, Jean discovered, was as cold as hers, and she took comfort in knowing that a boy could be nervous too. They stumbled once more, and both said, “Excuse me.”

“Look,” said Homer. “Let's lay a few ground rules. No more apologies. We'll just do the best we can.”

Jean felt a wild desire to giggle, but when they had circled the gymnasium floor once, she had a real sense of achievement. We made it, she thought triumphantly. When the music stopped she surreptitiously rubbed her cold, moist hand on her skirt. Homer, she noticed, rubbed his hand on his coat.

“Look,” said Homer once more. “Maybe I shouldn't say it, but couldn't you sort of relax? I am supposed to do the leading, you know.”

“I'll try,” said Jean contritely. Dancing with a boy was a lot different from dancing with Elaine. When the music began once more, Jean tried to be limp.

“That's better,” said Homer.

Jean was encouraged, but gradually as she danced she felt herself stiffen. Relax, she told herself sternly and managed to be less tense. Homer's dancing, she soon discovered, was as regular as the beat of a metronome. When she could be sure he would not try any unexpected steps, she felt encouraged and even glanced at him. Why, he shaves, she thought. How silly of her! Of course
he shaved. He was a senior and must be seventeen. She somehow had never thought of him as old enough to have a beard. Should they, she began to wonder, be carrying on a conversation?

“I thought there would be a larger crowd,” she said experimentally, not at all sure she could dance and talk at the same time.

“It will get larger later,” explained Homer. “It is the herd instinct in reverse. Half the crowd is afraid to come before nine for fear they might be the first ones here.”

Jean wondered how Homer knew this. Around and around the floor they circled. Jean's feet, unaccustomed to high heels, began to hurt. She thought perhaps she should have bought a larger pair of shoes and caught herself leaning heavily on Homer's shoulder to relieve the pressure on her toes. Quickly she straightened. Her poor, poor toes.

When the music stopped, Jean slipped off one shoe and wiggled her toes.
Ahh
. Bliss. Pure bliss. Now for the first time Jean was able to look around her. She noticed on the bleachers a number of pairs of girls' shoes, and when she looked at the girls on the dance floor, she discovered many had been dancing in their stocking feet.

“That crunching sound you have been hearing,” remarked Homer, “is the sound of toes being stepped on.”

Jean could not help admiring the girls who were such good dancers they could risk their toes. When the music started, Jean managed to shove her foot into her shoe, which was a size too small. Around and around they danced, repeating the same steps over and over. Jean began to feel that she was getting to know Homer's gray flannel shoulder very well. Around and around. There was no hope of a change of scenery, because no one traded dances as Jean had expected. Around and around. Either Jean's feet were growing or her shoes were shrinking. The whole situation suddenly struck Jean as being hilariously funny and she wanted to laugh. Politeness, however, prevented her from showing how she felt. School dances weren't supposed to be funny. Naturally she could not let Homer know that she thought it was ridiculous to dance around and around with one gray flannel shoulder. She began to wonder how many laps around the gymnasium made a mile.

Suddenly Jean stiffened and was aware that Homer had not only noticed her quick intake of
breath but was staring in the same direction, toward the checkroom door, where Johnny was standing with Peggy Jo. Johnny was looking intently at Peggy Jo, who was almost as tall as he was. She said something, and they both laughed. Then Johnny put his arm around Peggy Jo and they began to dance, easily and gracefully.

The pleasure was completely drained from Jean's evening, which had begun to seem like a private joke that she had been enjoying in spite of her toes. All that was gone, now that she knew Johnny thought so little of her that he would break a date to go with another girl. Did he think she was such a—a mouse that she could not ask another boy? Or didn't he care? And what was she supposed to do now? She could not face Johnny. That she knew.

“Did you think he wouldn't come?” asked Homer mildly.

“I guess so,” admitted Jean, stumbling on Homer's foot. Don't let Johnny see me, she thought fervently. Just don't let him see me. She danced with her eyes on Homer's shoulder, hoping that if she could avoid seeing Johnny, that somehow he would not see her. Each step was more painful than the one before, and when the music stopped,
Jean stood on her right foot and wiggled the toes of her left foot while she stared wretchedly at the basketball foul line painted on the floor.

“You don't want to see Johnny, do you?” asked Homer bluntly.

Jean stood on her left foot and wiggled the toes of her right foot. “No,” she confessed shamefacedly.

“Why?” asked Homer. “He should be embarrassed. Not you.”

Why? How could a girl explain to a boy that it was humiliating not to be wanted, and even more humiliating that a boy did not care about her feelings. And yet she knew Homer was right. “I just feel funny about it, is all,” Jean said lamely. Thoughtful Homer, who had been kind enough to bring her a flower—Jean had to think of him, too. She could not spoil his evening, when he had been so glad to come with her.

Jean smiled shakily, and the music started once more. When Jean caught a glimpse of Johnny on the other side of the gymnasium, she found herself smothering a ridiculous feeling of wistfulness. It would be so wonderful to be dancing with a tall, good-looking boy like Johnny, a boy whose dancing was graceful and not like the beat of a
metronome. If only Johnny had been some other kind of boy…

The music stopped and inevitably, when Homer dropped Jean's hand, she found herself facing Johnny. She could not miss the surprise, followed by embarrassment, that crossed Johnny's handsome face. So he hadn't thought she had enough spirit to ask another boy to go to the dance. Well, she would show him! “Hello, Johnny,” she said coolly. “Hello, Peggy Jo.”

“Why—hello, Jean,” answered Johnny. There was an awkward pause. Peggy Jo smiled, apparently unaware of the situation.

“Hi, Johnny,” said Homer.

Jean felt a little wicked. “Isn't it miraculous the things they do with wonder drugs these days?” she asked, looking directly at Johnny.

“Wonder drugs?” Johnny did not know what she was talking about.