Jean and Johnny (3 page)

The music stopped. Two down and one to go, thought Jean, unless she could escape. The thing to do was look this boy, whoever he was, in the eye and excuse herself quickly before the music started again. But when she forced herself to look him in the eye, her resolution wavered. He was so good-looking—tall with dark hair and a jaunty bow tie. Now she knew that she had seen him around school during the past semester. He was a senior, she was sure, but who was he?

“Do you go to Northgate High?” asked the boy.

Jean nodded. He had not remembered seeing her
around school—but why should he? And then her courage returned. “Please excuse me,” she said swiftly, her cheeks hot. “I really don't know how to dance and I should not have accepted.” She turned and as she turned, she thought—she couldn't be sure—that he put out his hand to stop her. She did not wait to find out. She made her way past the other couples, the net and taffeta of the other girls' skirts brushing against her bare legs.

When she reached her chair against the wall, Jean snatched up her coat. “Come on, Elaine,” she whispered. “Let's get out of here!”

Elaine followed her into the lobby. “Jean,” she said eagerly, “how did you have the
courage
?”

“I don't know,” answered Jean weakly. “I just did. Only it wasn't courage exactly. I guess I didn't know any better.”

Mrs. Mundy joined the girls beside the Christmas tree. “Jean, you did splendidly,” she said warmly.

Jean managed to smile. She knew this was not true, but it was Mrs. Mundy's nature always to look at the cheerful side.

“What was his name?” asked Elaine.

“I don't know,” admitted Jean.

“You don't know?” Elaine was disbelieving. “Didn't you ask him?”

“I couldn't,” said Jean. “I was too busy thinking about my feet.” Those two feet in bobby socks and saddle shoes. “I couldn't talk and think about my feet at the same time. I—I can't even remember what he looked like. Not very clearly anyway, except that he was wearing a bow tie.”

“I can,” said Elaine. “He was terribly good-looking. He even had curly hair.”

“Then why did he want to dance with me?” Jean was genuinely bewildered. Why should a boy want to dance with a strange girl who was not even dressed for the party?

“I don't know,” said Elaine. “But he did. That's what counts.”

The two girls followed Elaine's mother out to the car. “Jean,” whispered Elaine, as they climbed into the backseat, “was it fun, dancing with a good-looking boy?”

“Well…no,” said Jean honestly. “It was really pretty awful. You know—me in saddle shoes with my hands all clammy and not knowing how to dance.”

“I know.” There was real regret in Elaine's voice.
Mrs. Mundy pushed the starter button. “Jean, you must be very happy to have had such a nice-looking boy ask you to dance,” she remarked.

“Yes,” answered Jean, because Mrs. Mundy, a firm believer in positive thinking, would expect an affirmative answer. And yet she really was happy. That was the funny part of it. She had been miserable, but there was more to her feelings than that. She sensed that Elaine was holding back a flood of questions, because there were some things girls did not like to talk about in front of their mothers.

Jean was glad to have a chance to think about her experience, to try to decide how she really did feel about it. It was surprisingly difficult to remember. She was left with an impression of a boy's pleasant voice, of his dark woolen shoulder and white shirtfront, of music and the feel of his toe treading on hers, of other couples moving past, and of her own confusion.

All at once it became important that Jean remember everything, every single little detail. She tried to recall what music had been played, but she could not. The only thing she could recall distinctly was the clean wool-and-soap smell of the boy. The rest was just a blur.

It was all so puzzling. Jean had had an embar
rassing, uncomfortable experience, and yet it had left her feeling happy. Never before had she felt happy over her own embarrassment. And then she understood. For the first time in her life a boy had singled her out of a crowd. A boy, a real live boy…Why, the future had arrived!

Mrs. Mundy stopped the car in front of the Jarretts' house and, after saying good night, waited until Jean was safely in the house.

The living room was empty. Jean snapped off the light and went to the room she shared with her sister. Sue was sitting in front of the portable sewing machine set up on the table that the girls shared for study and for sewing. On the bed was a row of red and green felt slippers with turned-up toes. On the toe of each was a little bell.

“How perfectly darling!” exclaimed Jean.

“This represents most of my Christmas shopping. I can make them for practically nothing, and they would cost a lot to buy,” answered Sue. “I love to make things out of felt. It never has to be hemmed.”

Without removing her coat, Jean sat down on the bed and absently picked up a slipper and swung it back and forth to make the bell jingle.

“You look sort of dazed,” remarked Sue.

Jean dropped the slipper and looked at her sister. “I guess I am.”

“Why?” asked Sue amiably. “Too many Kip Laddish records at Elaine's house?”

“You know, it was the funniest thing,” said Jean, “but something nice really did happen.”

The first thing Jean discovered after the dance was that once a boy singles a girl out of a crowd for the first time, her life is never quite the same again. She discovered this when she started to clean her saddle shoes. She shook the bottle of cleaner, poured a little of the fluid onto a cloth, picked up her shoe, and looked thoughtfully at the streaks of black shoe polish on the white leather. Smiling to herself, she put the cap back on the bottle of cleaner and returned the bottle to the closet. There was no hurry about rubbing off the marks the boy's shoes had made on hers. Instead of cleaning her shoes as she always did on Saturday morning, she sat staring dreamily at her smudged toes,
while in her mind's eye she saw the boy, whoever he was, in his room just before the dance, giving his shoes a last-minute shine. Perhaps he had been whistling as he bent over and snapped a cloth back and forth across his toes. Then he must have straightened up, put away the polish, slipped into his coat, and paused, still whistling, in front of his mirror to straighten his tie and run a comb through the hair Elaine had said was curly.

Jean enjoyed the scene so much she ran through it once more, this time adding wall-to-wall carpeting to the boy's room and having him tuck a folded handkerchief into his breast pocket. And what about his shoes this morning? Was he polishing off the white marks she had left on the black leather? Maybe that was what he was doing this very minute. It was the beginning of a period of absentmindedness for Jean.

And then there was the matter of clothes. Jean hung the mismatched plaid skirt in the back of her closet and hoped her mother would not notice that she did not wear it. She longed for a closet full of pretty clothes. Until now she had been satisfied with the dresses her mother made for her or that she made for herself, and with the sweaters that her mother bought at sales. Now Jean looked at
fashions in the morning paper and lingered over the advertisements of the Northgate Apparel Shop. She spent a lot of time in the bathroom, where the light was best, looking at the back of her shoulder-length hair in a hand minor, pulling a comb through her locks, and shaking her head to make her hair swing back and forth like a model in a television commercial for shampoo. Her family often had to pound on the bathroom door and remind her that the bathroom was not hers exclusively.

If the change that five minutes with a boy brought about in Jean was strange, the change that the same five minutes brought about in Elaine was even stranger. While Jean was content to daydream about the real live boy, Elaine prepared to organize. Jean discovered this the Saturday evening after the girls had carried the wreaths into the clubhouse.

Because Mr. Mundy was part owner of a plumbing business and for the sake of his business belonged to a number of clubs and service organizations, the Mundys led an active social life. They often went out on Saturday evening and, rather than leave Elaine at home alone, they usually invited Jean to keep her company. These evenings
had fallen into a pattern that both girls enjoyed. Jean arrived late in the afternoon, sometimes with her pajamas and toothbrush, if the Mundys expected to be out late. Mrs. Mundy gave them some money to buy the ingredients of their own dinner. The two girls walked to the nearby shopping center to plan their menu and to market, studying prices and trying to buy as many of their favorite foods as possible. There were three rules in their private game: except for seasonings they must not use anything in the Mundys' cupboards or refrigerator for their meal, they could not add any money of their own to the sum Mrs. Mundy had given them, and they must spend every penny of this sum. To accomplish this required careful figuring on little slips of paper. On this Saturday they returned to Elaine's house with two pork chops; one large avocado, which was a great bargain because it was bruised; two artichokes; a papaya, which they selected because neither of them had ever tasted this fruit; and, to use up the last pennies, three Greek olives from the delicatessen. The third olive they would meticulously cut in two.

“You lucky girls!” exclaimed plump Mrs. Mundy when she saw the groceries. “The calories you can
consume and not gain an ounce.” She tugged at her skirt as if she felt it might be too tight, kissed both girls lightly on the cheek, and said, “Have a good time and don't forget to go to bed. We should be home by midnight.”

“We don't want to see the bedroom light go off as we drive up the driveway,” said Mr. Mundy. “And don't forget to wash the dishes.”

“We always wash them, Dad,” said Elaine, “unless we burn something and have to soak the pan.”

“Jean, do you mind if I tell you something?” Elaine asked when her parents had left and the girls had set about preparing their meal. She continued, regardless of whether Jean minded or not. “You should wear your bangs shorter.”

“My bangs?” repeated Jean, putting her hand to her forehead.

“Yes,” said Elaine. “Sometimes you let them get too long and then you go around sort of peering out from under them.”

“I do?” Dismayed by this picture of herself, Jean brushed her bangs away from her forehead.

“Yes. You are the gamin type and you should wear them short,” said Elaine, unwrapping the pork chops.

Jean laughed, amused at hearing Elaine speak in fashion-magazine language. “I thought a gamin was a ragged little boy.”

“You know what I mean,” said Elaine impatiently. “Sort of little and…well, you know. And another thing—do you have to wear your glasses all the time?”

“I'm pretty nearsighted,” said Jean. “Anyway, I don't mind them too much anymore. They have become a part of me.”

“But the point is, you could get along without them in the halls at school without actually walking into the wall,” Elaine said. “And you want to look your best the next time you see the boy. You're lucky you don't squint, the way some people do when they take off their glasses.”

Jean giggled. “Without my glasses I'm not sure I could tell him from the principal.”

“Don't be silly. Of course you could.” Elaine was very positive. “For one thing the principal is about six inches shorter.”

Jean cut the stems from the two artichokes. “Oh, Elaine, what difference does it make? He won't even remember me.”

“Of course he will remember you,” said Elaine. “He danced with you, didn't he?”

“I wouldn't exactly call it dancing,” said Jean, “but he did have a good view of the top of my head. And you know something? I still can't remember what he looked like. I mean—it all happened so fast and I was so surprised, I felt confused.”

“I remember,” said Elaine.

Jean laid down the paring knife and the artichoke she was trimming. “Elaine, what difference does it make? The whole thing was a horrible mistake. He will never look at me again, even if he does remember me—and I almost hope he doesn't. He probably just asked me to dance because he felt sorry for me or something.”

“He didn't feel sorry for
me
,” Elaine pointed out. “Anyway, I don't think boys ask girls to dance because they feel sorry for them.”

Jean was silent, She was turning over in her mind, as she had so many times since the incident, the possible reasons why the perfectly strange boy had asked her to dance. And why he had chosen her instead of Elaine. It might have been better if he had asked Elaine, who at least knew how to dance because she had joined the junior high school dancing class when she was in the seventh grade. Jean had not been able to, because at the
time the Jarretts could not spare the nine dollars that the class cost. But perhaps Elaine was right about the glasses. Maybe she could get along without them between classes. If one boy had noticed her, perhaps another boy might come along….

Elaine gave Jean little time for daydreaming. “Now the first thing you have to do,” she said, as she stood with a fork poised over the sizzling pork chops, “is to learn to dance. After dinner we can play some records and I'll show you what I have learned. We can practice all during Christmas vacation. After all, if the boy asked you once, he might ask you again and”—Elaine paused significantly—“he might have a friend.”

So that was why Elaine was taking such an interest in Jean's future. Jean carefully slipped the skin from the avocado, leaving the fruit as smooth as green velvet. “I guess it wouldn't hurt to practice,” she said, “not that anything will ever come of it.”

And so Jean practiced dancing under Elaine's direction during the rest of Christmas vacation. Step, step, slide, slide, step, step. “This is the basic step,” Elaine explained, “but it is more fun with a boy.” Step, step, slide, slide, step, step. When Mr. Mundy saw what the girls were doing, he took an interest and insisted on dancing them around the
living room a few times. The girls were polite about this, but they did not feel he was much help. His dancing was so old-fashioned.

Jean began to half wish that when school started the boy would recognize her, seek her out, and say something to let her know he had not minded those few minutes spent with her. She wouldn't even expect him to ask her for a date. She would just like to know that a good-looking boy felt friendly toward her and would pay her a little attention beyond saying, “Hi,” in the halls. That was the trouble with her and Elaine and a lot of other girls—nobody paid any attention to them. Jean and Elaine had both had a left-out feeling since they had transferred from junior to senior high school. Northgate High School, the only high school in the city, seemed so big, so full of strange faces, that they felt lost in the crowds that swarmed the corridors.

One evening when the practice session ended, Elaine sat down with her long legs over the arm of a chair, helped herself to a handful of peanuts, and began to eat them one at a time. “Wouldn't it be wonderful if we got to be popular?” she asked. “Dates, committees, getting elected to offices, more dates…”

“It's funny,” said Jean thoughtfully, “but I don't think I even want to be popular.”

“Every girl wants to be popular.” Elaine was positive about this.

“I don't.” This time Jean was positive too. “I'm too—too quiet. I wouldn't want to call a meeting to order or even read the minutes. And I would be miserable if I had to be a rally girl. Not that there is any danger of that.”

“Not me,” said Elaine. “I would simply adore swishing a couple of pompoms around in front of the whole student body.” She added, with a note of regret, “Except that I am taller than all the yell leaders.”

“I would rather be part of the crowd cheering for the team,” said Jean, nibbling a peanut.

“And when the school puts on the variety show I would like to be right out in the middle of the stage, with everybody applauding madly,” said Elaine, “although I don't know exactly what they would applaud me for. I can't do anything special.”

Jean giggled. “You could do that
Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines
tap dance we learned in gym. The one where we had to paw the ground with our feet.”

Elaine leaned back against the arm of her chair and laughed. “I want people to applaud, not die
laughing,” she said. Then she sighed gustily. “I guess I don't have a thing to worry about. Nobody is going to ask me to swish a pompom in front of the rooting section or ask me to dance
Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines
in the variety show.”

“I would like to be more…a part of things at school. And to have a boy like me,” said Jean, reaching for another peanut.

“The trouble with us is that we are the salt-of-the-earth type,” said Elaine gloomily. “The type that gets married someday and makes some man a good wife.”

Jean laughed at her friend's gloom. “I don't think that is such a terrible fate.”

“Well, you know,” said Elaine vaguely. “Dishpans, mops…”

“Diapers, budgets,” added Jean, thinking that all these things were part of the life she wanted for herself. That was one reason why she was struggling to learn to sew. Still, she understood what Elaine meant. They were girls whom no one would ever expect to dance a ballet, fly an airplane, run for Congress.

“The only thing wrong with us,” said Elaine, summing up the situation, “is that we are a couple of late bloomers.”

And so, on the day school started after Christmas vacation, Jean, with her bangs cut short and without her glasses, got off the bus with Elaine, walked up the blurry steps, and entered a fuzzy school building.

“Come on, let's go upstairs,” whispered Elaine. “If he's a senior, his locker is up there, and if we walk along sort of casually we might see him.”

Jean hung back. “Oh, Elaine,” she protested, without much conviction. “If I did see him I think I would
die
.”

“No, you wouldn't,” said Elaine, taking Jean by the arm. “Come on. We don't have much time.”

Jean allowed herself to be led up the steps to the crowded corridor on the second floor. “Now act as if we were really going someplace,” directed Elaine, “and pretend you aren't looking for anyone.”

Jean laughed nervously. “I don't have to pretend. I can't see very far.”

Timidly the two girls patrolled the length of the corridor.

“Come on, let's go back,” said Elaine when they had reached the end. “He must be up here someplace.”

Jean knew it was useless to protest in the face of
Elaine's determination. And she did not really want to protest, because she wanted to see that boy again. Halfway down the length of the hall, not far from the trophy case, Elaine suddenly clutched her arm. “There he is!” she whispered.

Jean's nearsighted eyes swept the faces around her. “Where?” she asked.

“Pretend you aren't looking,” advised Elaine.

“I'm not,” said Jean. “I can't.”

“Over there against the lockers,” whispered Elaine. “In the green plaid shirt.”