The Luckiest Girl (12 page)

“I can guess,” said Shelley.

“They started smearing us with lipstick,” Katie continued with relish. “It was simply
awful
. They got lipstick all over us. And then I grabbed it away from Rudy and rubbed it all over his face.” Katie sat smiling at this happy memory before she said regretfully, “I guess I better go wash it off before Mommy sees me. You know how she is.”

Shelley recalled her own thirteen-year-old adventures walking home from school—the rain hat grabbed and thrown up into a tree, the scarf
snatched and tied around the neck of a passing dog. “You like Rudy, don't you?” asked Shelley.

“Yes,” admitted Katie frankly. “I have a terrible crush on him.”

“What's he like?”

“Simply divine,” said Katie, getting up to admire her smudges in the hall mirror. “Taller than I am, if you count the way his hair sort of sticks up.” She started up the stairs. “Promise not to tell what I said about Rudy.”

“I promise.” After this interruption Shelley felt more cheerful. Watching Katie go through a phase she herself had outgrown always made Shelley feel serene and experienced, capable of meeting any situation that might arise in the course of growing up. She picked up her books and went to her room, where she looked through the second half of her biology book to see what lay ahead of her during the second semester.

When Shelley came downstairs sometime later she found Tom studying Luke's report cards while Luke, his face smudged with grease from his motorcycle, sat staring moodily out the window. “Luke, this doesn't make sense,” Tom was saying. “An A in Latin and a C minus in English.”

Luke was silent.

“You must have some explanation.” Tom waited expectantly. “I am glad you earned an A in Latin, but how do you explain your grade in English?”

Luke looked unhappy. “Aw, Dad, you know how English is. All that stuff about sentence structure and having to read
Idylls of the King
.”

“Sentence structure!” exclaimed Tom. “You complain about sentence structure in English and then get an A in Latin, which is much more complicated. Ablative absolute and
hic, haec, hoc
—Latin is much more difficult.”

“Aw, Dad, don't you understand?” Luke asked. “I
like
my Latin teacher.”

Shelley sympathized with Luke's problem. The next semester would be so much easier if she liked Mr. Ericson. Postponing the moment when she must confess her D, Shelley went into the dining room to set the table while Mavis prepared supper. When Tom finished discussing Luke's report card, he went into the kitchen and helped himself to an olive that Mavis was about to stir into a tamale pie.

Katie came thumping down the stairs and appeared in the kitchen. Her face was rosy from its recent scrubbing. “Dad, do you know what?” she asked with an air of suppressed excitement. “Pamela said her father said if we divided up our
orange grove and this property into lots and sold them we would be
rich
.”

“Oh, he did,” answered Tom dryly. “And what would we do with our riches?”

“Pamela says we could build a new house,” said Katie. “A ranch house.”

Oh, no, thought Shelley, forgetting her own problem for the moment. Not give up this comfortable, creaky old house and live in a house just like anyone else's.

“For the information of Pamela and her father, not that it is any of their business,” began Tom, “it just so happens that I don't want to live in a new house. I like this house just as it is, slanting floors, too many doors, creaking stairs, and all. I like having my own trees around me, and room for the dog to run, and a place for your mother's studio, and extra bedrooms for Shelley and your grandmother and anyone else we want to visit us.”

“Yes, that is nice,” agreed Katie, and added wistfully, “but Pamela's house has wall-to-wall carpeting and all the furniture is Early American.”

“Goodness!” exclaimed Mavis. “I wouldn't have wall-to-wall carpeting. I don't like to run the vacuum cleaner that much. And we have some Early American furniture. The secretary and those two
little tables in the living room came from your grandmother's family home in New England and are very, very old.”

“Oh, Mommy,” said Katie impatiently. “I don't mean that kind of Early American. I mean
new
Early American like you buy in a store.”

Mavis began to laugh. “Katie, you funny little girl. I think you see too much of Pamela.”

Katie was injured. “I am not a funny little girl,” she said with her most dignified air. “I don't know why you always have to say things like that. Or why you have to criticize my friends all the time. Pamela is—”

“Katie,” said Tom sternly. “You aren't by any chance trying to avoid the subject of report cards?”

Katie's dignity wilted. “Oh, all right,” she said. “I got a C in cooking. But it really wasn't my fault at all. The teacher just doesn't like me. She picks on me.”

“Poor kid,” said Tom jovially.

“Daddy, do you always have to make fun of me?” asked Katie.

Tom ignored her question. “Perhaps you would do better in cooking if you had a little more practice at home.”

“I do cook at home,” said Katie. “I baked a cake yesterday.”

“I mean cook from the basic raw materials, not from a mix in a package,” said Tom. “How about cooking some of the things you cook at school?”

“You mean like white sauce and mushi?” asked Katie, and made a gagging noise.

“I'm game,” said Tom. “Anything to raise your grade in cooking.”

Shelley decided this was the time to speak. “I guess this must be the season for poor grades,” she said with a nervous laugh. “I got a D in biology, but Mr. Ericson says if I get a B the second semester he will give me a C for the whole year.”

“You see, Daddy?” Katie sounded triumphant. “I'm not the only one.”

“Oh, Shelley, what a shame,” said Mavis sympathetically. “But I am sure that if you apply yourself you won't have any trouble raising the grade. After all, with a subject like biology, all you really have to do is go to work and learn it.”

Why, that's so, thought Shelley. She had never thought of it that way. She made up her mind that she would do exactly that—go to work and learn it.

“A D is worse than a C,” observed Katie virtuously.

Shelley made a face at her. “But it isn't going to stay a D,” she reminded Katie.

“That reminds me,” remarked Tom, picking another olive out of the tamale pie.

“Tom!” objected Mavis. “There won't be any olives left if you keep this up.”

“This is the last one,” promised Tom. “I was just going to say that I lost a star basketball player today.”

“What happened?” asked Mavis.

“Phil Blanton flunked biology,” said Tom. “His father had told him that if he didn't keep his grades up he couldn't play basketball and so—no more basketball for Phil.”

Shelley felt her face turn scarlet.

“He sits beside Shelley in biology.” Katie lost no time in pointing out.

There was nothing Shelley could say. She looked into a cupboard so that she could turn her back to Tom and Mavis. Memories of biology came rushing back to her—the day Mr. Ericson stopped lecturing until she and Philip stopped whispering. The day they had made the date for the barn dance. Her D was bad enough, but an F! An F was really something to be ashamed of. And now Philip not only could not play on the team, the
whole school would know he had flunked biology. The whole school already knew that she sat at the same table with him, and everyone would blame her because he had flunked. The star of the team! The forward Tom had been counting on. All that was bad enough, but an F on Philip's record was far worse, because it might keep him from getting into college. Maybe she had ruined his whole career, even his whole life.

Shelley wondered what Philip would think of her now. If they had not been so aware of each other in class, if they had both worked harder…Then Shelley remembered that Philip had not asked to see her this weekend.

Friday evening Shelley tried to forget Philip while she dutifully studied biology. Because the new semester did not begin until Monday, she was studying when she did not actually have an assignment. She wished Mr. Ericson could see her now, her head bent over her textbook, and on Friday night, too. She could not forget Philip, however, and he occupied her thoughts while her eyes slid over the sentences in the biology book.

Time dragged on Saturday morning and Shelley made it drag even more by dawdling over the breakfast dishes. She wondered what Philip was doing. Perhaps he was out working someplace and thinking bitter thoughts about her, the girl who
had caused him to flunk. She began to dread Monday and the moment when they would inevitably meet in the hall at school. Maybe he would look at her and glance away as if he did not even know her. Everyone would talk about them over sandwiches at noon. And with the basketball season about to start, too. She could never face going to the games and having the whole student body whisper and point her out as the girl who made the star forward flunk off the team.

Shelley swished her hands back and forth in the dishwater to stir up more suds. She dreaded seeing Philip but at the same time she longed to see him. If she could only tell him how sorry she was and tell him about her D, he would understand.

Katie entered the kitchen and said enthusiastically, “I just saw an idea for a cute cake in a magazine.”

In spite of her preoccupation with Philip, Shelley managed to laugh.

“Well, it
is
a cute cake. You take a package of cake mix”—Katie found a package in the cupboard—“and you bake it in two oblong pans. Then you cut one half in two the long way to make rabbit ears, and you frost the whole thing and sprinkle it with coconut and use jelly beans for the eyes
and nose, and when you get through you have a cake that looks like a rabbit.” Katie dumped the mix into a bowl, found two eggs in the refrigerator, carefully separated them, and added the yolks to the mix along with the milk. The whites of the eggs she poured into the cat's dish. “Here, kitty, kitty,” she called, and Smoky came running to lick up the egg. “I'll hide part of the cake from Luke so you and Philip can have some when he comes over tonight.”

“Thank you, Katie,” said Shelley, “but Philip isn't coming over tonight.”

“Why?” demanded Katie, looking up from the batter she was about to beat.

“He just isn't,” answered Shelley, running more hot water into the dishwater.

“Did you have a quarrel?” asked Katie, her eyes alight at this interesting possibility. “Did you tell him you never wanted to see him again?”

“No. Nothing like that.” Shelley was hard pressed for an explanation. “He—well, he has something else to do.” That was true enough, and she hoped the answer would satisfy Katie's curiosity for the time being.

Katie was busy reading the directions on the cake mix box. “Wouldn't you know?” she
exclaimed. “I needed those egg whites for the frosting.” She took two more eggs out of the refrigerator, separated them, and gave the yolks to the cat. “Don't tell Daddy,” she said. “You know how he is about wasting food.” She beat her cake batter, counting under her breath, and when she finished, she said, “Pamela thinks Philip is the handsomest boy in school. I think so, too, but I thought Hartley was sort of nice that night he helped with the ironing.”

“He is nice,” said Shelley as she emptied the dishpan. “I see him a lot at school, but—well, it is just different with Philip.” The ringing of the telephone startled Shelley so she dropped the dishcloth. Sometimes the ring of a telephone could be such a hopeful sound.

Katie set down her bowl and went into the dining room to answer. “Yes, just a minute,” she said. “It's for you, Shelley.”

Shelley caught her breath. Philip? Her eyes must have asked the question.

“I think it's that big old Frisbie,” whispered Katie.

Oh. Frisbie. Why should he telephone her? Shelley hoped he did not think that just because Philip was through with her that he could ask her
for a date. After all, he was Philip's best friend. Shelley picked up the telephone but did not answer at once. She was looking at the San Sebastian telephone book. It was a mere pamphlet compared to the telephone book at home. “Hello?” she said in an impersonal voice.

“Hello, Shelley,” said Philip.

“Philip!” Shelley's heart beat fast. “I thought—”

“I had Friz make the call because I didn't know who would answer and I didn't feel like talking to the coach,” Philip explained. “Look, Friz and I have a job splitting some eucalyptus wood down the road from the Michies' and I wondered if you could come by. I—I want to talk to you.”

“Why—” Shelley hesitated, trying to think. Maybe she should insist on his coming to the house. Still, he did have a job to do and she could understand how he might not want to talk to Tom right now. “All right,” she agreed happily, because Philip did not sound angry or even bitter. He sounded anxious. Perhaps he thought she would think he was blaming her for his F and wanted her to know he didn't feel that way at all. Whatever it was he wanted to talk about, everything was going to be all right.

“You know the place,” said Philip. “Where I told
you we took down the tree last week.”

“Yes, I'll be there in a little while,” answered Shelley. Philip was not angry with her. He wanted to see her right away. He couldn't even wait until this evening.

“Katie, be an angel and dry the dishes,” said Shelley when she had replaced the receiver.

“Sure,” said Katie. “Are you going out with Frisbie?”

“No, with Philip.” Shelley could not keep the lilt out of her voice. She ran up to her room to comb her hair and then left by the front door to avoid any more questions from Katie. She hurried down the road, following the sound of metal ringing against metal, until she saw Philip and Frisbie. Then she walked more slowly so she would not appear too eager.

When Philip saw her he leaned his maul against a section of a eucalyptus tree, dropped his wedges on the ground, and came to meet her. They stood facing each other under the arching fronds of a low palm tree beside some neglected-looking geraniums. Philip's face was dirty and he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“Hi,” he said, looking serious. “I suppose you
heard I can't play basketball because I flunked biology?”

“Well—yes, I did,” Shelley admitted. “I feel awful about it. As if it were partly my fault.”

“Aw, Shelley, don't feel that way,” pleaded Philip. “It wasn't your fault.”

“I—I got a D,” Shelley confessed reluctantly.

“Did you?” remarked Philip. “Well, that's better than flunking.”

Shelley was surprised that he did not show more concern. Of course a D was better than an F, but it still was nothing to be so casual about. “But now I can't be on the honor roll,” she said.

“I wouldn't know. I've never been on it,” was Philip's offhand answer. He picked up a eucalyptus bud that lay in the road and pegged it at a telephone pole. “I'll miss playing on the team,” he remarked.

“I know,” said Shelley sympathetically, “but what about college? Will this keep you from getting in?”

“Maybe,” answered Philip, pegging another eucalyptus bud at an orange tree. “But I don't care.”

“Don't care!” Shelley was shocked. “You mean you don't care whether or not you go to college?”

“I don't even want to go,” answered Philip.

“You don't want to go to college?” Shelley could scarcely believe it. It was true that she could not explain to Mr. Ericson why she wanted to go to college, but at the same time she was sure college was important. “But I thought everyone wanted to go to college.”

“I don't,” answered Philip. “Everyone wants me to go—Mom and Dad think just because they went to the university I should go, too, but I don't want to go. They're pretty disappointed in me, I guess, and I feel awful about it because they are really swell.”

“But—why don't you want to go to college?” asked Shelley.

“Because I don't like to study,” answered Philip. “I feel all cooped up sitting at a desk with a pile of books. I like to be outdoors doing things—things like cutting trees. Dad wants me to be a lawyer or something, and I'm not cut out for it.”

“But you can't cut trees all your life,” Shelley protested.

“Why can't I?” asked Philip. “Lots of men earn their livings cutting trees and clearing land, especially now that there is so much building going on. Of course I'm not sure that's what I want to do, but it is one thing I could do.”

Shelley was silent. She broke off a sprig of geranium still damp from yesterday's rain and carefully pulled the dead blossoms from the cluster. Philip earning his living cutting trees—this did not fit in with her picture of him at all. The fairy-tale phrase “poor woodcutter” popped into her mind. How silly, she thought. Nobody was a poor woodcutter in this day and age. She felt sorry for Philip. It must be hard for a boy to study when he disliked studying. And he was going to miss so much.

“If it weren't for the team and Dad's feeling so bad, I wouldn't even care about flunking,” said Philip moodily. “That and one other thing.”

“What is that?” asked Shelley.

Philip picked up another eucalyptus bud and took careful aim at a dove on a telephone wire. He missed but the dove flew away. “Shelley—I feel terrible about this,” he said, looking down at her. “Dad says I can't have any more dates until I bring my grades up.”

Shelley stared at Philip, not quite believing what he said. Then, embarrassed, she began to pluck the fresh petals from the geranium one by one. He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not. She could not keep the words from running through her mind.

“Dad is pretty strict,” explained Philip. “That's why I couldn't often ask you for a date ahead of time. If he thought I hadn't studied enough during the week, he wouldn't let me go out on weekends.”

So Philip had not been so casual after all. And now she was being given notice. Shelley did not know what to say. What could she say—thanks, it's been nice knowing you and now I'll run along? And what would her mother think when she found a boy was not allowed to go out with her?

“I'm sure sorry, Shelley,” said Philip. “I feel terrible about it.”

“I—I guess you can't help it.” Shelley's fingers continued to pluck at the geranium. He loves me, he loves me not. One more petal. He loves me. She threw the empty stem to the ground.

“You're not angry?” Philip sounded anxious.

“No, I'm not angry,” answered Shelley. What was there to be angry about?

“Swell,” said Philip. “I knew you'd understand. I'll really work to bring my grades up.”

“You do that, Philip.” Shelley found she felt completely blank, as if she did not have any emotions. “Well, I guess I'd better go now.”

Suddenly Philip took her hand. “You're awfully nice, Shelley.”

Shelley smiled faintly. “Thank you, Philip. Good luck. I'll miss you in class next semester.”

“Oh, I'll be there,” said Philip. “They are letting me take the second semester and then I have to repeat the first semester next year.”

“Oh,” was all Shelley said. This was worse. To sit beside Philip another semester when he could not come to see her and the whole school would know about it…Feeling as if she were walking in her sleep, Shelley turned and left. She walked slowly past the grove and through the privet hedge and into the house. She climbed the creaking stairs and sat down on her unhemmed bedspread. She felt numb, but beneath the numbness was hurt pride. It hurt to have a boy tell her he was not allowed to go out with her. And it was going to hurt even more to have the whole school know she wanted to go out with him when he was not allowed to go out with her. And then there were the letters filled with references to Philip that she had written to her mother and to Rosemary. It had been such a joy to write his name.

Shelley sat listening to the whir of a lawn mower down the road. Now there was no longer any reason to write Philip's name at all. He was not allowed to go out with her and there was nothing
she could do about it. San Sebastian was not a magic place. She could not perform some task that would break a magic spell and free him. And his father was not an ogre. He was a man who wanted his son to do well in school.

Shelley felt sorry for Philip. It would almost be easier if he were the kind of boy who would rebel, but he wasn't. He would do the best he could in that reserved way of his, trying to please his father and knowing in the long run he wouldn't. It must be hard for him to study when he didn't like studying. She was sorry, too, because he did not want to go to college. There was no reason why everyone should go to college, but for herself, she knew that her life would be more interesting if she did go. That was what she should have told Mr. Ericson. But Philip was not the kind of boy who wanted to go….

Shelley buried her face in her bedspread. She was suddenly and desperately homesick. She was homesick for her mother and father and for Rosemary. She was homesick for the soft Oregon rain and the feel of dampness against her cheeks when she walked home from school. She was homesick for definite seasons, autumn leaves in fall and iris and violets that understood they
should bloom when spring had come. She was homesick for fir trees in the park and seagulls wheeling over the school lawn when there was a storm at sea. She was homesick for the mahogany dining-room table and fluffy pink bath towels. She was homesick for those drinking fountains that were never turned off.

Outside, the eucalyptus leaves rustled in the breeze and from down the road the sound of the lawn mower continued. There was something wrong about that sound, and at first Shelley could not think what it was. Then she knew. It was a lawn mower in winter. At home the sound of the first lawn mower meant that spring had come, even though no one wrote poetry about it. Now Shelley listened to the lawn mower and thought about the four long months that were still ahead of her in this strange country. From now until the first week in June. She did not know how she could face them without Philip.