The Luckiest Girl (17 page)

“Whew!” exclaimed Shelley when supper was over and she and Hartley were on their way to the carnival, which was being held on the school's tennis courts. “I didn't know families could argue so much. And the funny part of it is, the Michies argue a lot but it never really seems to make any difference.”

“I guess that's the way it is with families. Some families, anyway,” said Hartley. “My dad and my brothers and I are always hacking away at one another but it doesn't really mean anything except maybe that we like one another. It would be different if we all kept still.”

“I suppose,” said Shelley thoughtfully, “that
when there are a lot of arguments going on, no single one seems so important.” She rode in silence awhile before she said, “I got into the silliest argument with my mother once over a raincoat. At least it seems silly now. I got so mad I stuffed a whole bouquet of fresh roses into the Disposall and ground them up.”

“Why, Shelley,” said Hartley, after they had laughed together over the incident, “you always seem so composed, it is hard to picture you doing such a thing.”

“I guess I usually seethe within, but that time I boiled over,” said Shelley as Hartley parked the car near the tennis courts. She could laugh about the incident now, but could she, she wondered, when she returned home? She hoped so but she was not sure.

The tennis courts were a square of light in the fragrant night. Music poured forth from loudspeakers and mingled with the shouts and laughter of the crowd that wandered from one booth to another eating candied apples and popcorn, yelling encouragement or derision at those who were trying their skills at various booths.

When Shelley and Hartley entered the tennis courts, Shelley wondered a little uneasily what
others would think at seeing her with Hartley when Philip had to stay home. Then she told herself she was worrying unnecessarily. Philip had never said anything about going steady, had he? But she could not help feeling that she would have a better time if Philip were here, with his usual crowd of boys—or even with another girl.

Shelley and Hartley wandered about, pausing to watch the boys from the print shop fill orders for calling cards, lingering at the nail-driving booth. “Oh, look,” cried Shelley as they moved on. “The Garvel Club is selling personalized shrunken heads—it says so on that sign.”

“The debaters must have been hard up for something to sell,” remarked Hartley as they walked across the tennis courts to look at the shrunken heads.

“Step right up, folks!” yelled the barker. “Have you ever wanted to shrink the head of one of your teachers? Don't miss this golden opportunity, the chance of a lifetime! Just twenty-five cents, one quarter of a dollar! Get your shrunken heads here!”

The heads were walnuts with faces painted on the wrinkled brown shells and black string glued to the top for hair. Hartley bought one of the
heads, wrote something on the attached tag, and presented it to Shelley.

Shelley laughed when she saw Mr. Ericson's name on the tag. “Since I got ninety-six on that last quiz, I'm not eager to shrink his head,” she said, “but I'll take this home as a souvenir of San Sebastian.”

Shelley and Hartley wandered on to the Block S Club's booth, one of the most popular concessions at the carnival. Members of the football team were taking turns wearing a helmet and poking their heads through a hole in a blanket. Students bought three balls for a dime and tried to hit the football player's helmet before he could duck. Shouts went up when a ball slammed against the top of a helmet. The crowd booed when the player ducked out of the way of the ball. Hartley paid his dime and picked up three balls. The first hit the blanket to the left of the player. The second was close but landed to the right. The crowd booed, and Hartley took careful aim. The third ball landed square on top of the helmet. Shelley cheered with the rest of the crowd. One of the nicest things about Hartley was that he did everything well, even throwing a ball at a carnival.

“Hartley, do you suppose I could hit a football player?” Shelley asked.

Hartley laughed. “I don't know, but you could try.” He laid down a dime for Shelley's three balls.

“I'll bet she can't even hit the blanket,” said one of the girls in the crowd.

Shelley laughed, picked up a ball, and threw as hard as she could. It hit the blanket, but that was about all you could say for it. The football player laughed at her. The crowd groaned. “She throws like a girl,” someone commented.

“Well—I
am
a girl,” said Shelley, and picked up her second ball. This time the football player grinned at her and did not even bother to duck. “Hey,” protested Shelley. “Don't just stand there sneering. It's bad for my morale.”

She aimed carefully the third time and came close enough so that the football player was able, by straining against the blanket, to lean over to the right and bump his head against the ball.

“See?” crowed Shelley. “I hit him.”

“With a lot of cooperation from your target,” scoffed someone.

“Shelley is an excellent shot,” said Hartley. “She just has an individual style.”

“Thanks, Hartley,” said Shelley, flushed and
laughing. Then as they started to leave, because the crowd was growing, they turned and found themselves face-to-face with Jeannie and Philip. Shelley stopped in surprise when she saw Philip, but the surprise did not last. Of course Philip had to go out sometimes. A boy's father could not keep him prisoner because he flunked biology. She should have known that.

Philip's face turned red with embarrassment. Shelley was aware that the crowd was watching to see what her reaction would be. Jeannie was looking at her and at Philip with bright-eyed interest, a little detached as if she were observing a scene instead of taking part in it. Shelley found that her only reaction was one of relief. Philip was not shut up at home with a pile of books while she was out having a good time. “Hi,” she said, feeling uncomfortable only because so many people were watching. “Having fun?”

“Uh—Shelley,” Philip began. “Jeannie and I got together at the library so she could go over my biology notebook before Mr. Ericson looks at it and then we—we decided to drop in here for a few minutes.” Those were the words Phillip spoke. He was silently asking Shelley not to mind.

“I'm glad you came,” Shelley answered sincerely.
“We've been having a lot of fun.” She was happy to see the tense look on Philip's face relax. Now she knew where they stood. It was over for both of them. She need no longer have that vague, guilty feeling that had bothered her so often when she was with Hartley. Shelley's heart was light as she turned to Jeannie and said, “I hope you have as much fun as we've had.”

Jeannie smiled and her eyes told Shelley how happy she was to be with Philip. It was a look that only another girl could appreciate. Philip looked at Shelley and gave her his slow, shy grin, a grin that no longer made Shelley catch her breath. It was just a nice smile from a boy whom she had once liked and still liked, but in a different way.

“I just hit a football player,” said Shelley.

“Jeannie, do you want to try?” asked Philip.

“Good luck!” said Shelley.

Hartley put his hand on Shelley's elbow to guide her through the crowd. “You really didn't mind what happened, did you?” he remarked into her ear when they had left Jeannie and Philip.

Shelley smiled over her shoulder at him. “I'm glad,” she said honestly, and when they were out of the crowd she faced Hartley and said, “I guess I have felt sort of guilty about Philip. As if it were
my fault he flunked biology and was not allowed to date or play on the basketball team. And now I don't feel that way anymore.” Shelley knew that she had been mistaken to have felt that way in the first place; Philip had earned his F the same way she had earned her D—he had not studied enough. His grades were not her responsibility.

Perhaps the whole unhappy incident was really for the best. If it had not happened she would have gone on dating Philip and eventually, because he was not really the boy she had wanted him to be, she would have come to feel about him the way she felt about Jack. Not that Philip would have said, “Penny for your thoughts.” It would have been something else that he did—ordering those greasy grilled peanut butter sandwiches, probably—that she would wish he would not do, and then she would know that she was tired of him. And by that time it would have been too late. Everyone would have assumed they were going steady, and her beautiful year in San Sebastian would have ended in disappointment.

“I know what,” said Hartley. “Let's get out of this madhouse and drive over to Vincente for some doughnut holes.”

“In memory of our first date,” agreed Shelley. It
was all over with Philip now and she knew that her year would not end on an unhappy note. Her wonderful year that made her feel as if she were seeing the world for the first time. Because she was so happy, she smiled at Hartley, suddenly and radiantly.

He looked down at her with a mixture of tenderness and amusement. “You always have fun, don't you, Shelley?” he asked.

“Yes,” Shelley answered as the noise and the crowd of the carnival became a bright spot behind them in the darkness and the perfume of the orange blossoms hung heavy on the night. “Yes, I do have fun.” And that was the way it should be when a girl was sixteen.

It was then that Shelley knew that she was not going to the mountains with Jack and his family over the Fourth of July, no matter what her mother had said. She would write him a nice note….

She did not have time to think about the note, though. Hartley leaned over and kissed her on the tip of her nose.

Suddenly the days were going much too fast for Shelley. She wanted to catch each hour and hold it just a little longer. The green hills were turning to gold, the sky was blue, laced with the vapor trails of jet planes, and Shelley's spirits were high.

Shelley found that even biology, after weeks of memorizing definitions and classifications, became interesting. When the class reached the chapter on heredity, she was fascinated. It seemed marvelous to her that Luther Burbank could decide that he wanted a large white daisy with a smooth stem and by working with three different flowers from three different continents could, in fifteen years of controlled breeding, produce the
Shasta daisy, which was exactly what he wanted. If Luther Burbank had wanted a California poppy that would stay open after being picked, he could have bred one by crossing the sleepy poppy with some wide-awake variety.

Journalism was Shelley's favorite subject and when the Journalism 1 class put out the cub issue of the
Bastion,
Hartley was chosen editor—an honor that certainly meant he would be made editor of the paper in his senior year. Shelley had been made feature editor because Mrs. Boyce had been so pleased with her interview with Jonas Hornbostle. It was fun to stay after school working on the paper in the untidy room that students had decorated with signs that said, “Thimk” or “Don't just do something—stand there.” It was fun because she and Hartley were sharing a real interest. Each moment spent bending over the dummy of the cub issue was precious.

The one flaw in Shelley's happiness was the thought of leaving San Sebastian so soon. She tried to stuff this thought into the back of her mind and slam a door on it, but the thought slipped out at the most inconvenient times. When Hartley tossed a paper from another high school onto her desk and asked her what she thought of its feature page,
she picked it up and looked at it but she had trouble really seeing it. She was thinking that this was probably the last time in her whole life that Hartley would toss a paper onto her desk. Surely something would happen to spare her having to say good-bye to him. If only she had not wasted so many months before getting to know him better!

The same sort of thought pursued Shelley at the Michies', too. When a letter arrived from home, Shelley's first thought was, Only two or three more letters from home before I have to say good-bye to Hartley. When she joined Tom and his two children in packing their lunches for the next day, she thought, only ten more lunches on the lawn with Jeannie before I have to say good-bye to Hartley. When Luke and Katie argued over whose turn it was to feed the animals, Shelley counted the number of times that were left for her to hear this argument.

When Katie began to talk about the last dancing class of the season, the class that was to be a party, Shelley shared her anticipation, hoping that this time Katie would not return from the party dejected because there were not enough boys to go around, or because all the boys were too short, or because Pamela had danced three times with Rudy
while she had to dance with a boy with clammy hands whose shoes made black marks all over her new white slippers.

It was over Katie's last dancing class that a crisis arose in the Michie household. Two days before the party Katie discovered that she had outgrown her best dress. Naturally she had to have a new dress. Katie requested what she called a store-boughten dress. Mavis said she could make a dress for half the price of a ready-made garment, and wouldn't Katie like yellow organdy? Katie said she would die, absolutely
die
, before she would go to the party in any old organdy dress. Organdy was for kindergarten. Mrs. Stickney suggested white dotted swiss. Dotted swiss was always so sweet, she thought. Katie did not actually disagree with her grandmother. She merely stared at the corner of the living-room ceiling with a stubborn, sulky look on her face.

A last dancing class was so important, and Shelley wanted so much for Katie to have a good time. “Maybe white piqué would be nice,” she suggested cautiously.

“Yes!” agreed Katie enthusiastically, to everyone's relief. There was some argument over the pattern, but they finally settled on a princess style because
there was no sash across the back. Katie would absolutely die before she would wear a dress with a sash to the party. She did not want any old ruffle around the neck, either.

Saturday morning passed in a flurry of pattern and material on the dining-room table and basting threads on the living-room rug, while both Mavis and Mrs. Stickney worked on the dress. When they were both busy sewing, Katie called Shelley into the laundry. “Shelley,” she whispered, “can't you persuade Mommy to let me get a permanent? There is still time before the party and maybe she would listen to you.”

Shelley was in a difficult position. She felt that straight hair was more becoming to Katie, whose face was round, and she knew Mavis would agree. At the same time she wanted Katie to feel she looked her best that evening.

“Please, Shelley,” pleaded Katie.

“Katie, you know it wouldn't do any good,” said Shelley, and then she had an inspiration. “Why don't you ask your mother if you could have your hair cut in a beauty shop?”

Katie was elated with this suggestion. Her mother and grandmother agreed that a professional haircut was a good idea, and for once something was
accomplished without argument. Shelley made an appointment for Katie and drove her downtown in the station wagon because Mavis and Mrs. Stickney were too busy sewing. Katie emerged from the beauty shop with her hair thinned and trimmed into a sleek little cap.

“Katie, you look darling!” exclaimed Shelley. She could tell that Katie was pleased by the way she held her head higher as if she were proud of it.

Somehow Katie's dress was ready to try on and Mavis was marking the hem with a yardstick and a row of pins (“Katie, stand still. How do you expect me to get this hem straight when you stand first on one foot and then the other?”) when from the garage came a loud popping noise and then the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle running.

“Luke's motorcycle!” cried Katie. “He's finally got it to run!” She jumped down from the stool she was standing on and ran to the window.

“There he goes down the driveway!” Shelley was excited over Luke's success after all these months.

“Oh!” The exclamation escaped Mavis as if this were the last straw.

The motorcycle turned at the corner of the house, crossed the front lawn, proceeded under the pergola, and around to the backyard and the
garage once more. The whole family was on the back porch when Luke arrived, grimy and triumphant, his face and hands smudged with grease. He stopped, with the motor idling. “She runs!” he shouted.

“Oh, I never thought—” began Mavis.

“Well done, son,” said Tom. “I never thought you'd do it but I'm proud of you.”

“But he can't ride it,” insisted Mavis. “He isn't old enough to have a license.”

“I can ride it on our own property if I don't take it out on the road,” Luke informed his mother with the air of a boy who had inquired into the subject. “And next month I will be sixteen and can get a license.”

“But Luke,” protested Mavis, “I can't bear to think of you riding that dangerous contraption on the highway.”

Luke looked stubborn.

“If the state of California lets him have a license to operate the motorcycle and Luke can earn enough money to support it, we will have to let him ride it,” said Tom. “What is there for a boy his age to do? I would rather have him tinkering on a motorcycle than hanging around the drugstore like some boys.”

“That's right, Mavis,” agreed Mrs. Stickney. “You have to let your children grow up, you know.”

“Sure, Mommy,” said Katie. “He'll be all right.”

“Sure I will,” said Luke.

“But he's—” Mavis began. She stopped, defeated.

“We can only hope that we have brought him up to have enough sense to use his head,” said Tom.

“I hope we have.” Mavis managed a shaky smile.

“Mommy, my
hem
!” cried Katie. “We've got to finish my hem.”

“This seems to be one of those days. If it isn't one thing it is another,” said Mavis with a sigh. “Come on. I'll have to start pinning it all over after the way you have been jumping around.”

Somehow, while Luke rode his motorcycle around and around the house, Katie's dress was finished and a meal prepared. After supper Katie showered, admired her hair frequently in the mirror, slipped her dress on over her best petticoat, and was ready for the party. She twirled around in front of her family. “Mommy, I just
love
my dress,” she exclaimed. “And you know what? Pamela's mother can't sew a
thing
. She's awfully dumb about a lot of things.”

“I am glad you are pleased, Katie,” said Mavis.
“But I don't think you should talk about Pamela's mother that way.” Mavis sat down, rested her head on the back of the chair, and closed her eyes. “Shelley, is Hartley coming over this evening?” she asked.

“Not till later,” answered Shelley. “Probably not till nine o'clock. They are having a family dinner for his grandmother's birthday and he has to stay around.”

“Would you mind driving Katie to the party?” Mavis asked. “I'm too tired.”

“I would love to,” answered Shelley, who enjoyed driving.

When she had deposited Katie at the junior high school auditorium, Shelley said, “Have fun!”

“I will,” said Katie, smiling. Then she turned and ran toward the auditorium before she remembered how grown-up she was and slowed down to a walk.

Shelley drove slowly back to the Michies', looking at all that had grown familiar in the last months—the cannon in the park, the big old houses along the main street, the high school's mission tower that had never contained a bell, the pomegranate trees, the groves that had shed their petals. She must remember every bit of it always.
At the Michies' Tom and Luke were washing the dishes while Mavis and her mother recovered from their frantic day of sewing. Mrs. Stickney's bright green yarn lay in her lap and everyone seemed too tired to argue about anything.

Shelley decided to go to her room to answer her mother's letter. She picked it up and glanced through it once more. “We are looking forward so much to our trip to California. We can hardly wait to see our daughter again. It seems as if you have been gone more than nine months. Mavis writes that Hartley is one of the nicest boys she has ever known and that is such a relief. I do worry so about you way off down there. What has happened to Philip?”

Shelley's feelings were a mixture of tenderness and irritation. Honestly, the way her mother acted as if she were still a child! Shelley picked up her pen and stared thoughtfully at a blank piece of notebook paper. “Dear Mother and Daddy,” she began. “Of course Hartley is a nice boy. I don't know why you think I would be interested in any other kind. You really did not need to write for references—”

Shelley sat with her pen poised above the paper. She did not want to bicker with her mother, any more than her mother wanted to bicker with her.
She could not understand why they behaved the way they did. She wished the situation would be different when she returned but she was afraid it would not. Her mother would still tell her she should wear the blue dress instead of the green or the green instead of the pink, she would still insist on helping Shelley select her clothes, she would still say she thought Shelley should not go over to Rosemary's house so often. And Shelley would still object to everything her mother said. She laid down her pen. Darn it all, anyway. Why did things have to be the way they were?

A little before eight thirty Shelley went downstairs and asked, “Would you like me to go get Katie?”

“Why don't we all three go?” suggested Mavis. “Mother, wouldn't you enjoy a little ride?”

“I think it is a fine idea after such a hard day,” agreed Mrs. Stickney.

“Oh, I forgot,” said Mavis when they arrived at the junior high school and saw no sign that the party was ending. “Since this is the last class of the season, it lasts until nine o'clock.” They sat in silence in the station wagon awhile until Mavis said, “Let's go in and watch. The girls always look so pretty in their spring dresses.”

Shelley realized she was going to lose some of her precious moments with Hartley, because now it would be after nine o'clock when they returned. There was nothing she could do about it.

They walked up to the auditorium, slipped quietly through the door, and silently joined the parents who were standing along one wall watching. It seemed to Shelley an exceptionally pretty party. The girls were all dressed in pastel cotton dresses and each was wearing a
lei
of pink carnations. The boys wore carnations in the buttonholes of their best suits. They were all very dignified as they danced around the auditorium to the music of a band of four high school boys. Shelley located Katie dancing with a boy who was shorter than she was—so many of the boys were shorter than the girls. Shelley thought Katie was having as good a time as it was possible to have with a short boy, but she could not be sure. Like all the girls Katie looked rather solemn. Not as solemn as the girls who were wearing their first high heels, but solemn for Katie. Shelley was glad to see that Katie's next partner, who had bushy hair, was taller. Katie's expression was one of elation suppressed by anxiety about not stepping on her partner's feet. Shelley was sure that this boy must be
Rudy. Katie did not appear to recognize either Shelley or her relatives.

Eager not to miss any time with Hartley, Shelley glanced surreptitiously at her watch every thirty seconds and was glad when the party ended and Katie joined them.

“Did you have a good time?” Mavis asked.

“Oh, I guess so.” Katie spoke coldly as they left the auditorium.