The Luckiest Girl (7 page)

“What sort of disappointment?” asked Shelley curiously.

“She didn't get elected Soph Doll,” said Mavis. “That is what we called the queen of the sophomore ball.”

“Soph Doll!” repeated Shelley in astonishment.
Mother
wanted to be Soph Doll?

“Yes, and it was a shame she didn't win,” said Mavis. “She was the prettiest of the candidates but lost out through some sort of campus politics.”

Shelley was incredulous. Mother wanting to be
elected Soph Doll of all things. Of course, she was pretty for an older woman, but she was—well, a housewife. She had been ever since Shelley had known her. Before that she had been a teacher and before that—apparently she had been a girl who hoped to be Soph Doll. For Shelley this was an entirely new picture of her mother, and as she ironed another sport shirt, she found herself feeling sorry that her mother had not been elected to rule over a sophomore ball a long time ago.

“And you know,” Mavis continued, “I've always felt I should have turned the deer's head over to your mother along with the boy. The Great White Hunter, we called him.”

In the front of the house the doorbell twirled. “You get it, Katie,” directed Tom, opening the mangle once more.

Katie returned in a moment, her eyes sparkling. “Someone to see you, Shelley,” she announced.

“Me?” asked Shelley as excitement shot through her. Philip! The story in the paper had given him the push he needed.

It was Hartley Lathrop who entered the laundry behind Katie. “Hi, Shelley,” said Hartley. “Good evening, Mrs. Michie and Mr. Michie.”

“Why, Hartley!” In her surprise Shelley set the iron down flat.

“I know you weren't expecting me,” apologized Hartley, “but at the last minute I got the car. When I tried to phone, the line was busy so I thought I'd take a chance. You can throw me out if you want to.”

“Why—” Shelley was not sure what to say. She only hoped that her disappointment did not show. A scorched smell rose from her ironing board and she hastily lifted the iron.

“Not a chance,” said Tom. “We're starting sheets and can use another hand around here.”

“Sure,” said Hartley, pulling a sheet out of the laundry basket. He and Luke folded it in half the long way while Tom and Katie folded a second sheet. They laid the ends on the roller. “Now!” said Tom. The mangle closed and the sheets rolled through.

Shelley wondered what Hartley would think. She could not picture any of the boys she knew at home helping with the ironing, any more than she could picture her mother or father asking them to help. Hartley seemed to be enjoying himself, so Shelley went on with her task.

“I promised Shelley a trip to Vincente to sample doughnut holes,” Hartley explained as he picked up another sheet.

“You two run along,” said Mavis. “The rest of us can finish.”

“No hurry,” said Hartley, folding the sheet. When the last sheet and shirt and dirndl had been ironed, he turned to Shelley. “Shall we go?” he asked.

“Yes.” Shelley felt a little shy under the interested scrutiny of Katie.

“Thanks for the help, Hartley,” said Tom.

“And do come over sometime when we aren't ironing,” said Mavis. “We won't always put Shelley's guests to work.”

Shelley enjoyed the drive through the warm evening. The stars seemed lower than the stars at home. Once there was a hint of moisture in the air as they passed a grove that had been irrigated that day. As they turned a corner, the headlights caught for an instant a graceful tree with foliage that trailed in the breeze. “What was that feathery tree?” she asked.

“A pepper tree,” answered Hartley.

“Oh, of course. The tree with pink berries,” said Shelley. “Mavis sent us some at Christmas once
when I was in grade school and I took some to school to show the class. I felt so important.”

Vincente looked very much like San Sebastian, though a little larger perhaps and farther from the mountains. The doughnut shop, which was near the Orange Belt College, was filled with students who had stopped in on their way from the library. They made Shelley feel young and inexperienced, but Hartley was at ease. He guided her past a rack displaying every kind of doughnut—plain, sugar coated, chocolate frosted, nut covered—into a booth, where he ordered doughnut holes and milk shakes. Then he smiled across the table at Shelley, who was enjoying the cinnamon and nutmeg fragrance of the shop. “Your hair looks nice in front, too,” he said.

Shelley laughed and to change the subject said, “I hope you didn't mind helping with the ironing tonight.”

“Not a bit. It was fun,” answered Hartley. “The Michies made me feel like part of the family.”

“I know,” said Shelley. “They made me feel that way the minute I arrived. I was so scared. I had never been away from home before except for two weeks at camp once.”

“Do you like California, Shelley?” Hartley asked seriously.

“I do now,” said Shelley. “At first everything looked so flat and dry and there wasn't any water in the riverbed. A river with no water—I had never seen anything like that before.”

“Don't worry,” said Hartley. “There will be water this winter.”

“It seems hard to believe,” said Shelley. “At first all I could think was that I had to spend the winter in this place. I had heard so much about California I guess I expected to step across the border into the tropics.” Shelley munched a doughnut hole thoughtfully before she said, “And you know, now that I'm used to it, it really is beautiful. I love it. Oranges and olives really growing on trees, and down the street from our house there is a tree with pomegranates growing on it. Real pomegranates!”

“You make them sound like something special,” said Hartley. “I've seen pomegranates around here ever since we came to California when I was about three years old, and I never thought much about them.”

“They remind me of a story I used to read when I was a little girl,” said Shelley, thinking that Hartley had a nice face. Not as nice as Philip's, with his sunburned nose, but nice in a different
way. Thinner, more sensitive, the kind of face that in the movies belonged to the man who didn't get the girl but you sort of wished he had.

“What was the story?” asked Hartley.

“I used to like fairy tales,” said Shelley, “and this was a myth about Persephone, who was snatched away by Pluto to the lower world, and while she was there she ate six pomegranate seeds and that is why we have six months of summer and six months of winter.”

Hartley looked at her so steadily that Shelley was embarrassed. How silly to be sitting here talking about fairy tales. She did not know what had come over her. She would never have thought of telling Jack such a thing. They were both silent a moment, and out of habit Shelley opened her mouth to say something. Then she closed it and was silent.

“You started to say something,” Hartley reminded her.

Shelley looked down at the table. “Not really.”

“Yes, you did,” Hartley insisted.

Shelley laughed nervously. “I don't really know what I was going to say. Just anything, I guess. A boy I—I used to know always said ‘Penny for your thoughts' when there was a silence and I guess I
fell into the habit of saying anything that popped into my mind to keep him from saying it.”

“Didn't you like the boy?” Hartley asked curiously.

For the first time since she had left home, Shelley stopped to think about Jack. She found that being a thousand miles away gave her a new perspective. “Yes,” she said thoughtfully, “I liked him. He was really an awfully nice fellow, but you know how it is. You go out with a boy three or four times and everybody assumes you are going steady. I guess we just ran out of things to talk about.” As she spoke Shelley knew that although she was tired of Jack, she was also grateful to him. He had taken her to school dances and the movies and different places to eat so that she had learned how a girl should act and could sit here with Hartley without worrying about her behavior.

Shelley stirred her milk shake with her straw. She had not meant to confide in Hartley but, for a boy, she found him surprisingly easy to talk to. And the thought crossed her mind that if he had been Philip she would have been more cautious in expressing disapproval of going steady. It was funny how a girl would behave one way with one boy and an entirely different way with another boy.

Feeling that she had let the conversation become too personal, Shelley said, “I like school, too, and next semester I get to take journalism. I've wanted to take journalism ever since I entered high school.”

“I'm going to take it too,” said Hartley. “I want to go to Stanford and it would help the family a lot if I could get a scholarship. And to get a scholarship you have to take part in activities. I figured that if I worked on the school paper I would get credit for an activity and an English course at the same time.”

“That's a good idea,” said Shelley, admiring Hartley's ability to plan ahead. They sat in silence, each thinking about individual plans for the future.

“I think doughnut holes taste better than doughnuts,” said Hartley. “Maybe it is because they were your idea.”

Shelley wrinkled her nose at Hartley. “I think we had better go,” she said, glancing at her watch. “I'm not sure what time the Michies expect me to be in.” And the funny part of it was that since no one had mentioned when she should come home, she was eager to return early.

They said little on the way home. Hartley parked
the car outside the privet hedge and walked Shelley to the door, which she found was unlocked. She opened it and Hartley stepped into the front hall with her. A lamp was shining in the living room, but Shelley was not sure whether she should ask Hartley to sit down or not.

“I won't stay,” Hartley said, as if in answer to her thoughts.

“I had a good time.” Shelley meant it, even though she would have preferred spending the evening with Philip.

“I like you, Shelley,” said Hartley directly. “You make me feel as if I were seeing things around me for the first time. Like pepper trees. And that pomegranate tree. I've seen it all my life and never thought anything about it except when I was a kid and we used to snitch pomegranates at Halloween. But you make it seem as if having a pomegranate tree growing down the street is something special.”

Shelley smiled, not knowing quite how to answer. A girl always enjoyed hearing a boy say he liked her. Before she could think of an answer, she began to have an uneasy feeling that she and Hartley were being watched. She glanced up over
Hartley's shoulder, and there in the transom over the unused door at the end of the living room was the face of Katie, beaming down at her like a Cheshire cat.

Why, she must be crouched on top of the refrigerator, thought Shelley in astonishment, and at the same time she noticed that the transom had been opened.

“Uh…” said Shelley, ill at ease under the interested eye of Katie. “Well, uh…thank you, Hartley. I had a good time.”

“Shelley, I…” Hartley began.

“Good night, Hartley,” said Shelley firmly and with what she knew was false brightness. Darn Katie anyway. Little snoop.

“Good night, Shelley,” said Hartley, looking puzzled and a little hurt.

“See you at school,” said Shelley, realizing that the pleasant evening was ending on an awkward note. “You know, Latham, Lathrop.”

“We can't miss, can we?” answered Hartley. “Good night, Shelley.”

Even if Hartley was not Philip, Shelley did not want him to go away with his feelings hurt. She glanced at the transom and saw that Katie was still
watching with avid interest. She could not think of a thing to say so she said, “Good night, Hartley.”

As Shelley closed the door, she heard the thump of Katie jumping to the floor. Wait till I get hold of her, thought Shelley. Just wait. If Katie thought she was going to let her get away with spying on her just so she could tease…

Shelley did not have to wait. Katie appeared in the living room in her pajamas. “Shelley, he said he
liked
you!” she exclaimed. “Aren't you simply thrilled to
pieces
?”

“Why, yes, I am pleased.” Shelley admitted cautiously. Katie's reaction was not at all what she expected.

Katie looked at Shelley with admiration shining from her face. “It must be wonderful to have a boy say he likes you!”

Shelley did not have the heart to scold.

“I know I shouldn't have watched,” said Katie with disarming frankness, “but I just had to so if a boy ever asks me to go out I will know what to do.” She paused and sighed gustily. “But I don't suppose a boy ever will ask me.”

“Oh, I wouldn't say that,” said Shelley, wondering if Katie would crouch on the refrigerator if Philip ever brought her home.

“What would you have done if he had tried to kiss you?” Katie asked bluntly.

Shelley made a face at Katie and put her hand on the banister rail. “I don't know—he didn't try,” she said, and ran up the stairs.

The next week, at school, Hartley was still friendly toward Shelley but there was a restraint in his behavior that was new. Shelley was sorry, but she did not know how to tell him about Katie's watching them say good night. A girl on top of the refrigerator was such an improbable thing to try to explain. Everything about Shelley's new life was so fresh and so exciting that she did not let her thoughts linger on anything or anybody—except Philip—very long.

Every day she found something new to like about San Sebastian Union High School. It seemed so much friendlier than the school she had attended at home and, because it was smaller,
everyone knew everyone else. Shelley and Jeannie soon became friends. Jeannie was different from any girl Shelley had ever known. She was so small and quick and eager and yet beneath her eagerness she seemed wistful, as if she were waiting for something to happen and was afraid it might not.

The girls usually ate their lunches together on the lawn under a palm tree. “I think it is fun to bring a lunch when everyone does,” confided Shelley one day. “It makes every lunch period seem like a picnic.”

“I would like to go to a school that had a cafeteria,” said Jeannie. “If all the tuna fish sandwiches I have eaten since kindergarten were laid end to end, they would reach farther than I care to think about.”

“At home the students who brought bag lunches were embarrassed because they had to eat them in the cafeteria along with those who could buy lunches. This way is more fun.”

Jeannie smiled at Shelley. “You have fun in the funniest ways. I guess that's why I like you.”

The rooting section at the football games was a happy surprise to Shelley too. Any girl who wore a white blouse could sit in the rooting section. The girls who forgot to wear white blouses on game
days ran out to the gym and pulled on their gym blouses over whatever they happened to be wearing. This made Shelley's new school perfect. “I've always wanted to sit in a rooting section,” she confessed to Jeannie.

“Don't all schools do it this way?” asked Jeannie.

“No, they don't. At home one girl was chosen from each room,” Shelley explained. “The trouble with you, Jeannie, is that you just don't appreciate San Sebastian.”

Even a football game seemed like an entirely new experience for Shelley. The rooting section of the home team courteously faced the sun, allowing the visitors the scant shade of their own shadows. Shelley licked a Popsicle and acquired a sunburn while she cheered for her team. At home she would have worn her raincoat and tried to warm her hands on a soggy hot dog while she wished that she were part of the rooting section.

And then there was the
Bastion
, so different from her school paper at home, which mentioned the names of the same students over and over as if, by writing the names of these popular students, the reporters hoped that they, too, would become popular. Shelley's name had always appeared in the honor roll and once it had appeared in the gossip
column when she and Jack began going steady, but never had she been interviewed.

That was why she was so pleased when a boy stopped by her locker one afternoon and said, “Hi, Shelley. I'm the Roving Reporter this week and I am interviewing new students. Can you spare a couple of minutes?”

“Hello, Rover,” said Shelley, flattered that she had been chosen. “I'd be delighted.”

“R-ruf!” answered the boy. “Tell me, as a new student, what do you think of San Sebastian High?”

“I think it is marvelous,” answered Shelley. “Everyone is so friendly.”

“What specifically do you like about the place?” the reporter wanted to know.

Shelley knew from reading the paper that a serious answer was not expected of her. The sight of her locker gave her an idea—not a very good idea, but all she could think of at the moment. “I like the cunning little lockers arranged in two tiers in the halls,” she answered. “Where I came from we had to have long lockers to hold our slickers and boots.”

“Boots!” exclaimed the boy. “Then it isn't true that the entire population of the state of Oregon is born with webfeet?”

“Of course we have webfeet,” answered Shelley. “We just keep them dry, is all.”

The boy made notes on a pad of paper. “Is there anything else you like about San Sebastian High?”

“Lots of things,” answered Shelley, stumped for the right sort of answer.

“Such as?” prompted the boy.

The only Roving Reporter interview that Shelley could recall very clearly was the interview in which Philip, or rather Frisbie, had referred to her. This gave her an idea. “Specifically, I like basketball players who take biology,” she answered with unaccustomed daring.

“Basketball players, biology,” muttered the reporter, and flashed a grin at Shelley. “Thanks a lot. That should fill up my space.”

“You're welcome,” answered Shelley with a smile, and turned to her locker. Had she done the right thing? she wondered. Maybe Philip wouldn't like a girl who practically threw herself at him in the school paper. Maybe he would be embarrassed. But what was a girl supposed to do when a boy was shy? She had to do something and there was a chance this might work.

“Hi, Shelley,” said Hartley unexpectedly. “You
look as if you thought something exciting was about to happen.”

“In San Sebastian, who knows?” said Shelley. Hartley grinned and walked on down the hall, and Shelley watched until he turned the corner. Sometime she must find a way to explain about Katie on the refrigerator….

Half hoping the reporter would not use her statement, Shelley nervously awaited the next issue of the
Bastion
. When she received her copy she turned with trembling hands to the Roving Reporter column. There it was, her name in print. Her eye skimmed through the paragraph. She was almost afraid to look at the last sentence. “‘I like basketball players who take biology,' confessed this pert L-11 miss.”

Her remark had been printed and there was nothing she could do about it now. Seeing the words in black and white made Shelley regret her statement to the reporter. She had been too bold, she was sure. And what would Tom and Mavis think when they read the paper? And what if Mavis happened to mention the story when she wrote to Shelley's mother—or even send her the clipping? Well, anyway, Shelley told herself ruefully, it had
seemed like a good idea at the time.

When the next biology period arrived, Shelley dreaded facing Philip. She lingered at her locker as long as she dared, hoping that if she entered the room just as the class started she could avoid talking to Philip a little longer. Unfortunately Shelley underestimated the time it would take her to reach the laboratory.

Mr. Ericson had already begun to talk when she entered the room. He was silent as he looked directly at Shelley, who was trying to slip inconspicuously into her chair. Then he said to the class, “May I introduce the late Shelley Latham?”

Shelley's face was crimson and she did not move her eyes from the initials inked on the cover of the notebook she had laid on the table in front of her. The late Shelley Latham! Why did Mr. Ericson have to be so sarcastic all the time anyway? She was so annoyed with her teacher that for once she did not feel drowsy in the afternoon heat.

“Hi, Webfoot,” whispered Philip under cover of the laughter of the class.

Shelley did not dare look at Philip. She could not risk any more of Mr. Ericson's sarcasm. The next seventy-nine minutes of laboratory were difficult for Shelley. She tried to give the appearance of con
centrating on algae and fungi so that she would not attract Mr. Ericson's attention. Actually, she was considering the implications of the words “Hi, Webfoot.” For one thing, they told her that Philip had read the interview. But Webfoot? Did Philip, like Mr. Ericson, mean to be sarcastic? No, she was sure he did not. He had sounded as if he were teasing in a friendly way.

Shelley clamped a slide under her microscope and prepared to draw a picture of a protococcus. Philip would never be sarcastic like Mr. Ericson. She turned the knob that adjusted the microscope and peered through the finder with her right eye until the one-celled plant came into focus. Then she looked through the microscope with her left eye and at the same time tried to look at her paper with her right eye. Mr. Ericson said that was the proper way to use a microscope, but Shelley felt as if her eyes were going off in different directions. To rest them she let both eyes stray to Philip.

“Shelley,” said Mr. Ericson, “can you tell us how fission plants differ from thallus plants?”

“Um…” said Shelley, taken by surprise. “A fission plant…I'm sorry. I don't know.”

“Philip?” asked Mr. Ericson.

“No, sir,” answered Philip. “I don't know.”

Jeannie knew. Quick, bright-eyed Jeannie always knew the answers.

Somehow Shelley got through the rest of the laboratory period. As she put away her microscope and closed her notebook, Philip turned to her with his lopsided grin and said, “So long, Webfoot.” As usual, he left the room with Frisbie.

“Aren't boys maddening?” asked Jeannie sympathetically.

“Yes,” agreed Shelley, and decided she had better forget about Philip before she became the laughingstock of the whole school—if she was not already. She was ashamed of what she had done. When Philip was interviewed he had not said he liked her. Frisbie had said it for him, perhaps meaning it as a joke that she had been foolish enough to take seriously because she had wanted it to be true. She had been so sure that life in San Sebastian was going to be perfect and now she had made a mess of everything.

That afternoon after school Shelley wrote a long letter to her mother and father, telling them about her studies and the success of the doughnut hole sale and the fun she was having with the Michies.

When she had sealed the letter she started a second letter. “Dear Rosemary, San Sebastian is simply
perfect! And guess what? Remember that cute boy I told you about who sits next to me in biology? Well, now he calls me Webfoot! How's that for a nickname?” Shelley did not really feel the enthusiasm she was displaying in her letter, but she felt that since she had written so much about Philip in a previous letter to her best friend, she should mention him again. Webfoot was really not a promising nickname. A boy who liked a girl a lot would not call her Webfoot. Because Philip was important to her, she did not even think of him as Phil. He was Philip, and if she were important to him he would call her Shelley. Webfoot was a nickname for a girl who was a pal. Well, she didn't want to be a pal to Philip. She might as well forget him as she had decided once before that afternoon. Slowly Shelley tore the letter to bits and sprinkled the pieces into the wastebasket.

At supper that evening Katie announced, “Shelley was interviewed in the
Bastion
. I was looking at Luke's paper and I saw the interview.”

“Oh, that silly thing,” said Shelley hastily. She was not eager to have Tom's and Mavis's attention called to her bad judgment. Mavis might even feel she had to speak to Shelley about it.

“Shelley said she liked basketball players who
take biology,” persisted Katie. “And they put it in the paper. And you know what? Philip Blanton plays basketball and takes biology!”

Shelley felt herself blushing. She was thoroughly ashamed of the example she had set Katie. She glanced at Tom and Mavis, who did not seem particularly concerned with the turn of the conversation. Mavis, with two children of her own, could not concern herself with Shelley's small problems. It was different at home, where Shelley's mother had only one child to think about. “Katie, I shouldn't have said what I did,” said Shelley. “It was a stupid thing to do and I'm sorry I said it and I'm sorry they printed it.”

“Just the same,” said Katie dreamily, “I hope I get interviewed for the paper when I get to high school.”

Tom turned to his son. “Well, Luke, what's this I hear about your having trouble in English?” he asked.

“It isn't fair!” Luke burst out. “Other kids don't have dads who teach at the same school they go to and hear every single little old thing that happens!”

“What did happen?” asked Tom.

Luke scowled at his plate.

“Yes, Luke, tell us,” Mavis urged.

“Aw…the teacher wrote a bunch of sentences on the blackboard before class and then during class she went right down the row and asked each of us to read a sentence aloud and put the punctuation in,” Luke explained. “When I came to my sentence I didn't want to do it, is all,” said Luke.

“Why not?” asked Mavis. “Didn't you know how to punctuate it?”

“Sure I did,” answered Luke, “but I knew if I read it all the kids would laugh. They laughed anyway.”

“What was the sentence?” Tom asked jovially. “You can tell us. You're among friends.”

Luke spoke rapidly, and without expression. “‘Mother, I cried, ‘they've crowned me Queen of the May.'”

Shelley could not help it. A shout of laughter escaped her along with the laughter of the rest of the family.

“See?” said Luke bitterly. “What did I tell you?”

The family made an effort to control its amusement. “Did you finally read it?” asked Mavis.

“She made me,” said Luke. “And then she said I got it right except that if I had been crowned Queen of the May I would be excited and so it
should be Queen of the May exclamation point. Boy, that really slayed the class.”

Poor Luke. Shelley sympathized with him even though she could scarcely keep from laughing. She remembered how she had felt that afternoon when she was called “the late Shelley Latham.”

“Luke, do the best work you can and try to be patient with your English teacher,” said Mavis gently. “She obviously doesn't have a sense of humor and that is something she can't help.”

“Mother, they've crowned me Queen of the May exclamation point!” said Katie dramatically.