The Luckiest Girl (9 page)

Grimly Shelley applied her paddle to the ball. Philip was being nice to her, but nice was not what she wanted him to be. Not in this way. She wanted him to have fun.
Plonk, plonk
went the ball on the dining-room table. This was like asking an All-American quarterback to enter a hopscotch contest. Shelley stole a glance at her watch. Katie would be home before long, and that was another problem. There was no telling what Katie would
do or say except that whatever it was, it would be enthusiastic and most likely all wrong. Katie would probably walk in wearing her lettuce hair and say, right out loud, “That's not a very exciting game you are playing.”

Plonk, plonk, plonk
. Somehow Shelley got through the second game, and smiled brightly at Philip in an effort to make him think she had enjoyed herself. She felt hot and flushed while he did not look as if he had been exercising at all.

Philip laid his paddle on the table. “I don't have the car,” he said, “but if you don't mind walking we could go downtown for something to eat.”

“That would be fun,” said Shelley, who felt that anything would be better than batting that
plonk
ing little ball back and forth. After they had put away the net and paddles, Shelley led the way out the back door toward the garage. “I had better tell someone where I am going,” she explained. They found Tom working on the engine of the station wagon, which was parked under a light on the front of the garage. “We're going to walk downtown for something to eat,” said Shelley.

“Hello, Phil,” said Tom. “Why don't you take our old tandem instead of walking?”

Shelley was aghast. A tandem
bicycle
? Only the
Michies would own such a thing.

“Sounds like fun,” said Philip. “How about it, Shelley?”

“Why…yes, it does sound like fun,” Shelley agreed, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. From one set of muscles to another, she thought. At least Philip was getting exercise even if he wasn't having any fun.

But riding the tandem was surprisingly easy. Shelley felt almost as if they were floating as they rode past the orange groves and down San Sebastian's wide main street. The night was soft and fragrant. Cars full of high school students were cruising up and down the street, the boys and girls apparently having nothing better to do than ride around seeing what everyone else was doing. They tooted and yelled at one another and when they saw Philip and Shelley, they sang out, “On a bicycle built for two.” It was a small-town Saturday night, a new experience for Shelley. Philip seemed to be enjoying himself. Shelley marveled that she was riding down the main street on a tandem behind the straight, slim back of Philip Blanton, the shy boy whom all the girls wanted to date.

And to Shelley, the most wonderful part of it was
that such an experience could never have happened at home. Nobody she knew owned a tandem, and even if someone did, she could not imagine two high school students riding it in the evening on a date. Anyway, at this time of year it would probably be raining and if she went out with a boy who did not have a car, she would have to wear galoshes. Free of galoshes, Shelley felt light as air as she coasted through the night, and as she coasted she made a resolution. Never in the state of California, no matter how hard it rained, if it ever did rain, would she wear galoshes. Never.

Downtown, Shelley was surprised by the crowds of people walking up and down the sidewalks and by the number of cars looking for parking places. She had forgotten that in San Sebastian stores were open on Saturday night. Philip and Shelley parked the bicycle in the rack in front of a small restaurant and soda fountain called the Chicken Coop. The place was crowded and the jukebox was blaring. Another couple was leaving so they were fortunate to get a booth beside the jukebox near the front door. As they sat down at the table, littered with empty milk shake glasses, crumpled napkins, and paper coverings from straws, Shelley looked around her. The walls were papered with a design
of mother hens each leading four chicks repeated all the way around the restaurant; the hens and chicks appeared to be marching in endless processions, around and around. Planting boxes were filled with artificial plants and behind the counter a pair of metal arms revolved continually in a plastic vat of orange juice. In the next booth a weary mother tried to appease two tired children with ice-cream sodas.

“What will you have?” asked Philip above the noise.

“A chocolate malt,” answered Shelley. It was then that Shelley saw Katie and her mother sitting on stools eating ice-cream sodas. Katie was slowly spooning the ice cream out of the bottom of her soda. Dejection showed in the way she sat on the stool, the way she put the spoon in her mouth and pulled it out again half full of ice cream. Mavis was looking at Katie with a mixture of sympathy and irritation, and Shelley knew she wanted to say, “Katie, don't eat your ice cream that way,” but because of Katie's mood she was restraining herself.

So Katie had not had a good time at the dancing class she had looked forward to with such eagerness. Shelley was sorry. She had really wanted
Katie to have a good time, because she liked Katie and because she was grateful to her for her own date with Philip.

A waitress appeared to clear off the table and take Shelley's and Philip's orders. “Two chocolate malts and a grilled peanut butter sandwich,” said Philip.

“A grilled
peanut butter
sandwich!” Shelley could not help exclaiming. She had never heard of such a thing.

“I'm hungry,” explained Philip.

When the waitress had gone, Shelley raised her voice above the noise and said, “I was surprised when you came down from the top of that tree to ask me for a date.” The record on the jukebox ended suddenly and Shelley found herself speaking the last words for everybody to hear.

Philip flashed his wonderful grin. “Maybe I should have swung from branch to branch yelling my bull-ape cry like Tarzan.”

Shelley giggled. “That really would have surprised me.” Shelley saw Mavis pay for the sodas and leave the counter with Katie. “Hi,” Shelley called out when they reached the door.

“Oh, hello there,” said Mavis, as Philip rose awkwardly to his feet behind the table.

“Hi,” said Katie without expression. Whatever was wrong must be very wrong indeed if Katie could not look admiringly at Philip.

Mavis lowered her voice. “We needed a little something to cheer us up,” she said as they went out the door.

“What's the matter?” asked Philip as he sat down and picked up his grilled peanut butter sandwich.

“It's Katie,” said Shelley. “Something awful must have happened at her dancing class.”

“Kids that age…” said Philip, leaving his remark unfinished as if whatever he had in mind was such common knowledge that he did not need to say it. The mechanical arm of the jukebox picked another record out of the stack, dropped it into place, and the voices of a quartet boomed forth.

The door opened. “Hey, Wilma,” a man startled Shelley by yelling to the waitress. “Charlie been in yet?”

“Nope. Not yet,” the waitress yelled back.

Philip, used to the ways of a small town, did not appear to notice the interruption. “I wanted to ask you for a date sooner,” he confessed in the lull between records on the jukebox, “but I—I couldn't.”

Puzzled, Shelley wanted to ask what had pre
vented him, but she felt that she should not pry. Perhaps he meant that he did not have the courage, although he did not seem excessively shy, since he had asked her for a date in front of Katie. Some boys would not have done that. “I hope you didn't mind what I said to the Roving Reporter,” she said, not really wanting to bring up the matter but feeling that she must because she still felt guilty about it.

“Oh, that,” said Philip, and laughed. “I hope you didn't mind what Friz said about you.”

The sound of a slap and the wail of a child came from the next booth. “Charlene, I
told
you not to put sugar cubes in your soda without taking the wrappers off.” The woman's voice was tired and sharp. “Just for that I'm not going to buy you no water pistol.”

Shelley lowered her eyes and pulled the wrapper off the straw the waitress had laid in front of her. “No. I—I was pleased by what Friz said,” she admitted, and stirred the milk shake with her straw. The jukebox blared again, making conversation across the table almost impossible. Well, anyway I am with him, thought Shelley, wishing she could put a nickel in the jukebox and buy five cents' worth of silence. If only they could talk she
might find some sign that he was having a good time—or not having a good time. It was the suspense of not knowing that was so hard to bear.

When Philip pulled the tandem out of the rack and they started home, Shelley discovered why riding downtown had been so easy. It had been downhill all the way, because San Sebastian was built on the gentle slope at the front of the mountains. And now the way home was uphill. Shelley pushed harder on the pedals, because it did not seem fair to let Philip do all the work. The street was steeper than it looked.

“This is the widest main street I have ever seen,” said Shelley, managing not to puff.

“The men who planned San Sebastian way back planned it that way so they could turn a span of eight mules,” explained Philip with no sign of a puff.

“Oh,” said Shelley, tempted to let her aching legs coast around with the pedals. “That's interesting.” The slope seemed to grow steeper with every turn of the pedals.

When Philip stood up on the pedals to exert more pressure on them, Shelley listened for some sign that he, too, was out of breath. His wind was excellent. A line of verse that she had read someplace a
long time ago pushed its way into Shelley's thoughts. She could not recall it exactly, but it was something about, “Does the road go uphill all the way? Yes, to the very end.” It was a perfect description of San Sebastian's main street.

Shelley gathered all the breath she could spare and said, “It's such a beautiful night.” She hoped that from then on her silence would be taken for a rapt appreciation of the stars shining down on San Sebastian.

Fortunately the road was level when they turned off the main street, and Shelley partially caught her breath before they turned into the Michies' driveway. While they parked the tandem in the garage and walked around to the front door, Shelley wondered uneasily what Katie was doing. She opened the front door, and before she turned to face Philip she glanced at the transom at the end of the living room. Katie was not in sight. “Well…good night, Philip,” Shelley said uncertainly. A first good night was so terribly important. It could mean the beginning of so many things or it could mean—good night.

Philip smiled down at Shelley. “You're a good sport,” he said.

Encouraged, Shelley said, “I'm not much of a
Ping-Pong player, but I had fun anyway.”

“So did I,” said Philip. “Say, Shelley, I was wondering—would you like to go to Vincente to the movies next weekend?”

“I'd love to, Philip,” said Shelley happily. So he had had a good time after all! The suspense had ended. Now she knew.

“Swell,” said Philip. “I'll see you at school. Good night.”

“Good night, Philip.” Shelley silently closed the door. Philip Blanton had asked her for another date! The polite table tennis game, the puffing ride home seemed unimportant. He liked her, she liked him, and Katie had not been on top of the refrigerator. Shelley climbed the creaking stairs as quietly as she could and at the door of her room she hesitated. A strip of light shone beneath the door of Katie's room across the hall. Shelley waited a moment and then tapped on the door of Katie's room with one fingernail.

“Come in,” answered Katie in a dull voice, and Shelley entered. Katie was leaning on her dresser, her chin propped on her fists, staring at herself in the mirror. Her mouth was heavily made up with dark lipstick.

“I suppose you had fun,” said Katie in the same dull voice.

“A wonderful time.” Shelley tried not to smile at the sight of Katie's mouth. Although she knew the answer, she asked, “Did you?”

“No,” said Katie flatly.

“What went wrong?” asked Shelley.

“Everything,” answered Katie, turning away from the mirror. “Just everything.”

“Didn't the right boy dance with you?” asked Shelley.

“Dance with me!” exclaimed Katie. “He wasn't even there. Practically no boys came except some whose mothers made them come and you know that type.”

“Yes, I know,” said Shelley. “But why didn't the boys come? They usually turn up.”

“They didn't want to make hats,” said Katie. “They said it was too much bother. You know how boys are.”

“Yes,” agreed Shelley, sorry for her. “But didn't you win a prize for your hat?”

“No,” said Katie. “Pamela did, though. She said she was going to make a hat out of a birdcage and instead she turned up in a straw hat with a little
palm tree and a monkey on it. When she wound up the monkey it played a drum.”

“I'm sure your hat was more becoming.” Shelley tried to be comforting.

Katie sighed gustily. “What difference did it make, when I had to dance with girls? Do you think that this lipstick, not that Mommy would ever let me wear it, makes me look sophisticated?”

Shelley managed not to smile. “Well—not sophisticated exactly.”

“It's just hopeless,” said Katie. “I'm nothing but a wholesome outdoor type. The type that has to lead when there aren't enough boys to dance with. And it is horrible to be thirteen.”

“Cheer up, Katie,” Shelley said. “You won't stay thirteen all your life. After all, I was thirteen once.”

“I guess that's right,” said Katie, brightening. “But you don't know how lucky you are to be sixteen.”