gives ’em their excuse. They’re sweet-talkin’ fools until a girl gives in, and after that they lose all respect.”
“It’s not like that at all.”
NolaBee frowned. “He hasn’t tried anything, has he?”
“I’ve only been with him in the daytime,” Marylin whispered.
“They’ll try in the daytime what they can’t do at night,” said NolaBee.
“Mama, you’re hurting my wrist,” Marylin said.
Peering at the beautiful red face, NolaBee let go. “You’re a good girl,” she said finally. “But always remember, you have your career. That’s first and foremost.”
“Mama, I want love, a husband . . . babies.”
“That’ll come later.”
“I wish you didn’t count on me to accomplish so much. I worry I’m going to let you down.”
“Sometimes you’re right silly, Marylin. You’re not going to let me down. When you’re at the top, I reckon you’ll thank me for bein’ a believer.” She gave Marylin a gentle push. “Now, go on down and call Roy. She must be freezing out there.”
6
The next day, Friday, in the break before last period, when she had Drama, Marylin stood pressed against the wall by the thunderous crush in the hallway. As she worked the combination of her locker,BJ Fernauld shoved through the crowd. “My leading lady returneth,” she said.
Despite the full mouth caked with orange lipstick, the pudgily round face, the messy pompadour, there was so much of Linc in his sister—the Indian hair, the prominent nose—that Marylin felt huge waves of affection. “Hi,” she said.
“Where have you
been?”
BJ demanded. “Did you have a cold?”
So Linc hadn’t mentioned being with her. Marylin fumbled past the number. Composing herself, she turned two revolutions, starting the combination again. “I’m all better,” she murmured.
“Praise Allah. You have no idea what it’s like, rehearsing around you. Well, what happened at Chapman’s?”
“We talked.” Briefly Marylin rested her cheek on the cool metal. “He took me home.”
“Listen, he’s a very unusual person, very talented in all sorts of ways.” BJ’s voice rose. “I hope you don’t get the idea he’s a creep, taking you out.”
“That,” Marylin said, “is hardly my criterion for creephood.”
“I didn’t mean it as a slap, but, well, you are a junior in high school, and he’ll be twenty-four in February.” BJ sighed. “He’s sure been weird since he got home.”
“What do you mean, weird?”
“I mean
weird.
He really was a sweetie, even for a brother. Before the war, he was never mean. Oh, sometimes he battled Dad, but then again, Dad’s not an easy man to live with—We’re cursed with one of those fathers who tries to run a person’s life entirely.”
“What about Linc now?” Marylin asked, pushing her biology book into the locker.
“He can be perfectly normal, then all at once, for no reason at all, he explodes like a bomb. He barges out of the house. Either that or he’s going around touching everything, as if he’s blind.”
Twisting the dial of her lock, Marylin asked, “BJ, has he had a bad time out there?”
“No, he’s been lolling around on paradisiacal Pacific islands,” BJ snapped. “Of course it’s been rough. He’s a pilot and there’s a war on, or haven’t you heard?”
They began pushing their way through the noisy hall.
“What happened?”
On the crowded stairs, BJ said, “I guess it’s no big military secret. He flies a TBM, a torpedo plane. Torpedoes have to be dropped right on target. Which means he has to zoom right down onto the Jap ships. So not only are Zeroes chasing him, but those Kongo battleships and Hayataka or Shokaku carriers are training their guns onhim.” BJ’s voice rounded magniloquently as she classified the Japanese ships. “He was shot down.”
Marylin closed her eyes. She stumbled on a metal-edged step and bumped into a short, frizzy haired boy. “Shot down?” she whispered.
“In November. He
“It’s not like that at all.”
NolaBee frowned. “He hasn’t tried anything, has he?”
“I’ve only been with him in the daytime,” Marylin whispered.
“They’ll try in the daytime what they can’t do at night,” said NolaBee.
“Mama, you’re hurting my wrist,” Marylin said.
Peering at the beautiful red face, NolaBee let go. “You’re a good girl,” she said finally. “But always remember, you have your career. That’s first and foremost.”
“Mama, I want love, a husband . . . babies.”
“That’ll come later.”
“I wish you didn’t count on me to accomplish so much. I worry I’m going to let you down.”
“Sometimes you’re right silly, Marylin. You’re not going to let me down. When you’re at the top, I reckon you’ll thank me for bein’ a believer.” She gave Marylin a gentle push. “Now, go on down and call Roy. She must be freezing out there.”
6
The next day, Friday, in the break before last period, when she had Drama, Marylin stood pressed against the wall by the thunderous crush in the hallway. As she worked the combination of her locker,BJ Fernauld shoved through the crowd. “My leading lady returneth,” she said.
Despite the full mouth caked with orange lipstick, the pudgily round face, the messy pompadour, there was so much of Linc in his sister—the Indian hair, the prominent nose—that Marylin felt huge waves of affection. “Hi,” she said.
“Where have you
been?”
BJ demanded. “Did you have a cold?”
So Linc hadn’t mentioned being with her. Marylin fumbled past the number. Composing herself, she turned two revolutions, starting the combination again. “I’m all better,” she murmured.
“Praise Allah. You have no idea what it’s like, rehearsing around you. Well, what happened at Chapman’s?”
“We talked.” Briefly Marylin rested her cheek on the cool metal. “He took me home.”
“Listen, he’s a very unusual person, very talented in all sorts of ways.” BJ’s voice rose. “I hope you don’t get the idea he’s a creep, taking you out.”
“That,” Marylin said, “is hardly my criterion for creephood.”
“I didn’t mean it as a slap, but, well, you are a junior in high school, and he’ll be twenty-four in February.” BJ sighed. “He’s sure been weird since he got home.”
“What do you mean, weird?”
“I mean
weird.
He really was a sweetie, even for a brother. Before the war, he was never mean. Oh, sometimes he battled Dad, but then again, Dad’s not an easy man to live with—We’re cursed with one of those fathers who tries to run a person’s life entirely.”
“What about Linc now?” Marylin asked, pushing her biology book into the locker.
“He can be perfectly normal, then all at once, for no reason at all, he explodes like a bomb. He barges out of the house. Either that or he’s going around touching everything, as if he’s blind.”
Twisting the dial of her lock, Marylin asked, “BJ, has he had a bad time out there?”
“No, he’s been lolling around on paradisiacal Pacific islands,” BJ snapped. “Of course it’s been rough. He’s a pilot and there’s a war on, or haven’t you heard?”
They began pushing their way through the noisy hall.
“What happened?”
On the crowded stairs, BJ said, “I guess it’s no big military secret. He flies a TBM, a torpedo plane. Torpedoes have to be dropped right on target. Which means he has to zoom right down onto the Jap ships. So not only are Zeroes chasing him, but those Kongo battleships and Hayataka or Shokaku carriers are training their guns onhim.” BJ’s voice rounded magniloquently as she classified the Japanese ships. “He was shot down.”
Marylin closed her eyes. She stumbled on a metal-edged step and bumped into a short, frizzy haired boy. “Shot down?” she whispered.
“In November. He
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