like curtains over her face. She made the most of it, tossing it over her shoulders, shaking it out of her eyes, peering around it like a woman of mystery. Right now, I felt like strangling her with it.
I went to meet Barbara in the cafeteria, trailing clouds of gloom.
* * *
I gave Barbara the word over tuna sandwiches and “garden salad.” I love the way they describe the stuff on the school menu they print in the newspaper. The descriptions rarely match the reality. The garden salad was two pieces of limp brown lettuce with half a tomato and a carrot curl.
“Stacey Trumbull, huh?” Barbara said, rolling the waxed paper from her sandwich into a ball. It was clear that she did not consider this good news.
“Yeah. And her hair was in full bloom.”
She sipped orange drink through a straw. “Maybe he hates blondes.”
I threw her a dirty look. “I wouldn’t count on it, Barb.”
“Maybe she’ll break a leg in her next dive.”
I kicked her under the table.
“Ow. Maybe she’ll go bald.”
We both broke up at that, cackling madly.
“Come on,” Barbara said, pulling out her chair and standing. “Cheer up. You’re the one he’s asking out, he likes you. Forget Stacey. She’s a paper doll under twenty pounds of hair.”
I nodded. I thought so, too.
But when lunch was over and I was heading to the second floor for my English class, the image of Heath and Stacey in the midst of a chemical reaction returned.
It nagged me for the rest of the day.
* * *
That night, I started working on my mother about going to Middlebury with Heath. Even though I knew she would not be the problem, it was wiser to go through her first. My father said no to everything immediately without even considering it.
I was helping my mother to put away the dishes after dinner when I said, as casually as possible, “Heath asked me to go to the movies Saturday night.”
“Oh?” Mild interest.
“Uh-huh. I thought we’d take the drive to Middlebury, it’s so nice this time of year.” That was an insane remark. It was winter, the trees were bare, and the only scenery was what we might encounter as we skidded on a patch of ice and dropped into a ditch.
But all she’d heard was “Middlebury.” That got her attention, as I had known it would. “I don’t know, Gaby,” she said warningly. “Your father is going to take a dim view of that, it’s fifty miles each way.”
I was of course prepared for that argument. “Come on, Mom. It’s not that far, you’re acting like I’m joining a wagon train heading for the Oklahoma Territory. You go back and forth to Middlebury all the time.”
“I am not a sixteen-year-old girl out on my second date with a boy I hardly know.”
I opened my mouth to protest, and she held up her hand.
“Don’t waste the speech on me, Gaby, save it for your father.” She saw my stricken face, and relented a little. “I don’t mean to say anything against Heath, dear, he seems fine to me, but couldn’t you just go to the Palace downtown? There’d be no problem then.”
“It wouldn’t be the same. The theater in Middlebury has an oldies show.”
She sighed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. You and those old movies. Sometimes I think you spend too much time in the past. Old movies, historical novels, dusty photograph albums in the attic. It’s an escape, Gaby.”
That reminded me of something. “Why didn’t you tell me who Dana Andrews was?” I asked her. “When I told Barbara that you said Heath’s father looked like Dana Andrews, she said that he played the detective in Laura . I know that guy, I just didn’t know his name.”
My mother stared at me. “Forgive me. I didn’t realize there was a magic phrase involved.” She put the last cup on the lower shelf of the cabinet and shut the door. “And don’t change the subject. You’d better talk to your father about this soon, Gaby. Don’t let it go until the last minute and then raise the roof when he says no.”
“Will you
I went to meet Barbara in the cafeteria, trailing clouds of gloom.
* * *
I gave Barbara the word over tuna sandwiches and “garden salad.” I love the way they describe the stuff on the school menu they print in the newspaper. The descriptions rarely match the reality. The garden salad was two pieces of limp brown lettuce with half a tomato and a carrot curl.
“Stacey Trumbull, huh?” Barbara said, rolling the waxed paper from her sandwich into a ball. It was clear that she did not consider this good news.
“Yeah. And her hair was in full bloom.”
She sipped orange drink through a straw. “Maybe he hates blondes.”
I threw her a dirty look. “I wouldn’t count on it, Barb.”
“Maybe she’ll break a leg in her next dive.”
I kicked her under the table.
“Ow. Maybe she’ll go bald.”
We both broke up at that, cackling madly.
“Come on,” Barbara said, pulling out her chair and standing. “Cheer up. You’re the one he’s asking out, he likes you. Forget Stacey. She’s a paper doll under twenty pounds of hair.”
I nodded. I thought so, too.
But when lunch was over and I was heading to the second floor for my English class, the image of Heath and Stacey in the midst of a chemical reaction returned.
It nagged me for the rest of the day.
* * *
That night, I started working on my mother about going to Middlebury with Heath. Even though I knew she would not be the problem, it was wiser to go through her first. My father said no to everything immediately without even considering it.
I was helping my mother to put away the dishes after dinner when I said, as casually as possible, “Heath asked me to go to the movies Saturday night.”
“Oh?” Mild interest.
“Uh-huh. I thought we’d take the drive to Middlebury, it’s so nice this time of year.” That was an insane remark. It was winter, the trees were bare, and the only scenery was what we might encounter as we skidded on a patch of ice and dropped into a ditch.
But all she’d heard was “Middlebury.” That got her attention, as I had known it would. “I don’t know, Gaby,” she said warningly. “Your father is going to take a dim view of that, it’s fifty miles each way.”
I was of course prepared for that argument. “Come on, Mom. It’s not that far, you’re acting like I’m joining a wagon train heading for the Oklahoma Territory. You go back and forth to Middlebury all the time.”
“I am not a sixteen-year-old girl out on my second date with a boy I hardly know.”
I opened my mouth to protest, and she held up her hand.
“Don’t waste the speech on me, Gaby, save it for your father.” She saw my stricken face, and relented a little. “I don’t mean to say anything against Heath, dear, he seems fine to me, but couldn’t you just go to the Palace downtown? There’d be no problem then.”
“It wouldn’t be the same. The theater in Middlebury has an oldies show.”
She sighed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. You and those old movies. Sometimes I think you spend too much time in the past. Old movies, historical novels, dusty photograph albums in the attic. It’s an escape, Gaby.”
That reminded me of something. “Why didn’t you tell me who Dana Andrews was?” I asked her. “When I told Barbara that you said Heath’s father looked like Dana Andrews, she said that he played the detective in Laura . I know that guy, I just didn’t know his name.”
My mother stared at me. “Forgive me. I didn’t realize there was a magic phrase involved.” She put the last cup on the lower shelf of the cabinet and shut the door. “And don’t change the subject. You’d better talk to your father about this soon, Gaby. Don’t let it go until the last minute and then raise the roof when he says no.”
“Will you
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