Nora by Constance C. Greene Page B

zoomed home and changed into her elongating riding skirt in record time.
    â€œWhat’s up?” I asked her. “This is Chuck Whipple, Roberta. Chuck, this is Roberta Middleton.”
    Roberta can be quite aggressive, but usually when she meets a boy for the first time, she becomes positively demure. Casting her eyes down, Roberta whispered “Hi,” sort of like a washed-out Scarlett O’Hara, and Chuck said “Hi” back.
    â€œChuck was just telling me about the 4H Club in Iowa,” I said.
    The beeper beeped. I took out the last batch of cookies. “Want one?” I asked Roberta.
    â€œOh, I can’t. I’m on a diet,” Roberta of the booming voice said so softly I could barely hear her. Behind Chuck’s back I bugged out my eyes at her.
    â€œThese are special nonfattening cookies,” I said.
    In a flash, Roberta snatched up a handful.
    â€œTell Roberta about your pig, Chuck,” I said. I don’t know why I said that. It was stupid of me.
    Chuck choked on a cookie. “Could I have a glass of water, please?” he said.
    â€œYou want ice in it?” I asked him.
    â€œNo thanks, this is great.” Chuck took a long time drinking the water.
    â€œWhat about your pig?” Roberta said. She is a very curious person, Roberta. She immediately wants to know everything about a person she’s just met.
    Chuck told her.
    Patsy burst in. “I thought that was your bike outside, Chuck,” she cried, grabbing a few cookies. “Qué pasa?”
    â€œHe was just telling us about his pig,” Roberta said.
    â€œChuck has a pig? Well, hey, he can take it to show-and-tell next week. How about it, Chuck?” I thought Patsy was going to slap him on the back. Probably he’d get some crumbs stuck and start choking again, poor guy.
    At times Patsy can get a little too hearty. She thought Chuck’s pig was a huge joke. She was making fun of his pig because she was nervous. That was before she even found out its name was Nora.
    â€œHis pig won first prize at the 4H Club fair,” Roberta went on, liking it that she knew things about Chuck Patsy didn’t know. “And guess what the pig’s name was?”
    â€œHey.” Patsy ate a few trees. “Like your new skirt, kid. It makes you look positively emaciated. What was your pig’s name, Chuck?”
    â€œNora,” Chuck said, probably wondering how he could get out of this joint in one piece.
    Patsy’s hand paused in midair over the cookie plate.
    â€œHow come?” she said.
    â€œI liked the name,” Chuck said, shrugging. “I think it’s pretty. And she was a pretty pig, so that’s what I called her.” He didn’t say anything about her tail, for which I was grateful.
    â€œI didn’t know there was such a thing as a pretty pig,” Patsy said. I could see she was jealous—she never had a pig named after her.
    Changing the subject with a clang, Patsy said, “I’ve just had the worst afternoon of my life. He reset my retainer, and now my teeth feel as if they’re nestled up inside my nose. And I have to go back next week so he can reset it again.”
    â€œWell, I have to go now,” Chuck said quickly. “Thanks for the cookies.”
    When he’d ridden away, Roberta said, “He has very sexy eyes. I didn’t know boys from Iowa had sexy eyes.”
    â€œI bet he was disappointed I wasn’t here when he got here,” Patsy said. “Wasn’t he?”
    â€œNo,” I said, thinking before I spoke. “I don’t believe he was. Roberta, did Chuck seem disappointed Patsy wasn’t here?”
    â€œHeck, no,” Roberta said. “Too many folks at the orgy is never a good idea. Right, Nora?”
    Right.

Twelve
    Men are like streetcars, Baba says. Miss one, you can catch the next one that comes along.
    True or false, I myself think this is a sexist remark.
    Baba says there