shouted.
Stanley rubbed the rabbit’s foot once more, then he twirled the chain in his hand, and flung it as far as he could into the street.
“I won’t!” he cried.
By the time Peter had retrieved his key, and been nearly knocked over by several cars and trucks, Stanley had fled halfway up the block, and Veronica was standing up looking after him.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately,” she said thoughtfully. “He never used to be like this.”
“Well you just let me know when you find out,” Peter said angrily. “I’ve wasted enough time with that brat, and that’s all for today. Good-by!”
“Good-by, Peter,” Veronica said meekly.
He began skating away, but she called after him anxiously, “Peter!”
“What?” over his shoulder, still skating.
“Next Friday, I swear, Peter, I’ll come by myself. O.K.?”
Peter slowed down and turned around. Veronica stood looking at him, and behind her, half a block beyond, Stanley stood watching too.
So the day was wasted anyway. Even if he did go off by himself, where was he going to go? Home? And his mother would ask him where he’d been and who was he with. Mothers! And that reminded him of something Veronica had said, and something that he wanted to ask her. Slowly he skated back and sat down again on the library steps.
“Aren’t you going home?” she said.
“No.” He looked at her and wondered how to ask.
“Peter,” she said hesitantly, “can I ask you something?”
“What?”
She sat down next to him and said carefully, “This party tomorrow night—are you going?”
“I guess so. Aren’t you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never been to that kind of a party before. I don’t think I’d like it.”
“Well, neither have I. But you know all the kids. Come on.”
She looked away and said, “Well, if I did go— and I’m not—but if I did, could I go with you?”
“Sure, if you like. But I’m going with all the fellows. We’re going to meet at Frank Scacalossi’s house and we’re going to go together. You can meet us there.”
Veronica said, “I don’t think I’m going to go.”
“Well, why not?” Peter said impatiently.
“Because,” Veronica said quickly, “I think she only invited me because she was sorry for me. She’s a nice girl, that Lorraine, and I never had any trouble with her, but I think it was really because of the snake. I mean, I don’t think she would have invited me otherwise, and I don’t really know the girls so well.”
“You know the boys,” said Peter.
“Yeah.” She and Peter grinned at each other, remembering those days back in P. S. 63 when each of the boys had fallen under the weight of Veronica’s fists.
Peter caught a glimpse of Stanley inching his way back up the street. “Just meet us over at Frank’s house at twenty minutes after seven. O.K.?”
“I don’t know.”
“Anyway, now I want to ask you something.”
“What?”
Stanley reached the hydrant and balanced himself carefully against it, his eyes, full of loathing, on Peter.
“What did your mother say?” There now, he’d asked it.
“I told you. She said I had to watch Stanley.”
“No, I mean what did she say about me?”
“Oh—well—she doesn’t know you too well. She only met you a couple of times, and ...”
“She doesn’t like me, right?”
“Well ...”
“Why doesn’t she like me?”
Veronica said evasively, “You know how it is. She thinks a big girl like me shouldn’t go around with a boy, and—well—it doesn’t matter. I’m old enough to do what I like.”
Peter took a deep breath. “Does she mind because I’m Jewish?”
“Aw, Peter!” Veronica’s face was strained.
“Come on, tell me, because my mother minds that you’re not Jewish.”
“Honestly?” Veronica brightened. “Gee, that’s great, because my mother does mind that you are Jewish. I’m so glad. I was so ashamed. I wasn’t going to
Stanley rubbed the rabbit’s foot once more, then he twirled the chain in his hand, and flung it as far as he could into the street.
“I won’t!” he cried.
By the time Peter had retrieved his key, and been nearly knocked over by several cars and trucks, Stanley had fled halfway up the block, and Veronica was standing up looking after him.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately,” she said thoughtfully. “He never used to be like this.”
“Well you just let me know when you find out,” Peter said angrily. “I’ve wasted enough time with that brat, and that’s all for today. Good-by!”
“Good-by, Peter,” Veronica said meekly.
He began skating away, but she called after him anxiously, “Peter!”
“What?” over his shoulder, still skating.
“Next Friday, I swear, Peter, I’ll come by myself. O.K.?”
Peter slowed down and turned around. Veronica stood looking at him, and behind her, half a block beyond, Stanley stood watching too.
So the day was wasted anyway. Even if he did go off by himself, where was he going to go? Home? And his mother would ask him where he’d been and who was he with. Mothers! And that reminded him of something Veronica had said, and something that he wanted to ask her. Slowly he skated back and sat down again on the library steps.
“Aren’t you going home?” she said.
“No.” He looked at her and wondered how to ask.
“Peter,” she said hesitantly, “can I ask you something?”
“What?”
She sat down next to him and said carefully, “This party tomorrow night—are you going?”
“I guess so. Aren’t you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never been to that kind of a party before. I don’t think I’d like it.”
“Well, neither have I. But you know all the kids. Come on.”
She looked away and said, “Well, if I did go— and I’m not—but if I did, could I go with you?”
“Sure, if you like. But I’m going with all the fellows. We’re going to meet at Frank Scacalossi’s house and we’re going to go together. You can meet us there.”
Veronica said, “I don’t think I’m going to go.”
“Well, why not?” Peter said impatiently.
“Because,” Veronica said quickly, “I think she only invited me because she was sorry for me. She’s a nice girl, that Lorraine, and I never had any trouble with her, but I think it was really because of the snake. I mean, I don’t think she would have invited me otherwise, and I don’t really know the girls so well.”
“You know the boys,” said Peter.
“Yeah.” She and Peter grinned at each other, remembering those days back in P. S. 63 when each of the boys had fallen under the weight of Veronica’s fists.
Peter caught a glimpse of Stanley inching his way back up the street. “Just meet us over at Frank’s house at twenty minutes after seven. O.K.?”
“I don’t know.”
“Anyway, now I want to ask you something.”
“What?”
Stanley reached the hydrant and balanced himself carefully against it, his eyes, full of loathing, on Peter.
“What did your mother say?” There now, he’d asked it.
“I told you. She said I had to watch Stanley.”
“No, I mean what did she say about me?”
“Oh—well—she doesn’t know you too well. She only met you a couple of times, and ...”
“She doesn’t like me, right?”
“Well ...”
“Why doesn’t she like me?”
Veronica said evasively, “You know how it is. She thinks a big girl like me shouldn’t go around with a boy, and—well—it doesn’t matter. I’m old enough to do what I like.”
Peter took a deep breath. “Does she mind because I’m Jewish?”
“Aw, Peter!” Veronica’s face was strained.
“Come on, tell me, because my mother minds that you’re not Jewish.”
“Honestly?” Veronica brightened. “Gee, that’s great, because my mother does mind that you are Jewish. I’m so glad. I was so ashamed. I wasn’t going to
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