The Slipper by Jennifer Wilde

“I sure hope I see you in class Monday afternoon.”
    Julie smiled her shy smile, handed Carol the check and told Nora she had enjoyed meeting her. Nora said she hoped they’d meet again soon and, when Julie left, took a five-dollar bill out of her purse and slipped it under the edge of her bread plate. It was an outrageously big tip, sure, but the girl was enchanting and could probably use it. Her legs felt a little trembly as she and Carol started toward the cashier’s stand. They were going to have to go right by Dick Sanders’s table. Nora pretended an indifference she was far from feeling. As they passed the table Sanders looked up. He grinned.
    â€œHi,” he said.
    He was speaking to her. Nora was dumbfounded.
    â€œHi,” she said, never at a loss for words.
    â€œI’m Dick Sanders. I’ve seen you around campus.”
    If she couldn’t win him with her fatal beauty, she’d hook him with her witty repartee. “You have?” she said.
    â€œCouldn’t miss a cute trick like you,” he told her.
    Nora smiled at him and they moved on and Carol paid the bill. Once outside she grabbed Carol’s arm again and stumbled, feigning buckled knees. Her heart was actually palpitating. She’d never felt anything like this before. He had spoken to her! He thought she was a cute trick! Nora felt she might just die right here on the sidewalk.
    â€œI can’t believe it!” she exclaimed.
    â€œI don’t know what you’re so excited about, Nora. He really wasn’t all that impressive.”
    â€œSo you have no taste, that’s your problem. He’s a dream, Carol. He’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. He thinks I’m a cute trick! Dick Sanders doesn’t know it, sweetie, but from this day forward he’s a marked man!”

3
    Julian Compton stood on the small stage with the dusty gold-brown curtains and patiently explained to the three students with him that this was improvisation and you had to think, you had to feel, you had to react. The situation he had given them was simple enough: A boy and a girl are talking in the park and another boy comes up and asks for a dollar, which they refuse to give him. The second boy had to leave the stage with the dollar in his pocket. The students had gone through it three times already with unsatisfactory results. The girl, Carol Martin, had done well enough, looking surprised when the second boy came up to them, then worried, then frightened when the boys started arguing. Perhaps she reacted just a bit too much, Julie thought, watching from the back of the classroom. Carol was a lovely girl, warm and friendly, and Julie liked her a great deal, thought her very talented, but—well, if Julie were up there she wouldn’t use quite so many gestures. She wouldn’t define her feelings quite so broadly. Julie wouldn’t dream of criticizing her friend—Carol was good, Julie knew she’d never have half her talent—but she couldn’t help thinking how she would play the scene. If you were acting, people shouldn’t see you acting. Not that I know anything about it, Julie reminded herself. I’m just here on a pass. I have no business being here at all.
    The boys were bad. Bud Holdredge was a clean-cut blond youth with a pronounced Bostonian accent, very Ivy League in neat slacks and cardigan sweater and shirt with buttoned-down collar. Jim Burke was a handsome, sturdily built boy with coal-black hair and intense brown eyes. He wore sneakers, faded blue jeans, an old T-shirt and a battered brown leather jacket, fancied himself the Brando type. They were two of Compton’s best students, but he wasn’t getting anything from them today. Bud was stiff and awkward, prissily refusing to hand over the dollar, and Jim slouched and mumbled and came up with lines like “Hey, man, I really need the bread.” The rest of the class was visibly impressed by his