too,” said Mrs. Bardy. “Fenway Park is in a very dangerous part of Boston. I’m not having you two innocent things going out in the middle of the night and getting mugged.”
Kathy could not meet this disappointment aloud without swearing unforgivably and landing herself, she knew, in unimaginable trouble. Through her teeth, which she’d clamped tightly together, she muttered a few words she’d heard from a Boston girl in the shower room during her last tournament. Her parents went on about the dangers of Fenway Park, and her mother forbade Oliver to go alone. Finally Mr. Bardy agreed to take the extra ticket and go to the game with Oliver.
Kathy said nothing during dinner until Oliver mentioned that he’d hit with and beaten a friend of hers at the club that afternoon.
“Who?” Kathy asked, still having eaten nothing.
“Eat,” said Kathy’s father.
“That girl who nearly beat you in Quincy in your first round. I beat her love and love,” said Oliver with false snootiness in his voice, although he meant only to make Kathy laugh.
“Everybody beats her,” Kathy growled. “She’s lost six of her round-robin matches. Her doubles partner is a ten-year-old. The only girl who’d agree to play with her.”
“Have you played her yet?” Oliver asked.
“I play her tomorrow. But Marty will be around, and she won’t dare pull any funny stuff.” Kathy’s voice was pure vinegar.
“Don’t snap at Oliver just because you can’t go to a silly baseball game,” said Jody, cutting into a baked potato.
Kathy was about to throw her own potato at Jody when she felt her father put out a restraining hand. “I’m sorry, honey,” he said, “but that’s the way it’s got to be.”
“But it’s the Yankees, Dad. Nobody can get seats. I promise I’ll do four hours of homework tomorrow. Please, oh, please!”
“No, and your Mom’s right about the two of you going to Boston alone.”
“Take her, Mr. B.,” said Oliver. “You can have my ticket.”
“You have to think about algebra. The answer is no. You can watch it on TV if you finish your assignments.”
“Big deal,” said Kathy. Her eyes filled.
“Young lady,” said her father, “first you apologize for that remark. Then you thank Oliver for being so generous. Then you learn something right now about responsibility. If you’d done your math right, I would have taken you both to Fenway, waited for you, and brought you back. It’s your fault, Katherine, not your mother’s or mine.” When there was no answer to this, he continued in a gentler voice. “Honey, I want you to look at this. A saltshaker, right?”
“It’s pepper,” said Kathy.
“Never mind. I have four of them, right?”
“I can count to four, Dad.”
“Two in this hand, two in this hand. Now I’m going to put two down here on. one side of the ketchup bottle, and one on the other side of the ketchup bottle. The one in my hand, right here, I’m going to call x . Now pretend the ketchup bottle is an equals sign. What does x equal?”
“Two,” said Kathy quickly.
“Oh, Kathy.”
“Three!”
He slammed the pepper shaker down hard. “How can it be two or three? Two and two is four. One and one is two. X is one, Kathy. Bobby could do that!”
“Then why don’t they teach algebra in the first grade?” Kathy asked miserably.
“Go easy on her, Frank,” said Kathy’s mother. “Algebra isn’t going to ruin Kathy’s life. She’s just got to get through it.”
“How the hell is she going to get through it if you tell her it’s not important?” her father shouted, throwing his napkin onto his plate. “She just may have to get a decent job someday and earn a decent living. Do you want her to be a waitress? Even waitresses have to add. You want her to be a maid someday?”
“Hush, Frank. I just meant tennis is the most important thing. This will pass. I did rotten in math when I was her age too.”
“Well that’s a fine thing to say,” he growled,
Kathy could not meet this disappointment aloud without swearing unforgivably and landing herself, she knew, in unimaginable trouble. Through her teeth, which she’d clamped tightly together, she muttered a few words she’d heard from a Boston girl in the shower room during her last tournament. Her parents went on about the dangers of Fenway Park, and her mother forbade Oliver to go alone. Finally Mr. Bardy agreed to take the extra ticket and go to the game with Oliver.
Kathy said nothing during dinner until Oliver mentioned that he’d hit with and beaten a friend of hers at the club that afternoon.
“Who?” Kathy asked, still having eaten nothing.
“Eat,” said Kathy’s father.
“That girl who nearly beat you in Quincy in your first round. I beat her love and love,” said Oliver with false snootiness in his voice, although he meant only to make Kathy laugh.
“Everybody beats her,” Kathy growled. “She’s lost six of her round-robin matches. Her doubles partner is a ten-year-old. The only girl who’d agree to play with her.”
“Have you played her yet?” Oliver asked.
“I play her tomorrow. But Marty will be around, and she won’t dare pull any funny stuff.” Kathy’s voice was pure vinegar.
“Don’t snap at Oliver just because you can’t go to a silly baseball game,” said Jody, cutting into a baked potato.
Kathy was about to throw her own potato at Jody when she felt her father put out a restraining hand. “I’m sorry, honey,” he said, “but that’s the way it’s got to be.”
“But it’s the Yankees, Dad. Nobody can get seats. I promise I’ll do four hours of homework tomorrow. Please, oh, please!”
“No, and your Mom’s right about the two of you going to Boston alone.”
“Take her, Mr. B.,” said Oliver. “You can have my ticket.”
“You have to think about algebra. The answer is no. You can watch it on TV if you finish your assignments.”
“Big deal,” said Kathy. Her eyes filled.
“Young lady,” said her father, “first you apologize for that remark. Then you thank Oliver for being so generous. Then you learn something right now about responsibility. If you’d done your math right, I would have taken you both to Fenway, waited for you, and brought you back. It’s your fault, Katherine, not your mother’s or mine.” When there was no answer to this, he continued in a gentler voice. “Honey, I want you to look at this. A saltshaker, right?”
“It’s pepper,” said Kathy.
“Never mind. I have four of them, right?”
“I can count to four, Dad.”
“Two in this hand, two in this hand. Now I’m going to put two down here on. one side of the ketchup bottle, and one on the other side of the ketchup bottle. The one in my hand, right here, I’m going to call x . Now pretend the ketchup bottle is an equals sign. What does x equal?”
“Two,” said Kathy quickly.
“Oh, Kathy.”
“Three!”
He slammed the pepper shaker down hard. “How can it be two or three? Two and two is four. One and one is two. X is one, Kathy. Bobby could do that!”
“Then why don’t they teach algebra in the first grade?” Kathy asked miserably.
“Go easy on her, Frank,” said Kathy’s mother. “Algebra isn’t going to ruin Kathy’s life. She’s just got to get through it.”
“How the hell is she going to get through it if you tell her it’s not important?” her father shouted, throwing his napkin onto his plate. “She just may have to get a decent job someday and earn a decent living. Do you want her to be a waitress? Even waitresses have to add. You want her to be a maid someday?”
“Hush, Frank. I just meant tennis is the most important thing. This will pass. I did rotten in math when I was her age too.”
“Well that’s a fine thing to say,” he growled,
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