he would leave shortly before nine and blame his late return on streetcar delays.
A ring sounded throughout the apartment and Marthe called her son’s name aloud.
"That'll be Dinardo."
"Invite him in for some tea."
"No, it's alright mamma," Moshe said, hurrying to the bathroom to brush his teeth. "We're going to be late."
Marthe Silverstein sighed. "Alright. Jeepers, you're in such a hurry tonight."
He was in a hurry. But not for any reason that his mother knew about. For, while his asking Catherine Carlisle to the Ball had been a disaster, several days later a girl by the name of Anna Kingsley had asked Dinardo to tell Moshe that she'd like to go with him. Moshe had never considered asking Anna. She was nice enough. And though not the prettiest girl in sixth grade, he'd jumped for joy when Dinardo had given him the news. Her family being English however (neither Mr. or Mrs. Silverstein liked the “two-faced English”), Moshe had avoided telling his parents about her and had simply decided to keep his good luck for himself. Not a trait Marthe Silverstein had instilled him, but he knew it was for the best. After all, his mother would have insisted on speaking with Anna's parents about what sorts of things happened at the Christmas Ball and whether or not she should go along to chaperone. (And that’s if his mother was willing to speak to Anna’s parents at all.)
The bell buzzed again and Marthe Silverstein hollered from the living room: "MOSHE, YOUR FATHER'S TRYING TO SLEEP! HURRY UP AND LET YOUR FRIEND IN OR GET GOING!"
"I'm going, mamma," Moshe said, racing back into the hallway, his teeth brushed and his face freshly scrubbed. "I'm leaving right now. I'll see you in a few hours."
"Alright, bärchen. Have fun.”
"Thanks, mamma. See you later."
"Tschüs."
"So where's your date?"
"I don't know," Moshe replied, glancing around the packed auditorium. "I guess we should have arranged a meeting spot."
Dinardo ran a hand through his hair, forgetting about the copious amount of thick Bryl cream he'd applied to it.
"Damn it."
Moshe looked at his friend as he wiped his hand on the edge of a table cloth.
"Maybe she's not here yet."
“Maybe,” Moshe answered, resuming his survey of the sea of people in front of them. "But she said she'd be here by seven. I mean, isn't dinner served at seven? I'd better get over to the orchestra pit. We're playing while everyone else eats. We don't get to eat until later. There's Mister Humbert already warming up the winds."
"Well, you'd better get goin' then," Dinardo said as he eyed a flock of girls standing beside them and talking excitedly. "I'll catch up with you later. I have to find Juliana anyway. If I don't see you, we'll meet outside the front doors about ten minutes to nine. That should get you home at a quarter after."
Moshe nodded in agreement. "Alright. I'll catch up with you later."
The boys parted and while Dinardo made his way over to the buffet table to search for Juliana, Moshe wove through the crowd towards the orchestra pit, his violin case slung over one shoulder.
"Moshe! Finally! I was worried you weren't coming."
Mr. Humbert looked anxious and excited all at once.
"Er...sorry, Mister Humbert. Roads were bad. Street cars were slow."
"Yes, of course. Now, take your seat so we can get the strings warmed up."
"Yes, Sir."
As the stragglers found their seats in the auditorium, the Fourth Avenue band completed their warm up and then began their Christmas presentation. Beginning with Hark The Herald Angels Sing, they blew through several crowd pleasers and closed the first act with Silver Bells.
"Now I want everyone to get their food quickly and return here as soon as possible. You can have...oh...let's say…half an hour to mix and mingle with your friends and family. But then I want you back here. We've got two more acts to get through."
"Yes, Mister Humbert."
"Thanks, Mister Humbert."
"See you in thirty minutes, Mister Humbert."
Moshe followed his bandmates towards the buffet table. All the other attendees had already dished up their plates and were digging into their second courses. Moshe scanned the sea of faces for Anna, but couldn't find her.
"Have some ham, Jew boy."
It was Lewis Myers speaking, Stacy Myer’s older brother. A second later, a crude sneer on his face, the boy thrust a fork forwards and dropped a slab of cooked maple ham onto Moshe's plate.
"I can't eat that, Lewis."
"Sure you can."
"No. I can't."
"Well, what? Are you going to let it go to waste? You know that's wasteful right? Not to eat all of your supper."
There were several of his band mates watching him now and Moshe felt his throat grow tight. He hadn't expected this. Not tonight.
"I'll have it," said a voice from behind him. Moshe whirled around to see Anna. She was dressed in a beige dress and wore a string of pearls around her neck. Most important, she was smiling at him.
"Anna."
"Moshe."
"I didn't - "
"Here," she said, seizing his plate. "I'll have your supper and you can have mine. I like ham. There’s roast beef on my plate back at the table. You can eat that, right?"
Not really as it’s probably not kosher, but for you Anna Kingsley, anything.
"Sure, I can eat that," he gulped as the girl stepped in front of him and glared across the buffet table at Lewis Myers.
"You shouldn't tease people when you've got glasses as thick as Coke bottles, Lewis Myers."
Several of the students gathered round the buffet table broke into laughter and switched their attention to Lewis who was now blushing fiercely.
"And good Christian girls like you, Anna Kingsley, shouldn't be mixing with guys like Moshe Silverstein," he spat.
"Who I choose to attend the Ball with is my business! Not yours!" she exclaimed loudly. "Come on, Moshe," she added as several parent chaperones approached the buffet table, no doubt to see what the raucous was.
"Er..."
Anna was strong for a girl her size and she yanked him from the queue. Her hand felt warm and he was captivated by the smell of her perfume.
Guiding him across the auditorium, through the checker board of tables and all the people sitting at them, Anna led him to two empty chairs.
"This is probably why you couldn't find me," she said as she set down her plate and motioned for Moshe to sit where there was already one. The roast beef and potatoes suggested that this was hers.
"Yeah, I looked for you earlier, but I didn't see you,” Moshe answered, glancing around at the other students seated at their table. Recognizing several, he wasn't surprised that they were seated at the last table in the corner of the auditorium. For this was obviously the "reject table" and these were the "rejects" of Fourth Avenue Middle School. These were the students Dinardo had recommended he avoid if he wanted to fit in. Yet, if "fitting it" meant being friends with and behaving like James Cooy and Lewis Myers, then he didn’t want to "fit in".
"How's the roast beef?" Anna asked, interrupting Moshe from his thoughts.
"Excellent," he answered, stabbing a second piece with his fork and popping it into his mouth. "Mmm. Tender. Not at all tough like my mom's."
Anna giggled.
"How's the ham?"
"Delicious. My uncle owns a pig farm so we get lots of cuts of ham. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter…surprised I'm not sick of it yet?" she asked with the most beautiful smile Moshe had ever seen.
He nodded and went for his water glass as he spluttered. "…Yeah…"
"Well, I guess it's just that I've grown up with it. So I'm used to it. Dad's a butcher too, so meat is pretty much the family business."
Moshe walked on clouds as he made his way back to the orchestra pit.
Anna Kingsley and her chestnut brown hair. Anna Kingsley and her hazel brown eyes. Anna Kingsley and that incredible smile...
He was fee
ling things he'd never felt before - his heart was aflutter, his arms and legs were tingly with joyous suspense and there was a tightness in what his English Torah called "his manhood".
"Moshe. Hurry and take your seat. We're on Ode To Joy. You've got half a minute to get ready."
"Yes, Mister Humbert."
An hour later, the evening's entertainment through, Moshe packed up his violin. His arms and neck were sore from all the playing and he massaged the latter as Dinardo made his way towards the orchestra pit with a girl Moshe didn't recognize.
"Moshe. You haven't met Juliana, have you?"
He looked at the pretty girl hanging on his friend's arm. "No, we haven't. Moshe Silverstein, pleased to meet you."
"Pleasure."
"Juliana's dad's coming to pick her up in fifteen minutes. You mind if we stay a bit longer? I know you said you wanted to leave about this time."
Moshe glanced at his pocket watch. It was already five minutes to nine. If he left now, the earliest he'd make it home would be half past. He didn't want to appear square though.
"Sure...I'll go and see what Anna's up to."
"Oh, she left already," said Juliana. "I saw her leaving with her mom. They go to my church," she continued, "so I know their family pretty well."
Moshe's face fell. Why hadn't she said anything?
Juliana must have noticed his disappointment however, because she added, "her mom looked kind of upset - she practically pulled Anna out of here - maybe something came up?"
Was Mrs. Kingsley unhappy Anna had attended the Ball or was Mrs. Kingsley unhappy Anna had attended the Ball with him?
"Anyways, man," Dinardo cut in, "Juliana and I only have fifteen minutes so we're gonna go outside."
The grin on his face and the flushed, expectant look on