I wanted to ask the next question, but didn’t know how.
“Did Mom have nice … uh …?”
“Yes,” said Dad. “Now quit torturing that potato, please.”
I couldn’t believe what Mrs. Jones did for Pamela. She went right out and got a T-shirt showing the falls at Yellowstone, with mountains in the background. VISIT WYOMING, it said. I mean, it even sounded obscene.
That same day Pamela sat with boys on the bus instead of us. All the way home Elizabeth talked about how sickening Pamela was getting to be. And I wondered if this was the beginning of the end—of us three—our special friendship, I mean. Is this what happens to girls, they get jealous? One of the questions I was going to ask my sixty-year-old self in my letter was, “Do you ever hear from Elizabeth or Pamela?”
10
THE SECRET’S OUT
AUNT SALLY CALLED THAT EVENING AND wanted to know how our “household,” as she put it, was getting along.
“Did you finish your mending?” she asked.
“Mending?”
“The last we talked, Alice, you said you were going to go through all your father’s and Lester’s clothes and mend everything that needed it.”
“Oh … that,” I said. “Well, no. Not yet. I guess I’ll start this weekend. I’ve been sort of busy with Dad’s party.”
“You know, I keep a list of seasonal things that need doing,” she told me, “and when I checked it over the other day, I thought: I’ll bet Alice could use this. Now that you’re Woman of the House, you know.”
“Not officially until my birthday next month,” I said. And then I thought of what Dr. Beverly had told me—that you’re a woman when you feel like one. “Maybe never,” I added under my breath. “Let me get a pencil, Aunt Sally.”
When I returned, Aunt Sally began ticking off her list. “Wash windows, inside and out; clean leaves out of gutters; rake up last remaining leaves and sticks in yard; clean out heating ducts; wash curtains; vacuum drapes; wash all woolens and put them in mothballs; dry-clean winter coats; take off storm windows; and commence spring cleaning.”
I stopped and stared at the list. It sounded more like a program for a utility company.
“We don’t do spring cleaning,” was all I could think of to say.
“You what?”
“Dad says Mom never did anything special in the spring.”
“Well, far be it from me to tell you what to do,” Aunt Sally said, ignoring the fact that she already had.
“We don’t have storm windows, either,” I told her. “And I wouldn’t know a heat duct if it fell on my head.”
“They’re in the walls, Alice. You call a furnace company to come out and do that.”
“Well, thanks, Aunt Sally. I’ll pin the list up somewhere.”
I was beginning to feel pressured. There was more homework in seventh than I’d ever had in sixth, and each teacher seemed to think that his or her class was the only one we had. Even Miss Summers gave assignments that took up to forty minutes, and if you multiplied that by five …
What’s weird is that even though she’d been going out with my dad since Christmas, I hadn’t told anyone. I was too afraid that they’d start treating me differently, or staring at me in class, or thinking of me as Miss Summers’s pet or something.
But on Friday when I walked to the bus stop, Pamela and Elizabeth were whispering over by the mailbox, and when they saw me they stopped.
“What’s the big secret?”
“Nothing,” they both said together, which meant something too big to tell.
“Come on, what is it?”
“Nothing!” Pamela said again. “Did you finish the assignment for Hensley?”
“Part of it.”
“Did you finish the assignment for Summers?” Elizabeth asked, and before I could answer, I saw her and Pamela exchange glances.
I stared. “I don’t keep secrets from you,” I told them.
“Alice,” said Pamela, “we just don’t know if we should tell you or not.”
“Tell me what?”
“That’s the point. We don’t know if we should.”
“I’m Rhode Island, aren’t I!” I wailed. “Delaware! Louisiana!”
“Not that,” said Elizabeth.
I was relieved. Then not relieved. “I’ve got another hole in my pants.”
“Not that.”
“If you don’t tell me,” I threatened, “I’ll never tell you if you’ve got stuff between your teeth. I’ll never tell you if your skirt’s tucked up in your underpants. I’ll never tell if …”
“Okay, okay,” said Pamela. “We … Mom and I … went to the China Gate for dinner last night, and your dad was there.”
I knew before they even told me.
“… with Miss Summers,” Pamela added.
“So?” I said.
“Holding hands,” Elizabeth said primly.
“Well, they’re both single,” I put in.
“Alice, you already knew?” Elizabeth said.
I nodded.
“And didn’t tell us?” Pamela shrieked.
I swallowed. “I didn’t … I didn’t want you to treat me differently. I mean, no matter what grade she gives me, everyone will say it’s because I’m her pet or something. And what if they break up? I just …”
That seemed to make it okay.
“Oh, Alice!” they shrieked delightedly.
“Are they engaged?” Elizabeth wanted to know.
“They’re just friends, so far,” I said. “Well, sort of romantic friends. He doesn’t talk about her much.”
“It’ll be all over school!” said Pamela.
“Not unless you tell. Please, Pamela!”
And then Pamela said something very grown-up. “You know, Alice, you’re right. The kids would think she was treating you special.”
Elizabeth thought it over and agreed.
“We won’t tell anyone,” Pamela said. “It’ll be a secret among the three of us.”
I put one arm around Pamela and the other around Elizabeth, and wondered if boys ever felt that close to their friends. If boys even gave hugs.
“Patrick,” I said on the bus. “Do you ever hug your boyfriends?”
“What boyfriends?” asked Patrick warily.
“Just friends. Boys who are friends.”
“The guys, you mean? Do I ever go around hugging guys? Of course not.”
“Too bad,” I told him.
“You’re really weird, Alice. You know that?”
“So you’ve said.”
On Saturday, I went to my morning job at the Melody Inn. For three hours I dust pianos and file sheet music and anything else Dad wants me to do.
Janice Sherman, the assistant manager, usually wears a suit with a scarf and looks like a bank president or something. She once had this big crush on Dad, but he didn’t feel the same way about her, so I guess she got over it. She was dating an oboe instructor now, anyway. And Loretta of the Wild Curly Hair used to have a crush on Lester. The male McKinleys always seem to have at least one woman in love with them all the time.
I felt I couldn’t invite Janice without inviting Loretta, so I told them both about the surprise party.
“What a marvelous idea, Alice!” Janice said. “May I bring Woody?”
At first I thought she was talking about her cat, and then I realized it was the oboe instructor.
“Sure,” I said. “You too, Loretta. You can bring a date if you want.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said. “Will Les be there?”
An alarm went off in my head. “If … uh … he’s not studying or something,” I told her.
My first job of the morning was to put stickers on the last delivery of sheet music and then file it according to composer. I was up to the Peer Gynt Suites by Grieg when Janice took off her glasses and let them dangle down the front of her blouse.
“Alice,” she said, “Woody and I were at the China Gate the other night and ha
ppened to see your dad there with a most attractive woman. I was just curious as to who she is.”
I decided that everybody in Maryland must have been at the China Gate that night. By the end of May, I figured, half the kids in junior high would tell me that they had seen Miss Summers with my dad.
“My Language Arts teacher,” I said. “Sylvia Summers.”
She looked really surprised.
“Really? How did he meet her? At school?”
I wasn’t about to tell Janice Sherman that I was the one who got them together. “He met her at a Messiah concert last Christmas.”
“That’s a coincidence, isn’t it?”
“Sure is,” I told her.
“I just hope he and Sylvia will be as happy as Woody and I,” she added.
“They’re not engaged or anything,” I said quickly.
“Well, neither are we,” said Janice.
A second alarm bell went off inside me. I decided I might as well face the fact that until both Dad and Lester were married off, they weren’t completely safe from Janice and Loretta, but I still wanted the two women at the party.
When I was cleaning the glass on the revolving display case in the Gift Shoppe, Loretta said, as she snapped her gum, “Help me choose a gift for your dad, Alice. What do you think he’d like?”
Even though Dad’s the manager at the Melody Inn, he lets Loretta decide what to stock in the Gift Shoppe. Which is why, along with the Mozart coffee mugs and Bach bookends, we have notepads with CHOPIN LISZT at the top, Beethoven bikinis, and music boxes with little conductors on top who turn around and wave their arms when you wind them up.
“Well, what did you have in mind?” I asked her.
“We’ve got a set of jockey shorts, one for every day of the week, with the name of a composer on the seat of the pants: Mendelssohn for Monday, Tchaikovsky for Tuesday, Wagner for Wednesday …”
“I don’t think so,” I told her. “He wears boxers.”
“A beer stein with Beethoven on the side?”
“Uh-uh.”
We pressed the button on the revolving gift wheel and watched as earrings, tie pins, and rings came around. I couldn’t see anything that would appeal to Dad especially.
“Surprise us,” I said. “You’ll think of something.”
That was my first mistake.
11
CONFRONTATION
ON MONDAY, JUST AFTER I’D TAKEN SOME books from my locker, I was surprised to find Denise waiting, and we walked to Language Arts together. It was hard to realize that this was the same person who used to lie in wait for me last semester, bump into me in the cafeteria, or steal my towel in gym—who teased me about my mother, and tried to make me sing the school song. Last semester she’d gone around with a few other girls, but one was hanging out with somebody else, and the other one moved away.
“So what’s going on?” she asked, which I’ve discovered, means, What’s going on in your family? She likes hearing about the things that Dad and Lester and I do together, just the way a dieter likes to hear about rich desserts. I tried to tell her just enough to satisfy her without making it sound as though we were the ideal family, which, of course, we’re not.
“Well, right now I’m trying to get together a surprise party for my dad. He’s going to be fifty on the thirtieth, and I’m going to cook dinner for him.”
“All by yourself?” she asked.
“Patrick’s going to help. He’s in my gourmet cooking class.”
“Oh,” said Denise.
As soon as I said it, I realized she wanted to be included. Sensed it, anyway.
“Do you cook?” I asked.
“Naw.”
“Want to help out?”
“Do the dishes, maybe.”
“You’re on,” I told her. And then, my mind racing ahead of me, I added, “Pamela and Elizabeth are going to serve.”
As soon as I saw them in the cafeteria that noon, of course, I asked them, and they said yes. I pulled a paper out of my notebook and made check marks by all the names. Thirteen people in all. A gourmet dinner for thirteen. I had never cooked for more than three people in my life.
I called Patrick after I got home. “Mayday! Mayday!” I said.
“What are you talking about? It’s still April.”
I told him about the dinner for thirteen.
“Mayday! Mayday!” said Patrick.
Elizabeth’s mother was beginning to show. Her pregnancy, I mean. I noticed that whenever they walked down the street together, Elizabeth walked a little ahead or behind, so that you couldn’t be sure whether they were together or not.
There was no mistaking Mrs. Price was pregnant, though. She’s fairly slim, so that when only her abdomen stuck out, you knew it was either that or a tumor.
“It’s just so embarrassing,” Elizabeth said. “Everyone knows that they did that!” “That,” meaning sex, of course.
“Either that or a miraculous conception,” I said. “Elizabeth, did it ever occur to you that every single one of us walking around on this earth is here because of sex—our parents, our grandparents, our teachers, our dentists. The Puritans, in fact. Even the pope is here because his parents did it.”
That was a thought that had never occurred to Elizabeth. Sometimes I surprise myself.
“Well,” she said finally, “if the pope’s parents did it, I guess it’s okay. Anyway, Mom’s stopped throwing up now, and I’m embroidering a bib. Maybe I’m just a little bit excited after all.”
“Of course you are,” I told her. “More than a little. I’ll bet you’re excited a whole lot, if you think about it.”
Some people are comfortable talking about sex and bodies and things and some aren’t. I wondered what had ever happened to Elizabeth that made her so weird about things. Mrs. Price was very particular and neat, but she didn’t seem wacko or anything. Dad says that every so often perfectly normal parents have a child that’s more like a little old man or woman, more conservative than either of the parents, and maybe that’s what happened to Elizabeth—she got her great-grandmother’s genes and chromosomes.
As much as I hated to admit it, though, I seemed to be thinking about bodies all the time—wondering if I even had one. The boys had given all my other friends the name of a state, but not me. I wasn’t alone, of course. There are probably a hundred girls in seventh grade, and only fifty states, so somebody had to be left out, unless they started calling us Connecticut 2 or Wyoming 3 or something. But it still hurt to think I’d been forgotten.
Only a few months ago, I was one of the Famous Eight. I’d even been featured in the school newspaper. I knew that Patrick was right—it didn’t make any difference what the boys called me. But at the same time, I was still hurt. What hurt most, I guess, was that I could be walking down the hall with Pamela and guys would pass us and say, “Hi, Wyoming!” and she’d smile her gorgeous smile. It was as though I was invisible. They missed me entirely.
The next day, Pamela, Elizabeth, and I had just finished lunch and were walking out, sharing a bag of pretzels. My notebook was coming apart, though, so I was lagging behind, trying to get the papers back in the rings, and as we passed the boys at the end of the cafeteria, I could hear them saying, “Hi, Wyoming!” and “Sure like those Wyoming hills.” Then somebody said, “Hey, Illinois! How are your riverbeds?”
I could only see the side of Elizabeth’s face from where I was, but in an instant it was flaming pink. Her shoulders stiffened.
Then Mark Stedmeister stood up at the table and his eyes were fastened right on Elizabeth’s bosom. “Hey, Illinois!” he shouted. “How are your plains doing?” The guys whooped.
And suddenly Elizabeth whirled around and faced him. “Don’t worry!” she shot back. “Someday you’ll get another one.”
I stared. The boys stared.
“What?” asked Mark.
“What’s she talking about?” asked Brian, but Elizabeth was stalking angrily toward the door.
“Illinoi
s is a little loony,” I heard someone say as I passed, and a minute later I was out in the hall beside Elizabeth.
She was breathing heavily. “I did it!” she said triumphantly. “I said it, Alice! I did it!”
“Uh … not exactly,” I told her. “You were supposed to say, ‘Someday the other one will drop.’”
“It was close enough, wasn’t it?” she said, still excited. And then, “What does it mean? What will drop?”
“His testicles,” I told her.
“What?” Elizabeth shrieked. She went from pink to red, then burst into tears. Pamela and I took her into the restroom and she practically sobbed.
“I talked to a boy about his testicles?” she kept crying. “I can’t believe it! Oh, Alice, I hate you! Why did you ever tell me that!”
When I finally got her to stop crying, I explained about the dropping of testicles and how, with some boys, it took awhile.
“Listen,” Pamela told her. “The guys didn’t have the slightest idea what you were talking about.”
“They didn’t, Elizabeth!” I assured her. “They just think you’re a little nuts.”
She began wailing again.
What Elizabeth didn’t realize is that I would have gladly changed places with her for that embarrassment in the cafeteria just so I could be any state at all. Even Delaware.
To get my mind off myself, I went through Dad’s and Lester’s closets when I got home and collected all the shirts I could find with buttons missing, all the pants with rips in the seams, all the jackets with a loose lining, and piled them in a corner of my room. There must have been nine or ten things waiting to be mended.
Then I got out Aunt Sally’s list of special projects, but the only one that made any sense was washing windows, so I found the Windex and rags. I had a big assignment in math, a quiz in history, a paper to do for Miss Summers, an experiment to write up for science, thirteen windows to wash, not counting the ones in the basement, and when Lester came home, he reminded me it was my turn to cook dinner.
“Just because I’m the Woman of the House doesn’t mean I can do everything at once!” I snapped. “Hold your horses.”
“My, isn’t our Woman of the House in a good mood today!” Lester said.