by Judy Blume
My father congratulated me at dinner. “Well, you’re really growing up, Margaret. No more little girl.”
“Oh, Daddy!” was all I could think of to say.
On Monday I studied the boys in my class. I had to have some names for my Boy Book before three o’clock. I picked Philip Leroy because he was the best-looking one. Also Jay Hassler because he had nice brown eyes and clean fingernails. I decided to leave it at that and explain I didn’t know anybody else.
Right before the bell rang Mr. Benedict told us that he was going to ask us each to do a year-long individual project.
Everybody groaned.
Mr. Benedict held up his hands. “Now it’s not as bad as it sounds, class. For one thing, it’s personal—between each of you and me. I’m not going to ask what your topic is. I expect you to choose it yourself and work it up in your own way. The only thing I insist on is that it be something … uh … meaningful.”
More groans.
Mr. Benedict looked crushed. “I had hoped you would find this interesting.”
Poor Mr. Benedict. He was really disappointed. The way he talked to us I got the feeling we made him nervous. Nobody seemed scared of him at all and you should always be a little scared of your teacher. Sometimes he just sat at his desk and looked out at us like he couldn’t believe we were really there. Of course Nancy pointed out that he never ever called on Laura Danker. I hadn’t noticed.
As we were getting in line to go home he reminded us that on Thursday we’d have a test on the first two chapters in our social studies book. He asked us to please be prepared. Most teachers never say please.
After school we went straight to Nancy’s. Before we started our official meeting we talked about Mr. Benedict and his project. We all agreed it was crazy and none of us could think of a single idea.
Then Nancy called the role. “Veronica?”
“I’m here,” Gretchen said.
“Kimberly?”
“I’m here,” Janie said.
“Mavis?”
“I’m here,” I said.
“And so am I … Alexandra.” Nancy closed the roll book. “Well, let’s get to it. We all feel each other’s backs to make sure we’re wearing our bras.”
We all were.
“What size did you get, Janie?” Gretchen asked.
“I got a Gro-Bra,” Janie said.
“Me too,” I said.
“Me too!” Gretchen laughed.
“Not me,” Nancy said, proudly. “Mine’s a thirty-two double A.”
We were all impressed.
“If you ever want to get out of those baby bras you have to exercise,” she told us.
“What kind of exercise?” Gretchen asked.
“Like this,” Nancy said. She made fists, bent her arms at the elbow and moved them back and forth, sticking her chest way out. She said, “I must—I must—I must increase my bust.” She said it over and over. We copied her movements and chanted with her. “We must—we must—we must increase our bust!”
“Good,” Nancy told us. “Do it thirty-five times a day and I promise you’ll see the results.”
“Now, for our Boy Books,” Gretchen said. “Is everybody ready?”
We put our Boy Books on the floor and Nancy picked them up, one at a time. She read each one and passed it around for the rest of us to see. Janie’s was first. She had seven names listed. Number one was Philip Leroy. Gretchen had four names. Number one was Philip Leroy. Nancy listed eighteen boys. I didn’t even know eighteen boys! And number one was Philip Leroy. When Nancy got to my Boy Book she choked on an ice cube from her glass of cola. When she stopped choking she read, “Number one—Philip Leroy.” Everybody giggled. “Number two—Jay Hassler. How come you picked him?”
I was getting mad. I mean, she didn’t ask the others why they liked this one or that one, so why should I have to tell? I raised my eyebrow at Nancy, then looked away. She got the message.
When we were through, Nancy opened her bedroom door. There were Evan and Moose, eavesdropping. They followed us down the stairs and outside. When Nancy said, “Get lost, we’re busy,” Evan and Moose burst out laughing.
They shouted, “We must—we must—we must increase our bust!” Then they fell on the grass and rolled over and over laughing so hard I hoped they would both wet their pants.
On Tuesday, during an arithmetic review, I heard a bird go peep. Lots of other kids heard it too and so did Mr. Benedict. I know because he looked up. I went back to my problems but pretty soon I heard it again. Peep.
After the second peep, Mr. Benedict walked to the window and opened it wide. He stuck his head way out looking all around. While he was doing that three more peeps came from the room. Mr. Benedict walked to his desk and stood with his hands behind his back. Peep. I looked at Nancy. I was sure it came from her. But she didn’t look at me or say anything. Mr. Benedict sat down and tapped his fingers on the top of his desk. Pretty soon our room sounded like a pet store full of birds. Every second there was another peep. It was hard not to giggle. When Nancy kicked me under the table I knew it was my turn. I looked down and erased my answer to a problem. While I was blowing the eraser dust away I said it—peep. By the time Mr. Benedict looked my way another peep came from across the room. I think it was Philip Leroy. We kept waiting for Mr. Benedict to say something, but he didn’t.
When we came in the next morning our desks had been rearranged. Instead of four tables our desks formed one big U shape across the room. There were name cards taped onto each desk. On one side I was next to Freddy Barnett, who I didn’t like at all. I knew for a fact that he was a troublemaker because I saw him stand behind Jay Hassler on the first day of school and just as Jay was about to sit down, Freddy Barnett pulled his chair away. Jay wound up on the floor. I hate kids who do that! I’d have to be very careful not to fall into the trap of the Lobster. That’s what we call him because on the first day of school he was sunburned bright red.
But on the other side of me things were even worse. I was next to Laura Danker! I was afraid to even look her way. Nancy warned me that reputations were catching. Well, I didn’t have to worry because Laura didn’t look my way either. She looked straight ahead. Naturally, the Four PTS’s were all separated. But Nancy (that lucky!) got to sit next to Philip Leroy!
There wasn’t any more peeping. Mr. Benedict reminded us of our social studies test the next day. That afternoon we had gym. The boys got to play baseball with Mr. Benedict. The girls were left with the gym teacher, Miss Abbott, who told us to line up in order of size. I was third from the front end. Janie was first. Laura Danker was last. Gretchen and Nancy were in the middle. After we lined up Miss Abbott talked about posture and how important it is to stand up straight. “No matter how tall you are you must never slouch, because height is such a blessing.” With that Miss Abbott stood up and took some deep breaths. She must have been at least six feet tall. Janie and I looked at each other and giggled. We were not blessed.
Then Miss Abbott told us since we were in sixth grade and very grown up, there were certain subjects we would cover during the school year. “Certain very private subjects just for girls.” That was all she said but I got the idea. Why do they wait until sixth grade when you already know everything!
That night I really worked hard. I read the first two chapters in my social studies book four times. Then I sat on my bedroom floor and did my exercise. “I must—I must—I must increase my bust!” I did it thirty-five times and climbed into bed.
Are you there God? It’s me, Margaret. I just did an exercise to help me grow. Have you thought about it God? About my growing, I mean. I’ve got a bra now. It would be nice if I had something to put in it. Of course, if you don’t think I’m ready I’ll understand. I’m having a test in school tomorrow. Please let me get a good grade on it God. I want you to be proud of me. Thank you.
The next morning Mr. Benedict passed out the test paper himself. The questions were already on the board. He said to begin as soon as we
got our paper. Freddy the Lobster poked me and whispered, “No name.”
“What do you mean, no name?” I whispered back.
Freddy whispered, “Nobody signs his name. Benedict won’t know whose paper is whose. Get it?”
I got it all right but I didn’t like it. Especially since I’d read the chapters four times. But if nobody was going to put a name on the test paper, I wasn’t going to either. I felt cheated because Mr. Benedict would never know how hard I’d studied.
I answered all the questions in fifteen minutes. Mr. Benedict asked Janie to collect the papers for him. I couldn’t imagine what he would do to us when he found out nobody had put a name on the test. I figured he’d be plenty mad but you can’t do much to a whole class except keep them after school. We couldn’t all be expelled, could we?
8
On Friday morning when we walked into our room, there was a test paper on everyone’s desk. Every paper was marked and had the proper name on it. I got a ninety-eight. I felt great. Freddy Barnett didn’t feel great at all. He got a fifty-three! Mr. Benedict didn’t say anything about our names not being on the test papers. He just stood there and smiled. “Good morning, class,” he said without clearing his throat. I think he knew he’d won the battle.
Later that day Mr. Benedict reminded us of our individual projects again. He told us not to wait until the last minute and think we could whip something up then. He said by the end of next week we should all know our topic and start in on our notes.
I thought a lot about it, but I didn’t know anything meaningful that I was willing to share with Mr. Benedict. I mean, I couldn’t very well come up with a year-long study about bras and what goes in them. Or about my feelings toward Moose. Or about God. Or could I? I mean, not about God exactly—I could never tell Mr. Benedict that—but maybe about religion. If I could figure out which religion to be I’d know if I wanted to join the Y or the Jewish Community Center. That was meaningful, wasn’t it? I’d have to think about it.
Are you there God? It’s me, Margaret. What would you think of me doing a project on religion? You wouldn’t mind, would you God? I’d tell you all about it. And I won’t make any decisions without asking you first. I think it’s time for me to decide what to be. I can’t go on being nothing forever, can I?
The following Saturday morning my mother drove me to the highway to get the New York bus. It was my first time going alone and my mother was nervous.
“Listen, Margaret—don’t sit next to any men. Either sit alone or pick out a nice lady. And try to sit up front. If the bus isn’t air-conditioned open your window. And when you get there ask a lady to show you the way downstairs. Grandma will meet you at the information desk.”
“I know, I know.” We’d been over it three dozen times but when the bus came my mother got out of the car and shouted to the bus driver.
“This little girl is traveling alone. Please keep an eye on her. It’s her first trip.”
“Don’t worry, lady,” the bus driver told my mother. Then my mother waved to me. I made a face at her and looked the other way.
I found grandma right where she was supposed to be. She gave me a big kiss. Grandma smelled delicious. She was wearing a green suit and had on lots of green eyeshadow to match. Her hair was silver blonde. Grandma’s hair color changes about once a month.
When we were out of the bus terminal Grandma said, “You look beautiful, Margaret. I love your hair.”
Grandma always has something nice to say to me. And my hair did look better. I read that if you brush it good it can grow up to an inch a month.
We went to lunch at a restaurant near Lincoln Center. During my chocolate parfait I whispered, “I’m wearing a bra. Can you tell?”
“Of course I can tell,” Grandma said.
“You can?” I was really surprised. I stopped eating. “Well, how do you think it makes me look?”
“Much older,” Grandma said, between sips of her coffee. I didn’t know whether to believe her or not so I believed her.
Then we went to the concert. I didn’t fidget like when I was a little kid. I sat very still and paid attention to the music. During intermission Grandma and I walked around outside. I love that fountain in the middle of Lincoln Center. I love it more than the concerts themselves. And I love to watch the people walk by. Once I saw a model having her picture taken by the fountain. It was freezing cold and she was wearing a summer dress. That’s when I decided not to be a model. Even if I did get beautiful some day.
In the cab, on the way back to the bus terminal, I thought about Grandma being Jewish. She was the perfect person to help me start my project. So I asked her, “Can I go to temple with you sometime?”
Grandma absolutely stared at me. I never knew anyone could open her eyes so wide.
“What are you saying? Are you saying you want to be Jewish?” She held her breath.
“No. I’m saying I’d like to go to temple and see what it’s all about.”
“My Margaret!” Grandma threw her arms around me. I think the cab driver thought we were crazy. “I knew you were a Jewish girl at heart! I always knew it!” Grandma took out a lace hanky and dabbed her eyes.
“I’m not, Grandma,” I insisted. “You know I’m not anything.”
“You can say it, but I’ll never believe it. Never!” She blew her nose. When she finished blowing she said, “I know what it is. You’ve made a lot of Jewish friends in Farbrook. Am I right?”
“No, Grandma. My friends have nothing to do with this.”
“Then what? I don’t understand.”
“I just want to see what it’s all about. So can I?” I certainly was not going to tell Grandma about Mr. Benedict.
Grandma sat back in her seat and beamed at me. “I’m thrilled! I’m going right home to call the rabbi. You’ll come with me on Rosh Hashanah.” Then she stopped smiling and asked, “Does your mother know?”
I shook my head.
“Your father?”
I shook it again.
Grandma slapped her hand against her forehead. “Be sure to tell them it’s not my idea! Would I be in trouble!”
“Don’t worry, Grandma.”
“That’s ridiculous!” my mother said when I told her. “You know how Daddy and I feel about religion.”
“You said I could choose when I grow up!”
“But you’re not ready to choose yet, Margaret!”
“I just want to try it out,” I argued. “I’m going to try church too, so don’t get hysterical!”
“I am not hysterical! I just think it’s foolish for a girl of your age to bother herself with religion.”
“Can I go?” I asked.
“I’m not going to stop you,” my mother said.
“Fine. Then I’ll go.”
On Rosh Hashanah morning, while I was still in bed, I said.
Are you there God? It’s me, Margaret. I’m going to temple today—with Grandma. It’s a holiday. I guess you know that. Well, my father thinks it’s a mistake and my mother thinks the whole idea is crazy, but I’m going anyway. I’m sure this will help me decide what to be. I’ve never been inside a temple or a church. I’ll look for you God.
9
I had a new suit and a small velvet hat. My mother said everyone wears new clothes for the Jewish holidays. It was hot for October and my father said he remembered it was always hot on the Jewish holidays when he was a kid. I had to wear white gloves. They made my hands sweat. By the time I got to New York the gloves were pretty dirty so I took them off and stuffed them into my pocketbook. Grandma met me at our usual spot in the bus terminal and took me in a taxi to her temple.
We got there at ten-thirty. Grandma had to show a card to an usher and then he led us to our seats which were in the fifth row in the middle. Grandma whispered to the people sitting near her that I was her granddaughter Margaret. The people looked at me and smiled. I smiled back. I was glad when the rabbi stepped out on the stage and held up his hands. While this was going on s
oft organ music played. I thought it sounded beautiful. The rabbi was dressed in a long white robe. He looked like a priest except he didn’t have on the backwards collar that priests wear. Also, he had a little hat on his head that Grandma called a yarmulke.
The rabbi welcomed us and then started a lot of things I didn’t understand. We had to stand up and sit down a lot and sometimes we all read together in English from a prayer book. I didn’t understand too much of what I was reading. Other times the choir sang and the organ played. That was definitely the best part. Some of the service was in Hebrew and I was surprised to see that Grandma could recite along with the rabbi.
I looked around a lot, to see what was going on. But since I was in the fifth row there wasn’t much for me to see, except the four rows in front of me. I knew it wouldn’t be polite to actually turn my head and look behind me. There were two big silver bowls filled with white flowers up on the stage. They were very pretty.
At eleven-thirty the rabbi made a speech. A sermon, Grandma called it. At first I tried very hard to understand what he was talking about. But after a while I gave up and started counting different colored hats. I counted eight brown, six black, three red, a yellow and a leopard before the rabbi finished. Then we all stood up again and everyone sang a song in Hebrew that I didn’t know. And that was it! I expected something else. I don’t know what exactly. A feeling, maybe. But I suppose you have to go more than once to know what it’s all about.
As we filed out of the aisles Grandma pulled me to one side, away from the crowd. “How would you like to meet the rabbi, Margaret?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I really wanted to get outside.