Better to Wish

by Ann M. Martin

  Now it was the afternoon of September 22nd, four days after the tryouts, and the day the results were to be posted. Abby, a pile of books under her arm, left her last class and hurried through the halls to the principal’s office. Two girls were standing by the bulletin board next to the office door, and Abby recognized them as freshmen she’d seen at the tryouts, girls from the village of St. George. She stood on tiptoe and peered at a sheet of paper with the heading WELCOME, NEW GLEE CLUB MEMBERS!

  Sixteen names were listed. Abby’s was not there. She checked again to make sure and then she stepped back, once again feeling hot tears prick her eyes.

  “Don’t be upset,” said one of the girls. Darcy? Darcy Peters? “Hardly any freshmen ever get into the glee club. We didn’t make it either. You can try again next year.”

  Abby nodded mutely.

  She saw the girls glance at each other. After a moment, one of them said, “We’re going to Drugs for ice cream. Want to come with us?”

  Abby smiled. The drugstore was owned by Mr. Wyatt, but the sign out front didn’t say WYATT’S or even DRUGSTORE, but simply DRUGS, and lots of people, especially the ones who didn’t live in Barnegat Point, called the store Drugs.

  Abby looked at the girls, at their friendly, curious faces. “Okay,” she said, and then added, “I’m Abby. Abby Nichols.”

  One of them, dark haired and wide-eyed, nodded. “I know. I’m in your English class. I’m Maureen O’Malley.”

  “Oh!” said Abby. “I’m sorry. I didn’t …”

  “That’s okay. I sit way in the back.”

  The other girl spoke up. “And I’m Darcy Peterson.”

  “You’re both from St. George?” Abby asked.

  “Yuh,” Maureen replied.

  Abby knew instantly that Pop wouldn’t approve of Maureen and Darcy. St. George was a tiny coastal community several miles south of Lewisport and, according to Pop, the entire population was lazy. “Not a worker among them,” he once said. “I’ve hired three men from St. George and had to let all of them go inside a week. They never heard of a work ethic down there. Bunch of Catholics anyway.”

  Abby saw that Maureen’s sweater was unraveling at the cuffs and that the fabric of her blouse was thin and shiny. And Darcy’s right shoe, she couldn’t help noticing, had lost its heel.

  “Hey!” she exclaimed suddenly, turning her attention back to Maureen. “I remember you now. You wrote that composition about the seagull and the little boy. That was great. I really liked it.” Their teacher had chosen Maureen’s from among all the compositions in the class to read aloud one morning.

  Abby, Maureen, and Darcy walked slowly through the halls of the high school.

  “Have you met the school nurse yet?” asked Darcy as they passed a closed door with a large red cross on it.

  Abby shook her head.

  “She’s gorgeous!” said Maureen.

  “She’s like a model. She’s new here,” added Darcy. “I wonder why she became a school nurse in Maine when she could be in pictures. She should be out in Hollywood.”

  “Her name is Helen March,” said Maureen. “That’s a good Hollywood name. Boy, I wish I had clothes like hers.” She looked down at her own shabby clothes, but said nothing more.

  “So do you like it here?” asked Abby finally, feeling supremely self-conscious. What a stupid question. “I mean, here at BPCH?”

  “Oh, sure,” replied Darcy. “My mother says we’re lucky that this is our high school. She says it’s like a fancy school from books, not like our old school in St. George.”

  “We had to share everything there,” Maureen spoke up. “Even desks. But the high school is … well, we’re like rich girls.”

  Abby felt herself blush.

  “We don’t get to go to Drugs very often,” said Maureen as they left school and walked across the yard in the sunshine. “I’m saving my money for a coat.”

  “I’m saving for shoes,” said Darcy, and Abby made an effort not to look in the direction of Darcy’s missing heel again.

  Drugs turned out to be a busy place after school. Abby tried to remember the last time she’d been in the store. Sometime over the summer with Rose, she thought. It had been busy then, too, but not as busy as it was now, filled with chattering students from the high school.

  “Let’s get a booth,” said Maureen, and she slid into the only empty one. Darcy slid in beside her and Abby sat down across from them.

  Two thoughts ran through Abby’s mind at that moment. I hope Pop doesn’t come in and This is fun.

  “What are you going to get?” asked Abby.

  “A scoop of vanilla,” Darcy replied instantly.

  “A scoop of strawberry,” said Maureen.

  Abby, who had been about to order a sundae with whipped cream, quickly changed her mind and asked the boy who came to take their order for a scoop of chocolate.

  The moment the boy had left, Darcy started to giggle. “He’s a junior!” she squealed. “He goes to my church. Isn’t he cute?”

  Maureen turned to Abby. “Don’t worry about her. She thinks all boys are cute.”

  “Well, they are,” said Darcy.

  Maureen rolled her eyes. “Do you live here in Barnegat Point?” she asked Abby.

  Abby nodded. “We used to live in Lewisport, but we moved here a few years ago.”

  Darcy frowned suddenly. “Your last name is Nichols? Does your father own —”

  “Abby!” The door to Drugs had opened and closed, and a tall figure was striding toward Abby’s table. Darcy’s mouth dropped open.

  “Hi, Zander,” said Abby.

  Zander Burley, resplendent in his Barnegat Point Central High School letterman jacket, stopped at Abby’s table, grinned at Darcy and Maureen, and said, “Abby, I didn’t know you were going to be here. I have good news for you. We’re publishing your poem in Words.”

  “Really?” said Abby, just as Darcy managed to squeak out, “The literary magazine?” and Maureen said, “You submitted a poem to Words?”

  Zander laughed. “Yes, yes, yes,” he said, looking at each of them. “It’ll be in the first issue, which comes out in October. See you later.”

  He loped off, and Abby stared after him. When her ice cream arrived, she smiled at Maureen and Darcy. Okay, so she hadn’t made the glee club, but she’d taken Ellen’s advice and signed up to work on the annual, one of her poems was actually going to be published — by Zander, no less — and she was sitting in Drugs with two new friends. She pushed an image of Sarah out of her mind, and then an image of Pop, and hoped the subject of her father wouldn’t come up again for a while.

  “See you tomorrow!” Abby called to Maureen and Darcy as they left Drugs later.

  And Darcy replied, “We’ll meet you on the lawn in the morning!”

  Abby walked slowly toward Haddon Road, arms wrapped around her books, hugging them as tightly as she hugged the thought of new friends and a new school year. She looked down at her shoes, which were also new, and watched her feet for a while, and when she glanced up, she saw Sarah standing at the corner of Haddon. Her arms were crossed and she was watching Abby curiously. Abby almost let out a shriek before she realized that there was nothing at all at the corner except the memory of her very best friend.

  “Maureen! Darcy!” called Abby. She turned the corner from Haddon onto the main street and ran to meet her friends.

  “Hi, Abby!” they replied, and linked their arms with hers. They hurried through town toward school, three across, dropping their arms only to avoid running into a large group of men standing outside the bank.

  “Town’s crowded this morning,” Darcy remarked.

  “Where are your parents?” asked Abby.

  “Mine are already at school,” Maureen replied. “They dropped Darcy and me here just so we could walk with you.”

  “Mine aren’t coming,” said Darcy, and Abby knew better than to question this.

  “I like not having to go to school until ten o’clock,” said Mau
reen. “I wish school started at ten every day.”

  “Well, summer vacation is here,” Abby replied. “You won’t have to think about school again for three months.”

  “Hey, there are Hazel and Jo,” said Darcy. “Come on! Let’s catch up with them.”

  “Everyone is all dressed up,” Abby said breathlessly as they ran along. “Even the parents.”

  “I’ll bet you win an award today,” Maureen said to Abby. “Two, maybe.”

  “I don’t know.” Abby blushed.

  “Oh, come on. Don’t pretend to be modest. You know you’re going to win the English award. At least.”

  Abby grinned. “You think so?”

  They reached the lawn in front of the school, caught up with Hazel and Jo, and joined the other kids streaming through the doorway. A teacher hustled them into the auditorium. “Students, please sit in the first four rows,” he called. “Parents and other guests, please sit behind the students.”

  Abby looked at the stage, where an American flag was standing and a row of chairs had been arranged behind a podium. The windows in the auditorium were open and a breeze rustled the curtains, scenting the room with roses and sea air and sun-warmed bricks. She turned and scanned the rows behind her for her parents. She didn’t see them. They were probably at home waiting for Sheila, who hadn’t arrived by the time Abby had left for school. She was late, which was unlike Sheila.

  “Abby!” A hand tapped her knee and she faced front again. Catherine McCann, whose family had moved in across the street from Zander, had slid into the seat in front of her. “Want to go to the pictures tonight?” she asked.

  Abby hesitated. The last time she’d been in the movie theatre was almost a month earlier, and she’d seen the Movietone News coverage of the explosion of the Hindenburg. The image of the giant airship suddenly bursting into flame and crashing to the earth had frightened her, and for several nights after that, she’d had trouble sleeping, unable to banish the pictures from her head.

  “Modern Times is playing. Again,” said Catherine.

  “Charlie Chaplin?” replied Abby. “All right.”

  “Attention, please! Attention!” Mr. Sampson, the principal, stood at the podium and tapped the microphone, which squealed.

  The bustling auditorium quieted, and Abby turned around once more to look for her parents. She had reminded them that morning to come early or they might not get seats.

  “Everyone goes to the award ceremony,” she’d said. “And this is high school. It’s important.”

  “We’ll be there,” Mama had replied.

  “Where’s Sheila?” had been Pop’s response. “She should be here already. She’s half an hour late.”

  Abby scanned the faces in the back rows and caught sight of a pair of slightly mismatched gray eyes — one bigger than the other, the smaller one drooping — and a mouth with a thin line of saliva leaking from the corner.

  Fred.

  He was sitting in Mama’s lap. Pop was next to them, his mouth set in a grim line, leaning slightly away so that people might think he had come by himself, that Fred and Mama belonged to some other student.

  Abby whirled around, faced front, then looked over her shoulder again. Where was Sheila? If Fred was here, then Sheila must not have shown up. Adele could be left behind with Ellen, but Fred couldn’t. Pop was sure to be furious. Furious with Sheila and furious at having to appear in public with Fred.

  Abby turned her attention back to Mr. Sampson, who tapped the microphone again, letting out an even louder, more shrill squeal than before. The squeal was matched by a shriek from the back of the room.

  “Iiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeee!”

  The shriek increased in intensity, and Abby didn’t need to turn around to know that it was Fred, who had absolutely no tolerance for loud noises, except his own. She slumped in her seat and was relieved when the shrieking stopped abruptly.

  “Was that Fred?” whispered Maureen, in alarm.

  “Yes. I don’t know what he’s doing here.”

  “Lots of little kids are here,” Darcy pointed out.

  Abby nodded. She and Maureen and Darcy had been friends for nine months, but she had never invited them to her house. Not once. Most days they wouldn’t have been able to go anyway. They had chores at home, younger brothers and sisters to care for, which was a relief to Abby. She didn’t dare introduce them to Pop, and she certainly didn’t want them to see her big house. She knew they’d heard about it. She couldn’t keep her life a complete secret. But they didn’t need to meet the maid, the baby nurse, the gardener — not when they had to play all those roles themselves at their own homes.

  They’d met Fred, though, on two occasions when their families had come to Barnegat Point on a weekend, and they’d run into Abby taking Fred for a walk around town. To Abby’s relief, they hadn’t seemed bothered by Fred, not even when she had explained that he couldn’t walk or talk yet, and although they could see his uneven features, plain as day.

  Abby sat up again and tried to pay attention. Fred had stopped squawking, the microphone had stopped squawking, and Mr. Sampson was saying, “We’ll start with the freshman awards, then move to the sophomore awards, the junior awards, and finally, the overall awards.”

  Abby looked up and down the four rows of students. There were 126 of them, she knew. The seniors, who had graduated two nights before, were not present. Their high school careers were over. Most of them would start jobs that summer and most of the boys would continue working those jobs for a long, long time. The girls would soon get married and have babies. Only five of the seniors were going to college in the fall, four of them boys. The lone girl, Marjorie Mullion, would be attending Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts. Abby wondered what it would feel like to receive your high school diploma and know that in a few short months you’d be leaving your family and the town you’d grown up in, and moving to a school where every single face would belong to a stranger.

  What would Abby be doing in three years? Maureen wanted to get a job working for the telephone company, and Darcy planned to get married as soon as she graduated and become a wife and a mother, although there was no boy in her life yet. Abby couldn’t see herself working for the telephone company (even if Pop would allow it, which he wouldn’t), and she couldn’t see herself raising a family either. Not right away. College? That was a scary proposi —

  “Abby! Abby!” Maureen was saying, and Darcy nudged her in the ribs. “Go up on the stage! He just called your name for the history award.”

  Abby leaped to her feet. She realized that everyone was applauding. For her.

  “Congratulations,” said Mr. Sampson as Abby approached him. He handed her a piece of paper rolled into a tube and tied with a pale blue ribbon.

  “Thank you,” said Abby, and shook his hand. She started to walk off the stage, but Mr. Sampson caught her arm. “Stay right where you are.”

  Abby looked out at the audience in alarm. She tried to catch her mother’s eye, but she and Pop were struggling with Fred, who looked on the verge of a tantrum.

  “The next award,” said Mr. Sampson, “our Freshman High Achievement Award, goes to … Abigail Nichols.”

  Abby heard clapping and cheers and, from one seat by the windows, a loud whistle. When she had collected the second award and returned to her seat, Maureen hugged her and said, “I told you so,” and Darcy made her unroll the certificates so they could read them. Abby’s heart was pounding and she felt flushed, but she managed to sit calmly through the sophomore and junior awards, grateful to hear no more angry sounds from Fred. When Mr. Sampson presented the Junior English Award, Abby said, “Zander won that last year.” And then to her embarrassment, she started to giggle, which prompted Darcy to say, “He’s not your husband … yet.”

  “And now,” Mr. Sampson went on, “it’s time for the overall awards.”

  Abby heard a wail from the back of the room then, followed by a crash. She winced and turned around. Pop was on his feet, the seat
of his chair having whacked back into place, and Mama was getting to her feet more delicately, handing Fred to Pop as she did so. Fred began to kick and flail and Abby heard his familiar iiiiiiieeeeeee again.

  “Excuse us, pardon, pardon us,” said Pop, grim faced, as he edged along the row to the aisle, holding Fred in front of him not as if he were a four-year-old boy, but as if he were a naughty cat that he intended to put out on the porch. “Excuse us.”

  Abby faced front again and tried to ignore the commotion. Mr. Sampson flashed her a smile, raised his voice slightly, and continued the ceremony, as if he didn’t hear a thing. “The Overall Mathematics Award,” he said, “goes to Michael O’Malley.”

  Abby opened her mouth and gaped at Maureen, who was gaping back at her. “Your brother!” exclaimed Abby, and Maureen jumped to her feet and began clapping.

  The cheering hadn’t quite ended when Mr. Sampson said, “And the Overall English Award goes to Abigail Nichols.”

  Abby rose uncertainly while Maureen and Darcy tugged at her arms, laughing, and she walked once more to the stage.

  “Congratulations,” said Mr. Sampson again. “Well done.”

  Abby felt her eyes drawn to the empty seats at the back of the room, but then she noticed movement in the doorway and saw Mama waving to her through the small window. Abby flashed her a smile and returned to her seat.

  When the program ended a few minutes later, she turned to Darcy and Maureen and said, “Come on. They’re going to hand out our annuals now. I want you to be the first to sign mine.”

  She turned around and ran directly into Zander. Abby clapped her hand to her mouth, then dropped it to her side and exclaimed, “What are you doing here?”

  Zander grinned. “I figured you’d win a bunch of awards. I didn’t want to miss out. Congratulations.”

  Abby glanced helplessly at Maureen and Darcy. Maureen touched her shoulder. “Darcy and I will wait for you outside,” she whispered, and disappeared down the aisle, with Darcy in her wake.

  “Were you here for the whole program?” Abby asked Zander.

  “The whole thing. And before you ask, yes, I heard Fred.”