Judy fell asleep quickly, but I kept tossing and turning. Usually the lions’ roaring lulled me to sleep, but they were silent tonight, as quiet as the halls of Central would be tomorrow. Finally I got up and went into the kitchen for a glass of milk. Mother and Daddy were talking in the living room.
“Almost sounds like you’re an integrationist,” I heard Mother say.
“I don’t think it’s such a big deal if Judy’s at school with a few—”
“You want our girls associating with Negroes?” asked Mother.
“A few colored students wouldn’t—”
“Race mixing. That’s what it’ll lead to,” said Mother.
I stood in front of the open fridge in my nightgown, clutching the bottle of milk, and shivered. Race mixing was a scary thing—at least people always talked about it like it was polio or something. The thing was, the races didn’t really mix in Little Rock, not in the bathrooms of department stores, nor in the water of the swimming pools. In fact, I don’t think we’d ever had a colored person in our house until Betty Jean showed up ironing last week.
“There wouldn’t have even been any trouble last year if the governor hadn’t—”
“Richard, watch what you’re saying!”
“I’m not saying anything I don’t mean.”
“Do you want people to call us communists?” Mother asked.
The milk bottle slipped from my hand and crashed to the floor. So much for eavesdropping. My parents ran into the kitchen.
“Oh, Marlee!” Mother grabbed a towel and began to mop things up. “Now there’ll be no milk for breakfast.”
“Sorry,” I whispered.
Mother just kept wiping up the mess.
My father poured me a glass of water and walked me back to my room. “We weren’t arguing,” he said when we got to my door.
I nodded. But when he leaned over to kiss me good night, his eye twitched like it always did when he was lying.
3
QUEEN ELIZABETH
The next morning Judy woke up early to eat breakfast with me, even though she didn’t have to. She’s such a good sister. I made two bowls of oatmeal and put one down in front of her.
“Promise me something,” Judy said.
“What?” I asked.
“Promise to say at least one complete sentence today.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. Sometimes Judy was as bad as Mother.
“I mean it,” said Judy. “At least five words. Together. In a row. Yes and no don’t count.”
“I promise.”
“That’s only two,” said Judy.
“To talk a lot,” I added. “That makes six.”
Judy laughed. I grinned and finished my oatmeal.
“Marlee!” My father poked his head into the kitchen. “You ready?”
Last year, Daddy had started driving me to school. The first time was the day after one of the colored girls from Central had been surrounded by a mob at the bus stop. In the picture in the paper, the white people were yelling at her, and yet she’d held her head up high. I couldn’t understand why half of Little Rock was screaming over a few colored kids. Surely they weren’t all stupid enough to believe Sally.
It happened again a few months later. Daddy had invited a colored pastor to come talk to his Bible study group at church. He said the meeting had gone well, but the next day, he’d found a note tucked in with the morning paper. He didn’t let any of us read the note, not even Mother, but he drove me to school every day after that.
Daddy and I didn’t talk in the car, but it was a comfortable silence. The closer we got to school, the more nervous I became, so I started counting prime numbers in my head again. I’d reached 67 by the time Daddy dropped me off at the front entrance to West Side Junior High. It was a large building, but of course I’d visited when Judy had been a student, so it only took me a minute to find my seventh-grade homeroom and sit down.
I knew pretty much everyone there. Sally was two rows over, talking with Nora. Unlike Sally’s strong cough syrup, Nora was a weak fruit punch. She had horn-rimmed glasses and was convinced they made her ugly, even though she had a long neck and the straightest, smoothest hair I’d ever seen.
In the back was a new girl. She had short dark hair, just like Judy’s, tied back with a ribbon. She had neatly trimmed fingernails (which reminded me to stop chewing on my pinkie) and a lovely tan too, like she’d been at the pool all summer, though I hadn’t seen her there once.
Sally got up and walked over to her desk. Nora went too. “Hi, new girl,” Sally said in her bright, clear voice. “What’s your name?”
The new girl looked up and smiled. A wide, honest, open smile. I knew she thought Sally was being sincere, but I would’ve bet you all the money in my piggy bank that she wasn’t.
“Elizabeth,” said the new girl. “What’s yours?”
“Sally,” said Sally. “It’s nice to meet you, Bethie.”
“Oh, it’s not Bethie,” said the girl.
“Lizzie?” guessed Sally.
“No, Elizabeth,” said the girl. “Like the Queen.”
Sally looked at her blankly.
“The Queen of England.”
“Did you hear that, Nora? Her name is Elizabeth, like the Queen of England.” Sally burst out laughing.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at the new girl. I was sure she felt awful. I started counting prime numbers again: 2, 3, 5, 7, 11 . . . But the new girl started laughing too. “Yeah, like the Queen of England. But you can just call me ‘Your Highness.’”
Nora tittered.
“Your Highness?” repeated Sally.
“That’s right,” said Elizabeth. “Unless you prefer ‘O royal one.’”
Nora had to gulp down a giggle. I couldn’t quite tell if she was amused or nervous. No one spoke this way to Sally.
The new girl suddenly grinned and slapped Sally on the shoulder. “I’m just kidding, of course. Liz is fine.”
Sally gave a little smile. Before she could say anything else, Miss Taylor, our homeroom teacher, walked in, and Sally and Nora sat down.
Miss Taylor was one of those teachers you just can’t imagine anywhere but school. She’d been teaching forever and always pulled her blond hair back into a bun. As she handed out our schedules, I noticed her sweater had a couple of dropped stitches on the back, as if she’d made it herself. I had Miss Taylor again for history in the afternoon. She frowned a lot as she talked, and I couldn’t decide if she was plain old coffee or something worse, like the vinegar pooled at the bottom of a jar of pickles. Though I’m not sure why anyone would drink that.
After homeroom came English, then science, and right before lunch I had math. Since math is my favorite subject, sometimes I talk in class, but only if the answer’s a number. Like 43. Or 3,458. Or 36.72. But if the answer is “eight apples,” all you’ll get out of me is “eight.” You’ll have to provide the apples yourself.
My math teacher this year was Mr. Harding. It was his first year at West Side, and he was young, almost as young as my older brother. Mr. Harding got to work right away, writing problems on the chalkboard. By the end of the period, chalk dust had turned his hair (and his suit) prematurely gray. He called on everyone in the class at least once, even the girls. Even me. (I answered. It was 345.) My old math teacher had asked the boys to answer three times as often as the girls. I knew because once, last year, I had gotten really bored, and I’d kept track of who she’d called on for a whole week. I decided Mr. Harding was a chocolate malt shake, and I liked him a lot.
Pretty soon it was lunchtime. Mother always packed me a lunch, because I didn’t like to tell the lunch ladies what I wanted. I sat down at an empty table and wondered if Sally would sit with me like she had in elementary school. If she didn’t, I’d just sit
alone. There are worse things in life than sitting alone. Like leprosy. Or losing a limb. Or maybe getting your period in the middle of gym when you’re wearing white shorts and the teacher is a man and you left all your sanitary napkins at home. Not that that’s ever happened to me.
I was just biting into my pimento cheese sandwich when I heard someone clear her throat. It was the new girl—Elizabeth or Liz or whatever she wanted to be called.
“It’s Marlee, right?” she asked.
I nodded, wondering how she’d already figured out my name.
“Mind if I sit here?”
Truth was, I did mind. But if I shook my head, it would mean I didn’t, and Liz would sit down. If I nodded, she might think that was a positive response and sit down anyway. I couldn’t say no because that would be rude, and so I looked up at her, hoping she’d understand and go away. In that moment, with her hair pulled back and her clear brown eyes, she looked just like Judy.
“Please sit down.”
Liz sat.
It took me a second to realize I had spoken. To a stranger. Mother would be thrilled. Judy would say this was real progress. Even if it had only been a reflex since she looked so much like my sister. I cursed myself for only using three words. Now I’d have to work another two in sometime this afternoon.
“Thanks so much.” Liz smiled. “I hate eating lunch alone.”
I hate eating lunch alone too, and I knew that was the polite thing to say. But I didn’t say it.
“Don’t worry,” Liz continued, taking a bite of her sandwich. “You don’t have to actually talk to me. Just sitting here is enough.”
I snorted and looked up to see her grinning at me. A sense of humor was on Judy’s list of what makes a good friend. But what was Liz’s drink? Was she really as wholesome as whole milk? Or was she like a shot of whiskey given to you by your older cousin? I couldn’t place her, and it made me nervous.
Sally and Nora finally arrived at the table. “That’s my seat,” Sally said, pointing at Liz’s chair. Nora hovered behind her.
“Oh, is it?” said Liz mildly.
Sally stood there for a moment before she realized Liz wasn’t going to move. “But you can sit in it,” Sally said suddenly, like she was being really nice.
“Why, thank you,” said Liz.
“Marlee doesn’t talk,” said Sally, pointing at me. “That’s why I have to sit next to her. We’ve known each other a long time.”
“She doesn’t?” said Liz. “But she just invited me to sit down.”
“She did?” Sally asked, and looked at me.
I was about to nod when I realized if I said something, I could bring my word count for the day up to five. So I kind of squinted at Liz until she went blurry and I could pretend she was Judy, and I took a deep breath and counted 13, 17, 19, 23 and said, “I did.”
Liz nodded and smiled. Her teeth were straight and very white. Oral hygiene is very important. I never skip brushing my teeth myself.
“Why didn’t we see you at the pool this summer?” asked Sally, tossing her blond hair. She always did that when she wanted someone to stop what they were doing and pay attention to her.
“You’re Sally, right?” said Liz.
Sally looked pleased that Liz had already learned her name.
“Well, my family just moved here . . .”
And with that, Queen Elizabeth started her reign.
4
FIVE LITTLE WORDS
I always walked home from school—guess Daddy figured I’d be safe enough with all the other kids around. Last year, I’d tagged along with Sally, but today she stayed late to watch the boys play football.
As soon as I opened our front door, I could tell Judy was in a bad mood. “School’s not going to start until at least September fifteenth!” she yelled at me from the kitchen. “What am I going to do at home until then?”
I hung up my jacket and followed Judy’s voice into the kitchen.
Judy was sitting at the table, watching Betty Jean pull a batch of cookies out of the oven. Betty Jean was tall and always wore a flowered apron over her clothes when she was at our house. To be honest, I’d been pretty upset about having a stranger hanging around, even if she was doing chores so I wouldn’t have to. But Betty Jean didn’t say much, and she never tried to get me to talk to her. Eventually, I thought of her as water. She took on the flavor of whoever else was around.
“There’s a U.S. Supreme Court hearing on Friday, September twelfth,” Judy explained. “To decide if the Little Rock schools have to follow the plan Superintendent Blossom came up with for integration.”
“And after that?” I asked.
“Hopefully,” said Judy, “the schools will open again, and they’ll decide to give this whole integration thing a rest for a year or two.”
It sounded like Judy was against integration. I knew Daddy supported it, and I’d always thought it was a good idea myself. Why have two sets of schools when one would do? But I didn’t ask Judy about it, even though I knew she wanted me to. Judy does so much for me, I hate it when we disagree.
I watched Betty Jean use a spatula to put the cookies onto a piece of wax paper on the counter to cool.
“Mother agrees with me,” said Judy, like she’d read my thoughts and was trying to convince me to come around to her side. “She said so this morning before she left.” Judy picked up one of the cookies, then dropped it. It was too hot to eat.
Betty Jean poured me a glass of milk and handed me a plate of cookies. We nodded at each other. The cookies, oatmeal chocolate chip, were delicious. But even the warm cookies didn’t erase the pit in my stomach. I wasn’t sure I could trust Judy’s opinion about integration, but I also wasn’t sure I could trust my own.
And worst of all, Judy didn’t even ask me about the five words.
I could have brought it up, maybe I would have, but it wasn’t till Betty Jean had gone home and we were eating dinner that I got the opportunity. Mother told us all about her lesson plans and complimented Judy on the job she’d done washing the windows before she got around to asking me about the first day of school.
“Fine.” I looked at my plate. “I said two sentences.”
“What?” said Judy. “Marlee, why didn’t you say something earlier!”
I shrugged.
“Oh, my goodness,” said Mother, holding her hand to her heart, like women do in the movies when they are about to faint.
“Atta girl!” said Daddy.
“What’d you say?” asked Judy.
“‘Please sit down’ and ‘I did.’” Then I grinned, embarrassed. “It’s silly to get so excited about five stupid words.”
“It’s not silly,” said Mother.
“What did Sally say?” asked Judy.
“I wasn’t talking to Sally,” I admitted.
Everyone stopped eating and turned to look at me. I didn’t like it.
“It was a new girl,” I explained quickly. “Her name is Liz, and she just moved here, and she has nice teeth.” That was a stupid thing to say. No one cares about teeth. I should have mentioned her nails instead.
“Well,” said Mother, and it sounded like she was just about ready to burst with pride. “I’m sure you made her feel quite welcome.”
Mother was pleased with me! I didn’t know what to say.
Daddy just grinned.
“Why don’t you invite her over sometime?” Mother suggested. “Betty Jean could make lemonade and sandwiches and—”
Judy laughed. “Maybe tomorrow she could just say hello.”
It was a really good dinner.
But that night in bed, instead of being happy, I felt kind of sad. Most of the time, I act like it doesn’t bother me that I don’t talk much. Usually I’m pretty convincing, even to myself. But sometimes, a
t night, when I hear the lions roaring and they’re really going at it, just growling and yowling, and roaring like a jet engine, sometimes I wish I could be like them, that I could just yell out whatever I was thinking or feeling and not care one whit who heard. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I can almost convince myself that I’m going to do it. That I’ll just start talking.
But by the time I wake up in the morning, the lions are always silent, and so am I.
5
JAMES-THOMAS
On the second day of school, James-Thomas Dalton ran in late.
JT, which was what everyone called him, was tall and blond and played football too. He had blue eyes and a dimple on his chin, and his nose was just slightly off-center; I thought it made him look even more handsome. Like half the girls in my class, I had a crush on him.
Not that anyone else knew. I hadn’t even told Judy. It was embarrassing to like someone who still didn’t know his times tables. But JT had flair. He had confidence. That and really long eyelashes.
“My brother’s car had a flat,” JT announced to everyone and no one in particular. “I had to help change it.”
Miss Taylor nodded in sympathy. “I’ll excuse you this time.”
JT grinned at her, and his smile blinded us all to the fact that there wasn’t a bit of grease or dirt on his clothes. The only open seat was next to me, so he strode over and threw his bag down. “Hi, Marlee,” he said. Of course he knew my name. We’d been in school together since we were six, but it still gave me a thrill.
I smiled back and tried to move my bag out of his way, but I bumped it instead. Four or five new pencils rolled out across the floor. Sally giggled as I gathered them up. JT handed me one of the pencils and our fingers touched and I could almost hear the wedding bells.
Even though we were in homeroom, Miss Taylor couldn’t help giving us a preview of what we were going to do in history that afternoon. She started going on and on about Arkansas and how we’d each pick a topic and give a presentation to the class. Pretty soon I stopped listening. Sally would ask me to be her partner, and I’d do all the work. That’s how it always was. Besides, I was having too much fun imagining my life with JT.
The Lions of Little Rock Page 2