“Mary?” I suggested.
“Nice to meet you, Mary,” said Liz. “When I call you, I’ll be Lisa.”
“Lisa,” I repeated.
“I don’t know if this is going to work,” Liz admitted.
“Me neither,” I said. “But isn’t it worth a try?”
Liz smiled, and for the first time, she looked like herself again. “I have to go. See you, Marlee.” And she ran off.
When she was gone, I opened the math book and looked at the square Liz had drawn. And I decided it was a magic square after all, because it was going to bring my friend and me back together.
20
THE WEC
We went to church as usual Sunday morning at Winfield Methodist Church, but I had a hard time keeping myself from yawning during the sermon. I’d stayed up late the night before reading Magic Squares and Cubes, and it was even better than I’d expected. Before, I’d only seen magic squares with three or four rows and columns, but this book had squares with five, six, and even seven. It had a picture of an engraving by Albrecht Dürer that had a magic square in it too. And it even talked about how magic squares were used as talismans to protect you from harm.
I closed my eyes to rest for a moment and thought about the book and Liz and talking. For a long time, I’d thought of myself as only speaking to four people: Judy, David, Daddy and Mother (if she asked me a direct question). Then Liz came along, and things started to change. I answered math questions in Mr. Harding’s class most days, and squeezed out a few words to JT. I’d told Miss Taylor I was going to give the presentation, had given it and had a whole conversation with Betty Jean afterward. I’d even spoken to Pastor George. What was going on?
Mother elbowed me in the ribs. I opened my eyes, and she passed me the collection basket. I was supposed to put my one-dollar donation inside, but I was so distracted by magic squares and talking and presentations, I forgot and just passed the basket onto the next person. Drat. At least Mother hadn’t noticed. I’d put in two dollars next week to make up for it.
After the service came Sunday school. My teacher, Miss Winthrop, was young, a college girl, I think. She’d only been at our church for a year or two and was sort of annoying and amusing at the same time. She was a little on the plump side and had dimples when she smiled, which was pretty much all the time.
Miss Winthrop was a glass of seltzer that had been pumped full of too many bubbles. Even if you skinned your knee or something, she’d say, “Oh, darling, there’s no need to cry!” with a huge grin on her face, as if she enjoyed seeing you bleed. “I’ve got a Band-Aid right here in my purse. Isn’t that fabulous luck!”
Uh, no. I didn’t think I was lucky to have tripped on a rock. And she had the Band-Aids in her purse because it was her job to bring along the first-aid kit on the youth group hike.
That week in Sunday school, Miss Winthrop was talking about the apostle Peter and how he thought you should be good, kind and loving to everyone, even if it was hard. I was thinking, okay, it’s just the Golden Rule. Then she read a quote from 1 Peter 3:14 that caught my attention: But even if you do suffer for righteousness’ sake, you will be blessed. Have no fear of them, nor be troubled.
That got me thinking about what Daddy had said to me in the car. And for the first time, I didn’t feel guilty. I was pretty sure Peter would say being friends with Liz was right; Daddy was the one who was wrong to be afraid.
Before I could decide how I felt about that, I noticed Little Jimmy was sitting across the circle, staring at me. I hadn’t spoken to him since I gave him the peach pit, and well, actually, I hadn’t spoken to him then, either. I had a vague recollection of seeing him at Sunday school once or twice before, but he wasn’t a regular like me. He was short, of course, and I’d always thought he was as bland as a glass of apple juice. His eyes seemed too big for his face, like a child’s, and his cheeks were chubby, though the rest of him was skinny as a pole. I noticed he had a notebook clutched in one hand. Little Jimmy gave a small wave and smiled at me.
I blushed. Did he like me?
When class was over, I let the others file out first so I wouldn’t run into Little Jimmy. By the time he was gone, my mother was at the door.
“Mrs. Nisbett,” Miss Winthrop said, “it’s so good to see you!”
“Hello, Miss Winthrop,” said Mother. “I do hope Marlee was well behaved in class.”
“Oh, she’s a doll, as always.” Miss Winthrop was the only person who ever described me as a doll. And I didn’t talk in class—how much trouble did Mother think I could get into?
“I’ve been hoping to run into you,” said Miss Winthrop.
“Oh, really?” asked Mother. “Why?”
“Some women and I have started a little group. A committee, actually, and we were wondering if we could convince you to join.”
Mother’s smile brightened. “I’m always happy to do some volunteer work. And with things at school the way they are, well, let’s just say I have plenty of time on my hands.”
“Funny you mention the schools,” said Miss Winthrop. “That’s what our group’s about. We’re calling it the Women’s Emergency Committee to Open Our Schools, the WEC for short. Now, I know you are a teacher, so I was hoping you would join. Only costs one dollar, we’ll put your name on our mailing list and you’ll be informed of all our events. So what do you say?” Miss Winthrop finished breathlessly. “Will you join?”
Mother was red as she struggled to find the words. “Miss Winthrop, I’m honored, but . . . Of course, I want the schools to reopen, however . . . I’m not really sure Negroes should be going to our schools.”
“No need to worry about that,” Miss Winthrop continued smoothly. “The WEC isn’t for integration or segregation, but for education.”
“Still,” said Mother, looking at the ground, “I’m afraid the answer is no.”
“Oh.” All the fizz went out of Miss Winthrop.
I hated Mother in that moment. She knew how important it was for me to have Judy come home. I thought it was important to her too. More important than who went to school where.
After a moment, Miss Winthrop’s enthusiasm bubbled back. “Well, if you ever change your mind, please let me know.”
Mother glanced over at me. I pretended to be studying a Bible. No reason to let her know I’d been listening. Just hoped she didn’t notice it was upside down. “I’ll meet you on the front steps, Marlee,” she said, and walked out.
As soon as Mother was gone, I felt for the dollar in my pocket. Might as well add another name to my talking list. I looked over at Miss Winthrop and counted 2, 3, 5, 7 and said, “I want to join.”
It wasn’t as hard as I’d expected. Miss Winthrop looked delighted, at least until she remembered my mother had just refused. “Are you sure your mother won’t mind?”
“But even if you do suffer for righteousness’ sake,” I said, “you will be blessed.”
“Thank you, Marlee,” said Miss Winthrop as she took my money. “You really are a doll.”
21
THREE GOOD THINGS
On Thursday, I was sitting in Mr. Harding’s classroom, munching on my pimento cheese sandwich, when he came over and threw a thick book down on my desk. “Look at the cover,” he said.
I flipped the book over. ALGEBRA I was written across the front in large letters.
“Here’s the deal,” said Mr. Harding. His face was serious, but his eyes were shining. “You get to eat lunch in my classroom. In exchange, you have to spend fifteen minutes every day doing math with me.”
Algebra was a high school math course. I was only in seventh grade.
He read my mind. “Come on, Marlee. You know seventh-grade math is way too easy for you.”
That was true. And even though Judy talked about algebra like it was a horrible torture
device, David was convinced I’d love it.
“Do you need to hear the speech I prepared about how we need girls like you to save us from the Soviets?”
That’s what my brother had said.
“All those American satellites aren’t going to invent themselves.” Mr. Harding grinned at me, just like David did.
Maybe I could talk. Mr. Harding was already on my list. Just fifteen minutes a day. And it was only about math.
“Okay,” I said.
“Really?” asked Mr. Harding.
I nodded.
Mr. Harding winked at me and opened the book.
On Friday, I got some mail. Two pieces, actually. The first was a postcard from Judy. It said Pine Bluff Welcomes You on one side, and on the other was written a short note:
Dear Little Sis,
I hate it here. Granny burned the pot roast, the toast and the scrambled eggs. The kids at school are mean. Please send a new pair of hose without holes. Lots of love.
Judy
Mother also got a letter from Judy. Daddy kept trying to peek over her shoulder, but she kept turning away.
“What does yours say?” Daddy asked me. “I didn’t get one.”
I guess Judy was still mad at him for sending her to Pine Bluff. “Granny’s a bad cook,” I said, “and she needs some new underwear.”
Daddy laughed.
I wasn’t much of a letter writer, but I’d have to send her a note in return.
The other piece of mail was a flyer from the Women’s Emergency Committee to Open Our Schools. “What’s this?” asked Daddy.
“Miss Winthrop is a member,” I explained. “She invited me to join.”
The flyer said Brotherhood Week at the top, and there were four little buildings drawn with the names of the four closed high schools on them: Central, Horace Mann, Hall and Tech. There was a quote beneath it that read, “The world is now too dangerous for anything but the truth, too small for anything but brotherhood.” The post office box of the WEC was listed at the bottom.
“Nice,” said Daddy, and patted me on the back.
Finally, it was Saturday, and I could call Liz. I waited until Mother and Daddy were busy in the backyard and then snuck into the kitchen to use the phone.
I don’t like using the phone. In real life, I can usually tell if I say the wrong thing. Someone might roll their eyes or look away. But on the phone, I don’t have those clues. To make things even worse, we have a party line. That means we share one phone line with two of our neighbors. We each have our own ring (ours is one short and one long) but if someone wants to be nosy, they can just pick up the receiver and listen right in. And it seemed like every time I tried to place a call, Mr. Haroldson chose that exact moment to call his mother.
So to deal with all those variables, I’d written out everything I was going to say on note cards. I laid them all out in front of me in short rows, took a deep breath, pictured the lions at the zoo and dialed Liz’s number.
A woman answered on the fourth ring. “Hello.”
“Hello,” I read. “May I please speak to Elizabeth Fullerton?”
“Who’s calling?” She sounded suspicious.
I had to look down at my notes to remember the name we’d picked out for me. “Mary,” I said. “A friend from school.”
The woman grumbled something under her breath, then I heard her yell, “Elizabeth! You have a telephone call.”
A moment later, I heard Liz pick up the phone. “Hello,” she said.
“Hi,” I read. “It’s me. Can you meet me at the zoo in twenty minutes?”
“No.”
“No?” She was supposed to say yes.
“I’m taking my little brother to the movies,” Liz continued.
I frantically searched through my cards for a response.
“Hello? Are you still there?” Liz asked.
“I thought we were going to do something today,” I mumbled finally.
“I said I’d try. My mother needs me to watch my brother and told me to take him to The Wizard of Oz,” she said. “I’d invite you to come too, but we’re going to the Gem,” she said.
The Negro movie theater. I looked at the only card I had left. Great, see you there, didn’t seem quite appropriate.
“I need to help my mother clean the bathroom anyway.”
“Maybe another time,” she said brightly.
“Yes,” I said, and hung up the phone, disappointed.
As I scrubbed the toilet, I started thinking. Why hadn’t I said Great, see you there? I knew the Gem was over on West Ninth Street. If I could go to a Negro church, why not a Negro movie theater? I turned the idea over and over in my mind, like a lemon drop on my tongue. I imagined being the only white girl in a room full of Negroes and shivered. It was a little scary. But Liz had been the only colored girl in a whole school full of white kids. Negroes might not be welcome at the white theater, but I didn’t think there was a rule against whites going to the Negro theater. If she could do it, so could I.
22
THE GEM
It was surprising to learn how easy it was to lie to Daddy. I’d just asked him if I could go to the movies, and when he said sure and offered to drive me, I’d said I’d ride my bike instead. He’d even given me money for popcorn.
I peddled faster, trying to drive out the knowledge that I was disobeying my father. I had the black feather in my pocket, but I wanted to get there before Liz went in or I was afraid I wouldn’t have the nerve. I thought about Miss Winthrop: Have no fear of them, nor be troubled.
Liz was standing on the curb when I arrived. “Marlee.” She frowned. “What are you doing here?”
I shrugged. “Going to the movies.”
Liz gave me a look.
“You said you were going to the Gem. You didn’t say I couldn’t come.”
She had to work real hard to keep the frown on her face.
A Negro boy walked up to Liz. He was dark enough that there was no way he could ever pass. “Who’s this?” he asked, pointing at me.
“My friend Marlee,” said Liz. “Marlee, this is my little brother, Tommy.”
Her brother was only eight or nine. He had curly hair and a cute, round face. I could probably talk to him. Kids weren’t as intimidating as grown-ups. I decided he was Ovaltine, sweet and wholesome.
Tommy looked me over. “You look like a white girl.”
“I am a white girl,” I said.
“Then why do you want to come here?” Tommy asked. “My friend’s cousin works at the Center Theater on Main Street, and he says they have a new popcorn machine and velvet seats.”
I didn’t know how to answer. Maybe he wasn’t so sweet after all.
“You’re going to get me in big trouble,” said Liz. “I’m not supposed to see anyone from the old school. I’ll be grounded again.”
People were looking at me. “Sorry,” I muttered. I hadn’t thought this through. “I’ll go.”
“No,” said Liz. “A bunch of people have already seen you. The damage is done. You might as well stay and enjoy the movie.”
Enjoying the movie proved to be harder than I expected. I’d never been in a place with so many Negroes before. Heck, I’d never been in a room with more than one or two. People were staring at me as I bought my popcorn. I wanted to disappear. I felt my courage shrinking, like the Wicked Witch when Dorothy threw water on her.
I tried to tell myself I didn’t know everyone when I went to the white movie theater, either. And the popcorn smelled exactly the same. But it didn’t really work.
We walked down the narrow aisle single file, carrying the popcorn and looking for a seat, Tommy first, then Liz, then me.
“Now, hello there, Miss Elizabeth!” bellowed a voice from a fat woman in a large ha
t.
“Hello, Mrs. Johnson,” said Liz quietly.
I tried to hide behind Liz, hoping she wouldn’t notice me.
“Elizabeth, I can’t tell you how nice it is to see you out having some fun.”
“That’s me,” she said brightly. “Fun, fun, fun.” She waved like she was trying to move on.
Mrs. Johnson took in a deep breath and started coughing like she’d swallowed a fly. When she caught her breath, she said, “Elizabeth, may I have a word with you?”
I knew what was wrong. She was upset that I was white. My face burned red with shame. It reminded me of Miss Taylor pulling me into the hall to tell me Liz was colored. Now Mrs. Johnson was doing the same with Liz about me.
Mrs. Johnson took Liz’s hand and pulled her a step or two away, causing her to spill half of her popcorn on the floor. She shouldn’t have bothered. I could still hear every word she said. “What are you doing here with a white girl?”
“She’s a friend,” Liz said miserably.
“From the white school! What were you thinking bringing her here?”
“I didn’t invite her,” protested Liz. “She just showed up.”
“Didn’t she realize it could be dangerous for you? Didn’t she think about the repercussions?”
I hadn’t. I’d thought the brave thing to do was to go meet Liz at the Gem. I’d thought it was the right thing to do. Now it seemed like I should have just stayed at home.
“She’s my friend,” Liz protested.
“How can you be sure?” Mrs. Johnson went on.
Everyone was staring at us now. I prayed for the lights to go down and the newsreel to start.
“Elizabeth, people have been killed over less. After taking such an enormous, and I might say foolhardy risk, you might at least—”
“Mrs. Johnson,” a familiar voice said sharply, “what’s going on here?”
The Lions of Little Rock Page 9