“Marston says if my grades don’t go up, I’ll have to repeat the year.”
“Oh.” I finally realized how much was at stake. “Well, I’ll help you study, and I’m sure Miss Cogshell will too.”
“She has been. If it wasn’t for Miss C., I probably would’ve had five Fs.”
Craig must have spent more time at Miss Cogshell’s than I realized. I glanced out towards the field and whispered, “That was great on the bus yesterday.”
“What?” Craig asked, bending closer to hear.
I peeked up at him. “When you yelled ‘shut up.’”
“Blowing up is great?” Craig looked genuinely surprised.
“You stood up for Miss Cogshell. I was too chicken.”
“Just letting off steam. Didn’t take any guts. My old lady says one of these days my temper’s gonna get me in real trouble.”
We made our way to Miss Cogshell’s and hung out with Pup for the rest of the afternoon.
11
MY VISITS TO Miss Cogshell’s fell into a happy routine. When I stopped by one day, hoping to borrow a book, she was on a small stool, hunting through her spice cupboard. Her hair brushed the ceiling. As she reached deep into the cabinet, I watched, worried she’d come crashing down. Her flowered housecoat rose, and exposed the rolled tops of her stockings. Through the nylons, dark veins ran up and down her massive calves.
“I was sure I had another tin of ginger,” she said. “What a chowduhhead I am. I’ve already mixed the first ingredients and now I’m out of ginger.”
“I’ll run down to Al’s and get it,” I offered.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” Miss Cogshell climbed off the tiny stool, using the counters for support, took a few deep breaths and turned towards me. A faded Maine lobster was stamped across the front of her muslin apron.
“But I want to,” I said. “I love ginger cookies.”
Miss Cogshell smiled as she reached for a small china teapot. From inside, she produced a tightly folded dollar bill which she opened and pressed flat into my hand. She held it for a moment between her warm, fleshy palms. “Well, in that case, off you go.”
Before I finished humming two verses of “The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia,” I was at Al’s General Store. I opened the door slowly, the bell keeping still, and went in unnoticed to search the crowded shelves for ginger.
A minute later the bell over the door jingled as someone else entered the store. He struck up a conversation with Al, who must have been behind the counter. I recognized Howard the harbormaster’s deep voice ordering a coffee. The squeak of the spinning barstool told me he planned to sit for a while.
Just as I spotted the ginger I heard Al’s voice ask, “Any big goings on lately?”
I froze in my tracks when I heard the deep voice answer. “Not much. Although, apparently Ed Johnson thought he saw a couple of kids with a seal up the road apiece, a few weeks back. But you never can tell with his memory. Could’ve been a cat. I’m keeping my eyes and ears open.”
“Ayuh,” replied Al. “Poor Ed’s always got some tall tale or other. Remember that time he thought my house was on fire when I was burning brush?” Al let out a hearty laugh.
They continued to discuss Mr. Johnson while I crouched two aisles back. I clutched the tin of ginger and tried not to sneeze. Finally the seat creaked and Howard said good-bye to Al. I counted to ten, and then came around the corner real casual. Just as I got to the cash register, the bell over the door jangled again. Two girls from my class came in—one of them being Ed Johnson’s daughter, Pamela. The girls didn’t see me at first; they were too busy checking out their reflections in the shiny countertop, while Al was in the backroom.
“So Claire, who are you asking?” Pamela was saying.
“Probably Tommy since you want you know who,” said Claire.
“Remember I told you my dad thought he saw him with some girl the other night,” Pamela continued in a sing-songy voice. “Well, my unhelpful father says he can’t remember what she looked like, or how late it was; just that they were pulling a seal in a wagon. Can you imagine?” She shook her hair back and then spotted me trying to blend in with the pickle barrel.
“Shrimp, what a surprise! Who are you taking to the Twist Twirl?” she asked, all wide-eyed. I just looked at her with no clue as to what she was talking about. The two girls towered above me, their hairspray stinking up the whole store. A limp strand fell across my eye and I wished I’d washed my hair that morning.
“I guess they don’t let little kids in.” Claire shrugged her shoulders. They both laughed and moved past me down the aisles, stumbling along on their platform shoes. One of them said in a loud whisper, “Why doesn’t she ever talk?” A softer whisper was followed by more giggling.
I stared hard at the penny candy until Al returned to ring up my order. Soon I was running back to Miss Cogshell’s, back to the smells and sounds of her cozy home.
“Why Amy, you’re all out of breath,” she said, as I handed her the ginger and a few coins. “Did you have trouble finding it?”
“The harbormaster was there,” I said.
“He’s an interesting man.”
“He heard there might be a captive seal around here.”
“Oh, dear,” said Miss Cogshell, as she peeled the lid off the top of the ginger. She sprinkled some in without measuring, while I left to go visit Pup.
Pup blinked his round eyes when he saw me, and then gave a great yawn. Sprawled out in a relaxed blubbery heap on the bathroom floor, Pup appeared not to have a care in the world. He stretched, then covered one eye with his fore flipper like he was playing peek-a-boo.
“Don’t worry, Pup, nobody will find you here,” I whispered into his sleek little head. He sniffed and nuzzled my hair and I could tell he knew me as a friend. I took a fish from the cooler and was glad to see him swallow it right down. By the time I went back to the kitchen, Miss Cogshell was already pulling the baked cookies out of the oven.
“No homework tonight. I sure wish I had a good mystery to read,” I hinted as I nibbled a warm cookie.
“Help yourself.” She nodded towards the parlor. I went in and studied the titles. Miss Cogshell came in a moment later and we talked about a few of her favorite stories.
Just as I selected a book, loud crashing noises interrupted us. We looked at each other, puzzled, and then I moved fast down the hall. My words froze when I reached the kitchen.
“Oh, no,” said Miss Cogshell. I squeezed to one side so she could fit through the entranceway. Cookies were everywhere, mostly on the floor. One cooling rack still teetered half on the table and half off. I glanced at Miss Cogshell and she didn’t look pleased. At the same time, we both said, “Pup?”—mine a troubled whisper.
“I’m sure he didn’t mean it.” I tried not to panic. “I’ll clean up.” I tossed my book onto the counter, dropped to my knees and began gathering up cookie pieces while she and Clyde stomped down the hallway towards the bathroom.
“Where is that rascal?” she said a minute later.
I heard a little sniff. I spun around and peered beneath the tablecloth. Pup was under the kitchen table, way back against the wall. His nose lay flat on the floor and he closed his big eyes when he saw me. I could hear Miss Cogshell returning.
“I can’t find him,” she said.
“Are you very angry with him?” I asked.
“Oh, he doesn’t know better. I just want to make sure he’s not sick from too many sweets.”
“I’ll get him.” I crawled under the table to drag him out.
“Stop acting innocent, Pup,” I tried to say with sternness while he playfully nipped my elbow. Miss Cogshell counted cookies and decided he’d probably only tasted one or two. We swept all the crumbs out the back door and made an attempt at scolding Pup, just so he’d remember to keep his nose out of the goodies next time.
Soon I was walking home, tripping over tree roots while absorbed in my book. By bedtime I had finished reading T
he Body in the Library.
AT SCHOOL, THE next day, I passed by a poster and remembered how Pamela had mentioned the Twist Twirl. I had never bothered to read event notices before, but figured I’d do so now. Apparently the Twist Twirl was a school dance to be held in a few weeks. For this one event the girls got to ask the boys to go with them. Kind of like a Sadie Hawkins Day.
I knew right off who Pamela would want to go with, and then, I don’t know what came over me, but I started having this fantasy of me walking in with Craig, and Pamela falling off her platform shoes, flat on her face. It wasn’t that I just wanted to shock everyone—I really wanted to be at the dance with Craig. We got along so well. He was always laughing and joking with me, so he must like me. As the day wore on, the more excited I got. I would beat Pamela to the punch.
I had never cared before how long Nancy spent blabbing on the phone. However, the one time I wanted to make a call she must have been on for two hours, catching up with all the kids she had just spent the whole day with. After supper I got my chance. Dad was working on bills in his office and Mom took Nancy out to get her hair trimmed. I must have stood by the telephone for ten minutes before I got up the nerve to dial the number I had spent all day memorizing. It rang four times, each time making my heart pound louder. On the fifth ring Craig’s mother answered.
“What do you want?” she drawled into the mouth-piece. Her words were slurred and she sounded half-asleep. I panicked and hung up the phone with shaking hands.
“I’ll ask him tomorrow,” I decided.
FRIDAY MORNING, CRAIG stood by himself fiddling around with his locker combination. I watched for a minute from down the hall, and practiced the words I would use to ask him to the dance. As I started over to him, I heard stomping and giggling coming from around the corner.
Great. Pamela and Claire. It was like I was a magnet, always pulling those two closer to wherever I happened to be. Pamela practically fell into Craig as though the corridor was just too narrow for her to get past him. He grinned, the same grin as always. Then Claire made some comment and Craig burst out laughing. I knew they didn’t even know I was there, but they might as well have been laughing at me.
I stuck my head back into my locker and pretended to search for something. In my mind I could hear Nancy saying, “Oh, Amy, you’re so immature!” My eyes stung. All this time I thought Craig and I had a special friendship; now I finally understood that he just acted that way with everyone. My hands started shaking again when I realized how close I had come to making a fool of myself.
I peeked over my shoulder. Craig took off in the other direction, while the two girls headed my way. Pamela came to a halt in front of me. She squinted her eyes and scrunched up her face. “I know what you’re up to,” she said, wagging a long polished nail at me before they continued down the hall.
Oh, my gosh. Could she really? I hadn’t breathed a word about the dance. There’s no way she could find out. Was she just bluffing? Or, worse, was she talking about Pup?
12
ON SATURDAY, I woke to the rattle of wind-driven sleet against the windowpanes. All morning, the rain poured down. I tried to concentrate on a cross-stitch kit, except my eyes kept traveling to the windows, my mind elsewhere. There weren’t many more days to be with Pup, especially if Pamela knew about him. Finally I’d had enough. I ran upstairs for the Agatha Christie book, threw on my slicker, and headed for the door.
“Where in the world are you going?” asked Nancy, who looked as bored as me.
“Just out.” I stuffed the book under the front of my slicker.
“But, Amy.” My mother looked up from her magazine. “It’s pouring cats and dogs out there. You’ll be soaked through in no time.”
“Well, I’ve just got to run quick down towards the pier. Then I’ll be dry.”
“To the pier? I don’t understand. How will you be dry at the pier?”
I glanced at Nancy and then answered my mother. “Because I’ll be in a house down near there.”
Nancy laughed. “Yeah, right. The only one who lives down there is Old Coot. She’s the one who used to pass out banned books to kids.”
My eyebrows went skyward as I pushed Agatha Christie further under my slicker. Nancy puffed herself up and waddled around looking as big and ugly as she could.
“Stop that, Nancy.” Mom proceeded to lecture Nancy about name-calling. I could feel the anger rising in me as I took the opportunity to slip out the door. Once again, Nancy had got me furious. There would probably be a lot of explaining to do when I got home; for now though, I just had to get to Pup.
I raced down the hill. I could barely see with the rain slanting into my face. The wind howled and I could hear the surf crash against the shoreline and the grating of haunted lobster boats as they tugged at their moorings.
By the time I reached Miss Cogshell’s, I was shivering. She answered my knock as I scraped the mud from my boots. A waft of warm cinnamony smells crept out. Miss Cogshell didn’t look at all surprised to see me—almost as though she’d been waiting for me to show up.
I went in and exchanged looks with Craig. He sat at the kitchen table with his math book and papers spread out in front of him.
“Just catching up on some homework,” he mumbled.
“We didn’t have any,” I said, before I caught Miss Cogshell’s look.
“I still haven’t finished last week’s,” Craig said. “Not all of us are straight A students. Besides, my house isn’t exactly set up for studying.” He gave an awkward laugh as he stood and stretched his legs.
Rather than argue about my occasional B, I grinned and pulled out the book. “This was a great mystery, Miss Cogshell.”
She nodded. “One of my favorites, too.”
I returned the book to its place on the shelf and went in to visit Pup. As I patted Pup, I strained to hear the voices in the kitchen.
“Try this one again,” instructed Miss Cogshell. “I know you can do it.”
The low mumbling that followed must have been Craig’s response. I surely hoped this tutoring would get him into the next grade.
Pup got restless and belly-bounced down the hallway. He turned in at the parlor. I followed, calling out to him. Soon Craig and Miss Cogshell joined us, and we all watched Pup explore and sniff every nook and cranny.
“Your house is always so quiet. Don’t you have any TV, Miss C.?” asked Craig, looking around in disbelief. “How can you watch Hawaii Five-0?”
“Actually, I do own one. It’s right under here.” Miss Cogshell pinched up a large doily that had been covering a small television. “Just wait ’til I show you what my friend from Texas sent me.” She carefully unrolled a clingy, plastic sheet and stuck it over the screen. Then she turned on the TV. She moved her massive body to one side so we could see. The once black and white pictures now had tints of color filling in all the light areas. Miss Cogshell watched a moment, then glanced over at us.
“That’s super,” I said.
“Su-per,” agreed Craig, laughing. “I think I’ll stick with Zenith.”
“Well, I’m sure this doesn’t compete with the new color televisions. Suits me fine just the same.”
Miss Cogshell was rolling up the magic color screen when there was a thud and a high pitched squeal from somewhere outside, behind the house.
I spun around. Pup must be in the kitchen! I rushed in, grabbed him in a big hug, and slid him under the table, with me right behind. I had to hide him from whoever was out there. Thank goodness the inside door was closed shut against the last of the rain.
“Aw, geez,” said Craig, a couple of seconds after he reached the kitchen.
“She probably slipped and bumped up against the house,” said Miss Cogshell when she joined him. “Do you know that young lady peeking in the window, Craig?”
Craig must have nodded because Miss Cogshell opened the door. I couldn’t believe it when I heard Pamela’s voice and recognized the shiny red tips of her mud-splashed boots as she stepped
inside.
“My goodness, you’ll get drenched,” said Miss Cogshell.
I listened to the squeaking of Pamela’s matching, hooded slicker and could just imagine her straining her neck to peer past Miss Cogshell in search of Craig.
“Oh hi, Craig,” Pamela said. “I thought I saw your bike down here a lot. I just wanted to ask you something, um . . . about homework, in private.”
“I was leaving anyway.” Craig yanked his jacket off the kitchen chair, inches from my hiding place.
“That was a close call,” said Miss Cogshell after the door closed behind them.
I peered out the window and wondered which of a long list of possibilities, each more horrible than the last, Pamela had come to see Craig about.
THAT NIGHT, AFTER I was in bed, the storm still raged outside, sending shadows around the room. My mother gave a soft knock on my bedroom door. I shoved my diary under my pillow, flicked off my flashlight and said, “Yeah?”
“I just wanted to talk a bit,” she said, as she squeezed in between the pillows of my window seat. She probably wished she could clear them out, but we had decided long ago that my space was off limits.
“You’ve always been a good girl and I don’t want you to think I’m accusing you of anything. It’s just that, well, you’re a teenager now, and I’d like to know where you go every day.”
She caught me at a relaxed moment, so rather than fight it, I decided to talk to her. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I said, smiling into the darkness.
“Try me.”
“I go to Miss Cogshell’s house.”
“For?”
“To visit with her and,” I took a deep breath, “a pet of hers.”
“Well, that certainly sounds admirable. Your grandmother used to speak quite highly of Sylvia.”
“What did Nancy mean about banned books?” I said, knowing something, but wanting to know more.
“Oh, that,” Mom said with a sigh. “I guess years ago a group of parents tried to get her fired from her teaching job because she was recommending books they thought inappropriate. Even literature like Romeo and Juliet. That sort of thing. Those former students grew up still carrying their parents’ anger and passed it down to their own kids.”
Call Me Amy Page 6