The Pink Dress

by Anne Alexander

  “Were they just terrible?” Sue looked at Kit and Jay as they crowded past Mom into her room.

  “I don’t know.” Mom turned to Jay and Kit. “Were you?”

  “Ricky said we were good, very good,” Jay announced. “Huh, Kit?”

  “Ricky?” Sometimes, Sue decided, Jay and Kit didn’t make sense.

  “Pick up your bow, Sue.” Mom sounded serious. “I was angry with you, quite angry, when Ricky and Chester brought your books and violin by and said you’d gone off with Dave. And when Chester said they had to carry your things home or Dave would have beaten them up, I almost exploded.”

  “Beat them up? Chester is stupid!” Sue was indignant. “Dave wasn’t too polite, maybe, but beat him up? Chester gives me a pain.”

  “Calm down, Sue. Remember I’m the one who has reason to be angry.”

  Sue forced herself to relax.

  “Anyway, Ricky said you’d probably stop at the creamery, and I was going to stop by there and pick you up when he volunteered to take charge of Kit and Jay.”

  “He’s good, too,” interrupted Jay.

  “He told us stories about bugs,” Kit added.

  “So this time Ricky saved the day for one Miss Stevens,” Mom concluded. “Now you go on with your practicing, and Jay and Kit can help me with dinner.”

  As Mom went down the stairs, trailed by the young generation, Sue just sat and stared at her music. What if Mom had come into the creamery and made her leave? What a horrible thought! She certainly owed Ricky a vote of thanks. Funny, when you expected a good scolding you got nothing. And other times. . . . Well, Mom was being sweet. And Ricky—she’d thank him tomorrow at school.

  One of the house rules at the Stevens’ home was that Sue made or received no phone calls until her homework was completed. Supper over, the table cleared, and the dishes done, she settled down at the dining-room table with her civics book before her. Mr. Henderson had announced a quiz for tomorrow. And he’d given the class a long list of names they were to be able to identify. Long? There were thirty-five names. She wondered if she’d ever get through. Daniel Boone, Meriwether Lewis, Davy Crockett. Now if it were only Dave Young! Good-looking, tall, brown hair, blue eyes, the kind of shoulders that would put him on the junior varsity football squad next year at Claramar High, arrogant. . . “phone me.” If only she could. But Mom and Dad would blow a fuse if she did. Better stick to Davy Crockett . . . James Madison . . . Zachary Taylor . . . she recalled that talk a couple of years ago.

  Mom had come storming home from a PTA meeting. “Honestly,” she’d said. “Those mothers make me boil. Two of them bragged—bragged, mind you—that their sons can scarcely get their homework done, what with all the phone calls from girls.”

  “What girl would phone a boy?” Dad snorted.

  “But they do, Mom,” Sue said. “Ellen’s big sister does lots.”

  “It won’t happen here.” Mom was emphatic. “It’s just not done.”

  “That’s just old-fashioned,” Sue protested.

  “Oh no it isn’t, young lady,” Dad boomed. “A boy does the pursuing, and don’t forget it. It cheapens a girl, calling up boys.”

  So Sue had promised she wouldn’t ever, ever phone a boy. Now she struggled with that promise. It would be so easy to look up the number—to dial. Mom and Dad wouldn’t even have to know. But a promise was a promise. Brigham Young . . . Kit Carson. . .Sue worked on and on. Some she knew, some she didn’t. And the textbook had an annoying way of skipping around that made looking them up difficult. She’d just about reached the end of the list when the phone rang.

  “It’s for you.” Mom looked puzzled.

  Sue’s heart was pounding as she took the phone. “Hello.”

  “Hi, Sue,” Sue’s hopes dropped. “This is Maxine.”

  “Oh, hi.”

  “Dave told me to give you his phone number. You’re to call him.”

  “ I—I can’t.”

  “You’d better. Dave said to.”

  “I can’t,” Sue repeated. House rules were so difficult to explain. “My parents won’t let me.”

  “Won’t let you phone Dave?”

  “Any boy. It’s a rule.”

  Maxine whistled. “Golly, your parents sure are peculiar.”

  “They are not.” Sue found herself defending them. “Girls just shouldn’t call boys.”

  “How do you think I know Dave wants you to call?” Maxine asked.

  “He could dial, couldn’t he?”

  “Dave? Dave Young? He doesn’t have to.”

  “And neither do I.” Sue put the phone back in its cradle angrily. She saw Mom regarding her with a strange expression.

  “What was that all about?” Mom asked.

  “Maxine—she’s in Ellen’s class—told me to call Dave.”

  “The boy who took you for a lemonade—the one who danced with you at the Peppermint Prom?”

  Sue nodded.

  “The one Chester says would beat him up if he didn’t take orders.” Mom made the statement flatly, disapproval in her eyes.

  “Chester, Chester, Chester. He’s always thinking up stuff.”

  “Just like his mother.” Mom patted Sue’s shoulder. “I was forgetting. Come on in the living room if you’re through your homework. Relax.”

  Relax. She was beginning to hate the word. “I’ve just one more name, Mom.” Sue flipped over the pages in the book, then made a final scribbling note. She stood up and stretched. Golly, it was good to be finished after leaning over a book for so long. She flopped down beside Dad on the davenport.

  He put his arm around her and drew her close. “Did the boy talk to you today?” His voice was loving and gentle and teasing all at the same time.

  “Uh-huh.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Oh, Dad, he’s cute. Really he is. I think maybe you were sort of like him in the olden days.”

  “Wait a minute,” Dad protested. “Olden days—I’ve still got my own teeth.”

  “Oh, Dad, you know what I mean.” She struggled herself upright. “But he is cute.”

  “Good taste, too, picking my chick.”

  “Oh, that” Sue’s eyes clouded. “He didn’t pick me because he liked me—just to make Judy mad.”

  “And who’s this Judy?”

  “The girl he went steady with. They’re in The Crowd.”

  “The Crowd?”

  “You know, Dad, the best crowd at school.” Her words tumbled over each other as she tried to explain. “It’s like—it’s like a layer cake, I guess. The crowds at school, I mean. There’s the bottom layer—they’re the drips. You know. The Mamas’ babies, the kids who never do anything. Then there’s the second layer. I guess Cathy and Ellen and I are in there. We’re the biggest group. We take part in school activities and all that, and we have fun. It’s pretty good, being the second layer. But the top! That’s the one with the icing. The elite. They’re in, and they know all the other kids would like to be in, too.”

  “The school officers,” Dad agreed.

  “No. You need citizenship and scholarship grades to be president and stuff. But they have the best parties. They start the newest fads.”

  “Uh—this Dave. What is his last name?” Dad’s voice took on a doubtful tone.

  “Dave Young.”

  “He isn’t the one Mrs. Cannon told me about, is he?” Mom broke in.

  Mrs. Cannon? The block gossip?. “I—I don’t know.”

  “Was he suspended from school recently because of throwing things?”

  “Uh-huh.” Sue giggled. “He threw a milk carton over one of the rafters—and it hit Mr. Mack. The trouble was, it was full.”

  “That’s funny?” Dad’s voice was stern.

  “Not really,” Sue admitted. “But the principal sure looked odd with milk dripping all over him.”

  “Young lady.” Dad’s voice was deadly serious now. “I think you’d better leave well enough alone. You’re not the type for The Crowd.”

  �
�You mean I’m not good enough to have the icing?” There was a tearful note in Sue’s voice. “You mean I’m just ordinary, just middle-middle.”

  “Not at all.” Dad took her hand. “You compared the social strata to a layer cake. But remember, the batter is all the same. It’s just chance which layer is on top.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Sue argued. “Mom saves the smoothest layer for the top. And The Crowd at school is real smooth.”

  “Susan Stevens!” Mom interrupted. “I’m disappointed. I thought you’d learned by now you don’t judge people by how smooth they are, but for what they are.”

  “Then—if Dave wants to walk me home again, he can’t.”

  “I won’t say he can’t,” Dad said quietly. “Just that I’d rather you didn’t want him to.”

  Not want him to? Sue could hardly believe her ears. Not want Dave Young to walk you home from school?

  “In any case,” Mom put in, “you won’t have to worry about it tomorrow. I’m picking you up for a booster shot.”

  And Wednesday the school Welfare Club was going to stuff Easter seal envelopes. And Thursday was violin. And Friday . . . oh, what was the use? By Friday, Dave and Judy would be going steady again for sure. Sue drew herself up from the davenport. “Good night,” she said. “I’m going to study.”

  “Sue, dear, aren’t you going to kiss us good night?” Dad’s voice sounded tender again. She longed to throw herself into his arms as she used to do when she was little and skinned her knee or banged her shins. But she walked across the room cool and dignified, and the kisses she gave were as detached as she could make them.

  “Darling,” Mom pleaded. “We just don’t want you hurt.”

  “You think I’m middle-middle.” Sue kept her voice hard so the tears wouldn’t show.

  In the sanctity of her bedroom, Sue turned on the radio. She blinked back the tears as she set her hair. Then she crawled into bed with her civics list. But it was hard to concentrate. Middle-layer. Ordinary. It hurt when your parents thought you were that Everything was getting so muddled and mixed up. The ten o’clock news came on. She switched off the radio. Mom and Dad were usually so swell. Maybe they were really only trying to help. Maybe she should go down and kiss and make up.

  She slipped out of bed and was at the top step when she heard the phone ring. Dad answered, started to say something, and then she heard the phone slammed down.

  “Insufferable pup,” he thundered. “Hung up without even leaving his name when I said Sue was in bed.”

  Sue tiptoed back to her room. Now was no time to make up. Dad was really angry. She got back into bed and switched off the light. Daniel Boone, Kit Carson, Davy Crockett . . . Dave Young—he’d phoned. She hugged the thought to her as she drifted off to sleep.

  4.

  After School

  Sue made peace with Mom and Dad at breakfast. Dave was kept scrupulously out of the table talk. Dad didn’t even mention the phone call—and she was glad. Jay and Kit barely finished their fruit juice and cereal before they were out in the back yard with jars in hand on a pre-school hunt for caterpillars and bugs. Ricky had started something with his nature talk. Sue gave Mom and Dad an extra special good-by kiss. “I love you, really I do,” she told them as she picked up her books. She hurried out to meet Cathy and Ellen at the appointed corner.

  Sue almost reached the end of the block when she saw Mrs. Cannon in her garden. She quickened her steps and looked the other way. If she could only just get past. . .

  “Good morning, Sue,” called Mrs. Cannon. “Come see my tulips.”

  If she could pretend she didn’t hear . . . but Mrs. Cannon’s voice was as penetrating as a drill. She stopped reluctantly.

  “My,” Mrs. Cannon looked Sue up and down. “My, aren’t we the big girl now. Lipstick, too.”

  “Ninth graders can wear it,” Sue said. “Your tulips are very pretty, Mrs. Cannon. And I’ve got to hurry. My friends won’t wait.”

  “Boy friends?” Mrs. Cannon’s smirk hid her eyes in fat wrinkles.

  “Cathy and Ellen.”

  “Hmmmmmm.” Mrs. Cannon sounded knowing and doubtful all at the same time. “I thought it might be that rowdy David Young I saw you with yesterday.”

  Dad always teased Sue about leading with her chin when she got angry. She could feel it thrust forward now as she tensed at Mrs. Cannon’s cutting remark. Rowdy David Young. Sue struggled to keep her voice civil. “I’ll miss my friends,” she said. “See you.” She fairly ran down the street without waiting for a reply. Stupid old busybody. Rowdy Dave Young—big girl Sue. So what if she was tall? The way Mrs. Cannon said it, it sounded like an insult. Grownups had the advantage on remarks, that was for sure. They could say anything personal and get away with it. But if she’d said. “My, Mrs. Cannon, what a big woman. Been putting on weight?” she’d have been considered impudent. Sue turned the corner just in time to see Ellen and Cathy starting off without her.

  “Wait,” she yelled.

  Cathy and Ellen stopped until she caught up. “That Mrs. Cannon,” she stormed. “You’re so lucky she doesn’t live near you. I hate her.”

  Cathy laughed. “We all have our Mrs. Cannons,” she said with an exaggerated sigh.

  “Only mine has frizzy hair and talks to flowers,” Ellen added.

  “Ours is the worst.” Sue refused to be mollified as she went into a fresh tirade on Mrs. Cannon. It wasn’t until she was on her way to class that she recalled she hadn’t mentioned anything to Cathy and Ellen about Dave and the lemonade and the phone call.

  Everything, Sue decided in the days that followed, was the same as B.D. (Before Dave). And why she ever thought it would be any different, she didn’t know. Because Dave was certainly no part of her life these days. Except for a brief. “Hi” at noon Tuesday, she hadn’t even seen him. The boys were now deep in baseball practice during the noon hours, and she had promised Mr. Henderson she’d paint some murals for Public School Week, so she didn’t get out to the field with the other girls to watch the games. But Dave could have phoned, and Sue waited each night for the call that never came.

  There was one subtle difference, though. It was just that kids who never bothered to talk to her before would say. “Hi.” Maxine, especially. Even Judy and Laura must have decided to declare a truce, because they spoke to her too.

  After school there had been no chance for Dave to walk home with her. The booster shot, Easter seal envelopes, and violin lesson had seen to that. Now she waited on the auditorium steps for Cathy and Ellen. As it was Friday, they’d make their weekly date to go to the movies.

  As she stood there, Sue felt a little like a pack horse. Books, violin, and a big roll of paper for another mural.

  Cathy arrived first. “Boy,” she exclaimed. “Sure you didn’t forget something?”

  Sue grinned. “If I did, I wouldn’t have another hand to carry it with anyway.”

  “Now’s the time for Chester or Ricky to come by. You could use some help.”

  “I haven’t seen them since Monday.” And that was something to puzzle over, Sue thought. Were the two boys avoiding her?

  “Hi!” Ellen puffed up breathlessly. “I was scared you might go off without me. Mrs. Robins wanted to talk to me about my talking and she did the talking and . . .” Ellen paused for breath. “Why all that stuff?” She nodded toward the conglomeration in Sue’s arms.

  “Another mural,” Cathy explained for Sue. “Glad our home room is doing geometrical designs.”

  “My dad’s turn to drive us to the show,” Ellen stated.

  “Same time,” said Cathy.

  “Same station,” added Sue. That was the nice thing about having friends. Going to the show on Fridays was expected, with no troublesome arranging to do. It was as matter of fact as peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. “Let’s get going,” she added. “All this stuff is killing me.”

  “Aren’t we waiting for Chester and Ricky?” asked Ellen. “They were here yesterday.”

  “The
y probably saw Sue’s load—and didn’t feel like working,” Cathy said.

  “Fine friends—evading work.” Ellen laughed.

  “No,” said Sue slowly. “They’re not evading work. They’re evading me.” It hurt to put the thought into words, but it felt better to have it out in the open.

  “Pooh,” snorted Ellen.

  “She’s right,” corrected Cathy. “They are evading her, I bet. Just as The Crowd has evaded us. They only talk to Sue when we’re not around.”

  Leave it to Cathy, the practical one. It was true—The Crowd did speak to her only when she was alone. They snubbed Cathy and Ellen. Sue felt a surge of loyalty for her two friends. “The Crowd will never make any difference to us,” she declared. “We’re going to be best friends for ever and ever.”

  Ellen giggled. “You sound like you’re taking an oath or something. Of course we’ll be best friends. We’ll be each other’s bridesmaids and godmothers. I mean for each other’s children. I mean . . .”

  “If we’re going to be best friends,” Cathy interrupted, “here’s our chance, Ellen. Look who’s at the corner.”

  Dave! Sue’s heart skipped a beat as she saw him leaning there against the street sign. Would he speak—or ignore her? She tried for nonchalance. “For ever and ever and ever,” she heard herself repeat. Dave was looking everywhere but in her direction. He meant to ignore her. She willed herself to walk by—as if she didn’t know him. Her step quickened.

  “Walk you,” Dave said. He stood, blocking her way.

  Sue swallowed. For ever and ever and ever. “Walk us,” she amended.

  Dave frowned.

  “I’m walking with Cathy and Ellen. Aren’t you even going to say ‘Hi’?”

  Dave shrugged. “Hi,” he said in a tone he might use to address a couple of dead fish.

  Sue felt as though she were riveted to the sidewalk. Whatever move she made would be the wrong one, she knew.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Cathy sounded annoyed. She tugged at Ellen’s sweater and the girls skirted around Dave and Sue. “Four don’t fit on a sidewalk, you know.”