“Sam is the most interesting person I’ve ever met,” I said.
Mom set her cup down on the coffee table and stared at me. “I didn’t realize you liked Sam more than your New Jersey friends.”
I felt my face heat up. It was bound to be the color of a ripe tomato.
Once we’d said good night to our guests, Mom asked me to help clean the kitchen. I grabbed a dish towel, while she stood at the sink scrubbing the roasting pan. “Mom, are Coach and Miss Holt … you know … together?”
Mom dropped the roasting pan in the white porcelain sink. The noise the pan made echoed like my question. “What?”
“Are they together?” I repeated.
Mom turned off the faucet and swiveled to face me. “Where did that question come from?”
“From watching them at dinner. They remind me of a married couple. The way they smile at each other and go on vacations together. You know … stuff like that.”
Mom leaned against the sink. She gazed up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. “They’re like Uncle Jeffrey and Dom.”
Dad’s brother was gay, but nobody ever talked about it. “You don’t mind?”
“No, if I did, I wouldn’t have invited them to dinner.” Mom tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not everyone in town is quite so open-minded, though. This is not a topic to discuss with your friends.”
“Why?”
Mom sighed. “Because gossip could jeopardize their jobs. Like Anita Bryant and that Save Our Children campaign. Some people will do anything to stop gays from living in their communities.”
Anita Bryant was a Christian celebrity, a former beauty queen, who sold orange juice on TV. She thought gay people were a bad influence on kids and shouldn’t be teachers. I’d heard Walter Cronkite talk about her on the evening news. “But Anita Bryant’s in Florida.”
“That’s right,” Mom said, “but her influence is spreading. Our state senator, Jesse Helms, has pledged his support. It’s better to let people turn a blind eye and pretend Murph and Franny are just roommates.”
“But that’s a lie.”
Mom gave me a hug. “It would have been easier for Franny and Murph if they’d fallen in love with men, but that’s not what happened.”
I rested my head against Mom’s shoulder. It was nice to be treated like an almost-grown-up. “Mom, you fell in love with Dad, but that hasn’t been easy either.”
Mom sighed again. “You’re a deep thinker, Allie Drake.”
That same weekend, Sam and I waved good-bye as Mom’s Dodge Dart disappeared in a cloud of red dust. Sam wanted to go to the barn, but I insisted on homework first.
Sam led the way to her bedroom. As soon as she closed the door, I blurted out, “I know about Coach and Miss Holt.”
“Ssssh,” Sam whispered. She grabbed an album from the stack on her bookshelf and put Frampton Comes Alive! on her record player. She turned up the volume. “Now we can talk.”
Sam and I lay on the floor facing each other. I told her about Mom’s dinner party. How I had watched Coach and Miss Holt, and about my talk with Mom after they’d gone home.
“I’ve known for a couple of months,” Sam said. “Your mom’s right. Most people pretend they’re just roommates.”
That gave me a sad, achy feeling. The same way I felt when I thought about Dad.
“At least they have the guts to be together,” Sam said. “Think about it that way.” She jumped to her feet and played air guitar along with Peter Frampton. “C’mon.”
I shook my head, afraid I’d look silly.
“How about a duet?” Sam asked.
She kept on until I gave in. We belted out “Show Me the Way” like two seventh-grade rock stars. I was self-conscious, but only a little bit. I wanted to spend every spare minute with Sam. When I was away from home, it was easier to forget about Eric and Dad.
“See, that wasn’t so bad.”
After making popcorn, Sam and I went back to her room to study Johnny Tremain. “The language is so old-fashioned,” she complained.
“Yeah, but that’s part of the fun. Listen while I imitate Mrs. Lapham.”
When I finished reading, Sam clapped. “You should try out for the school play. I bet you’d get a part.”
I threw a piece of popcorn at her. “I’d probably pee my pants or die of stage fright.”
Sam laughed and threw a handful of popcorn at me. “I bet you’d be great.”
I wished I had as much confidence in myself as Sam had in me. Maybe that’s why I liked her so much. Around her, I forgot to be scared.
After we finished our homework, Sam and I ran toward the fenced-in pasture. Sweat trickled down my back. It was a lot hotter in North Carolina than in New Jersey.
Sam leaned against the gate. She put her fingers to her lips and gave a shrill whistle. Penelope galloped toward us. I had to admit she was even more beautiful than in pictures.
“Hey, Penny. How you doing, girl?” The horse pricked her ears toward Sam and lowered her head. Sam climbed onto the lowest rung of the gate so she could reach over and hug her. “Penny’s my best friend in the world.”
It was silly to be jealous of a horse, but I wanted to be Sam’s best friend. “You have a million friends at school. Why do you like Penny more than them?”
“Horses don’t judge,” Sam said. “Penny doesn’t care that I dress like a boy, or about my report card, or if I miss the winning basket. Penny just loves me.”
The breeze had blown Sam’s hair into her eyes. I wanted to take my fingers and brush it back, but I didn’t. “If you’re worried about your clothes, I could go shopping with you.”
Sam shook her head. “I’m more comfortable this way. I feel stupid in a dress.”
She went on petting Penelope and didn’t look at me. I needed to say something, but it had to be just right. “I wouldn’t change a single thing about you. Not one.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, because of you I’m on the newspaper staff, and I’m brave enough to ride a horse … at least I think I am.”
Sam reached for my hand. She held it for a couple of seconds before placing it on Penelope’s neck. “No riding today. You and Penny need to get to know each other first.”
“Okay.” My voice came out all scratchy again.
“Ribbit, ribbit,” Sam said.
I cleared my throat. “Ribbit, ribbit,” I answered.
Sam was my best friend, and I hoped someday I’d be hers too.
Sunday afternoon was warm enough that Mom and I lounged on the front porch swing. She was reading a book Reverend Walker had recommended about dealing with grief. Johnny Tremain lay across my lap, but I was thinking about Sam—how because of her, I had tried new things, like singing out loud and spending time with a horse.
When the phone rang, I raced to answer it. It was only Webster.
“I wanted to remind you about tomorrow’s newspaper staff meeting.”
“I’ll be there.”
“How’s your revision coming along?”
“All finished. I think you’ll like it.”
“Excellent. You’re a pleasure to work with, Allie Drake.”
I danced down the hall like a teenager on American Bandstand. The pleasure was all mine. I could hardly wait to write another story. “What’s my next assignment?”
“I’m working on it,” Webb said. “Don’t worry. It’ll be a good one.”
I hung up the phone and danced out to the porch. “Somebody’s in a much better mood,” Mom said.
“Webb said I’m a pleasure to work with.”
“That’s wonderful, Allie. I’m so proud of you!”
I danced back toward the door.
“Where are you going now?” Mom asked.
“To call Sam!” Telling her would make my good news even better.
Before school the next morning, I met Webb in Miss Holt’s office. He slid two desks together and spread the papers from his briefcase across them. Dwayne Williams and I sat fac
ing him.
Webb pushed his glasses up with two fingers, but they slid back down. “What have you got for me, Big D?”
Dwayne handed him some neatly typed pages. “A recap of football season and my predictions for basketball.”
“Excellent,” Webb said. “I’ll proof these and get back to you. What byline do you want me to use?”
“Same as last year, Dwayne Williams—Roving Sports Reporter.”
When it was my turn, I handed in my revision.
Webb quickly read through it. “This is excellent, Allie.” He read it through a second time more slowly. “I didn’t catch a single mistake. Not one. Which means you’re ready for your next assignment.”
“My pencil is sharpened and my notebook is handy. What is it?”
“How about interviewing Kelly Hutton?” Webb said.
Kelly was the deb who was always giving Sam paper to take notes. “Okay, anything I should know about her?”
“She’s head cheerleader and full of school spirit. Wait until you see her at a pep rally!”
“She’s as nice as she is pretty,” Dwayne said.
At first glance, Kelly was just another deb, but that would make writing about her more of a challenge. I’d have to keep my eyes open and search for an angle. I didn’t want to stereotype her or have Webb say the article needed more depth. I wanted him to see I could take criticism and improve. “Got it. I’ll have a profile by next Monday.”
In English class, Sam stared out the window. I wondered what she was thinking about. An old song Dad used to sing drifted through my mind, “Dream a Little Dream of Me.” Neither Dad nor me had any musical talent, but we both loved listening to records. It was our thing to do together.
Miss Holt rapped her knuckles on her desk. “Sam, can you explain what an apprentice is and how it relates to Johnny Tremain?”
Sam turned away from the window. “Sorry. I was watching some kids play dodgeball.”
A few of our classmates giggled, but Miss Holt ignored them and cut Sam a break. “What is an apprentice and how does it relate to our story?”
Sam nodded. “Oh, I know that one. An apprentice is like a student. Johnny was learning to be a silversmith.”
Miss Holt pressed her palms to her cheeks. A big smile spread across her face. “That’s a good answer. A very good answer.”
When Miss Holt called on Dwayne for the next question, Sam shifted in her seat and looked at me. “Thanks,” she whispered.
I was happier than if I’d aced the question myself.
I spent the rest of English class watching Kelly Hutton. Her long silky hair was parted down the middle. It was so shiny she could have been a Breck Girl in one of the shampoo ads. But what was she really like? That’s what the reporter in me needed to know.
I waited on Sam after class. “Miss Holt was shocked when you knew the right answer.”
Sam grinned. “I was expecting her to have a Fred Sanford moment. You know, when he grabs his chest and fakes a heart attack.”
Sanford and Son was a really funny television show. I pictured Fred, with his big tummy, wearing suspenders, and laughed.
Sam punched me in the arm. “Thanks again. You’re the only reason I can even pronounce ‘Johnny Tremain.’ ”
Sam was smarter than she gave herself credit for, but she did struggle to pay attention. My goofy imitation of Mrs. Lapham had helped with that.
“Hey, Allie. Where do you want to sit at lunch?”
“How about with the cheerleaders?”
“You want to join the squad?” Sam joked.
“I’m not nearly coordinated enough, but I, Allie Drake, pledge to become a cheerleading expert. Webb wants me to interview Kelly Hutton.”
When we sat down at the lunch table across from Kelly, she turned her dazzling smile on Sam. “Hi, Allison. Hey, Sammy. It’s been a while since you had lunch with me.”
Sam reached into her brown bag and pulled out a ham-and-cheese sandwich. “Been making the rounds.”
“Hi, Kelly.” The frog was back in my throat again.
“Ribbit, ribbit,” Sam said.
“Ribbit, ribbit,” I answered. “Sorry, sometimes I sound like a frog.”
Kelly laughed. “Sometimes I sound like a chicken. Want to hear me?”
I nodded and the future debutante let out a loud “Bauk, bauk, bauk, bauk, bauk.”
Sam joined in, but I just watched. That’s how a reporter gets the scoop, by paying attention to the details. The noise spread from kid to kid, from lunch table to lunch table. Pretty soon most of the seventh grade was clucking and cock-a-doodle-dooing.
Coach Murphy blew her whistle until they stopped being chickens and went back to being kids again.
“That was fun,” Kelly said.
I hadn’t expected a deb to imitate a chicken. That would definitely make its way into my article. In spite of Kelly’s perfect hair, I really liked her. “Any chance I could interview you for the school paper?”
“Allie’s a good reporter,” Sam added. “She wrote an article about Penny and me that will be in the next edition.”
“Can’t wait to read it,” Kelly said, “but I don’t have a horse, not even a dog. What would you write about me?”
“I don’t know yet. Figuring it out is the fun part.”
“Maybe you could interview me in a couple of months. I’m really busy with cheerleading practice and some stuff at home.”
The way she said stuff at home caused my reporter’s antenna to hum. Kelly sounded sad. “I’ll buy you a cherry coke at Scott’s Drug Store.”
Kelly smiled. “You’re determined. I like that.”
Sam nodded her approval.
And that’s how I landed an interview with the head deb.
Scott’s Drug Store hadn’t been updated since the 1950s. I guess the owners didn’t have the money to fix it up. It was the kind of place that reminded me of Happy Days on TV. All we needed was the Fonz to punch the jukebox and yell, “Aaaaay.” I sat in a red vinyl booth facing Kelly. We both ordered cherry cokes.
“Where did you move from?” she asked.
“New Jersey.”
“That’s a long way and this is officially the middle of nowhere. Why here?”
“My grandparents retired to Blowing Rock, and my mom wanted to live closer to them.” I was surprised she was interested. “You ask as many questions as a reporter. If I tell Webb, he’ll pester you into writing for the paper.”
“Don’t tell him,” Kelly said. “Between cheerleading and fund-raising, I don’t have time.”
My reporter’s antenna went up. “What kind of fund-raising?”
A waitress in a pink uniform served our Cokes. “Had a chance to look at the menu?”
We ordered some french fries, and I tried again. “What kind of fund-raising?”
“For St. Jude Children’s Hospital.” Kelly swirled the straw in her Coke. “My sister has leukemia. She’s being treated at St. Jude’s.”
I should have known better, but I had expected Kelly’s life to be as perfect as her hair. “I’m sorry about your sister.”
“That’s why I’m organizing a car wash and a bake sale. To raise money for research.”
I started to get excited about the article. If it was good enough, maybe more kids would help with fund-raising. Maybe my story could make a difference. “Do you think your mom would give permission for us to print a photo of your sister?”
“Probably.”
“Webb’s expecting me to write about cheerleading, but I think fund-raising is more important.”
“The cheerleaders are all working at the bake sale,” Kelly said.
“They are? There’s my title—‘Cheering for a Cause’!”
“I like it,” Kelly said, “but if you’re going to write this story, you need to understand about Jenny’s treatments.”
I didn’t want to hear about that. Since Eric died, I felt everybody else’s sadness too, and it magnified mine.
“Jenny�
��s weak,” Kelly said. “She’ll probably be in a wheelchair. She’s lost all her hair, and she’s so skinny. It makes her eyes look huge.”
The more Kelly spoke, the sadder I became. That’s the problem with a reporter’s antenna: sometimes I discovered things it would be easier not to know.
After my interview with Kelly, I walked home. Alone. Everybody has a story, but I wished more of them were happy ones. Kelly was afraid Jenny would die. That made me think of Eric. He hadn’t suffered like Jenny, but at least Kelly would have time to say good-bye. That’s what bothered me the most. I didn’t get the chance to say good-bye.
Back in my room, I plopped down in front of the typewriter. The words wouldn’t come to me. I wadded up yet another sheet of paper and lobbed it at the overflowing wastebasket. Too depressed to write, I stretched the phone cord from the hall to my room and called Sam instead. “Hi.”
“Ribbit, ribbit,” she answered. “You don’t sound so good. What’s wrong?”
I had only spoken one word, but Sam had tuned in to my mood. Between sniffles, I spilled the whole story, how talking to Kelly had reminded me of Eric. Sam didn’t interrupt, not even once.
When I finished she said, “If you were like Kelly, and had the chance to talk to Eric again, what would you say to him?”
“I don’t know for sure. I guess … I guess … I’d tell him I love him.”
“Didn’t he already know?”
That was a simple question, but it was profound, at least for me. I thought about cheering at Eric’s baseball games. I remembered him saying, Allison is my number one fan. And Eric’s last Christmas, though I hadn’t known it would be his last, I’d made a scrapbook for him about his baseball season. “He knew.”
“So why are you beating yourself up over something he already knew?”
A voice deep inside me answered. Eric had known how much I loved him. I had shown him in a hundred different ways. “Sam, you’re right! He did know! Eric knew it all along.”
“Of course he did. I know Melissa and Jonathan love me, even if they don’t say it all the time.”
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