Stacey's Big Crush

by Ann M. Martin

  Mal laughed. “That’s cute.”

  “It’s embarrassing!” Charlotte insisted. “So that’s why I snuck out the back door and ran away.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen and goat lovers of all ages!” Vanessa suddenly shouted. “Welcome to a Pike Production presentation of a Vanessa Pike play, The Three Billy Goats Gruff, starring Elvira Goat.”

  “Yeeeaaaa!” the crowd yelled.

  Vanessa began her narration. Then Nicky came over the bridge, saying “Trip-trap, trip-trap.”

  Jordon the Troll jumped out and bellowed, “Who’s trip-trapping over my bridge?”

  “Me, the smallest billy goat,” Nicky said. “I’m going to the other side to get fat.”

  “Then I shall eat you up — nyah-ha-ha!” (What a ham.)

  “No, please don’t. Wait for my sister goats instead. They are fatter than I am. Like, humongous and blubbery.”

  “Hey!” Margo shouted from the garage. “That line isn’t in there!”

  Scowling, she and Claire came out with a sheet draped over them. Up the bridge they went, trip-trap, trip-trap, only to be stopped by Byron.

  Eventually it was Elvira’s turn. This time when Dawn pulled her, she scampered toward the slide. But instead of climbing the stairs, she put her head down and rammed into the cramped little space where Adam was hiding. “Hey! Stop!” Adam yelled.

  “Elvira!” Dawn called.

  But Elvira was determined to be with Adam. She crowded herself inside, trying to find some little area in which to hide.

  Adam was whooping with laughter. “That tickles!”

  He tried desperately to get out, but he couldn’t. So he just stood up. The slide rose off the ground and toppled over. Adam and Elvira collapsed in a heap.

  “No! No! No!” Vanessa yelled.

  The audience loved it. Matt Braddock laughed so hard he fell off his seat.

  Elvira got up and ran away, trailing her leash behind her. She disappeared behind the garage.

  “Come back!” Dawn shouted.

  “My play!” Vanessa moaned.

  Then … crash!

  “The garbage!” Mal and Dawn yelled.

  They ran after Elvira and found her standing happily in a pile of rotten food.

  Behind them they heard a chorus of “Eeeewww!” (The entire audience had followed the show to its new location.)

  Mal said the disgusted look on Dawn’s face was priceless. She and Mary Anne burst into laughter.

  “Well,” Mary Anne said as she pulled Elvira away. “I guess Elvira’s never going to get an Oscar.”

  Dawn picked up the garbage can and sighed. “Yeah, unless it’s an Oscar the Grouch.”

  All in all, I think my friends were just about ready for Mrs. Stone’s return.

  “I’m home, Stacey!” my mom’s voice echoed through the house.

  I put away my makeup and ran downstairs. “Did you remember to bring it?”

  Mom laughed. “You only called three times to remind me. Of course I did! I hung it on the shower rack.”

  “Thanks!” I said. I gave her a quick kiss and ran to the bathroom.

  It was Friday, a half hour before the Spring Dance. Mom and I had gone shopping at Bellair’s after school. With her employee discount, she had been able to buy me one of the most beautiful dresses I had ever seen. (I had had to run straight to the BSC meeting afterward, so she held on to it at work.)

  I stood in the bathroom and admired it. It was a calf-length silk/cotton dress with pastel floral print, a scoop neck, and a shirred skirt that was slit to above the knee on one side.

  “I love it!” I cried out.

  “I know!” Mom replied.

  I took it to my room and changed. Then I checked my makeup in the mirror, slipped on my bracelet and silver hoop earrings, and stepped into my flats. I pulled my hair back and fastened it with a ribbon.

  I was ready.

  “Watch out, Wes,” I said to the stunning blonde in the mirror.

  No, Wes had not asked me to the dance. I was going doe. (That means alone. Well, guys go stag, so why can’t girls go doe?)

  Claud’s date was Austin Bentley, Mary Anne’s was Logan, and Mallory’s was Ben Hobart. The rest of us — me, Jessi, Dawn, and Kristy — were dateless. (Bart Taylor, Kristy’s sort of boyfriend, couldn’t make it.)

  But you know what? I didn’t care.

  Because I would be free. Free to dance with Wes. Free to talk to him, woman to man.

  I had realized what our problem was. As a teacher, he was forbidden to get involved with students. There were probably rules about that. That would explain his silence — I was always trying to talk to him in class, where anyone could see us. He was worried about being kicked out.

  But now the school year was ending. Maybe Wes would be able to open up. At the dance I would draw him out, find out what was on his mind. Find out what was really behind those incredible make-me-melt smiles.

  See you at the dance Friday night.

  Those words kept repeating in my head. He had said them to me. I knew it was a harmless statement, but he didn’t have to have said it. He could have said, “See you in class,” which had been what he usually said. But no. He had specifically mentioned the dance to me.

  He had something he wanted to tell me, I just knew it. And I was dying to find out what it was.

  I flew downstairs.

  “Oh, Stacey, you look gorgeous,” Mom said.

  “Thanks!”

  I felt gorgeous. It was a gorgeous night. As we rode to the school, I rolled down the windows and let the air fill the car with the scent of spring.

  The school was lit up and decorated with balloons and banners. Kids were hanging out on the front lawn, watching the sunset.

  I said good-bye to my mom, walked across the lawn, and entered the gym. What a transformation from earlier in the day! Jonquils and tulips and daffodils were twined around the pillars, streamers had been draped from the basketball hoops, and a beautiful SMS SPRING DANCE banner hung from the ceiling, hand-painted in pastel colors.

  A deejay was busily working in the corner, and the music was already blaring. Around the room, people had started to dance.

  The first BSCer I ran into was Jessi. “Wow, what an outfit!” she said.

  “You, too!” I replied. Jessi looked sensational, in an indigo blue unitard with a matching open-mesh oversized cardigan.

  “I think I see Mary Anne,” she said, “over by the punchbowl.”

  But my eyes were already there. A group of teachers and chaperones was standing a few feet from Mary Anne. In the middle of the group was Wes — wearing a tux.

  Yes, a tux.

  I don’t know about you, but tuxes make me weak. I think men are born to wear them. Take the world’s dullest guy, put him in one, and he’ll look cool. Take Wes …

  I could not stop staring at him. And Jessi knew it. “Oops,” she said with a giggle. “The girl is gone!”

  “Oh, sorry, Jessi,” I said.

  “It’s okay, go ahead!” she replied. “I see Mal coming in, anyway.”

  I couldn’t say no. I walked up to the punchbowl, picked up a glass, and tried to look as if I were just so thirsty for Hawaiian Punch mixed with ginger ale (which I couldn’t even drink in the first place).

  The adults were laughing about those adult things that never sound very funny. Wes would soon be bored with them, I was sure.

  As the gym began to fill, the teacher/chaperone group split up. And Wes turned toward the punchbowl.

  “Hi!” I said. “Want to dance?”

  I had no fear. It was tonight or never.

  And you know what? Wes didn’t look away, or shuffle his feet, or talk about math.

  He smiled and said, “Sure!”

  We stepped onto the floor. A really hot rock tune was playing, and the beat was practically shaking the room. All around us, people were dancing like crazy — Mary Anne and Logan, Mr. Zizmore and Mrs. Rosenaur, Kristy and Mr. Fiske (which meant I wasn’t the only
BSCer dancing with a teacher). In the corner about ten girls were dancing with each other, laughing and singing to the music.

  “What a great song!” Wes said.

  “Yeah!”

  We started to move to the music. Instantly I found one more thing to love about Wes. He was such a cute dancer. His moves were natural, but not super smooth. He had great rhythm, but no fancy footwork. And he looked as if he really enjoyed dancing.

  When the song was over, he flashed his dimples and said, “You’re terrific!”

  “Thanks.” I was glad the lights had been turned low. I hoped he couldn’t see my face turning red. “You, too … for a teacher.”

  “For a teacher!” He threw his head back and let out a loud laugh. “We’ll see about that! Let’s dance this next one.”

  A breath caught in my throat. Now he was asking me! The next song was even faster. It was one of my favorite dance songs (even though I was sort of hoping for a slow dance).

  Wes really cut loose. And so did I. We jumped and whirled around the gym. The lights and decorations swept by in a bright-colored haze. I could sense people staring at us. A lock of hair fell across Wes’s forehead. I pulled out my ribbon and shook loose my hair. Wes was laughing. I was laughing.

  Oh, I was in heaven. I had never felt this way with a guy. I could have died right there, and I would have been happy.

  My heart was pounding when the song finished. Wes was flushed in the face. His chest was heaving from the effort. His hair had fanned across his forehead, making him look even cuter (if that was possible).

  “Whoa!” he said.

  Before I could reply, Kara Mauricio walked up to us and said, “You guys were amazing! Can I be next?”

  Wes pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. “Sure!” he said. “Thanks, Stacey.”

  “Thank you.”

  We shared a smile. I walked back to the punchbowl. I tried not to mind that Wes was dancing with Kara. I mean, she was his student, too. She had a right. It was just a dance.

  I waited by the table, catching my breath. I was thirsty, and I found a sugarless alternative to the punch, but I didn’t feel like drinking. I wanted to be ready when the dance was over. I wanted to be ready if Wes started looking for me.

  But the dance floor kept filling up, and I kept losing sight of him.

  The next number was a jitterbug. When I saw Wes, he was talking to Ms. Harris, a science teacher (unmarried, but much older than Wes). Unfortunately, they started dancing.

  I walked closer. I was determined not to lose him for the next number.

  Ms. Harris was a great jitterbugger, and I could tell Wes was having a good time. A couple of times he caught my eye. He knew I was there.

  Then it happened. Just what I wanted. A slow song began, and someone dimmed the lights even further.

  The floor started to clear. Only the serious couples stayed. I could see Mary Anne and Logan embracing.

  Wes was heading in the opposite direction. I walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Wes?” I said.

  He turned around. “Oh, hi, Stace,” he replied. He sounded out of breath, and his face was still sweaty from the jitterbug. “Ms. Harris was pretty amazing, huh? For a teacher!”

  I smiled. He was using my joke. “Wes,” I repeated, “will you dance with me?”

  “Well, uh, whew, I’m kind of winded from that last one. I think I’ll sit this one out. How about the next song?”

  I looked him deeply in the eye. “The next one might not be so … slow.”

  Oh lord, what had gotten into me? The words had come out of my mouth, as if they’d had a life of their own.

  Wes took a deep breath. “Stacey, I think we’d better have a talk.”

  I felt my stomach bounce like a water balloon. The blood rushed from my head. I opened my mouth and a very thin “okay” came out.

  Wes walked to a dark corner of the gym. I followed, putting one shaky leg in front of the other. I felt as if something were exploding inside me. Something that was a little like joy and a lot like fear.

  When Wes turned around, he was smiling. But it wasn’t the same smile he’d had on the dance floor. It wasn’t even the same smile he’d had in math class. I couldn’t read it at all.

  “Uh, Stacey,” he said. “I don’t want you to think I’ve been ignoring what you said to me last week.”

  “Uh-huh,” I managed to say.

  “I did understand your poem. And it was beautiful. It — it just took me by surprise, that’s all. I didn’t know what to say.”

  “Well … do you know now?”

  Wes nodded. “Yeah.” He took another deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. “Stacey, you are a brilliant, talented, attractive girl …”

  Uh-oh. I didn’t like the sound of this.

  “But I think you have an idea about … you and me that’s not the same idea I have.”

  “What idea?”

  “Well, that we can have a relationship. We can’t. I mean, it’s not that I don’t like you —”

  “Then what is it, Wes?” I wanted so badly to cry. This was going all wrong.

  Then something dawned on me. Something I should have suspected from the beginning. “Oh … you have a girlfriend, right? No, wait. You’re married, aren’t you?”

  “No,” Wes said, shaking his head. “No steady girlfriend, no wife. It’s just that, well … you’re thirteen, Stace. That’s far from a little kid, I know. But that’s also far from twenty-two. Farther than you think. Too far.”

  “Mm-hm,” I said. “I understand.”

  The look in Wes’s eyes was so warm, I couldn’t be angry at him. Even though he was breaking my heart.

  “Good,” he replied. “We can be friends, can’t we?”

  I forced my lips into a smile. It was like lifting a house. “Yeah. Sure, we can. Thanks for talking to me. I’m going to go get a drink now.”

  “Okay. ’Bye, Stacey. And thanks for the dances.”

  “Yeah. They were fun. ’Bye.”

  I did not shake as I walked away. I made sure to control myself. No way was I going to run off crying in front of all those people. I was going to stay and enjoy the dance.

  At the punchbowl I poured myself a drink. It went down as if I were swallowing sandpaper. Through the blur of the tears I was trying to hold back, I saw Amanda Martin dancing with Sam. The guy who could have been my date. Who was handsome and nice and fun and fifteen years old — and who used to like me.

  I saw Wes, too. He was with a bunch of the younger teachers. No students were around them. He looked so comfortable. How could I ever have thought …?

  That question lingered in my mind the rest of the night. I could push it aside from time to time, if I was with people. So I tried to be around my friends and dance as often as possible.

  But whenever I found myself alone, the question was still there. And when the dance was over, it pounded in my brain like a rock song that wouldn’t stop.

  I left without even looking at Wes Ellenburg. I felt as if he’d reached right inside me and ripped me apart.

  Outdoors, the cool air calmed me down. Mom was supposed to pick me up, but she hadn’t arrived yet. I looked into a sky crowded with stars. I thought about my poem.

  And then, in the dark of the moonless night, I felt the tears start to roll down my cheeks.

  I went to Dawn and Mary Anne’s the next day. The Stones were coming home, and they wanted a big send-off for Elvira.

  I have to say, Elvira was not the first thing on my mind Saturday morning. I was a mess. I had no urge to get out of bed. I think if Dawn hadn’t called to invite me over, I might have stayed there all day.

  As I walked up the street, I was still stinging from what had happened at the dance. I could not believe how I had deluded myself. I felt so stupid.

  I hoped Elvira would take my mind off Wes.

  Dawn and Mary Anne were in the yard. So were Mal and Kristy and a bunch of the neighborhood children. Everyone was
crowded around something (Elvira, I assumed). They were all laughing hard. The WELCOME ELVIRA banner was back on the barn, only it had been changed to say WE’LL MISS YOU ELVIRA.

  “Hi!” I called out.

  As everyone turned to say hello, I heard a loud “Beeeeaaahh!” Elvira scooted out from beneath Kristy’s legs and ran toward the barn.

  She was wearing a frilly bonnet, and a half-tied red bow hung from her tail.

  “Hey, come back here!” Dawn called out. “We’re not finished.”

  “Beeeeaaahh!” Elvira was dipping her head and trying to pull off the bonnet with her hoof.

  “Noooo! Don’t!” Mary Anne cried.

  Everyone raced after Elvira, trying to convince her to cooperate. But she wouldn’t. Before long the bonnet lay on the ground, dirty and ripped.

  “So much for that idea,” Kristy said.

  The neighborhood kids lost interest and went home.

  I sat on the grass and watched Elvira for a while. Mary Anne went into the house and returned with a bottle. “Feeding time!” she called out.

  Elvira scampered over to her. Mary Anne scooped her up and sat down on the back stoop. As she began feeding Elvira, she started to cry.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  Sniff, sniff. “Yes,” Mary Anne replied. “It’s just that —” Sniff, sniff. “This is the last feeding I’ll ever give her.”

  “Ohhhhh.” I sat down next to Mary Anne. I put my arm around her shoulder. It felt nice to comfort somebody.

  Soon Jessi joined us, then Claudia, and then Logan. Logan brought a box of Kleenex. (“I know when to come prepared!” he said.)

  Claudia had a bag full of — what else? Junk food. Only it was all for the guest of honor.

  Elvira loved the Doritos and Twinkies and Snickers, hated the Milk Duds, left half the Chunky bar, and went nuts over the wrappers that hold Reese’s peanut butter cups.

  Mr. Spier and Mrs. Schafer fixed us all a lunch of chicken salad sandwiches. We sat at their picnic table and gabbed away between bites. We were about halfway through when we heard a loud honking in the driveway. “Hellooo!”

  The Stones’ pickup truck had arrived. I could hear Mary Anne gulp.

  Then the driver’s door swung open and Mrs. Stone got out. She was grinning from ear to ear. “Where’s my little baby?”