Saturday Night Read online

  He took her left hand in his right. Putting his right hand back on the steering wheel, he drove with her hand like padding. “We’ll begin with cars,” he said. “I own seven of them.”

  “Seven?”

  “I’m restoring them. My father helped me pay for them. I’m learning body work as well as engines. It’s a good investment and if we’re lucky they’ll pay for college. Assuming I go to college. I’d rather do something with cars. Be a mechanic for a racing team.”

  “Where do you keep all those cars?” said Emily. “You must have an enormous garage.”

  “Nope. Spread out all over the backyard. The neighbors hate us. My mother isn’t too thrilled, either.” Matt grinned and squeezed her hand. “But hey, I’m happy.”

  “Crossword puzzles take up less room,” Emily said.

  “Yeah, but you have to know how to spell and I—”

  The lightning Emily had feared all her life struck.

  Their car came around a curve, dipping low, and ahead of them something metallic, something large and indistinguishable blocked the way. Lightning—a huge horrible jagged hot white sheet of it—filled the sky and the car, and its thunder filled her ears and her soul.

  Emily screamed.

  Matt jammed on the brakes.

  They both were flung forward, with no seat belt between them and the dashboard or the windshield.

  The sound of tearing metal and crushing rock closed Emily’s mind, and her own scream deafened her.

  And then there was silence.

  Chapter 7

  SHE HAD TAKEN REFUGE between a wheelbarrow and a haystack, and two chaperones stood there also. Perhaps they thought it would be a good place to nip mischief in the act. They exclaimed over Beth’s dress. It was a temporary sort of conversation; they expected her boyfriend to appear immediately.

  Beth Rose could not bear another look of pity.

  She walked away from them.

  Her stomach ceased to churn and knot. It became a solid hard object, like something requiring surgery. That would be a way out of this. Ambulance. Perhaps she would require resuscitation. Any emergency room on any Saturday night would be better than this.

  Beth Rose faced the dance.

  Oh, but Kip had done a wonderful job! The room was romantic beyond imagining. And everyone there dressed so beautifully, paired up so perfectly, smiling so happily.

  Beth Rose walked to the fountain. She had no change with her—something, it now occurred to her, that was going to making phoning her mother very difficult. Mentally she chose a silver coin and tossed her wish into the fountain. The band began playing a hot wild piece that everybody knew; it had been number two or three for weeks now, struggling for first place. Beth ached to dance to it. A fast dance in Aunt Madge’s dress. She couldn’t picture it. But, oh, to try!

  In the shadows on the far side of the fountain stood a boy. Dark in his formal suit, he was like a shadow himself. Beth Rose dreamed on him, and when he detached himself from the shadows, and walked toward her, it seemed like part of the dream.

  It was Gary Anthony. Beth could only smile at herself. If there was ever a boy on whom she could have a crush, it would be Gary. She didn’t allow herself crushes. They hurt too much, for nothing ever came of them. The boy never noticed her, let alone returned her feelings.

  Gary was a senior for whom school was a necessary evil, and for him graduation would be a great relief. Undoubtedly he would enter his father’s thriving restaurant business. Beth loved eating there on the off chance she might see Gary. For he was remarkably handsome. A lot of boys became handsome once you got to know them, because their personalities were intertwined with their features, and you could no longer tell, once you liked them, where one began and the other left off. But Gary was handsome by anybody’s definition. His hair was dark and extremely curly; he had dark eyes, fair skin, and a surprisingly sweet smile. She couldn’t remember hearing Gary laugh. He simply smiled, or for an especially funny occasion, grinned. She knew girls who practiced funny stories to tell Gary, just to get that grin.

  He wasn’t tall, but because he was on track and wrestling teams he was much more muscular than most boys his age. She had never seen him dressed up before. She thought of him exclusively in old jeans, a soft old shirt, and one of two pullover sweaters—an ivory fisherman’s knit, and a navy cotton crew. How absurd, thought Beth Rose. I know his entire wardrobe.

  Gary walked toward her.

  She watched him as if they were on film. When he spoke she was astonished. She had forgotten he was real. “Beth Rose?” he said questioningly.

  “Hello, Gary,” she said.

  They stared at each other. His soft dark eyes moved very slowly down the dress, looking at the lace, the softly falling folds of pale pale pink, the tips of slippers showing beneath the hem. He looked at her hair, and her earrings, and then into her eyes. He said, “You look wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.”

  She could neither move nor think. She simply smiled at him; his smile—sweet, but revealing nothing.

  He said, “Are you waiting for somebody, Beth Rose?”

  She had never thought her two names went well together. The names took too long to say, they were awkward; most people were reluctant to bother. When she was little, the other little kids shortened it to Brose. Now they didn’t bother; they said Beth—if they said anything at all.

  For the first time in her life, Beth Rose Chapman flirted. “I’m waiting for you,” she said. They stood very still.

  The band played so fiercely she thought the light fixtures might explode under the pressure of the sound.

  Couples entered the dance behind Beth, split like rivers over rocks in the water to get past them, and circled the fountain. Gary said softly, “My good luck.” He curled his fingers around hers, moved so gracefully to her side it was like an old-fashioned dance step, and began walking her toward the fountain. From his pocket he drew pennies, and handed her one. “Make a wish.” It was a command. I wanted this to happen so much that I’m fantasizing right during the dance, Beth Rose thought. Actually, Gary isn’t standing here and I don’t have a penny in my hand. People are calling the ambulance for me, but not because of the knot in my stomach. They’re going to lock me in a padded room.

  Gary’s hand, with the penny, stayed in hers. His hand was warm and rough and not as large as she would have expected. Her own hand was much slimmer, much paler, but their fingers were the same length. Her nails, painted deep rose, reflected in his palm. She tossed the penny.

  I wish for Gary all night long.

  The penny fell into the shallows. It lay among the other pennies, and after she blinked, she could no longer tell which penny it was.

  In a normal voice, Gary said, “I’m starving. Are you? Let’s see what Kip planned for food, huh? My dad catered some of it, but I eat that stuff all the time. Let’s see what else there is.”

  Gary Anthony. Talking to her as if she really were his date.

  Beth Rose glided down the scarlet path with him, her dress rustling against his legs, her hand still in his.

  Molly looked up from Christopher, with whom she seemed to be having trouble, and her jaw fell. Sue and her date, Page and her date, Caitlin and her date—they all stared. Each girl turned to the others and Beth fancied she could read their lips. Is that Beth Rose? With Gary?

  Anne Stephens and Con Winters, locked together as always, glanced up. Beth Rose read identical confusion on them. They could not quite identify her. Well, there were some seven hundred juniors and the same number of seniors; it was not surprising. But it still hurt. She had admired Anne for so many years; she would have liked to think Anne could recognize her face, at least.

  Gary was good friends with Con. He stopped to talk. Anne smiled the blank smile of someone waiting to be introduced. “This,” said Gary, smiling into Beth’s eyes and not theirs, “is Beth Rose Chapman.”

  Beth felt as if her name had just been entered on some sort of social honor roll. Con shook her
hand. Anne smiled more naturally. “You are wearing the most beautiful dress, Beth,” said Anne. “I’ve never seen one like it. Is it an antique?”

  “Yes. My great aunt Madge wore it to her prom fifty years ago.”

  Anne clapped her hands, laughing. “I love it! What a wonderful family tradition! I hope when I have a family—”

  Her voice broke off abruptly. She bit her lip, and stared off into the decorations. Neither boy noticed. They were talking about food. Con was recommending the little round hot things with the sausage. “Yeah,” said Gary, “my father made those. They’re always good.”

  “Are you all right?” said Beth to Anne.

  Anne stared at her with a queerly frozen look.

  “We’re going to sit down over here,” said Con, pointing to a pair of oak park benches Kip had gotten donated for the evening. “Come sit with us after you get some food.”

  “I’m fine,” said Anne quietly, just to Beth, and Beth had the strangest sensation of having been given some sort of message.

  “Here’s your plate,” said Gary, handing her a small paper one with a Thanksgiving-type design of turkeys and cornucopias and a dark orange napkin. She glanced back at Anne, but Anne’s back was to her now. It must have been the light, thought Beth. This is my night to fall into fantasies that mean nothing.

  “Thank you,” she said to Gary. What is Gary thinking? she wondered. Is he trying to figure out why I’m here alone? What is he planning for his evening? Why did he come alone—he of all people? Am I, Beth Rose Chapman, really going to sit out the dance with Anne Stephens, Con Winter, and Gary Anthony?

  Gary took her arm—she who had never had a boy escort her anywhere, ever—and they walked back to where Con and Anne were sitting. It took real juggling on Gary’s part to manage his plate, his drink, and her arm. All that waitering at his father’s restaurant, she thought, but she didn’t kid him; she had no idea what Gary would consider amusing.

  Anne was grateful for the food. If she couldn’t hang onto Con, at least she could hang onto a plate and a plastic cup of cider. She watched her fingers, and the fingers seemed very calm considering the position their owner was in. I’m falling apart, thought Anne. It’s going to hit me right now, right here, in public.

  She looked at Con, and he looked away instantly, saying, “Here comes Gary. Doesn’t Beth look fantastic?”

  “Lovely,” said Anne mechanically.

  Where do you stand, Con? she thought. With me … or away from me?

  She felt no particular need to return Gary’s smile. Gary was an unusual person, Anne had always thought. He drifted. Friendly, yes, to everybody; she thought if she were to mention any name at all, Gary would say, “Oh, he’s a friend of mine” and mean it. But nobody attached themselves to Gary; not male friends, not girlfriends. Gary kept more distance between himself and other people than anyone she had ever known. And yet he was totally likable.

  Maybe he’s wiser than I, thought Anne. If I had kept a little more distance between Con and me. …

  She stared at Beth Rose. Beth had a transparent otherworldly aura, as if she had stepped out of some other existence to join them. Where did you come from? thought Anne giddily. Let me go there, too. Maybe it’s safe.

  The boys talked college football.

  Their words were so much babble to her.

  Babble. Babies babbled. What would a real-life baby be like? Instead of senior year. Instead of a life of her own. This other little person’s life. A person who would be around for eighteen years. I’m not even eighteen yet, thought Anne. I’m seventeen. I’ll have to take care of this person longer than I’ve even been alive.

  Chapter 8

  WHEN KIP AND RODDY arrived at Westerly High, the doorman opened the passenger side to escort the girl in while the boy parked the car and got soaked running back. Sopping wet, but still impressive in his uniform, the doorman was surprised to find Roddy when he whipped open the door. He looked at Kip, whose long gown was still pulled back over her knees so it wouldn’t tangle when she shifted. “Perhaps your passenger could park the car for you, miss,” he suggested, “and I’ll walk you indoors.”

  Kip thought, Well, I certainly hired the right man here. She started to get out. Roddy said weakly, “Except that I can’t drive a car with manual transmission, Kip. Both our cars have automatic.” He gave her a pitiful smile. “Otherwise I’d be glad to.”

  Too stupid even to drive a real car! thought Kip, loathing him. She, who was usually the first to sympathize, the first to offer comfort, ignored the misery on Roddy’s face. Tonight she felt she could safely hold him responsible for all her own woes. “That’s all right, Roddy,” she said rather nastily. “I’ll get soaked walking back and we’ll be a matched pair.”

  Naturally the only parking place left had puddles on both sides. Kip stepped out into two inches of cold water, ruining her satin slippers. She was so disgusted she almost didn’t bother to lift her long skirt, either, but at the last second conceded she didn’t want to ruin it, too, so they ran together through the puddles, Kip holding her skirts very high.

  But once inside, her spirits lifted slightly. They’d run into two other couples, who entered the parking lot by the back and had not known there was a doorman in front, so all four of them were soaked, too. Laughing the way people do when they share a misfortune, the girls fixed each other’s hair, commented sadly on the state of their shoes, and the boys wiped themselves down as if they’d come from showers, and rolled their eyes at each other.

  And nothing could have been more wonderful than walking into what only that morning had been a mere school cafeteria.

  Every inch of it was Kip’s—and every inch was perfect. Kip got tears in her eyes looking. The band was playing, the decorations were perfect, and perfectly lighted, the food was being gobbled, and everybody looked happy and beautiful.

  “Kip!” exclaimed Roddy. “You did a grand job.”

  Yeah, she thought. Too bad I couldn’t arrive with somebody grand as well.

  They followed the scarlet runner she had installed just that afternoon. Every single couple they passed broke away from whatever they were doing to compliment her on the fantastic job she’d done.

  “Oh, Kip!” came the cries. “Wonderful! I’m having such a good time!”

  “Kip! It looks so terrific. You did such a good job!”

  “Kip! If you hadn’t agreed to chair this dance, the administration wouldn’t have let us have it again this year. It’s because of you we have this at all!”

  Kip bloomed.

  She no longer felt wet and scraggly and worthless. She didn’t even feel angry at Roddy for being alive. She felt proud and happy, and when she glanced his way, he was smiling timidly at her, as if they really had something in common and had come together as willing dates, not a pair of last minute losers.

  Anne Stephens kissed Kip on both cheeks. Anne did things like that. She always seemed so much more secure and sophisticated than anybody else. Kip felt it was having Con around that did it. With a person like that at your side, week in and week out, you could cope with anything. “Lovely work, Kip,” said Anne, in her mellow voice.

  Kip loved Anne’s speaking voice, “I know I’ve told you a hundred times, Anne, but you have to go into radio or television with that voice and your looks.”

  To Kip’s surprise, Anne didn’t answer. She looked oddly bitter and frantic and she simply walked off.

  “That was odd,” Kip said to Roddy. Roddy said, “What was odd?” and Kip realized Roddy had seen nothing amiss; in fact he was looking after Anne dreamily, as one half in love. Oh, you fink! thought Kip. Even you have to dream of somebody better!

  “Let’s get something to eat,” Roddy suggested.

  Kip was always ready to eat, and anyhow, since she’d ordered all that food, she needed to check out the quality. They walked toward the barnboard shed, where junior high boys were lugging in more cases of soda, and bringing hot trays in from the kitchen—and there stood Mo
lly Nelmes and Christopher Vann.

  Kip had never liked Molly. Molly didn’t buy candy bars when the school band was raising money for new uniforms; Molly wouldn’t take an hour to sell school pins when the basketball team was raising money for summer basketball camp scholarships; Molly wouldn’t sign the petition to get the student parking lot resurfaced. She wouldn’t even raise her hand to vote during student government meetings because she skipped them and went shopping instead. Molly never got in trouble, either, because the principal was a typical male who responded to her charms just like all the other boys.

  As for Christopher, Kip had worked with him when she was a sophomore and he a senior. Christopher had a lot going for him, but he had a real tendency to take credit for the work being done by his committee. In Kip’s opinion, when Christopher applied to college, half his application was lies. He hadn’t done much; he’d just been there and taken credit for it. But how was a college to know? Even most of the kids didn’t, because Christopher was such a glad-hand politician they thought he was working, too. Only the really hard workers like Kip knew he was half real, half cheat.

  And tonight … wholly drunk.

  For a moment Kip was scared. Could he have gotten drunk here? If there was so much as a whiff of liquor at this school there would never be another dance as long as she lived.

  If those two slobs sneaked booze into my dance, I’ll kill them, she thought. She had a quick sip from each punch bowl, but no. One was a ginger ale and sherbet mix, the other spiced apple cider. Almost everybody was having soda, though.

  The first thing Kip said to them was, “So, Christopher, what are you doing home from Harvard?”

  “Slumming,” said Christopher promptly.

  Molly laughed.

  Kip flushed. Her dance was a slum compared to a Harvard dance—was that what he meant? Now when she looked at her beautiful decorations, they seemed very amateurish and spotty, and they embarrassed her.

  To Roddy, Christopher said, “Who are you, kid? You look sorta familiar.”