Mama gives me twenty dollars for school supplies and warns that I’d better bring back the change. I try to battle for twenty-five, but she tells me I’d better hush before she turns that twenty into a ten. I hush up quick. Before she can change her mind, Elaine and I ride our bikes over to the drugstore.
Elaine has her mother’s credit card. Money is a funny thing. I never really think about it until I am standing in a store with a crumpled-up twenty and Elaine has a shiny silver credit card and can spend to the high heavens. Not that she would, and not that her parents would let her, but the point is, she could if she wanted to.
I know exactly what I want to buy: one blue fountain pen, two black pens, five binders (one for every class), two packs of college-ruled loose leaf paper, one box of watercolor markers, one box of mechanical pencils, and if there’s enough money, one bottle of Wite-Out.
Elaine doesn’t care about school supplies, and she gets restless as I debate the merits of felt tip pens versus roller ball. As soon as we came in, she threw a pack of ballpoint pens and a couple of notebooks into our cart and proceeded to follow me around with a bored look on her face.
“The roller balls are thirty cents more, but they really do write smoother. And the felt tips tend to run out of ink faster. Elaine, are you listening?”
She’s leaning against our cart, and she straightens up. “Huh? Uh, yeah, the felt tip. Get the felt tip.”
I roll my eyes and throw the roller balls into the cart.
As we move through the check-out line, Elaine says, “Hey, what do you think of Hugh Sasser? He’s pretty cute, right?”
“Yeah, he’s pretty cute. Why? You like him?” This is a new development. Elaine has yet to find one boy from Clementon worthy of her affection.
She smiles. “I don’t know. Maybe. Depends.”
We pay for our school supplies, and I have sixty-seven cents in change.
Tying our bags to our bike handles (Elaine has to take one of mine), we ride slowly down Grove Street. That’s when we see them: boys. Jack and Hugh and Mark horsing around in front of the ticket booth at the Minnie Sax 99-Cent Movie Theater. It’s Clementon’s historic theater, and it only plays old movies.
“Be cool,” Elaine whispers to me. Now the boys have seen us too, and they wave, except for Jack. We take our time riding over.
Mark’s wearing a sky blue polo shirt, and his hair is sweaty. He looks terrific, really terrific. “Hey guys,” he says. He grins at me and kicks my bike, and I kick his shin.
“What are y’all up to?” Hugh asks, but he only looks at Elaine.
“Back-to-school shopping,” she says.
“We’re about to watch a movie,” Hugh says. “Do you guys wanna come with us?”
At this Jack rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath.
Elaine and I look at each other, pretending to think it over. She shrugs, I shrug. “Yeah, sure, why not?” she says at last.
After we pay for our tickets (Elaine spots me the thirty-two cents), the five of us file into the theater. Now, I know that Elaine wants to sit by Hugh, and I of course want to sit by Mark, and neither of us want to sit next to Jack. It’s like walking a tight rope—we have to fix it so that we walk behind or in front of the boy we want to sit next to. Elaine and I figure all this out in one desperately determined look.
Elaine shouldn’t have worried, because Hugh makes a beeline for her. I don’t have the same kind of luck.
Mark’s toward the back, and I stoop down to tie my shoelace to buy time. But while I’m busy tying, he whizzes right by me. I run to catch up, and say, “Hey, have you gone back-to-school shopping with your mom yet?”
“Nah, she’s just gonna go pick out the stuff I need.” I remember when Mrs. Findley used to take the two of us. We’d sit in the back of the station wagon and compare erasers and pencil cases.
We walk into the theater together, and to my good fortune, I get to sit next to Mark. Elaine is next to Hugh, then Mark, then me, and then Jack, unfortunately. You win some, you lose some.
It’s hard to concentrate on a movie when the boy who possesses your heart is sitting mere inches away. I feel hyperaware of all my senses, like I never really knew my own body until this very moment. I wish he would hold my hand. I wish I could hold his hand. But I’m afraid. I’m afraid he can hear my heart beating extra fast when we bump elbows, I’m afraid that what I feel for him shows all over my face. I’m afraid of everything.
Sitting there in the dark, I close my eyes. I imagine that we’re on a real date, that it’s just the two of us, that—
Jack pokes me on the shoulder, hard. “Wake up, butthead.”
I slap his hand away and try to pay attention to the movie.
The movie is over too soon. Walking out of the theater, I feel like a real teenage girl who goes to the movies with boys, and I’m scared but I’m excited, too. As Elaine and I are mounting our bikes, Jack says, “Why do you always wear your hair up, Annemarie?” Before I can answer, he yanks the ponytail holder out of my hair and a few strands come out with it.
I yelp, and my bike falls to the ground with a loud clatter. My cheeks are flaming, and I feel like I have a fever. Stomping on his foot, I yell, “You barbarian! You idiot!” He holds the hairband high above my head. Jack Connelly, the only boy in our class who is taller than me.
My hair is swinging around wildly, and I feel like a cat whose tail has been cut off. “Give it back!” I scream. For some reason I feel like I could cry.
Alongside me, Elaine says, “Give it back, Jack. You’re so immature.”
He ignores both of us and throws the hairband to Hugh, who grins and throws it to Mark. Mark hesitates, and I think, please don’t. Not you too. Then he hands me the hairband. Jack groans and says nastily, “Why don’t you give her a kiss good night while you’re at it, Findley.”
Mark flushes and says, “Why don’t you kiss my ass?”
I’m so happy, I feel like my heart will burst right open. Gathering my hair with one hand, I pull it back into a tight ponytail and hop back onto my bike.
Then we go home, us on our bikes and the boys behind us. As we ride, Elaine tells me that my hair looks pretty down, and I should wear it like that more often.
Chapter 9
On the last day of summer, the day before school starts, Mark and I ride our bikes until it’s dark. Dusk is settling over Clementon, and we just keep riding. Up Sandy Hill Lane and around the block.
I’m afraid of what happens tomorrow. Will he ring my doorbell at 7:30 and walk with me to the bus stop, the way he always does? Will he still share his tangerine with me at lunch?
