The Party (10 page)

“Hello, Nick,” Maria said. “How’s your head?”

“My head? It’s OK.”

She put down her sack. It appeared packed with oranges, nothing else. He felt as if he had an orange stuck between his ears. He couldn’t remember what Bubba had told him to say first. “The swelling looks like it’s gone down?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded. “Would you like an orange?”

Nick accepted the fruit. “You have a lot of them.”

“My dad brings them home.”

Her dad probably worked the orchards. The possibility reinforced his suspicion she had not been in the country more than a year, two at the outside, that her father was working for slave wages picking the fruit. Bubba had told him to bring up the movies. “You can’t get oranges like these at the movies.”

Maria blinked. “They don’t sell them there.”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean.” He put his hand on the nearby wall for support. Unfortunately, he used the hand that held the orange, and crushed it. A squirt of juice hit Maria right in the eyes. “Damnit, I’m sorry!” he cried, dropping the offending fruit. She calmly reached for a handkerchief in her bag.

“You got a ripe one,” she said.

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It must hurt.”

She looked up at him, her face serious. “If I ever did get hurt, I don’t think I could take it like you did last Friday.”

“That was nothing.”

“Someone told me this morning that you got thrown into a mirror.”

Nick scratched his head. “Well, yeah, I didn’t walk into it.” She liked that. She smiled. She was the kind of girl who needed to smile more often. So solemn.

“Would you like another orange?” she asked.

He waved it away, feeling a sudden surge of confidence. She admired how he had fought! She wasn’t afraid of him. “Would you like to go to the movies Saturday night?”

She nodded. “Could you pick me up at the library? I’ll be there studying.”

“I could, yeah.” He would have to ask Michael where the library was. “What time would be good?”

“Six. That’s when the library closes.”

That Bubba was a genius. “I’ll see you then.”

Sara had decided to attend the student council meeting Tuesday at lunch after all. When she arrived with Mr. Bark’s papers on the financial status of the council tucked under her arm, the other officers were already gathered around the large table in Room H-16. She recognized only three: Clair Hilrey, Bill Skater, and that football player everyone called The Rock. She knew of the latter because of the stories that had been circulating about his fight with the tall black guy. The Rock sat slightly hunched over in his chair. He had not played in Friday’s game. Sara heard the black guy had almost killed him.

Two adults were also present: Mr. Bark and Tabb’s principal, Mr. Smith, both sitting unobtrusively in one corner. They were there to oversee, she had heard, not to interfere. The promise of the principal’s presence was one of the reasons she had decided to come. She hoped to speak to him about allowing Russ Desmond back on the cross-country team. That lying Polly had been feeding her a line—there was no doubt about that—but she did feel somewhat guilty about having stepped in his way. She certainly didn’t want him hating her.

Another factor had brought her to the meeting. The biggest problem she had with school, and life in general, was that it bored her. After thinking about it awhile, she had come to the conclusion that being president couldn’t make the situation any worse. Of course, if the job ever got to be more of a hassle than it was worth, she could always walk away from it—and to hell with any responsibility she owed to her peers.

“Have you been waiting for me?” Sara asked, sitting at the head of the table, all eyes on her.

“Yes,” Mr. Bark said.

“That’s a shame.” She cleared her throat, glancing around. “What are we supposed to do first?”

“I’m the sergeant at arms,” The Rock said. “I have to call the meeting to order.”

“Do it,” Sara said.

The Rock stood and smashed his gavel on a wooden block and mumbled a few lines about the date and the time. Sara thought it a pathetic comment on student councils across the land that the sergeant at arms was an elected position. The Rock sat back down.

“Can I begin?” Sara asked. No one moved to stop her. “All right, I want this meeting to be short. I haven’t eaten yet. I want all our meetings to be short, no longer than ten minutes.”

“Sara,” Mr. Bark said, interrupting. “That is ridiculous. A lot has to be accomplished during these meetings. Ten minutes is not enough time. But we don’t want to keep you from eating. We offer a class here at Tabb called leadership. All the students in this room, except you, are in that class. Of course, we understand you did not expect to be nominated. For that reason, the faculty would be happy to rearrange your schedule so that you may join the class. That way we can take care of business during leadership and you can have the majority of your lunches free.”

“Does leadership replace political science as a requirement?” Sara asked.

“No, it doesn’t,” Mr. Bark said.

“Then I don’t want my schedule rearranged.”

“Be serious—” Mr. Bark began.

“Rocky,” Sara interrupted.

“I’m called The Rock.”

“Whatever. Don’t I have to recognize someone before they can speak?”

The Rock nodded. “It’s in the bylaws.”

“Mr. Bark,” Sara said. “I don’t recognize you. I’ll tell you when I do.” She glanced at her notes on the financial papers Mr. Bark had given her to review. “Let’s get going. First, we’re broke. We have a sum total of nineteen hundred and sixty-two dollars and thirteen cents in our activities account. With this we’re supposed to put on both the Sadie Hawkins and the homecoming dances in the fall quarter. Now the senior class controls homecoming—and I’ll get to that in a second—but the juniors are supposed to take care of Sadie Hawkins. Who’s junior class president?”

A thin Japanese girl on her near right raised her hand. “l am.”

“If I give you half of what we’ve got,” Sara said. “Can you book a band, print up tickets, buy a truckload frill of hay, and do whatever else you need to get this thing going?”

The girl hesitated. “I don’t know everything involved.”

“It’s a question of cash flow. Figure out approximately how many people will attend, how much you’ll have to spend to keep them happy. Then decide on a ticket price. The grand or so I’ll give you will be to get you started until you can start collecting money. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Can you do it? I don’t want to have to think about it.”

The girl nodded. “The junior officers will take care of it.”

“Good. We’re making progress. Let’s discuss homecoming. I think we should cancel it this year.”

Now they were really staring at her. Clair—sitting to her left and looking sickeningly gorgeous—protested. “Are you out of your mind? It’s the biggest event of the year.”

“I have to recognize you,” The Rock said. “Can I?”

“Yeah, she’s recognized,” Sara said, leaning toward Clair. “What do you mean it’s the biggest event of the year? For you maybe, and four other
princesses
in the school. But for the rest of us slobs it’s just another occasion to have dirt rubbed in our faces. So we’re not as pretty as you? Whoever said good looks make a good person? Look at history. It’s full of ugly kings and queens. Look at all the suffering that’s gone on—Wait a second. Never mind. If the kings and queens had all been good-looking, it probably would have been worse. Let’s get back to the issue. How many dances do we really need? Last year at Mesa, I never went to a single one. We already have Sadie Hawkins. I say that’s enough. The alumni won’t be coming back, anyway. I went to the game last Friday. I felt like leaving after the first quarter. What a bunch of clods.”

Bill Skater raised his hand. “Can I speak?”

Sara sat back. “Rocky, recognize our quarterback.”

The Rock did so. Bill stood, and Sara had to admit he had an imposing physique. She could see Jessica’s reasons for wanting to get him alone in a dark and secluded spot. She wondered if perhaps she should have skipped the clods part.

“I don’t think you have any right to knock our football team,” he said. “One game doesn’t mean nothing. Last year, the Super Bowl champs lost their first four games. And they ended up with the gold ring.”

“Yeah,” The Rock said.

“But that’s not what I want to talk about,” Bill went on. “I’m the treasurer. I’ve looked at our books, too, and I think we can afford homecoming. How much money do we need, anyway? It doesn’t have to be that fancy. Homecoming is a tradition. Traditions are important. They’re what makes this country great.” He sat down.

“Yeah,” Clair said. “Just because no one’s going to vote you onto the homecoming court doesn’t mean you’ve got to spoil it for the rest of us.”

“What officer are you?” Sara asked.

“I’m vice president,” Clair said proudly.

“You were running for president. How did you get nominated for vice president?”

Clair frowned. “I don’t know.”

Sara sighed. “I should have you all shot.” The whole gang went to protest. Sara raised her hand. “All right, we’ll keep homecoming. But we can’t have it in the next few weeks, and I don’t care what our treasurer says. We simply don’t have the money. We’re going to have to raise it somehow, and to do that, we need time. Let’s have it during basketball season.”

“That’s absurd,” Clair exploded. “Homecoming is always during football season. You can’t change that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t, that’s why.”

Sara strummed her fingers on top of the table. “I will give you another reason why it must be postponed. If the elections are held in the next couple of weeks, the girls from Mesa won’t stand a chance of being nominated to the court. Transfers from Mesa like myself make up only a quarter of the student body. Hardly anyone who was originally from Tabb knows us. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Clair grinned. “Does Mesa have anyone we would vote for if we knew them ten years?”

The group giggled. Sara leaned toward Clair again. “Jessica Hart—remember that name. When the final count comes in, pimple brain, you won’t be smiling.”

Uncertain, Clair turned to Bill. “Who?” she whispered.

Bill nodded. “I’ve met her. She’s pretty.”

“How pretty?”

Bill shrugged.

“Rocky?” Sara said.

He pounded his gavel. “Order in the council.”

Mr. Smith, the principal, raised his hand. “May I speak?”

“I recognize you myself,” Sara said.

He stood. An older man close to retirement, he always wore—no matter what the weather—tailored three piece suits. He had a faint English accent and was known for his exquisite manners.

“What you people decide is, of course, strictly up to you,” he began. “But I would like to say that, in my opinion, Sara has made a persuasive argument for a postponement. This is, however, not the reason for my interruption. I was curious, Sara, how you plan on raising funds for homecoming outside of ticket sales and the like?”

“I don’t know, maybe we can have a raffle.”

Clair scowled. “This isn’t a church. What are we going to raffle? A new TV set?”

Sara smiled faintly. “Maybe your body.”

There followed cries of outrage and protest, plus plenty of good laughter. In the midst of it all—especially when Clair called for a presidential impeachment—Sara realized she was having fun. The remainder of the meeting—she let it run twenty minutes—passed quickly. It was decided homecoming could wait until winter. Naturally, she didn’t recognize the vote of anyone who thought different.

Sara caught up with the principal in the hallway afterward. “Excuse me, Mr. Smith?”

He turned. “Ah, Sara, you’re a strong willed young lady. You’ve put a spark back into the council that’s been missing for a number of years. But a word of advice from an old gentleman. In the future, please watch the personality attacks. I realize you say all those things in the spirit of jest, but as you must know, not everyone shares your sense of humor.”

“I’ll remember that, sir. Could I ask a favor of you?”

“Certainly.”

She told him about Russ Desmond’s expulsion from the cross country team and the reason behind it. When she had finished, he said, “Russ is one of our finest athletes. It sounds like a misunderstanding that can easily be patched up. I’ll have a word with Coach Campbell.”

“Thanks a lot. I appreciate it.”

“I do have a piece of bad news for you. It doesn’t have to be taken care of immediately by the student council, but we have a soft drink machine that needs to be replaced. The accountants at the school district refuse to cover the cost. Apparently, one or more students had the bad sense to tip the machine over, it can’t even be repaired.”

Sara shook her head. “The barbarians.”

Stepping onto the track near the runners, Jessica had to shield her eyes from the sun. Heat radiated in rippling waves off the ground over her bare legs. She couldn’t imagine how anyone could run three miles on a day like this.

“They should postpone their race till evening,” Alice said, wiping the sweat from her brow. “They’ll get heat stroke in this,”

“Maybe it’ll rain,” Sara said. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. She pointed toward the shadow cast by the scoreboard. “Let’s go over there.”

“Where’s Polly?” Jessica asked.

“She said she was stopping for a drink,” Alice said.

“Not a bad idea,” Jessica said, turning to Sara. “See Russ?”

“No.”

“You haven’t even looked for him,” Jessica said. “You’ve got to tell him you’re here.”

“I’m under no contractual obligation to do so,” Sara said.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“He’s here to run a race. Why should I bug him?”

“You’re just afraid he won’t remember you,” Jessica said.

“You’re right, I should have him knock me down again in case he’s forgotten,” Sara snapped. “Get off my case, Jessie. If he wants to talk to me, he can come over and talk to me.”

“Sorry,” Jessica muttered, surprised at her tone. Sara was usually about as sensitive to personal remarks as a brick wall.

They reached the shade and sat down. The grass tickled Jessica’s legs. Alice continued to wipe at her head, the sweat literally pouring off her. “Are you all right?” Jessie asked.

Alice smiled quickly. “I’m fine, just glad I’m not running.”

“But you were sick, weren’t you? You didn’t come in Monday or Tuesday.”

Alice found a tiny yellow flower, plucked it. “I was painting.”

“What?” Jessica said.

Alice threw her flower into the air, watched it fall directly to the ground. No breeze. “The blue wind.”

“Really? Sounds interesting,” Jessica said. “You’ll have to show me. Hey, what are you doing this weekend? Want to go to the beach?”

“I’m painting.”

“Couldn’t you set it aside for a few hours?”

“I’ve got to finish it.”

“That’s too bad.” Jessica paused. “I’m going to the movies Saturday night. You won’t believe it, I asked the guy. His name’s Michael Olson.”

Alice nodded slowly, leaning back, looking up into the clear sky. “Polly told me. That’s neat that you found—someone you like.”

“We’re just friends. He’s going to help me with chemistry. That reminds me, where’s that fantasy guy you were going to introduce me to?”

Alice lay down, closed her eyes. “Ask me after your date.” She yawned. “I could go to sleep here and never wake up.”

Jessica patted her arm. “You go ahead and rest.”

Polly reappeared a few minutes later. Seconds b fore she reached them, however, Sara nodded in the direction of the stadium ramp. “That’s him over there with the shaggy brown hair, the muscles,” she said.

Jessica cupped her hand over her eyes again. “He looks tough.”

“You don’t like him?”

“I didn’t say that. He’s very attractive.” He belonged in a black leather jacket on the back of motorcycle. “He’s the one who stopped that black guy from killing that football player?”

“Yeah,” Sara said. “So what do you think?”

“I just told you,” Jessica said. “He’s attractive.”

“Attractive. Phonies on TV are attractive. Do you like him?”

“Yes, I
really
like him. He’s totally bitchin’,” Jessica said.

“Shut up. I was only asking.”

Polly waved. “What are you guys doing over here They start and finish by the bleachers. Come on, let’ move. What’s Alice doing?”

“Dreaming,” Alice whispered, her eyes still closed.

“She’s taking a nap,” Jessica said. “Sara wants t stay here in the shade.”

Polly plopped down beside them, her face flushed with blood. “You won’t believe who I was just taiking to. Russ Desmond. He—”

“Shut up,” Sara said,

Polly looked to Jessica. “What did I say?”

“It’s the heat,” Jessica said.

They stood—except for Alice, who appeared to have caught an early train to sleepy land—for the start of the race. The bang of the gun echoed off the mostly deserted stands. In a colorful jumbled herd—Russ lost in the center—the runners circled the track and vanished out the gate. “That’s exciting,” Jessica remarked. “What happens now?”

“We wait till they come back,” Polly said.

Jessica preferred races where she got to see the runners running. She contemplated joining Alice in sleep on the grass.

Fifteen minutes later Russ reappeared, coming up the ramp. He had company, a short Japanese fellow clad in green dogging his heels. A cheer went up from the people gathered near the finish. Jessica leapt to her feet, her interest level taking a sharp upward climb. It was going to be close.

“Come on, Russ!” she yelled.

Russ accelerated sharply as he hit the track, opening up a ten yard lead. He added another five yards as he went into the curve of the track, momentarily heading away from the finish but quickly approaching their vantage spot. Jessica poked Sara in the ribs.

“Cheer.”

“Shh,” Sara said, intent upon the race.

“Shout his name,” Jessica said.

“Shh.”

“Go!” Jessica yelled with Polly.

“Damn,” Sara muttered. With a surge of his own, the Japanese guy had cut his lead in half. “Russ!!” Sara cried.

At the sound of her voice, he twisted his head toward them. He even raised his hand, shielding his eyes to see better. Then his left foot stepped onto the slightly upraised narrow cement strip that circled the inside of the track. The rhythm of his stride faltered; he practically tripped. When he had recovered, the Japanese guy was ten yards in front. Russ went after him.

“Go!” they screamed.

He lost by inches. Maybe he would have lost, anyway, without the stumble. His competitor obviously had a powerful kick. Jessica told Sara as much. Sara would have none of it.

“I should have kept my mouth shut,” she said. “Two races, two screw ups.”

“But it sure was exciting,” Alice remarked, still on the ground, fresh from her snooze.

“What makes you think he was looking for you?” Polly asked Sara. “He could have been looking for me.”

Jessica expected Sara to explode. Sara, however, ignored Polly completely. “Let’s get out of here,” she said.

“No, you should congratulate him on his effort,” Jessica said. TU go with you.”

Sara surprised her again. His loss seemed to have depressed her, “All right.”

“I’m coming, too,” Polly said.

“No,” Jessica said. “Stay here. Stay with Alice.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’m asking you to. Please?”

Polly gave in reluctantly. Jessica and Sara approached the gang at the finish slowly, watching as the winner embraced Russ, hanging back for a few minutes while the coach and several of the other runners spoke to him about the race. Finally he separated himself from them and grabbed a can from the ice chest, heading for the shade behind the bleachers.

“You want to talk to him alone?” Jessica asked as they followed after him.

“No.”

He must have been totally exhausted. Sitting with his back to a wooden plank, he didn’t notice them coming. He had a beer in his hand, Jessica realized, Quite an ice chest they had here. Or else he filled it with his own private stock.

“Hi,” Sara said.

He glanced up briefly. “Hi.”

“This is my friend, Jessie.”

Russ grunted. Sara looked at Jessica, uncertain. “That was a great race you ran,” Jessica said quickly. His rough edges were more apparent up close, and yet, he also seemed somehow younger, more of a boy than she had thought from a distance.

“I’ve run better.” He took a slug of beer, his eyes wandering to the baseball field.

“It’s a shame you lost,” Jessica said.

“You win some, you lose some.”

“I didn’t mean to distract you,” Sara said.

Russ belched. “Hey, you got my axe?”

Sara paused. “What?”

“My axe. You took it the other night.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I need it back. It belongs to the store where I work.”

“I don’t have your axe.”

“What did you do with it?”

“Nothing. I don’t have it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What are
you
talking about?”

Russ looked vaguely annoyed. “You know, you’re a weird girl.”

Sara sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m weird? I’m weird? I’m not the one who’s worried about some goddamn axe that he thinks he’s lost!”

He sharpened his tone. “I didn’t lose it. You took it.”

“Why would I take it?”

“You didn’t want me to chop down the tree.”

“What tree?”

Russ rubbed his head, growing tired of the whole discussion. “What are you doing here?” he muttered.

Sara chuckled. “I came over so
you
could thank
me
for getting you reinstated on the cross country team.”

“Huh?”

“In case you didn’t know, I’m the school president. It was I who talked to the school principal. It was I who made it possible for you to run today.”

She’d caught his attention. “No kidding?”

Sara nodded. “You better believe it.”

He had a short attention span. He finished his can, crumpled it up in one hand, and threw it aside. “You shouldn’t have bothered.”

She stared at him for a long moment, and Jessica was just thankful Sara didn’t have the missing axe in her hands. She probably wouldn’t have killed him, but she might have taken a foot off. As it was, she turned and stalked off. Russ observed her departure with mild surprise. “Is it that time of month or what?” he asked.

“I think you might have hurt her feelings,” Jessica said diplomatically.

“Oh, really?” he said innocently. “Well, I didn’t mean to. Tell her I’m sorry.”

Jessica knelt by his side. “This is probably none of my business, but do you like Sara?”

“Huh?”

“When she shouted for you in the race, I couldn’t help noticing how you looked over. I was wondering if you liked her?”

“Yeah, she’s all right. She’s got a temper, though. God.”

“Would you want to go out with her?”

“Where?”

“Anywhere, you know, like on a date?”

“I don’t know. I guess.”

She supposed that would have to do in place of yes. “Are you busy tomorrow night?”

“No.”

Jessica took a pen and paper from her purse. It would be hopeless to give him Sara’s number. He would only lose it. “I’ll tell you what. Come over to my house tomorrow at six. Sara will be there. You can pick her up and the two of you can go out to dinner. How’s that sound?”

“I don’t know where you live.”

“I’ll draw you a map. Will you come?”

He shrugged. “All right. As long as she gives me back my axe.”