Peter and Veronica (7 page)

“You mean we’re going to wear them?” said Jeffrey, fishing his tie out of his pocket and looking at it mournfully.

Veronica still hadn’t come by the time Frank returned with another tie, so the pack of them began walking slowly in the direction of Lorraine’s house. She must have changed her mind about coming, Peter guessed, and wondered why she always seemed to avoid the other kids. One of these days he’d ask her. But wasn’t it funny how everything had changed in six months’ time. Why, back in P.S. 63, everybody was scared of Veronica. People would go in the other direction when they saw her coming. They hated her and grumbled about her all the time. But now that they were in high school, and she’d stopped fighting, she was the one who went in the other direction. Why? Some of the kids laughed at her, and he guessed she didn’t like that. He didn’t like it either. But nobody really hated her any more —nobody except Bill.

Peter felt uncomfortable when he thought about Bill. Because it was his fault, really. He had worked out the plan for a gang up on Veronica last term and had drawn Bill and Paul into it. He had been to blame for the whole thing, and yet once it was over, he and Veronica were friends, Paul had laughed and forgotten, but Bill still brooded. Somehow it didn’t seem fair that Bill, who had been the most unwilling to take part in the gang up, should end up still smarting over it.

Anyway, Veronica was evidently not coming tonight. He felt a little annoyed at her because if she’d only said she wasn’t coming in the first place, he wouldn’t have had that argument with Bill. But maybe it was just as well that she wasn’t coming. He had other things to worry about tonight, like what do you do at a party with girls? And would Roslyn Gellert be there? And if she was, would she think he looked as handsome as his mother said he did? And would his father be waiting outside for him even though he promised he wouldn’t?

“Well, what do we do after it’s over?” Jeffrey said urgently, as they paused before going up the stairs of Lorraine’s house.

“What do you mean?” said Bill.

“My mother said you have to take them home.”

“Why?” said Marv. “They know how to get home themselves.”

“No, he’s right,” said Frank. “A boy is supposed to take a girl home after a party at night.”

“I’ll take Lorraine home,” Paul said,  grinning,

“That’s not fair,” said Frank.

“Why not? You always say you hate her the most.”

“It has nothing to do with that,” shouted Frank. “It’s because she lives here.”

“Who are you going to take home, Peter?” said Jeffrey.

“I don’t know,” Peter said, knowing whom he’d like to take. “Who are you?”

“I don’t know. How about you, Bill?”

“I don’t know.”

“Me, neither.”

“You, Marv?”

“How should I know.”

When they finally made it up the stairs, Lorraine opened the door for them and said brightly, “Hi— you’re late. Come on in.”

They could hear the sound of music coming from the living room down at the end of the hall. As they passed the kitchen, Mrs. Jacobs looked out and smiled and nodded at them.

“Oh, Marvin,” she said, coming through the door, and walking along with them, “how’s your papa?”

“He’s better, Mrs. Jacobs,” said Marv.

“Is he back to work?”

“Not yet but the doctor thinks maybe in another week or so.”

“I’m glad. And how’s your mama?”

“She’s fine. Thanks.”

They reached the living room and saw that the girls had already arrived. Most of them were sitting around the room deep in conversation. A record was playing on the record player, and Reba and Frieda were dancing a Lindy Hop.

“I felt so bad when I heard he was sick again,” Mrs. Jacobs continued. “Tell your parents I’ll be over tomorrow to see them.”

“Ma—please!” Lorraine said urgently.

“What? Oh—all right, I’m going. Have a nice time, children.” Mrs. Jacobs moved back through the hall to the kitchen, and the boys stood at the entrance to the room, waiting.

“Why don’t you drop your coats on the bed in there,” Lorraine said, pointing to the bedroom on the other side of the French Doors, “and then we can start.”

Peter caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the dresser, after he had laid his coat on the bed. Hair smooth on his head, nice suit, new tie-he looked, well, he guessed he looked all right. He waited until all the other boys were ready, and together they moved back through the door into the room.

He knew that Roslyn was sitting on the couch. He’d seen her as soon as he came in. She had a pink sweater on and pearls. All the girls were wearing sweaters and pearls. Now, he figured, she’d look up and smile at him. He’d smile at her. She’d move over a little bit on the couch. He’d walk over, and sit down next to her. She’d say, “You look nice, Peter.” He’d say, “So do you.” Then she’d say ...

But she didn’t look up. Nobody looked up and all the boys remained together near the French doors.

“Well, I guess we can start,” Lorraine said. “Everybody’s here except Veronica Maybe she couldn’t come.”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” said Bill. Peter tightened his fists, but then Frieda giggled and said, “You’re some wit, Bill, a regular half-wit.”

The girls tittered, and Bill squared his shoulders and said, “Oh, yeah!” Then he broke from the ranks, walked over to the chair where Frieda was sitting, and made believe he was going to sit down on top of her. She squealed, and after a while Bill settled down on the arm of her chair. So that was one down.

“Well now,” Lorraine said, looking with satisfaction at Frieda and Bill, “what should we do?”

“Eat,” said Paul, and he walked over to the bridge table in one corner of the room and inspected the platters of potato chips, cookies, and pretzel sticks. Two down.

“How about a game?” said Lorraine.

“Let’s play Coffee Pot,” suggested Linda.

“Naa!” in a chorus from the boys.

“How about Indian Chief?”

“Naa!”

“Charades?”

“That sappy game!”

“So what do you want to play?”

“Stickball,” said Frank.

And Lorraine said,  “Just for that,  mister,  you’re going to help me carry in the drinks for everybody. Come on!”

Frank made a face, but he didn’t struggle when Lorraine took his arm and pulled him along with her to the kitchen. Three down. And that left Peter, Jeffrey, and Marv standing at their post.

Marv said, looking at the record player, “That’s a new portable. I think the speaker’s in the top.” He ambled off, and that was four down.

Jeffrey whispered nervously, “Does it really smell like Flit?”

“What?”

“The stuff on my hair.”

Peter took a furtive sniff and said,  “Yeah.”

“Where’s the bathroom?”

“Up the hall”

Jeffrey groaned and hurried out of the room. And that was five gone. Peter looked at Roslyn. She was still talking to Reba on the couch, and he decided what he’d do is walk over to the refreshment table, take a handful of chips, and sort of casually pass in front of the couch. She’d look up, and he’d say, “Care for some potato chips?”

He had just arrived at the table when Lorraine and Frank returned with the bottles of soda pop, and then there was a mild crush while all the kids converged on the table to make their selection.

Everybody seemed to feel more convivial with a bottle of pop in his or her hand, and they played Coffee Pot for a while. Peter ended up sitting next to Jeffrey on one side and Linda on the other. After they got tired of playing Coffee Pot, they played Indian Chief and Charades and a couple of other games. Then Lorraine suggested that they dance.

“We’re a girl short.” Linda offered the interesting statistic. “Since Veronica didn’t come, that makes five girls and six boys.”

“Somebody has to dance with the broom,” Reba giggled.

“Me!”

“Me!”

“Me!”

“Me!”

“Me!”

“Me!” shouted the six boys, and there was a mad scramble for the kitchen.

Mr. Jacobs was reading his paper at the table when they all galloped in, and he said, “What’s going on?”

“It’s O.K., Papa,” Lorraine said, hurrying in. “We need the broom.”

Mr. Jacobs looked meaningfully at the clock over the refrigerator and then at his daughter. “It’s nine-thirty, Lorraine,” he said.

“Pa, please,” Lorraine said. “Come on, boys, let’s go back.”

Paul had the broom and began cavorting around with it. Lorraine put a record on and she and Frank began dancing. So that made two couples dancing. Lorraine and Frank, and Paul and the broom. Peter looked at Roslyn again. If she’d only look up, he’d walk right over and ask her to dance. He was beginning to feel desperate. The evening was slipping by, and she hadn’t even noticed him. What was the matter with her anyway? Or was there- something the matter with him? Maybe something was wrong with him. Something
must
be wrong with him.

“Where is it?” he whispered to Jeffrey.

“What?”

“The bathroom.”

“Up the hall.”

Peter hurried into the bathroom, locked the door, and carefully examined his face in the mirror. There was a red blotch on his chin, and he’d never noticed before but his left eye was definitely larger than his right eye. He looked awful. Carefully he stood up on the bathtub so he could get a glimpse of the rest of himself in the mirror above the sink. The suit didn’t fit right. The shoulders were too big and the pants were too long. What a mess!

Grimly he walked back out into the hall and wondered if he should go home. He was having a miserable time.

Voices emanated from the kitchen as he approached. Mr. Jacobs was saying plaintively, “But I want to go to bed. I worked hard all day and I’m falling off my feet.”

“A little longer, Max. Don’t be like that. It’s nearly ten. Another half hour, it’ll be over. Don’t you want her to have a good time?”

“In the day,” Mr. Jacobs moaned. “Can’t she have a good time in the day?”

“Shh, someone’s outside. Hello,” Mrs. Jacobs said, sticking her head out into the hall. “Oh, Peter.” She said nodding agreeably. “Are you having a good time?”

“Great!” Peter said glumly, walking slowly back to the living room.

Roslyn was dancing with Reba, and Lorraine and Frank were dancing too. Bill was talking to Frieda, Marv was busy at the record player, and Linda was chatting away to Paul over the platters of potato chips and pretzels. Jeffrey was standing near the French doors. “Even I can smell it now,” Jeffrey said. “Maybe it was the Flit.”

Peter glared at Roslyn and Reba. He’d try once more and that was it. But how? You couldn’t just go up to two girls dancing together and cut in on one of them. How come girls could dance together anyway but boys couldn’t? Besides, he didn’t know how to dance so even if he did cut in, what then?

He looked over at the empty couch, and an idea born of desperation grew in his mind. He crossed the room, sat down in the middle of the empty couch, and waited. After a while the dance ended, and the two girls returned to the couch.

Now was the time for him to look at Roslyn and say something clever. The girls stood there waiting. Peter concentrated, but he couldn’t think of anything clever to say. As a matter of fact, he couldn’t think of anything to say at all. So he moved over. Reba sat down next to him and Roslyn next to her. The two of them began yakking again.

The doorbell rang twice, and Roslyn rose and said to Lorraine, “That’s my father. He said he’d pick me up at ten.”

She hurried into the bedroom, returned with her coat, said, “Good-by everybody,” and left.

After she had gone, Reba turned to Peter and said, “What happened to Veronica?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said, wondering if he should go home or eat some potato chips first. “I guess she just decided not to come.”

“Oh!” Reba’s plump face looked full of mysterious wisdom. “We thought maybe she was coming later, and that’s why you were standing around—sort of waiting for her.”

“I wasn’t waiting for anybody,” Peter protested. “There wasn’t anything to do, and I was just waiting for something to happen.”

“Oh—well Roslyn thought you were waiting for Veronica.”

“Why should she think I was waiting for Veronica?” Peter snapped. “That’s pretty stupid of her.”

“I’ll tell her.” Reba giggled, and Peter looked at her with fury.

“Why should anybody think I was waiting for Veronica?” he repeated angrily.

Reba continued to giggle, so he stood up and said with dignity, “I’m going home.”

“I
guess I will too,” Reba said, also standing up.

“Are you going now, Peter?” Jeffrey said eagerly. “I’m going too.”

So the three of them left together, but when they got downstairs, Jeffrey, who lived over on Cottage Avenue, went off in the other direction, which meant that Peter ended up walking Reba home.

And that was the worst part of it. Even worse than arriving home and having to fend off his mother’s questions. Alone in his bedroom finally, he thought angrily about what a bust the party had been. So Roslyn had avoided him because of Veronica. Well, that was her hard luck. She could flunk math for all he cared. Just let her come and ask him for help. Just let her. He’d be the one to look off vaguely into nowhere. And Bill—one more crack from Bill, and he’d pop him one in the mouth.

He tore off his tie, threw his jacket on the floor, and fished his skates out of the closet. Tomorrow morning, he’d go find Veronica and go skating in spite of all of them.

“What’s the matter with you kids? Don’t you have any respect for the dead?”

They hadn’t noticed the man as they came skating up the path and they jumped as he stood up. He was holding a small gardening tool in his hand and had been planting something around one of the graves,

He motioned angrily toward their skates, and Veronica whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”

“You don’t come into a cemetery with skates on,” the man continued. “That’s not right. That’s not right at all. And what are you doing here anyway?”

Peter said uncomfortably, “We were just skating around Bronx Park and then we ended up here. We never saw this place before and so we thought we’d just come in and take a look, and—well—gee, Mister, I guess we weren’t thinking. We’ll take them off. I’ve never been in a cemetery before,” he added lamely.