Purple Daze

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Authors: Sherry Shahan

BOOK: Purple Daze
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Table of Contents
 
 
 
“Part history, part teen survival, Shahan drops you into the Vietnam era with compelling authenticity and emotional force.”
—WENDELIN VANDRAANEN
author of THE RUNNING DREAM
 
 
 
 
 
“I stayed up half the night reading
Pur
p
le Da
z
e
and didn't want it to end. Ziggy, Mickey, Cheryl, and Phil have found a permanent home in my heart.”
—VALERIE HOBBS
author of SHEEP, California Young Reader Medal
 
 
 
 
 
“Sherry Shahan took me right back to the 60's with this deftly-written, politically charged novelin-verse. Be warned—
Pur
p
le Da
z
e
will put a spell on you, too!”
—RON KOERTGE
award-winning author of STRAYS
To Phillip Cole ... because you waited.
It's 1965
and
The Sound of Music
wins
the Academy Award for Best Picture
and
President Johnson commits another
50,000 troops to the war in Vietnam
and
The Los Angeles Dodgers defeat
the Minnesota Twins 4–3
in the World Series
and
Johnson increases the monthly
draft call from 17,000 to 35,000
and
The Righteous Brothers hit the
charts with “Unchained Melody”
and
Johnson says, “Nor will we bluster,
bully or flaunt our power. But we will
not surrender, nor will we retreat.”
and
Boys and girls play with fuzzy-haired
Troll Dolls. Even Lady Bird Johnson
has one.
Ziggy
We're slumped on the front seat of a
low-slung Pontiac, cherry paint job.
 
Cheryl pokes the ashtray for butts,
finds the key. “Wanna go for a spin?”
 
“If we can be back by sixth period—
I did my homework.”
 
I have the wheel in one hand, a Marlboro
in the other. We jerk down Ventura Boulevard
in second gear, and I'm yelling above Janis Joplin,
“Wait'll Mickey finds out we stole his car!”
 
Cheryl drums the dashboard laughing
because I don't have a learner's permit.
 
GRAND THEFT AUTO
 
That's what we tell the old guy we pick up
hitchhiking in front of Woolworth's.
He looks pale and asks us to pull over.
 
We couldn't stop now
even if we tried.
Mickey
So what if the guys joke about Ziggy.
Stacked. What a rack. Tight sweaters
look bitchin' on her.
 
She puts out too
 
even though her house has this choice view
of San Fernando Valley and her step-dad
plays in a band at Disneyland.
 
If I ever see a T-shirt that says,
SLUTS RULE, I'll buy it for her.
Ziggy
Guys like me because they
know I go all the way.
 
It's the only reason Mickey
takes me out.
 
Bet you didn't think I knew that.
Cheryl
The potato's been in the freezer overnight.
The Animals wail “We Gotta Get Out of This Place.”
I pull a bottle of Sloe Gin from the cupboard,
hidden behind a box of Lucky Charms.
 
Ziggy cuts the potato in two,
carves Ziggy + Mickey into a half,
and makes an earlobe sandwich.
“Is this gonna hurt?”
 
I sip and dip the needle.
“Mine didn't even bleed.”
 
The door bell rings, my next door neighbor.
I know his daughters, in fifth and sixth grade,
straight hair without ironing it.
 
Booze wafts through the screen door.
 
“What's up?” I ask.
 
His wing tips skim the WELCOME mat as he
lunges forward, slamming through the screen,
knocking my ninety-six pounds backward.
 
An old geezer with a tongue,
his hand on Don's senior pin.
 
“Cheryl?” Ziggy calls from the kitchen.
“Hurry up! My ear's freezing!”
Nancy
Ms. Hawes dresses like us:
Wool skirts. Mohair cardigans.
Sling-back flats. Seamless nylons,
nude.
 
Her skirts are minis.
But no one makes her kneel in the hall
to see if her hem touches the floor.
 
Here's another thing: Ms. Hawes uses a
blue pencil for corrections, never red, and
doesn't call on you unless your hand's raised.
 
There's a can of molasses on her desk. I saw
her in the cafeteria pouring it over fried potatoes
like Walter Cunningham in
To Kill a Mockingbird
.
 
When we read
Lord of the Flies
she passed a bag of pork rinds.
 
Before beginning
Lolita
she brought in Cokes.
Cheryl throws up when Humbert Humbert
talks about sin, soul, and the tip of his tongue.
 
Weird.
Ziggy
Some numb-nuts poured strawberry
Jell-O in the toilet by the Girls'
Vice Principal's office.
 
She called the West Valley Police Station.
What if someone had slit her wrist or
had a miscarriage or something?
 
Talk about immature.
 
Get a boyfriend!
Cheryl
I finished
Lolita
in a bubble bath,
all three-hundred-thirty-six pages.
 
I cried
and
cried
and
cried
and
.
.
.

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