Tell Me If the Lovers Are Losers (11 page)

“Do you ever see her spend money?” Niki continued.

“No, never. Look, I've got to read this.”

“Why? We don't have class tomorrow.”

“There's a test next week; and papers coming up,” Ann remarked,

“Tough darts,” Niki said. “But I'll leave you to it. We play our first game tomorrow, don't we?”

“Don't remind me. Please don't remind me.”

♦   ♦   ♦

All the match games were scheduled to be played on the gymnasium courts, indoors. As they walked to the gym the next afternoon, the three of them in a row, Ann tried to convince Hildy that Eloise was the better player. “Eloise will get to play,” Hildy said.

“I don't want to play,” Ann said.

“But you are on the team.”

So Ann found herself standing between Hildy and Sarah, goosebumps on her legs. “Maybe nobody will hit anything to me,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. The whistle blew.

Carol was serving for the opposing team. Her first serve went directly to Ann, who missed it. The second serve she also fumbled. Niki turned to glare at her
“Annie.”

“Only lift it up,” Hildy said quietly. Ann's cheeks burned. She could lose the whole game, without moving. She looked at Hildy. “Only lift it to me. Think only of that,” Hildy said.

Ann concentrated. Carol grinned at her and waved a hand. The serve came to Ann. She thought only of getting it off to the right. Her hands clenched. Too late, she remembered her knees should bend. But she had her fists under the ball and it popped up, shoulder height. Hildy's left hand lifted it higher and sent it to Bess at the net. Bess batted it easily across. Carol ran out of position. “Mine!” she yelled. She hit it up, high and long, back to Ann.

“Only to me,” Hildy spoke.

This shot was easier, because high. Ann popped it gently to her right.

“Good,” Hildy said as she sent a high set shot forward to
Niki—who leaped up eagerly and hammered down on the ball. Niki turned back to give Hildy the thumbs-up signal. Hildy did not respond.

They rotated to Ann's serve.

“Sarah's beside you,” Hildy said.

Ann did not relax, but her panic gradually faded. She managed to initiate a winning point before she served a ball out of bounds.

The game went on, on and on. Carol always sent her shots to Ann. Many, Ann still bungled. More she managed to lift sideways, to Sarah or Hildy. “You're getting it, Annie,” Niki exulted. Ann knew better, but was too busy to argue the matter Most of the other players were no better than she, so she could often play their shots passably. Once, she tried to set a ball for Hildy at the net. It was too low, but Hildy rewarded her daring with a satisfied nod. They won the first game, fifteen to thirteen.

As they switched sides for the second game, Niki called, “Close in,” to the team. Nobody altered position. Everybody tensed. Niki was serving and earned seven points before Carol managed to return one of the straight, hard serves. This—Ann sensed it—dispirited the opposing team. Even Carol misplaced her shots, not caring where they went, no longer bothering to play at Ann. The second game took five minutes. Their victory was total, and Hildy's team cavorted about briefly. Then they remembered their manners and thanked the opposition.

“I want a hot fudge sundae,” Ruth announced. “Anyone else?”

Everyone else. They trooped out of the gym on a wave of hilarity (“I
told
you, didn't I?” “We creamed them.” “Did you see? We outplayed them.”) and were seated around a large table at the student center (“I'm going to hate myself in the morning,” Bess said as she lifted a spoon mounded with ice cream, dripping thick tears of fudge sauce) before anyone asked, “Where's Hildy?”

She had stayed behind to work with Carol's team on service return. “There was time left in the class,” she explained, when Niki later criticized her absence.

Ann said, “I'm not complaining about anything you did—you know that, don't you, Hildy?—because you really helped me. I couldn't have gotten through it without you.”

“Yes, you could have. It would have taken longer on your own. That's the only difference.”

“But Eloise—she didn't get a chance to play.”

“She will, the next game.”

Ann was relieved. And chagrined. “Is it the day after tomorrow? Isn't that too soon?”

“No,” Hildy said. “We'll practice tomorrow.”

“Bess has two tests to study for.”

“She will spare the hour.”

Bess spared the hour, and then some. They met in the crisp air by the outside court. Hildy would not let them play a game, although Niki argued for it, as the best practice for a match. “But these freshman teams,” Niki added as it became clear that the others would do whatever Hildy advised, “they're such creampuffs it doesn't matter.” She stayed for about fifteen minutes before she drifted away. Hildy watched her go, eyes squinted toward the lowering sun. Niki walked away, not angry, neither discouraged, just unconcerned. Such drills had nothing to do with her, her narrow back said to those who remained behind.

Hildy had them do a passing drill, around and around the court. At times she required them to shoot only overhead, then only underhand. After that, she set them in one long line and passed shots to them with apparent abandon, because most of the balls fell low, close to the ground, out of reach. Bess was the only one who could tackle such shots, and she did just that: she dived for them. She tried only to get a fist beneath the ball and shoot it aimlessly up. Ruth tried diving, missed, and looked up with a grin. They all tried it. Sarah could save a ball that way, Bess could, and—to her surprise—Ann could. Eloise was hopeless, but when Hildy altered the drill slightly, having them in two lines with the second giving instructions to receive these frantic shots, Eloise proved more able.

One and a half hours later, with the sun's last rays semi-blinding them, Hildy set them up on the court and instructed them, as in the first drill, to pass the ball among themselves. “But I can't see a thing,” Ruth protested. “Look,” she declared, tapping the ball up and hitting it across the court. “Eloise? you over there?” Eloise was, and she returned the ball to the center front, identifying Ann as the receiver she
intended; Ann angled it back to Bess, who sent it across to Sarah.

“I get it,” Sarah said. “Why didn't you tell us, Hildy?”

“Tell us what?” Ann asked.

“We're good enough not to have to watch one another all the time. That's right, isn't it?”

“Yes. I thought you knew. I'm sorry, or I could have explained.”

“It's amazing,” Ruth said, her voice pleased.

“It's alarming,” Eloise added, giddy. “Astounding, appalling, abounding, abashing—”

Ann joined in: “Incredible, ineluctable, intangible.” She knew how Eloise felt, feeling the same way herself.

“What's all that about?” asked Bess. “Can we do it again?”

They could, completing almost twenty passes before Ann missed a shot that fell unexpectedly at her ankles. She had judged it to be nearer her waist.

“The next step,” Hildy said, “is to do the drill without calling the names.”

“Why is there always a next step?” Bess groaned. “And I've got two tests. Not today, Hildy.”

“No, not today,” Hildy agreed.

“Not tomorrow either,” Bess continued.

“No, not tomorrow either,” Hildy smiled.

They all waited. Smoky, slender clouds, patches of mist really, rose from the ground into the purple sky.

“But someday,” Hildy said. “Is someday all right?”

Someday was just fine.

They were too late for dinner, served early and behind resolutely closed dining room doors. They planned to discuss their prospects over sandwiches at the student center and Ann tried to persuade Hildy to join them. Hildy was adamant. All the way back to the dorm, she resisted. She was not hungry, and she could ask the cook to give her a plate of something if she was, and she was putting on weight. It was when Hildy claimed any concern with weight that Ann knew she was lying. Even the intonation was Ann's own. It was not anything Hildy would say. Unless she was pressed.

Ann stopped pressing her Instead, she returned from the student center with two tunafish sandwiches wrapped in wax paper. She placed these in the center of Hildy's desk and then,
satisfied, returned to her own work. That evening it included reading over notes to write the outline for a history paper, as well as memorizing class notes from science.

Ann knew how to concentrate, and her mind was quite occupied by biologic terms when Hildy came back from the library. Ann had forgotten the sandwiches, until Hildy placed them quietly before her. “Thank you, but I cannot take these,” Hildy said.

“Why not?” Ann asked. The girl did not answer, just smiled apologetically. Ann argued, “I can't eat them. I'm stuffed. They'll just get thrown out.”

“What a waste,” Hildy said.

“Are you hungry?” Ann demanded.

Hildy's clear eyes met hers: “Yes.”

“Are you angry at me then, that you won't let me spend ninety cents on you and buy you a couple of tunafish sandwiches?”

“It's not that,” Hildy said.

“What is it then? I mean, I really don't understand, Hildy.”

“I have no money. Well, not much. None for extravagances.”

“I know that,” Ann said. “Why do you think I wanted to buy you supper?”

“For charity,” Hildy said simply.

“Oh,” Ann said, wondering if the accusation was accurate. It was an accusation. And Ann was, possibly, guilty.

“I am grateful for your thoughtfulness,” Hildy apologized. “But I cannot accept.”

“It's only two sandwiches,” Ann protested. “It's not a big deal.”

“Charity is a big deal, to accept it,” Hildy said. “I will tell you something. When I received the scholarship to come here, and my father said I might come for a year, I promised myself that I would be careful of charity. I have had enough.”

“You've earned it,” Ann said. “They don't give scholarships away because you've got beautiful eyes or play a good volleyball game.”

“Oh, I know that. But I don't know what they gave me a scholarship for. My SAT's were not high. Low six hundreds.” No, that wasn't high at all. “My grades were good, not
excellent. I am not brilliant. Other scholarships went to brilliant girls. Yes?”

Ann had to agree. “I just assumed you were that smart. I wonder why they did it?”

“I don't know. When I first wrote to the College, explaining why I wanted an application blank even though it was most probable I would not be admitted, the letter sent to me in return was most encouraging. I wrote to them, ‘I don't know why you encourage me, but I am grateful.' ”

Ann looked at her roommate, the blonde hair grown a little longer and now below her earlobes, curling unconcernedly. “I know why,” she said, knowing. She couldn't have explained, except to say the words virtue, excellence, and to say them in their ancient Greek form—
arete.

“Can you tell me?” Hilde asked.

Ann shook her head. Betraying innocence to itself, that must be wrong. She returned to the sandwiches at hand.

“OK. I can understand why you won't let me buy you dinner,” she said, “and I won't ask it again. I understand, I do.”

“I thought you would.”

“But—”

“No,” Hildy said, firmly.

“Not for charity.” Ann pushed her chair back and stood, sandwiches in hand.

“For what else?”

“For friendship,” Ann said.

Hildy's eyes widened briefly in surprise. She lowered her eyes, then raised them again. “Yes,” she said. “I thank you.”

She reached out for the two packages. Surely not worth such serious argument, Ann thought, and probably soggy by now. Taking them awkwardly, Hildy dropped one onto the floor and, in kneeling to pick it up, she planted her knee on it.

“Oh dear,” she said.

“So much for pride and friendship.” Ann grinned.

“It will still be edible,” Hildy answered. “Only no longer attractive.”

“Oh
that,”
Ann said. She returned to work. Hildy went to her own desk. Ann heard the rustle of waxed paper combine with the rustling of a book. Ann recited incomprehensible terms, trying to implant definitions in her unwilling memory.
She muttered to herself, irritation barely losing out to training, and she was stopped by a thought: “Hildy, you said one year, why one year?”

“The scholarship is for one year,” Hildy answered, without raising her head from the text. “That is one reason.”

“Scholarships are renewed, unless something unseemly happens.”

“I know. I have been given one year.”

“By who? Whom.”

“My father.”

“Why only a year? What'll you do when you go home?”

“Marry.”

Ann turned to stare at her. “Marry? Marry who? Whom.”

“I am promised to a man. A widower with young children, a neighbor. A good man.”

Ann couldn't think about that. “Do you want to stay here? I mean, would you rather?”

Hildy turned clear eyes to her “I didn't ever think of it. Why should I think of it?”

Ann couldn't answer that. “They won't like it.”

“Who?”

“The College. The Munchkin, for one.”

“But she knows. I knew when I filed my application that it must be so.”

“Oh,” Ann said. “Did you tell them?”

“Of course.”

“How much money
do
you have? I mean spending money, for the year.”

“Ten dollars and fifty cents. If there is an emergency, I can cash in my return ticket, which should be worth over twenty dollars. I am just fine.”