Alice on Her Way Read online

  AliceBug322: well i’ve known him since 8th grade and i think he’s nice. of course, we never went out or anything. there was always patrick

  pjhotbabe: well now’s your chance, alice. live a little! patrick’s not the only guy who can kiss, you know. so what was it like?

  AliceBug322: sweet

  pjhotbabe: ugh

  AliceBug322: tender, exciting, spontaneous

  pjhotbabe: keep going…

  Lovliz13: did u say anything?

  AliceBug322: not while we were kissing!

  I told them all about interviewing kids at the mall and the mocha latte and how we saw Patrick….

  AliceBug322: i’d better get 2 bed. i’ve got 2 work tomorrow

  Lovliz13: happy dreams! i wish it had been ross and me

  pjhotbabe: passionate dreams! red-hot sizzling wet drippy heart-palpitating dreams

  Lovliz13: pamela, u r disgusting

  AliceBug322: g’nite

  I did dream of Sam, but it was all mixed up with the movie. I think Patrick was even in it somewhere.

  “Al,” I heard Dad saying at my bedroom door. “You want to ride in with me, or are you taking the bus?”

  I couldn’t believe it was morning already. I didn’t want to wake up. I didn’t want to stand out in the cold waiting for a bus, but if I rode in with Dad, I had to go early. I let out my breath, then slowly sat up, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and tried to keep my eyes open.

  “I’ll ride with you,” I said. The floor was cold, but I teetered into the bathroom, feeling heavy and sticky, and realized I’d started my period. My abdomen always feels fat the first couple of days, and after I’d washed up and brushed my teeth, I put on a loose pair of jeans I keep for days like this, a big baggy sweater, and both a pad and a tampon, just in case.

  Sylvia was still asleep, and Dad had the newspaper spread out on the kitchen table. He glanced up when I came in. “How did it go last night?”

  “Okay,” I said, and groggily reached for the cereal. “We did five or six shoots, and then we went to the movie. Really scary.”

  “Is Sam a careful driver?”

  “Yes. A slow driver.”

  “Good,” said Dad.

  I put an English muffin in the toaster and poured some orange juice. Dad looked over at me again. “You’re smiling,” he said.

  “I am?” I wondered if I’d been smiling all night.

  “Sure looks like a smile to me. You had a good time, I take it?” His eyes were laughing.

  “Yes. He’s nice.”

  “Uh-huh.” Dad waited.

  I shrugged. “That’s all. I just like him.”

  “Then I’ll need to get used to seeing him around and hope I don’t slip up and call him Patrick,” said Dad.

  “So do I,” I said.

  3

  Alice Blue Gown

  I felt like I was smiling at everyone when the Melody Inn opened that morning—customers, employees, the instructors who gave music lessons in the tiny practice rooms on the second floor. We had moved to Maryland from Chicago the summer after second grade, when Dad became manager of a store in Silver Spring. I think it was second grade…. Mom died when I was in kindergarten. Or was I four…? Have I forgotten dates as important as these, I wonder, or do I repress the sad and scary things in my life? I sure wasn’t feeling sad or scared on this particular morning, and Sam was part of the reason.

  “Well!” said Marilyn Rawley, Dad’s assistant manager. “You’re in a happy daze!” She took off her red winter coat and shook the snow out of her hair.

  I grinned. “I went out with a new guy,” I said.

  “Aha!” She darted into the stockroom to hang up her coat, then popped back out again. “Tell all!” she said, eyes all sparkly.

  “One of the student photographers on our paper. Sam Mayer. Really funny and kind and muscular…. Takes great photos too.”

  “Ooooh! My kind of guy!” said Marilyn.

  I thought about that. Marilyn used to be Lester’s number one girlfriend. Well, when he wasn’t dating Crystal Harkins, that is. I liked Crystal and Marilyn both. Marilyn was sort of a poster girl for hippies everywhere back then. Long straight hair, cotton dresses, bare feet in summer… She played the guitar and sang folk songs. I used to imagine her and Lester getting married in a meadow with a garland of daisies around her head.

  Crystal Harkins was just the opposite. Short red hair, elegant, liked classical music… If she and Lester married, I’d always figured, it would be in a cathedral with a choir of sixty voices singing Bach.

  But Crystal married someone else, not too happily, I think, and Marilyn was engaged now. Lester had let two of his favorite girlfriends slip through his fingers because he wasn’t ready.

  When I’d finished telling Marilyn about my evening with Sam, I said, “What about you? When are you and Jack getting married?”

  “In June,” she said, and her voice practically bubbled, she was so eager to tell me. “And you’re all invited.”

  All? I wondered. “You’re sending Les an invitation too?” I asked.

  “We’re not sending out invitations. I’m telling people in person,” Marilyn said. “It’s just a simple ceremony, Alice, the kind I’ve always wanted. It’s going to be outdoors at a nature center and—”

  “I knew it!” I shrieked. “I knew that’s the kind of wedding you’d have.”

  David, our newest employee—a young good-looking guy who’s thinking of becoming a priest—came in just then.

  “What’s this? Am I invited too?” he teased.

  “All my nearest and dearest,” Marilyn said. “Of course you are.”

  “And if it rains?” I asked her.

  “Then we’ll bring umbrellas,” said Marilyn, and I believed her.

  What I like about Marilyn is that she doesn’t have any of that “princess syndrome,” that “my day” attitude, as though you become royalty on your wedding day and everyone has to obey you. I’ve heard of brides who spaz out because someone coughed during the ceremony. Marilyn wouldn’t let even a thunderstorm upset her.

  I’m sort of on call at the store to do whatever needs doing—wash a window, dust a countertop, stock shelves—but mostly I’m in charge of the Gift Shoppe on Saturdays, the little alcove under the stairs to the second floor. We sell all kinds of musical gifts. I bought a sterling silver clef sign pin for Sylvia once, back when I was campaigning to make her my stepmom.

  When Dad came by on his way down from the second floor, I said, “Did you know that Marilyn and Jack are getting married in June and we’re invited?”

  I guess he already knew. “We’ll be there,” he said, “with or without umbrellas.”

  What surprised me was that Sam called me at work. That’s a real no-no. You just don’t call people at work; you might get them fired.

  “Pretend I’m a customer,” he said, and I could almost see the smile in his voice. “I just wanted to tell you that I enjoyed last night. Especially the end of the evening.”

  How was I supposed to pretend I was listening to a customer? I could feel the blush in my cheeks.

  “So did I,” I murmured softly, covering the mouthpiece with my hand.

  Dad gave me a look, and I told Sam I’d talk to him later. It was a serious, quizzical kind of look I hadn’t seen on his face before. I’m sure he knew it wasn’t a customer.

  “Okay,” I told Dad before he could say a word, “I’ll tell him not to call here again.”

  On the way home that night with Dad, I said, “Is Marilyn going to work for you after she’s married?”

  “She says she is. I’d hate to lose her. Marilyn knows music from A to Z—folk, classical, rock, jazz. And the customers love her,” Dad said.

  I sighed. “So do I. So did Lester.” I stared out the window awhile, then said, “Do you think he’ll turn out to be a lonely old bachelor because he can’t commit?”

  I couldn’t tell if Dad was choking or laughing. “A lonely old bachelor? Lester? Al,
he’s only twenty-three. If he doesn’t ‘commit’ for the next ten years, it’ll be all right with me!”

  I think Sylvia likes having the house to herself on Saturdays. With Dad and me gone all day, she spreads her coursework out over the dining-room table and uses the time to grade papers and prepare tests and stuff.

  But by the time we’re home, she has the table in the kitchen set and dinner in the oven. This night it was salmon with dill sauce and rice with slivers of almonds in it. There was even a loaf of homemade bread.

  I told her about Marilyn getting married in a meadow, just as I had predicted. “It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s barefoot too,” I said.

  Sylvia laughed. “It wouldn’t surprise me if every bride wished she were barefoot by the time she gets to the reception. Those satin heels really do a number on your feet.”

  We dug into the salmon then, and the table talk turned mundane. I used to fantasize that when Dad and Sylvia were married, we would have exciting, stimulating conversations at the dinner table, about travel in Rome and Shakespeare’s sonnets. But now they were talking “house.”

  “The more I think about it,” said Dad, “I wonder if we shouldn’t put off the renovation till next year. Replace the furnace and air conditioner first. Get this part of the house in shape before we do an addition.”

  Sylvia toyed with her rice. “I hate to put it off, but I think you’re right. And we might want to consider double-pane windows while we’re at it. That would give us a little more time to go over the design and make sure we’ve got all the things we want in a master bedroom.”

  I yawned. With Valentine’s Day coming up, I’d have thought they’d be discussing a trip to Paris or something, not double-pane windows. But, like the saying goes, whatever turns you on….

  You know what’s weird? Going to school for the first time after you’ve kissed a guy and facing him again in daylight.

  I mean, kissing in the dark has its advantages—you can’t really see each other’s expressions. In the cold, in the wind, and snuggled up against his jacket, almost anything you’d say might sound romantic. How would I feel when I met up with him in the hall, surrounded by metal lockers and kids laughing and milling around? It wouldn’t seem very romantic then. Would Friday night seem silly now? Phony?

  I hung up my jacket and got out my science book. I’d just started down the hall when I felt an arm around my waist.

  “How you doing?” Sam said, his mouth next to my ear. I startled, then smiled.

  “Oh! Hi,” I said, trying desperately to remember if I’d brushed my teeth after breakfast or if this had been one of those mornings I’d made a dash for the bus stop. I hate it when I find bread stuck in my braces. I ran my tongue along my top teeth.

  “I wanted to catch you this morning before anyone else did,” Sam said, moving along the hallway beside me. “I’d like to take you to the Jack of Hearts.”

  Wow! I thought. There are four major dances at our school: the Homecoming Dance in October, casual, at our school; the Snow Ball in early December, formal; the Jack of Hearts dance around Valentine’s Day, semi-formal; and the Senior Prom.

  Back in junior high we had an eighth-grade semi-formal, and Sam had asked me first. But I’d told him I was “sort of going with Patrick Long,” which I was, except he hadn’t asked me to the dance yet. When Patrick found out I was upset he hadn’t asked me—just assumed we’d be going—he’d got down on one knee on the bus and asked me to go, and everyone laughed. That made it all right. But now it was three weeks before Valentine’s Day, and if Patrick was still interested in me, which I thought maybe he was, the way we had danced at Dad and Sylvia’s wedding, he hadn’t asked me.

  “Sure,” I said to Sam. “I’d love to go.”

  “Oh… my… God!” Elizabeth said in the cafeteria when I told the other girls. We were all sitting at one table, and the guys were sitting at the one next to ours, discussing the Super Bowl. All but Patrick and Sam, who had a different lunch period this semester.

  The topic of conversation at our table was the Jack of Hearts.

  “Hey!” said Pamela when she heard the news. “That was fast!”

  “He doesn’t waste any time, that boy,” said Gwen. She and her friend Yolanda had asked two boys from their church. Pamela was going to the dance with Brian, Penny was going with Mark Stedmeister, Karen hadn’t been asked yet, and Jill, of course, was going with Justin.

  If anybody fits that newspaper article’s profile about girls and sex, it’s Jill, because she’s always talking about it. Sex, that is. I don’t see her as exactly desperate, though. She just wants us all to know that she and Justin are hot and heavy.

  It begins to get to me after a while. I get the feeling she wants us to ask her about it just so she can brag. Like, we’ll be talking about something entirely different. Someone might say, “He’s the top man on the team,” and Jill will smile and say, “Well, sometimes the woman’s on top.” Stupid stuff like that, like she’s trying to turn everything around to her and sex.

  “I wish I could get Ross to come down for the dance,” said Elizabeth wistfully.

  “Did you ask him? Maybe he will,” I said.

  “He doesn’t have his license yet. His brother would have to drive him all the way from Philadelphia, and then where would they stay? I mean, it turns into a really big deal.”

  “Maybe they could stay at Lester’s apartment,” I suggested.

  “Really?” Elizabeth looked thoughtful. “I don’t know, but I’ll ask Ross and see what he says.”

  “Who do you suppose Patrick is taking?” asked Pamela.

  “Who knows?” I said. And added, “Who cares?” except I wasn’t sure I meant it. Patrick was busy, I knew that. Too busy to bother with school dances, probably. Anyone who signs up for an accelerated program—getting through high school in three years instead of four—has got to use every spare minute he has. But even if he was interested in me again, would I want to take second place to everything else in his life?

  We talked then about who had a license and whose parents were available to drive. The Jack of Hearts wasn’t the kind of dance you came to in a limo. Guys wore suits or blazers, and girls wore heels and slinky dresses. It took place in our gym, not some hotel.

  We set about discussing a date for Karen, and by the time I went to phys ed afterward, we had it all arranged. Later, after I’d showered and went to the mirrors to fix my hair, Jill and Karen and one of the juniors saw me coming. Watching my eyes in the mirror, Jill started to sing and the other girls laughingly joined in. It was a parody of an old song with my name in it, “Alice Blue Gown.”

  In fact, Jill wouldn’t know this, but it was the song Uncle Milt used to sing to me when I was little. Aunt Sally took care of us for a while after Mom died, and after I’d had my bath at night and had put on my nightgown, I’d crawl up on Uncle Milt’s lap and he’d read me a story. And then he’d sing:

  “In my sweet little Alice blue gown,

  When I first wandered down into town,

  I was both proud and shy, as I felt every eye,

  But in every shop window I’d primp passing by;

  Then in manner of fashion I’d frown,

  As the world seemed to smile all around,

  Till it wilted I wore it, I’ll always adore it,

  My sweet little Alice blue gown.”

  I’d always loved that song. I liked the way Uncle Milt sang it to me. But now Jill and Karen and the other girl were belting out a risque version they must have learned after lights-out at camp somewhere:

  “In my sweet little nightie of blue,

  On the night that I first slept with you,

  I was both shy and scared, as the bed was prepared,

  For I knew what my mother had told me was true.

  It is now several months since that night,

  And my nightie has grown very tight.

  You thrilled me, you chilled me, you gosh-darn near killed me,

  In my sweet li
ttle nightie of blue.”

  Pamela, at the opposite row of mirrors, laughed and so did I as I squeezed in between her and Elizabeth, but I could feel my cheeks burning. I hate that my cheeks give me away. It wasn’t the song that was embarrassing but the fact that I felt Jill had sung it just for me, because of my name. Because she always treats me as such an innocent.

  As we were leaving the locker room Elizabeth said to me, “It’s stuff like that that makes virgins scared.”

  “Huh?” I said.

  “That line, ‘You gosh-darn near killed me.’”

  “Rhymes with ‘chilled,’” I told her.

  “It’s another way of saying she almost died of pleasure,” said Pamela. “Thrilled, chilled, had her socks knocked off…”

  “Not necessarily,” said a voice behind us, and it was the third girl who’d been singing with Karen and Jill. “Just between you and me, I don’t know a single girl who enjoyed her first time.” Then she gave us a bemused smile and walked on.

  It seemed to me then that there was a whole lot more sex going on than I knew about, or maybe people just lie, I don’t know. Maybe that newspaper article was true! But why is it, I wondered, that no matter what I do, I sort of feel like whatever the mainstream is doing, I’m not with it. That a party’s going on and I’m not invited. That everyone else has this wonderful, exotic, erotic life…

  It would be nice to surprise everybody and do something wild for a change, I thought, but I didn’t know exactly what that would be.

  4

  Plans

  Our school puts on a major production each spring. One year it’s the senior play, the next year it’s either an operetta or a musical. If it’s a play, only the seniors get parts. But if it’s a musical where a large cast is required and they all have to sing, anyone can try out.

  Because it was Fiddler on the Roof last year, this year it would be a play. And since Pamela wasn’t eligible to be in it, so couldn’t be disappointed if she didn’t get a part, I decided it was the perfect time to get her back in the Drama Club and working backstage with me. I practically dragged her to our first meeting, the first week of February.