Gabrielle's Bully (Young Adult Romance) (7 page)

I went to meet Barbara in the cafeteria, trailing clouds of gloom.

* * *

I gave Barbara the word over tuna sandwiches and “garden salad.” I love the way they describe the stuff on the school menu they print in the newspaper. The descriptions rarely match the reality. The garden salad was two pieces of limp brown lettuce with half a tomato and a carrot curl.

“Stacey Trumbull, huh?” Barbara said, rolling the waxed paper from her sandwich into a ball. It was clear that she did not consider this good news.

“Yeah. And her hair was in full bloom.”

She sipped orange drink through a straw. “Maybe he hates blondes.”

I threw her a dirty look. “I wouldn’t count on it, Barb.”

“Maybe she’ll break a leg in her next dive.”

I kicked her under the table.

“Ow. Maybe she’ll go bald.”

We both broke up at that, cackling madly.

“Come on,” Barbara said, pulling out her chair and standing. “Cheer up. You’re the one he’s asking out, he likes you. Forget Stacey. She’s a paper doll under twenty pounds of hair.”

I nodded. I thought so, too.

But when lunch was over and I was heading to the second floor for my English class, the image of Heath and Stacey in the midst of a chemical reaction returned.

It nagged me for the rest of the day.

* * *

That night, I started working on my mother about going to Middlebury with Heath. Even though I knew she would not be the problem, it was wiser to go through her first. My father said no to everything immediately without even considering it.

I was helping my mother to put away the dishes after dinner when I said, as casually as possible, “Heath asked me to go to the movies Saturday night.”

“Oh?” Mild interest.

“Uh-huh. I thought we’d take the drive to Middlebury, it’s so nice this time of year.” That was an insane remark. It was winter, the trees were bare, and the only scenery was what we might encounter as we skidded on a patch of ice and dropped into a ditch.

But all she’d heard was “Middlebury.” That got her attention, as I had known it would. “I don’t know, Gaby,” she said warningly. “Your father is going to take a dim view of that, it’s fifty miles each way.”

I was of course prepared for that argument. “Come on, Mom. It’s not that far, you’re acting like I’m joining a wagon train heading for the Oklahoma Territory. You go back and forth to Middlebury all the time.”

“I am not a sixteen-year-old girl out on my second date with a boy I hardly know.”

I opened my mouth to protest, and she held up her hand.

“Don’t waste the speech on me, Gaby, save it for your father.” She saw my stricken face, and relented a little. “I don’t mean to say anything against Heath, dear, he seems fine to me, but couldn’t you just go to the Palace downtown? There’d be no problem then.”

“It wouldn’t be the same. The theater in Middlebury has an oldies show.”

She sighed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. You and those old movies. Sometimes I think you spend too much time in the past. Old movies, historical novels, dusty photograph albums in the attic. It’s an escape, Gaby.”

That reminded me of something. “Why didn’t you tell me who Dana Andrews was?” I asked her. “When I told Barbara that you said Heath’s father looked like Dana Andrews, she said that he played the detective in
Laura
. I know that guy, I just didn’t know his name.”

My mother stared at me. “Forgive me. I didn’t realize there was a magic phrase involved.” She put the last cup on the lower shelf of the cabinet and shut the door. “And don’t change the subject. You’d better talk to your father about this soon, Gaby. Don’t let it go until the last minute and then raise the roof when he says no.”

“Will you put in a good word?”

“I’ll think about it.”

I let it go at that. But I wasn’t happy. When my mother thought about anything, the conclusion she usually came to was that I was wrong and she and my father were right.

My mother pulled open the silver drawer and started firing forks and spoons into their places. She did it so fast it was almost like a machine was doing it on an assembly line.

“By the way,” she said, “who is this woman Lois who was with Heath’s father when you went to the country club?”

I could have kicked myself for bringing up Heath’s father. “I told you that Heath’s mother is dead,” I said. “Lois is someone his father is dating.” This was true enough, but not all of it. If my mother ever got a look at Lois, her opinion of Heath might change. I didn’t care if Heath’s father kept a harem in his basement, but I knew that the obviously mature Mr. Lindsay escorting blonde bombshell Lois would not be a hit with the folks. It wasn’t fair for them to judge Heath by his father’s taste in female companions, but there it was.

Lois would have to stay in the closet for a while. Hopefully they wouldn’t have occasion to see her until Heath and I were married and had at least three kids. By then, she would have to look older.

I got down on my knees to stow the Dutch oven in the cupboard under the stove, wishing that my father might have a change of attitude before Saturday night.

* * *

I waited until everyone had settled down after dinner, and then went upstairs to call Barbara. I related my most recent conversation with my mother.

“I don’t know why you insist on telling them everything,” said Barbara, whose most cherished guiding principle was to tell her parents as little as possible. “You could have just said you were going to the movies, and they wouldn’t have known the difference.”

“Barbara, don’t give me that. You know how my life goes. Remember the time in seventh grade when I forgot to get a permission slip from my mother for the field trip to the planetarium? I forged one instead, and then fell down the steps of the bus and split my lip. I wound up in the nurse’s office filling out an accident report, while the nurse waved the phony note under my mother’s nose, congratulating herself on her efficiency in absolving the school from responsibility. That one made me real popular at home. With my luck, Heath’s car would break down in Middlebury, or something else would happen to give me away, and then my father would ground me until I was collecting social security.”

“This is true. Well, it’s not the end of the world, is it, if they don’t let you go?”

“Oh, Barb, I don’t want Heath to think I’m some baby whose parents won’t let her do anything or go anywhere. Guys tend to lose interest under those circumstances pretty fast.”

She was silent. There was no argument for that. Guys who got a hassle looked elsewhere, and plenty of girls had more permissive parents.

“No bright ideas?” I prodded. If Barbara couldn’t think of anything, I was really in trouble.

“Hypnotize your father?” she suggested.

“Very funny, Barb. Thanks a lot.”

“It sounds reasonable to me. We could plant that suggestion that you should be allowed to do anything you want.”

“I was hoping for something of a more practical nature.”

“Where your father is concerned, I’m fresh out of ideas. I suppose we should be grateful that he lets you date at all.”

By the time I hung up a few minutes later, I was convinced that I would have to level with Heath. If he really liked me, he would understand. It was a chance I would have to take.

* * *

I waited for Heath after Mackley’s class on Wednesday.

He smiled slightly when he saw me lingering in the hall and said, “Looking for somebody?”

“Heath, I don’t think my father’s going to let me go to Middlebury with you.” It came out abruptly, as if I were issuing a challenge. That’s it, Gaby, don’t beat around the bush. Let him have it right between the eyes.

A crease appeared between his fine, sandy brows. “Why not?”

“What I said before,” I answered, too miserable to try to explain the unexplainable to him. “It’s too far to go alone with you and ... I don’t know, it’s just the way he is.”

Heath shifted his books on his hip. “Would you like me to talk to him?”

I stared at him. That had never occurred to me.

“What would you say?” I asked suspiciously. We were entering alien territory here. And yet. . . it might work. Heath handled adults better than anyone else my age I had ever seen. The teachers all seemed to like his mature, straightforward manner. Why should my father be any different?

“Oh, I’d tell him how careful I would be, and what a safe driver I am, that type of stuff.” He shrugged almost regretfully. “Parents always go for me, though I can’t say the same for their kids.”

I go for you, I wanted to say. Instead I asked, “Can you come to my house tonight, after dinner, say around seven?”

“Sure thing.” He touched the tip of my nose. “Stop frowning, Gaby, your face will freeze that way.”

I grinned, and so did he.

I wondered if we’d still be smiling after he met my father.

* * *

When I announced at dinner that Heath would be arriving shortly to talk to my father, he glanced at my mother, startled.

“It’s not to ask for my hand in marriage, Daddy,” I said dryly. “He just wants to get your permission to take me to Middlebury this weekend.”

Storm clouds gathered. “I wouldn’t expect too much in that direction, young lady,” he said crisply.

The rest of the meal was conducted in strained silence. My father wore the expression of a determined man. My mother sent me a look which said, Be patient, I’ll talk to him later. And Craig seized the opportunity to toss his broccoli down the disposal before my mother could remind him to eat it. He sneaked out of the kitchen looking like a chicken thief emerging from the henhouse.

I was mashing raspberry gelatin cubes when the doorbell rang. I ran to the hall to let Heath in, narrowly avoiding colliding with Craig, who was observing the scene with great interest. Life for him would be pretty dull without me around to provide entertainment.

When I saw Heath standing on the steps I wanted to fling my arms around his neck. I was having that reaction a lot lately. I clasped my hands behind my back to avoid touching him, while he unbuttoned his navy pea coat. Underneath he was wearing a pearl gray sweater that made his eyes look gray, too, the color of rainwater on a windowpane. His eyes changed with what he wore, and had specks of gold in them around the pupil, like a dash of fairy dust. I blinked and looked down, taking his coat. I had to stop mooning over him. Why couldn’t I be cool, distant, learn to lighten up a little? I folded his jacket industriously and put it on the back of a chair.

I glanced at the rest of his outfit. He had resurrected a pair of his original tailored pants, and the old oxfords. His hair, which was just long enough now to part, was slicked down with water.

“You look like a recruiting poster,” I whispered.

“That’s the idea,” he said. “The All-American boy has come to pay a call.”

I pointed to the manila folder he was carrying under his arm. “What’s that?”

“Ammunition,” he said mysteriously. He jerked his head in the direction of the den. “You coming with me?”

“I think I’d better help my mother with the dishes,” I said nervously. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear this.

“Coward,” Heath said. He put his hand over his heart. “Well, buckeroo, if I don’t make it back to the bunkhouse, tell the guys I died with my boots on.”

I made a face and shoved him toward the back of the house. “Good luck.”

I went into the kitchen and moped around, biting my nails. My mother went through her usual routine, putting things in the refrigerator, cleaning up. Everywhere I stood I seemed to be in her way. Finally she said to me, “Gaby, go into the living room and sit down. You’re doing more harm than good in here.”

I did as I was told. I could hear low voices from the den, but couldn’t make out the words. Craig appeared and asked me what was going on—he had been evicted for the duration of the discussion. When I didn’t answer he ambled out again, grumbling under his breath, and made his way to the kitchen, where I heard him asking for ice cream. I can’t understand why he’s so skinny. Anybody who eats what he does should weigh at least two hundred pounds.

It wasn’t long before Heath appeared, looking very pleased with himself. “Middlebury, here we come,” he said.

I jumped up, unbelieving. “What did you say to him?”

Heath lifted one shoulder negligently, as if it were a matter of no consequence. “I merely showed him a few documents in my possession,” he said, like a spy in a cold war movie. He was enjoying himself.

“Let me see,” I demanded.

From the folder, he withdrew his driver’s license and the registration for his car (a VW bug), several papers indicating paid up insurance, and two other items I couldn’t identify.

“This,” he said, indicating the first, “is my report card from Wilbraham showing the ‘A’ I got in Driver’s Education. And this,” he added, waving the second in the air as if it were a winning lottery ticket, “is my Junior Automobile Club Safe Driver of the Year Award.”

I laughed so hard I fell against him, gasping for air. He joined in, hugging me close. It was the first time I’d ever heard Heath laugh.