A Dream for Addie by Gail Rock Page A

older than my mother, and I closed my ears to Carla Mae’s remarks. Though my mother had died a few months after I was born and I had never really known her, my grandmother had told me many times about the wonderful marriage my parents had. I had been thinking of the difference in their ages a lot lately when I thought of Mr. Davenport.
    I longed to be grown up. Thirteen was such an awful age—so clumsy. I knew I was no longer a child, but at thirteen people didn’t treat me like a grown-up either. Some days I felt like the kid I had always been, playing outdoors in jeans and sweatshirt, flinging myself into every game, my braids flying. Other days I longed to be sophisticated, with beautiful clothes and hair, and sit in elegant rooms and have serious conversations.
    I never seemed to be able to look right. I hated my glasses but had to wear them all the time. I knew I was too old for pigtails but didn’t quite know how else to do my hair. I suddenly felt my clothes were wrong, and that my arms and legs were too long for the rest of my skinny body. I hated being thirteen.
    I wanted to be seventeen or eighteen so I could meet Mr. Davenport on his own level and call him “Douglas” and go to Omaha and have dinner with him in the Cottonwood Room at the Blackstone Hotel and discuss the paintings in the Joslyn Art Museum. Anything but be caught at the terrible in-between age of thirteen. Even fourteen would have been better. After all, Juliet had been fourteen, and Romeo took her seriously.
    Just then I saw Billy Wild coming toward us, and Tanya and Carla Mae giggled.
    â€œOh, here he comes, the Number Two in your life, Billy Wild!” said Carla Mae when she saw him.
    â€œLet’s go,” said Tanya. “The two lovebirds probably want to be alone.”
    â€œShut up, you guys!” I said.
    As he came up to my desk, Tanya said, “Hi, Billy,” in a high, silly voice. Then she and Carla Mae giggled and headed for the door.
    Billy waited until they left.
    â€œGoing up to Cole’s for a coke?” he asked.
    â€œMaybe later,” I said. “I have some things to do here first.”
    â€œI’ll wait for you,” he said.
    â€œDon’t bother,” I said. “It might take me a while.”
    â€œThat’s OK,” he said. “There’s something I wanna ask you …”
    â€œListen,” I interrupted, impatient that he wasn’t getting the hint. “I have to talk to Mr. Davenport, and I’d like some privacy. So why don’t you just go ahead without me?”
    â€œWhat’s so private between you and Davenport?” he asked, annoyed.
    â€œNone of your business!” I said.
    â€œWell, how long is it going to take?” he asked.
    â€œIt’s hard to say,” I said, sounding mysterious. “So why don’t you just run along?”
    That made him angry.
    â€œWell, why don’t you stop making goo-goo eyes at Mr. Davenport?”
    â€œThat,” I said coolly, “is a disgusting remark.”
    â€œOoooo! Mr. Davenport,” he said mockingly. “You’re so cute!”
    â€œImmature!” I said.
    â€œYeah,” he said. “I know you like older men.…”
    â€œI know five-year-olds who are more sophisticated and grown-up than you are!”
    â€œWho wants to be an old man?” he said indignantly.
    â€œWell, you could at least act your age!” I said. “We’re in the seventh grade after all … that’s practically high school!”
    â€œOh, could I help you across the street, old lady!” He smirked and grabbed my elbow.
    â€œAdolescent ape!” I said, pulling my arm away. Angrily he turned and headed for the door.
    I picked up my books and walked up to Mr. Davenport’s desk to wait for him. I opened the art book to a painting I wanted to discuss with him, and as I was leafing through the book I heard someone writing on the blackboard