out grains of sand that kept blowing in my face. Mostly she stayed where I could see her, and she did a little dance while she sang. It was like the whole world was just her and me, or at least my head sticking out of the sand, and the top of Sand Mountain, and the big blue sky.
When Darla stopped singing, she came over and lay down next to me in the sand. “Dewey,” she said, “close your eyes.” I closed my eyes. She asked did I want her to kiss me? I opened my eyes and she was looking right at me and she was so close I could even smell her. She smelled like chocolate. “Well, do you?” she asked. I hadn’t ever kissed a girl before, and I thought about her with the colored boy in the cemetery and wondered if she kissed him, and I thought about Darwin and his Turn Out the Lights game and wondered why they were always tying people up and burying them in that family, and I got nervous, and she asked, “Do you?” one more time, and I just said, “Heck no.”
Darla stood straight up when I said that, which of course kicked a bunch of sand right in my face. Then she tore on out of there and didn’t say anything else: not good-bye, or more about kissing, or anything — just grabbed her sled and disappeared down the mountain.
It must have taken me a whole other half hour to finally dig myself loose, but at least she left me my cardboard so I could slide down, too. I should have known that was what would happen when I said the “Heck no,” I guess, but I hadn’t ever been around girls too much before, and never anybody like Darla.
IT TOOK ME A COUPLE OF DAYS to get Darla to talk to me again. On Monday when I saw her at school, she acted like Darwin did that one time and said stuff about me like I wasn’t even there. I really hated that. I said I was sorry I didn’t want her to kiss me up on Sand Mountain, and she just looked up at the sky and said, “Some boys are so conceited, they actually think some girls want to kiss them, when that’s just the biggest lie.” Then she walked away real fast like she was busy. It wasn’t fair that I was the one to apologize, of course, but saying sorry wasn’t too hard — I’d had so much practice that it sort of came natural.
On Tuesday night I made Tink watch that old movie
Heidi
with me on TV that had Shirley Temple in it, so I could try to talk to Darla about it since I knew she was so crazy about Shirley Temple and all, but that didn’t work, either. When I saw her the next day, she just looked up at the sky that time, too, and said, “I think I see Superman.” It was the dumbest trick in the world but I fell for it, and when I looked up, she ran away and jumped on her bike.
My mom told me she read in the paper that Shirley Temple had gotten married and I tried to talk to Darla about that on Thursday, but she just said everybody already knew that old news, for goodness sake. I could tell I was making progress, though, because at least she said it
to
me and not just sort of
about
me.
Finally on Friday she decided we could be friends again, I guess, because she showed up at my house after school — or rather she sat on her bike across the street from our house until I finally happened to go outside and see her. She said why didn’t we go back to that old bridge at Bowlegs Creek, so we did and she showed me some of her tap steps, with our feet hanging over the edge so I could do it along with her without getting my feet twisted up and falling down and hurting myself. We were kind of in a rhythm — kick, tap, step, slide, kick, tap, step, slide, tappa-tappa-tappa-tappa — and since I wasn’t sure what else to talk about, I told her that my dad planned to knock down the Skeleton Hotel as part of his campaign promises.
Darla pointed her toes way out and rolled her feet down like they were bananas, which she had told me was what ballerinas did. She said, “You know it’s haunted, don’t you?”
I said sure I did. Everybody knew it was haunted from when
When Darla stopped singing, she came over and lay down next to me in the sand. “Dewey,” she said, “close your eyes.” I closed my eyes. She asked did I want her to kiss me? I opened my eyes and she was looking right at me and she was so close I could even smell her. She smelled like chocolate. “Well, do you?” she asked. I hadn’t ever kissed a girl before, and I thought about her with the colored boy in the cemetery and wondered if she kissed him, and I thought about Darwin and his Turn Out the Lights game and wondered why they were always tying people up and burying them in that family, and I got nervous, and she asked, “Do you?” one more time, and I just said, “Heck no.”
Darla stood straight up when I said that, which of course kicked a bunch of sand right in my face. Then she tore on out of there and didn’t say anything else: not good-bye, or more about kissing, or anything — just grabbed her sled and disappeared down the mountain.
It must have taken me a whole other half hour to finally dig myself loose, but at least she left me my cardboard so I could slide down, too. I should have known that was what would happen when I said the “Heck no,” I guess, but I hadn’t ever been around girls too much before, and never anybody like Darla.
IT TOOK ME A COUPLE OF DAYS to get Darla to talk to me again. On Monday when I saw her at school, she acted like Darwin did that one time and said stuff about me like I wasn’t even there. I really hated that. I said I was sorry I didn’t want her to kiss me up on Sand Mountain, and she just looked up at the sky and said, “Some boys are so conceited, they actually think some girls want to kiss them, when that’s just the biggest lie.” Then she walked away real fast like she was busy. It wasn’t fair that I was the one to apologize, of course, but saying sorry wasn’t too hard — I’d had so much practice that it sort of came natural.
On Tuesday night I made Tink watch that old movie
Heidi
with me on TV that had Shirley Temple in it, so I could try to talk to Darla about it since I knew she was so crazy about Shirley Temple and all, but that didn’t work, either. When I saw her the next day, she just looked up at the sky that time, too, and said, “I think I see Superman.” It was the dumbest trick in the world but I fell for it, and when I looked up, she ran away and jumped on her bike.
My mom told me she read in the paper that Shirley Temple had gotten married and I tried to talk to Darla about that on Thursday, but she just said everybody already knew that old news, for goodness sake. I could tell I was making progress, though, because at least she said it
to
me and not just sort of
about
me.
Finally on Friday she decided we could be friends again, I guess, because she showed up at my house after school — or rather she sat on her bike across the street from our house until I finally happened to go outside and see her. She said why didn’t we go back to that old bridge at Bowlegs Creek, so we did and she showed me some of her tap steps, with our feet hanging over the edge so I could do it along with her without getting my feet twisted up and falling down and hurting myself. We were kind of in a rhythm — kick, tap, step, slide, kick, tap, step, slide, tappa-tappa-tappa-tappa — and since I wasn’t sure what else to talk about, I told her that my dad planned to knock down the Skeleton Hotel as part of his campaign promises.
Darla pointed her toes way out and rolled her feet down like they were bananas, which she had told me was what ballerinas did. She said, “You know it’s haunted, don’t you?”
I said sure I did. Everybody knew it was haunted from when
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