for strength at least. But I came with a jerk, and that makes me something of a jerk as well. The minute I walk over and join him, I will be bracketed with him.
But the burden of standing alone was pressing in on her. Three hundred couples danced beneath her decorations, girls’ heads lying on boys’ shoulders. When the music stopped, conversation and laughter sparkled.
But not for Kip.
Swallowing, she followed the scarlet path around her fountain and her wooden swing and her rustic collections of apple barrels and pumpkin stacks. When she reached him, Roddy simply looked at her without speaking, making Kip feel more guilty than if she’d stuck a knife in between his ribs and watched him bleed.
Silently Roddy handed her a cup of punch and a tiny plate of food. The punch—something her mother often served; a ginger ale and lime sherbet mix—was not going over very well. The original sherbet was still floating around, looking like tired foam. The plate Roddy passed to her held one iced cookie (a donation from Veronica’s mother, who evidently thought the dance was your usual flung-together jeans-and-disc-jockey kind of thing), one tiny crust-less sandwich with an unidentifiable filling, one stuffed mushroom, hot on a toothpick, and one cheeseball, formerly hot.
The stuffed mushroom and cheeseball were from Gary’s father’s restaurant. Immediately she thought of Gary with Beth Rose. Amazing. Mechanically Kip said, “Thank you, Roddy.”
No answer.
He didn’t eat anything, either—just took the red toothpick out of his stuffed mushroom and pushed the bits of food around on his little paper plate. “Better not,” advised Kip. “Everything will fall on the floor.”
“Yeah,” said Roddy. “I’m the kind of guy that happens to.”
“You don’t have to be,” said Kip. “You could be a little tougher than that, Roddy. Why did you let Molly and Christopher talk to you like that, anyhow? Why did you just wimp away?”
She could not believe she had said that. She—Kip—who was always kind, always understanding, always sympathetic. I deserve a smack, she thought.
Roddy put down his plastic glass of soda and his sagging paper plate. He folded his arms and stared at her across them. “What did you want me to do?” he demanded. “Toss a hand grenade into their car? Cut Christopher’s phone line so he couldn’t call Molly? Hit Molly, maybe, so she can’t give me a hard time?”
Kip flushed. “Of course not,” she said uneasily. “I just—”
“I know, I know,” Roddy said, nodding and looking at the wall. “You pretend you don’t want violence, but you crave it. You think I should be defending my honor and all that. I don’t understand girls. You pretend you want somebody sensitive and understanding. That’s a lot of junk. What you really want is a stupid, drunk, college kid like Christopher Vann.”
“I don’t, either! I wouldn’t go out with Chris.”
“You don’t want to be out with me, either,” Roddy said.
He flung the words at her like a weapon, and Kip, wanting to be peaceful, wanting to make friends, flung them right back instead. “You called me an hour before the dance. Did you think I would be thrilled or something?”
Roddy froze. After a bit he said, “Stupid, wasn’t it?”
I am lower even than Molly, Kip thought. He knew Molly would be rotten to him. But he had every right to figure I would be nice.
Slowly Roddy moved away from her, giving her time, if she wanted it, to call him back, or to follow him and apologize. All her mother’s training in good manners passed before Kip’s eyes and all of it she chose not to bother with.
The thing is, Roddy, she thought after him, I don’t like you! This is my dance and I want to be here with someone I like!
Roddy’s slumped shoulders vanished in the press of dancers. Kip stood utterly alone, facing the cafeteria that she and she alone had transformed into a place of beauty with its aura of romance.
You win, world!
But the burden of standing alone was pressing in on her. Three hundred couples danced beneath her decorations, girls’ heads lying on boys’ shoulders. When the music stopped, conversation and laughter sparkled.
But not for Kip.
Swallowing, she followed the scarlet path around her fountain and her wooden swing and her rustic collections of apple barrels and pumpkin stacks. When she reached him, Roddy simply looked at her without speaking, making Kip feel more guilty than if she’d stuck a knife in between his ribs and watched him bleed.
Silently Roddy handed her a cup of punch and a tiny plate of food. The punch—something her mother often served; a ginger ale and lime sherbet mix—was not going over very well. The original sherbet was still floating around, looking like tired foam. The plate Roddy passed to her held one iced cookie (a donation from Veronica’s mother, who evidently thought the dance was your usual flung-together jeans-and-disc-jockey kind of thing), one tiny crust-less sandwich with an unidentifiable filling, one stuffed mushroom, hot on a toothpick, and one cheeseball, formerly hot.
The stuffed mushroom and cheeseball were from Gary’s father’s restaurant. Immediately she thought of Gary with Beth Rose. Amazing. Mechanically Kip said, “Thank you, Roddy.”
No answer.
He didn’t eat anything, either—just took the red toothpick out of his stuffed mushroom and pushed the bits of food around on his little paper plate. “Better not,” advised Kip. “Everything will fall on the floor.”
“Yeah,” said Roddy. “I’m the kind of guy that happens to.”
“You don’t have to be,” said Kip. “You could be a little tougher than that, Roddy. Why did you let Molly and Christopher talk to you like that, anyhow? Why did you just wimp away?”
She could not believe she had said that. She—Kip—who was always kind, always understanding, always sympathetic. I deserve a smack, she thought.
Roddy put down his plastic glass of soda and his sagging paper plate. He folded his arms and stared at her across them. “What did you want me to do?” he demanded. “Toss a hand grenade into their car? Cut Christopher’s phone line so he couldn’t call Molly? Hit Molly, maybe, so she can’t give me a hard time?”
Kip flushed. “Of course not,” she said uneasily. “I just—”
“I know, I know,” Roddy said, nodding and looking at the wall. “You pretend you don’t want violence, but you crave it. You think I should be defending my honor and all that. I don’t understand girls. You pretend you want somebody sensitive and understanding. That’s a lot of junk. What you really want is a stupid, drunk, college kid like Christopher Vann.”
“I don’t, either! I wouldn’t go out with Chris.”
“You don’t want to be out with me, either,” Roddy said.
He flung the words at her like a weapon, and Kip, wanting to be peaceful, wanting to make friends, flung them right back instead. “You called me an hour before the dance. Did you think I would be thrilled or something?”
Roddy froze. After a bit he said, “Stupid, wasn’t it?”
I am lower even than Molly, Kip thought. He knew Molly would be rotten to him. But he had every right to figure I would be nice.
Slowly Roddy moved away from her, giving her time, if she wanted it, to call him back, or to follow him and apologize. All her mother’s training in good manners passed before Kip’s eyes and all of it she chose not to bother with.
The thing is, Roddy, she thought after him, I don’t like you! This is my dance and I want to be here with someone I like!
Roddy’s slumped shoulders vanished in the press of dancers. Kip stood utterly alone, facing the cafeteria that she and she alone had transformed into a place of beauty with its aura of romance.
You win, world!
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