Velva Jean Learns to Drive by Jennifer Niven Page B

Clay, who was already outside with the Gordon boys.
    Mrs. Dennis called to me. “Velva Jean? Do you mind staying after?”
    I watched the others leave, running out into the sunshine, screaming and wrestling, those that could afford it heading over to Deal’s for candy or an ice cream. I searched for my brother and saw him go off with the Gordons without even looking to see where I was.
    Mrs. Dennis asked me to sit down at my desk, and then she sat down next to me. “Velva Jean,” she said, “why didn’t you hand in your paper?”
    “I wasn’t sure what to write,” I said.
    She tilted her head to one side. In a few moments, she nodded. “I see.” I was now used to her voice, which had a slight northeastern twang to it, but when she’d first arrived we all thought she sounded very strange. Her dresses were always neat and nicely starched and she had a smart-looking nose, long and straight with a bump in the middle.
    I glanced at the open doorway and beyond to the sunshine and the crowd of my classmates gathered at Deal’s. I saw Johnny Clay come back out from the store, holding an orange Nehi and wondered where on earth he’d got the money to pay for it or if Mr. Deal had given it to him for free.
    “I’ll let you go in just a minute,” Mrs. Dennis said. She stood up and walked to her desk and then came back. She set a blank piece of paper down in front of me and tapped it with her fingers. Her nails were painted a soft pink. “I’d like you to write something down for your life dreams.”
    I stared at the paper. “What if I don’t know what I want to do?”
    “I’m sure there must be something you’ve thought about.” Her voice was bright and she was smiling, but she was looking at me the way Granny did when she knew I was lying.
    “What if I write something down and then I change my mind later and decide on a different dream?”
    “If you change your mind later, there’s no harm done. It’s never too late to change your mind.”
    She left me alone then and returned to her desk. She sat down behind it and picked up a book and began to read. I pulled out my pencil and held it over the paper, rolling it round and round between my thumb and fingers. I thought about writing something simple and acceptable like “to one day get married and have ten babies,” or “to be a missionary and help save the heathens.” But I didn’t want to write those things when they weren’t true.
    Although I still wasn’t sure what my mama had meant about living “out there,” I was beginning to think it had something to do with not making my life’s dream buying the new bait line down at Deal’s. Ever since Mama died, I’d felt the need to do something outside myself, so that people would know I had been in the world and so that they wouldn’t forget me. Mama had made an impression. Everyone still talked about how good and how special she was. I wanted people to remember me like that. But my daddy had gone away without anyone paying attention. We never mentioned his name and we never discussed him. I figured he was as good as dead, and now he was forgotten. I didn’t want that to happen to me.
    “I plan to be a singer at the Grand Ole Opry,” I wrote. “And play Hawaiian steel guitar as good as Maybelle Carter. And wear a costume of satin and rhinestones and high-heeled boots. I plan to go to Nashville just as soon as I save up enough money.”
    I sat back and reread it and considered folding it up and slipping it into the pocket of my dress, just as I had done with the first one. I read it again, and then I stood up and walked to the front of the room and handed it to Mrs. Dennis. I didn’t even look at her, just turned around fast and walked out of school as quick as I could. By the time I got out, Johnny Clay and the others had already gone.

    I avoided being alone with Mrs. Dennis in the following weeks, running out of school just as soon as she dismissed us, not even waiting for Johnny Clay. One