Front Lines (Front Lines 1)

“That’s a great dress,” Strand says. He sounds as if he’s spent quite some time preparing the compliment.

“Thank you, Strand.”

“I . . .”

“Yes?”

“It’s starting,” he says with obvious relief.

The house lights go down, and the audience waits for the newsreel. First, though, comes the sales pitch for war bonds, followed by Daffy Duck taking on Adolf Hitler.

Rio wonders whether—or maybe when—Strand will try to take her hand. Assuming he’s not actually disgusted by her and regretting this date. And she wonders how many sets of prying eyes will mark the event. Then again, what if he never does take her hand? Those same ever-observant eyes will note that fact as well. The news bulletin around the school will be “Strand and Rio!” Or, alternately, whispered reports, accompanied by head-shaking, that Strand is not really interested in Rio. Poor Rio.

They’ll say it’s a pity date because of Rachel.

“How strange,” Rio whispers, not really intending to be overheard.

“What’s strange?”

“Oh, nothing. Just . . . Just that life goes on, doesn’t it? Even with a war on.”

As if reading her mind, Strand nods in the direction of Jasmine Burling, a high school junior who could have a great future in journalism, if her love of the very latest gossip is any indicator. Jasmine is three rows down and off to the right, whispering to her irritating milquetoast boyfriend while quite clearly looking at Rio and her definitely-not-boyfriend Strand. Jasmine’s boyfriend turns and looks, his face such a mask of boredom and despair that Rio laughs.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” Rio says, then amends, “People. Sometimes people are funny.”

The newsreel starts in with the usual dramatic music followed by a stentorian voice narrating the footage. In this case it shows marines on some blasted, godforsaken island fighting the Japanese. The narrator uses terms like “hard-fought,” “slogging,” “slug match,” and “desperate.”

“That was depressing,” Strand whispers.

“It said we were on the march,” Rio counters. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

The newsreel moves on to a story about a movie star, then a story about a very fast horse, concluding with a silly piece about two babies switched at the hospital even though one is white and one colored.

Rio looks carefully at the little black baby. She’s never seen a black person in Gedwell Falls, only in movies—maids or butlers or comical tap dancers. It looks almost exactly like the white baby except for being darker.

A second cartoon starts and lightens the mood enough that Strand feels free to dip into Rio’s popcorn, and she retaliates by stealing a chocolate-covered almond from him.

She risks a glance at him. He is quite handsome in profile. He has a good, strong chin, a straight nose, and the sort of lips Jenou describes as “kissable,” which for Jenou covers a lot of ground.

They settle in finally for the main feature, announced with a blare of trumpets and pounding drums. It’s a love story with Tyrone Power and Joan Fontaine, a love story but a war story as well. It’s hard to get away from the war.

No wonder I feel swept up.

Just around the part where Tyrone regains his sight, Strand takes Rio’s hand.

He’s holding my hand!

He looks at her as if to ask permission, and Rio, with her heart pounding so hard she is surprised anyone can hear the last scene of the movie, smiles queasily and squeezes his strong fingers and wonders whether he can feel her callouses and whether he is shocked and whether his heart is pounding too.

He walks her home after the movie. They take their time, not wanting the night to end. Rio learns that Strand enjoys taking photographs. He learns that she likes riding horses. He has his pilot’s license and wants to grow up to fly, maybe for the post office carrying air mail, after the war. She admits she hasn’t really thought much about her future.

No vows are spoken. No promises are made. He does not kiss her, but had he tried she’d have let him. And that fact, too, joins so many other facts in making her wonder whether something very profound has changed in the world around her.

They hold hands as they walk and talk and Rio’s feet never touch the ground.

“So?” her mother asks as Rio literally twirls in through the front door. “I suppose you had a good time?”