.
"Oh, Robert," I said the moment we walked
into the school gymnasium and saw how wonderfully the dance committee had decorated, "I wish Cary had come. He wouldn't be down on the dance if he saw what they've done to this place. It looks like a real ballroom!"
"I don't think that's really what kept him from coming, Laura," Robert said softly. He smiled sympathetically, his eyes soft and gentle. I nodded, knowing he was right.
There was a makeshift stage directly in front of us for the four-piece band. They were already playing, and the floor was crowded with dancers. Above us, ribbons of crepe paper crisscrossed around mounds of multicolored balloons with long tails of tinsel. At the far right, there were long tables with red, green, and blue paper tablecloths set up for the food, and to the left and down the sides of the gymnasium, there were tables with the same color paper tablecloths and chairs. A large poster on the left wall read:
WELCOME TO THE ANNUAL SPRING FESTIVAL. Everyone was dressed up, some of the girls in dresses so formal and expensive-looking, I
was sure Mommy would feel what she had made for me was inadequate, even though I thought my dress was just perfect. However, I was happy now that I had agreed to wear Mommy's necklace. Many of the girls wore earrings, necklaces, bracelets, and rings on most of their fingers. It looked like a contest to see who could be the most overdressed.
"Well," Robert said after we put my shawl on a chair and set my purse aside, "why don't we join the fun?"
He led me onto the dance floor and we began dancing. As we moved across the crowded floor, I felt as if everyone's eyes were on us. When I let my gaze shift from Robert's, I saw some of the girls in my class gathered in a small pack, watching us with twisted smiles on their faces. I felt a tightness in my stomach.
The music was loud and fast. I hoped I didn't look foolish, but Robert seemed pleased. He was a very good dancer and I started to imitate some of his movements with my arms and hips. As long as I concentrated on him, fixed my eyes on his, I felt secure and comfortable. He had such an air of confidence about him. There was enough for me to share.
When there was a pause between songs, we stopped, embraced each other, and laughed. He turned me toward the punch bowl, waving to some of the boys he knew and they waved back, giving Robert the thumbs-up sign to indicate they approved.
"We're going to have fun tonight," he promised, his eyes full of excitement. "We're going to dance until our feet beg for mercy."
"Did I do all right out there?" I asked. "Are you kidding? If they have a dance contest, we're entering," he said.
"Robert Royce, we are not." Just the thought of such a thing took my breath away.
We drank some punch and ate some chips with cheese dip. Marsha Winslow and the class president, Adam Jackson, joined us. Marsha was in charge of the party. She was a tall, attractive girl who spoke with a slightly nasal tone, as if she were looking down her nose at the rest of the world. She carried a clipboard.
"Excuse me," she said, "but we don't have any record of your paying for your tickets."
"What? Of course you do. I gave the money to Betty Hargate," Robert said.
"Betty has you down, but not Laura," she replied.
"That's ridiculous."
"Are you calling Marsha ridiculous?" Adam asked. "You know, she doesn't get paid for doing all this work that makes it possible for everyone else to enjoy themselves. She's just doing her job."
"I'm not calling her ridiculous. I'm just saying . . . where is Betty? There she is." Robert pointed. "Let's call her over," he suggested.
"Good idea," Adam said, and he waved at Betty, who was standing with Lorraine Rudolph. The two hurried over.
"What's up?" Betty demanded impatiently, her hand on her hip. It was as if she had been asked to wallow with the undesirables.
"Robert Royce claims," Marsha said, rolling her eyes, "that he paid for Laura, too, but that's not indicated on the sheet I have."
"I gave you the money in the cafeteria last Tuesday," Robert insisted. "Remember?"
"Whatever is written on the paper is what I received," Betty said in a singsong, smug voice. "I don't have to steal party ticket money."
"I didn't say you stole it," Robert cried, growing increasingly frustrated.
"I only have one ticket marked of after your name," Marsha repeated. "That means you paid for only one ticket."
"I can't believe this," Robert said.
"Are you sure you just didn't think you paid for Laura? Maybe you weren't sure she was going with you last Tuesday," Lorraine quipped, a tight smile on her lips. She shifted her eyes to Adam and back to Robert.