Never Love a Stranger (12 page)

conversation with the faculty adviser to the G.O. council. I knew that his permission had to be obtained before I could run for class office. Still playing dumb, I walked towards the door, pretending to be on my way out, but making sure I passed them and came into their line of vision.

“Hey, Frankie!” Marty cried, “where do you think you’re goin’? “Home,” I said smiling, “I promised my aunt I would——”

“You can’t go,” he interrupted, “You’re the big moment of the evening. The kids want to see you. Besides, you’re expected at the dance.”

“By who?” I asked.

“By the folks,” he said. “It would be a hell of a thing if you walked out on them now. There’s talk of running you for class president next month, and how would it look if you didn’t show up?”

I laughed inwardly. Just then Jerry came up.

“Hey, Jerry,” Marty said grabbing him by the arm, “Frankie’s going home.” “What for?” Jerry asked, turning to see me. “You sick or something?”

“No,” I replied, “I’m tired. What the hell! I ran around all evening.”

“Nuts to that!” Jerry said, “You’re going to the dance. You’re going to be the new class president.”

“Look here, guys,” I said to them, “how about telling me the score? About this business of being president—who started it?”

Marty and Jerry looked at each other. Marty spoke. “You see it’s like this: we thought that it would be a good idea. You are the best-known guy in the class. Everyone likes you and you’d be a cinch for the job.”

“What would I have to do?” I asked.

“Not much,” Jerry said. “You’d be on the student teachers advisory committee and would be a big help to the class. Besides, you get certain privileges too. You come to the dance, and later I’ll tell you more about it.”

“O.K.,” I said. “But first I’d better call home.”

I did and then went back into the gym. A six-piece band was playing off in the corner and a bunch of kids were dancing. There was a table set up and some kids were getting punch and soft drinks there. Marty came up to me. A girl was with him; I recognized her. She was a nice kid from my biology class. I didn’t remember her name though.

“You know each other,” Marty said to me. “She’s going to run for vice-president with you.” And he walked off and left us.

We looked at each other. She smiled. It was a very nice smile. It transformed her face into something alive and gay. “Don’t you want to dance, Frankie?” she asked.

“Oh,” I said awkwardly, “of course! But I’m not so good at it.”

“That’s all right,” she said. “I’ll help you.” She came into my arms. For a few moments I was stiff, and once I stepped on her foot. But she smiled and said: “Take it easy! Relax!”

I did. And it wasn’t too bad. At last the music stopped. “That wasn’t too difficult, was it?” She smiled.

“No.” I grinned. “But you’re too good for me.”

She laughed pleasantly. “You’ll catch on. All you need is a little practice.” “Would you like some punch?” I asked.

We walked over to the refreshment table. We said hello to many kids on the way over, but no one called her name and I didn’t find it out then. We danced most of the dances together. Several times I was stopped and congratulated on the game. The dance was over at eleven o’clock and we walked home together. She lived in an apartment house a few blocks from me, and I saw her to her door. We stopped and talked about the dance, and suddenly I realized I had had a very good time.

It was about a quarter past eleven. “I’ve got to go in now,” she said. “It’s getting late.” “Yes,” I said, “it’s getting late.”

“Good night, Frankie.” She smiled up at me.

“Good night,” I said. On an impulse I kissed her. She put her arms around my neck; I could smell the clean fresh perfume on her hair. I started to kiss her as I had kissed Julie, but suddenly something stopped me. Her mouth was soft and sweet and gentle— innocent-like. She didn’t press herself to me; her lips were not as fiercely violent as Julie’s. I relaxed. I put my arms around her back. I had instinctively tried to feel her breasts but had stopped before I got to them. The sweetness of her lips and the softness of her cheek were close to me. She drew her lips from mine and laid her head against my shoulder. I held her closely but loosely. The contact of our bodies was not a sexual one; it was a clean feeling, a young feeling, an “it’s-great-to-be-alive” feeling.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, Frankie,” she said, “but I don’t do this with every boy I meet.”

“I know,” I said. Her perfume was in my nostrils.

She stepped back. “Good night, Frankie.” She went into her apartment and closed the door.

I took a few steps down the hall. Then I realized I hadn’t found out her name. I went back and looked at the doorbell. “Lindell” it said.

Suddenly I knew her name. It was Janet Lindell. I walked down the hall whistling.

Chapter Four
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D
URING
Christmas week Jerry and Marty came up to my house to see me. Aunt Bertha had taken my cousins to the movies. We sat around in the parlour.

Jerry, as usual, was doing most of the talking. He was trying to convince me that running for class president was a good thing—not that I needed much convincing. “Look,” he said, “it can do a lot for you. You’ll be on the student-teachers’ committee and you’re given extra credit in civics class.”

“Sure!” Marty said. “And besides you’ll be a big guy with the crowd. And they’ll listen to you. You’re a natural leader.”

I liked that. “O.K.,” I said, “What do I have to do?”

“Not much,” Jerry spoke quickly. “We have your campaign all set. We’ll take care of the details. All you have to do is make a small speech at the introductory rally the Friday after we get back to school.”

“Oh, no!” I said. “I’m not going to get up and make a speech in front of all those people! Not me! I’m out!”

“Look,” Marty said, “it’s easy. Why, we even have your speech written. I have a copy here.” He took a sheet of paper from his pocket and gave it to me.

I read it. Halfway through I stopped. “What kind of crap are you guys giving me?” I asked them. “This is screwy. Give this to the other guy if you want me elected. It don’t make sense.”

“Neither does politics,” said Jerry, “and I ought to know! I heard my old man say so a dozen times. It ain’t what you do or say that counts. It’s how the people like you that gets you in. The best man in the world can’t get elected dog-catcher if he hasn’t got what you call personality. Marty and I will coach you in it. You’re the last speaker on the programme. We’ll fix it. The other guys will knock the crowd dead trying to make sense. Then all you have to do is get up, say your piece, and you’re in.”

“Yeah, he’s right,” said Marty.

“All right,” I said, “but if this doesn’t come off, you guys are going to have to answer a lot of questions.”

“Don’t worry,” they said almost together, “it’ll come off all right!”

Ten nights in a row I practised that speech. Jerry and Marty coached me until I was sick of it. They told me where to walk, how to hold my hands, what to wear. Two days before the rally they told me to forget about it until I would make the talk.

I couldn’t forget it. I thought about it all day during my classes. I lay awake at night thinking about it, and when I fell asleep I dreamed about it. At last the day came. Following their suggestion, I wore a bow tie and a sweater under my jacket.

I felt very self-conscious as I took my place on the platform with the other candidates. I thought the entire assembly was staring at me. Janet sat next to me. Every few moments she would smile at me and I would try to smile back. But I think I must have looked ghastly.

The principal made his speech. It was something about the pupils becoming good citizens and practising democracy, but I couldn’t pay too much attention to him I was so nervous. Then the first speaker got up.

He promised to give the first-term students the best representation the class ever had, and took about ten minutes doing it. When he finished, the cheer leaders got up and ordered a cheer for him. Then they sat down and the second candidate got up. He promised the same things as the first in about the same length of time. I could see the pupils were becoming fidgety and bored. When he had finished, the cheer leaders led a yell for him, and then it was my turn.

My heart was hammering, my throat felt all tight. I didn’t think I could speak. I half turned to Janet, she held up both hands to show me her fingers were crossed for luck. I turned and sauntered slowly to the centre of the platform. I looked out over the kids’ faces and they all seemed strangely blurred to me. I forced myself to speak.

“Mr. Principal, teachers, and fellow students.” My voice seemed to echo back from the back of the auditorium. “Too loud,” I thought.

The pupils all looked half startled, as if I had awakened them from sleep.

“I’m scared,” I said a little more quietly, more naturally. They all laughed—even the teachers. I could feel the tension seeping out of me. I continued.

“Believe it or not,” I said, “I don’t know why I’m up here anyway.” Then everybody laughed. I could feel all the tension go.

“The other day,” I said, “a couple of students (friends of mine) came up to me and asked: ‘How would you like to be class president?’ and I, like a fool, said: ‘Fine.’ Now I wonder if they were really friends of mine?”

The audience laughed and some started to applaud. “Hell!” I thought, “Jerry is right!

They’re eating it up.” I went on speaking.

“I have just listened to my opponents’ speeches, and I’m beginning to wonder if I will vote for myself.”

A shout of laughter went up and the students leaned forward in their seats waiting for my next remark. I walked slowly towards the corner of the platform before I spoke again. “After all, if being on the basketball team or the swimming team is any recommendation for a class president (I opened my jacket to let them see the small orange-and-black ‘W’ on my sweater), then you’ve got a darn good ping-pong player on

your tennis team!”

That didn’t go over so well but they still laughed. I walked back to the centre of the platform.

“I don’t know what to promise you if I’m elected class president. My opponents promised you everything I could think of.”

They laughed and applauded that. I held up my hands to quiet them.

“Not that I think they’re wrong—they’re absolutely right. I agree with them in every respect. I would like to promise you less homework, more study periods, and shorter school hours but I can’t. I think the board of education would object to it.”

Laughter and applause greeted that. I stole a quick look at Marty and Jerry sitting in the first row and saw them smiling. Jerry held up his hand, fingers circled, showing that

everything was all right. I continued.

“Now I don’t want to take up much more of your time because I know how anxious you all are to get back to your classes. (Laughter) But I want to assure you, both on my opponents’ behalf and my own, that whoever you may elect will give you the best that is in them, and the most any person can do is their best.”

I walked to my seat and sat down. The students were on their feet, shouting and applauding.

Janet whispered in my ear: “Get up and take a bow.”

“I will if you’ll come with me,” I said. She nodded. I took her hand and together we walked to the centre of the platform. We smiled at the crowd. She looked very pretty in her pink dress. I held up my hand and they fell quiet.

“If you don’t vote for me,” I said, “don’t forget to vote for Janet for vice-president. She’ll be the prettiest and smartest vice-president George Washington High School ever had.”

They laughed and applauded until the gong rang and the rally was over. We walked down the platform and were surrounded by friends.

That afternon was election, and, while the votes were being counted, Janet and I waited with some friends in the office of the school paper. Ruth Cabell came up to me while I was talking to Janet.

“You ought to come out for the dramatic club, Frankie,” she said sarcastically. “I’m sure Miss Gibbs would love to have you.” She walked away before I could make a reply. She worked on the paper.

“Who is she?” Janet asked.

“She’s Marty’s sister,” I answered.

Just then Marty came running in. He was all excited. “We’re in!” he shouted, “You’re both elected! It was a landslide! What did I tell you!”

He grabbed my hand and started shaking it. For a moment I didn’t smile—I was thinking about what Ruth had said—then I laughed.

Jerry came running in with about a dozen kids including my rivals wished me luck, and soon the room was crowded and I forgot all about what Ruth had said.

Chapter Five
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I
F
I hadn’t been elected class president, I never would have met Mrs. Scott and Marty wouldn’t have become what he is today. But sometimes I tend to run ahead of myself— my thoughts come much quicker than I can write them.

I met Mrs. Scott at the first meeting of the student-teachers council I attended. We were introduced. I noticed a kindly looking lady of about fifty with steel-grey eyes and a thin, determined mouth. She was doing some psychological work in connection with the children’s welfare bureau.

Most problems at the meeting were petty: children consistently being late or absent, cutting classes, talking back to teachers. We did not punish them; we tried to determine who was right or wrong in these differences: the pupil, the teacher, or the pupil’s parents. Every case was referred to Mrs. Scott. She would speak to the pupil and try to get from him the reason behind these actions.

In a school the size of this, the number of petty cases was enormous. The girl that had helped Mrs. Scott keep her records graduated that term. And she asked for someone else to help her. I suggested Marty, knowing he was looking for some extra credits.

Marty and she hit it off right away. And Marty liked the work. It was probably then he decided to become a psychiatrist. He had always wanted to be a doctor, and this was right in line with what he wanted.