The Lions of Little Rock (4 page)

6

A NEW PARTNER

I spent all of homeroom frantically doing my math homework. Again.

When I was done, Liz leaned over and whispered, “What are you going to do for your history report?”

For a minute, I didn't know what she was talking about. Then I remembered the project Miss Taylor had told us about yesterday. The one that involved an oral presentation. No wonder I'd done my best to block it out.

Liz kept talking. “Because I had this really good idea, and I wanted to ask you to work with me.”

I glanced at Sally.

Liz saw who I was looking at, and her face dropped. But she pasted a smile back on so fast, if I'd blinked I'd have missed her true reaction. “Oh, of course,” she said brightly. “That makes sense. You and Sally being old friends and all.”

I suddenly knew she'd imagined this scene, just like I had pictured the one with JT. And this wasn't the way hers had ended either. I felt bad, but not bad enough to actually work with her.

Liz turned away, but as she did, she knocked her math notebook to the floor. I bent over to pick it up.

On the back was a square with lots of little squares in it. In some of the squares were numbers. I knew what it was—it was a magic square.

Magic squares have been around for just about forever. According to David's old math book (he used to let me read it when he wasn't studying), the Chinese discovered them way back before Jesus was even born. The simplest was a three-by-three square, with the numbers 1 to 9 arranged so that every row, column and diagonal added up to 15. Liz had a four-by-four square on her notebook with some of the numbers missing.

I ran my fingers over the numbers. The top row added up to 34.

“It's a magic square,” said Liz, sounding a little embarrassed. “It's a silly game my mother taught me.”

“Thirteen,” I said, pointing to a blank square.

“Oh,” said Liz. “Thanks. I couldn't figure that one out.”

I stared at the square again. Yep. Each row, column and diagonal added up to 34. It was beautiful. I handed back the notebook and counted 2, 3, 5, 7. “What was your idea?”

“Well, I have this book about the founding of Little Rock and the Indians who used to live here and . . .” Liz paused and looked at me. Then she shook her head. “It's okay, Marlee. You don't have to pretend to be interested.”

“It's just . . .” I took a deep breath. “Why me?”

Liz shrugged. “You seem like a hard worker. At my old school, I was the one who always ended up doing all the work.”

I knew what that was like. I'd worked with Sally on every project since third grade. Maybe it was time for a change.

“Okay,” I said.

“Really?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Great,” she said. “Meet you at the public library tomorrow after school?”

I nodded again.

The bell rang, and homeroom was over. Liz gave me a little wave and walked off. What was she? A root beer? An extra-thick milk shake with two straws? Carrot juice? I didn't know, and I didn't really care. I just wanted to know everything she knew about magic squares.

On Friday I arrived early and waited by the picnic table, and again JT arrived just before the bell rang. He winked at me as he took my homework. “Like your hair.”

Judy and I had stayed up late the night before, putting my hair into curlers. I knew I should feel mad about the homework, but I couldn't help being just a little tickled he had noticed. And at least this time, I'd known to do the homework twice.

When I walked into the library that afternoon, there was Liz, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, reading glasses balanced on her nose. When she saw me, she pulled off the glasses and waved.

“Hi, Marlee,” she said with a smile. “I wasn't sure you'd come.”

I shrugged. Clearly she didn't understand how much I liked math.

When she realized I wasn't going to answer her, she handed me a book, and I sat down and started reading. We read for a long time. The book she had pulled for me on the Quapaw Indians was actually pretty interesting. The Quapaws were the Indians who had lived in Little Rock when the first settlers came. The book talked all about their families and how they got married and what they did when they died. When I looked up, Liz had two pages of notes in a crisp, neat handwriting.

“Find anything interesting?” she asked.

I nodded.

“What?”

I passed her a book and pointed to a paragraph about what they did with orphaned children. She read it quickly. “Cool. Hey, we could do this for the class—put on sort of a pretend ceremony. Pick some kids to be the orphans and some others to be the fathers.”

That would be interesting. And more fun than just reading a boring old paper aloud.

“Only one problem,” she said.

I looked at her.

“You have to talk,” she said. “I mean during the presentation.”

I shook my head. I did not talk in front of the class. That was like asking me to walk down the street in my underwear.

“You have to at least say something.”

I just looked at her.

“If I do all the talking, people will think I did all the work. And that's not fair.”

She was right. It wasn't fair. And I didn't care. I did not give oral presentations.

“It's important to face your fears,” said Liz. “It makes you a better person.”

I thought I was pretty good just the way I was. We stared at each other for a long moment. If it was a staring contest she wanted, I knew I'd win.

Sure enough, she looked away first. “I tell you what,” said Liz. “My mother has a whole book about magic squares. You speak during our presentation, and I'll give it to you.”

Just when I thought I'd gotten the best of her, she went and turned it all around. A book of magic squares? There was no way I could resist that. And from the smug look on her face, I was pretty sure she understood how much I liked math, after all.

“Fine,” I said.

Liz smiled at me.

The front door of the library opened, and a couple of colored girls walked in. Liz stiffened. I knew Negroes were allowed to use this library now—that rule had passed a few years ago—but I didn't see them there much. It was like the bus—officially, anyone could sit anywhere they wanted now, but most of the time, the colored folks stayed to the back.

“I think we've done enough for one day,” said Liz, closing her book. She glanced over at the colored girls again. They were waiting, trying unsuccessfully to get the librarian's attention.

I wondered if Liz was like some of the other kids at school, calling colored folks names I wasn't allowed to say. I wondered if I could do this project with her if she was.

“They aren't hurting anyone,” I said quietly.

“I know,” she said. “I'm just tired of studying.”

But I didn't quite believe her.

7

A NEW ROOMMATE

Every Saturday we had to clean the house from top to bottom. It wasn't my favorite thing to do, but it wasn't so bad either, not since Judy and I got a record player last Christmas. Now every Saturday morning, we put on our latest album and sang along. This week it was
South Pacific
.

I like singing. The song gives you the words, so you don't have to think about what to say. Sometimes I dream about being in the church choir. But that involves getting up and standing in front of a group of people. Which is not something I like to do.

Every time I thought about how I had agreed to talk during our presentation, I felt sick. Even reciting prime numbers didn't calm me down. I hadn't even told Judy about it yet, since I'd already decided twenty times to tell Liz
no
on Monday. But then I'd think of that math book and change my mind again. Especially since last year, I'd spent a week building up my courage to ask the librarian for a book on magic squares, and when I did, she said they didn't carry books about witchcraft.

“Mother,” Judy said, bringing me back to the world of scrubbing tubs and toilets, “is it okay if I move into David's room?”

What? David might be at college, but that didn't mean he wasn't ever coming back. Did it?

“I asked him before he left, and he said he didn't mind,” said Judy.

I mind! But I didn't say it. I just scrubbed harder.

Mother stopped shining the mirror over the sink. “What about when he comes home for the holidays? Christmas and spring break.”

“I'll just move back in with Marlee then. She can have the double bed; I'm happy with the twin.”

“All right, then.” Mother went back to work.

“No,” I said. “I don't want you to go.”

Judy laughed. “Marlee, I'm not going anywhere. Just down the hall.”

“You'll love having some space to yourself,” said Mother. “You'll see.”

But I knew she was wrong.

As soon as we were finished with our chores, Judy moved into David's old room. We'd shared a room my entire life, and it only took her half an hour to disappear.

That night, it was as quiet as a graveyard in my room. Even the roaring of the lions couldn't break the silence. I missed the sound of Judy breathing, the squeak of the bed as she rolled over, even the ticking of her alarm clock. Finally I took my blanket and snuck down the hall into my brother's old room. The moon shone in the window, and I could just make out Judy asleep on the bed. I crept inside and curled up on the floor. It was hard and uncomfortable, but I fell asleep easily, listening to Judy's quiet snoring.

“Marlee!”

I woke up to Judy staring at me. The sun was shining in the window.

“Why are you sleeping on the floor?” she demanded.

I shrugged.

“Marlee, I changed rooms because I wanted to be alone! Tonight, make sure you stay in your own bed.” Judy stepped over me and marched off to the bathroom.

I picked up my blanket and went back to my room. My sister, the one I could always talk to, didn't want me around anymore. I didn't know what I was going to do.

Sally wasn't pleased either. Not when Liz told her we were working together.

“But Marlee always works with me,” she said.

I'm right here, I wanted to yell. I can hear what you are saying about me.

“Well, you are so nice,” said Liz smoothly, “to make sure a new girl like me doesn't have to work alone.”

Sally opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“I'll work with you, Sally,” said Nora.

Sally shrugged, and Nora beamed.

What I wouldn't give to be like Liz, to be the one who could make Sally speechless.

That afternoon when I got home from school, Betty Jean was in the kitchen making sweet tea. Everyone has their own recipe, but Betty Jean makes it by boiling water in a saucepan on the stove. She adds in a pinch of baking soda, and then when the water's boiling, puts in the tea bags, all tied together. Once it's dark enough, she pours it into a pitcher and adds a cup of simple syrup. She stirs, adds enough water to fill the pitcher to the top, and stirs again.

Betty Jean was just getting ready to put it into the fridge when she realized I was watching her. “Oh, Marlee, I didn't see you,” she said. “Would you like a glass of tea?”

What I really wanted was for my sister to come down and talk to me, but she was up in
her
new room, even though I knew she'd heard the front door open when I came in. But I didn't want to sit in my room alone, and I guess I was a little thirsty, so I nodded.

I sat down at the table while Betty Jean filled a tall glass with ice and poured in the tea. “Do you mind if I sit down for a minute?” she asked as she put the tea down in front of me. “The heat makes my ankles swell.”

Of course I didn't mind. Betty Jean was a hard worker. All the clothes were folded and put away, dinner was cooking in the oven, and the living room floor was so clean, I'd be willing to eat off it. I was embarrassed she'd even asked me—like I was her boss or something—and gestured for her to go ahead.

Betty Jean pulled out a chair and sat down. It was hot, and she used the flowered apron to wipe the sweat from her face. I wondered why she didn't pour herself a glass of tea, then remembered that there seemed to be an unspoken rule that she could cook our food but never taste it. Kind of like the one about girls and math and satellites.

It made me mad, thinking about that, and before I knew it, I had jumped up and poured another glass of tea. Betty Jean looked surprised when I held it out to her, but she took it. “Thank you, Marlee.” She drank half the glass in one long gulp, then wiped her mouth daintily and said, “Did you have a nice day at school?”

“I'm doing a presentation in history,” I said, then sat down, embarrassed. I'd never spoken to her before.

“Good for you,” said Betty Jean.

I counted prime numbers in my head until I realized she wasn't going to ask me anything else. We sat like that for a long time. Silent. But not bad silent. Just quiet. When I was done with my tea, I snuck a look at Betty Jean.

She was about my mother's age, with big brown eyes and high cheekbones. Her skin was dark and smooth, and at her temples was just a bit of gray. She was staring off into the distance, thinking of something else. But when she felt my gaze on her face, she looked over at me and smiled.

I smiled back. Turns out, Betty Jean wasn't just plain water after all. She had a twist of lime that was all her own.

After dinner, I sat in bed, trying to figure out what to do about JT and his homework. Sure, he always thanked me or told me I was a nice girl, but I'd expected more. He never brought me candy or asked me to the movies or did any of the things a boyfriend was supposed to do. Then again, he wasn't really my boyfriend. I was pretty sure you had to talk to have one of those.

Also, I didn't suppose those Soviet scientists who had sent up Sputnik had gotten where they were by cheating. If I wanted to work on a top-secret space project someday, I couldn't have any blemishes on my record. Not to mention that I knew cheating was just plain wrong.

But every time I resolved to hand JT a blank piece of paper, I wondered if this would be the day he came to his senses and asked me out.

I had decided to give him just a little more time, when there was a knock at the door. Without waiting for me to answer, Judy poked her head into the room. “You got a minute?”

I nodded.

Judy held up a covered bird's cage. “I heard Daddy say he hasn't had much time for Pretty Boy lately.” That was Daddy's pet parakeet. He usually kept him in the living room.

I kept my eyes on the parakeet. I was still too angry to look at Judy. Too worried that if I started talking, I might say something I couldn't take back.

“Do you want to keep him in here with you?” Judy asked. “Daddy said it was okay.”

I shrugged.

Judy set him down on the dresser.

I didn't say anything.

“I'm sorry, Marlee,” she said. “I've been so upset about not having school, not seeing my friends, and wondering how I'm going to get to college if I can't even start eleventh grade that I haven't really been thinking about you.”

It was embarrassing. I was almost thirteen. I shouldn't need my older sister to fuss over me or tell me what to do. But I did. Without her, I was afraid I'd just get quieter and quieter, until even Mother and Daddy didn't remember I was there.

All of a sudden, Judy leaned over and gave me a hug. I tried not to melt into it, tried to stay stiff and cold, but my sister gives really good hugs.

“Pretty Boy!” the parakeet sang. “Pretty Boy!”

“Come back,” I begged. “Please.”

“I can't,” said Judy. “It's not personal, Marlee. I just need some more space. You'll get used to it.”

Maybe she was right. Maybe I would. But I didn't have to like it.