Saturday & Sunday
With Dottie, Jessy and I opened on Saturday for waffles and pancakes, closed at 11.00, and got out of there by about 11.30. It was warm and sunny and Jessy and I returned to the house for our swimsuits and took blankets down to the beach. There we basked pretty much all day. We met a few nice girls from some other part of New Jersey who lay near us. Also some guys came by whilst we were standing ankle-deep in the water, and we talked to them for a bit. They were insistent that we join them at some kind of party tonight but we had to work and so were able to get out of it. Daddy and Mother and the little ones got down this afternoon and the first we knew they were here was when Mother, in a beautiful blue-and-white bikini, came down and tapped my shoulder where we stood at the water. 'Surprise!' she giggled.
And she might have pushed us in, but the water was too cold. We all hugged and Jessy and I started to tell her about the last two days but there was too much to talk about. She and Daddy had taken Lisa and JJ over to see the Ladybugs game-- I told her then that during dinner at the prom I had got a message on the phone that they had won-- and so she was happy to hear (from Jessy of course) about the 'developments'. Apparently someone had rung the house for Jessy too but she had not got name or message. This is all exciting news for Mother, naturally.
We closed the parlour at 11.00 and walked back along the beach in our Colonial clothes, carrying our shoes and stockings. Jessy wanted to dip her feet. I didn't. For some reason I have been feeling very humble and modest-- and not because of the parlour or the clothes, which actually make me feel a little too provocative. Things have happened and I am not quite comfortable with what's been going on. I feel like I shouldn't be this person, that I may be getting away from myself, and that I just want to go back to the way it once was, when Jessy and I were just nice little girls without people paying so much attention to us. I don't know if that's appropriate but it's just a thought I have been having.
Back at the house we got out of our Colonial clothes and turned in. To be truly authentic you don't wear panties under this gear-- elastic-waisted panties really don't show up before 1920. Neither Jessy nor I do, even working in the parlour (unless it's necessary, you know). So we have been sleeping naked in our beds, in the same room, which is NOT that weird since we are sisters (and please don't go anywhere else with that). In the middle of the night I found myself awake, facing a 7.00 shift without going to church in the morning, and I went down stairs for a cup of tea to settle myself. I put on no lights, only the stove and the kettle and the little light under the cabinets, but apparently I was obvious because next I knew Daddy was ducking his head in. 'Are you all right?'
I turned round, standing at the stove, and blushed a little-- not because I was naked but because I was up in the middle of the night. 'I couldn't sleep,' I told him.
He nodded. The kettle was about to whistle and I turned it off and poured into my cup. 'All right,' he whispered. 'You're on in the morning, right?'
I nodded, watching as I swirlled the tea bag round in the cup. 'I'll be fine.'
'Okay. Good night.'
'Good night, Daddy.'
He left. I took my tea out to the front parlour, which faces the ocean, and sat there in the dark sipping my tea. It was hot and we had left a few windows open for the breeze. When I finished the cup I folded some pillows under my shoulder and sighed, staring into space for a while....
'Hey,' she said, 'get up. I can't believe you're down here. What happened to you?'
It was daylight and she was poking my arm, and I was still on the couch, curled up naked with the pillows. 'Oh,' I said. And I got up and got dressed for the morning shift.
...
26 May 2009
Coming right up
Friday, May 22nd
We arrived at the beach house at about 3.05. Roger had driven well but avoiding the ferry in the dead of night he was left with mainly back roads, especially though New Jersey. He carried up our bags and checked over the house for us and ensured that we set the alarm again, and then he took the car over to his own place on the mainland for the night. Jessy had wanted to get changed in the car, or at least to get out of her gown, but I dissuaded her and now we got out of everything and let down our hair and turned in, in the attic bedroom that was once our regular room when we were much littler.
We had set no alarm and I got up at about ten. It was sunny and bright, already very warm, and without putting on anything I went down stairs and put on tea for myself. Jessy remained in bed past noon. I typed up the bit about the prom then. My mobile phone had about six messages, all from people asking how it had gone. I answered a few of them by telling them to read the blog when I got back! --well,that's what it's there for. The closer friends got a short text message-- 'It was fun. Jessy says there are developments. Talk when we get back.' They all know we are here for the weekend and will likely be here all summer. I hope to invite some people here for the odd weekend or so as the season progresses.
I rang Dottie, who is the manager this year, and in mid-afternoon Jessy and I got dressed and walked down the street in our Colonial-era costumes to the ice cream parlour. Dottie was already there, in her pale green bedjacket and dull tan work skirt. I had on my rose-pink ensemble and Jessy her navy-blue bodice and pale-blue skirt. Everyone here wears costume, even the kitchen staff in their work shirts and sailor slops (loose short pants). Dottie went over the schedule for the weekend and we sorted our inventory and got ready for 5.00. Normally the hours are 7.00 till 11.00 in the morning for pancakes and waffles, and 7.00 till 11.00 at night for ice cream. That's it. The girls all like it because they can hold down a real job, working one shift or the other, and still have valuable beach time. During the day sometimes some of them work the day shift in the bookstore next door. That's a job I want-- I prefer literature to serving food, you know.
Today we opened at 5.00, according to the sign and our advertisements. It was not slow, as people arriving at the shore for the weekend often expect some little treat for their having arrived here. Dottie made sure she introduced us both to everyone she knew. It has been over two years since Jessy and I last worked here and few of them recognised us. Dottie's younger daughter, going into her second year at university, worked with us. We made a good team and all went well, and we closed at 9.00 pm and cleaned up.
I cannot even look at this building, or think about it, or especially work here without thinking of Mommy. This was her pride and joy, the very dream she always had as a little girl, running her own shop, a happy place where people crave to come and enjoy sweet treats and an unique atmosphere. Then when Mother was our au pair and nanny she worked here too, lending it even more colour with her cute accent and her old-fashioned manners and aristocratic pretensions. And though it was always somewhat theatrical, Mother made it even more like acting, a four-hour improvisational show, in which nothing is modern and everything is like a veiled joke. Like, she would complain about the menu-- 'Orange juice! No, of course there is none of that! We have not got a ship in from Barbados in weeks! I do apologise. I can offer you some weak tea-- how will that be instead?' And all the while there would be four gallons of orange juice in the 'fridge, you know. But the customer would get weak orange pekoe tea, and he would laugh, and consider it part of the fun.
Dottie is less theatrical herself, but she always encourages it in the rest and mainly from Mother's teaching has got really good at being able to instruct the wait staff in period-accurate comments. For example a 1700s-style ice cream parlour would seem like a contradiction-- but the French had ice cream in Louis XIV's time and it was always considered a delicious delicacy-- and so our higher-than-average prices are justified. We always put a fine point on its being a kind of anachronism-- 'Ice!' Mother used to exclaim. 'We have got ice! And this being July! Can you imagine!' I mean how would they have ice here in 1740? --it would have been dug out of a river in winter and stored under ground packed in hay, and there are no basements here on a barrier island and hardly any hay-- you know. But it is part of the fun that this place doesn't seem to exist at all.
The costumes, though, are a big part of the fun, and hardly as expensive as you might think. We take advantage of commercial makers of these clothes, but they are always authentically hand-stitched and correct in design and sensible in material, mostly cotton, some linen, little wool and always summer weight, and NO manmade fibres. Without air-conditioning it's actually quite comfortable. You sweat, but you have got powder on and everything near your skin is lightweight cotton and breathes well enough. My biggest complaint is my stockings sliding down when my legs get sweaty. Jessy rolls hers right down on top of her shoes-- you're not supposed to show an ankle anyway. And then there is the bonnet-- I have half a dozen, one bought, one made by Mother and the rest by me, and though they are all well-used now I still love them. You must never show too much hair either-- it was considered heinous flirting if you did. So Jessy's hair, which never stays in place, is always falling out one side or the other, and we tease her by calling her 'hussy' and 'trollop' and so on. This draws attention from the patrons which is the effect it should have. Even as girls in swimsuit tops and short shorts are coming through the place for ice cream, we get noticed for a glimpse of stocking.
And the best part of all is that guys, especially younger guys, absolutely rave over girls dressed like this. The dresses are nothing if not exquisitely feminine, with things tied and cinched here and there and subtle pleats and darts to accentuate the shape underneath. And of course, in the mid-1700s style was to show off as much bare chest as God-fearing women should dare to. The stays wrap round your ribs and lace up at the sides in an effort to make your upper body sort of like a cylinder, which really means that if you have got anything at all up front it's lifted up and out and very nearly has to be restrained! If your waist is well-defined then, too, the result is pretty dramatic-- it's an excellent look for anyone who has got anything of a figure at all, and if you haven't got one it will make you look like you do. I only wish other girls believed me. The eye attention from the opposite sex could almost be enough to bring this stuff back into fashion all over!
...
We arrived at the beach house at about 3.05. Roger had driven well but avoiding the ferry in the dead of night he was left with mainly back roads, especially though New Jersey. He carried up our bags and checked over the house for us and ensured that we set the alarm again, and then he took the car over to his own place on the mainland for the night. Jessy had wanted to get changed in the car, or at least to get out of her gown, but I dissuaded her and now we got out of everything and let down our hair and turned in, in the attic bedroom that was once our regular room when we were much littler.
We had set no alarm and I got up at about ten. It was sunny and bright, already very warm, and without putting on anything I went down stairs and put on tea for myself. Jessy remained in bed past noon. I typed up the bit about the prom then. My mobile phone had about six messages, all from people asking how it had gone. I answered a few of them by telling them to read the blog when I got back! --well,that's what it's there for. The closer friends got a short text message-- 'It was fun. Jessy says there are developments. Talk when we get back.' They all know we are here for the weekend and will likely be here all summer. I hope to invite some people here for the odd weekend or so as the season progresses.
I rang Dottie, who is the manager this year, and in mid-afternoon Jessy and I got dressed and walked down the street in our Colonial-era costumes to the ice cream parlour. Dottie was already there, in her pale green bedjacket and dull tan work skirt. I had on my rose-pink ensemble and Jessy her navy-blue bodice and pale-blue skirt. Everyone here wears costume, even the kitchen staff in their work shirts and sailor slops (loose short pants). Dottie went over the schedule for the weekend and we sorted our inventory and got ready for 5.00. Normally the hours are 7.00 till 11.00 in the morning for pancakes and waffles, and 7.00 till 11.00 at night for ice cream. That's it. The girls all like it because they can hold down a real job, working one shift or the other, and still have valuable beach time. During the day sometimes some of them work the day shift in the bookstore next door. That's a job I want-- I prefer literature to serving food, you know.
Today we opened at 5.00, according to the sign and our advertisements. It was not slow, as people arriving at the shore for the weekend often expect some little treat for their having arrived here. Dottie made sure she introduced us both to everyone she knew. It has been over two years since Jessy and I last worked here and few of them recognised us. Dottie's younger daughter, going into her second year at university, worked with us. We made a good team and all went well, and we closed at 9.00 pm and cleaned up.
I cannot even look at this building, or think about it, or especially work here without thinking of Mommy. This was her pride and joy, the very dream she always had as a little girl, running her own shop, a happy place where people crave to come and enjoy sweet treats and an unique atmosphere. Then when Mother was our au pair and nanny she worked here too, lending it even more colour with her cute accent and her old-fashioned manners and aristocratic pretensions. And though it was always somewhat theatrical, Mother made it even more like acting, a four-hour improvisational show, in which nothing is modern and everything is like a veiled joke. Like, she would complain about the menu-- 'Orange juice! No, of course there is none of that! We have not got a ship in from Barbados in weeks! I do apologise. I can offer you some weak tea-- how will that be instead?' And all the while there would be four gallons of orange juice in the 'fridge, you know. But the customer would get weak orange pekoe tea, and he would laugh, and consider it part of the fun.
Dottie is less theatrical herself, but she always encourages it in the rest and mainly from Mother's teaching has got really good at being able to instruct the wait staff in period-accurate comments. For example a 1700s-style ice cream parlour would seem like a contradiction-- but the French had ice cream in Louis XIV's time and it was always considered a delicious delicacy-- and so our higher-than-average prices are justified. We always put a fine point on its being a kind of anachronism-- 'Ice!' Mother used to exclaim. 'We have got ice! And this being July! Can you imagine!' I mean how would they have ice here in 1740? --it would have been dug out of a river in winter and stored under ground packed in hay, and there are no basements here on a barrier island and hardly any hay-- you know. But it is part of the fun that this place doesn't seem to exist at all.
The costumes, though, are a big part of the fun, and hardly as expensive as you might think. We take advantage of commercial makers of these clothes, but they are always authentically hand-stitched and correct in design and sensible in material, mostly cotton, some linen, little wool and always summer weight, and NO manmade fibres. Without air-conditioning it's actually quite comfortable. You sweat, but you have got powder on and everything near your skin is lightweight cotton and breathes well enough. My biggest complaint is my stockings sliding down when my legs get sweaty. Jessy rolls hers right down on top of her shoes-- you're not supposed to show an ankle anyway. And then there is the bonnet-- I have half a dozen, one bought, one made by Mother and the rest by me, and though they are all well-used now I still love them. You must never show too much hair either-- it was considered heinous flirting if you did. So Jessy's hair, which never stays in place, is always falling out one side or the other, and we tease her by calling her 'hussy' and 'trollop' and so on. This draws attention from the patrons which is the effect it should have. Even as girls in swimsuit tops and short shorts are coming through the place for ice cream, we get noticed for a glimpse of stocking.
And the best part of all is that guys, especially younger guys, absolutely rave over girls dressed like this. The dresses are nothing if not exquisitely feminine, with things tied and cinched here and there and subtle pleats and darts to accentuate the shape underneath. And of course, in the mid-1700s style was to show off as much bare chest as God-fearing women should dare to. The stays wrap round your ribs and lace up at the sides in an effort to make your upper body sort of like a cylinder, which really means that if you have got anything at all up front it's lifted up and out and very nearly has to be restrained! If your waist is well-defined then, too, the result is pretty dramatic-- it's an excellent look for anyone who has got anything of a figure at all, and if you haven't got one it will make you look like you do. I only wish other girls believed me. The eye attention from the opposite sex could almost be enough to bring this stuff back into fashion all over!
...
The prom
Thursday, May 21st
Of course I had decided that I would just go. It got tedious explaining to people that I was not going because no one asked me. I felt like I was complaining, trying to pick up sympathy-- 'Poor me, no one loves me!' Actually that has never motivated me at all. I come from an entire family that doesn't know what it means to want to be like other people. My mother was even like that, marrying early and marrying someone in the entertainment business! --what was she thinking? --and my stepmother broke all new ground, settling in a foreign country and marrying someone over twice her age at the time! --was she throwing the rest of her life away? Some decisions get made for reasons that other people don't have to agree with and might never understand. I'm not going to prom to look popular, or conventional, or just pretty. I'm going to prom because it's a party, and if it's one thing this family does well, it's show up and have fun at a party.
Daddy has been at me about holding up the family reputation, which is kind of funny considering that the family reputation is about not caring what other people think. But he is sensible and conservative now and he knows the value of society, especially for Jessy and me. So I took out the deep-blue gown I had for the dinner we attended at UEA last spring. The colour is majestic, really-- it's what's known as heraldic blue, the colour on flags, and it appears on the coat-of-arms on Daddy's side. And it's very staid and traditional, more like something from the 1950s-- it's pared away at the shoulders and closed at the neck, with a high waist peaked in front and draped straight to the ankles. The back is open but not enough to keep from wearing a bra with it, which helps, you know. And I felt very pleased with myself for being able to open my wardrobe, put on a dress, and say I am ready for the prom.
Jessy's is a little more typical, in a light shade of sapphire with a straight neck and spaghetti straps. She wore her silver strap shoes with it. I wore my navy-blue pumps which have 3" heels. I usually do not go for anything quite so high but with these at least I know I can dance in them! I did her hair and she did mine. For her I just pulled it all back-- her hair has got so much body and such a natural curliness to it that there's almost nothing you can do with it. I envy her for it-- she's always got this almost-wild look, billowy hair all over the place-- it will fall past her shoulders if you brush it all the way down, and fifteen minutes later it's up about her ears and dropping down in her face. I clipped it up with a not-so-little silver hair clip and folded the rest over on top with pins. She looked like a just-tamed jungle girl trying to fit back in with society! --but with the silver clip and studded pins and her good silver cross round her neck she looked stunning-- if I have to say so myself!
She did mine too, just putting it all upon top in kind of a swirl-- my hair's got plenty of body too, and is generally wavy, but I have got nowhere near the thickness she's got and I really have to rely on the hair spray to hold it in place. Jessy dug out a little tiara-- not too gaudy, honest-- that held it down and with a couple of pins it worked pretty well. With the closed neck I wasn't going to wear any jewelry-- and I should say that neither of us has our ears pierced, and aside from a few (usually whimsical) clip-on earrings we never wear anything but a necklace. Daddy pointed out once that in the original TV version of Rogers-and-Hammerstein's 'Cinderella' she appears at the ball in nothing but her shoes and the dress-- and there is something beautifully pure and elegant about that. If the girl makes the dress, the accessories start taking away from that. I never accessorise beyond good sense as a rule.
Of course we had Roger to drive us, and he appeared at the foot of the steps in a lovely black tuxedo with the dark-green classic Cadillac. Mother insisted on taking photos, but our first stop was only round the corner at Castle Field, where the Ladybugs had a game scheduled. The plan was that they should all arrive early-- 5.30-- for a photo with me on my way to the prom. Roger drove the car right up to the back of the tower and let us out, and all the girls ran over to fawn over the dress-- and Jessy's too of course (they know her, but she coaches the younger group). The photo was set up with me standing on home plate surrounded by the team in all their red-and-white livery, a few bats and gloves in place for good measure. We took about six or seven, with Jessy directing us in a few varying poses, as well as a few with her in them too. People had started coming in to watch the game and so we were something of a spectacle for parents and siblings, at least one local news reporter, and a troop of Brownies from down the coast somewhere. Then it was 6.00 by then and time we should be off. I exchanged hugs and kisses with all the girls and wished them luck in the game without me-- 'We'll win this one just for you!' they promised. And Roger handed us into the car again and we were off.
'I think my shoes got dusty,' Jessy observed in the car.
Mine had too. We got out some Handi-wipes and took care of that.
At the hall Roger pulled up at the kerb and let down the window. 'All set, ladies?'
'Yes, of course, Roger,' I said. 'Really it's only a party.'
He nodded, as though knowing better, and got out.
Sitting in the right rear seat means I get in last and out first-- one must never cross over someone else in the car. (The exception is when one gentleman rides with two ladies-- but none about that now.) I stood up and stepped aside for Jessy and just then a garishly long limousine arrived and began disgorging about eight people, most of whom were in one way or another ill-dressed. I thought I recognised a few of them and then turned my back as Jessy stood up beside me. 'Thank you, Roger,' I said quietly. 'We'll ring when we're ready.'
He smiled at me and nodded reverently. 'As you wish, Miss. And may I say-- you two look lovely tonight.'
'Thanks, Roger!' Jessy smiled.
'Thanks,' I told him, touching his sleeve, and then we turned to greet our public.
Even in this short time the people from the huge long limousine were already skipping immaturely in to the building. I counted three boys and at least five girls-- how many people did that thing hold? By contrast we had our conservative older car made for five in a pinch. As we strode in I thought how that seemed to represent the difference between us and most people round here. We live a quiet life, our own way-- though we are essentially friendly and pleasant people (I think) we don't intermingle so much with others. Though I have often disparaged that phrase from Frost that is so often misinterpreted-- 'good fences make good neighbours'-- we do live with a fence, a wall, really, and there are fences round most of the other parts of our lives too. We stay separate. That's deliberate. And I know that seems snobby-- it really isn't meant to be-- but it is more a result of how we have had to live than anything we chose to begin with. What is it that St James says? --'good religion that is pure and undefiled before God is this: to visit widows and orphans in their affliction, and to keep one's self unstained by the world.' And we do live in that way, just like that. And there is nothing in that about mingling in society so much that the society's standards become your own. 'To keep one's self unstained by the world' sometimes requires a wall round your house. It is a wall behind which everyone who wants our company is welcome-- but it is still a wall to keep what is unwelcome out. If that makes me an inaccessible princess, then I am sorry-- but maybe what makes me inaccessible is your standards and not mine.
The prom was fine. I mean, it was a prom. There were tables with food and there was dancing and there were people we knew, and we said hello to everyone and mingled politely. Most of the people we know were happy to see us, and I was commended for coming with my sister anyway. She is always popular and did locate a few 10th-grade classmates who had come with older dates. And there was drama-- some long-standing couple had a tiff and someone walked out, and there were more than a few spills of food, possibly owing to preexisting inebriation, and there was too much bad language and much too much poor manners. But, we endure. The real drama occurred when it came time to announce the king and queen of the prom.
I imagine that, for people who have attended a school long enough, these decisions are never much of a surprise. I do not know the 12th-grade class so well and was only gratified that one of the nicest guys I knew of it was crowned prom king. Stephen stood up by himself with the hokey-looking crown on, waiting for the announcement of queen-- he had come with a girl who is really a good friend, which I think is the best way to share your last school dance anyway. Then they named Vanessa queen. Whoops and cheers-- and wolf whistles! --went up from the assembly. She was crowned and then they were invited to dance the king-and-queen number, respectfully slow and not too intimate, you know. So they did.
Then Vanessa's date, an exceptionally scruffy-looking guy in a bad suit who attended some other school, reached his low threshold for tolerance of someone else getting attention and-- I do not make this up! --rose out of his chair and cut in on the king-and-queen dance so that his girlfriend, never mind that she was our school's prom queen, should not dance with anyone else. I swear people sat there openmouthed in disbelief. Poor Stephen stood all by himself, five feet from his assigned prom queen, not knowing what to make of it. Later someone suggested he should have swung a punch at the guy, who held Vanessa in an exaggerated embrace with his head down on her shoulder.
Jessy nudged me-- but I already had made up my mind and pushed back my chair. Stephen looked up and saw me coming. I guess everyone else watched me too, but I really did not notice. I stopped one step away from him on the dance floor and offered my hand. In that one instant his face changed, as he went from feeling like the biggest stepped-on loser at the prom, in front of all his classmates, to being someone whose company was desired and valued.... oh, you know what I mean. And then we were dancing.
'You looked like you needed a partner,' I said quietly to him.
Other people were getting up to dance by then too. We were not so conspicuous now. 'I don't know what happened,' he said to me.
'There's no accounting for bad manners,' I told him.
He held me a little closer then-- not to be forward, but because he really wanted to. Then he said, 'Thank you.'
Later when Jessy told our parents about it, she called it 'noblesse oblige'. 'Janine was my hero!' she said.
And Daddy said, 'That is exactly the type of behaviour I expect from you girls.'
Stephen brought me back to his table-- which of course was not Vanessa's table-- and introduced me round. We know each other from the musical, and he was Sebastian in 'Twelfth Night'. I had never seriously thought of him as anyone I would have much to do with beyond the usual pleasantries, you know-- we have some things in common but my stature is just nowhere near what his is and I would never have presumed-- Never mind that. Back at our table Jessy sat with Rosie and a few others and chatted away, like she is capable of doing, and a chair was pulled out for me and I sat beside Candy, Stephen's date/friend and found myself visiting with 12th-graders. One of the other boys asked me to dance. When I returned from that Candy told Stephen she liked how we looked together-- she is a friend-- and made us stand up again. So we danced again.
By this time I was not feeling like a stranger from somewhere else. Sean, who is in choir with me, asked me to dance. Then Brett, whom I dated in November, asked me too. A few of the 11th-graders asked Jessy too-- and at least one 12th-grader did as well. Jessy really is the prettiest beauty in the whole school and in spite of being still only 15 she has a certain approachable grace that I don't have and tends to deserve more attention.
At the end of the night we were out stepping into the car and Stephen left his crowd and called to me. At the car door I turned and he handed me a corsage. 'I just wanted you to have something,' he said personally.
I tried to avoid Roger's eyes then and accepted it. 'Um, thanks,' I said.
'This is your car?' he asked, just now noticing it.
I shrugged. 'It's Daddy's car.'
'Nice,' he said, and then looked at me. 'Well, I wanted to thank you, for, you know--'
'Don't mention it.'
'Well, it meant a lot.' We sort of smiled at each other then. Then he asked, 'Do you have plans this weekend?'
I swallowed. Really? 'Um, yes, I do. We're working--' I sort of turned round to Jessy, sitting in the car, then-- 'up in New Jersey. Just for the weekend.'
'New Jersey! All the way up there? When do you have to leave?'
'Well... tonight, actually.' I smiled and then looked at Roger who was still holding the door. 'Are we all ready?'
'Whenever you like, Miss.'
'You're leaving now? I mean-- are you getting changed, or--?'
I smiled. 'We're pretty much leaving right now. I'm sorry.'
'Oh,' he said, and looked really disappointed. For a moment I was too.
'But we'll see each other in school, right? Tuesday.'
'Yes,' he said, then, as though that was a good idea. 'Tuesday. Sure.'
'I have fifth period lunch,' I said.
He nodded. 'I know. I've seen you.'
I smiled at him. 'See you at lunch, then.'
'Yes. All right. Have a safe trip, Janine.'
'Thanks. We will.'
We stood there, not wanting to leave, and then someone from his carload called to him. He looked, and then turned back to me and I was standing right in front of him. So he leaned in and kissed me, just a little, on the cheek. And he whispered to me, 'Thanks for the dance. You're a princess.'
'Oh,' I said, but I was blushing. He turned to leave. 'Good night....'
'Good night, Janine,' he said, and then turned and hurried over to his car.
Roger made a smug little smirk as I turned and and ducked into the car. I was beet-red.
'Well,' Jessy said in the car, 'that's a development.'
'It is hardly a "development",' I said.
'Hm, I don't know.... Prom king saved from certain humiliation by pretty little princess from nowhere, and then makes a lunch date sealed with a kiss.... I could develop that into a development.'
I batted my hand at her.
...
Of course I had decided that I would just go. It got tedious explaining to people that I was not going because no one asked me. I felt like I was complaining, trying to pick up sympathy-- 'Poor me, no one loves me!' Actually that has never motivated me at all. I come from an entire family that doesn't know what it means to want to be like other people. My mother was even like that, marrying early and marrying someone in the entertainment business! --what was she thinking? --and my stepmother broke all new ground, settling in a foreign country and marrying someone over twice her age at the time! --was she throwing the rest of her life away? Some decisions get made for reasons that other people don't have to agree with and might never understand. I'm not going to prom to look popular, or conventional, or just pretty. I'm going to prom because it's a party, and if it's one thing this family does well, it's show up and have fun at a party.
Daddy has been at me about holding up the family reputation, which is kind of funny considering that the family reputation is about not caring what other people think. But he is sensible and conservative now and he knows the value of society, especially for Jessy and me. So I took out the deep-blue gown I had for the dinner we attended at UEA last spring. The colour is majestic, really-- it's what's known as heraldic blue, the colour on flags, and it appears on the coat-of-arms on Daddy's side. And it's very staid and traditional, more like something from the 1950s-- it's pared away at the shoulders and closed at the neck, with a high waist peaked in front and draped straight to the ankles. The back is open but not enough to keep from wearing a bra with it, which helps, you know. And I felt very pleased with myself for being able to open my wardrobe, put on a dress, and say I am ready for the prom.
Jessy's is a little more typical, in a light shade of sapphire with a straight neck and spaghetti straps. She wore her silver strap shoes with it. I wore my navy-blue pumps which have 3" heels. I usually do not go for anything quite so high but with these at least I know I can dance in them! I did her hair and she did mine. For her I just pulled it all back-- her hair has got so much body and such a natural curliness to it that there's almost nothing you can do with it. I envy her for it-- she's always got this almost-wild look, billowy hair all over the place-- it will fall past her shoulders if you brush it all the way down, and fifteen minutes later it's up about her ears and dropping down in her face. I clipped it up with a not-so-little silver hair clip and folded the rest over on top with pins. She looked like a just-tamed jungle girl trying to fit back in with society! --but with the silver clip and studded pins and her good silver cross round her neck she looked stunning-- if I have to say so myself!
She did mine too, just putting it all upon top in kind of a swirl-- my hair's got plenty of body too, and is generally wavy, but I have got nowhere near the thickness she's got and I really have to rely on the hair spray to hold it in place. Jessy dug out a little tiara-- not too gaudy, honest-- that held it down and with a couple of pins it worked pretty well. With the closed neck I wasn't going to wear any jewelry-- and I should say that neither of us has our ears pierced, and aside from a few (usually whimsical) clip-on earrings we never wear anything but a necklace. Daddy pointed out once that in the original TV version of Rogers-and-Hammerstein's 'Cinderella' she appears at the ball in nothing but her shoes and the dress-- and there is something beautifully pure and elegant about that. If the girl makes the dress, the accessories start taking away from that. I never accessorise beyond good sense as a rule.
Of course we had Roger to drive us, and he appeared at the foot of the steps in a lovely black tuxedo with the dark-green classic Cadillac. Mother insisted on taking photos, but our first stop was only round the corner at Castle Field, where the Ladybugs had a game scheduled. The plan was that they should all arrive early-- 5.30-- for a photo with me on my way to the prom. Roger drove the car right up to the back of the tower and let us out, and all the girls ran over to fawn over the dress-- and Jessy's too of course (they know her, but she coaches the younger group). The photo was set up with me standing on home plate surrounded by the team in all their red-and-white livery, a few bats and gloves in place for good measure. We took about six or seven, with Jessy directing us in a few varying poses, as well as a few with her in them too. People had started coming in to watch the game and so we were something of a spectacle for parents and siblings, at least one local news reporter, and a troop of Brownies from down the coast somewhere. Then it was 6.00 by then and time we should be off. I exchanged hugs and kisses with all the girls and wished them luck in the game without me-- 'We'll win this one just for you!' they promised. And Roger handed us into the car again and we were off.
'I think my shoes got dusty,' Jessy observed in the car.
Mine had too. We got out some Handi-wipes and took care of that.
At the hall Roger pulled up at the kerb and let down the window. 'All set, ladies?'
'Yes, of course, Roger,' I said. 'Really it's only a party.'
He nodded, as though knowing better, and got out.
Sitting in the right rear seat means I get in last and out first-- one must never cross over someone else in the car. (The exception is when one gentleman rides with two ladies-- but none about that now.) I stood up and stepped aside for Jessy and just then a garishly long limousine arrived and began disgorging about eight people, most of whom were in one way or another ill-dressed. I thought I recognised a few of them and then turned my back as Jessy stood up beside me. 'Thank you, Roger,' I said quietly. 'We'll ring when we're ready.'
He smiled at me and nodded reverently. 'As you wish, Miss. And may I say-- you two look lovely tonight.'
'Thanks, Roger!' Jessy smiled.
'Thanks,' I told him, touching his sleeve, and then we turned to greet our public.
Even in this short time the people from the huge long limousine were already skipping immaturely in to the building. I counted three boys and at least five girls-- how many people did that thing hold? By contrast we had our conservative older car made for five in a pinch. As we strode in I thought how that seemed to represent the difference between us and most people round here. We live a quiet life, our own way-- though we are essentially friendly and pleasant people (I think) we don't intermingle so much with others. Though I have often disparaged that phrase from Frost that is so often misinterpreted-- 'good fences make good neighbours'-- we do live with a fence, a wall, really, and there are fences round most of the other parts of our lives too. We stay separate. That's deliberate. And I know that seems snobby-- it really isn't meant to be-- but it is more a result of how we have had to live than anything we chose to begin with. What is it that St James says? --'good religion that is pure and undefiled before God is this: to visit widows and orphans in their affliction, and to keep one's self unstained by the world.' And we do live in that way, just like that. And there is nothing in that about mingling in society so much that the society's standards become your own. 'To keep one's self unstained by the world' sometimes requires a wall round your house. It is a wall behind which everyone who wants our company is welcome-- but it is still a wall to keep what is unwelcome out. If that makes me an inaccessible princess, then I am sorry-- but maybe what makes me inaccessible is your standards and not mine.
The prom was fine. I mean, it was a prom. There were tables with food and there was dancing and there were people we knew, and we said hello to everyone and mingled politely. Most of the people we know were happy to see us, and I was commended for coming with my sister anyway. She is always popular and did locate a few 10th-grade classmates who had come with older dates. And there was drama-- some long-standing couple had a tiff and someone walked out, and there were more than a few spills of food, possibly owing to preexisting inebriation, and there was too much bad language and much too much poor manners. But, we endure. The real drama occurred when it came time to announce the king and queen of the prom.
I imagine that, for people who have attended a school long enough, these decisions are never much of a surprise. I do not know the 12th-grade class so well and was only gratified that one of the nicest guys I knew of it was crowned prom king. Stephen stood up by himself with the hokey-looking crown on, waiting for the announcement of queen-- he had come with a girl who is really a good friend, which I think is the best way to share your last school dance anyway. Then they named Vanessa queen. Whoops and cheers-- and wolf whistles! --went up from the assembly. She was crowned and then they were invited to dance the king-and-queen number, respectfully slow and not too intimate, you know. So they did.
Then Vanessa's date, an exceptionally scruffy-looking guy in a bad suit who attended some other school, reached his low threshold for tolerance of someone else getting attention and-- I do not make this up! --rose out of his chair and cut in on the king-and-queen dance so that his girlfriend, never mind that she was our school's prom queen, should not dance with anyone else. I swear people sat there openmouthed in disbelief. Poor Stephen stood all by himself, five feet from his assigned prom queen, not knowing what to make of it. Later someone suggested he should have swung a punch at the guy, who held Vanessa in an exaggerated embrace with his head down on her shoulder.
Jessy nudged me-- but I already had made up my mind and pushed back my chair. Stephen looked up and saw me coming. I guess everyone else watched me too, but I really did not notice. I stopped one step away from him on the dance floor and offered my hand. In that one instant his face changed, as he went from feeling like the biggest stepped-on loser at the prom, in front of all his classmates, to being someone whose company was desired and valued.... oh, you know what I mean. And then we were dancing.
'You looked like you needed a partner,' I said quietly to him.
Other people were getting up to dance by then too. We were not so conspicuous now. 'I don't know what happened,' he said to me.
'There's no accounting for bad manners,' I told him.
He held me a little closer then-- not to be forward, but because he really wanted to. Then he said, 'Thank you.'
Later when Jessy told our parents about it, she called it 'noblesse oblige'. 'Janine was my hero!' she said.
And Daddy said, 'That is exactly the type of behaviour I expect from you girls.'
Stephen brought me back to his table-- which of course was not Vanessa's table-- and introduced me round. We know each other from the musical, and he was Sebastian in 'Twelfth Night'. I had never seriously thought of him as anyone I would have much to do with beyond the usual pleasantries, you know-- we have some things in common but my stature is just nowhere near what his is and I would never have presumed-- Never mind that. Back at our table Jessy sat with Rosie and a few others and chatted away, like she is capable of doing, and a chair was pulled out for me and I sat beside Candy, Stephen's date/friend and found myself visiting with 12th-graders. One of the other boys asked me to dance. When I returned from that Candy told Stephen she liked how we looked together-- she is a friend-- and made us stand up again. So we danced again.
By this time I was not feeling like a stranger from somewhere else. Sean, who is in choir with me, asked me to dance. Then Brett, whom I dated in November, asked me too. A few of the 11th-graders asked Jessy too-- and at least one 12th-grader did as well. Jessy really is the prettiest beauty in the whole school and in spite of being still only 15 she has a certain approachable grace that I don't have and tends to deserve more attention.
At the end of the night we were out stepping into the car and Stephen left his crowd and called to me. At the car door I turned and he handed me a corsage. 'I just wanted you to have something,' he said personally.
I tried to avoid Roger's eyes then and accepted it. 'Um, thanks,' I said.
'This is your car?' he asked, just now noticing it.
I shrugged. 'It's Daddy's car.'
'Nice,' he said, and then looked at me. 'Well, I wanted to thank you, for, you know--'
'Don't mention it.'
'Well, it meant a lot.' We sort of smiled at each other then. Then he asked, 'Do you have plans this weekend?'
I swallowed. Really? 'Um, yes, I do. We're working--' I sort of turned round to Jessy, sitting in the car, then-- 'up in New Jersey. Just for the weekend.'
'New Jersey! All the way up there? When do you have to leave?'
'Well... tonight, actually.' I smiled and then looked at Roger who was still holding the door. 'Are we all ready?'
'Whenever you like, Miss.'
'You're leaving now? I mean-- are you getting changed, or--?'
I smiled. 'We're pretty much leaving right now. I'm sorry.'
'Oh,' he said, and looked really disappointed. For a moment I was too.
'But we'll see each other in school, right? Tuesday.'
'Yes,' he said, then, as though that was a good idea. 'Tuesday. Sure.'
'I have fifth period lunch,' I said.
He nodded. 'I know. I've seen you.'
I smiled at him. 'See you at lunch, then.'
'Yes. All right. Have a safe trip, Janine.'
'Thanks. We will.'
We stood there, not wanting to leave, and then someone from his carload called to him. He looked, and then turned back to me and I was standing right in front of him. So he leaned in and kissed me, just a little, on the cheek. And he whispered to me, 'Thanks for the dance. You're a princess.'
'Oh,' I said, but I was blushing. He turned to leave. 'Good night....'
'Good night, Janine,' he said, and then turned and hurried over to his car.
Roger made a smug little smirk as I turned and and ducked into the car. I was beet-red.
'Well,' Jessy said in the car, 'that's a development.'
'It is hardly a "development",' I said.
'Hm, I don't know.... Prom king saved from certain humiliation by pretty little princess from nowhere, and then makes a lunch date sealed with a kiss.... I could develop that into a development.'
I batted my hand at her.
...
21 May 2009
The truth comes out
May 20, 2009
I have been feeling a little down lately about the prom which is tomorrow night. Well, of course no one asked me. It was subtly mentioned to me a few times, mostly by other girls with whom I am not so friendly, people who need to know what the status of everyone else is. And Janine remains dateless. Well-- there are perfectly sensible reasons for that-- the first is that there are significantly more girls than boys at this school in every grade, and all the 9th- and 10th-grade girls are competing with the upper classes to get invited to the 11-12 prom. And the nice guys in the theatre programme all get taken pretty quickly. Next come the boys in the choir, outnumbered about four to one by eager girls who know how to bat eyes and get invited to prom early. Then there are the dynastic couples who have known each other since nursery school and even though it doesn't look like they're dating, whenever an important event comes up they're locked together at the elbows like Siamese twins. And then there is the guys' point of view, because the farmboys and gearheads and jocks know for certain that they can have their choice of girls for anything they want them for... which is usually unsavoury anyway, although the girls are so glad to be chosen that they'll do anything for it. So, why should any of these guys want to go for the preachy prissy chick from a different country who lives in an unassailable castle?
I really did not expect to be asked. It will be a long time before Jessy and I live down the 'new girl' stigma. But I really did expect a little too much from these local people.
The conversation I heard about was that two or three guys in a certain friend's class were talking about whom to ask to the prom and I got mentioned as a possible candidate. But someone said, 'You don't want to mess with her dad.' And someone else said, 'She would probably think you weren't good enough.' And then of course one of them said something about my legs being glued together. And they very promptly moved on to the next girl.
And although she is absolutely the prettiest girl in the entire school, my sister Jessy didn't get mentioned in that conversation at all-- possibly for being in only 10th grade... but who can be sure?
I discussed this with my friend Becky, who in spite of being somewhat shy and far too moral and modest for some people is actually pretty well aware of what goes on socially in this school. And she said what I expected someone to say-- 'You don't need them, Janine. You're better off without them.' That was not what I wanted to hear. Then she told me that a couple of boys with whom I have always been friendly here said, in other company, that they thought I was 'scary'.
'What do you mean, "scary"?' I wanted to know.
'They think you don't want to have anything to do with them,' she said.
'Since when did I ever say that?'
Becky made a face and looked down as we walked. 'I think they don't want to go out with someone who's, you know.... Well, I think they think you would judge them.'
'On what?'
'On being... you know. Poor.'
I stomped my foot. 'My God. Have I ever judged anyone? I can't help who my father is.'
'A guy's ego is a delicate thing,' she said. 'I mean-- if a guy showed up to take you to prom in a pickup truck--'
'My God,' I said. 'Do they really think I would judge that?'
'Maybe they're just afraid of feeling, you know... not good enough. Like they have to be something else, other than what they are.'
'What a man has to be is comfortable with what he really is,' I said. 'Modesty is always better than dishonesty.'
She looked at me. 'You really believe that?'
I made a face. 'Becky, this is me, remember.'
She laughed. 'I wish I were going with you to the prom now. I would love to see their reaction.'
I shrugged. 'It will be as expected. No one will applaud or anything, Becky.'
Becky's family are taking advantage of the extra day off this weekend and going away. I kind of envy her. But Jessy and I have lots planned this weekend too. 'You've got to let me know how it turns out,' she said.
'Oh... I'm sure you'll hear about it.'
I was able to draw on enough self-confidence and enough of being comfortable with who I am to actually look forward to tomorrow night. But I can't say I expect it to be a stunning night all round.
...
I have been feeling a little down lately about the prom which is tomorrow night. Well, of course no one asked me. It was subtly mentioned to me a few times, mostly by other girls with whom I am not so friendly, people who need to know what the status of everyone else is. And Janine remains dateless. Well-- there are perfectly sensible reasons for that-- the first is that there are significantly more girls than boys at this school in every grade, and all the 9th- and 10th-grade girls are competing with the upper classes to get invited to the 11-12 prom. And the nice guys in the theatre programme all get taken pretty quickly. Next come the boys in the choir, outnumbered about four to one by eager girls who know how to bat eyes and get invited to prom early. Then there are the dynastic couples who have known each other since nursery school and even though it doesn't look like they're dating, whenever an important event comes up they're locked together at the elbows like Siamese twins. And then there is the guys' point of view, because the farmboys and gearheads and jocks know for certain that they can have their choice of girls for anything they want them for... which is usually unsavoury anyway, although the girls are so glad to be chosen that they'll do anything for it. So, why should any of these guys want to go for the preachy prissy chick from a different country who lives in an unassailable castle?
I really did not expect to be asked. It will be a long time before Jessy and I live down the 'new girl' stigma. But I really did expect a little too much from these local people.
The conversation I heard about was that two or three guys in a certain friend's class were talking about whom to ask to the prom and I got mentioned as a possible candidate. But someone said, 'You don't want to mess with her dad.' And someone else said, 'She would probably think you weren't good enough.' And then of course one of them said something about my legs being glued together. And they very promptly moved on to the next girl.
And although she is absolutely the prettiest girl in the entire school, my sister Jessy didn't get mentioned in that conversation at all-- possibly for being in only 10th grade... but who can be sure?
I discussed this with my friend Becky, who in spite of being somewhat shy and far too moral and modest for some people is actually pretty well aware of what goes on socially in this school. And she said what I expected someone to say-- 'You don't need them, Janine. You're better off without them.' That was not what I wanted to hear. Then she told me that a couple of boys with whom I have always been friendly here said, in other company, that they thought I was 'scary'.
'What do you mean, "scary"?' I wanted to know.
'They think you don't want to have anything to do with them,' she said.
'Since when did I ever say that?'
Becky made a face and looked down as we walked. 'I think they don't want to go out with someone who's, you know.... Well, I think they think you would judge them.'
'On what?'
'On being... you know. Poor.'
I stomped my foot. 'My God. Have I ever judged anyone? I can't help who my father is.'
'A guy's ego is a delicate thing,' she said. 'I mean-- if a guy showed up to take you to prom in a pickup truck--'
'My God,' I said. 'Do they really think I would judge that?'
'Maybe they're just afraid of feeling, you know... not good enough. Like they have to be something else, other than what they are.'
'What a man has to be is comfortable with what he really is,' I said. 'Modesty is always better than dishonesty.'
She looked at me. 'You really believe that?'
I made a face. 'Becky, this is me, remember.'
She laughed. 'I wish I were going with you to the prom now. I would love to see their reaction.'
I shrugged. 'It will be as expected. No one will applaud or anything, Becky.'
Becky's family are taking advantage of the extra day off this weekend and going away. I kind of envy her. But Jessy and I have lots planned this weekend too. 'You've got to let me know how it turns out,' she said.
'Oh... I'm sure you'll hear about it.'
I was able to draw on enough self-confidence and enough of being comfortable with who I am to actually look forward to tomorrow night. But I can't say I expect it to be a stunning night all round.
...
The old-school girls' club
Tuesday, May 19th
When Gran was here she left a few issues of this nostalgia magazine called 'Reminisce' here for my dad, because he gets a good laugh out of it sometimes. In one there was an article about the 40th reunion of a girls' club from southern California. It seems that in 1965 these 9th-grade girls started a club, just to hang around together and stay friends. And they had rules, like-- you must like to dance, or you must be popular but with a good reputation. It was adorably cute. And they found that everyone thought it was really corny and immature, till they started hosting dances in and around school and actual artistes showed up, the famous and soon-to-be famous, and by 11th and 12th grade they were rightfully the most influential and popular girls in the school. They raised money for charities and sponsored community activities (like babysitting-- it was 1965) and the club came to be so important to their lives that when they held a 40th reunion in 2005, all the former members showed up for it.
I mentioned it to Jessy, and she read the article too and declared, 'We should start one.'
I made a face. 'Who would join it?'
She looked at me like I had no clue at all. 'Everyone,' she said. 'I know at least four people who will join it right now.'
I think I knew the same four people. 'But six girls isn't exactly a club. It's just a clique.'
'Then we'll do something, like those girls did. Hold a dance. Do a car wash. Read to little kids.'
This was about three weeks ago. As of tonight, May 19th, 2009, there is an actual club.
We have nine members-- like the girls in 1965 had. It's Becky, Rita, Josie, Anna, Paulette, two other girls and Jessy and me. Three of us are in 11th, four of us are in 10th and one is in 9th. We figured we wouldn't even mention it to seniors, you know. We had our first meeting tonight and this is what we have resolved. When Jessy and I get situated at the beach house we're having a nine-girl sleepover for a weekend there as an initial social event. We can do a lot of planning then. Our first scheduled activity is a fund-raising car wash after Memorial Day. Anna's father has a hardware shop and we're holding it in the car park. We'll use the money to host a slightly bigger event, probably a party, near the end of the summer-- we can advertise it using a club FaceBook site and email. We are getting shirts made for summer and jackets for the autumn, and Jessy wants me to help her write a club song. I am the president-- there was no vote, they just all agreed. Jessy is the social secretary and Becky is the treasurer.
I know half the school--- no, about three-quarters of the school-- is going to think it's corny and immature. We will get accused of playing clubhouse or being a clique or being gay (people here love to throw that one round). But there is also a great opportunity to do some good things for other people, which is the only real point of a social club anyway. And once we have some idea of where we're going with it all we will invite new members. We will be very discerning--there will be initiation rites and a pledge taken. But we're not going to have dues. It's all about commitment, and money isn't the best way to define that.
Of course we're not advertising it to the whole school at this point. We have all summer to come up with a plan for that. But we intend that by September we will be able to stand tall and say we're a part of something that means something. Some of the girls suggested we host a Sadie Hawkins dance in the beginning of October. That will probably be the event that makes or breaks us... but we'll see.
Wish us luck!
...
When Gran was here she left a few issues of this nostalgia magazine called 'Reminisce' here for my dad, because he gets a good laugh out of it sometimes. In one there was an article about the 40th reunion of a girls' club from southern California. It seems that in 1965 these 9th-grade girls started a club, just to hang around together and stay friends. And they had rules, like-- you must like to dance, or you must be popular but with a good reputation. It was adorably cute. And they found that everyone thought it was really corny and immature, till they started hosting dances in and around school and actual artistes showed up, the famous and soon-to-be famous, and by 11th and 12th grade they were rightfully the most influential and popular girls in the school. They raised money for charities and sponsored community activities (like babysitting-- it was 1965) and the club came to be so important to their lives that when they held a 40th reunion in 2005, all the former members showed up for it.
I mentioned it to Jessy, and she read the article too and declared, 'We should start one.'
I made a face. 'Who would join it?'
She looked at me like I had no clue at all. 'Everyone,' she said. 'I know at least four people who will join it right now.'
I think I knew the same four people. 'But six girls isn't exactly a club. It's just a clique.'
'Then we'll do something, like those girls did. Hold a dance. Do a car wash. Read to little kids.'
This was about three weeks ago. As of tonight, May 19th, 2009, there is an actual club.
We have nine members-- like the girls in 1965 had. It's Becky, Rita, Josie, Anna, Paulette, two other girls and Jessy and me. Three of us are in 11th, four of us are in 10th and one is in 9th. We figured we wouldn't even mention it to seniors, you know. We had our first meeting tonight and this is what we have resolved. When Jessy and I get situated at the beach house we're having a nine-girl sleepover for a weekend there as an initial social event. We can do a lot of planning then. Our first scheduled activity is a fund-raising car wash after Memorial Day. Anna's father has a hardware shop and we're holding it in the car park. We'll use the money to host a slightly bigger event, probably a party, near the end of the summer-- we can advertise it using a club FaceBook site and email. We are getting shirts made for summer and jackets for the autumn, and Jessy wants me to help her write a club song. I am the president-- there was no vote, they just all agreed. Jessy is the social secretary and Becky is the treasurer.
I know half the school--- no, about three-quarters of the school-- is going to think it's corny and immature. We will get accused of playing clubhouse or being a clique or being gay (people here love to throw that one round). But there is also a great opportunity to do some good things for other people, which is the only real point of a social club anyway. And once we have some idea of where we're going with it all we will invite new members. We will be very discerning--there will be initiation rites and a pledge taken. But we're not going to have dues. It's all about commitment, and money isn't the best way to define that.
Of course we're not advertising it to the whole school at this point. We have all summer to come up with a plan for that. But we intend that by September we will be able to stand tall and say we're a part of something that means something. Some of the girls suggested we host a Sadie Hawkins dance in the beginning of October. That will probably be the event that makes or breaks us... but we'll see.
Wish us luck!
...
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