Fire from the Rock (18 page)

Lou Ann wrote, “Sylvia, Sylvia, sitting on a fence; trying to go to high school without any sense.” Then she taped two pennies under her name—for luck—and said, “One is for school sense, the other is for boy sense. You might want to use both of them for boys because school doesn't look like it will be much fun for you.”

Sylvia sighed because Lou Ann always spoke the truth. She'd saved a whole page for Reggie—a green one. He took almost fifteen minutes to write the message, then he folded the page into a triangle. When he gave the autograph book back to her, he looked a little embarrassed. “Don't show this to all your friends, okay?”

“I promise,” Sylvia assured him.

She opened it a few minutes later. She thought the message would be long and complicated, but all it said was, “I dream of a future with you.” He'd signed it, “Love, Reggie—1957-” Sylvia's heart thundered with delight and she held the autograph book close to her body. She had never read anything so sweet and wonderful. And he'd used the word love.

Miss Washington, according to tradition, took each student aside to say “one nice thing” before graduation. It was very private and students took Miss Washington's words quite seriously. But Calvin, who just couldn't keep his mouth shut, told Sylvia what she said to him: “Calvin, never lose your gift of laughter and love of flowers. They will save you from despair.” Sylvia thought that was a little depressing, but she didn't tell him.

When Sylvia walked in to ask Miss Washington to sign her autograph book, she was a little nervous. First, Miss Washington told Sylvia that her dress was lovely, complimenting her mother on her fine sewing skills. Sylvia blushed and thanked her, but she figured that was a compliment to her mother, not for herself.

Then Miss Washington looked at Sylvia and said, “Sylvia Faye, I know you dream of greatness. Many students do. But you are one of the few that will succeed. I am proud to know you.”

Sylvia was stunned. She thanked the teacher and hurried out of the room. Unlike Calvin, she didn't tell anyone what Miss Washington had said.

At the end of the day an awards ceremony was held. Her parents and Donna Jean all came—even Gary showed up, scowling whenever one of his former teachers wanted to give him a hug. The boys in their class received certificates for excellence in categories like carpentry and agriculture, as well as honors for math and science and spelling. Reggie, the best in the class in science and math, received a special honor award trimmed in gold. His mother, beaming with pride, took lots of pictures with her Brownie camera.

Sylvia received certificates for typing and sewing, as well as excellence in English, history, spelling, and a special award for poetry. What seemed to make her parents most proud was when they called her name for the National Junior Honor Society. Sylvia walked to the front, her white dress swaying gently from the huge petticoat she wore, and proudly accepted the honor. Her mother cried.

Wasn't that the best television show you ever watched in your life?“ Donna Jean screamed with delight. “Maybe I
am
learning how to be a teenager like you!” She seemed to be pleased with that idea.

“And if Reggie hadn't called me to tell us about it, we woulda missed it,” Sylvia reminded DJ.
“American Bandstand—
what a cool show! A dance show for teenagers. I tell ya—this modern world is amazing.” Sighing with satisfaction, Sylvia flopped on her mother's sofa.

“Daddy's gonna say it's leading to sin and destruction for sure,” DJ said.

“Daddy thinks everything that's cool is gonna send you to the devil.”

DJ laughed. “It will be coming on every day after school, and Daddy doesn't usually get home until later, so we're set for a while.”

Sylvia hummed a little of the song that had been featured, “I'm Gonna Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter.” Then she sat up and said to her sister, “I guess you noticed there were no colored teenagers on the show.”

“Of course not. The world is not
that
modern,” DJ said, a tone of resignation in her voice.

“But almost half of the Top Ten songs were by colored singers,” Sylvia reasoned. “The Coasters, Nat King Cole, LaVern Baker—if white kids can dance to the music of the Negro singers, why can't colored kids dance as well?”

“Now you're sounding like Gary,” DJ said. She got up and clicked off the television. “Can you believe summer vacation is almost over?” Donna Jean asked.

“I have a feeling this school year is gonna be really different from any other we've ever known,” Sylvia replied thoughtfully.

“For you, maybe. But I still get to go to school with my friends.”

“I'll make new friends,” Sylvia said, but without much confidence in her voice.

“Fat chance! You'll be lucky if Rachel has time for you. With your luck, you'll end up with Johnny Crandall sitting next to you in every class!”

“I sure hope not. Don't be so negative, DJ.” Sylvia picked at the plastic on the sofa.

“I'm sorry, Sylvia.” DJ flopped down on the plastic. “You know, it's still not too late to change your mind. How many kids are still on that list?”

“Twelve or thirteen, last I checked. The group keeps getting smaller and smaller. But the ones on the list are such cool people. It makes me feel good just to hang with them.”

“You got another meeting at Miss Daisy Bates's house?”

“Tomorrow, I think.”

“What do you talk about when you're there?”

“Nonviolent techniques. How to accept negativity with a positive spirit. How not to fight back. Stuff like that. And we eat. Miss Daisy makes great brownies.”

“Gary would have lasted maybe ten seconds in a group like that,” DJ said with a laugh.

“He knows that—even admits it. Where is he, anyway?” Sylvia asked.

“Either with his girlfriend—they seemed to be joined at the hip—or at one of those protest meetings again. I have a feeling they
don't
talk about smiling when somebody calls you a name. I heard Gary whispering something about explosives when he was on the phone last night,” DJ said, her tone serious.

“Really? Maybe we should tell Daddy and Mama.”

“I doubt if it would make a difference,” Donna Jean replied, her voice sounding way too adult for her eight years, Sylvia thought sadly.

“He's going to end up in jail,” Sylvia said fearfully. “He can see nobody's viewpoint except his own.”

“That's the problem with everybody in Little Rock,” DJ said. “Everybody's right. Everybody's angry. Everybody's scared. I'm moving to Alaska!” She got up and stretched.

Sylvia laughed. “Too cold for me. But you're right. White folks are scared of us. Today in the newspaper some guy ran a huge ad, trying to stir up trouble.”

“You mean more mess than we already got?”

“Listen to this.” Sylvia picked the newspaper up from the coffee table and read the ad to her sister. “‘At social functions would black males and white females dance together, would black students join clubs and travel with whites, would black and white students use the same restrooms, would black males and white females enact ‘tender love scenes' in school dramas?'”

“Give me a break!” DJ said, rolling her eyes.

Life seemed so simple on television,
Sylvia thought.
But in real life, in Little Rock, folks seemed to be acting like they were about to go to school with Martians.

It had been hot and rainy in Little Rock for several days, and everything seemed to be covered with thick, red Arkansas mud. But Sylvia didn't let the rain upset her, because she had bought Nat King Cole's new album, and had spent the day listening to “When I Fall in Love” and “Love Is the Thing.” She played it so many times that her mother finally peeked her head in Sylvia's room.

“What's got you in such a romantic mood?” she asked with a smile.

“Nothing,” Sylvia told her. “I just love this album.”

“You sure it's the album you're in love with?” her mother asked, her voice teasing.

Sylvia grinned. “I'm in love with the whole world today!”

“It's a wonderful feeling, isn't it?”

“Yes, Mama. It is.”

Sylvia thought for a moment she would say more, tell her more about what she was feeling, let her ask the questions she'd been afraid to ask, but her mother just said, “Be careful, Sylvia Faye. True love is friendship set on fire.”

Sylvia had long ago given up trying to decipher those quotes. So she just nodded and said, “I understand, Mama. You don't have to worry about me.”

“Can you run down to Zucker's store for me, Sylvie?” her mother asked then. “I need some flour, some sugar, and a big bottle of vanilla extract. I guess a couple of lemons and a dozen eggs as well. I'm going to make a couple of cakes tomorrow for the bake sale at church, and one for Sunday dinner. Get an extra large bag of sugar. I know how you like my cakes super sweet.”

“Sure, Mama,” Sylvia replied. She hadn't seen Rachel in a couple of weeks. “You need something from Miss Lillie's, too?”

“No, just give her my best.”

Her mother gave her a few dollars, then said with great seriousness, “Hurry now, Sylvia. Zucker's closes early on Friday, and I want you back well before dark.”

“It's just a couple of blocks away, Mama,” Sylvia said as she grabbed a sweater and tossed it over the shoulders of her favorite yellow dress. But she had to admit—she was a little scared.

Donna Jean looked concerned. “Are you sure it's safe, Sylvie?” she whispered as Sylvia got ready. “You remember what happened that day at the library?”

“I'll be fine, DJ,” Sylvia told her as she headed for the door. “I promise I'll be careful.” Sylvia gave her sister a hug. “If I have an extra ten cents left over, I'll get you the latest Archie and Jughead comic book, okay?”

Donna Jean nodded, but frowned. Sylvia headed out in the dim late afternoon sunlight that had managed to peek through the leftover rain clouds.

As she got to the corner of the next block, Sylvia paused and inhaled with fear. Cruising slowly down the street, rock-and-roll music blasting loudly from the radio, was Johnny Crandall's black ‘56 Ford.
It's a free country,
Sylvia thought.
Well, it is for
white boys like Johnny. She started to go back home, then she got angry. Almost at the store, she pulled her sweater closer to her body and trod purposefully down the sidewalk. She figured if she ignored him, he'd get bored and go away.

But Johnny didn't want to be ignored. “Hey, little girl in yellow. Where you goin'?”

Sylvia walked faster and said nothing. She thought of Lavern Baker's new song, “Jim Dandy to the Rescue.” No such luck for her—no hope that boy named Jim would swoop in and save her this time. “I'm talkin' to you, girl. You want a ride?” He drove very close to the curb, his car windows open. He had turned the music down.

“Go away,” she cried out. She was one block from the store—a five-minute walk.

“You owe me a new pair of shoes, girl. You messed up my shoes. You think I forgot because it was a couple of months ago, but I ain't never gonna forget that.” His voice was taunting, threatening. “And you better not show up at my school!”

“Leave me alone. Please.” Sylvia's heart thudded.

He laughed harshly. “I'm warning you, girl. I'm gonna catch up with you one day when you least expect it, and I'm going to beat you like I did your brother. Your ugly little sister, too. It's just a matter of time.” He sped off then with a screech of tires. She heard the music blasting once more as the car turned the corner.