Reflections of Yesterday (7 page)

“You mean she wrote it for you, don’t you?” Simon teased, nudging his friend with an elbow.

“No. I offered to pay her, but she refused. She said that she’d be happy to help, but she wouldn’t do it for me.”

“Did she?”

“Yeah, and she’s helped me and a lot of the others having trouble, too.”

“What do you mean?” Simon didn’t like the sound of that.

“She’s got brains and isn’t a snob about it.”

From then on, Simon had found that he watched her even more. Angie wasn’t the cheerleader type, nor was she outgoing and vivacious. But she was the heart of their junior class. She was admired and respected, and there wasn’t a person in all of Groves Point High who had a bad thing to say about her. It wasn’t that Simon was attracted to her. He had Shirley. But he was captivated by this long-haired girl with the shy smile and the warm heart. The longer he studied her, the more he realized that people were comfortable around her. Nothing about her was manufactured.

It had taken Simon a week to gather up enough courage to approach Angie. He had started by passing her in the hall and talking to her as if he’d been doing it for years. “Hello, Angie.”

The first time, she had looked shocked. “Hi …” It hadn’t occurred to him that she might not know his name. Everyone knew the Canfields.

Other meetings, supposedly by accident, followed. He just happened to be driving by one
day when she was walking home from school alone.

“Hi.” He pulled his shining red convertible to the curb and looped an arm over the seat. “I’m going your way. Can I give you a lift?”

Angie had tucked a piece of hair around her ear and shaken her head. “No, thanks, it’s only a few blocks.”

Her refusal vexed him. This was Simon Canfield she had just turned down. The boy who scored the most points on the basketball team, the son of a banker, and the richest kid in town. Who did she think she was, anyway?

Another week passed before Simon approached her again. This time they both were in the city library. Simon played it cool and didn’t say a word. He did, however, nod in her direction once when he caught her eye. She smiled in return and glanced down at her books.

Simon picked up a book on archaeology and sat at the table across from her. For a full twenty minutes, neither said a word. Simon pretended to be reading, but his gaze was drawn unwillingly to her several times. The feeling of being this close to her was euphoric. But for all the attention she gave him, he thought, he might as well have been a pillar of salt.

Even now he couldn’t remember who spoke first. What he did recall was that they sat and talked until the library closed. Simon discovered that he loved to hear Angie speak. Her voice was low and melodic. It wasn’t her voice so much as what she said; her insights were refreshing. She made him feel intelligent and awakened a sense of humor in him he’d never known he possessed. He liked Shirley and had even thought he might be in love with her, but after an hour with Angie he found Shirley utterly boring.

Although it was dark when they left the library, Angie again insisted on walking home. Simon remembered that he tried to sound casual about meeting her again sometime and had even made an excuse about needing help with one of his subjects. Undoubtedly, she saw through that. He was an honor student himself.

After that they met nightly at the public library. With each meeting, Simon tasted a little more of the secret beauty that attracted Angie to his friends. She was lovely without being beautiful. Intelligent without being shrewd. And shy without being docile.

At school she smiled at him in the halls, but never sought him out. Since they didn’t share any classes, Simon had to go out of his way to see her. He did so willingly, not caring who saw him or what they said.

Two weeks after he first started meeting Angie at the library, Shirley announced that she’d decided to start seeing another guy. If she’d expected Simon to argue, she was disappointed. Actually, Simon was grateful. He wanted to ask Angie to the dance after the game Friday night and would have felt obligated to ask Shirley.

Angie turned him down flat.

For two nights he didn’t show up at the library. Nor did he make a point of passing her in the halls. He wasn’t stupid; he’d gotten the message.

The Wednesday before the game, Simon stayed after school, shooting baskets at the basketball hoop beside the tennis courts. Almost everyone had gone home. He didn’t know how long he had continued to drive to the hoop … long after his muscles had protested the exercise … long after his throat felt dry and his stomach ached … long after Angie had walked over to watch him. Even when he did notice her, he pretended he hadn’t.

“Simon.”

“Yeah.” He continued to bounce the ball, took aim, and shot from the free-throw line. The ball swished through the net.

“About the dance …”

Bouncing the ball, Simon drowned out her words, shot, missed, made a rebound, and slam-dunked the basketball.

“Simon … I …” She hesitated, and her voice became small.

He tucked the ball under his arm and wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hand. “Listen, I got the picture. You don’t want to go to the dance with me. Fine, there are plenty of other girls who would jump at the chance.” His throat felt as dry as sandpaper. Without a backward glance, he walked to the water fountain and drank enough to ease the parched feeling.

Angie followed him. “Would you consider taking me if”—she swallowed—“if I met you there?”

“Met you there?” Simon repeated, astonished. “Listen, Angie, I know you live on Oak Street. I do drive in that part of town. It isn’t any crime to live where you do.”

“I know, it’s just that my dad, well … Would it be all right if I met you at the gym?”

“No,” he said calmly, “it wouldn’t be all right. If I ask a girl out, then I expect to pick her up and take her home. Understand?”

Slowly Angie nodded. Her arms tightened around her books, crushing them to her chest.
“That’s the kind of thing you should do.”

“Are you coming with me or not?” Simon shifted his weight to his left foot, the basketball still tucked under his arm. He tried to give the appearance that it didn’t matter to him either way. If she went with him, fine. If not, he’d ask another girl. The choice was hers.

“Thank you for asking me, Simon. I’ll always remember that you did.” With that, she turned and walked away.

A long minute passed before Simon ran after her. “Angie.”

She hesitated before turning around. Her face was so drawn that her dark eyes were in sharp contrast to her bloodless features. “Yes.”

She looked so miserable that he immediately wanted to comfort her. “I could pick you up at the library.”

“Would you?” Her voice grew even softer.

“I don’t want to go to the dance with anyone but you.”

She looked for a moment as if she wanted to cry. Biting her lower lip, she gnawed on it before forcing a smile. “There’s no one else I’d want to take me.”

“Can I carry your books?”

She nodded, and when he reached for her hand she gave him that, too.

That night they’d shared a tentative kiss. For the first time, Angie let Simon drive her home from the library. They stopped at the local drive-in for something to drink, and sat and talked until Angie glanced at her watch and looked startled. She had Simon drop her off a block before Oak Street. Her fingers were on the doorknob when Simon stopped her by placing a hand on her shoulder. Surprised, she looked back. Simon said nothing as he leaned forward and gently brushed his mouth over hers. He’d experienced far more passionate kisses, but none so sweet.

By the time he arrived home, Simon was whistling.

“You’ve got it bad,” Cal had commented a month later.

“What do you mean?” Simon decided to play dumb.

“You and Angela Robinson.”

“Yeah, so what’s the big deal? She’s terrific; I like her.”

“I like Angie, too. Everyone does, but you know what kind of problem you’ll face if you ask her to the prom.”

Simon did know. It’d been in his mind all week. Angie hadn’t mentioned it, but the
biggest dance of the year loomed before them like D Day. For all his parents knew, he was still dating Shirley. Neither his mother nor his father would appreciate him asking a girl from Oak Street to the country club dinner scheduled after the prom. For that matter, Angie had never mentioned her home or family, either.

They’d continued to see each other nightly, with Simon dropping her off a block from Oak Street and sitting in the car until she was safely inside her house. A couple times he’d driven down her street without her knowing it and had been surprised at how meticulous the yard and flowerbeds were. As far as he could see, there was nothing to be ashamed of. He worried about Angie and wondered if her father was abusive or an alcoholic. She had given him no clues, but he couldn’t press the subject, since he hadn’t taken her to meet his parents, either.

A week before the dance, Simon had made his decision. “We’re going,” he announced that night. They were parked at Three Tree Point, sitting in the convertible with the top down. Angie sat close by his side, her head resting on his chest. Simon’s arm was looped around her shoulder, and he pressed her close.

Angie hadn’t made the pretense of not knowing what he was talking about. “There’ll be trouble.”

“We’ll face it together.” Slowly, reassuringly, his hand stroked the length of her arm. “And this time I won’t pick you up at the library or anyplace else. I’m coming to your front door with the biggest corsage this town has ever seen.”

“Oh Simon,” she had whispered, uncertainty in her voice, “I don’t know.”

“And with you on my arm, I’m going to introduce you proudly to my parents.”

Simon felt the tension building in her. “You’re sure?”

“I’ve never been more positive of anything in my life.”

The evening had been a disaster from beginning to end. As he said he would, Simon picked Angie up at her house. He had barely knocked when the door was opened. Simon wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t the tall, gray-haired man who stood before him. Simon introduced himself and shook hands with Angie’s father, Clay Robinson. Clay was dressed in a suit, his hair slicked down. From listening around school, Simon knew that Angie’s father worked at the mill. On weekends he played banjo at a local tavern.

“You’ve come to take my Angie to the prom?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re that rich kid from on the hill, ain’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t suppose you and your daddy like good bluegrass?”

“Daddy, please,” Angie pleaded, her face red with embarrassment.

“We enjoy music.” All Simon wanted to do was get Angie out of that house.

“Me and my band play good; you say something to your daddy, you hear, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

Angie didn’t say a word until Simon had parked the car in the parking lot. The music drifted from the open door of the school gymnasium. “I’m sorry, Simon,” she mumbled, her chin tucked against her collarbone.

“What for?”

“Dad. He shouldn’t have asked you to do that.”

“Angie, it doesn’t matter. Okay?” A finger under her chin lifted her eyes to his. They were so dark and intense that he leaned forward and kissed her. “Have I told you how beautiful you are tonight?” She was, incredibly so. Her hair was piled high upon her head, and small flowers were woven into the design. The dress was new, a light blue thing with an illusion yoke of sheer lace. Angie had designed it herself, and he was astonished at her skill.

For the first time that evening, she smiled. “No.”

“Then let me correct the oversight.” He chuckled. “You are incredibly beautiful tonight, Angie.” He said it with all the emotion he was experiencing and gazed deep into her fathomless eyes.

Her smile revealed the happiness his words produced. “Thank you, Simon.”

They should have been able to enjoy the dance, but they didn’t. Instead they both were anticipating the confrontation that awaited them at the country club. Simon’s mother hadn’t surprised him.

“Mom,” he said, tucking his arm around Angie’s waist. “This is Angela Robinson.”

“Hello, Angela.” Politely Mrs. Canfield shook Angie’s hand, but her eyes had turned questioningly to her son. His mother was far too refined to say anything at the moment, but Simon knew he’d hear about his choice of a date later.

Simon escorted Angie to a dinner table in the front of the room, where they were joined by Cal Spencer and his date. No sooner were they seated when Simon’s father approached the
table, expecting an introduction. He asked the group to excuse Simon and took him across the room, where he proceeded to demand to know exactly what kind of game his son was playing.

“Trouble?” Cal asked, when Simon returned.

“No.” Simon reached for Angie’s hand under the table. “Everything’s fine.” Only it hadn’t been, and they both knew it.

Some time later, when Simon was away from the table, exchanging polite inanities with a friend of the family, Cal came for him.

“Angie’s left.”

Simon looked around him in disbelief. “What happened?”

“Someone came up and said her kind wasn’t welcome here.”

Anger filled every fiber of his being. “Who?” He was ready to swing on the bastard.

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Cal murmured. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about Angie?”

It amazed him how far she’d gotten in so short a time. “Angie,” Simon called, running after her. A hand on her shoulder stopped her progress down the hill. Her dark lashes were wet and he knew she’d been crying.

“Oh Angie.” He pulled her into his embrace and wrapped his arms around her. She sniffled once and broke free, pausing to wipe her cheek, but kept her face lowered, refusing to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry, running away was a childish thing to do, but I couldn’t stay there another minute with everyone looking at me and whispering.” Her voice was so muted he could hardly hear her.

“Angie, it was my fault.” He brought her back into his arms and breathed against her hair, taking in the fresh fragrance. “I should be the one to apologize.”