The Swiss Pencil

THE SWISS PENCIL

by Thomas Adams 2

The Swiss Pencil

Floating weightless outside the pod, maneuvering himself toward the station’s belly, he looked out through the face of his helmet at the video impossibly stretching across this surface of the large white wheel rotating before him. To his left, the moon loomed large, a bright silver disk etched across the blackness of space. Barack Obama, whose image stretched before him, spoke before a dozen microphones. Past the station, Earth, with its blue waters and brown land masses and swirling white clouds, pulsed out its information, its endless drone of self-absorbed messages, impossible to escape even up here. Feeling how Ronald McNair may have felt, blazing more of the trail of African American contributions to Man’s great accomplishments, he focused his gaze on the president’s face. “My job,” the president said, “is to follow this thing closely so that I know whose asses I need to kick.” 280 miles below, Eddie James, suspended in a vacuum of his own somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, felt for an uneasy moment that his posterior could be the target of this presidential ass kicking. Then the voice of a radio announcer came into his head, and he jolted awake. The clock radio on his nightstand, spouting the latest news about the BP oil disaster and botched efforts to fix the mess, announced in red numerals that the time was 7:32. 7:32?! How on earth (he chuckled at this choice of words, recalling his dream) could he have slept this long through the alarm? Cursing, he threw on the clothes he wore yesterday, and he cursed again when he looked in the mirror and remembered the cherry Slurpee stain on his white tee shirt. In a flash, the shirt was in a ball on the side of his bed, a new one on, and, shoelaces untied, he was out the door sprinting to catch the bus. Today was the day of The Test. The SAT. Why it had to be given at 8:30 on a Saturday morning was beyond him. SAT, for Saturday, he mused. Anything to get America’s youth out of bed early on a Saturday morning. Until a week and a half ago, the test was the farthest thing from his mind. None of his homies was taking it. To them, the SAT was for Whitey Wannabees looking for four or more additional years of brainwashing and stalling. “I think I’ll pass,” he said aloud when he heard the test date announced at school, a sentiment he felt certain about until a week ago. Make that ten days ago. Ten days ago. That was when he met her. Talk about falling! Louise Parker was so beautiful, Eddie forgot his own name. “Louis,” he told her. F’n Louis! The last time he even heard that name spoken was when Granny was alive. “My Louis,” she used to call him. “My scholar.” 3

But that was then and this was now. He hadn’t even cracked a book for the past year. And now, because Louise Parker was taking the SAT, he was running down Plummer at 7:40 in the morning on a Saturday to catch a bus so he could be late to take a test that he didn’t care about anyway. And he didn’t even have a pencil. He recalled what Doc Belson said about materials: “The only thing you need to bring is a number two pencil. And that you must have, because they don’t provide them and you won’t be able to talk to anybody. And don’t be late,” he warned. “Louis,” the counselor had added with a chuckle. Eddie had left the office not believing he’d told Belson that embarrassing detail about his encounter with Louise. He searched the ground as he ran to the bus stop, scanned the area of the stop and the floor and seats as he made his way to the rear of the bus. No pencil. Now he was wishing he had taken hers when she offered it. It was a classy looking instrument, and a great conversation piece, although anything would have served the purpose on that memorable Wednesday. It was easy to talk to her, so natural it all still seemed a dream. Louise Selma Parker was quality, all right, far beyond anything, anyone he thought he’d ever have look at him twice, and he felt something he never felt before when their eyes met a week and a half ago in the gym. A week and a half? Feels like a minute. And it feels like a lifetime.

He was at an auditorium call for juniors and seniors designed to sell them on college. A senior, Eddie heard it all before, and he almost got TJ to ditch fourth period so they could make it a long lunch, maybe kick it at Mickey Dee’s or surprise Filo at Jim’s Tire Man during his lunch break. But Eddie was flat broke and so was TJ, so he figured not to risk the ditch and just suffer through it all again. He decided to skip the college scene altogether just under a year ago, after Granny died. Granny’s funeral was a very small affair paid for with her meager savings, and it happened on the day of the SAT. He signed up to take it then, but he wasn’t going to let Granny go without watching her go, even if she was already in the coffin. He stayed on after the preacher and the Gonzalezes, Granny’s neighbor couple and the only other attendants besides himself, had left the cemetery. It was almost dark when he bloodied his fists on the tree by her grave. Then he wept, and he continued to weep long after darkness covered all. After that he was just sad and angry, but mostly angry. He got into a few fights, hurt one kid pretty bad, and was placed on probation. Afterwards he was often singled out by the police and patted down for drugs or weapons or whatever else they thought they might find. What Eddie did not know was that Doc Belson had tipped off his brother, an LAPD sergeant who watched over Eddie’s little corner of the world. “Look out for this kid,” Dr. Belson said, showing his brother Eddie’s picture on the computer screen during one of Julian’s visits to the school. “He’s got a future, and I don’t want him blowing it with some stupid felony. Kid’ll be eighteen in June. Very bright. If he’d grown up under different circumstances he’d probably be a junior in college right now.” “What are his circumstances?” the sergeant asked. “He never knew his folks. According to his grandmother, his mom left him in the park when he was less than a week old. His grandmother, an addict like her daughter, hunted him down after she went clean in ’05. Took her over a year of searching, but she found him. She told him both his parents were dead,” the counselor said, “and, if they’re not, they may as well be. Now she’s dead, too. I got him into Rancho.” 4

“Yet another angry black kid, probably lookin’ to get killed,” said the cop, shaking his head. “I don’t know about that,” said the counselor, “but I do know that the anger is probably warranted. His grandmother was the only person who ever showed him real love, gave him a small piece of normalcy for four years, and she died during a routine cholecystectomy at West Hills. He thinks it was negligence, and frankly so do I, but he’s getting stonewalled by the hospital administration and can’t afford a lawyer.” “Too bad. Can’t help him there, but we’ll watch him,” Julian said.

Back in the gym, Eddie was zoning out to the voice of a female counselor going over the details of the upcoming Scholastic Aptitude Test. He scanned the students, affirming that most, like him, didn’t give a damn, either surreptitiously listening to their iPods or texting friends under their purses and backpacks. Then he noticed her, this girl studiously taking notes on a small pad and listening intently to the facts about the test. She was in the class that sat next to his, Mr. Rubalcava’s, six people down and one row back. As if on cue, she looked back at him, and her eyes were the most amazing things he had ever seen. The two stared, he transfixed, she spellbinding. Then she smiled, and now that was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. If she had been just another pretty face, he’d have climbed up right next to her and started jabbering. She wasn’t, and he didn’t. At this point he wasn’t even positive she was all that good looking, all around. But there was no way he was going to stare. He knew her eyes, instantly it seemed, and they were all he felt he needed to know, could handle knowing, for now. Still, he checked her out when the classes were dismissed from the gymnasium, from every angle he could, without her noticing. He couldn’t face those eyes again and remain cool. He hung back, letting people rush past him on their way to lunch, the wooden bleachers clamoring beneath the pounding of hundreds of hurrying feet. Then she passed, down the aisle to his right. From the side and rear views he remained impressed. She would definitely pass on the body standard, might even meet the approval of the self-appointed babe connoisseur himself, TJ, self-dubbed Sir Terence the Almighty. So now he just needed to meet her, which could be a problem. He didn’t know much about her. She was in Rubalcava’s class, so she must be a junior. Rubalcava taught AP fourth period, so she was smart. She was taller than most of the boys around her, which was good for him, as he was 6’2” and still growing. Still, he needed more info, but he didn’t know where to begin to get it. “James, you making it your personal mission to be the last in the gym,” bellowed the voice of Eddie’s favorite counselor, “or does Coach Cronin have you counting bleacher seats?” Coach Cronin, a blistery heavy-set white guy in his sixties, was known for making kids count bleacher seats when he caught them screwing around. The inexact science of counting “seats” on a series of straight boards was part of the coach’s sadistic idea of a punishment. When Granny died, Eddie was reduced to just two of his names, Eddie and James— James to Doc Belson or the police, and Eddie to everyone else. He figured that “Louis” was probably gone forever, except on his driver’s license: Louis Edward James, 21000 Plummer St., Chatsworth, CA 91311. Sex: M; Hair: Brn; Eyes: Brn; Ht: 6-1; Wt. 170; DOB 05-30-92. “Doc! Hey, man, you gotta help me,” he said to the counselor, the only person now left in the gym besides himself. “How about ‘Good morning, Dr. Belson. Good to see you, sir.’” Then the counselor extended his hand in polite example of what he called “proper high school decorum.” 5

“Good morning, Dr. Belson,” he followed, with passable sincerity. “It is good to see you, sir, because I could really use your help,” Eddie told him, shaking the counselor’s hand vigorously. “And for what would that be? Not a letter of commendation to the California Youth Authority, I hope?” Belson quipped, reminding Eddie of his serious displeasure with Eddie’s rap sheet. “No, sir. But thank you, sir,” he returned, ignoring the jab. “I’ll remember that in case I ever need one. Actually, I’m rethinking the SAT. Can I still take it?” “You playing me, James?” “Serious as a heart attack, Dr. B. The lady did say juniors and seniors, right?” “Right. But you must have missed that sign-ups have been closed since March 15.” “Really?” said Eddy, greatly disappointed. “So, nuthin’ this fool can do to take their damned test, huh?” “James, did you actually mean to go urban uneducated vulgar in your speech, or have you merely temporarily forgotten who you’re speaking to?” “Uh,” Eddie said after a slight pause, looking sheepish. “With due respect, sir, isn’t it ‘whom?’” “Come again?” “Wouldn’t the correct form be ‘Have you merely temporarily forgotten with whom it is you are speaking?’ Sir?” Eddie said, deadpan, his head down as a show of respect, but unable to keep from grinning when their eyes met again. Belson’s mouth hung open, half in smile, half in disbelief. “Son of a gun,” sang the counselor. “You not only got me on the objective pronoun, you even got me on the position of the preposition.” Then the counselor looked him straight in the eye. “You serious about this test, James? What’s changed your mind all of a sudden?” “I’ll tell you all about it after school, Doc,” Eddie said, returning to his old self. “So, can I take it?” he asked, knowing that if there were a way, the Doc would find it. “Maybe. See me first thing in the morning. I have to leave early today.” “You’re a prince, Doc,” he said, leaving Dr. Belson standing there looking after him. He exited the gym and strolled out into the bright daylight.

His eyes were adjusting and then there she was, on the quad, sitting by herself, eating an orange, watching him coming out of the gym. He squinted into the sunlight, looking at her watching him. Then she smiled. Even though she was still a girl, her smile was that of a woman. Not just a work of art, a masterpiece. The kind of smile that invited you to jump up on its ledge and sit there awhile to enjoy gazing at the world from its startling point of view. A thousand ships smile. And it was looking like it was meant for him, so naturally, he returned it. Her eyes invited him over, the very same eyes that captivated him in the gym. The invitation was more explicit than if she had waved him over, and far more seductive. The feeling was hard to explain. It was as though he was reading the book of his life and living it at the same time. And this beautiful girl was the author, the best one he’d read in a long while. Perhaps ever. His life suddenly became a mystery again. He walked toward her feeling pretty sure of himself. Louis Edward James, a boy soon to become a man. A man with a woman. Complete. She spoke first. 6

“Hello.” It was just one word, but the tone beneath the greeting said much more. It told him she’d been waiting for him, and now he was here, and it was good that he was here. Good for her and good for him. “Hello,” he returned. “Keep talking,” he said to himself, trying to avoid the awkward moment this sudden wave of helplessness was sure to create. “Looks like a good orange,” he said then, watching as she bit into a piece. “It is. My aunt brings them to me from her tree. She lives in Ojai. Here, try it.” She peeled off a segment and handed it to him, and he took it. He bit it in half and the juice ran down his chin. “Mmm,” he said, a little embarrassed, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “Juicy.” She laughed. “I should have warned you,” she said, then stopped when she caught his stare. “What?” “Well could you, would you mind smiling for me like that again?” She laughed again. Warm, but guarded. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t catch your name.” “True. But what’s in a name?” Then they said it together, as if on cue: “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” They laughed together then. “I’ve never had a boy quote Shakespeare to me before,” she said, looking at him from beneath a stunning brow. Her eyes were even more astonishing at this close distance. “Did you like that?” he asked, trying to stay cool. Losing battle, but trying. “I did. Impressive,” she said. “Then I’m going to have to study me some lines,” he said, becoming a kid again. “Maybe you’d better get some lunch, first.” Now it was his turn to look at her from beneath his brow. “Are you trying to get rid of me, or are you asking me out on a lunch date?” he asked. “Neither. Just looking out for you. The bell’s going to ring before you get a chance to eat,” she said, looking at him, and then at the yard filled with students, most of whom were already moving to throw away their trash. “Boy,” she added. “Boy? What? Oh, right. Louis! Louis Edward James, at your service.” He offered his hand. She took it. “Louise Selma Parker at yours,” she said. They shook hands, and he didn’t want to let go. “Well, Louis Edward James, you should eat more of this orange, because somehow I don’t think you’re going to make it to lunch. Besides, I might not see you again for another month, so I may as well take advantage of the moment,” she said, releasing his hand and pulling off another slice of the orange. This time he put the whole thing in his mouth. She watched him, and, remembering the juice on his chin, laughed again. “On second thought,” he said, still chewing, “will you promise to smile for me every day for the rest of my life?” Then he paused, taking in the meaning of her last words. “Hey, why ‘another month?’” “Well,” she shifted her weight, the first time in this encounter that she appeared the least bit uncomfortable. “I noticed you a month ago at the evacuation drill, but I never saw you since,” she said. “It’s nice to know I made such an impression.” “You’re tall,” she said, as if that should explain it. “You’re a junior, right Louise?” Her name felt natural when he spoke it. She looked at him suspiciously. “How did you know that?” she asked. 7

“I had Rubalcava last year.” “Oh. Then that would make you a senior,” she said, sounding slightly disappointed. “Something wrong with seniors?” “No,” she said, but he could tell there was. “Well, it’s just that, well I was going to ask you on a date, actually, but now I don’t know.” “When? Wait. Why not?” Her ask him on a date? He was waiting to hear his alarm go off again. “Well, I’m figuring that since you had Mr. Rubalcava last year, you’ve probably already taken the SAT, right?” “Maybe, maybe not,” he said, not wanting to rule out any possibilities. “But what does that have to do with a date?” She sighed. “My mother and daddy don’t really allow me to go on dates. But a real nice, real smart boy who can come over and prepare for the SAT with me just might pass their first line of scrutiny,” she said. “They don’t trust boys very much.” “Yeah, I know what you mean.” For the first time he looked at the rest of her, not just her face. “Really? Maybe I don’t.” “Don’t what?” he asked, fearful he was too transparent and offended her. “Know what I mean. What they mean. What you mean,” she said. The fire that danced in her eyes under her brow, now knit in consternation, was almost enough to strike him dumb. But he held his ground. “Well, look,” he said. “For one thing, your father was a boy himself once.” He fell silent, not sure what to say next. “Go on,” she said. “I’m listening.” “Well, he got your mother pregnant, didn’t he?” At this she got wide-eyed, just wondering where this might be going. “Well,” Eddie stammered on, “now he’s got a pretty daughter, and surely he doesn’t want her looked at the way he looked at your mama,” he laughed, trying to lighten things. “A beautiful daughter, I should say,” he added, and then her frown broke into a blushing smile, even in spite of herself. “Why thank you.” Her blush deepened at that, and then suddenly vanished as she returned to scolding him. “My daddy was hardly a boy when they had me, though she was pretty young. Nineteen.” “Aha! That was bad, and he knows all about it, but when he’s thinking ‘My sixteen-year- old baby? I’ll kill the freak!’” he said, mimicking a fearsome resolve. “Oh, Daddy would never kill you. He might scare you half to death, but not all the way. He’d stop at some point. But you’re right about one thing. He’s fiercely protective. Still sees me as his little girl.” “Well, if it’s any consolation, my granny didn’t let me date either,” he said, not believing Louise was this easy to talk to. He hadn’t mentioned his grandmother to a soul since she died. Not even Doc, when he tried to get Eddie to talk about it. “Not until after I got my graduate degree, she said. But I negotiated her down to a Bachelor’s. She said once I have a degree as a bachelor,” he recalled with a laugh, “maybe it would make good sense for me to move on to the next step in life and find me a good wife.” “Sounds like a practical woman,” she laughed. “And you must be a pretty good negotiator. So now she lets you date?” she asked. 8

“Hm?” “Well, it sounds like it’s no longer a problem, and I doubt you have a Bachelor’s degree.” “Yeah, well, Granny doesn’t have much to say about it anymore. She died a year ago, a year ago next Friday.” It seemed important he got it right. “She’ll be dead one year in a week and two days.” “Oh. I’m sorry,” she said, and clearly she meant it. They sat silently. After a while she broke the silence. “It must have been hard on you and your family.” “It, uh, it was. It was hard on all one of us.” “All one of you?” “Yeah. You, Louise Selma Parker, are looking at the James family in its entirety.” “You’re pulling my leg,” she said, incredulous. “On a first date?” he said, eyeing her leg. “I’d like to, but I don’t think your daddy’d approve.” She looked at him, half reproachfully, half playfully. “You calling this a date?” she said. “No, I’m calling it our first date. The second one we’re going to be study buddies, remember?” “Hey Eddie! Webster called off practice.” The call came to him from the service road. Eddie didn’t really care to talk to TJ just now, the Almighty himself, especially now that his friend took notice of Louise and his animal instinct now drew him closer. “Whoa,” TJ said, stopping short. “Hello,” he said, directed at Louise. “Eddie, introduce me to your friend.” “I would, TJ, but I’d like to keep her as a friend.” “Oooo, low! Very low. Who needs a brother’s help with that kind of vibe, man?” “Go away, little boy,” Eddie said. “Shoo!” “All right, man, I get it, I get it.” Starting to leave, he turned around again to face Eddie. “How ‘bout sparring after school? I can give it a hour.” He made it sound like “ow-wuh,” like Tupac reincarnated. Good old TJ. “We’ll see,” Eddie said, and TJ shuffled off. When he turned to get another look at Louise, Eddie broke his line of vision and waved at him. TJ held his middle finger out in front of his stomach, shot Eddie some eyebrows and then danced away like he was on MTV. “Where’s your fifth period class?” Eddie asked Louise. “Room 75. French.” “French? Why you taking a sissy ass language like that for?” Her scowl of annoyance at his “ebonic lapse,” as Dr. Belson, a former English teacher, often refers to them, was too real for him to keep it going. “Er, what I mean,” he said, obviously back pedaling, “is that the French are a fine people, and whether or not you plan to go to medical school, learning that language is a true refinement of one’s, uh, one’s romantic sensibilities.” “Two things you should know about me, Louis Edward James. One, I don’t like cussing, and two, I don’t like liars, especially if they’re lying to try to please.” He stood still, a little unsure of the way this was going, trying to recall how he had cussed. But then she smiled. “But I am impressed with your vocabulary. That is, when you seem to be inclined to use it,” she said, “and I will forgive you this once.” He relaxed. “One thing you were right about is medical school,” she said. “You?” “Me what?” “Well, what are you planning to get into?” He thought about the question, trying to keep the innuendo out of his mind, although almost involuntarily his eyebrow rose. The look on her face sobered him quickly, however, 9 telling him to not even think of going there. He was saved by the bell when the chime sounded to break up lunch. They walked at an easy gait toward the south end of campus. His class was in Room 12, Auto Mechanics, on the north end, and if he arrived tardy it would be his third time this month. “Ah, I haven’t made up my mind. Leaning towards engineering, though. Aeronautical.” “Really? My daddy was a pilot in the Air Force.” “Oh.” This could be good for him or bad for him. He wasn’t sure. “Great!” “Sure will be good for you,” she said, as if reading his mind, “if you ever meet him. He’s picking me up today after school,” she added. “Well there goes my chance to walk you home,” Eddie said. “You never had a chance,” she said. “Either of my parents get wind of that and there’d be no way they’d let me study with you. He would drive you home, though, if you were just a new friend who needed a ride. Where do you live?” “Thanks, but I think I’ll brush up on flight dynamics before I meet your father. Can I, can I call you?” “Better let me call you.” She reached in her handbag and pulled out a small notebook and a gleaming writing implement. It was a mechanical pencil, made of polished metal, silver perhaps, or some expensive alloy. Its design suggested aesthetic simplicity and engineered precision. This girl’s surprises seemed to never end. “Wow,” was all he could say again, this time about the pencil. “What? Oh, this? It’s great, isn’t it? It’s Swiss made. Would you like to have it?” she said, looking up from the notebook and offering it to him. He was aghast and put up a hand. “One day, I suppose. When I can afford one,” he laughed. “I wouldn’t want to take yours.” “No,” she said. “I guess you’re right. You should have your own. Now, is it Louis,” she asked, returning to the task at hand, “or ‘Eddie?’” “Hm? Oh, no, I’d rather you call me Louis.” “Do you ‘spar’ as Louis, or as ‘Eddie?’” she asked, her brown eyes wide in inquiring wonder. “Well, that would be ‘Eddie.’ Eddie’s my, uh, my sparring name.” “I’ll be sure to remember that if we’re ever sparring. So?” she said expectantly, pencil held to the notebook. “Sure I can’t call you?” he asked, with something of a plea in his voice. “Sure as my daddy’s alive,” she said. She gently put her hand on his arm. “Don’t worry, Louis. I know your grandmother wouldn’t have left you in anything but good hands.” The fact was that Granny didn’t leave him in anyone’s hands. Her death was too sudden. Belson pulled some strings to get him into Rancho San Antonio Home for Boys. It had a strong reputation, and the people there were good people. He pretty much had already told her that he must be somebody’s ward. He saw that she had written down his full name, and now waited for the number. “882-6409,” he said. “You might, uh, you might want to ask for Eddie.” “Mm. I might. 4:30 okay?” “Today?” “How late does ‘Eddie’ spar?” “Better make it 5:00.” “5:00 it is. Bye,” she said, with a little wave and a smile that he’d dream about often. 10

“Bye.” As soon as she was in her classroom, he turned and bolted in the opposite direction. “One minute,” the loudspeaker squawked. “Students, you have one minute to get to class. Teachers, please lock your doors at the sound of the tardy bell. 40 seconds.” Eddie was always amazed at the speed with which the final minute between classes zipped by. He knew Mr. Nolan wasn’t going to give him a break, especially in an announced lockout. And, besides wanting to avoid Saturday detention, he now wished to pick Nolan’s brain on airplane engines. “Twenty seconds.” His hurdle over the railing into the lower shop area was one of the most graceful physical moves he’d ever done, on or off the track field, ending in a forward somersault that put him back on his feet. A teacher he’d never seen before applauded while standing at his door watching over the final seconds of passing period. Eddie didn’t stop to acknowledge the praise, but rolled under the closing aluminum garage door to his auto mechanics classroom just as the tardy chime sounded. “You’re lucky, James,” Nolan said, attendance clipboard in hand. “You can say that again, Mr. Nolan,” said Eddie, smiling at just how lucky he was truly feeling about now. The rest of the day moved like a glacier in February. When seventh period finally let out at 3:07, he went to find Doc Belson in his office, and then remembered what he’d said about having to leave early. He ended up seeing him the next morning, when the Doc signed him up, as a special case, for the SAT. It was also when Eddie told him about Louise, way more than he thought he’d be able to when they spoke the day before in the gym. The Doc seemed happy for him, almost too happy, like he knew more about Louise Parker than he let on.

And now, Saturday a week and half later, here Eddie was again racing against time because of her, trying to make it to this test that he spent the last year convincing himself not to bother about. He didn’t have the money to go to college anyway, and his junior year grades knocked him out of contention for any scholarships. This was what started the fight with Louise. Except for that, last Saturday couldn’t have gone better. Actually, it wasn’t really a fight. It almost got to that point, but she stopped it before it did. She had called him on the afternoon of the day they met, just as she said she would. He skipped sparring with TJ just to ensure that he’d be there when she called. He hovered near the upstairs hallway phone from about 4:30 on, but he wasn’t the one to answer when it rang promptly at 5:00. Steve, a new guy, answered. “Louis?” he said. “I don’t know any Louis. Let me check.” Eddie walked up and held his hand out for the receiver. “Hello?” There was a pause, and for a moment Eddie wondered if someone was still on the other end. Then he heard her breath, very soft, but unmistakable. “Hello?” she echoed. “Oh yeah, hi,” he said. “Well, my mom talked to my dad, and they agreed it would be okay for you to come over on Saturday so we can study together.” “Okay. I guess we’re all in agreement, then. What time should I be over?” “How about nine?” 11

“Sure,” he said, trying to make his voice sound little more than routinely interested. “By the way, does your father still fly?” he asked. “He gave up flying after I was born. He now practices law.” “What kind of planes did he fly?” Eddie asked, determined to score some points with her dad. “Fighters.” She said. “The F-15 Eagle. But that was sixteen years ago,” she added, after hearing his quick intake of breath on the other end of the line. “And don’t worry,” she said. “Daddy’s not going to be around, so you don’t have to brush up on U.S. military hardware of the post Cold War era just yet. At least not for Saturday.” “Okay, then,” he said. “We’ll call it a date.” “Our second,” she said, and he could picture that magnificent smile as he hung up the phone. He didn’t see her the rest of that week, but he didn’t go out of his way to either. It was killing him, but intuition was telling him that overzealousness would be the kiss of death. He had to play it cool, but not too cool, which was why he darted into Mr. Rubalcava’s classroom before fourth period on Thursday to leave a peach on her desk. Mr. Rubalcava seemed all too willing to point her desk out to him, and Eddie hoped that the peach he found in the market was as sweet and juicy as the one he taste-tested. Now, on his way to her house, he smiled to himself at the thought of the juice running down her chin when she bit into the peach. Sweet revenge! Sylvester, one of the home’s assistant supervisors, agreed to drive him to Louise’s. To save Eddie some embarrassment, Sylvester agreed to forego the mandatory meeting with her parents to ensure Eddie had their permission to be there. “Just be a gentleman and a scholar, Eddie,” Sylvester told him. “Remember that you’re going there to study, not to fool around. You got the rest of your life for that.” Sylvester was chill. He’d had it rough, too, and made some poor choices in his younger years. Still, he was probably the most together staffer at Rancho, one of the few people with whom Eddie felt confident enough to talk with about Louise. Eddie told him all about her, that he felt this was it, he was in love; he believed she felt the same way about him; no, they hadn’t kissed yet; yes, she seemed to have two good parents; no her parents weren’t aware of their interest in one another. “How do I know when it’s right to kiss her, man?” Eddie asked Sylvester in this latest of their several discussions about Louise Selma Parker. “You’ll just know, that’s all. Don’t try to hurry anything. A boy gets nervous, lets his awkwardness show, or he tries too hard to be smooth, which is even worse. A man bides his time, lets the moment unfold. A man acts when the time calls for him to act, because he’s focused on his life, so he knows when to act and why he’s acting. This Louise sounds like she’s a smart cookie. She’s got a plan for her life. You two playing kissy-face while you’re both supposed to be studying for this college exam probably don’t fit into that plan very well. So don’t worry about it, man. You’ll just know.” Sylvester had a way of making sense about things that Eddie doubted he’d had much experience in. He was right, though. Louise was as serious about this SAT as a ship’s captain is about making it to port on schedule. Distractions probably just weren’t in the picture. They rolled up to the house, a modest, well-kept ranch style home with a large, very old pine that shaded most of the back yard. The well-maintained front yard whispered a soft 12 fragrance, emanating from the flowering plants that adorned it. Eddie got out of the car and Sylvester, after giving him an assuring thumbs-up, drove off. Louise came out to greet him, carrying a large, thick, soft-cover workbook. “Are you ready to party?” she said, holding up the book as though it were coveted “partying" material that would sustain them for the morning and afternoon. “I’m not so sure,” he said, grinning. “My friends call me a light-weight, you know.” “Yeah? Well you sure know how to choose a peach. That was amazing!” “Was it juicy?” he asked, mischief in his voice. “Oh my God!” she said. “I had to eat it with a dish towel in my hand. If that was your idea of revenge for what I did to you with my aunt’s orange, you got me three times over. My friends wouldn’t let me hear the end of it.” God, he loved that smile. They sat at a table in her backyard in the shade of the pine tree. “Okay, should we start with the practice essay topics?” she asked, ready to get right to work. “We’ll choose one and write for forty minutes. Then we’ll work on analogies,” she said, flipping the pages of her well- trodden SAT prep workbook and then setting it down on the table, opened to the page with the writing prompts. After setting paper out for each of them and glancing at the small clock on the table, she began to write. Again he noticed her pencil, its sleek, polished appearance, its fluid motion as if it were a part of her, its uncanny ability to appear to feed the lead out automatically. He noticed with quick glances that she was writing about her mother, for whom she apparently had great admiration. He had chosen the same prompt, about someone special in his life, and of course he wrote about Granny, the person closer to being his parent than anyone else. “It was her third serious attempt to get clean,” he wrote. “. . . and the first time she had stayed sober for a year since she was fifteen. She vowed to herself that on her one year anniversary, if she were able to last that long, she’d begin her search for me. One year and three weeks into this ambitious project, she found me living in a foster home in Nevada outside of Las Vegas. What she said when she did was ‘Hello, Louis. I’m your grandmother. I’d like you to come home with me.’ Just like that. “It turned out to be the truest home I’d ever known, because there was love there, true love. She is how I came to know what love is. She never used again. She and I would talk every day, about anything and everything. It was like she was making up for lost time, hers and mine, and maybe, in a way, hers and her daughter’s—my mom’s—as well. She told me she had almost forgotten what it was like to be in love with life, and that I gave that back to her. She told me not a minute goes by that she isn’t thanking God that I was born, and that she found me. I’d never been loved like that before. It was like discovering a whole world that I never knew even existed, except maybe on TV. Not real, only now suddenly it was. The home she provided for me was a one bedroom apartment in one of the cheapest rentals on Sutter Avenue, but to me it was a palace, and I was a prince.” He was a little uncomfortable when, upon finishing her essay, she offered it to him in exchange for his. Hers was good, extremely well-written, telling the story of her mother’s quiet upbringing in Alabama, being swept off her feet by a handsome Air Force recruit who couldn’t keep his eyes off her at a Dizzy Gillespie concert in Birmingham. Her mother was a musician herself, played the piano, and Louise’s intertwining of the horn man’s notes, her mother’s own musical sensibilities, and her father’s smitten passion as he watched her enjoying herself at the concert was first rate. 13

Eddie had nearly forgotten his own composition, and when he looked up to show his appreciation for her piece he saw tears trailing down Louise’s cheeks. “Hey,” he said. He was so accustomed to his own story that it didn’t occur to him that it could evoke tears, so he actually thought she was crying about something else, about the test, maybe, or her essay about her mom. When she looked up, however, it was clear. He’d only felt the love of another once, in the best three years of his life. Now that he was feeling it again there was no mistaking it. He reached over and brushed away the tears with the backs of his fingers. She smiled. “It’s, uh, it’s really good,” she said, and then she laughed in her embarrassment. “So is yours,” he said. “Oh, come on.” “No, really. The way your dad falls in love to the notes of Gillespie’s horn is downright lyrical. I’d say you have your writing down.” “Okay, then,” she said, shuffling off her sadness to show she was ready to get back to business. “What’s next?” “You tell me, boss. You got the book.” They worked on math and they worked on word analogies, and then more math. Eddie learned that Louise plays piano, too, though she claims she’ll never be as good as her mother. Mrs. Parker checked on them now and again and brought them sandwiches and soft drinks so they could keep working through lunch. She was a beautiful woman herself, Eddie thought, and he had no trouble understanding Louise’s father’s passion for her that he read about in Louise’s essay. As Louise had told him on the phone, Mr. Parker was working. Now a practicing attorney working for the Air Force, he was gone much of the time. Louise said the only consolation was that the irregularity of her father’s working hours allowed her to see him for longer spells and at better times than her friends got to see their fathers (like on the days he picked her up from school) whenever there would be a break in the case he was working on or, as he said, whenever he felt he needed his family more than their Uncle Sam needed him. Now on word analogies, Louise held the book and read one out to him. “STUDIOUS is to SCHOLARSHIP,” she said, “as PRINCIPLED is to a. ACHIEVEMENT b. REWARD c. SCRUPLES d. ACADEMICS.” “Hm,” he said, rubbing his chin in thought. “I go with b, REWARD.” “Really? I was thinking SCRUPLES,” she said. “Let’s see,” he said, rubbing his chin. “When someone is studious, they can get a scholarship. When someone is principled, they get a reward?” “Not always,” she said. “Unless you believe in heaven.” “Okay,” he said. “I don’t think they’re talking about the kind of scholarships you get for college, anyway,” she said, looking at him over the book. “I think they’re talking about scholarship, as in being scholarly. When you’re studious, you exhibit scholarship. You have scholarship. Like when you’re principled . . . “You have scruples.” They said it together. He paused for a beat. “Yeah,” he said. “I think you’re right.” She checked the back of the book, and yes, she was right. “You know what?” she said. “You never told me where you’re planning to go.” “Go?” 14

“To school. You must have some idea.” “Oh. Right. I don’t know, honestly. I haven’t really thought about it.” “Well you’d better start. They’re going to ask you on the test, you know, so they know where to send your scores.” “Yeah,” he said. “I guess they will, won’t they?” “Uh, yeah! I mean, not to pry or anything, but didn’t you put any schools down on your FAFSA?” “FAFSA?” “Free application for federal student aid. You mean you haven’t filled out a FAFSA?” she queried when she saw the blank look on his face. Clearly he didn’t know what she was talking about. Something was bothering him, and he was beginning to feel a bit defensive. “Hey, Louise,” he said. “What if I told you I’m not going to college?” Her eyes opened wide. “Well, you’re not going to home school your way into aeronautical engineering.” She looked at him intently, and then her eyes narrowed. “You are kidding, right?” She saw that he wasn’t. She got quiet then, pretending to focus on the book in her hands. “Well,” she said then, shrugging, “it’s your life. Do what you want to do.” “Yeah.” He laughed a short, disheartened laugh. “Sure. But would I get a second date?” “You mean a third. This is our second. On our first you wouldn’t pull my leg, remember?” “That’s right. Okay, third.” “The third will be the SAT. Unless, that is, you’ve really been pulling my leg all along.” “No, no. All right, a fourth date. I mean a date date. Like prom or something.” “Prom? You mean like a big, all-official kind of date. A ‘Hear ye, hear ye’ date.” “A what?” “You know,” she said. She cupped her hands around her mouth, announcement style. “Hear ye, hear ye! Louis Edward James will be Louise Selma Parker’s official escort to the school prom. All paparazzi must show parent ID.” She continued to broadcast her make believe announcement, trying to get him to at least smile. “As the couple values their privacy, no interviews will be granted. Bathroom buzz about the two lovebirds will be continued on the lunch yard, where we hope to catch the couple slobbering all over each other.” She removed her hands and looked at him, smiling. “Yeah. A ‘Hear ye, hear ye’ date.” But he wasn’t smiling. “Oh, so you want us to be ‘private,’ don’t really want to let anybody know about us,” he said to her. “Hey, lighten up,” she said. “I’m joking.” He tried to lighten up, and he was getting angry with himself that he was getting angry with her. What was wrong with him? “Well, yeah,” he said. “But it doesn’t sound like you’re so keen on a ‘Hear ye, hear ye.’ What is it, exactly, that you don’t want the world to know?” “Not the entire world.” She was managing to keep it very light, even playful. “It’s the media world I don’t trust.” She leaned her face into him, conspiratorially. “They like to spread rumors,” she whispered. “Yeah? Like what? ‘Future doctor beauty hooks up with street rat opportunist?’” “Something like that,” she said, refusing the bait. 15

“No, seriously.” He was maintaining a lighthearted facade, but he really did want to know this. “Would you go to prom with me if I decided not to go to college?” “I never said I would even if you were going to college.” He didn’t want to play, getting more tied up about this by the second. She caught his change in mood. “Ever?” she asked then. “Not sure,” he said. “Maybe never.” “Hmm. Wouldn’t score you many points with Daddy, that’s for sure. That’s a tough one. That just might be the most difficult question we’ve seen all day,” she said, playfully paging through the SAT book. “Speak for yourself,” he said. “I think it’s pretty simple.” “Oh you do?” “Well, yeah. For me there’d be a third date, and a fourth, and a fifth, whether you plan to go to college or not.” “Well I do plan to go to college.” “Okay by me.” “Well, what if I didn’t?” “Fine by me, too.” “Yes, but. Well that’s different.” “What’s different about it? I’ll see you whether you’re going to college or not, but it seems you got some reservations.” “Oh, now you’re going street on me. I ‘gots’ reservations?” “I didn’t say that.” “Sure sounded like it.” “Well I didn’t. And what if I did? I suppose that might make a difference, too,” he said, approaching exasperation. “So, is this when I start calling you ‘Eddie’?” She, too, was feeling exasperated. “I mean, are we sparring now?” They stared intently at each other. In a matter of a minute the best day of their lives was turning into a bad one, and neither of them wanted that. He let out a long breath. “Sorry. Guess maybe I was. I’m just not sure what my plans are, right now, and, well, until now, that was fine with me. Now I’m not so sure. I mean, maybe it’s not so fine with you, and that bothers me. Thing is, Louise, we’ve only known each other for three days. Should we even be having this conversation?” “Now those are the most sensible words you’ve said in the last five minutes.” She sighed. “No, we shouldn’t. Let’s just get back to work. Our next date is enough to worry about for now, don’t you think?” she said, pointing at the large letters, SAT, on the cover of the workbook. She became her old self again—focused, unflappable—which made him feel better. He still felt off balance, though, as if some force had tipped him and he had to replant his feet to stop from falling. Things eased a bit as they studied, for three more hours, reviewing math all the way up to sine, cosine and tangent functions. Eddie was impressed with Louise’s math skills, which surpassed his, mainly because he hadn’t opened a math book in almost a year. They reviewed Romeo and Juliet, and when they came to the sonnet at Capulet’s ball, they recited it together as though they were in the play. Eddie knew the lines by heart. When they reached the end of it, and he recited Romeo’s lines “Then move not while I my prayer’s effect I take. Thus from thy lips my sin is purged,” they kissed. Palms together, as 16 the famous lines suggested, they leaned their heads in and kissed each other gently on the lips. It was the sweetest thing Eddie had ever experienced, although it was just for a second or two. Then they parted, and when they looked in each other’s eyes they saw the whole wide world. “Well now,” she said. “Let’s see what we can do with Julius Caesar,” and together they laughed. Things were now back to normal, although Eddie knew that there was a good chance he was falling deeply in love, and there was very little that was normal about that. He read her Marc Antony’s speech, preceded by his own about what Mrs. Foster, his English teacher, had told his class about the art of persuasion, and that this speech was a highly touted model.

Suddenly, it seemed, it was time to go. Sylvester was picking him up at four thirty, in just a few minutes. “Thanks for being my study buddy,” she said. “I never had to read Julius Caesar, and I thought I got away with something. Now I think I want to read it.” “You’re welcome,” he said. “Thanks for the . . . the sandwich.” “Louis?” “Yeah?” “Never mind,” she said after a pause. “Louise,” he said then. “Yes?” “I’m not going to count the SAT next Saturday as a date. So far we’ve had two. I’m telling you now, I might not be going to college, ever. Will you go on a third date with me?” “That again?” she asked, looking at him with disbelief. But he wasn’t budging. His gaze was nearly a glare. Still, she took a long time in responding. He could tell she was hurt. He didn’t want to hurt her, ever, but he knew that what he did with his life, outside of being with her, was going to be his decision and his alone. She may not know him very well, but he wanted to be sure she knew this. “I don’t know,” she said. Just then Sylvester sounded the horn of the van that pulled into the driveway. “Well,” he said. “Be seeing you, then,” and he gave her a slight bow, turned, and walked himself to the backyard gate. “Louis?” she said again. He stopped, and slowly turned around. For the first time her smile was a shy one. “Be seeing you.”

He didn’t see her at all that week, and she didn’t call him. Each day he felt he died a little. His classes were dull, and at wrestling practice he was mindless, just going through the motions. When he sparred with TJ on Wednesday, he got rough, and Mr. Cronin had to stand him down. TJ shrugged it off. “Damn,” TJ told him. “Your left is getting pretty deadly.” “Sorry,” Eddie said. “No sweat. Gives me something to watch out for. Besides your well-being, that is. So what is it?” he then asked, giving Eddie a knowing look. When Eddie didn’t answer, TJ said “Looks like girl problems to me.” 17

“Yeah, well,” Eddie said, standing, not feeling like sticking around for advice from Terence the Almighty. “I’ll let you know after Saturday,” he told his friend, and then he left the gym.

And now Saturday was here. He woke up late, took the bus to De Soto Street, and, still keeping his eyes out for a pencil, he was in a near full sprint to get to the testing room before they closed the doors. He thought that maybe he should just stop, catch his breath, turn around and walk back home. He wasn’t ready for this test, and he didn’t even have a pencil. She never actually answered the question. Or did she, by not being in her usual spot at lunch? By not calling him. What did she mean by “Be seeing you” anyways? Why was he even bothering to take this f’n test? F’ the world. F’ Obama, McNair and the rest. Maybe he’d just be a coaster, like the cat in Lilies of the Field, a movie he saw in Mrs. Foster’s class, and find himself a band of white nuns who needed someone to build them a church. He nearly laughed out loud at the thought of himself singing “Amen” like Sydney Poitier. Yet something drove him on. Louise Selma Parker. Damn her. The clock on the wall said 8:30 when he entered the testing room. Desk chairs were set up in staggered rows. He felt someone looking at him, and he looked back at Louise, giving him the same shy smile as she did the last time he saw her, this time from a desk in the corner in the back of the room. She nodded at an empty desk, third from the front, two rows over from her. He pointed to it, she nodded, and when he looked more closely he saw a silver object resting above the test booklet that was on the desktop. “Louis James?” the proctor called, looking over his roll sheet. “Yes sir, that’s me,” he said. “That seat right there,” he said then, and glanced up at the clock. “You almost didn’t make it.” The proctor, a man Eddie had never seen before, took a quick look for any other last minute arrivals and then closed the door to the classroom. He turned to the class. After reading the instructions aloud to the test-takers that were much like instructions they had all heard many times before, the proctor assessed the faces of the young people. “You may begin taking the exam,” he said. Just as Eddie suspected, the silver object was a duplicate of the Swiss pencil Louise had used to write down his number, the pencil he had admired so, at a time which now seemed so very long ago. He glanced over his shoulder at Louise, but she was already absorbed in the test, marking answers with her own Swiss pencil. “She got this for me,” he thought, feeling his spirits lift a little. He twirled it in his hands, admiring its weight, its balance. Then he noticed the three letters engraved into the sleek silver pocket clamp: LEJ. This made him smile. But there was something else. Nearer the bottom of the clamp, beneath his initials, was a mark. On closer inspection, it was made up of three smaller marks, so tiny they were almost indistinguishable. When he was finally able to make them out, they were unmistakable. Engraved across the thin width of the clamp was the solitary word “yes.” “Yes?” he thought. Then it hit him. “Yes.” His eyes widened in ecstatic disbelief. Yes, she’d go out with him, no matter what. Yes, she just may feel the same about him as he felt about her. Yes. Not just a response, but a liberation. A declaration. A favor granted; a promise made. He turned around to look at Louise again, and this time her smile was beaming. It was that same smile he’d already once proclaimed he wanted in his life forever. He nodded at her, and the nod became an incredulous shake of the head as he slowly turned back to his test, a test 18 he now felt he was more than ready to take. He felt that he was ready now, in fact, for just about anything. The proctor cleared his throat and stood looking directly at him. “Keep your eyes on your test at all times,” he said. Eddie was almost certain he saw the man wink.