Good Graces - Lesley Kagen [78]
What in tarnation does she got on? I’m not as tall as Ethel so I can’t really make out all of it, but Troo definitely is blinking. I gotta get down there.
“Ask for boat number six. It’s the one that’s rotted out the least. I’ll meet ya at the fireworks, same place as always,” I shout back to Ethel and Ray Buck.
Barreling down the hill toward my sister, I’m remembering how she was the Statue of Liberty last year and how we ran into Greasy Al and he took out his switchblade and cut off all the flowers she had taped onto her bike and squished her crown between his fingers. I haven’t forgotten him for one minute. Just because he hasn’t shown up yet doesn’t mean he’s not going to.
“Excuse me, pardon me . . .” I’ve got my arms out in front of me, swimming through the kids. I’m trying to get to Troo, who I’ve lost sight of now that I’m on flat ground. She’s been swallowed up again. Ahead of me, I can see Mary Lane floating through the crowd so easily because she can get through tight spaces that normal-sized children can’t. “Mary!” I shout. About twenty kids turn to look at me because I forgot to add on her last name. “Mary Lane!”
She looks to the left and to the right.
“Behind you!”
When she gets a bead on me, she stops and waits.
I shove closer until I get right up next to her. She’s got the Stars and Stripes tied around her neck with a jump rope.
Mary Lane says, “I been lookin’ all over the place for you. Ya like my costume?” She tries to spin around to show it off, but there’s not enough room with the crush of kids, even for her. “I’m a flagpole.”
I don’t know what to say to that, except, “You sure are.”
“Wish it’d get windier,” she says, trying to fluff the flag up. “Looks a lot better when it’s wavin’.”
“You seen her?” She knows who I mean.
“Attention please!” Dave says. “I’ve got a couple of contest winners to announce! Drumroll, Maestro.” Even though I can’t see them either, I know he’s talking to the drummer of the Do Wops, Johnny Fazio’s band. They’ll play later on when we eat, and after it gets dark, they’ll serenade us while we wait for the fireworks to start. “The winner of the baby carriage contest is Mrs. Walker. Top-notch decorating, Donna.”
I already knew that Nell’s name was not gonna be announced. I took some supplies yesterday over to the apartment. I was gonna help her decorate the baby’s buggy. After I cleared the stack of old TV dinners off her kitchen table and set down what I brought, Nell asked, “What’s this for?”
“The Fourth!” I said.
She blew her nose into one of the Kleenex flowers it took me most of the morning to make. “The fourth what?”
Dave announces, “The winner of the three-to-eight-year-old category is . . . Jimmy Latour. Nice job on those spokes, Jimmy.”
I spot Artie clapping for his brother. I’m so surprised to see him out and about and he’s even got on a costume. Artie’ll compete in the over-twelve category. After kids turn thirteen around here, something weird happens to them and they think dressing up for the Fourth party is not cool, so hardly none of them enter. Artie is the exception. Since he was the only one that entered last year, he had to go against the younger kids, but this year it looks like he’s got a little competition from a couple of other boys whose costumes aren’t nearly as nice as his. He’s got on the same getup he had on last year and looks thrilled to pieces. And a lot like Daniel Boone from the television show because both of them are lanky and have those enormous Adam’s apples and . . . is that a coonskin cap he’s got on his head?
“Artie!” I holler. “Over here!”
He doesn’t see or hear me, he’s too wrapped up in looking at the same thing everybody else is. I can’t see who all the kids have made a circle around until Mary Lane says, “Move,” and jabs someone with her elbow that’s like a stiletto and a hole opens up.
All I can say is, “Sweet Jesus,” and I can tell that’s what everybody else is thinking, too.
My Troo is in the center of the cirle wearing the most fantastic