April North, Page 2

  She had been unable to fall asleep for hours. She tossed and turned in her bed, worrying and frightened that she had done something wrong. Then she decided that everything would be all right. She would keep going out with Danny, and It would not happen again, and finally some day they would get married and live together and do It all the time. To do It when they were married would be all right. She did not know why this was, but that was the way things were supposed to be.

  So they would be married, and everything would be all right.

  But things were not working out that way. She had not seen him or heard from him on Sunday, and Monday in school he had passed her without speaking as if there were something wrong with her. She failed to understand and wanted to catch his arm and ask him what was the matter, but she realized dimly that it was his place to speak, and that she should wait for him to say something.

  He said nothing.

  He seemed to avoid her purposefully. There was nothing she could put her finger on but somehow he never spoke to her, never again met her in the hallway, and never called her on the phone.

  Now it was Thursday afternoon. She did not even know if they were supposed to be going out Saturday night, and she did not see how she could ask him. She felt that she must have done something terribly wrong but could not figure out what her apparent error had been. She had only let him do what he wanted to do. Why should he be mad at her for that?

  She reached her house. The lawn was still smooth and green, the leaves raked into a neat pile in the gutter. Soon the grass would turn brown and die for the winter, but for the time being it was fresh and green and beautiful. She walked up the flagstone path to the front door, opened it and went inside.

  She studied until it was time for dinner. She did her advanced algebra homework, started the required reading for French III. When her mother called her for dinner, she went downstairs to the dining room for the evening meal. Her father talked about politics, and her brother talked about the football team, and her mother talked about a hand of bridge that had been badly misplayed by her partner that afternoon. April listened without hearing and ate in silence without tasting her food. She finished a piece of pie and a glass of milk for dessert and left the table.

  At seven-thirty the phone rang.

  Link answered. April barely heard the phone, concentrating at the time upon the remainder of the French, and she was surprised when her brother called her name.

  “For you, April”

  She left her room and walked to the phone. “It’s a boy,” Link added.

  Was it Danny?

  She took the receiver and held it to her ear. She said hello and waited.

  “April?”

  “This is April.”

  “Yeah. Well, this is Bill Piersall”

  He was a tall, thin boy with a blond crew-cut. She did not know him too well.

  “I was wondering if we could take in a show Saturday night. You and me.”

  That was a surprise. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’d like to go but I’m going steady. With Dan Duncan.”

  There was a pause.

  “That’s funny,” Bill Piersall said.

  “It is?”

  “Yeah.”

  She waited.

  “Danny told me to call you,” the voice went on. “He said he isn’t goin’ steady with you any more. Said I ought to take you out.”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  The voice went on, and now she could hear the smile in it. “He said I’d have a good time with you, April. Said you’re pretty hot stuff. What do you say?”

  2

  HE said I’d have a good time with you, April. Said you’re pretty hot stuff. What about it?

  She was numb from head to foot. She moved in slow motion, replacing the receiver on the hook, turning from the phone and walking to the staircase. She went upstairs to her room and closed the door.

  What do you say?

  Well, what do you say? What do you think or feel? What do you do next?

  She threw herself onto the bed and buried her face in the pillow. At first she thought she was going to cry, and she was surprised when no tears came. Finally she rolled over onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. She breathed deeply, trying to relax, trying to think straight.

  Obviously, good old Danny had had a talk with good old Bill. And just as obviously, she had been the subject of their conversation. That much was easy to understand. The thing she was unable to figure out was why Danny would do a thing like that. It made no sense—just no sense at all.

  For a short time she had been convinced that Danny loved her, that he was going to marry her. This somehow seemed not too likely any more. But why? Did he hate her because she had done what he had wanted her to do? Had he stopped respecting her when she had let him do It to her?

  She nodded thoughtfully. That made some sense. That was what was in the books sometimes, and since the books were her only previous experience in this particular area, she had no choice but to accept what they told her. Obviously, Danny felt that she was no longer a nice girl, and therefore wanted nothing more to do with her. From there it followed that he would spread the word to his buddies so they could share his good luck.

  Her reputation was made. She was a girl who put out, and as such she would be much in demand. It seemed only logical to assume that Danny would tell his best friends first. Since Bill Piersall was not a good friend of Danny’s there were probably a lot of guys who had heard the word before him. So the word was out about April North. Everybody knew about her.

  Ya hear about April North? Yeah, Danny Duncan gave it to her in the back seat. He says she’s the hottest thing since canned heat. Lays like a rug. I figure I’ll give her a try one of these days. She’s not bad to look at. Hell, I wouldn’t kick her out of bed or anything. I’m not one to turn down a sure piece . . .

  From that point the course of events was clear. No boy would take her out because he thought he might like her company. What dates she had would be dates arranged with the object of getting her into an automobile’s back seat in the shortest possible time. Even if she never let anybody else go All The Way with her, she would still be considered a not-nice girl, a girl who put out. And she would be treated accordingly.

  Her mind swam. Her previous plans for the future, while pleasantly vague, had taken a certain form. She would graduate in June. In September she would enter Ohio State University as a freshman. Admission to OSU was automatic for any Ohio high school graduate. She would be admitted, she would do well, and she would not bust out during her freshman year as half the entering students did each year.

  At college she would major in English. She would join a sorority, do a lot of dating, eventually get pinned and engaged and married to someone more or less like Dan Duncan. She would settle down, either in Antrim or in a town quite like it, be a housewife and raise children.

  Plans.

  They would no longer work that way. Her new-found reputation would make life in Antrim relatively impossible. Living through the few months between now and June would be difficult enough. Then her reputation would follow her to Ohio State and it would be the same thing all over again.

  She wondered if she would go to college. She even wondered if she would manage to graduate from Antrim High. And, while she wondered, she was amazed at the very calm way she thought about these things. It was as if nothing mattered at all—no, it was more as though she had everything strangely under control. Her own calmness nearly frightened her. Maybe it was the calm before the storm. Maybe she was going to crack up any minute now and go all to pieces. But she did not think so.

  Maybe—

  “April!”

  She walked to her bedroom door, opened it. It was her mother calling her this time.

  “Telephone, April.”

  She walked slowly downstairs to the telephone. “It’s a boy,” her mother confided, handing her the telephone receiver. She took it, said hello to the mouthpiece, and waited.

&
nbsp; “This is Jim Bregger, April.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Hello, Jim.”

  “I just thought I’d give you a ring,” he said. “Find out of you’re free Friday night.”

  For a moment she thought of telling him that she was not free, that she was expensive. She almost came close to giggling, but she restrained the impulse.

  “Friday,” she said thoughtfully. “That’s tomorrow night, isn’t it?”

  That’s right.”

  “Well,” she said, “how come you happened to call?”

  “I thought maybe we could go out together,” he said, sounding defensive. “That’s all. Just thought we could go for a ride or take in a show or something.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  “Is it a date?”

  “Well—”

  “It’s a date,” he said. “Tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up about eight or so, okay? We’ll go for a ride or take in a show, something like that. I’ll see you, April.”

  He hung up and she was left holding on to a dead phone. This annoyed her. She had never told him she would go out with him. As a matter of fact, she had been looking around for a polite way to tell him to go to hell, and now she was stuck with a date. And the date was one which he thought would lead to a quick tussle in the back seat of his father’s car.

  She did not want this to happen. She was about as interested in Jim Bregger as she was in swimming in boiling oil. He was fat, had pimples on his forehead and he was stupid.

  And, according to him, he was going to make love to her tomorrow night.

  She put the phone back on the hook. She walked into the living room and swiped two cigarettes from the tray on the coffee table. She picked up a pack of matches. Then she got her corduroy jacket from the back hall and put it on, slipping the cigarettes and the matches into a pocket.

  “I’m going for a walk, Mom,” she called. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere special. Be back soon.”

  The air outside was brisk. She buttoned her jacket and walked along Hayes Road The small street was empty of people, which was not surprising. The residents of Antrim seldom walked around after dinner. They either stayed at home or drove downtown to the movies or tavern. She turned off Hayes Road and into another side street. She fished into her pocket and took out one of the cigarettes. This was a little crumpled but she straightened it out and put it between her lips. She lit two matches, which the wind blew out, then got the cigarette going with a third. She took a puff and dragged smoke deep into her lungs. She blew out a cloud and felt better instantly.

  Nice girls did not smoke on the street.

  Nice girls did not go All The Way with boys.

  She was not a nice girl.

  Throughout the town of Antrim, the word was passing from boy to boy that April North was a girl who could be made, a girl who had been there. Already it was relatively common knowledge that on Saturday night last, one April North did have sexual relations with one Daniel Duncan in said Duncan’s automobile.

  So it seemed a little silly to pass up a cigarette.

  She noticed it in school the next day.

  She noticed it instantly, and she began to wonder how she had missed it for the past four days. Now, knowing that Danny had turned informer, it was obvious. Boys gave her knowing looks. Girls looked at her thoughtfully, as if trying to discover what it had been like, how it might have changed her. There was a strange sort of distance in everyone’s attitude—something she had missed on Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday, but something which fit into place perfectly on Friday.

  Jim Bregger gave her a solemn but knowing wink in the lunchroom, a wink that said he was going to show her one hell of a good time that night. A boy named Ralph Margate brushed up against her in the hallway between her sixth and seventh hour classes. She might not have noticed the maneuver a day earlier but now it was unmistakable. His hand rubbed her backside briefly and his hip bumped too-familiarly into hers.

  When the bell rang she dropped off her books at her locker. The Greene County Bank and Savings Company stayed open until six o’clock on Fridays. She went directly to the bank, took her bankbook from her purse and presented it to the teller.

  “A deposit, April?”

  “A withdrawal,” she said, hoping she sounded properly casual. “I want to take it all out.”

  “All of it?”

  “That’s right.”

  The teller, a gray-haired woman with thick glasses, frowned disapprovingly. In her weak eyes, thrift rivaled cleanliness for next place to godliness.

  April explained. “I’ve been saving up for something,” she said. “Now I’ve got enough money.”

  The teller’s expression softened. She made the notation in the bank book and solemnly counted out five hundred and forty-five dollars and seventy-four cents. She presented the pile of bills and change to April.

  “Lots of money,” the teller said. “Sure you’re not planning on running away from home, now?”

  April managed to laugh. She scooped the money into her purse and fastened the clasp. Then, nonchalant as ever, she left the bank and headed for home.

  On the sidewalk a boy fell into step beside her. “Hey, April,” he said. “What do you say we stop for a soda?”

  She looked at him. It was Bill Piersall, the boy who had been the first to call last night, the boy who had tipped her off to her present position in the Antrim social scale. Her first reaction was to tell him to take a flying jump in the nearest lake. Then she changed her mind. If he wanted to buy her a soda, she might as well take him up on it. It would hurt nothing. And she might find out something.

  “Sure,” she said. “Sounds good.”

  They crossed the street in the middle of the block, since jaywalking was not a particularly hazardous sport in Antrim. They went to the drugstore—not the one her father owned, because his store did not have a fountain—and took stools at the counter. There were a few other students from Antrim High in a corner booth, but most of the Antrim High kids patronized the Sweet Shoppe for after-school eating.

  “About last night,” Bill said.

  The waitress came, a tired-looking woman in her mid-thirties with massive circles under her eyes. Bill ordered a strawberry soda and April asked for a black-and-white sundae. The waitress went to make them.

  “About last night,” he said again. “On the phone.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “I was kinda stupid. The way I talked, I mean. It wasn’t too nice, I guess.”

  He had made a shrewd guess.

  “I shouldn’t have said it the way I did. But you know what I mean. I mean, it’s not like you’re a virgin or anything. You know what it’s all about.”

  For a small moment she considered slapping his face, denying that she and Danny had done anything at all and running out of the store.

  She considered this course of action dispassionately and rejected it just as dispassionately, knowing very well that such a thing would not do the least bit of good. The rumor was past denial now, and had assumed the character of a fact, accepted as such by the bulk of the high school community. There was no point trying to nip such a story in the bud—not when it was already in full bloom.

  So she did not say anything.

  “Just so we understand each other,” he said. “So we know where we sit. I don’t want you to be mad at me or anything. That would be silly.”

  The waitress, hollow-eyed and sad, returned with their orders. She set a pink frothy concoction in front of Bill and put a dish of vanilla ice cream topped with chocolate sauce on the counter in front of April. She gave April a spoon and Bill a straw. Bill gave her a half dollar and she went away again.

  April took a bite of her sundae. It was cold and sweet and all a sundae should be. She ate several bites in silence.

  “Sundae okay?”

  “Fine,” she said.

  “They make ’em better here
than at the Sweet Shoppe. More for your money.”

  And you can talk to a not-nice girl without your friends around, she added mentally. You can make your play without any of the crowd watching …

  She ate more of her sundae and the drugstore was silent except for the slurp of Bill finishing his soda. She could tell that the stage was set. And so she decided to contribute her own little bit to the play.

  “Can I have a cigarette?”

  He looked at her for a second. Then he gave her a cigarette and lit it for her. It was a small enough act and the chances were great that nobody would notice it, but it set things up for Billy-boy. The coast was clear.

  “April—”

  She looked at him.

  “Look, we know where we stand. You like it and I like it. So why shouldn’t we get what we want?”

  She flicked her ashes from her cigarette into the glass ashtray on the counter. She didn’t say anything.

  “You know what I mean,” he whispered. “We’ll take a little walk. A little walk in the woods, just the two of us. A walk in the fresh air. It’s healthy.”

  “Now?”

  “Sure.”

  “Now? In the middle of the afternoon?”

  He shrugged. “No time like the present.”

  She wanted to laugh but something kept her from laughing. Why not? Why not take a little walk in the woods, just for the pure, sheer hell of it? It might even be fun. And it couldn’t hurt anything. She was already a bad girl. She might as well have all the fun she could.

  So she stood up and took his arm. “Why not?” she said. “A little walk won’t hurt. And I like to walk in the woods. It’s nice there.”

  As nice as a car, she thought.

  The woods stood brave and silent on the north edge of town. Somehow a little over a hundred acres of wooded land had been ignored by progress and by Antrim. The area was not primeval cover; bushes and shrubs were thick, and the trees that grew there, mainly oaks were no more than thirty years old.

  Leaves rumpled under their feet. The air was crisp, cool, fresh. The few birds that had not yet gone south for the winter sang foolishly in the branches.