I finally gave my mother clear instructions as to my whereabouts in the event that a tall, dark, handsome drum major happened by. Then I walked to A llison’s.
A llison and I played Baton Battle at the end of her pier. In Baton Battle you throw the baton as high as you can, spin as many times as you can, and catch the baton. But you can’t hit yourself or your opponent with said baton. A nd if you drop said baton in the lake, you have to go get it. The stakes were high because the past few nights, the temperature had dropped into the low 60s, and the water was cold.
We hadn’t played Baton Battle in ages. We used to play it all the time (we were often bored as children). I wasn’t doing well. I used to win more than half the time, but I was rusty, and A llison had been majoretting and performing her baton act in pageants.
A nd I was distracted. Every time the warm breeze swayed the trees, I imagined it was the whoosh of tires on the driveway. I fought the urge to rush to the front yard to greet Drew.
A llison got cocky. She picked up a second baton and twirled it at the same time she threw the first, turned around four times, and caught it.
She handed the batons to me. “I dare you.”
“Do you want to stop this now and have a drum competition?”
“No.”
With a sigh I twirled the first baton, threw the second, and turned. One turn, two turns, three—
“Hey, batter batter batter batter, swing!” a boy’s voice called.
I heard a plop. A llison and I stood on the pier and watched the baton sink three feet to the muddy bottom of the shallows.
“What does this look like, Little League?” I asked Luther crabbily. I was wearing shorts, so I could wade in and kick the baton back to shore without getting my clothes wet. But I wasn’t going to like it.
I was also annoyed at him because he wasn’t Drew.
“I’ll get it for you,” A llison said. “Help me, Luther.”
“That’s not the procedure,” I said.
She glared at me.
“Yes, please get it for me,” I corrected myself. “I’m afraid of fish.”
A s she kicked off her high heels she instructed Luther on how to hold her under the arms and lower her into the lake. She planned to pick up the baton with her toes, and then he could lift her back out.
I hoped Luther could swim, because this maneuver looked precarious. I would feel even more annoyed if they both fell in and I had to save them.
But A llison brought the dripping baton safely back onto the pier. She and Luther congratulated each other, and then—what the hell?—hugged each other. He sat her down and made a great show of patting her legs dry with the edge of his shirt.
“So, Virginia,” he said. “What was up last night? You’re off Walter Lloyd, and youÙve moved on to Barry?”
“No, I was never on Walter, and I haven’t moved on to Barry.”
“That’s not what Drew thinks.”
A llison raised her eyebrows at me.
I sat down on the pier with them. “It doesn’t matter what Drew thinks, Luther. You’re over here visiting A llison. Why isn’t he over here visiting me?”
Luther glanced at A llison in embarrassment. Then he said, “Drew’s on the tractor. He has to get the crops in or something.”
“How rural,” A llison said.
“You snob.” He grabbed her with one arm around her waist and tickled her ribs.
She laughed like I’d never heard her laugh before. Her desperate cackles echoed across the lake and back. She braced her bare toes on the dock and tried to pull away from him. She didn’t try quite hard enough.
“Time out!” I yelled into the giggle fit. “I would like more information on these crops.”
Luther stopped tickling A llison. But he didn’t remove his arm from around her waist. A nd she didn’t make him. She settled back into him.
He turned to me again. “Drew’s dad is working overtime at the mill to make extra money. Drew has to do the farm practically by himself.
Haven’t you noticed how tired he is? No, of course you wouldn’t notice.”
A llison slapped him playfully on the chest. “How ugly! What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means she’s jumping from Drew to Walter to Barry.”
“You are totally making up this thing with Barry,” I said.
“Tell Drew that,” he said. “A fter we left Burger Bob’s last night, I thought he was going to kick Barry’s ass.”
“What!” I exclaimed. “Why?”
“Barry expressed his admiration for you, knowing Drew likes you too. A s you found out in the lunchroom on Friday, you can only push Drew so far, and then …” He snapped his fingers.
A llison and I gaped at each other, and then at Luther.
Luther gazed down into A llison’s eyes and smiled.
“A nd then what?” A llison insisted.
“Oh!” Luther said, like he’d completely forgotten what we were talking about. “A nd then Drew fell asleep in the back of the car. Like I said, he has to bring in the harvest. He stays exhausted.”
“A re you trying to make us feel bad because we don’t have to sit on a tractor twenty-four seven?” A llison asked.
“I don’t see a whole lot of physical labor going on in your neighborhood.”
“That’s where’ you’re wrong,” A llison said triumphantly. “Virginia’s dad makes her cut the grass.” She turned to me. “Virginia, you should go see Drew and reassure him that you don’t have the hots for Barry Ekrivay.” She made a go away motion with her hand, like she was trying to get rid of me. Like she wanted to be alone with Luther. Like we were boy-crazy teenage girls.
Finally!
I followed Luther’s directions to Drew’s farm. A dirt road, which Luther had referred to as a “driveway,” wound through rolling green fields.
Dark green trees framed the fields far away, at the edges of the earth. A tiny white house and an enormous red barn crowned the biggest hill.
A nd then I saw the red tractor off in the fields, trailing a wake of dust.
Disappearing in a valley, then cresting the next hill.
Coming for me.
I parked my car under an ancient oak tree. Then I tiptoed gingerly across the acorns as I rounded the car to sit on the hood.
The noise of the motor grew louder and louder as the tractor loomed larger and larger. Drew drove under the canopy of the oak tree, and the motor was unbearably loud. Then he cut the engine. My ears rang in the silence.