He Loves Me Not by Caroline B. Cooney Read Free Book Online Page B

which is a sign that he’s about to deliver a distress lecture. I’m not sure he even knows what Mother would say about that. They had known each other only two months when they got married; I was born eleven months later, and she died six months after that.
    This time Daddy was sufficiently upset to get her photograph off the piano. We have a nice old Yamaha grand, and Daddy likes to keep their wedding picture propped up on it. Every single time I practice I have to set it on the floor so it won’t fall off and break during the banging of chords. It’s dreadful to think that my only contact with my mother is impatiently moving her wedding picture out of my way.
    “Your mother would want you to have a more normal social schedule, honey,” said my father.
    “I’ll second that,” I said.
    My father nearly dropped his napkin. “You would?”
    “I’m normal, Daddy. I’d like to date. Have boyfriends.”
    “Then why don’t you?” He was honestly puzzled. You would have thought I could run downtown and buy a boyfriend at the department store. Pick my size, keep my change, and live happily ever after.
    I shrugged and shoved the pizza leftovers into their cardboard box.
    “Whatever happened to that Ted you were mooning over?” he asked.
    “I was not mooning over him. And I don’t think anything happened to Ted. I’ve just never run into him again.” I tried to be very offhand about Ted.
    “Why don’t you call him up?” said Daddy. “Ask him out. This is a new world, you know. Equality between the sexes and so forth.”
    The mere thought of asking a boy out made me queasy. Fortunately, I had a very logical answer for Daddy. I didn’t know Ted’s name and consequently could not look up his phone number.
    Daddy picked up the photograph of Mother. “She’s beautiful,” he said. “You look just like her.”
    I stared at the face, frozen there for all these years, the only face I knew for her. I didn’t know my mother angry or laughing or tired or proud. I only knew her calm and waiting for the photographer to snap the picture. I wondered if she had been well organized. If she could have fit school and a music career into one life. I was organized down to the last tube of toothpaste, and I was still missing out on half of what was out there.
    The male half, among other halves.
    I decided to go over to the Devaneys and say good-bye to Kathleen decently, not just shout it at her during changing periods at school.
    “Alison!” cried Mrs. Devaney. She hugged me fiercely. “It’s been so long. Come in, darling. Kathleen tells us all the time about your music. We’re all so proud of you.”
    Now there was a welcome!
    I followed her into the den, and sitting around on couches, in chairs, and on the floor, were the three Devaney girls and their three boyfriends. I don’t think I have ever in my life felt so lonely as I did at that moment, being introduced to three hugging couples. I’d played jump rope and horses and Spud with the Devaneys, Bridget had taught Kathleen and me how to put on mascara, and Annie was the first kid I ever baby-sat for.
    And now they all sat with their hands entwined with boys I’d never met. I was the only person in the room without a partner.
    Mr. Devaney started things off wonderfully by asking why I hadn’t brought my boyfriend along.
    I managed to laugh. “I don’t have one to bring,” I said.
    “Ah,” said Mr. Devaney. “Between men, huh? Beautiful girl like you.” He shook his head sadly and began describing the social lives of his three daughters. Bridget, Kathleen, and even thirteen-year-old Annie had obviously dedicated themselves to the pursuit of men. It sounded like fun.
    Kathleen said, “Dad, Alison doesn’t want to hear all that now. You hush for a moment and let us talk.”
    “Tell her about the wedding,” said Mr. Devaney.
    “The wedding!” I gasped. I stared at Kathleen and at Billy. Getting married at sixteen? Surely she wasn’t really going to do