Leaving Eden by Anne Leclaire Page B

which we had just performed. This year Mr. Nelson, who taught driver’s ed and civics, was the Drama Club adviser because Mrs. Franklin, our English teacher, was pregnant. So he held this meeting and made us have this big vote for something already set in stone. Which shows you what happens when you’re a civics teacher. Like you have to prove “democracy in action,” which was his favorite phrase.
    I guess that was what made me raise my hand. “Why don’t we do something else?” I asked. “Do you have a suggestion, Tallie?” Mr. Nelson said, as if he were going to actually consider it, even though it came from me. He made a big show of pretending to be fair—
democratic
—but he had his favorites and he made it clear I wasn’t on that list. Every time I got an A on a test— which was most of the time, truth be told—he handed me back my paper and said, “Tallie Brock, an A,” with this great surprise in his voice, like
How did that happen?
He was the only one who didn’t treat me special ’cause I didn’t have a mama.
    As a matter of fact I did have a suggestion. I wanted us to do
Spoon River Anthology
, this really great play about all these dead people in a cemetery who get to talk and tell their stories. The character I liked the most was this old woman who talked about dancing in Chandlerville and raising children and living a full life. “It takes life to love life,” she said. I just loved that line. It sounded exactly like Mama. I decided it would be my motto forever. I was thinking about that when I offered my suggestion to Mr. Democracy in Action.
    “What’s it about?” said Elizabeth Talmadge, who, wouldn’t you know, was the president of the Drama Club as well as Queen of the Universe. When I explained, someone said, “Dead people. How creepy,” and Elizabeth said, “Morbid,” and then the whole room got quiet. “Let’s put it to a vote,” Mr. Nelson said. He made a big show of counting hands and then announced that next year’s play would be
You Can’t Take It with You
.
    Wiley had stopped talking and the sun was directly overhead and I thought about dragging the blanket over beneath a willow to get some relief, but it seemed like too much trouble so I lay back and closed my eyes. It was funny being there without Will. Wiley stretched out on his stomach on the other side of the blanket, and I inched way over on my side so we wouldn’t touch by accident. Even quiet, men take up more space. Not just on things like blankets and chairs. It was like they required more air.
    I lay there considering this and after a while—in that dreamy space where you’re not quite asleep and not totally awake—I started pretending it was Spy Reynolds lying there. It’s funny how the power of wanting something can slip right over into believing that it is. Once, I heard Mama tell Martha Lee that it was the things we were denied that we wanted the most. And, judging from the way I wanted Spy, that was surely true. After a while I could picture him being there so clear that when I felt a shadow block out the sun, when I felt a hand touch my arm, I believed it actually
was
Spy. As his fingers traced down to my hand and then interlinked with mine, my stomach got that nervous feeling like before a swim meet or when I had a big test in school. But not exactly like that. Then, still holding my hand, Spy reached over with his other hand and turned my face toward his. I knew he was going to kiss me, and at that moment—stuck in my dream—I knew I’d let him. Judging from the talk in the girls’ locker room, I was the only one in the class who’d never been kissed. Practicing on your own hand isn’t the same. Then I smelled peanut butter and heard Wiley’s asthmatic breathing and knew it wasn’t Spy at all. I sat up and pulled away.
    “I got to be getting home.”
    “Okay,” Wiley said, not looking at me.
    Neither of us said a word all the way to my house.
    Martha Lee called after supper. When I