The Perpetual Motion Club by Sue Lange

out the door.
    Finally a gang of tall, pimply, wet-headed boys, laughing and slapping, burst through the doors of the gymnasium.
    They almost ran Elsa over.
    “Jason Bridges,” she called when the boys were well past her.
    Jason looked up as if a gnat or flea had buzzed past his ear. His face held a question mark.
    “Jason. Mr. Bridges!” Elsa called again. The entire gang stopped, as if each one was “Bridges.” As if they’d forgotten their own names and took on Jason Bridges’. As if anything that concerned Jason, concerned them.
    They turned as one to see who demanded the tall, new boy’s attention. How disappointing to see only a sophomore wearing a blue and white Penn State sweat shirt, braided pigtails, and jeans. This one wasn’t even worth teasing.
    “Huh?” said Jason Bridges.
    The gang of others, cackled a few “see yas” and moved on, leaving the star with the gnat.
    Once they were out of hearing range, Elsa inhaled deeply. “Um, I just wanted to invite you to an outing,” she said quietly, almost holding the words in her mouth, not quite sure the time was right, but knowing there would be no other time.
    “Sure,” said Jason Bridges.
    “You want to?” Elsa said, incredulous.
    “Sure,” he said, and then turning to go he hollered “wait up!” to his buddies.
    “Okay,” Elsa called after him. “We’re meeting in the school parking lot on Saturday at five.”
    Without breaking his stride he answered, “Sure.”
    The gang laughed together, single hoot. The boy to Jason’s left slapped his hand on the star’s back.
    Elsa watched him go, smiling to herself.
    Thus did she fall into the great mishap of her youth. She had never failed at anything in her life. Excelled, in fact, at everything academic. Hadn’t she received straight A’s since first grade in all subjects from arithmetic to social studies? She actually got B’s in keyboardship, but she hadn’t had to study that since first grade, so it hardly counted. She was a master of correct behavior when told ahead of time exactly what constituted correct behavior. Once given the object of a game, she attained it. When told the right answer, she spit it back.
    Going it alone in the world, however, was another story. The book had not yet been written on that subject. Not the Book anyway. Thousands of books on the subject had been written by psychologists, therapists, teachers, clergy, parents, all kinds of such experts. Unfortunately with all those words of wisdom, the only piece of real, true advice amounted to this: just wing it.
    And wing it, Elsa did, crashing with a vengeance. Her one and only failure in life turned out to be life itself. She just didn’t get it.
    ***
    Saturday came. Five p.m. came. Six p.m. came.
    “What time does this lecture start?” Lainie asked.
    “Seven. We still have time,” Elsa said.
    “Why would Jason Bridges come to this thing?” May asked. She was wearing a white mohair cape over her woolens. She had nouveau go-go boots on her feet. She’d recently dyed her hair black and bleached some streaks in it. In order to show off the effect, she was going hatless and so was shivering as they waited outside the car.
    The parking lot attendant, a robot in a painted-on checkered hat, gray trousers with seam cording, and crossing guard vest, asked if they needed assistance finding a spot. The parking lot was empty except for their vehicle. They ignored the attendant who nevertheless stood at attention, waiting for instruction.
    “He said he would come, that’s why,” Elsa answered. Elsa wore a navy blue ski jacket over jeans and combat boots. Her pig tails were tucked up underneath a tight-fitting Dacron knitted hat. She barely noticed the cold.
    “If he said he would, why isn’t he here?” Lainie asked.
    Seven came, but Jason Bridges didn’t. By now everyone had moved inside the vehicle to stay warm. Outside the banners lining the perimeter and holding pennants with Pennzoil, Michelin, and RainX logos