The Sweetest Thing by Elizabeth Musser Page B

flashed me a smile. Brat had dark brown hair that she wore so short she could have been mistaken for a boy. She had a square frame—her face, wide shoulders, and arms that looked muscular even under the uniform. “She’s our star basketball player and a great swimmer too. We’ve been friends practically since we were born. She’s half crazy and not afraid of anything, and she tells the corniest jokes. I think you’ll like her.
    â€œNext to her is Mae Pearl McFadden.”
    I wondered if Mae Pearl’s parents had had a premonition of what a beauty she’d grow up to be. She had the face of a pearl—perfectly round and so very white, porcelain white, whiter than Perri’s face, and glimmering, almost luminous, almost translucent. Her hair was almost white too, a platinum blond—perfectly natural, Perri assured me. She wore her hair slick and close to her head and had pale blue eyes.
    â€œHer mother and mine have been in the Garden Club together for years—president and vice-president—and the Junior League too, of course,” Perri confided as we walked toward the table, “and they made their debuts together, and we’ve gone to the same church forever. She lives just down the street from me, so we do most things together. She dances beautifully and has the voice of an angel. We all think she could be a movie star or be in one of those musicals on Broadway, but she doesn’t listen to a word we say.
    â€œAnd that’s Peggy Pender next to Mae Pearl. Oh, she’s a stitch. She looks all prim and proper, but don’t be fooled. She’s got a mind of her own!”
    I thought that Peggy looked very sophisticated, the way her dark brown hair curled slightly below her ears and several strands tickled her right eyebrow.
    â€œHi, y’all!” Perri called out as she pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit next to her.
    The girls waved, and each mumbled a “Hi, Mary Dobbs” to me.
    We ate in what seemed much more like an elegant private dining room than a school cafeteria. The room was decorated with pretty pink wallpaper and fancy draperies, and it was filled with twenty or so round tables covered with white tablecloths. Our lunch—a hot lunch with meat and vegetables and rolls and dessert—was served to us on china plates, and the food was delicious. But every meal I ate in Atlanta, no matter what it was, reminded me of my family in Chicago, probably down on their knees praying for tomorrow’s daily bread. So I chewed my food with a deep thankfulness in my heart, and a pang there too.
    Brat and Mae Pearl and Peggy jabbered about a homework assignment that Perri had missed and about some tea party they had attended last week—also missed by Perri. I was only half listening when Mae Pearl turned and asked me, “Do you want to come with us to the Saturday matinee at the theater?”
    â€œThe Saturday matinee? What do you mean?”
    â€œYou don’t know about the Saturday matinee? It’s the best thing since ice cream. Everyone goes. We watch films like Betty Boop and Tarzan . It only costs a nickel for all morning long.” Then she added breathily when I didn’t answer at once, “I don’t think Perri’s allowed to go on account of the grieving. But I’ll come by and get you. We can just ride the streetcar down there.”
    For all of my life, I’d grown up hearing Father talk about temptations that affected people. Things like alcohol and cigarettes and dancing. And movies. My parents never went to movies, and Frances, Coobie, and I were not allowed to either.
    I’d never felt bad about it. But on that Monday afternoon, as Mae Pearl McFadden smiled at me with her porcelain face and her pale blue eyes and described it all, I wanted to go. I hesitated, just the slightest bit, shook my head, and said, “Thank you for the invitation, Mae Pearl. It really means a lot to me, but