“Oh, good grief!” Mr. Crawford thumped the town’s weekly newspaper, the Wilson News-Courier, angrily down next to his plate of bacon and eggs.
“What?” asked his wife, pouring coffee. “Jamie, Ronnie, more toast?”
“No thanks, Mom,” Jamie said absently. It was Saturday, the day before the debate at Lord’s Assembly, and she was already feeling nervous. But she was meeting Tessa that morning and hoped that would distract her temporarily; she didn’t want to think anymore about the debate till that night.
“Uh-uh.” Ronnie gulped down the remainder of his milk, jammed his baseball cap on his head, and headed for the door.
“How about ‘No thank you, Mom’?” Mr. Crawford said, his eyes on the paper again.
“Yeah, whatever.”
Mr. Crawford looked up. “Ronnie!” he said sharply.
Ronnie paused, his hand on the doorknob. “Sorry.” He rolled his eyes. “No thank you, Mom.”
“That’s better,” said Mr. Crawford.
Mrs. Crawford put Ronnie’s dishes in the sink. “Lunch at twelve-thirty, Ronnie.”
“I don’t think I’ll be here,” Jamie put in, scraping up the last of her eggs.
“Oh?” her mother said mildly as Ronnie escaped. “Where will you be?”
“With Tessa. We’re going to work on a sort of photo essay we want to do for the paper. We’ll probably get a burger or something, okay?”
Her mother smiled. “Sure. Dinner’s at six,” Mrs. Crawford called as Jamie put on her jacket. “I’ll excuse you from the breakfast dishes, Jamie, but not the supper ones. And did you or Ronnie get the trash ready for the dump this morning? You both forgot last night.”
“Yes,” Jamie said sheepishly. “I did it. Sorry about forgetting.” She opened the back door.
“Jamie, wait,” said her father. “I think you ought to see this bit in the paper before you go out.” He handed her the Wilson News-Courier, open to the “School News” page:
SCHOOL TO DISTRIBUTE CONDOMS
Controversy Erupts
From this month on, Wilson High School will make condoms available in the nurse’s office every Friday afternoon to any student who wants them, Principal Ralph Bartholomew announced at a school committee meeting on Wednesday. In September, the distribution was the subject of an editorial in the school’s newspaper, the Wilson High Telegraph, and subsequent letters to the editor in that paper showed widespread support for the distribution among the students. A small group, however, led by Clark Alman, president of the youth group at Lord’s Assembly Church, when interviewed by this reporter, expressed disapproval of the idea. “It’s sending the wrong message,” Alman said. “It’s telling kids it’s okay to go out and have sex, saying that nothing bad will happen if they do. But that’s not the point. The point is that it’s not just dangerous to have sex if you’re not married. It’s immoral, too.”
Alman’s sentiments were echoed by Lisa Buel, recently elected to the Wilson School Committee to fill the vacancy left by Barbara Cochran, who moved away unexpectedly last summer. “The only way to prevent dangerous diseases like syphilis and AIDS,” Buel said, “is not to have sex at all. Condoms break, after all. But young Clark is right. That’s not really the point. The point is that sex before marriage is immoral. The moral fabric of our country is growing weaker every day, what with homosexuality, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, unwed mothers, and fathers who don’t support their kids. It’s time we took a long, hard look in every community at what we’re teaching our children and what values we’re showing them.”
Buel, who said she is not a member of any national fundamentalist organization, told the News-Courier that she is in the process of organizing a group called Families for Traditional Values here in Wilson. “Anyone interested can call me at 222–9673,” she said.
In her editorial, Jamie Crawford, editor in chief of the Wilson High Telegraph, said that condoms save lives. “Lots of adults don’t practice abstinence,” she wrote, “so how can they expect kids to? Isn’t it better to be safe than sorry, as the saying goes?”
Jamie handed the paper back to her father. Before she could comment, he said, “Jamie, I don’t mean to interfere, but I really do think that this could get to be a very big issue. It would probably be a good idea for you and the paper to stay out of it as much as possible.”
“Oh, no, it wouldn’t,” Jamie said hotly, Lisa Buel’s reference to homosexuality still burning before her eyes. “I’m not going to let the Telegraph run away from any issue, Dad. Papers can’t ignore controversy.”
“I just don’t want you to get hurt, honey. I know you’re a good editor, but …”
Jamie kissed the top of his head. “But I wouldn’t be if I ran away scared. Back by dinnertime, Mom.”
As she left, she heard her mother say, “Lisa Buel didn’t mention starting a group about traditional values when she put her name up for that vacancy. And not being a member of ‘any national fundamentalist organization’ doesn’t mean she’s not getting support from one. I told you she was a stealth candidate with a secret agenda.”
“You did,” Jamie heard her father answer. “It’s going to be an interesting year, at least till the regular election in March, and maybe after it as well. I just hope Jamie’s not going to find herself right smack in the middle of it.”
Tessa was waiting in front of the town hall, her camera bag slung over her shoulder; Jamie studied her for a moment from across the street. Tessa was looking toward the town square, shading her eyes with her hand, apparently watching two little boys ride their tricycles around the granite honor roll, on which were engraved names of servicemen and women from Wilson who’d died in various wars. Even at a distance, Tessa’s beauty brought a catch to Jamie’s throat. But it’s not just that, Jamie thought. It’s lots of things, intangible ones …
Which I’d better stop thinking about, Jamie told herself, crossing the street.
Tessa turned as Jamie approached. “Hi. Did you see the town paper?”
“My dad showed it to me. Hi.”
“What gets me,” said Tessa, “is that that Buel woman was talking about more than just condoms. ‘Traditional values’—that’s more. My father says sometimes what that really means is that someone wants little cookie-cutter people, all the same. I think he’s right, don’t you?” Without waiting for an answer, she touched Jamie’s arm lightly. “Hey, let’s go. Let’s find some pictures.”
They spent the morning prowling along the trail that ran through the marsh opposite the yacht basin; they had decided to do a nature essay, and Tessa wanted to photograph as many birds as possible before winter set in. “I’d like to come back in the winter, though, too,” she said when she and Jamie decided to take a break.
“So would I.” Jamie sat on a bench at the edge of the marsh and beckoned Tessa to join her. “The grass here is beautiful when there’s been a frost.” She looked carefully for the right words to make the marsh seem as special to Tessa as it did to her. “It’s covered with woolly white threads on cold mornings, or with silver filigree if the sun’s out. And the ice isn’t flat and boring. It’s got—it’s etched with frozen swirls and bubbles, and sometimes water runs under it and catches the light where it’s really shallow, and in that stream we crossed …”
“Etched,” repeated Tessa softly. “It sounds perfect. You are a writer. I’d never have thought of that word.”
“Maybe not,” said Jamie. “But I’d never be able to show the ice well in a photograph.”
“So we really are a team.”
“Right. We are.” Jamie reached her hand toward Tessa’s, then pulled it back, unsure how Tessa would react. Tessa didn’t seem to notice the gesture, and for a moment they both fell silent, watching a pair of geese fly overhead.
“Are you nervous about tomorrow night?” Tessa asked. “At Lord’s Assembly?”
Jamie picked up a stick and began peeling off its bark. “A little,” she admitted. “No, more than a little; I like writing better than talking. And I don’t know what to expect, you know? I think I’m more nervous because Nomi’s in the group than I am because of what I’m going to say or what the other side’s going to say.”
“How come?”
“Because Nomi’s my friend.” She hesitated. “She used to be my best friend. I guess Terry’s that now, but Nomi and I were really close till a couple of years ago. But she was still my second-best friend.” Jamie dropped the stick and its bark peelings. Tessa can’t be interested in this, she thought.
But Tessa had turned toward her attentively, her eyes searching Jamie’s face. “And?” she asked. “What happened a couple of years ago?”
“I guess Nomi and I started going in different directions,” Jamie told her carefully. “And now we’re even further apart, because she thinks we can’t be friends if we don’t agree. That makes me sad.”
“It’s crazy.” Tessa stretched her arms in front of her, palms out and fingers locked. Jamie noticed her nail polish again, though she hadn’t thought of it consciously in a while, and her rings, especially the star one. “People can be friends even if they’re different from each other,” Tessa said. Her eyes met Jamie’s as she freed her fingers and moved her hands back. “Look at you and me. Look at you and Terry. I’m a city person; you’re a country person. Terry’s a boy; you’re a girl.”
“But you and I have things in common,” Jamie managed to say. “At least it seems that way so far. And Terry and I”—she floundered evasively—“we do, too. Some pretty important ones.” She stopped, worried that she might say too much.
Tessa looked out over the marsh. “Nomi has a steady boyfriend, right? But maybe you’re too busy for Terry to be your boyfriend, or maybe you don’t want a boyfriend …” She paused, as if waiting for Jamie to speak, and then continued. “And I’m too busy and too far away for Kevin Allen to be mine.” She turned, smiling at Jamie. “Here’s to independent womanhood, right?”
“Right,” said Jamie, half hoping that Tessa had guessed about her, but not quite daring to ask or to say anything about it—not knowing how to say it, either. So she just raised her hand as if she were holding a glass. “Independent womanhood.”
They had lunch in the dark little sandwich shop in the center of town, nearly empty now that the tourist season was almost over; the retirees who came in the fall usually preferred to eat in the fancy white clapboard inn that sat on the hill looking down on the center. After lunch, Jamie showed Tessa the town’s small museum, open only on weekends now that it was fall, and took her through the restored eighteenth-century house that was part of its exhibit.
“Can I come hear your debate tomorrow?” Tessa asked when they stood outside the house in the late-afternoon sun.
“I guess you could come,” Jamie said slowly. “I don’t know. I’ll be more nervous, though, if you’re there.”
“Then I won’t. I don’t want to make you nervous. But call me when it’s over and tell me how it went, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be thinking of you, wishing you luck. Maybe I’ll even cross my fingers.”
Jamie laughed.
They stood there in the waning light, smiling at each other.
“It’s been a wonderful day,” Tessa said.
“Yes. It has.”
There was another long silence. And then Tessa put her hands gently on Jamie’s shoulders and drew Jamie close to her in a swift hug. “Thank you,” she said, stepping back.
“No—no,” Jamie said, flustered. “No, I should thank you, for agreeing to do photo essays.”
“We’re a team, remember?” Tessa’s head was slightly cocked, and she regarded Jamie with a half-hesitant, half-amused look as she pulled her red cape tighter around her body. “I’d better go. Call me tomorrow night,” she tossed over her shoulder as she left. “And good luck. Take a deep breath before you speak. My father had to make a speech once and he said that helped.”
“Okay,” Jamie called as Tessa disappeared into the rapidly falling darkness. “I will. Good night.”
When Tessa was gone, Jamie stood quietly for a few minutes. She knew it was only her imagination, but she felt diminished, empty, now that Tessa was gone.
And still reeling from her hug.
“You’re in love, that’s why, you blithering idiot,” Terry said when she called him that night, ostensibly to go over some of what she was going to say in the debate.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just glad that I’ve found a friend. In any case, she’s straight.”
“You have friends,” Terry pointed out. “You have me. You have Nomi …”
“I’m not so sure of Nomi.”
“She’ll come around. But we’re not talking about friends, are we? Hmmm?”
“Don’t be catty, Terry,” Jamie said, annoyed. “I told you she’s straight. How was the swim meet?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“I know. How was it?”
There was a pause. “Okay,” Terry said finally. “We won, anyway.”
“You don’t sound wildly enthusiastic. How was Ernie?”
“Beautiful. We won because of him.”
“So how come you’re not out celebrating with the team?”
“He is, I guess. Out with the team.”
“But you’re not? You always celebrate with our teams when they win. You interview the players, and—”
Terry cut her off. “Yeah, I know, but this is different.” He paused.
“What’s wrong?” Jamie asked when he didn’t seem about to continue.
“Nothing. Well, okay. Something. I tried to hug him afterward, you know, like anyone would. I mean, everyone was hugging and slapping butt and stuff. But he turned away and he wouldn’t let me touch him. Hell, I must’ve touched everyone else!”
There was a longer pause; Jamie was about to break it when Terry spoke again. “He’s terrified, Jamie.” Terry’s voice was so soft Jamie could barely hear it. “Terrified of me. Of himself, too, and what he feels. And of his parents. Maybe more of them than of anything, of what they’ve taught him, what they believe. I know he loves me, but like he said, he can’t, you know, act on it. He can’t even face himself, let alone what he feels about me. And the awful thing is, I know he’s in terrible pain.”
“Oh, Terry,” Jamie said lamely. “I’m sorry. Really, really sorry.”
“I probably should stop seeing him, but instead I’ve been giving him books, you know, taking the good ones out of the library. Both libraries; I even found a couple at school.”
“Yeah, a couple,” said Jamie sarcastically, thinking of the list in her hidden box, her joy at finding a few of the books on it, and her frustration at not finding more.
“Right. But at least there are some. And I’m thinking of going to Georgeport to see if I can find others. But I don’t think it’s books he needs as much as someone to talk to.”
“How about someone in Georgeport?” She remembered an article she’d cut out during the summer. “I think there’s some kind of counseling thing for gay kids; I might have the number. I could …”
But Terry cut her off again. “He’d never go. He gave the books back to me so fast I’m sure he didn’t read them.”
Jamie hesitated. “Maybe he’d talk to me. I know he hasn’t yet, really, but like I said before, it might be easier for him to talk to someone who’s still a Maybe.”
“Are you?” Terry asked after a short, voiceless laugh. “Still a Maybe? I thought …”
“Terry, I don’t know, okay? Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. I’m not as sure as you. What’s more important for Ernie is that I’m not involved.”
There was another pause. “Okay,” Terry said at last. “I guess you might as well. Go ahead and try, anyway.”
“First thing Monday,” Jamie told him. “First chance I get.”
