Chapter 1: Pariah

Andy Trainor was pissed at his dad. Okay, the old man had made VP at Albany Bank. The new position called for a new, more expensive, house. He could see that. But he couldn’t see the rush for getting the new house. He had gone through three years at Gordon Tech. He would be a senior -- not a BMOC, but as socially prominent as he was ever going to get. Everybody knew him, were acquaintances if not friends. Now, they were moving to Evanston. He tried to explain that to his dad.

“But you’ll be a senior in Evanston, too. And Evanston Township High School will look more impressive on your record.”

“Dad, I’ll be ‘the new kid.’ As for college admissions departments, they ask for the entire transcript. You think they won’t see that the first three years were at Gordon Tech? Which isn’t, really, such a bad school. I’ll never shine -- in class, sure, but not where it matters to kids. Still, at Gordon, I have an established place.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll make new friends.” Dad hadn’t figured out yet that he hadn’t made all that many old friends. Dad had been a leader in his small high school, a basketball star among other things. He’d not yet caught on that, while Andy had inherited his height, he’d inherited neither his athletic skill nor his skill with people. For that matter, 6’ 1” was no longer tall enough for basketball. Dad was proud of ‘consulting’ him on family decisions, but having been consulted and said no, he moved to Evanston in June of ‘73.

The new house was a horrible commute from his summer job at the grocery store, too. He’d taken some weird hours and split shifts. He could walk home in five minutes, get something to eat, lie down and read, and get back to the store a few hours later. Now, he needed to take two ELs and a bus. Dad, who had insisted that he get the job instead of ‘lazing around all summer,’ offered as a compromise that he could quit it. He felt, however, that he owed Mr. Vincent, who’d been nice to him. Mr. Vincent rearranged his hours, making them somewhat shorter with only one shift -- if not necessarily an eight-hour shift -- in a single day. He worked until school began. He did get back at Dad by moving his savings account from his bank to Evanston Bank. Dad didn’t even mention it.

High School was as frustrating as he’d expected it to be. Everybody knew some rule he didn’t. Everybody knew most of their classmates. When he walked into AP Calculus, late since the classroom numbering had confused him, the other kids all looked at him as though he were in the wrong place. They’d all known each other before, and they figured him for some klutz who shouldn’t be taking the course. Mr. Egan, the teacher, found him on the roster and welcomed him, the other guys -- and the three girls -- remained dubious.

Dad found that Aldersgate UMC was the nearest Methodist church. Since he frowned on church-shopping, they both joined.

“Go to the MYF meeting,” Dad said. “That’s the place to meet friends.” Since it was likely to be a place to make, at least, acquaintances, and since Dad would meet any later complaint with “Well, what did you expect? I told you how to make friends and you didn’t go,” he went. The first meeting was an election between people he couldn’t have identified by name.

The girl, at least, he’d seen in church. She was distinctive enough to stand out. She was tiny, elfin you might say. Perhaps making a reference to that, she had her hair in a ‘pixie cut.’ It was shorter than his -- shorter than his would be after his next haircut. Marilyn -- her name -- shone with beauty, and apparently was quite conscious of it. Her campaign speech was all about doing more for the church -- MYF projects, in fact, which she claimed to have invented. He was surprised that she didn’t claim to have invented fire.

Edwin, the other candidate, made a better speech. He, at least, wasn’t suffering from a Napoleon complex. When the ballots were passed around, he voted for Edwin. Marilyn won, however. She promptly nominated Edwin for vice president, Andy couldn’t tell whether it was standard in this chapter, negotiated between the two of them, or her idea.

In the social time after the meeting, Marilyn did come around to meet him, but she seemed distracted. The adult counselor, Mr. Schmidt, introduced himself, too. Some of the others said hello, at least, but they all had other things to discuss.

Mr. Egan sprang a pop-quiz in AP calc. Andy got the second-highest grade in the class. Suddenly, the others decided that he wasn’t there by mistake. Still, that acceptance didn’t spread as far as an invitation to sit with anybody at lunch.

MYF was something similar. Marilyn spoke with him, and spoke with him kindly if distractedly, after the next MYF meeting. He’d noticed, though, that she took the same bus home as he did, and she didn’t bother to speak to him while waiting for that bus. It was the second trip that bus took, too, which meant that the wait was a long one. Still, she was a beauty, and he found himself watching her while waiting for the bus.

Physics was a fun course, although it was designed for people who didn’t know calculus. Well, the AP calculus class wouldn’t have filled the classroom if they all took the same course. The other subjects, English, History, Gym, were obstacle courses on his road to college. He navigated them with, at least, Bs.

In the November MYF meeting, Marilyn got up and asked for her first work project, and it was the next night.

“As many of you know, there was a problem when the UMW scheduled rummage sale set-up for tonight. They were persuaded to reschedule. On the other hand, they need help with the tables. If some strong boys would show up tomorrow night to work, I’d be very grateful. And they’d see that we are a group that they should cooperate with. Please, come tomorrow night -- as soon after six as possible.”

He got the necessary homework done during study halls and in the late afternoon. He walked to the church that night. The turn-out was pitiful, himself and another boy. He could see Marilyn’s frustration. On the other hand, his showing up got her interest for the first time. The work wasn’t all that hard, and there were three older men there. One was much older and didn’t seem ready to move tables. The other two called themselves Dan and Bill. Dan took charge and paired himself with Doug. (Andy recognized Doug from MYF when he heard the name.) Andy was paired with Bill. Bill shifted a table from a group leaning against the wall. Andy got the legs unfolded while Bill held it up. Then Bill got it on the legs, and they lifted it to transport it to where it was needed. Unless Doug knew the system, it would have taken more than twice as long to do the job with only two of them, but it would have been utterly doable. As it was, they were finished quite soon.

“It was so nice of you to come,” Marilyn told him. There was real warmth in her voice, too. Dan and Doug had left as soon as the last table was down.

“Hey! It was an MYF project, right? And you got the meeting protected. It’s the least we can do to support you.” Actually, he didn’t care about the meeting, but he wouldn’t say that to Marilyn. She obviously did. Doug didn’t know what he was missing -- personal attention from the prettiest girl in school.

“That was Mr. Pierce. He got the meeting protected, I mean. Anyway, thank you.”

“Mr. Pierce,” Marilyn said to Bill, “I can’t say how grateful I am.”

“Nothing. You guys on foot? Stick around until Carolyn gets out of choir practice, and I’ll give you rides home.” He didn’t have far to walk, but he wasn’t interested in leaving yet. Anyway, Bill -- Mr. Pierce -- walked out the door as if he assumed acceptance.

“New at school, aren’t you?” she asked. She’d already established this in two previous conversations. Well, it wasn’t as if he could think of anything to say. “Where’re you from.” That, at least, was new.

“Chicago. Dad got promoted and bought a new house. To be honest, I’d wanted to finish out my last year at Gordon Tech.”

“Finding the classes harder?” Not really. These guys all thought that their school was on top of the heap. Well, Dad did, too, and it wasn’t school pride on his part.

“Classes are the only thing about school I’m not finding hard. Is everybody as stuck up as they seem?” Which might not be the brightest question to ask a pretty girl with whom you want to continue a conversation. She didn’t seem to take offense, though.

“Not really. But your old school, how easy was it for a new senior to fit in?” Which was really what he’d said to Dad.

“You have a point.”

“We all know who is my friend. We all know who is my rival. And there are many groups. I don’t know how talk to you until I know whether you’re going to support me or Edwin for the MYF presidency.” Damn. And now that he knew her, he wished that he had.

“Umm,”

“Don’t worry. I know you voted for Edwin. So did all the other boys. I as just making an example. Everything is tight-woven, and you don’t fit. That’s not something about Andy. That’s because you weren’t there for the weaving.”

“You see it, and Dad didn’t. He told me...” And that was something he usually avoided. He was glad to tell Dad his faults -- after all, Dad was eager to tell him his. He tried not to air them with people outside the family. The woman in charge of the rummage sale saved him.

“Marilyn! We aren’t here to be social. Take this pile over to Mrs. Davis.” Nobody had a job for him, and he wasn’t volunteering. Then Bill -- Mr. Pierce -- came back with a bag of rummage.

“Don’t know who’d want that,” said the woman in charge, about one of the offerings.

“Mrs. Benton!” Marilyn said. “Those are wonderful.” She shook out a pair of jeans and measured them against herself. Unsurprisingly, they were too large. Did anyone else in church have that trim a figure? “If they’d fit me, I’d take them in a minute.”

“They look like you could get into them easily.” The boss, Mrs. Benton, said. He should learn all these names being passed around.

“Too easily. This sort of jeans is supposed to take a shoehorn.”

“If Mrs. Pierce’s jeans don’t fit me, I’m not even going to look at her top,” Marilyn said of the next piece out of the bag. “Some of us have it, and some of us don’t.” The girl he’d thought stuck-up was trash-talking her own figure! And it was such a sexy figure, too.

“I think your shape looks great.” Then he clamped his mouth shut. At least he hadn’t said ‘sexy.’ Still, what right did he have to express an opinion about her? And Mr. Pierce clearly thought he had none.

“Andy,” he said, “you have to learn something of female rules. They want you to notice their shapes -- do you think her admiration of the blouse was because she thought it would keep her warm? But noticing doesn’t mean mentioning. Anyway, let’s go over here out of the way.” And he grabbed three chairs on his way to a corner. There he asked them about their goals and studies. Marilyn wanted to be an English teacher and would major in English to prepare for that. Her favorite course was English, naturally.

“Don’t be afraid of making choices,” Mr. Pierce said. “If something is attractive, go for it. On the other hand, don’t be afraid of changing your mind, either. You’re in the class for a quarter -- high school is different -- so you probably shouldn’t drop out in the middle. On the other hand, your taking that class doesn’t guarantee your taking the next.”

He didn’t want to argue with Mr. Pierce. On the other hand, he didn’t want to appear wishy-washy in front of Marilyn.

“I think I’m pretty-well decided,” he said.

“Fine. There’s nothing ‘have-to’ about changing your mind. There’s nothing shameful about changing it either. The tragedy is to think you’re committed when you aren’t.”

“Really,” said Marilyn, “you can get a sound, liberal arts, education and it will prepare you for almost any career.” Old story, and she’d swallowed it without thinking.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that claim. And I don’t believe it.” But he shouldn’t be calling bullshit on the prettiest girl in the school just because she was repeating bullshit. “Sure, there are plenty of jobs which require somebody who looks middle class.” And that might offend Mr. Pierce, too. “But if you need to know something to do a job, knowing something else won’t help you. Now, teaching high school English -- while it does require knowing something -- luckily requires mostly knowing the subjects that they put into their ‘fits-anyone’ curriculum.” That should smooth any feelings of Marilyn’s that he’d ruffled. “If you want to design computers, you need to know about designing computers. Knowing lots and lots about the Thirty Years War won’t substitute.”

“Whatever you do,” Marilyn said, “you need to be able to read a book.”

“Oh yes. Grade school is absolutely necessary. But I can read books. I’ve read a book on relativity. I bet most of my classmates haven’t. I’ll even bet that few of the history teachers in school even could. So, how come I’m an uneducated kid who needs more courses in college in order to know how to read a book? How come the guy who wrote the book is a narrow-minded specialist? While the guys who couldn’t read it are generally educated?”

“Because he is. I don’t know that author, so don’t come down on me for that answer. But a narrow-minded specialist could write a book on relativity. But the person who goes through a good liberal-arts education knows a wide spectrum of things.”

“But not relativity.”

“Not necessarily. But he or she knows books.”

“So, we’ve got two guys. One has a superior education because he knows books. The other has written a book the first one can’t understand. But the guy who can’t read the book is superior to the guy who wrote it because he knows more about books.” And he, who was supposed to be so smart, was picking a quarrel with a lovely girl who’d been willing to talk to him, who’d been nice to him. There were various kinds of smart, and his would never get him a girl.

“Hah! Should have known, let you alone for a few minutes, and I find you talking with a pretty girl.” He jumped with a guilty conscience, but he didn’t know the voice. On second thought -- on first thought, actually -- it had to have been addressed to Mr. Pierce. The speaker must have been Mrs. Pierce, and looking at her explained Marilyn’s “some of us have it” comment. Mrs. Pierce had large breasts. She didn’t compete with Marilyn in the shape department. Indeed, she was either seriously overweight or pregnant.

“I think Dan’s lurking in the car, Gladys. Andy’s here too, dear. I’m not just talking to Marilyn.” That was from Mr. Pierce and confirmed his guess as to the woman’s identity.

“Of course,” she replied, “Marilyn wouldn’t have stuck around if there weren’t somebody interesting to talk to.” Which was a nice compliment to him, if based on no evidence. They all gathered their coats and went out of the church.

“Marilyn, sometime when your education is over and you’re out in the business world, you’re likely to have a boss who tells you that his wife doesn’t understand him. Don’t give him the least sympathy. My wife understands me, and it’s pure hell.” He didn’t like to think of some future boss telling Marilyn such a story. He also noted that Mr. Pierce seemed to forget that she wasn’t going into the business world.

Mr. Pierce gestured to the left when they came to the main sidewalk. He hung back so that Mr. Pierce could lead them to his car.

“I’ll have to ask you guys to sit in back,” Mr. Pierce said when they got there. “Sorry.” In the back of a car with the prettiest girl in the school? Even if it really wasn’t what those words made it sound like, he thought he’d be able to bear it.

“I’m so grateful,” Marilyn said to Mr. Pierce. She seemed to be spreading around a lot of gratitude tonight. “It’s nice to have one adult in the church who doesn’t think of us as a bunch of kids.”

“You got the wrong person for that, Marilyn,” Mrs. Pierce replied. “Bill’s objection was that they were pushing kids around. If they’d have shoved the kindergarten class of the Sunday School aside, he’d have dropped a stink bomb on the next UMW meeting.

“I’m just as glad that we’re driving you back,” she went on without pausing. “What’s your address again?” Marilyn gave it, and he realized that he was almost directly on the way. “I know that nothing bad ever happens in the neighborhood, but there can be a first time. Andy, would you mind walking her to her door when we get there?” His murmur of agreement was overridden by her continuation. “I know. Just to keep an old woman from worrying.” Well, Mrs., Pierce wasn’t really all that old, but he’d be glad to walk Marilyn to the door. When Marilyn looked at him, he nodded.

“This is too much to ask of you,” Marilyn said when they were on the walk up to her porch.

“It’s nothing. I’m happy to walk you home.” And he’d have been happier to walk her all the way home from the church.

“And thank you for coming out. I really hoped for a better turn-out.” She was being extra nice, but she was also worrying too much.

“Well we got the job done. And, really, if you want the adults to think of us as other adults, my working with Mr. Pierce and Doug’s working with that Dan guy...”

“Mr. Hagopian.” She corrected him.

“Well, the only thing that anyone called him was ‘Dan,’ and no wonder. Anyway, that was more like being a couple of adults than a team from MYF would have been.”

“Well, thanks and goodbye,” she said as she unlocked the door.

He returned to the car, worrying that the Pierces might see that he was beginning to have an erection. When he got in, Mrs. Pierce asked him his address. Actually, he’d had all the pleasure that the ride could give him. He’d be happy to walk home from there -- on air. He gave his address, though.

“Sorry. I could have got out sooner.” He wasn’t sorry at all; apologies were worded oddly.

“That’s fine,” Mrs. Pierce said. “Ladies first is the rule.”

“She was nice,” he replied. “Much nicer than she is at meetings.” Which was what he’d been thinking, but not something he should be blurting out to near strangers -- nice though these near strangers had been.

“Well, she needs to run those meetings. She can’t give you her full attention, not even half her attention.” Mrs. Pierce was still being nice. “You go to the same school, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” They rode the same bus, too. He couldn’t think why he’d ever thought her stuck-up. The stuck up kids drove their own cars.

“Try talking with her at school. Can’t hurt.”

“I will,” he told her. Somehow, the car had stopped. He got out. “Thanks. Thanks to both of you.” And he meant it. The ride, aside from his company for the first part, had been nothing. The advice had opened possibilities.

Well, Marilyn had a problem, or thought she did. He was a problem solver -- which was really what “engineer” meant except for the special training. He should solve her problem. If she talked to him ‘cause he’d helped move a few tables, that might get her willing to date him. Well...

Rummage set up was really a solved problem. The total number of workers there was really overkill. On the other hand, it was only a once-solved problem. If she got a couple of juniors to work, too, it would be solved next year. That depended of course, on how often they held rummage sales. Didn’t the old hag say, “winter rummage sale”? Maybe he was imagining it.

She’d mentioned the pre-Easter workday in her first speech. How did you recruit for that? Her request at the last meeting had really been too general. If you asked “you people” to come to an event, the hearer would hope that the others would come. She could get the girls, probably, if she asked one-by-one. Hadn’t she said they’d all voted for her? Could she get the boys? He couldn’t; they’d shrug him off. How about that Edwin guy? He was vice president.