Chapter 70: Freshman No More

May 18, 1981

I stopped by the Stop’N’Go on the way home, this time accompanied at a distance by Angie. Gerry greeted me with a wave. “Hey, kid! You win some, you lose some, but you called it on the Rockets. Which stinks, but then, I made a killing because everyone loves the hometown underdog!”

“Celtics were just too good. It was still a pretty special playoffs.”

“That it was. And special for you!”

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back. I’ve got no feel for anything over the summer. Maybe college ball. I don’t know.”

“Don’t follow baseball? Or the horses?”

“I’m sure I’ll do something on the Series. But maybe not much before it.”

“Hey! I get to keep more of my money!”

“You take care, Gerry.”

“You, too, kid!”

When we got home, Angie wanted a look at the money. She whistled. “So, we’re set, except, where the hell did we get it, if anyone asks?”

“I don’t have a good answer myself, yet. Especially being fifteen. We need to figure something out. And get into the stock market.”

“Yeah. I’ll keep thinking, too. It’s a bit much to explain away with a paper route! Which we don’t even have!”

“Just a bit, yeah!”

May 19, 1981

Yes, straws were drawn. Nancy and I skipped our turn; we were waiting for the Memorial Day blowout. Angie and Gene, however, enjoyed a study break. So did Mel and Cammie, and then Andy and Cal.

I was really in good shape for finals. The only one of any consequence was the dreaded Spanish. In two days I’d be done with that for good. And I really had learned more this time. Not nearly enough to really speak the language, but a lot more. The irony was — now I knew I could actually learn Spanish. And it’d be useful. I was trying not to waver on taking more — if I did, it would be with a tutor, not through school, that much I was sure of — but was starting to think Ms. Meadows had a point on the value of learning another language.

That, or I’m a glutton for punishment. There’s a good case to be made for that.

Angie snuggled up a bit after rubbing noses. “We’re almost done, big brother.”

“Yeah. Thank goodness, on the Spanish front. And Higgins. And ... well, I won’t miss dissections.” Angie shuddered at that. “The rest, they’re good. And I’ll be doing debate research once we get back.”

“I still haven’t decided. But I got Miss Cuthbert to let me decide on an elective late, from whichever classes have space.”

“So what’s stopping you?”

She bit her lip, hesitating. “I don’t know.”

“Is it one of our special issues? If not, talk to Doctor Stanton, maybe? Just bounce the idea off her? She might be able to help.”

“That’s a good idea. I hadn’t thought of her for guidance on class schedules.”

“I don’t think it’s a class schedule thing. I think it’s a ‘What do I want from life?’ thing.”

“Oh! You may be right. I need to think.”

“And, sis? You know this isn’t, like, important to me. I mean, I think it’d be awesome. But you don’t have to like everything I like. I’m not racing to learn to play piano; you don’t like the computer as much as I do.”

“I love having one, but I never used them when they were so ... primitive! It doesn’t even have a mouse!”

“Yeah. Whereas I used ones like this for years. But anyway, it’d be awesome, but what I want is for you to be happy and love what you’re doing. I think you’d love it, but I could be wrong, and I’d want you to drop it like a hot potato if you didn’t love it.”

“I know, Steve,” she smiled, leaned in, and gave me a soft kiss. “And that matters a lot, that you just want to support me. I’ll think. But right now, I’ll sleep. Stupid finals!”

“I agree. Just a couple more days!”

“Yeah! Friday we’re free!”

“Night, little sis. Love you.”

“Love you, too, big brother.”

May 21, 1981

Last final of the year. Debate.

I know. How do you give a final in debate? Everyone who participates in tournaments is going to get an A. And even those that don’t compete pretty much get an A if they show up and participate in class, which means doing things that help the people who are doing more than the minimum. Because, of course, if they’d get a B for just helping in class they’d go to the minimum number of tournaments and compete in the minimum events in the minimum way so they could get an A. What use is that?

I’m sure some teachers do something with research skills, or filing, or fine points of the rules. But that’s silly; none of those are the point of the class. Not that our final was, but it might have gotten closer to the heart of things.

The school required a final, so, we had a final. And the final consisted of watching one or another Monty Python performance. Perhaps ‘Holy Grail’. Perhaps ‘And Now For Something Completely Different’. Perhaps ‘Life of Brian’. Perhaps TV episodes. But, Python.

A couple hours of Python. With snacks.

Since just watching wasn’t a test, Meg required us to quote at least a couple lines of dialogue from memory. From anything Python. The thing we saw or something else; anything would do. Most of the team could quote entire chunks of ‘Holy Grail’ — and did — at the proverbial drop of a hat. Some of the seniors could run the entire movie through end to end. This was a very low bar.

And a lot of fun.

It made a great end of year party. I said polite goodbyes to the dilettantes. They might turn up in my life again. Like I said, I didn’t dislike them; they just took an elective that didn’t suit them. I didn’t want that to be Angie. It was me in Typing. In changing direction, they might blossom.

But the proper goodbyes were to the team. The hugs, the tears in some cases. I’d miss Art, with his quick wit, and the incredibly even-tempered Martha. I was never close to Ted, but I’d miss him, too: his easy nature, his willingness to help, the way he was one of the guys even though he also wasn’t. Those of us considering CX made plans to get together over the summer to hit library after library studying about US policy on foreign arms sales, next year’s topic.

And again, I had to wonder. I’d been a wide-eyed newbie as a junior before. Now I’d be an established veteran as a sophomore. What ripples would that cause, beyond just those in my life?

May 24, 1981

I did nearly nothing on Friday. Saturday, Angie and I went to the mall and met up with a bunch of the gang for a restrained evening of pizza and video games. No movie — no one wanted to see anything that was out, and we no longer needed a movie just for the darkness. I’d had plans for bigger outings — we all had — but so much had happened over the spring semester that we’d dropped Saturday fun outings. That might need to change — but then, I was likely busy about every other Saturday during the school year from now until forever.

Which, I’d forgotten until just recently, was my original reason for dropping D&D. Not that I’d outgrown it, not that I had new and deeper friends. No, it was just that I had to miss half the sessions.

Sunday, more of the same. Lazy, quiet, peaceful. We reestablished family game day for the summer. I dominated ‘Monopoly’, Angie crushed us at ‘Life’, and Mom, well, was not very sorry about kicking our butts at ‘Sorry!’.

Fun, relaxing, and special. And the sort of day that hadn’t happened often during my other pass through life.

9:30pm

Angie’d come in, snuggled up, rubbed noses, and smooched me. Then grinned. “I have a line on how we can maybe invest in the stock market.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“My friend Sandy’s dad is a stockbroker. Or, well ... investment adviser? Whatever. Close enough. He buys and sells stocks for clients. Sometimes — often — remote clients who he’s never met. I’m not sure about contract laws with teenagers; those might complicate things. Like ... what if he rips us off? But, if Dad countersigns ... well, or Mom ... then we can have an account at fifteen. And can direct it, or at least, he’d let us.”

“So far, so good. But we’re talking about too much money.”

“Getting there. Apparently ... some of his dealings are a bit ... um ... nuanced.”

“Illegal.”

“Well, no one used that word. So, yes,” Angie winked and grinned. “He’ll suck up a good 10% or so as a ‘commission’. Which stinks. But then it’d be buried so that it looked like we’d started lower and hit on a few things and, voilà, moolah.”

“The word we’re looking for here is ‘money laundering’, sis.”

“That’s two words. Anyway. Yes. That’s what we need. Clean, fresh, sweet-smelling money. Not stinky money that smells like a bookie.”

I had to laugh. “OK, fine. I need more information. It sucks that you can’t just google things.”

“Google?”

“D’oh. 1997, right? A way to look things up on the Internet.”

“We had that. I used a thing called AltaVista.”

“Google is like AltaVista, only bigger and better. And creepier, later. And the Internet later is so much bigger than it was in 1997, you’d hardly believe it.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Anyway, so, why?”

“Reputation, mostly. Does he get lots of complaints? That sort of thing. Though I doubt people are filing formal complaints about lousy money laundering services.”

“Those probably come in the form of injuries.”

“Yeah.”

“Mom and Dad will freak if we’re suddenly wealthy.”

“Yeah. We’ll need to hide that. Maybe multiple accounts. The parentally acceptable account and the more secretive account. If we can open two. We’ll see.”

“How far are we riding this?”

“Comfortable, I think. Not much more. I don’t want to be worth billions. It attracts too much attention. And I’d get lazy. But, comfortable is good. Nice vacations, nice house, all that.”

“Works for me. I’m a material girl!”

“Which will be a big hit. In three years, if I recall.”

“Spoilsport!”

“We’d better get some sleep.”

“Yeah. Love you, big brother.”

“Love you, little sis.”

“Always.”

“Always.”

She didn’t move.

“Um ... sis?”

“Yeah.”

“Sleep?”

“School’s out, tomorrow’s Memorial Day, and we’ve already got trip permission. My ass is staying right here unless you kick me out.”

“Let’s see. Would I ever kick Angie’s ass? Maybe. Out of bed with me? Unlikely.”

She giggled. “Good answer. Night, big brother.”

“Night, little sis.”

We snuggled up and fell asleep.

May 25, 1981

I’m sure Mom checked. Or noticed from which door Angie appeared. I trust Mom’s radar on this. So, I feel pretty sure it didn’t bother her.

Mom was all smiles when we left for our (late) jog. And when we appeared for our (later) breakfast.

“You kids are going over to Mike’s for a party, right?”

“Right, Mom.”

“I think your father and I are going out to the movies. We’ll be back before you are, I’m sure.”

“Have fun, Mom! And tell Dad that too!” “Yeah!”

“It’s been a while since we did that. It’ll be nice. We love you, but, you know...”

“It’s nice to do things without the kids. We know.”

“We’re happy you can.”

We left a while later, Angie in a pale green sundress with her bikini under, me in a t-shirt and shorts, with a bathing suit under. No backpacks, no books, no nothing. We arrived to find the party just starting.