"B~it -- "
"And if you talk, the whole campus will know about Gabrielle's fake notes. Think it over." She marched off.
I was so quiet on the way -home that Daddy said, "Smatter, Puddin'? Flunk a quiz?"
I assured him -that my academic status was satisfactory. "Then why the mourning?"
Before Daddy let me register he had warned me that the First Law of the Jungle for a professor's child was not to be a pipeline to the faculty. "But, Daddy, you're a professor."
"Student stuff, eh? Better sweat it out alone. Good. luck."
I did not tell Mother either, because with MOther free speech is not just a theory. I did nothing but worry. Poor Gabrielle! She took her "note" down next morning, looking pleased-and I wanted to cry. Then I saw the smirk on Georgia Lammers' face and I felt like murder and mayhem. There was another "note" Friday and I wanted to shout to her not to touch it. I didn't dare. It was like a time bomb, watching Gabrielle's pitiful makebelieve and knowing that Georgia meant to wreck it as soon as she thought up something nasty enough.
I was in the Registrar's office Monday, not to see Georgia, though I couldn't avoid her, but because I am a freshman reporter for the Campus Crier. One of my chores is -- getting up the "Happy Birthday" column. I thumbed through the files, noting dates from the coming Friday through the following Thursday. Gabrielle's name turned up for Friday and I decided to send her a birthday card, via the bulletin board, so for once she would have real mail. Next I listed Bun Peterson's name; her birthday was the same as Gabrielle's. Bun is president of the Student Council and head cheerleader and honorary football captain; it seemed a shame she had to have Gabrielle's birthday as well. I decided ~to get Gabrielle a really nice card, with a hanky.
As I finished Georgia picked up my list and said, "Who's getting senile?~
I said, "You are," and took it back.
She said, "Don't get too big for your beanie, freshman." She went on, "Going to the party for Bun Peterson?" -- then added, "Oh, I forgot-it's upper classmen only."
- I looked her in the eye. "A double choc malt against a used candy bar you aren't either!"
She didn't answer and I swaggered out.
It was a busy week. Junior sprained his arm, Mother was away two days and I kept house, the cat had to be wormed, and I typed a term paper for Cliff. I didn't think about Gabrielle until late Friday when I stopped by the board on the chance that there might be a note from Cliff. There wasn't, but there was another of Gabnelle's notes, in an envelope with her name typed. I realized with a shock that I had forgotten her birthday card.
I was wondering whether to get one and let her find it Monday, when I heard a pssst! It was Georgia Lammers, motioning me to come to the office. Curiosity got me; I went. She pulled me inside; there was no one else in the outer office. "Keep back," -- she whispered. "If she sees anyone, she may not stop. She's due now-it's after five."
I shook her off. "Who?"
"Gabrielle, of course. Shut up!"
"Huh?" I said. "She's already been there. Her 'note' for Monday is up."
"A lot you know! Hush!" She crowded me into the corner, then peeked out. --
"Quit shoving!" I said and looked out.
Gabrielle was pinning something up, her back to us. She saw the envelope with her name, took it down, and hurried away. --
I turned to Georgia. "If you've monkeyed with one of her notes, I will go to the Dean."
"Go ahead-see how far it gets you."
"Did you touch that note?"
"Sure I did-I wrote it. What's wrong with that?" She had me; anybody can send anyone a note. "Well, what did you say?"
"What business is it of yours? Still," she went on, "I'll tell you. It's too good to keep." She dug a paper out of her purse. It was a typewritten rough draft, full of x-outs and inserts; it read:
Dear Gabrielle,
Today is Bun Peterson's birthday-and we are giving her the finest surprise party this school has ever seen. We would like to invite everybody, but we can't-and you have been picked as one of the girls to represent the freshman class. We are gathering in groups and will descend on her in a body. Your group will meet at seven o'clock in the
Snack Shoppe. Put on your best bib and
tucker-and don't breathe a word to anyone!
The Committee
"It's a shabby trick," I said, "to invite her to another girl's party on her own birthday. You knew it was her birthday."
"What of it?"
"It's mean-but just like you. How did you get them to invite her? You aren't on the committee-are you?"
She stared, then laughed. "She's not invited to anything."
"Huh? You mean there's no party? But there is.,, "Oh, sure, there's a party for Bun Peterson. But that little snip won't be there. That's the joke."
It finally sank in. Gabrielle would go to the Snack Shoppe and wait-and wait-and wait-while the party she thought she had been invited to went on without her. "That strikes you as funny?" I said.
"That's just the beginning," this Lammers person answered. "About eight-thirty, when she is beginning to wonder 'Wha Hoppen?' a messenger will bring another note. It will be blank paper, just like those she sends to herself-then she'll know." She giggled and wet her lips. "The little fake will have her comeuppance."
I started after her and she ducked back of the counter. "You're not allowed back here!" she yelped.
I stopped. "You'll have to come out some time. Then we'll find Gabrielle and you will tell her the truth-all of it!"
"Tell her yourselfl" she snapped. Two boys drifted in and the Registrar came out of the inner office and Georgia became briskly official. I left.
Cliff was waiting at "H-To-L"; I was never so glad to see him.
"Well," Cliff said a bit later, "phone her. Tell her she's~ been had and not to go to the Snack Shoppe."
"But, Cliff, I can't! That would be almost as cruel as the way Georgia planned it. Look-can't you get -- sOmebody to take her to Bun's party?"Cliff wrinkled his forehead. "I don't see how." "Cliff, you've got to!"
"Puddin', today is Gabnelte's birthday, too. Right?"
"Yes, yes-that's what makes it so mean." "You don't want to send her to Bun's party. What we do is give her a surprise party of her own. Simple."
I stared with open-mouthed adoration. "Cliff-you're a genius."
"No," he -- said modestly, "just highly intelligent and with a heart of gold. Let's get busy, chica."
First I phoned MQther. She said, "Tonight, Maureen? I like to entertain your friends but -- " I cut in with a quick up-to-date. Presently she -- said, "I'll -- check the -- deep freeze. Sommers Market may still be open. How about turkey legs and creamed mushrooms on toast?"