Waltz of Her Life

Keeping his eyes on the road, he sneered and said "What the hell do you want to do that for? So you can watch that tramp bring guys home all the time?" Her parents had met Lauren during Parents' weekend the previous fall. That day, she was wearing one of her lower-cut blouses and tight jeans.

"She's not a tramp. She plays around like she is, but she's really not."

"Well then, what are you going to use to buy food? Your looks?"

"It'd work out. I'm a pretty good cook."

Her father cleared his throat, a sure sign that he was going to launch into a diatribe.

"That takes time, and it takes money. Why would you want that kind of aggravation? In the dorm you've got someone else cooking for you, you don't have to worry about the light bill and you can concentrate on what's important. Your aunt Sylvia will tell you. Those nursing boards are no picnic."

Linda sighed. "I suppose you're right."

He reached across Molly, in the middle seat, to playfully slap Linda on the thigh. "When you get your first job, and you start making real money. That's when you get your first apartment. Better yet, meet a doctor. Marry him. Move into a nice house. Don't even move into an apartment, ever."

Linda had planned out her entire summer.

She would go to work at the Nettle's feed store and candy-stripe at County General again. On her days off, she and Molly would go to the pool where she would meet her other friends. And, as she promised herself, she would go to the roller rink and start skating again.

When she went to the feed store, Lou and Nellie, the owners hugged her and squealed.

They acted as if she'd been a long lost daughter. Absolutely nothing had changed about the store in nine months. She cleaned up the files and helped at the register as if she'd just been on an extremely long vacation. To her delight they even raised her pay fifty cents.

Candy striping was a different matter. She'd already had experience from the summer before. The first chance she got, drove down to the hospital and bounded up to the personnel office. The whole building seemed colder, more clinical than she remembered. A receptionist wearing cat's eye glasses looked down her nose at her as she asked "May I help you, miss?"

"I'm here to start volunteering. I worked with Beth Callas last summer."

The woman, who wore her hair in a severely tight French twist, said "Oh. Well we have all the volunteers we need right now. You could check back in the fall, when some of the girls return to school."