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"But if we hear that you've been insubordinate to your teachers again, you won't be able to come to the hotel at all," he said. "You will be confined to your room. We know you've been through bad times, Fern, but you've got to do your work, and you've got to behave. If we don't make sure you do, we're being very bad guardians, and we have no right to keep you here. Do you understand?"
The whole time she kept her eyes down. She nodded without lifting her face toward us. I looked at Jimmy and saw how painful this was for him, but he knew he had to do it.
"Okay," he said, "let's see if we can start over and start on the right foot."
Fern said nothing, but as we turned to leave she finally lifted her head and looked my way. Her face was filled with rage: Her eyes were narrowed into black slits, her lips thinned and taut so that the bottoms of her clenched teeth gleamed in the light of the nearby lamp. Her hateful gaze made my blood run cold. I knew she was accusing me of turning Jimmy against her, but I was convinced more than ever that we had to get firmer with her before it was too late.
Instead of pouting and sulking, however, Fern turned over a new leaf. During the next few weeks she did just as we asked: concentrated on her homework and schoolwork and behaved well in her classes. I expected her to be belligerent toward me the first time she came to have me check her homework, but she was as sweet as could be. Afterward, instead of running off to be with the older boys and girls at the hotel, she volunteered to help Mrs. Boston with some of the household chores and spent time helping Christie with her schoolwork, too. Her improvement was so dramatic, in fact, that Mr. Youngman phoned me to express his pleasure and gratitude. I couldn't wait to tell Jimmy, and at dinner that night we let Fern know how happy we were with the changes she had made.
"Thank you," she sai
d. "I suppose I was just being a brat."
Jimmy smiled at me, but before we finished dinner Fern turned to him to make a special request.
"I've been asked to go to a dance," she announced. "Can I go? I can wear the dress and jewelry Dawn bought me for the dinner."
"A dance? In grade school?" Jimmy looked at me, but I shook my head. I knew nothing about it.
"Well, it's not in grade school; it's in the junior high school," she said.
"Junior high school? Who asked to take you?" Jimmy inquired.
"Just a boy. Can I go? Can I?" she begged, directing herself entirely toward Jimmy. He sputtered and stammered.
"I don't know . . . I . . . junior high . . ."
"I'm already in the sixth grade. I'm practically in junior high," she moaned.
"How old is the boy who asked you?" I inquired. "What's the difference? It's just a dance," she complained.
"Are any other girls from your class going?" I pursued suspiciously.
"I don't know," she said quickly. "Most of them act like babies."
"How old is this boy, Fern?" I repeated. "Is he in the seventh grade, the eighth grade . . ."
"He's in the eleventh grade," she admitted.
"Eleventh grade? That's not junior high, that's senior high," I said, looking at Jimmy.
"Oh, it's all the same dance," Fern pointed out.
"Why would a boy that old ask you to a dance?" I said. "You're just going on eleven. I don't think a girl your age—"
"I knew you would say no," she cried. "I knew it!"
"Now just a minute, Fern," Jimmy began.
"She hates me; she hated me from the moment I came here," she cried. "She couldn't wait to tell you bad things about me."
"Fern, that's enough!" Jimmy snapped.
She gazed at him and then looked down, real tears streaming down her face. Christie's eyes widened in shock at the scene before her.
"Dawn's right," Jimmy said. "A boy in eleventh grade shouldn't be interested in a girl your age. You're growing up too fast."
Her head snapped up, her eyes glazed with tears and pain. "You two didn't wait to grow up," she charged. Jimmy's face reddened.
