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Show 78. "Nah. I'm not mature enough for girls. My mother said she'd tell me when I was. Honest, I heard my folks talking the other night. Dad said, 'Damn! You'd think the juices would be flowing by now!' That's what he said." Chic looked at JD like it was all an incomprehensible puzzlement. "Say, how about Stephanie?" JD said. "She hates sophomore boys. I bet she'd go out with an older man like you. You should hear her! She calls this one guy 'Zits' who's been hanging around. 'Gross' she calls this other kid who asked her to the Christmas Dance. She just told him 'no.' Can you believe it? An out-and-out ru>. Not 'I'm busy' or 'I'm making fudge that night' but just 'no.'" JD cocked his head, presumably studying Chic's profile. "She'd be just right for you. Stephanie likes someone with intellect." Chic didn't say anything right away. He'd always liked Stephanie himself. She used to go on bike hikes with JD and him and he remembered she was a good sport for a girl. "Stephanie'11 be so popular in a year you'll be beating the boys off your porch." "No," JD persisted, "come to think of it, I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner. My best friend and my sister! She looks up to you, Chic. She told me once she thought you were a genius." "Hmmm," Chic considered the stretch of highway ahead of him, trying to bring the "now" Stephanie into focus. She was stuck in his mind's eye at about eleven, with all of eleven's scrawny aspects-elbows, knees, big teeth, and an overwhelming freckle population. When she finally arrived in his mental picture tube, he found himself smiling. "She also has good judgment," he nodded at JD. It was six-thirty when they arrived in Glenrock, chalking up one more success for the Pontiac. They'd have time for a hamburger and malt before the varsity played. It promised to be a close game. And afterwards, there were always the fights to look forward to. Chic had volunteered to be JD's second if they could stir up anything, but he knew JD didn't have the stomach for scrapping with the big, red-faced ranch boys who could throw a bull calf with one hand. That night the traditional rivals were forced to go into overtime. That was positive assurance of a few bloody battles in the parking lot, |