"Daddy knows, but he didn't tell me," said Gail. "I just know its going to happen."

"Maybe he can stay and see the play!" said Cheryl.

"Oh my God! The President of the United States watching me get bit in the neck by Emory!" I said.

Cheryl keened with laughter. "Well, a U.S. Senator is going to be watching you get bitten in the neck by Emory."

I turned to Emory. "Your dad is coming to a performance of DRACULA?"

"I should think so!" drawled Emory. "He was the one who insisted I try out for Mr. Crawley."

"Wow. That's a trip and a half!" I said. "I didn't even think about that."

"What's wrong with that? Aren't your parents coming?"

"Well, of course! But it...I don't know...it kind of feels different in some way...." I squinted. "Oh God, if he brings Bobby Kennedy, I think I'm going to faint!"

I had a definite thing for Senator Robert F. Kennedy. He was the younger brother of President John F. Kennedy, assassinated less than five years before.

"Aren't you supposed to faint?" said Harold. "I mean in the play."

"We're way off the subject," I said. "This is really interesting. Is there anything else that you found out? Like, before. When was this dedication supposed to happen, anyway?"

"Soon, I think," said Gail.

"Now I'd think it depends upon when its convenient for President Johnson," said Emory, his interest piqued a bit.

"Have you met President Johnson?"

"Oh yes. Back when he was Majority Leader and when he was V.P., where he also was head the Senate." Emory drawled this out so slowly and casually, you would think he was talking about meeting a pal at the soda shop.

"Oh yeah! So that's why he was there in the Senate the day I went," piped Harold brightly.

"You've been to the U.S. Senate?" I said incredulously.

"Haven't you?" shot Harold back.

"No."

"Oh." He snapped his fingers. "That's right. You just moved to this area. Back in sixth grade, lots of elementary school kids around in the D.C. area take field trips into town. My class went to the U.S. Senate. And it was in session!"

Emory actually smiled. "An exciting sight, no?" he said sarcastically.

"No. It was really pretty boring. I mean, I guess it's exciting if you're from Kansas and dreamed about going to D.C. all your life. But I was born in D.C. and lived in the Capitol Hill area for a few years, until my Dad moved us out into the suburbs. So while I'd never been into the Capital Building, I'd seen it plenty of times. And inside - I don't know, it was kind of stuffy and boring, and old. Congress was in session, but it sure wasn't like Mr. Smith Goes to Washington with Jimmy Stewart. There were just people milling around, and some droning going on. And we're up in the gallery for just a few minutes. And our teacher, Mrs. Grant leans over to me and points down to a platform where this guy was sitting. And she says, Harold, that's Vice President Johnson! And I look, and sure enough there he was. I guess I recognized him mostly because of the 1960 Presidential Race. That's kind of when I started being aware of politics, I guess. He was running with President Kennedy against Nixon, who was VP then with Eisenhower. I had no idea of who he was then, I only knew he had a really Southern accent."

Emory frowned at that one. "Johnson is from Texas. He has a Texas accent."

"There's a difference?" said Gail.

"Each region has a particular argot or patois, yes. But it's a bit rankling at times to be grouped in one redneck lump," said Emory. "Much as a resident of Kent, resents it, perhaps, when an American mistakes his accent for Cockney. Correct, Rebecca?"

"I think Texans resent having people call them Southerners, yes," I concurred, trying to stay as neutral as possible.

"So anyway," said Gail, brushing back a clump of blonde hair and looking enraptured at Harold. "You saw Johnson. What was he doing?"

"My civics teacher says he's a political genius," said Cheryl. "He always got his arm around other Senators, buttonholing them and talking them into voting for Civil Rights."

Harold laughed. "Well, not that day! He was sitting in the big chair, looking bored out of his mind!"

Emory smiled again, and the room seemed to light up, with a breath of Southern sunlight. "Ah, yes. That's the Senate I know!"

"All in all, sounds like it wasn't a great civics lesson," I said. "You'd have think they'd at least have provided a class with a filibuster!"

Emory rolled his eyes, "Oh my goodness no. Filibusters are no kind of sight for children."

"But he's coming here! Wow," said Gail brightly. "I think that's just the most amazing thing. What's he like?"

"Oh, he's pretty official looking in his suit and everything," said Harold, basking in the attention from Gail. "And he's tall. Not basketball tall, but tall."

"Oh yes, he's tall all right!" said Emory, chuckling. "My Daddy says he likes to bring short people into the White House pool with him for a swim. Then he stands in an area where's he's touching the bottom, but they can't. So he kind of gets the upper hand."

"Has he done that to Senator Clarke from Alabama?" I asked, unable to hide my curiosity.

Emory raised an eyebrow. "My Daddy is too smart to get into any silly swimming pool with a man like LBJ."

"Well, I for one, would sure like to know when he's coming....and if the students are going to be able to see all this."

"Probably not. Only for a select few and newspeople," said Emory. "I know these sort of affairs."

"You'd think the principal would know," said Gail.

"Canthorpe?" I said. "Sure he knows."

"I hear you've been to his office."

"Unfortunately."

"So he knows you?"

"He does. But that office trip wasn't a pleasant one."

Gail nodded. "He is kind of intimidating, isn't he? I mean, he'll probably bite your head off if you just go up there and ask him if about when the ceremony is and when President Johnson's coming."

"Well, I don't know about that," I said.

"Well, there he is, Rebecca" said Gail. She smiled slyly and pointed over to the small door between the auditorium and the main entrance. He was talking to a teacher, but you could tell he had one eye on the students bustling in, and crowding around the tables. He looked a bit agitated too, as though he was not only waiting for trouble, but hoping he found it so he could pounce and take this noisy bunch down a peg.

I looked back at Emory and company. They shook their heads, wordlessly advising "No!"

But I was curious I was curious and frustrated.

The curiosity got the better of my natural fear of Principal Canthorpe. I also had been egged on by Gail in a sly and disparaging way that could very well be some kind of test of the Newish Girl in School's mettle.

I looked up at the clock.

There was a good six minutes to go before the bell. What the heck, I thought. I'd been fighting with a comic book for Emory's attention, and the comic book was winning. At least this way I'd be doing something that interested him and that we could discuss later.

"Sure, why not?"

There were plenty of reasons *Why not', but I just shoved them straight out of my head and marched forward.

The auditorium was full of tables and restless noise. Winter was full upon the land, and what with school and all, it kept people inside. Outside, snow covered everything except for the parts that snowplows had cut through or had been melted with rock ice. I'd looked outside the window the night before and the moon had been shining down from a sky striped with cirrus clouds, like something on the cover of one of my Gothics. Only on my Gothics, it would be a full moon. There's been something in the air then, and yesterday and I'd felt it again now - it was some kind of restlessness, yes - and it lived inside of me.

Principal Canthorpe ignored me as I casually approached. Either that, or he just plain didn't see me. In any case, I noticed there was a spot beside the door where I could edge into and not be missed.

I took a deep breath, and stepped into that spot.

"...oh yes. I'm thinking we're going to have to get a hell of a lot of rebounds to beat Northwestern..." The teacher, a bald glad-handing Spanish teacher named Smith was saying. He was short and he had to look up and up and some more up at Principal Canthorpe.

I figured it was better to interrupt Mr. Smith talking than Principal Canthorpe talking.

"Pardon me, Mr. Canthorpe," I ventured, putting on a great big I love America smile. I have a yo-yo kind of self confidence, and that day it must have been in top form, because I certainly stepped right up to the bat. Just inches from the towering fellow. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Smith. I just have a very important question for Mr. Canthorpe."

"Good morning, Miss Williams." said Principal Canthorpe.

"You'll notice, sir, that I'm wearing something more to your liking today?" I said. Which, in truth, was part of the reason I was up there at all, since as it happens I was wearing a pretty pink blouse and a nice demure skirt.

"That's good to see," grumbled Mr. Canthorpe. "Just what is your question?"

"Well sir, there's been this rumor going around about the Vocational School Dedication. I mean that President Johnson's going to attend. Gosh that's swell!" I said, remembering a line that always worked for Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland. "And I hear that a date and time has been made for the ceremony. When is that, sir? And are the students going to be able to witness this great moment in American history?"

Principal Canthorpe's eyes flashed. I could see the anger there at my impertinence, but it was a controlled, almost respectful anger. What could he say? It was a fair question and after all, I was playing the role of a Good Student. In front of a teacher, he couldn't do anything else but answer in a controlled way.

"I am not at liberty to disclose any of that information," he said.

"Oh yes! Of course not! Miss Williams, really!" chided Mr. Smith. He turned the Principal. "Naturally, though, there will be a reception for the President. Perhaps in the Faculty Lounge. I'd be happy to organize that."

"When this happens .... If it happens," Principal Canthorpe said. "And I say "If" because in these times the President has been known to cancel such engagements.....or send LadyBird or god help us, Hubert H. Humphrey. It will not....I repeat not....be something that will be for the general faculty and school!"

I put a pained and disappointed expression on my face. "Oh dear. I'm really sorry to hear that."

"So am I," said Mr. Smith.

"Be assured that if it happens, it will be taped and filmed for posterity," said Mr. Canthorpe. "It will be a proud moment for Crossland Senior High School. And we all will share in the moment in some pertinent way."

"That's great sir," I said. "Thank you. And thank you sir, for taking the time to point out to me the error of my ways. I'm feeling much prettier these days in pink!"

The Principal grumbled again and gave me a suspicious look like he didn't really believe me.

I walked back to the group at the table and managed to make this announcement before the bell rang.

Gail said, "You've still got your head! He didn't bite it off!"

"Good job, Rebecca," said Harold. "I'm proud of you."

Emory was immersed in his comic book. He did, however, look up for a moment. There was an oddly different look in his eye.

He suddenly seemed much older than eighteen years.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THAT NIGHT AFTER that look in Emory's eyes, I dreamed about him.

The dream was a nightmare.

The look was one, I think of re-evaluation. Of appreciation. And also, there was an odd kind of interest there.

A kind of interest that disturbed me in troubling ways.

Most troubling, I think, because I liked being disturbed.

I liked it a lot. It filled me with a bouyant feeling, that somehow felt grounding as well. After that look I felt like a great big balloon, flying with the eagles, darting amongst the clouds, but held down by an anchor.

What with my new dress, my light attitude and all, even came up to me at rehearsal to compliment me.

"You're looking very nice lately. And I like the skirt today, Rebecca. And by the way - stop making us all look bad. The acting is pretty darned good!"

"I went to a lot of plays in England, and took a drama class there," I said demurely. "I think it's all coming back to me. Some of the tricks, I mean."

"Oh yes - you really can upstage other actors if you want to. But you don't."

"I try to stay right where Mr. Crawley tells me to."

"The English accent really puts you over, though."

"Its fun. It's just the most fun play, isn't it?"

And, shock of all shocks, I caught Peter Harrigan giving me a look too.

An appreciative look.

Nothing like Emory's of course. It was more twinkle than smoulder, and it was as gone as soon as it came, as Peter dove back into his usual Thespian narcissism. Nonetheless, I was very happy I didn't have to do any acting right then and there, and I could just go to get a drink of water, because, frankly, I was not used to a lot of attention from boys, and it was going to take a little bit of getting used to.