Calliope Day Falls . . . in Love?

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No Gentleman Calliope Day wasn't fooled by Rodney's greasy tweed jacket and lopsided bow tie. She knew he was no gentleman. That's why she eyed him as he kept glancing over his shoulder at her. It was a wintry Sunday afternoon in late March and Spackle's indoor roller rink throbbed with shouting, skating, shoving kids. Calliope glided hand in hand with her best friend, Noreen Catherwood. Ahead of Calliope and Noreen skated Rodney. Again he glanced back at his fourth-grade classmates. What is he up to? Calliope wondered as she wobbled along in white skates scuffed nearly black from a winter of hard use. Noreen's black skates, on the other hand, still shone as if brand-new. Calliope suspected that Noreen let her maid, Louisa, polish them every Saturday night. It looked like Louisa had also ironed Noreen's white blouse, which stood erect, as if at attention. And, while she was at it, maybe Louisa had ironed Noreen's ponytail as well. Not a hair strayed from the black ribbon that pulled back Noreen's brown hair. In its rigid perfection, the ponytail was a tempting target. What boy wouldn't want to give it a good yank? Was that what Rodney had in mind? Rodney had given up any pretense of stealth and now stared directly at Calliope and Noreen. Calliope squeezed her friend's hand to reassure her. But, truth be told, Calliope needed reassuring as much as Noreen needed Calliope. After a winter of Sundays at the skating rink, Calliope had learned she was better at falling down than circling around and around. There wasn't a tree in South Orange or Maplewood she couldn't monkey up in her bright red Keds. Yet in skates she careened into the rink's low wall and toppled over when trying to stop. Yes, it was better to skate clutching Noreen's hand. That seemed especially true now, given that Rodney was chuckling to himself as if enjoying a private joke, probably at Calliope's expense. He had been tormenting her since kindergarten. Calliope couldn't understand why Rodney hated her so much. They had so much in common! They both lived in the same neighborhood of simple houses in the shadowed valley of South Mountain. And, as the youngest in their families, they were both tormented by older brothers. Rodney peeled away from the line of skaters circling the rink, and looped into the empty space in the middle. Calliope wondered if Noreen noticed Rodney's troubling shift in behavior. She glanced at her friend. Sharp nose raised ever so slightly, Noreen gazed ahead and smiled faintly as if bemused by the picture of herself mingling with kids whose parents had to drive their own cars. Noreen, of course, traveled to and from the roller rink and Indian Trail Elementary School in a red chauffeured Mercedes the size of a small school bus. Did Rodney know this? Calliope doubted it, given the blackened windows of the Mercedes. You could see just fine out of those windows, but no one could see in. Calliope knew. Not only had she ridden in the Mercedes, but she had been to Noreen's castle of a house perched high atop South Mountain. Out of all the kids at school, rich and poor, brainy and boneheaded, Noreen had anointed Calliope as her best--and as far as Calliope could tell, only--friend. It was a friendship that left kids and teachers chewing the eraser ends of their No. 2 pencils in befuddlement. Even Calliope didn't quite get it. Here We Go Again Rodney was eyeing them with a devilish smile. He'd now looped around to face Calliope and Noreen and then dropped to a crouch. The better, apparently, to gather the speed to knock them over like a couple of bowling pins. Calliope couldn't skate well enough, especially with Noreen in hand, to weave out of the circling line and make a clean escape. That left only one defense: shrieking. And any girl who heard another one shrieking felt obliged to join in. So if Calliope could shri