Free Dockside by Susan Wiggs Page B

she was going to the party at the country club tonight to find a boy to make out with.
    “‘Lord, I am not worthy to receive you,’” she recited along with the congregation, “‘but only say the word, and I shall be healed.’”
    This did not help her decide whether or not to partake of communion. She weighed the pros and cons in her mind: If you just sat there like a bump on a pickle, everyone would know for sure you were a sinner and a slacker for failing to do your penance after confession. If you jumped up and went for it, people would figure you were lying or insincere, because no kid was free of sin, except maybe Jenny. Nina wished there was some designation for the in-between people who weren’t perfect but tried to be. Strivers, you could call them. Shouldn’t there be some reward for people who strove to be good, even though they fell short most of the time?
    Lines were forming along the aisles in preparation for communion. Nina had resigned herself to staying put, letting friends and family speculate about what heinous stain on her soul was keeping her from Holy Communion. Then she saw that Father Reilly’s right-hand attendant, the boy designated to hold the chalice of hosts, was Grady Fitzgerald. A year ago, Grady Fitzgerald had been scrawny, pimply and dull. Now he was tall and cute, right down to the peach fuzz mustache on his upper lip. And he kept looking at Nina in a certain way. She was sure of it.
    This had to be a sign. She was meant to go to communion. She shot to her feet and took her place in line. Each step brought her closer to Grady. When it was her turn, she was supposed to tip back her head and delicately open her mouth as the priest said, “The body of Christ.”
    Instead, she kept her eyes open and glued to Grady. “Amen,” she whispered huskily, feeling the insubstantial wafer dissolve on her tongue. She returned to her place, where she was supposed to kneel and contemplate the ecstasy of the miracle. Instead she knelt, closed her eyes and pressed her hands to her forehead, realizing she had hit a new low. She had used the sacrament of communion as a chance to flirt with a cute boy.
    She was going to hell for certain.
    After Mass, as the congregation filed out of the church, Father Reilly made a beeline for her and she braced herself. This was it, then. The jig was up. He was going to expose her as a liar and a fraud.
    “Miss Nina Romano,” he said in full view of her parents. “A word with you.”
    “Yes, Father?” Nina’s stomach churned. She was going to barf, right here, right now.
    “The way you were at communion today…”
    No, don’t say it. I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to—
    “It was quite something, that bold look and loud ‘Amen.’”
    “Father, I—”
    “I wish more young people had your conviction. Your fervor. Well done.”
    Oh. Oh. “Thank you, Father.” Nina lifted her chin, squared her shoulders.
    As her parents beamed at her with pride, Nina packed away a life lesson. In every situation, people tended to see what they wanted to see.

Five
    N ina found herself swimming in a sea of boys, and it wasn’t even a dream. She was surrounded by ninety percent men. She was wide awake, in the ballroom of the Avalon Meadows Country Club, attending the annual salute to West Point’s incoming class of cadets. The founder of the country club was a West Point alum, and the large, lavish party had become a tradition. Some of the appointees drove for hours to get there. The following week, basic training would begin for the cadets, so this was their farewell to fancy food and music, girls and partying and long hair. Soon they would have their heads shaved, their uniforms pressed and their every moment scheduled for them. No wonder they were all acting a little wild.
    So many boys, Nina thought, bedazzled, so little time. Maybe she would go to West Point for college. Fat chance, she reminded herself. You had to be a brainiac and have perfect grades and play a