Free Fifteen by Beverly Cleary Page A

Julie.
    â€œIf your folks will let you go,” said Jane, “I’m sure mine will let me go.”
    â€œI was thinking the same thing about you,” said Julie.
    â€œKeep me posted,” said Jane, not very hopefully.
    â€œI will,” agreed Julie. “And phone me the instant you talk them into it.”
    Tuesday Julie telephoned. “Any luck?” she asked guardedly.
    â€œNot yet.” Jane sighed. “Pop stayed in the city for dinner.”
    On Wednesday Julie called just before dinner. Jane knew from the sound of her voice that she did not have good news. “Tell me, Julie. What happened?” she asked.
    â€œWouldn’t you just know?” said Julie gloomily. “They’re thinking it over.”
    â€œOh, Julie, how awful,” said Jane. There was nothing worse than having parents think things over.
    â€œJane, you’ve simply got to get your folks to say you can go,” Julie begged. “Then I can use that for an argument.”
    â€œI can’t put it off any longer,” Jane admitted. “Stan doesn’t even know they haven’t given me permission. He just assumed they would let me go. I guess I’ll have to beard them in their dens at dinner tonight.”
    â€œGood luck,” said Julie, not sounding at all hopeful.
    And so that evening at the dinner table, when her father was enjoying a second helping of strawberry shortcake, Jane said casually, “Stan is taking me to the city for dinner Saturday. I think I’ll wear my gray suit.” Then she braced herself for the inevitable.
    Mrs. Purdy set her coffee cup back on its saucer. Mr. Purdy laid down his fork. They both looked at Jane.
    â€œGreg and Marcy are going too,” said Jane chattily, as if nothing were wrong. “And Buzz Bratton will probably take Julie.”
    â€œJane,” said Mrs. Purdy, “it seems to me that you are seeing a lot of this Stan Crandall.”
    Here we go. This Stan Crandall again. “But Mom, you said yourself he was a nice boy.” There. She had known she could get that in someplace.
    â€œBut you are only fifteen,” protested Mrs. Purdy. “I don’t think a bunch of fifteen-year-olds should go to the city alone at night.”
    Only fifteen! That old argument. Well, she wasn’t going to be fifteen all her life. “I’ve only been to the movies with him twice and had a couple of Cokes with him. I don’t think that’s seeing such a lot of him. Anyway, except for Julie, I’m the only one who is fifteen. The others are older. Stan must be practically seventeen.”
    â€œNow Jane, I certainly don’t want you running around with an older crowd,” said Mrs. Purdy.
    How unreasonable could parents get, anyway? First Stan and his friends were too young. Now they were too old. “I don’t think sixteen is so awfully much older than fifteen,” Jane pointed out.
    â€œWhere do you plan to have dinner?” asked Mr. Purdy curiously. “It seems a pretty expensive thing for kids that age to be doing.”
    â€œIn Chinatown,” answered Jane. “Stan has eaten there lots of times with his family when he lived in the city.”
    â€œOh, Chinatown. You get a lot for your money there,” said Mr. Purdy. “The boys ought to be able to fill you up for a dollar or so apiece.”
    Jane refrained from asking her father please not to be so crude.
    â€œI just don’t like the whole idea,” said Mrs.Purdy. “How do you plan to go? On the bus?”
    This was the hardest part. Her mother always got so excited at the thought of her riding in a car with a boy. “No,” said Jane carefully. “Mr. Crandall is letting Stan have the car.”
    â€œNow Jane,” said Mrs. Purdy sharply. “I am not going to have you running around all over the country in a car with a lot of teenagers.”
    â€œBut Mom,” protested Jane. “It’s less