Free Fifteen by Beverly Cleary Page B

than ten miles to the city. That isn’t all over the country. And Greg and Marcy and Buzz and Stan and Julie and I aren’t a lot of teenagers. Except for Stan—and you said yourself he was a nice boy—you’ve known all of us all our lives.”
    â€œDid Julie’s mother say she could go?” Mrs. Purdy asked.
    â€œI don’t know,” said Jane truthfully, for Julie’s mother had not actually refused permission.
    â€œI don’t like the whole idea,” said Mrs. Purdy. “You know the sort of things we read about teenagers in the papers these days.”
    â€œOh, Mom,” said Jane impatiently, “you’re acting as if we were a bunch of juvenile delinquents. As if we were all out on probation or something.”
    â€œBut children your age get into such terrible scrapes,” said Mrs. Purdy.
    â€œBut not teenagers like Stan and me,” Jane told her mother, ignoring Mrs. Purdy’s reference to children. Surely her mother was not going to hold her personally responsible for every wild teenage newspaper story she read. “People like Stan and me don’t get into the papers. I told you before I went out with him he wasn’t the type to drive around in a hot rod, throwing beer cans around. He’s the kind of boy who has a purpose in life, like George. He’s going to be a veterinarian when he finishes college.” A purpose in life—that ought to please her mother.
    â€œI think Jane has a point there,” said Mr. Purdy. “It isn’t fair to judge all teenagers by the few we read about in the headlines.”
    â€œI suppose not,” admitted Mrs. Purdy, “but it worries me just the same. I would feel a lot better if they went on the bus.”
    Ha! She was gaining ground. This was the first time her mother had admitted the possibility of her going at all. Jane thought quickly. “But Mom, you know how terrible the bus service is in the evening,” she said. “After we got to the city we’d have to transfer twice to get to Chinatown. We’d be standing around on street corners all night waiting for buses, and Stan might not be able toget me home by ten thirty.” This was, she admitted to herself, a dangerous argument. It might lead her mother into protests against staying out till all hours. And if she weren’t careful, her mother would be dragging in lots of girls. Lots of girls would be satisfied with going to the movies in Woodmont, and that sort of thing.
    â€œI don’t see why they wouldn’t be safe enough in the Crandalls’ car,” said Mr. Purdy. “Stan has lived in the city and is used to city traffic. And he drives a truck, too, so he had to pass the test for a commercial license. He looks like a pretty steady sort of kid, and if Jane doesn’t have any sense now she never will have.”
    â€œI suppose it’s all right to let her go just this once,” agreed Mrs. Purdy reluctantly. She turned to Jane. “But you must go straight to Chinatown and come straight home. And be home by ten thirty.”
    â€œWe will,” promised Jane, and thanked her father with one grateful glance across the bowl of begonias in the center of the table. Darling Pop. He understood. Suddenly hungry because the battle had ended so much sooner than she had dared hope, Jane served herself another piece of strawberry shortcake. She really was going to the city ina car with Stan to have dinner—her first grown-up date. And it was going to be the most wonderful evening she had ever spent in her whole life!
    Jane finished her shortcake and hurried to the telephone to dial Julie’s number. “Julie, I can go!” she said ecstatically.
    â€œI was just going to phone you,” answered Julie, equally ecstatic. Her mother and father had finally finally consented to let her go after a lot of talk about teenagers and speeding and goodness knows what all—you know how