Free Stacy's Song by Jacqueline Seewald Page B

floor doing push-ups. He continued the exercise until he dropped from exhaustion. Then I let him know I was there.
    He got up from the floor and came toward me, b reathless and drenched in sweat the T-shirt clinging to his muscular chest. “My mother phoned from work. She was upset. She had quite a bit to say. She told me how you came to see her. Did the two of you have an argument?”
    â€œNot exactly. It was more in the nature of a disagreement.”
    â€œWell what was this disagreement about?”
    I fidgeted my feet on the carpet. “About you.”
    â€œI see.”
    No , he didn’t see, but I wished he could. Wasn’t that a big part of our problem?
    â€œWhat made you do it?” He put his arms none too gently on my shoulders.
    â€œI wanted to help. I happen to care about you.”
    â€œI told you before I don’t want your pity!” He angrily pushed me away from him.
    â€œDon’t worry , you’re not getting it!”
    â€œLook , from now on let’s keep our relationship strictly business. O kay? Nothing personal. No walks , no talks , no nothing! It was a mistake. I realize that. My fault. The only thing you and I can share is music. Got that?”
    â€œUnderstood. Over and out. I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I agreed, choked with anger. My face burned. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You know , Michael , there ar e all kinds of ways to be blind and right now you’re every one of them.” With that, I turned quickly and ran out the front door. My chest heaved and my heart burst with pain. I didn’t let myself cry until I got home and could shut the door to my bedroom.

Chapter Six
    Â 
    Our Labor Day performance at the swim club drew a lot of compliments—true they mostly came from my mother and father but I could live with that. However , there were fewer people at the Labor Day celebration than July the 4th. I can’t say why because Mr. Kemp always throws a terrific party that day. His workers barbecued hamburg ers, chicken, hot dogs and ribs and there was also corn on the cob, potato salad, cole slaw, soda for the kids, beer and mixed drinks for the adults. The staff had scheduled all sorts of activities, from egg tosses to ping pong tournaments. My brother Andy practiced shuffleboard for weeks so he would be ready for the father-son tournament, which offered a trophy to the winners.
    Our band played well enough but my heart wasn’t in it. Ever since Michael and I agreed to have nothing b ut a platonic work relationship I felt down. Of course I realized I had to get over my feelings for him or just spend the rest of my life being miserable and I’m much too sensible for that. Like the song title says: Big girls don’t cry. So Michael didn’t want to get involved with me, tough nuts. I would just have to accept that. Nobody said it was going to be easy. But it wasn’t a tragedy either. I’d just have to live with it.
    ** * *
    School started that week. It was like being thrown into an icy shower after coasting along in a warm bath. It took some time for me to readjust. I was a junior now, finally an upperclassman, and that felt good but Physics was ev en more difficult than Biology and Algebra II didn’t appear any easier than Algebra I had been. I tried my best to concentrate on my schoolwork.
    Mr. Kemp closed the club for redecorating during the month of September but promised to have us back to play on Fridays for teen nights during the coming autumn m onths. Michael wasn’t satisfied; he wanted us to find work for September.
    A week into the school term Jimmy actually found us a gig. “I got it all lined up,” he explained with pride at one of our practice se ssions. “There’s this nerdy kid , Denny Moore , who wants to have a party. He asked me in school about the band. I told him we were available if he h ad some cash. The only catch is he doesn’t know