"Good luck, girl."
"I'll see you. Bye."
"Bye."
She walked toward Gaylord thinking, Gaylord Le Claire, don't you dare go out with Thelma … I think too much of you to let you get involved with her type. She was almost to him now.
You've grown, she thought, looking at him. I didn't realize you were so darn good-looking … and I don't believe you're interested in talking to Thelma … I hope you know what she is … the whole town knows. She was almost at his side now. He had not seen her. The breeze rippled against her skirt, and she cut down her pace. Walking slowly with short, mincing little steps.
Gaylord saw her. His face flushed, and his black hair glistened in the sunshine. He noted with acute distaste that she had spied Thelma. He followed Joy's gaze and noted for the first time that there were yellow sweat rings at the armpits of Thelma's dress. She looked, he thought, like what she was … a cheap person.
"Hello, Gay," Joy said cheerfully, directly. It didn't bother her, that directness. Somehow she felt he was glad to see her.
"Hi, Joy," he answered. A strange half-smile coming and going on his face.
"Have you seen Bob?" she asked in a glowing soprano. "I must have missed him." She looked at Thelma. "Hello," she said. Her voice sharp and cold.
"Hello," Thelma returned in the same tone. She sized Joy up from every angle. From her ankles to her small, pointed breasts. "You've gained a little weight, haven't you?"
"No, I haven't," Joy snapped back. She turned to Gaylord. "Have you seen Bob, Gay?"
"No … I haven't, Joy. Was he supposed to meet you?"
"Having male trouble?" Thelma snickered.
"No … not especially, are you?"
"I haven't seen him," Gaylord said quickly. He looked from one to the other, his young face frowning and troubled. They sure hate one another, he thought. I don't blame Joy though … I hate her too. I wish she would leave.
"I never have male trouble … I have trouble keeping them
