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"Don't count on it. If she had her nose any higher, she'd be on oxygen," my grandmother said, and they both laughed.

I smiled. Craig's mother did look like someone who thought she walked constantly on a red carpet. The few times I had seen her since Craig and I had been going out, I couldn't help but stare and even study her. Parents, after all, at minimum, were the pool from which we drew our own characteristics. What, if anything, had Craig drawn from such a woman? Was it her arrogance that he toned down to strong self-confidence? Everyone needed that; that was good. He had some of her good physical characteristics, her hair, eyes. I imagined that so much more of him, however, had come from his father, who was as strong and handsome looking. Between the lines and small references, I understood that his father had a good sense of humor and was liked by most people. Craig said he was a perfect politician, especially in regards to his mother.

"Well, you just let us know if anything nasty happens, Alice," my grandmother said. "And if there's anything you two need. Maybe you can lend him your car, Michael," she suggested.

He shook his head.

"That's a little too much involvement, Elaine."

"You're thinking more like an attorney and less like a grandfather," she countered. His face immediately turned a little crimson. "But you're probably right," she added quickly. "Just let us know, Alice," she concluded.

I nodded, and we finished our dinner talking about other things.

As prom night drew closer, the excitement in the school was palpable. There was truly an electricity in the air, spurts of laughter and giggling, smiles flashing, everyone assuring and promising everyone else that the night would be very special. I began to feel sorry for those girls who had not been asked. Their faces looked pale and forlorn. It was almost as if they were watching their youth pass them by, leaving them lost and alone on some street corner, at some bus stop where no bus ever came.

My grandparents kept asking about how we would spend the time between the prom and the picnic the next morning. I finally found out that a group of us was going to spend the night at Ruth Gibson's house. Her parents had to attend her father's brother's twenty- fifth anniversary affair in Dover, Maryland, so she had the house to herself, and they had given her permission to have some friends over. It was one of the bigger homes in Centerville, the nearby village. Being so close to our hamlet gave my grandparents some comfort, although my grandmother wasn't happy about there not being any older person to chaperone.

"Let them take on their own responsibilities," my grandfather said. "Alice is a pretty levelheaded kid."

She gave in, but she wasn't as confident about me as he was, and besides, she said, pointedly directing herself at me, "Sometimes, it's not you but your friends who get you into trouble."

"You toss the dice from the moment you drop them off at kindergarten on," my grandfather muttered.

Because I had imposed such a restricted, introverted, almost hermetic existence on myself, they were caught in a conflict. They had done what they could to get me to be more social, and now that I was, they didn't know how restrictive they should be without turning me back to the person I had been. I couldn't give them any clue. I was in uncharted waters myself. I would either drown or sail on. Grandfather Michael was probably right--you just toss the dice and pray.

Now that everything was laid out, our evening began to fall into place. Craig informed me Friday night that we were definitely not going in the limousine, however.

"First, I don't need to hear or to have them question me as to why I don't have my car," he said, "and second, I don't intend on sharing my time with you, not even a few minutes."

"What will we do?"

"Don't worry. I'm working on something very special," he told me and winked.

The night before the prom, I had this terrible nightmare in which I discovered that Craig's parents had decided to have him locked away so as to prevent him from taking me. He was chained to some wall, crying and screaming. Now I was like those other girls, the ones without a date, watching her youth float away unexplored. I actually woke in a sweat and found my heart thumping. Nothing pleased me as much as seeing the sunlight come pouring through my windows, cutting the darkness into shreds.

He called me twice that day, both times to reassure me that all was fine.

"My mother decided to go on a full-day shopping spree. It's her way of getting back at both me and my father, mostly him, because she's probably going to spend a ton of money on unnecessary things."

"What is your father saying?"

"Nothing. He just looks at me and shakes his head. I don't respond. They'll get over it," he said. "She'll have her tantrum and that will be that. Now be sure you take a nap like the young women did in Gone with the Wind," he said, laughing.

"Like I could fall asleep."

He laughed, and then he told me his special secret about our transportation. He had rented Harold Echert's '57 Ford Thunderbird, a restored classic automobile.

"As it turns out, we're going to arrive at the prom in the most striking automobile."

"He let you rent it?"

The car was always parked in front of the Echert garage and drew the attention and admiration of tourists and locals alike. It was always kept washed and shined. There was a story about a movie company that had even used it in a film. It was fire engine red with those big white wall tires.

"Let? I gave him a pretty big chunk of change. It has that tuck and roll interior. I took it for a ride yesterday to be sure it was in tip-top condition. What power it has. Wait until I pick you up," he said. "My father did me a fav

or taking my car away."

"Okay," I said, laughing. "We'll send him a thank- you card."