“No, Emily!  I will not – absolutely not!  I will not!  I will not!  I WILL NOT!”

“PLEASE, Howie,” begged Emily prettily, while holding a tube of bright red lipstick in her hand.  She was twisting its base causing a good half of an inch of the pointed wax stick to extend above the top of the tube.  It was a bright red stick – coming out of a gold tube.  Emily licked her lips and smiled.  She was enjoying this.  It was always good to be with Howie.

Howie had that trapped, desperate look that men often get when dealing with the opposite sex.  He wished that he were anywhere else.  Why did Emily – ALWAYS – do this to him?

He was beginning to sweat.  Driblets were forming on his brow.  A fine sheen covered the palms of his hands.   His heart was beating louder and louder.  And he was developing a nervous twitch.  He wiped his hands against his legs and gripped the end of the table.  The room was spinning.  His head pounded.  His eyes darted - swiftly - from side to side looking for any avenue of escape.  …But there was none.  He was well and truly trapped!  He could not run – for there was no place to go.  They were at his house!

Emily and Howie were seated in the corner of the Throckmorton kitchen that held his mother’s makeup table.

All women love makeup. Louise Throckmorton took advantage of that - by selling cosmetics throughout the neighborhood.  This table was where she gave her makeover demonstrations.  It contained all kinds of cosmetic products – lipsticks, blushes, powers, creams, and things that Howie did not even know the name of.  What in the world was an exfoliant for, any way?  On one side of the table was a water bowl that Mrs. Throckmorton used when she gave demonstrations of waterproof makeup.  And a towel, of course.

A large mirror – usually - dominated the center of the table.  It had lights that could be adjusted to simulate the lighting that the makeup was going to be worn under.  Bright lights were for daytime use and soft lights were for night.  His mother made sure that the lighting was turned completely off for some of the older ladies.

Presently, the mirror was missing.  Howie wondered what could have happened to it.  It had never been moved before.  Oh well, he thought, he was sure that whoever moved it had a good reason for doing so.

Howie was happy for his mother and her career.  She loved selling cosmetics and she was good at it.  He understood her need for this working space.  But he had never imagined that it would be used to torture him.

Emily was delighted that the setup could be used to bring them closer together.

 “Howard Thomas Throckmorton,” she coaxed, sweetly, “you promised that you would be a clown for my birthday party.”

When did he do this?  Howie did not remember making THAT promise.  He was sure that he would have remembered it if he had made it.  This would not be the first time that Emily had held him to a promise that he did not remember making.  What party?  Did he have to buy her a nice gift?  What was she up to?

Emily could see the look of puzzlement on his face.

“You forgot!” She accused him, waving the tube of lipstick at him - menacingly.

Oh, oh!  That was her no nonsense tone!  Had he forgotten this promise?  “I didn’t forget, exactly,” he hedged.  “When is this party?” He asked.

“Howard Thomas Throckmorton,” Emily gasped.  “You don’t remember my birthday.”

Of course, he did!  He had spent every one of her birthdays with her since she was four years old.  And she had spent every one of his with him.  “Oh,” he said, “You mean that the party is on your birthday!”

Emily looked at him like he was crazy.  “Yes, Howie, I don’t know why, but I thought that I would have my birthday party on my birthday, this year.”

Okay!  The party was for Emily’s birthday and he was supposed to come as a clown.  What was he – the entertainment?  But Emily was his best friend.  Why couldn’t he be a guest?  He was going to give her a piece of his mind.

“Don’t get huffy, Emily.  If you expect someone to do you a favor, and come to your party - dressed as a clown - at least you could show him the courtesy of treating him nicely.”

“Oh,” Emily smiled, sarcasm forgotten.  She had him!  “I knew that you would do it.  Thank you, Howie!”

That’s not what he meant.  He wasn’t agreeing to anything.  He was just getting ready to put her in her place.

But it was too late to protest.  Emily grabbed his right ear in a viselike grip - so that he could not move - and began applying the bright, red lipstick to his face.

Howie was frozen like a deer in headlights.  There was a grim look on his face – along with the driblets of sweat.

Emily did not notice Howie’s discomfort.  She was concentrating.  This was hard work.  She was gaining a deeper respect for Howie’s mother and all the effort it took to be a cosmetics expert.

She paused and surveyed her work.  Again, she licked her lips – and gave a shake of her ponytail.  This was fun!  She leaned forward – concentrating even harder.

Howie could feel the softness of her breath tickling his face.  And he weakened as he realized that he loved the smell of her hair.  But he was still mad!

Wider and wider Emily drew a smiling face over Howie’s clenched lips.  At last, she drew back.  “There!  Now you look happy - no matter how much you frown,” she giggled.  She stuck out her lower lip - frowning back at him.

Howie tried to wiggle his itching nose, but her grip kept him from moving.

“You look fantastic,” she went on to assure him.  He could not tell.  Some intuition had warned Emily to remove the mirror from the table.  It was hidden in the broom closet.

“It takes a real man to be able to wear makeup without feeling insecure,” she insisted, appealing to his fragile male ego.

Humph! He thought – trying to ignore the pain where she was still held his ear.

“Hold still!”

She added two big red cheeks and darkened his eyebrows with a liner.  Then, she used to liner to draw a dark outline to accent his new mouth.  Finally, she filled in a big red circle on his nose.

“Ah.”  That got the itch.

She used up the entire half of an inch of lipstick before she was finished.  Howie could feel the tube scrap his skin at the very end.

She dropped the tube down and let go of his ear.  Howie sighed in relief.  But = before he could do more - she grabbed it, again, and reached for Mrs. Throckmorton’s powder puff.

WHAT?

And she gave the bare parts of Howie’s face a thick coating of white.

“Achoo!” Howie sneezed.

“Hold still!”  Emily tugged at his ear.

At last, she let go and leaned back, once more, to survey her work.

It looked good; the wide, grinning mouth, the white face, the thick brows, and the red nose and cheeks, but something was missing.  Howie was still too – normal.

She looked at his ravaged ear – and got an idea.

“Ah, ha!” she exclaimed and reached for two cotton balls.  She held on to them while she searched the table.

Howie shuddered – not wanting to know what she was looking for.

Finally, she looked under the table into Mrs. Throckmorton’s packing supplies.  There she found some wrapping tape.

Howie was worried.  Was she going to wrap him up and leave him this way until the day of the party?  He began counting on his fingers how many days were left until Emily’s birthday.

But – to his relief - Emily only tore off two small strips.  Which she used to securely fasten a cotton ball behind each of Howie’s ears.  Now, the ears stood straight out from the rest of his face.  “That’s better!” She sighed, happily

Howie sighed in relief.  He was not going to be wrapped.  The ears were willingly sacrificed - as the lesser of two evils.

Emily was happy that Howie would do this for her.  They had grown so close ever since Meg’s wedding.  His sister had been a beautiful bride.  Her new husband, Mike Evans, had been a handsome groom.  It was a wonderful wedding.  Howie had been so attentive.  After he had dance with his Aunt Mae, he spent the rest of the evening with Emily.  They had finally danced together – on a dance floor.

Howie and Aunt Mae had won a trophy that night for their dancing.  But Emily knew that Howie danced best with her.

Howie had never bee able to dance, before.  He had failed every time he tried.  And he had been a danger to all nearby limbs and property.  It was odd.  Normally, Howie was an outstanding student.  He was one of the most intelligent students in his high school class.  He was even competing with Karen Switzer to be class valedictorian.  But he could not be taught how to dance. 

Until Emily, finally, figured out a way to do it.  She had taught him how to dance using baseball moves as substitutes for the dance steps.

They had spent a wonderful afternoon after that, dancing up and down Cow Field, the sandlot baseball field that was located behind both of their homes.  Using the baseball moves, Emily had been able to teach Howie how to cha cha, and to swing, and to tango, and to foxtrot, and to twist, and to jive - and many other dances.

He had been reluctant to try it at first, but he had done it – even though he felt foolish.  Emily did not mind.  Thelma Takahasi, who was Emily’s personal fountain of advice, had read her a quote out of a magazine for sale at her father’s grocery store.  It said, “All men make fools of themselves over women.  Fortunately, women like them that way.”  Emily was pleased that Howie was foolish - just for her.

After that lesson, they ended up at the old graveyard at the other side of the sycamore trees where they paid their respects at the graves of the Binning family.  It seemed appropriate.  Later, they had sat on Emily’s back porch – still holding hands - and talking.  They even wished upon a star – if the planet Venus counted as a star – and talked about the future.

Howie wasn’t aware that it was their future that they were talking about – but Emily knew it.

Emily’s campaign to marry Howie – someday - was coming along nicely.

Emily looked over her remake of Howie appraisingly.  He would do nicely as a clown.  She was going to have a wonderful sixteenth birthday.  She said, “You know, we may not need to put a wig you.  With your red hair, we could just tease it – with lots of hairspray – to make it stand on end.”  She released ran her fingers through his hair – pulling it up - experimenting.

Howie had all that he could take.

He jerked his head - wincing in pain as he pulled free from her grip.  “If I come, I’ll wear a wig,” he insisted.  Or a paper bag, he thought to himself.

“Of course, you will come.”  She had told him he had to, hadn’t she?  “I guess that a wig will be okay.  I have to wear a wig, anyway, because my hair is not red.”  Emily was a strawberry blonde who liked to wear her hair in ponytails.  She, also, liked to wear jeans and her father’s white shirts with the tails hanging out.  “I checked and we can get make some cheap wigs made out of the mops that they sell at the Takahashi grocery store down at the crossroads.  We’ll look more like a couple that way, anyway.”

Howie gave her a quizzical look.  Why did she need two clowns?  Were they going to be the entertainment?  Still, it was going to be a party.  A place to eat, and hang out with pals, joke around, and listening to music.  Maybe, even dance a little – now that he knew how.  He went over a few baseball moves in his head.  He still had it!

Emily had been a little odd since Meg’s wedding.  Sometimes, she acted more like a girl than his best friend.

Howard Thomas Throckmorton and Emily Hinton had grown up next to each other on Sycamore Street in Binnington, Ohio.  They were best friends.  As children, they had always played together.  Now, they played together on the Binnington High School baseball team – where Howie was a pitcher and Emily was the starting shortstop.

They lived in the two oldest homes in that section of town.  Most of the town of Binnington had sprung up – as new tract houses – just after World War two.

The Hinton and Throckmorton families lived in the two homes that had been built by Farmer Binnington and his son for their own families.  After his father’s death, the son sold the farmland to developers, and he retired to Florida.  The developers turned the land into tract houses.  Eventually, the Binning homes were sold to the Hintons and the Throckmortons.

The neighborhood sandlot baseball field just behind their homes was on an old shaped wedge of land that had once been the home of Farmer Binning’s prize bull.  The ball field was named for the bull – only the mothers of Sycamore Street insisted that it be called Cow Field, instead of Bull Field.  It was surrounded by sycamore trees.  And just beyond the trees was the old Binnington graveyard.

The center of the town of Binnington was at the crossroads where two stagecoach lines used to meet.  The front of a stagecoach station there had been turn into a grocery store owned by Mr. Takahasi, Thelma’s father, and a malt shop.  Other shops, including the Dress Stable, were in back.

Howie’s older sister, Meg, who had just married Mike Evans, worked there at the Dress Stable.  It was far back, in the stables that used to house the stagecoach horses.

Mike worked for Howie’s father, Harvey, in his insurance business.  And Mrs. Throckmorton sold cosmetics door-to-door.

Howie was the only non-salesperson in the family.  His family was disappointed, but they had, finally, accepted that he wanted to become a doctor.

Emily’s parents were Ira and Easter Hinton.  He was a judge and she was a housewife – and a musician who taught piano in her home.  Emily, like her mother, was musical.  She could sing, and dance, and play the piano.  She, also, loved baseball, poetry, and Nancy Drew mystery novels.

Emily was one of the most popular girls in town.

When she was four years old, Emily decided that she was going to marry Howie.  And she had been working toward that ever since.

Meg’s wedding and the dancing with Howie afterward had been – in Emily’s mind – a major step towards accomplishing that goal

At last, they were becoming more than friends!

Now, Emily’s sixteenth birthday was coming up, and – with very little coaxing - her parents had agreed to let her throw a masquerade party to celebrate.  The girls at Binnington High School were excited to be coming dressed up in costumes.  The boys wanted to know what foods were being served.  That meant they were coming, too.

Now, that they were more than friends, Emily decided that she and Howie would go to her party as clowns - one smiling and one frowning.  Emily would be the frowning clown and Howie would be the smiling one.  That way they would harder to identify.

It had been surprisingly easy to get Howie to agree to it.  Emily was afraid that he would try not to do it.  She had asked him – first thing - when he called her the night before on the telephone.

“Em,” he had started out, “Colonel Randall, the speech teacher, says I need to join the Debate Club.”

“I’m giving a masquerade party for my birthday,” Emily replied.

“He thinks I need the extra credits on my high school transcripts to help me get into a good premed school,” Howie continued.  “And I need a partner.”

“I am going as a clown,” interjected Emily, happy that the conversation was going so well, “and I need a partner.”

“Will you be my partner?” they both asked at the same time.  Then they laughed.

How wonderful!  Howie had guessed what she was going asking - and had asked it for her.  This was proof that they were close.  It was, almost, as if they had one mind.  It must be Zen, she thought, happily.

Zen, her father told her, was an Oriental philosophy that taught that a person could know that something was right – without thinking about it.  Emily liked the concept.  Howie was skeptical.

“Thank you,” said Howie, “Its so nice of you to help me.  You’re a pal.”

“Think nothing of it, Howie.”

‘How do you like that?’ thought Emily as she hung up.  ‘I was afraid that Howie would refuse to wear a costume.  But, instead, he thanked me.  He said that it was nice of me to help him!  Not many boys know when they need help.  I wonder what he was calling about?  WAIT!  What did he mean – PAL?”

That had been yesterday.  Now, Howie kept talking about some silly debate club while she was trying to finalize the plans for her party.

He had wanted to come over to her house and talk about it.  “Your father has a great library,” he had insisted.  “I am sure that we can get some great ideas about debating from them.”  Emily’s father was well read.  His library held books on many subjects, as well as the law.  Howie admired him, and often wished that his father could be more like him.

But Emily had insisted that they meet at Howie’s house.  The cosmetics were there.  And how could they create their costumes for the party without makeup?  Besides, Emily liked the Throckmorton home.  She loved her home – it was peaceful and secure, but, when one felt excited and vibrant, the Throckmorton home was the place to be.  She felt badly that Howie did not appreciate what he had.

Howie still did not remember when he agreed to become a clown, but it was okay.  After all, if he wanted Em to do something for him – it was fair the he do something for her in return.

But now, it was time to get down to business.

He walked over to the kitchen table where he had set a stack of books that he had checked out of the library down at the crossroads, across the street from the Stagecoach Station.

Emily giggled as she watched him walk with his clown face still on.

He looked awfully funny - even from the back  - with his lanky figure, his loose walk, his hair sticking up, and his ears sticking out.

“Come and look at these books, Emily.  This one is called Robert’s Rules of Order.

“Robert who?” Asked Emily.  “Doesn’t he have a last name.”

“Robert is his last name,” Howie replied.  “General Henry M. Robert wrote Roberts Rules of Order.  It the standard book for parliamentary procedure.”

Reluctantly, Emily got up and followed Howie to the kitchen table.  She looked longingly back at the makeup table.  She had felt so good.  They had been intimate there - chatting about the party.

“But we’re not in England, Howie,” she turned back and gave her opinion.  “We have Congress - not Parliament.  What kinds of dance music should we play?” She added, getting back to the more important subject at hand.

“No, Em.  Parliamentary procedure doesn’t have anything to do with the English Parliament.  It is the means of establishing rules and procedures for conducting meetings - and for winning debates.  …And you don’t dance at a debate.”

“No, silly!  What kinds of dance music should we play at my birthday party.”  Later, she would check with Thelma, of course.  Thelma was an expert.  But it was important to feed the Howie’s ego  - to let him feel like his opinion was important.  Then he could be brought to agree with whatever decision was made – because he had input.  Thelma had taught her that.

“I thought you won a debate if you were right, Howie.  Doesn’t right make might?”

“Not in a debate, Em.  You win if you present the best argument – or, at least, a better one than your opponent does.  Do we HAVE to dance at this party – and who with?”

“What if your opponent IS right, Howie?  Yes, you have to dance at the party!  That is what a party is for, Howie!”  Why did he ask who he was going to dance with?  Who did Howie want to dance with – if not her?  She wondered.  Karen Switzer was invited.  Emily used to be worried that Howie was interested in Karen.  How could he not be - when she was so beautiful?  Emily had been relieved to find out that Karen, already, had a boyfriend, Butch Pratt, a baseball player at Cornville High, the school that she had transferred to Binnington from.  Did Howie want to dance with Karen?  Didn’t he know that was meant to dance with Emily?’

“What has that got to do with anything?  …And what has that got to do with anything?”  Howie responded to both of Emily’s comments.

“Why would you want to win if you do not believe you are right?  Yes!  You are going to dance at my party!  I am serious!  If you dance - then the other boys will dance, too.  It won’t be so bad,” she coaxed – looking up at Howie through her thick eyelashes.  “At least, you have learned to talk to yourself when you dance.”

Emily stopped and hesitated.

Go for it, she thought.  Shyly, she added, “And you know that the prom is coming up soon.  You’ll want to dance at that, won’t you?”

Okay, Howie, she thought.  The ball is in your court.  Now is the time to ask me to the prom.  She crossed her fingers behind her back.  She knew that he wanted to!

She waited, breathlessly.

Howie missed the cue!

“Emily, are you going to help me with this debate club or not?  I am serious.”

Emily sighed – but did not give up hope.  There was still time.  She would bring up the subject, again.  Maybe, SHE should just ask him.  Boys can be so dense!

She looked at Howie and giggled.  “You don’t look serious,” she insisted

Howie’s bright smiling face was amusing Emily, but he was scowling underneath.  “Emily, you agreed to be in the debate club with me!”

“I did?”  Emily wondered when she had made that promise.   But it was okay.  She could do that for Howie since he was going to be a clown for her.  

“Okay,” she said.  “What do I have to do?”   Later, she could bribe him to joining a dance club at school in return for this favor.  And she could claim that she needed to practice for the prom.  When Howie asked her who she was going with, she could look sad and say that she had not been asked, yet.  Then he would have to ask her!

This was not – exactly - the truth!  Other boys had hinted that they wanted to ask her to the prom, but she had not encouraged any of them.  She was waiting for Howie to ask her.

 “Now, Em,” Howie returned to the subject of debating, “it may be hard for you – at first.  Debating is based on logically.  And I know that you are a girl.  Like science, this is one of the things that boys do better.”

Oh, Howie when are you ever going to learn?

Emily’s face had developed its own scowl.  She might have to show him which sex was better.  She looked at a frying pan sitting on the Throckmorton stove.  No, it was, probably, too hard.  She turned and saw Howie still sitting there with a superior look on his face.  Then again, maybe it was not.

This would have been a bad moment to ask her to the prom – if Howie had been thinking of it.

But he wasn’t!

He continued, “Of course, one good thing about you, Em, is that you always do the unexpected.  It’s like that Zen thing of yours.  No one knows quite where your crazy ideas come from – so no one can prepare for them!

Emily was not sure that she had just been complimented.  “Are you saying that I am crazy, Howie?”  She looked at the frying pan, again.

She turned back and glared at him.

Now, Howie noticed the look in her eyes.  He began to back pedal.  “What I mean is that you are intuitive, Em.  You always seem to know the right thing to say or do.  You have a feel for it.  I like being around you because of it.”

Good save, Howie!

Now, ask her to the prom.

Emily crossed her fingers, again.

“You think I can help?” Emily responded, pleased.  “Like with your dancing,” she hinted.   She sat back and waited.  She tried to think of other ways to bring the subject of the prom back into the conversation.

“Oh, yes, Em.  You will confuse the judges’ feelings.  And then I will use logic to straighten them out.  We will have the best of both worlds.”

Oh, Howie!

“You think I could help?” Emily repeated, sarcastically.

Soon, he would be going to the prom stag.

“Oh, yes, Em,” answered Howie, obliviously.  “And you know I need all the help I can get…”

She agreed with that!

“…If I am going to get into a good premed school upstate.”

WHAT?

“Upstate?”  Emily’s anger was forgotten.  “Howie, aren’t you going to go to the college here in Binnington?  Then, you could still live at home.”  The prom was forgotten – for a moment.

Howie sighed.  He had told Emily that he wanted to go away to school.  But she had never listened to him.

“Em, take a look at my home,” he tried, again.  “I don’t want to live here.”

Emily did look at Howie’s kitchen.  Sure, the table was vinyl, and the chairs were plastic.  The curtains were red, and the cupboards were yellow.  The floor and counters were black and white.  Maybe it even glowed in the dark.  But it was vibrant – and alive - and she liked it.

“How can I do any serious studying around here,” Howie continued.  “I need peace and quiet.  And I want to be near a good library - like your father’s.  And a good premed school is important.”

A good girlfriend was important, too – wasn’t she?

“If you stay home, I will let you use my father’s library - anytime you want.” She offered.  Maybe, they should have gone over there to discuss the party.  She could have borrowed her mother’s makeup.  She wondered if her mother had the shade of red that Howie was wearing.  She doubted it.  She continued, “Family is important, Howie – much more important than peace and quiet.  And I like your home, Howie.  Its…its…its full of life.”

“Yeah, life insurance,” complained Howie.

“What’s wrong with that?”

Howie did not feel the need to respond.

Mr. Throckmorton had taken Mike Evans, his new son-in-law into partnership.  And he had renamed the firm “Throckmorton and Son-in-law” because Howie would not go into the business.  Mr. Throckmorton told Judge Hinton that he now had  “law” in his company title - and he did not have to go to law school to get it.  Emily’s father politely laughed - like he always did.

Howie wanted to become a doctor.  He had interest in life insurance – despite that fact that it put food on the table.  Like other teenagers, he felt that his family did not understand him.  And he rebelled against some of their traditions – like adequate life insurance.  He would have wondered if he was adopted - except that he looked just like his Grandpa Throckmorton.

“Howie, you don’t really want to go away, do you?” Emily asked, anxiously.  Tears were beginning to fill her eyes.  He was not supposed to go anywhere away from her.  Didn’t he know that?  Hadn’t he learned that at his sister’s wedding?  Would that dumb old prom be the last dance – if he ever asked her to?

Howie sighed, again.  They had had this conversation before.  He tried a different approach – appealing to her curiosity.  “Em, don’t you want to see the world.”

“What in the world I want to see?” Emily replied.  “Besides, I thought that you wanted to go into space.”  This was an intentional distraction.  Space was a more remote possibility than college.  So Emily gladly swapped issues.  Howie hoped to go into space, someday.  The country was committed to putting a man on the moon by the end of the decade.  That gave Emily six more years to talk him out of it.

He did not want to get away from her, did he?

But Howie just wanted to see the world.  Emily was welcome to tag along.  And, if he had thought about it, he would have told her so.

Howie saw the look on her face and sighed.  ”Space would be wonderful, and, although I would like to see more of the world, Binnington, Ohio is a nice place, too.”

Emily’s stricken face relaxed – a little

“Oh, it is nice, isn’t it?”  Emily breathed a little easier.  That is what she wanted to hear.   “I love Binnington better than any place in the world.  I want to live and grow old here.”  She had plans for Howie here in Binnington, also.  “And, someday, I want to be buried in that little graveyard just beyond the sycamore trees.  It is so peaceful there.  Wouldn’t you like that?”  This was another distraction.  Howie like the graveyard.  It was a peaceful place.  That might get him to stay.

Then, graciously, Emily added – to be fair, “I agree.  I am sure that there lots of nice places in the world - and in space.”

Howie breathed a little easier.  She was going to let him go.

Nothing was resolved.  Each was holding his or her own dreams - and tried not to hurt the other.

Emily did not add that she, also, thought that Binnington was a nice place to raise their child.

Howie did not add that he had never considered where he wanted to be buried.  The closest that he had come to that had been when he had wanted to build a rocket powerful enough to send some ashes into space.  The ashes had been the remains of a pet frog of Emily’s that had croaked.  Emily did not think that he was funny - insisting that her frog had croaked.  She truly loved Iggy, and Howie should have treated the dead frog with respect.  She had not talked to Howie for the rest of the day.  She had gone home and played Chopin on the piano.

Howie knew that, when Emily was bothered about something, she played Chopin on the piano.

He had, finally, gained her frog-iveness by holding a proper burial – in a far corner of the cemetery.  He had painted the Iggy’s name on a rock – with his sister’s finger nail polish.  Only, instead of writing RIP, he had added, RIB-it.  And, had won a smile from Emily.  She thought that was funny!

There was plenty of time in the future to worrying about dying.  Howie wanted to see the world, first.

“I can agree with that,” he said, meaning that the graveyard was nice

“Then we agree,” replied Emily, glad that Howie had decided to stay in Binnington

“Yes?”  Had Emily just agreed that he could leave Binnington?

Good old Emily, Howie thought.  She understands my needs.  She knows that I need to see more of the world than Binnington.  What would I ever do without a friend like her?

Good, old, Howie, Emily thought.  He knows when I am right.  Binnington is the best of all places to be.  What would he ever do without a friend like me?  Now, how can I bring up the subject of the prom, again?

But, before she could think of a way, Mrs. Throckmorton entered the kitchen.  She stopped short - looking at Howie’s face and ears.  Then, she looked at Emily with lipstick stains all over her hands.

“Have you children been playing nicely?” she asked, while biting her lip to keep from laughing.