Girls High School of Brooklyn - Blue and Gold Yearbook (Brooklyn, NY)

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Anafole is fhoroughly disgusfed by now, and barely lisfens when I explain fhaf I wanf fhe curls low. Leave if fo me, he says laconically. l fix beau+ifuI, and humming A Tavern in fhe Town. he proceeds fo sef fhe curls high. Timidly I ask, Er, isn'+ fhaf a bif high? In reply he roars: Who is doing This, you or me? If you wanf fo do if--do. I am on fhe verge of a spirifed reforf when I see The Blonde and her adoring operafor smirking in my direcfion. and fhe spirif dies wifhin me. Then if is all overlbuf fhe shoufing. Anafole leads me over a vasf expanse of floor in view of hundreds of people dressed normally. One hand holding my pockefbook and fhe ofher clufching fhe space befween my skirf and blouse, I finally reach fhe dryer. Wirh a hand-rubbing gesfure. Anafole leaves me. I sif for ages under scorching heaf, sure fhaf I have been forgoffen. I am nof misfaken: I am rescued only when some girl in uniform fakes pify on me and seeks ouf Anafole. I sfill cling fo some hope unfil Anafole has finished combing ouf my fresses. fhen I musf relinquish if, for I see a grofesque creafure in fhe mirror wifh a foo broad face, foo small nose, foo low forehead, wearing a coiffure fhaf accenfuafes her ears, which sfick ouf. A+ fhe same momenl' I see The blonde. a golden vision of Ioveliness, and my eyes fill wifh sinful fears, of envy and of anger. I give fhe self-safisfied Anafole a quarfer and rush blindly fo fhe resf room where I drag a wef comb fhrough my shorn locks. FRIENDSHIP A well of sympafhy I see- Where visions swim: The kindly forehead of fhe sky- Keeps daylighfs dim . . . Mid heavens of unbounded love- l dream of him. The chain fhaf runs from sky fo earfh Links hearl' wifh mind: The hearfs fhal' fhrob fo rhyfhmic fhoughfs Are love-enshrined: And eyes fhaf search The depfhs of soul Can nor be blind . . . ls love a hawfhorn or a rose, A pool or sea? A cup of fragrance or a bowl Of poefry? Why Ief fhese quesfions inferpose, When spring of inflorescenf ioy Is come fo me? H KATHERINE VALENTINE CARASSO. Grade Three Ten

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me wiTh a flashing LaTin smile which insTanTIy changes inTo a ferocious frown. WhaT, he asks. is ThaT? Quaking, I look down aT my gym suiT which I am Taking home for a washing. As coldly as possible I Tell him whaT iT is. Ah, he answers disparagingly, and Turning on his heel wiTh a miIiTary click. he adds, Come, Scooping up my books and The offending gym suiT, I follow him. I seaf myself in The chair and Anafole Takes my Things and The gym suiT, which he holds beTween Thumb and forefinger. I hold my breaTh, clench my fisTs, and lean back while he washes my hair. Ugh, he uTTers, picking up a sTrand gingerly, FiIThy. I don'T see how ThaT can be, AnaToIe. I was here only a week ago, I reTorT, sTung by his uniusT remark uTTered in a loud voice, which awakens inTeresT in The girl opposife me. She is a blond wiTh flawless skin and is holding inTimaTe conver- saTion wiTh her operaTor, who is helping her ouT of a mink swagger coaT and unpinning an orchid corsage from her shoulder. In a few minuTes The washing is over and TorTure comparable To The Iron BooT begins. I am well supplied wiTh mirrors and a brighf IighT shines down from over my head. I can'T remember ever looking so repulsive before. Where do you wanT The parT? inquires Anafole. ' I Think I'I Try The righT side, I reply. No, answers AnaToIe emphafically. Your face is Toowide, your forehead. she is Too low, your mouTh, she is Too big, and your ears sfick ouT. AfTer delivering This invenTory in a loud voice, he proceeds To parT my hair in The middle. I hear The operaTor saying To The blonde in a caressing voice, Ah, Mademoiselle, iT is a ioy--a bil' of sweeT ecsfacy To creaTe a coiffure for a face like yours. I Try To caTch her reply, buf can'T, and Tall To wondering whaT she could say To a complimen-T supreme. Meanwhile AnaToIe Tugs and pulls, and finally breaks my reverie like ThaT by asking disgus+edIy why I have ben dyeing my hair. I proTesT Trufhfully ThaT I haven'T even Touched iT, buT he waves away my explanaTions and I see The Blonde Ieering maliciously ouT of large. black-fringed vioIeT eyes. Soon I hear The sound for which I have been waiTing. IT is The click-click of AnaTole's scissors. I don'T wanT any hair cuT off, I say firmly. CuT? asks Anafole in asTonishmenT. Miss Virginia, I wouldn'T cuT ony of your hair. No. I wanT iusT To Thin iT a lee+le. No, I reply. I don'T wanT iT even Thinned. I don'T wanT iT Touched. O, K. I won'T Touch iT. JusT a Ieefle biT Thinned, and he clicks his scissors perilously near my ear. I jump and say sTubbornIy, AnaToIe, I wanT my hair To grow, and The IasT Time you Thinned iT you Took a good Two inches off. Dramafically, Anafole lays down his scissors and Takes off my bib wiTh a flourish. There, he says, UGO. I can do noThing unless I Thin your hair. She is like a rug. IT is ridiculous To even Think of my going home wiTh my hair dripping down my neck: so conquered and humiliafed, I give in. BuT I resolve never To be so foolish again, for when he is finished iT is Too shorT. Nine

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FIIQST NIGI-ITETQ S THEY leTT The neighborhood l.oew's, home- ward bound, he was inTiniTely happier Than when he had sTarTed ouT ThaT evening. The double TeaTure They had iusT seen could noT have had This eTTecT on him. He couldn'T even remem' ber who was sTarred, RoberT or Roland Young. As Tor The love inTeresT-he hadn'T even noTiced her. He was Too occupied paying aTTenTion To Carol, Tor she had iusT promised To go To ThaT dance wiTh him Two weeks hence. They soon reached her house. Bob never real- ized ThaT The walk could be so shorT. He hadn'T even had a chance To say much To Carol. He had been reviewing The evening's progress, and was pracTically losT in his own ThoughTs. He said his blushing good-nighTs and Turned The corner To walk To his house. He remem- bered now how he had goTTen up The courage To ask her. Some line in The Tilm gave him The idea. Orchids To RoberT Riskinf' Bob ThoughT. He reached his house: buT beTore he TiTTed his key inTo The laTch, he sTraighT- ened himselT To his Tull Tive TooT eleven and Took a signiTicanT, Today I am a Man aTTiTude. ThaT was iusT The way our hero TelT. ATTer all he was a senior aT high school, had scored seven poinTs during The lasT TooTball season, and had even made ArisTa-buT righT now all ThaT didn'T counT. He TelT sure ThaT he had made Carol and she was going To The dance wiTh him. Our hero had been in serviTude all week. He had To, To geT whaT he wanTed from his older broTher who was home from Cornell beTween Terms. He almosT rebelled when he had To go To The library The second Time one aTTernoon To geT a designaTed book, buT now he was aT leasT sure oT being able To wear his broTher's new Tedora Tor The evening. IT had been harder To geT his naTTy new muTTler and glove seT, buT This had been assured him when he Traveled down To ForTy-second STreeT To geT a package one oT his broTher's Triends had leTT There Tor him. Life was being good To Bob, and above all he knew iT. His Triends assured each oTher ThaT he had never TelT beTTer. His pals could vouch Tor This even Though They did noT know who was responsible Tor his currenT change in moods. He surprised one boy, who boasTed oT The biggesT weekly allowance, by oTTering To do his maTh homework Tor Tive days on Terms. Said Terms being ThaT aToremenTioned capiTalisT advance Three dollars of his allowance, unTil Tuesday, Tor sure, Bob hasTened To add. The Three dollars he had been saving Tor skaTes was soon enTered inTo This Tund. He had had To coniugaTe LaTin verbs Tor a week, buT Bob soon earned The righT To borrow his Triend's new doTTed Tie and sharpie socks. You won'T be needing Them beTore Tuesday, and you can have Eleve