LITMIR.BIZ

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      “No,” Jane said, “he’s here for the summer. He’s visiting Ed Morris.”

      Her mother found her voice at last. “Why, that’s lovely, dear. Where are you going?”

      “To the Country Club dance. We’re doubling with Ed and Kathy.”

      The family was still staring at her, dumfounded, when she excused herself to get ready. “Is it all right if I don’t help with the dishes tonight?”

      “Of course!” Her mother rose too. “Can I help you, dear? Is your dress pressed? Do you have a good pair of nylons?”

      “What’s he like, Jane? Is he nice?” Alice asked.

      “I don’t know,” Jane said. “I’ve never met him. Kathy set up the date.”

      Suddenly the miracle was gone. Her family melted from amazement into understanding. No boy had asked Jane for a date—Kathy had been the one to arrange it. Kathy called herself Ed’s girl, but half the boys in school were enthralled with her, and she encouraged them all. Whenever Ed asked her to get one of his friends a date, Kathy blithely skipped over her own group of friends and chose someone who supplied no competition—usually Jane.

      “Oh.” Alice got up and started toward the kitchen. “Well, you can take my new evening bag if you like.”

      “Thanks.” Jane went slowly upstairs. The date was no longer a bright, shining opportunity; it was only an evening and would go as flat as any other date evening. The boy would arrive, and he would be good-looking, because all Ed’s friends were good-looking: he would look at Jane and try not to appear too disappointed, and they would get into the car with Ed and Kathy, and Kathy would be beautiful. The evening would pass, somehow, and finally Jane would be home again and the date would be over.

      In a wave of hopelessness, Jane took her strapless evening gown off its hanger and hauled it unceremoniously over her head. Then she sat down in front of the dressing table to put on her lipstick.

      All she could see in the face that looked out at her from the mirror were freckles and a tight-lipped mouth, full of braces. “It’s your fault,” Jane told the face furiously. “Why can’t you look like Alice?” It was hard to have a pretty sister, especially when that sister looked so very much like yourself. Feature by feature, Jane was forced to admit that she and Alice were practically identical, and yet not a soul hesitated to call Alice pretty.

      “It’s not fair,” Jane said bitterly. She got up in despair and crossed to the window. The sky was deep and the stars were bright and very near the earth.

      Jane chose one, almost without thinking, and said, “Star light, star bright—first star I’ve seen tonight.” The childish words of the old rhyme were familiar and reassuring. How many thousands of times had she wished on stars! First with Alice, and then, when Alice grew older, by herself—always the same wish, but it had never come true.

      “I wish,” Jane said softly, “that I were beautiful.”

      The stars seemed to lean nearer the earth, as though to hear her better, and Jane heard her words ringing soft and clear through the night: “I—wish—that—I—were—beautiful.” The night flowed in through the open window, close and warm and filled with magic. “Beautiful!” it echoed. “I—were—beautiful.” Jane caught her breath.

      What would it feel like to be beautiful? How would it feel if, when she looked in the mirror, the familiar freckled face was gone and in its place there was one she had never seen before? It would be lovely, with deep violet eyes, a flawless complexion, white, even teeth. A glow swept over her and she stood there, feeling beauty spreading over her, hardly daring to breathe.

      She sat down weakly on the foot of her bed. “I know,” she whispered. “I know how it feels to be beautiful! That must have been the right star!”

      Downstairs the doorbell rang. There was a rattle of newspapers as her father got up to answer it—the sound of the door opening—voices.

      “Jane!” Her father’s voice. “Your friends are here.”

      “Jane!” Her father called again.

      “Coming!” Jane hesitated, and then turned toward the door. “I won’t look,” she told herself softly. “I feel beautiful. If I look, I might break the spell!”

      Instead, she threw open the top bureau drawer and rummaged quickly through it until she found Alice’s evening bag, hurriedly transferred her lipstick and comb, and started for the stairs.

      Kent was standing in the living room with her father. He was a tall, blond boy with broad shoulders and an easy smile. He smiled now as he saw Jane.

      “Hello.” He stepped forward to meet her. “I guess you’re Jane. I’m Kent Browning.”

      Jane felt herself begin to freeze, the way she always did when she had to meet new people. She began to draw her lips tightly together to conceal the braces, and then suddenly remembered. Any boy in the world should be glad to go out with a beautiful girl! The thought was such a new one for her that she smiled despite herself.

      “Hello, Kent,” she said warmly, taking the hand he offered. “I’m glad to meet you.” She glanced sideways at her father’s startled face. “I see you’ve met my dad.”

      “Yes—sure.” Kent’s eyes didn’t leave her face.

      “Well, we’d better not keep Ed and Kathy waiting. Good night, Daddy. We won’t be late.”

      Kent had the door open, and a moment later they were outside, walking toward Ed’s car.

      “Here we are,” Kent said, opening the back door and helping Jane in.

      “Hi, Jane!” Ed said as he started the car, “How are you doing?”

      “Fine, thanks, Ed. Hi, Kathy.”

      Kathy turned in the front seat, tossed casually over her shoulder, “Hello, Jane. Sorry we’re late. I held things up by taking too long getting dressed. Aren’t I terrible?”

      “Horrible,” Jane agreed pleasantly, “but we’ll forgive her, won’t we, Kent?”

      She heard her own voice, light and teasing and sure of itself. Just the way she had always wanted it to sound. Always before, when she had tried to sound careless and gay, the words stuck in her throat and came out in jerky, self-conscious lumps, but now suddenly it was easy. How could anyone be self-conscious when she felt beautiful?

      “Maybe you can forgive her,” Kent said, “but I can’t. It’s made our evening fifteen minutes shorter.” He laughed, and Jane laughed with him, liking the warmth in his voice.

      Kathy turned to them in obvious surprise. “Hey,” she said, “is this a budding romance?”

      Ed said, “You’d better watch that guy, Janie.”

      Jane had never been to the Country Club before. She had sometimes passed it at night, driving home from a movie with her family, and heard the music and laughter swelling out into the night. She had daydreamed about it—imagined herself stepping through the door into the fairyland of gaiety within—but the dreams had been tinged with a kind of terror. “What would I do if I were there?” She had imagined herself standing awkwardly in the middle of the dance floor, staring into the unhappy face of her escort, while dozens of glamorous, graceful couples whirled by. But tonight was different. Tonight was a magical night.

      When they stepped into the ballroom, Jane gave a little gasp of delight. “Why, it’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. “Just the way I imagined it would be!”

      “You mean you haven’t been here before?” Kent was amazed.

      “No, I haven’t, but I’ve always wanted to come.”

      Kent looked oddly pleased. “I’m kind of glad that you haven’t. I like being the one to take you for the first

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