Augusta's Date

Episode 4 of The Belles of St. Anthony's

If you want to know who at St. Anthony of Padua's really stands out, it'd have to be Augusta, and I'm not just saying that because she's tall. With her bangs so thick and long and hiding her eyes, and that weird grin on her face, you can never quite tell what Augusta's thinking.

Just yesterday Rustin came up to Augusta when we had some downtime during English, adjusted his tie, and coughed out, "You want to go to the dance with me on Saturday?"

I don't know if Augusta had noticed, but I'd seen his friends egg him on and push him forward. He was clearly doing this on a dare. This was just such a new level of cruel, I felt like I had to speak up.

On the other hand, this was Augusta. I was almost more afraid for Rustin than I was for her.

"What dance?" she said, deadpan.

He started to stumble over his words. But she knew perfectly well about the dance--she was on the planning committee.

"Um... you know... Homecoming? I mean, if you don't already..." Rustin's friends had snuck behind Augusta, and were snickering at both of them.

"I don't, as a matter of fact." She took a step forward. She was tall, and could look down at even some boys, including Rustin. "You think you have what it takes to go out with me?"

Rustin looked past her shoulder, where his friends were nodding and waving their hands in circles. He put his fists on his hips, as if facing a challenge from another guy. "You think I don't?"

I was trying not to chuckle; if Augusta knew this was a setup, she'd cut the whole thing off, and I could not miss how she handled it. Heck, I could probably learn from this. I'm always getting flustered around boys.

"All right then," Augusta said. "If you really think you deserve a date with me, then I'm going to need some proof. You have three assignments:

"First: Intellectual. I want you to solve an equation from Mr. Gates' Calculus textbook, and show your work."

"Second: Physical. Climb up Our Lady's Tree and leave a crown of chrysanthemums on the highest branch."

"Third: Emotional. Write me a sonnet."

"A sonnet?"

"Yeah, you know, like we went over in class last week? Do those three things, and I'll go to Homecoming with you."

Now it was all I could do to stifle my laughter. These were impossible! For one, we're sophomores--we're still only up to Geometry! Even most of the seniors would have trouble with Calculus!

For another, Our Lady's tree is the tallest thing on the whole property. Coach Melton sometimes has athletes climb it as a challenge, and even he doesn't expect them to reach the top. You weren't even supposed to get near it without permission, so he'd have to climb it without getting caught!

And a sonnet? Yeah, maybe that's doable, but I've seen Rustin's writing before. It ain't gonna happen.

I spent the rest of the day telling my friends all about it, and they all agreed it was impressive. When I brought it up with Helena, though, she wasn't even aware of it. Augusta had never mentioned .

That was on Monday. On Thursday, with one day left to go before the dance, Rustin came up to Augusta unprompted. "I did it."

"Did what?"

"Everything you asked me."

He showed her a photocopy from a Calculus textbook, and on the back, his whole process and answer in his scraggly handwriting.

He pointed out the window, where a ring of chrysanthemums hung on the highest branch of Our Lady's Tree. As further proof, he showed her a video his friends had taken of him placing the ring up there.

He read to her his sonnet, which had some of the stupidest rhymes I'd ever heard, like "artichoke" with "woke," but showed such a heartfelt fondness for Augusta it was hard not to feel a tug.

"Well? How about it?" he said. "Will you be my date for Homecoming?"

He'd knocked the grin right off her face. "I mean..."

"All three challenges."

She put her hand on her brow, and for a moment you could actually see her eyes. "I'm honor bound. You've earned it." Augusta shook his hand. "Pick me up at 6. I have to get there early."

"Done!"

And as she sat down, darn it if I didn't see her cheeks glow with a faint red. It was hard not to feel at least a little jealous. Nobody ever wrote me a sonnet!