Fannie put two fingers up to her mouth and gave out a sharp whistle.
“No—are you kidding?” Birdelia replied. “Didn’t know she could whistle like that neither.”
The students up on the balcony of the student union began to clap.
When Fannie stopped the car and got out, the crowd fell silent.
“Birdelia!” Fannie’s voice echoed across the field.
Birdelia hid behind Ibby. “What we gone do?”
Fannie gave out another earsplitting whistle. “Ibby Bell! Come on over here!”
The whole crowd turned to look their way.
“Just smile real casual and follow me,” Ibby said.
“But everybody is staring at us,” Birdelia whispered as they made their way to the car.
“Get in.” Fannie opened the door. “Birdelia, you stand up on the backseat and hold the sign. Ibby, wave your hands in the air and look proud.”
Ibby and Birdelia looked at each other as Fannie started down McAlister Drive, honking the horn. The crowd whistled and cheered as Birdelia waved the sign around like a flag.
Birdelia shouted at the top of her lungs, “My uncle T-Bone just got back from Vietnam! We mighty proud of him! You should be, too!”
When they turned off McAlister onto a side street, Birdelia fell down onto the seat, giggling hysterically.
“That was the funnest I had in a long time,” she said.
“Mind me asking what you two were doing there?” Fannie asked.
Ibby couldn’t tell by her tone if it was a question or an inquisition, so she let Birdelia do the talking.
Birdelia gave Fannie a wide grin. “We could ask you the same thing, Miss Fannie.”
“Fair enough,” Fannie said.
“We just happened to see people all going the same direction, so we followed them,” Birdelia said.
“Uh-huh,” Fannie said.
Ibby could tell she wasn’t buying it.
“What about you?” Birdelia asked. “Why you go?”
“We should support the boys that fight for this country, like T-Bone for instance,” Fannie said.
“Mama say not everybody thinks that way, especially about colored boys. Some say they don’t matter.”
“Exactly why I went,” Fannie said.
Birdelia tapped Fannie on the shoulder. “Miss Fannie, you can’t tell my mama. She gone tan my backside if she finds out I was at that protest. She told me not to go near it, afraid I might get arrested or something.”
Fannie patted Birdelia’s hand. “It’ll be our little secret.”
When they got home, Doll was standing at the back door, on the top step, with her hands on her hips. She peered down at Birdelia. “Where you all been?”
“Mozer’s,” Birdelia replied nonchalantly.
“For two hours?” Doll narrowed her eyes.
“Took our time.”
“Uh-huh.” Doll tapped her foot. “Where’s Miss Fannie’s lipstick, the one you were supposed to get for her?”
Birdelia’s eyes opened wide.
Without missing a beat, Fannie pulled a tube of lipstick from her purse and showed it to Doll. “She already gave it to me. I happened to see them walking from Mozer’s and gave them a ride home.”
“I see,” Doll said. “You girls better not be up to any mischief.”
“No, ma’am, we ain’t.” Birdelia brushed past Doll and went into the house.
“Where you think you’re going, Birdelia Trout? You march on upstairs and help me with the ironing,” Doll said. “And Miss Fannie, Wimbledon about to come on in about twenty minutes, the match you been wanting to see, the one between Margaret Smith Court and that woman who look like a man.”
Fannie glanced at her watch. “Where does the time go?” she said as she walked through the kitchen.
Ibby hurried behind Fannie into the front parlor. Queenie came in a few minutes later with two plates.
“It’s lunchtime, Miss Fannie. Made you a softshell po-boy, dressed the way you like.”
As she was putting the sandwiches on the coffee table, the midday news came on the television.
“There was a demonstration today on the Tulane campus. Hundreds of students protesting the war were led away in handcuffs,” the reporter said.
“Where is that thing?” Fannie began searching the folds of the couch.
The camera cut to a red convertible driving down McAlister Drive. Ibby held her breath as Queenie stepped closer to the TV.
“That Birdelia standing in the back of that car?” she asked.
By now, Fannie had found the clicker but was having trouble with the buttons.
Queenie leaned in. “Miss Fannie, that you driving that car?”
“What would I be doing at a protest?” Fannie said flatly as she pointed the clicker at the TV. The channel finally changed.
Ibby had to stifle a laugh.
Queenie gave Fannie a sideways glance. “I’m gone pretend I didn’t just see that.” As she turned to go, she called out over her shoulder, “By the way, Miss Fannie, guess you missed the word of the day.”
“Yeah, what’s that?” Fannie asked.
“Eccentric. It means ‘unconventional and slightly strange.’ Might be a good word for me to know,” Queenie said, going back into the kitchen.