Three Strikes

By Michael R Emmert

In 1978, Spencer (Spence) Edwards hasn't been on a date in over a year and is ultra-picky about who he'll ask out because he promised his mother to honor God. In their annual wager, his best friend bets that if Spence asked Patti, the most beautiful girl in the senior class, on a date, she would refuse him three times. When a teacher partners Patti with Spence in a class project and he ventures to ask her, she says 'no' (Strike One).

 

But after forbidden circumstances place them together, his stellar reputation takes a nosedive. Angry parents, horse rides, friends chanting rumors, semi-trucks, and snow storms generate friction that inserts a wedge between him and Patti. Romance must take a back seat while he sorts through a myriad of roadblocks to win the wager. God seems to have withdrawn, and after he's falsely accused of the unthinkable, he considers giving up … almost.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael R Emmert
• Release date: Aug 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201325022

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Dedication

––––––––

My wife

Lottie

My Daughter

Cheryl

My Granddaughters

Anna

Grace

Rebekah

Caitlyn

Bethany

Rachel

Disclaimer

Three Strikes is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, or incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), is entirely coincidental.

This story takes place in 1978 and is set in Sageley, Iowa, a fictitious town in the north-central part of the Hawkeye state.

The views and opinions expressed in this novel are those of the characters and may not necessarily reflect the views held by the author.

Copyright

Copyright © 2022 Michael R Emmert

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the author.

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Story Description

In 1978, Spencer (Spence) Edwards hasn’t been on a date in over a year and is ultra-picky about who he’ll ask out because he promised his mother to honor God. In their annual wager, his best friend bets that if Spence asked Patti, the most beautiful girl in the senior class, on a date, she would refuse him three times. When a teacher partners Patti with Spence in a class project and he ventures to ask her, she says ‘no’ (Strike One).

But after forbidden circumstances place them together, his stellar reputation takes a nosedive. Angry parents, horse rides, friends chanting rumors, semi-trucks, and snow storms generate friction that inserts a wedge between him and Patti. Romance must take a back seat while he sorts through a myriad of roadblocks to win the wager. God seems to have withdrawn, and after he’s falsely accused of the unthinkable, he considers giving up ... almost.

Chapter 1

Monday, September 4, 1978: Sageley, Iowa

Hey, Spence, is this the year you decide to get a steady girlfriend? George displayed his impish trademark grin with a space between his teeth.

The clamor of the first day at school swirled around us.

Wash your mouth out with soap, I said. I have no interest in hooking up with a girl in this school. I rummaged in my bag for an ink pen and scribbled my name on the locker: Spencer Edwards, Senior.

George swept his fingers through his cowlick before printing his name on his door tag: George Peterson, Senior. Come on, Spence. Don’t be a wallflower. Will you be the only senior who isn’t dating someone? He plopped his book bag on the floor and extracted four three-ring binders and five textbooks.

I snorted. What about Ken Hunt or Bill Greenslade or Ron Hartmann? They aren’t dating anyone.

Yeah, but they don’t count because they’re nerds. If you had a girlfriend, you could go double with me and Christy.

Forget it. Quit your scheming to hook me up with someone. Last year, all the girls were either attached or—

Or didn’t meet your standards. He waved a finger in my face. Loosen up a little. You’ve got to have fun. Is there any girl in this school who measures up?

Yeah, if you dumped Christy, I’d ask her out in a flash. Come on, it would take a prybar to peel her away from you, and I won’t change my standards, so forget it. I’m not interested in anyone else.

I stuffed my books in the locker and nudged him with my elbow. Look at the balcony. They repainted the school’s name. The yellow lettering doesn’t look as nice compared to last year’s tan.

Nah. Except for the added flourish to the L and C, it’s not much different, just a lighter shade. It still says, Lincoln Christian High School.

Big John Dawson lumbered up and selected the locker next to George. His voice rumbled as he said, Good morning, guys. Are you rearing to start another year at Lincoln Christian? His locker clanged open, and he stuffed an armload of books inside before scribbling his name on the tag.

I’ll be glad when it’s over, George muttered. Graduation will be my time to celebrate. He pointed to John’s football jersey. How good is this year’s team? Better than last year, I hope.

John’s eyebrows danced. Since Barry Peterson is the quarterback, Coach says we have a chance to win the conference. This guy’s good. He swung his arm as if throwing a football.

I grunted. That’s good to hear compared to last year’s mediocre finish.

John grabbed a textbook. Ain’t that the truth? Hey, have you guys seen Miss Eby, the new music teacher? She’s a real looker.

No, I haven’t, I said. I dropped music.

He grinned. Bummer. You’ll miss a grand show. She’s great eye candy. I know a guy who signed up just because of her. He tucked a book under his arm. Don’t forget to come to the game on Friday. We’ll win for sure with Barry leading the team. Anyhow, I gotta run. See you guys around. He climbed the stairs to the upper floor.

I pulled my history book from the locker. If our team is anything like last year’s, it’ll take a miracle to win the conference title. My first class is history. What’s yours?

He removed his geometry book. I’m headed to McIntyre’s class. He’s a grouch. Want to trade? You take mine, and I’ll sit in yours.

I chuckled. That’ll be a momentous day when Mr. Bly lets a student sit in for someone else. Our illustrious principal would never let that happen.

Yeah. Bly’s a stickler and doesn’t give an inch.

I know, he’s stubborn. By the way, where were you last Sunday? I missed you at the youth group. The preacher asked about you.

One of our best milk cows got stuck in the mud by the pond. Dad and I worked late to dig her out.

Was she alright?

She wasn’t injured, but her milk production will drop. Dad’s not happy about it. He pulled a class schedule from his pocket and browsed it. Hey, what are you taking since you dropped music?

I figured woodworking is more practical. I enjoy singing, but building stuff could be handy later on. This year’s project is a walnut desk to put by the phone for Mom.

Wow. You’ll have to modify the plans a bunch for her bad leg. She’ll need to stretch it out.

I tapped my head. I’m thinking hard about how to do it exactly. She has to be comfortable when she sits, but I don’t want to make it too wide because of the limited space. What about you? Are you still in the band?

Yeah. I’ll be the bass drummer, like always. Boom, boom, boom.

I jabbed him with a finger. You mean Jennie beat you out for the first chair? I thought you were better than her.

Nah, I play for fun and didn’t contest the honor of the first chair. It’s all hers. I did sign up as a distance runner for the track team. Coach said my stamina would help them out.

Really? Your dad’s okay with you being away from the farm to run the mile?

Yeah, we discussed it. He agreed I should go ahead and have fun before graduation. Coach put me on the relay team, too. He said my strong legs would make a difference at the finish line. Hopefully, we’ll advance to the state level. Why don’t you come out and help the squad? Your long legs could really eat up the track.

Come on, George. I’m skinny as a rail and hardly weigh a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet. Besides, you’re always faster than me at the Fourth of July races.

Yeah, you’re right. Hey, speaking of sports, we need to consider our yearly wager.

I groaned. Can’t we forget it this year? You always win our bets. Last year, I thought we’d thump our rival at the homecoming football game. We lost. The year before that, I thought we’d beat Almon in basketball, we didn’t come close. I don’t recall the bet in our freshman year. I’ll concede this year’s wager and give you twenty bucks.

He extracted a comb from his hip pocket and ran it through his cowlick. Nope. It’s not gonna happen. I want a legitimate clean sweep, four wins for every year of high school. Don’t forget that this is my year to choose what we bet on. But I’m not going to select a sports event. It’s got to be something different.

Yeah, like what? How will you stack it in your favor? What about betting that you and Christy get hitched right after graduation? That’ll be a sure thing.

He grinned. Hey, I like the idea. If I asked, she’d say yes. But her dad would nix it and make us wait so she could go to college for a couple of years. Her mom would jump at the chance to put on a wedding. But nah, it wouldn’t be fair. What about something that involves you, like dating someone? Since your sisters’ accident, you’ve not had—

I balled my fist under his nose. "Don’t you ever mention my sisters. I thought you knew better."

He quickly stepped back. Calm down, will you? I didn’t mean anything by it.

I tightened my fist. They’re forbidden territory. Got it?

He held up his hands. Alright. Alright. I got it. They’re off-limits. Not another word.

I relaxed my fingers. You lost control, Spence. Count to ten. I took a breath. Sorry. It’s just ... I don’t know. It’s a sore point.

Okay. I didn’t mean to get you riled. Mum’s the word. Hey, about our wager, here’s an idea: Linda goes to the prom with you.

I snorted. Drop the idea of me dating someone, especially Linda. She’d flat-out say no. I don’t know why, but she would. I invoke Linda as forbidden territory. For our wager, if you’re bent on me taking a girl to the prom, I could ask Karen, Grace, or Ann. They’d go with me.

Nope. It can’t be them, because they’d say yes. I want uncertainty in our wager.

What if I asked Stephanie to the prom?

She’s pretty enough. But she’s your relative. That would make her forbidden territory.

She’s my second cousin. There’s nothing illegal about that, I said.

Nah. It’s gotta be someone new.

Hey, turkey. Why does our bet have to be about a girl? Why not something like both of us working toward an A+ in a class? Or there’s the election in November. We could wager whether Governor Ray gets voted out of office.

He chortled. Nah, I get mostly Cs. You get mostly As. Forget politics. Our other wagers have been about something at school. I’m leaning toward you dating someone. Hey, here’s an idea, how about you asking one of the girls in the freshman class to the prom?

Hey, goofball. That’s cheating. Mr. Bly doesn’t allow freshmen or sophomores to attend the prom. There you go again, trying to stack the deck in your favor. Our wager must be fair.

He grinned. Yeah, you caught me on that one. Let me think.

Hey, George, here are some ideas: the Muhammad Ali and Leon Spinks rematch, or which teams go to the World Series, or who wins the Super Bowl.

He shook his head. Nope. Those are sports events. Besides, Ali will win the fight, that’s a given. The Yanks and Dodgers are sure to be in the Series, and I hate professional football.

Then you’re as picky as me.

He grinned, showing the gap between his teeth. Yeah. We’re both choosy.

I flicked my gaze to the flow of students in the hallway and did a doubletake. My mouth dropped open. Oh, wow. Who’s the new girl with Christy?

He spun around. Wowzah. That girl isn’t just pretty, she could replace Raquel Welch as a pinup girl. Look at her long legs.

I swallowed. Christy assisted in the principal’s office, so this new girl would be someone Mrs. McManus, the administrative secretary, had asked Christy to show around. The girl’s long strides swung her dark ponytail back and forth. Her gray skirt fell below her knees instead of just above, as the dress code permitted. Christy stood at five-foot-six. I was six feet tall, and this girl could look me straight in the eye.

The two girls, intent on their conversation, strolled past us. Neither looked in our direction.

A couple of guys stared after the new girl as she and Christy disappeared around a corner.

George’s mouth hung open. Gosh, that chick is beautiful. If I weren’t going steady with Christy, I’d consider asking her out.

Would you consider her for our bet?

Hey, I thought you weren’t interested in dating.

I chuckled. I never said I wasn’t interested in girls, just not the ones in our class. That girl is a transfer student.

What if she has a boyfriend?

I didn’t see her wearing someone’s class ring, so she’s available.

Come on, Spence. She’s gorgeous and probably has lots of guys dying to ask her out.

I glanced at where the girls had disappeared. I’m interested in learning more about her unless she has a boyfriend. That would put her in forbidden territory.

The bell for the first period clanged above our heads.

George picked up his books. Let me chat with Christy and see what I can find out. We’ll discuss this later. He climbed the stairs to his geometry class.

I gathered my books for history. In my rush to class, my mind whirled. George and I were Christians, and I promised Mom I’d never date anyone with questionable standards.

If the girl had poor morals, I’d put her in forbidden territory, whether she had a boyfriend or not. Did she smoke? Did she drink? She was great eye candy. Did it affect her personality?

Chapter 2

I selected a desk at the back of my first class, plopped my chin in my hands, and watched everyone enter the room. George said he’d quiz Christy about the new girl. But if she was in one of my classes, I might get a chance to talk to her.

She wasn’t in history class with Mr. Githens, nor in the second-period shop, nor Bible class. I hurried to my fourth period, physics under a new teacher, Mr. Buchanan, and chose a seat at the back of the room.

Mr. Buchanan strode in, toting an armload of manuals. His lanky six-foot frame couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and sixty pounds. His wire-rimmed glasses hung almost off the end of his nose, and his tousled mousey hair looked as if a windstorm had ruffled it.

Christy and the dark-haired girl entered.

I jerked erect.

Christy sat at the front desk of my row, and the new girl took a seat one row over.

Richard, sitting in front of me, spotted the girl and shrilled a wolf whistle. The heads of everyone swung around, and someone laughed just as the bell sounded.

Mr. Buchanan snapped his fingers. You, no more of your nonsense. See me after class. He glanced around the room. All right everyone, I want your attention. This is our first session, and there’s a lot to cover. He watched as everyone scurried to a desk.

I leaned forward and whispered to Richard, You’re in biiiiiiig trouble.

Shut up, Spence. Your turn will come.

Rumor had it that Mr. Buchanan had taught at a Christian school outside St. Louis. His baggy trousers ballooned at his feet and covered his shoes. He wouldn’t win a style competition.

Welcome, class, said Mr. Buchanan. This semester you’ll study physics, and second semester you’ll study chemistry. When you entered this room, you chose a desk. That desk will be your assigned seat for the entire year unless I change it for disciplinary reasons. He flicked a glance at Richard.

I expect everyone to buckle down. Any grade you receive will be because you earned it. You’ll find I don’t grade on the curve. You should have your textbook. He held up a thick stack of papers. This is the syllabus. On page one, I placed the rules of conduct and the schedule for tests and quizzes. The requirements for each letter grade are on page two. Page three lists the lab partners that I randomly assigned. He placed his hand on another pile of papers in the center of his desk. This document is your lab manual, and it lays out the lab experiments, step by step.

The dark-haired girl stayed focused, following his every move. Her fingers didn’t display the brown telltale spots of a smoker as Richard’s did.

Catching up with her after class might be difficult. She was close to the door, and I’d have to navigate through a milling throng.

Mr. Buchannan sat on the corner of his desk. This will not be a cream puff class, and I expect everyone to work hard. Lectures are on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Labs will be in the room behind me on Tuesdays and Thursdays. This syllabus is the Magna Carta for the course. He smirked. If you can’t agree with the syllabus, I’m told there’s space in the study hall.

Oh, good gravy. No one would leave the class. Lincoln Christian required physics to graduate, and he knew it.

Someone groaned.

The dark-haired girl whispered to Christy, who shook her head. They resumed listening, and the girl focused on Mr. Buchanan. She didn’t appear disrespectful like Marjorie West, who was more interested in shining her nails and fluffing her hair.

For lab partners, Mr. Buchanan might pair me with John Dawson or maybe Carol Whitecotton, a slip of a girl who could stand under a board held five feet off the floor. The school’s rule for choosing groups was to include boys and girls. It opened the slim possibility that he’d team me with the dark-haired girl. I crossed my fingers.

Mr. Buchanan gave the first person in each row a stack of syllabi. A rustling sounded as they began passing them back. Richard handed me a copy, and I thumbed to page three. My finger ran under the names. Team Eleven: Spencer Edwards, Christy Smith, Patti Adams.

Christy? George would be jealous that Mr. Buchanan had paired me with her. But Patti Adams? Was she the dark-haired girl? I scanned the room. I didn’t know a girl on the far side. Was she Patti?

Richard shifted slightly and whispered, Hey, Spence. I’ll trade Carol Whitecotton for Christy as lab partners.

She’s not tradeable. Tell that to George.

Richard turned around. Who’s Patti? What about trading for her?

Shh.

Mr. Buchanan pointed at Richard. Turn around and face the front. He checked his attendance roster. You’re Richard McLaughlin, correct?

Richard nodded. Yeah.

You’ve already got a mark against you. I’ll brook no arguments about lab partners. If you can’t work with your team or don’t do the work, you’ll fail. If there’s any more trouble out of you, I’ll send you to Mr. Bly’s office.

Richard slunk lower in his seat.

Mr. Buchanan looked over the room. Everyone should have a syllabus and a lab manual. Read through them and familiarize yourself with the lab experiments, then sign the last page in the syllabus and turn it in as you leave. Your assignment for Wednesday is to read the first chapter in your textbook and write out the answers to the questions. Tomorrow will be your first lab, so familiarize yourself with the first experiment. You have the remainder of today to work on your assignments. He looked over his glasses. Get busy. This isn’t playtime like in study hall.

I whispered to Richard, Be careful. Don’t get on his bad side.

I already am. I have to see him after class.

Christy opened her textbook and began reading. The new girl studied the syllabus before reading chapter one.

She appeared to be thorough. If her name was Patti, we’d be in the same lab group. I opened my book and started reading, flicking an occasional glance at the girl. She never wavered and stayed focused on her reading. My opinion of her rose.

I was pondering the last question when the bell rang. Christy and the new girl sped out of the room before I could catch them.

English lit was my last period for the day. As each student entered the room, Mr. Jorgenson assigned seats. Mine was in the left row, the second desk from the rear, and tucked away in the far corner.

The new girl walked in.

I sat up. Christy wasn’t with her.

Mr. Jorgenson allocated her a front seat, and I couldn’t hear her name because someone scuffled their shoes on the concrete floor.

How could I get the girl’s attention?

Mr. Jorgenson assigned us a short story to read in class and broke us into groups of four to discuss it. From two rows over, I watched the girl talking with her group, interacting with another girl about the story. When anyone in her group spoke, she listened closely.

If she didn’t have a boyfriend, I’d ask her out whether she was part of George’s wager or not. Game on, my friend. Game on.

The bell sounded. The girl left class, and I lost sight of her. At my locker, I grabbed my books and sped to catch George in the parking lot.

I spotted him. Hey, George. Wait up.

After sidestepping a custodian on a lawnmower that belched smoke and spit clippings on my feet, I sped across the ball diamond.

George waited with his impish grin as the wind ruffled his cowlick.

Huffing, I asked, What did Christy say about the new girl?

He laughed. Just as I thought, you’re interested in the pretty chick. Her name is Patti Adams.

I pumped my fist. Then she’s my lab partner in physics.

His eyebrow twitched. But you won’t like what I tell you next.

My smile faded. Why not?

Her father works for the power company, and he’s a bigwig. The company moved him here from Chicago to improve the plant’s operations. It’s been losing money, and they want him to turn a profit. He bought a fancy house on Maple Ridge Drive.

I whistled. That’s the mansion section of town. Why won’t I like it?

Because her family’s not only rich, they’re filthy rich. Her father earns in the high six figures.

His income shouldn’t matter. You’re dreaming, man. She seems like a nice girl, and I’ll be with her and Christy in the science lab.

"Wait! What? Patti and Christy? They’re both in your lab group?"

Yeah. Mr. Buchanan assigned the three of us together.

Aw, man. You get all the luck.

I punched his arm. You’ve got no competition over Christy. She’s all yours. But I’m interested in Patti. She’s in two of my classes.

Maybe you’re in the same classes as her, but there’s no way on God’s green earth you’ll have a chance to date her. That’s what I’m telling you, you crazy goofball.

Why not? She’s new at school and seems nice.

He pointed to my brown hair. Maybe if you let your hair grow long and dyed it red, then you’d grab her attention.

Sheesh. I’m not in those fads, and she isn’t either. I straightened my shirt and smoothed my pants. I’m a nice guy. She could like me for who I am.

"You’re dreaming, man. Get real. She’s