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ambitious as hell.”
    As it turned out, they spent the entire weekend concocting the two minutes that would change the world. At first, they lost a lot of time trying to dream up extravagant campaign promises (free class outings to Coney Island, etc.). Barney finally came to the conclusion that politics at any level is essentially an exercise in making the mendacious sound veracious. In other words, being a convincing liar.
    And he was shameless enough to urge Laura to make ample use of that most Machiavellian of words—“integrity.”
    At Assembly, after three sweating, madly gesticulating candidates had almost set the packed auditorium to laughing with their bombast, Laura’s calm and deliberate walk to the podium (Barney had even rehearsed her in that) made an astonishing contrast.
    She spoke in soft unhurried tones, now and then pausing—partly for effect and partly because she was so frightened she could barely breathe.
    Equally dramatic was the contrast between her speech and those preceding. Simply stated, she said that she was as new to Midwood as she had been to America but a few years ago. She appreciated the warmth of her schoolmates as she appreciated the country that had welcomed her. And the only way she could imagine repaying the debt for all she had received was by public service. If elected, she could promise them no miracles, no pie in the sky, no convertibles for every garage (laughter). All she had to offer was integrity.
    The applause was muted. Not because her classmates were unimpressed, but because the sheer artlessness of her words, her manifest
integrity
, and—it cannot be denied—her striking good looks had bedazzled them.
    Indeed, by the time the Assembly ended and all weresinging the alma mater, her election seemed a foregone conclusion. The homeward ride lacked only the ticker tape.
    “You did it, Castellano. It was a total shutout. I’ll bet you’ll be president of the whole school some day.”
    “No, Barney,” she answered affectionately, “
you
did it—you wrote practically my whole speech.”
    “Come on, I only made up some bullshit. It was the
way
you performed out there that was the real kayo punch.”
    “Okay, okay.
We
did it.”
    That summer, the Castellanos and the Livingstons rented a small house a block from the beach in Neponset, Long Island. There they stayed, breathing healthy sea air, while Luis came out to join them only on the weekends. He was always in a state of semi-exhaustion from the terrible annual battle against polio.
    And, of course, for Inez the talk of possible epidemics and the sight of young children playing happily on the beach brought back—though they were never far away—the memories of her little Isobel. If only they had gone to the seashore
then.
    She would stare off into the ocean while Harold and Estelle sat with their faces buried in a book—Estelle reading
Pride and Prejudice
and Harold rereading Syme’s
Roman Revolution.
    Meanwhile, an innocently seductive Laura joined her teenage girlfriends running and diving into the waves. And every lifeguard who took his turn on the high wooden seat silently prayed that she would call for
his
help.
    Of course, there were dates. Young, bronzed suitors in their parents’ Studebakers or DeSotos sought eagerly to take Laura to drive-in movies, or starlit barbecues on the deserted beach.
    And necking.
    Parking in a tranquil spot “to watch the submarines” or other euphemistic terms for making out—while on the radio Nat King Cole crooned “Love Is a Many Splendored Thing.”
    Late one sultry August evening, Sheldon Harris put his hand on Laura’s breast. She said, “No, don’t.” But did not really mean it. Yet when he tried to slip his hand inside her blouse, she once again said no. And meant it.
    Barney had no time for such frivolity. Early each morning he would wolf down breakfast and start along the still-empty shore, carrying his sneakers (so they wouldn’t get sandy) to Riis Park, where