BY J. LORNA STRAYER

Leisurely and deliberately, Tom dressed in a pair of patched denims, a baggy sweat shirt and his once-white buckskins with run-down heels. There was no use in putting on anything good, he thought. If they roughed him up a bit, at least he would be dressed for it.

He waited as long as he could before going downstairs. His mother sat at the phone and watched him as he slipped into his jacket. "Just a minute, Helen," she said and placed her hand over the mouthpiece. "Tommie, why on earth are you wearing the oldest rags you own?'

"There's nothing wrong with what I have on," he protested. "I'm clean." "I wonder," she said. "Now, mind. Stay out of trouble and get in at a decent hour."

Tom was at the door when he heard his father's voice. "Did you hear what she said?"

"What do you think I am? Deaf?" Tom answered and jumped from the porch into the night. He smiled bitterly to himself for it gave him a pain in his

to think how hard they simultaneously kept pushing and pulling. The irony was that as long as he was with people of whom they approved there was no criticism.

"Be careful of your associates," they warned, then in the same breath encouraged him to run around with guys like Larry Mardis and Greg Brogen. Tom knew why. Because Larry's dad was a county commissioner and Greg's an assistant district attorney. "You never know when you might want a favor thrown your way," Tom's father said. "They're the kind of boys to have as friends." "Favors, hell," Tom said to himself. His father was a county detective with. aspirations of becoming sheriff. Tom knew who was thinking of favors.

Heading for Angie's Place, he tried to fight down the excitement and dread that struggled for predominance within him. There had been two days to decide. The day he was asked, Tom wasn't sure what they meant.

"Jenkins! Hey! Boy!" They stopped him with their calls. The group was there Larry Mardis, Greg Brogen, Handley and Leffler. They were The Samplers. They were a club and he, as he didn't belong, was an outsider.

"We just had a vote," Greg said. "You're in."

Tom felt his heart change gears and pick up speed. "In what?" he asked, pretending that he didn't know.

"The Samplers. Unless you don't want to join," Larry said.

"Of course I do," Tom said, knowing to decline would be to ostrasize himself forever.