Girls Only! (33 page)

Tarin began spewing out long sentences in something that sounded like Swahili. He kept it up until she thought she’d have to leave the room.

What a way to start the first day
, she thought.

Then, attempting to investigate his book, she went to sit next to him. Tarin’s legs were too short to hang down
off the sofa. They stuck straight out, extending from his little lap, where he held the book.

“What’re you reading?” she asked.

He sat still, staring at the book and mumbling the foreign language. He was ignoring her.

Again, she tried to make polite conversation. But the boy was simply not interested. He was probably bored with her, she decided. Bored with a sitter of average intelligence . . .

She decided
she
was going to be the one to pick their battles. Not the other way around.

Silently, Manda rose and went to the desk in the corner of the room. There she took out her homework and spread the papers out neatly. She sat down and began to work her math problems. She wished she’d asked about using Mr. Greenberg’s computer for some history research. Her mother’s PC still wasn’t working properly.

Five minutes passed till she felt Tarin standing behind her. She sensed it from his breathing and the smell of him—the clean, fresh scent of little boyhood.

Slowly, she turned. “Do you need something?”

“Nourishment,” he said, pouting.

“You’re hungry already?” She’d forgotten to speak his level of speech, quickly changing her comment to “You’re experiencing insatiability?”

His eyes fluttered almost uncontrollably. “Did you allude to spaghetti during the interview?” he asked.

If he hadn’t been standing there, within inches of her, she wouldn’t have believed Tarin was so young. He was tiny—just a whiff past toddlerhood—yet here he was conversing like a college professor.

She checked her watch. “Your father will be home in time to cook your supper. But if you’re hungry for a snack—”

“My appetite is voracious!” he hollered.

He might as well have yelled that he wanted his supper right this minute and not an instant later. But it was so weird to hear this kid carrying on in adult lingo.

“Okay,” she said, getting up. “Let’s find something to snack on.”

That didn’t seem to account for much. Sure, Tarin wanted a snack, but he wanted her to play along with his cerebral game. Or
was
it a game? She wasn’t sure. Maybe the poor little kid talked this way because he didn’t know any other way to express himself. But how could that be?

While she spread peanut butter and jelly on several crackers, she wondered if it was because Tarin hadn’t had a mother cooing over him as a baby. Maybe his father had never talked baby talk to him. Maybe that was the reason!

She was about to ask him, inquire into his private five-year
past, when the phone rang. “Why don’t you sit here and eat your snack,” she said, pulling out a kitchen chair.

“My father permits me to consume food elsewhere,” he piped up, eyes daring her to stop him.

The phone continued to ring.

“All right, but be very neat,” she said, handing him a napkin.

He frowned at her again and headed back toward the living room, muttering something in French. Or was it Italian?

Quickly, she reached for the phone. It was her mother.

“Hi, Mom. What’s up?” asked Manda.

“Coach Hanson called just now. He says you might have an opportunity to practice skiing on the run at Dressel Hills tomorrow morning. Interested?”

“Sure am! When?” She stretched the phone cord, trying to see where Tarin had wandered.

“Early . . . before seven,” Mom said. “That okay?” “Actually, it’s perfect. I can get back to the lodge in time for my first ski class.”

“Bright and early won’t hurt, right?” Mom said.

“Tell Coach I need a ride,” Manda reminded.

“I already mentioned that to him.” Mom sighed into the phone. “Oh, I wish I could drive you, honey.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mom. You’ll be back on your feet in no time. I know you will!”

“How’s everything going there?” Mom asked.

“It’s a conversation contest at the moment,” she said, laughing. “But it’s far from boring.”

Mom chortled about it, then they said good-bye and hung up.

Manda scurried through the dining room and into the living room. She found Tarin sitting at the desk, doing her math homework. Peanut butter and jelly smudges were all over her important pages.

“Excuse me. I don’t think my teacher’s going to be too thrilled about this.” She picked him up out of the chair.

“Put me down!” he began to holler. “Put me right down! Right now.”

She burst out laughing. “So you
can
speak normal English! This is quite a discovery. You had me worried.” She set him down in front of her and knelt down to face him. “I think it’s time we had a talk, you and I.”

Tarin folded his pudgy arms over his chest, his lower lip protruding. “I won’t allow you to address me in that manner.”

“I’m your sitter, and I certainly will if I want to!”

He squinted his eyes at her. “I thought you were intelligent. That’s why my father hired you.”

She burst out laughing. “And I thought you were hopelessly cerebral. But guess what? You ain’t!”

He must’ve thought that was funny. Tarin’s arms dropped to his sides, and he began to laugh. “I like
that . . . my baby-sitter is insane!” He kept shouting it over and over.

Finally, to get him to stop, Manda pulled out her harmonica. She began to play her favorite hymns. After the second phrase, Tarin became completely silent. And wide-eyed.

I’m going to tame him
, she thought.
I’ve got to!

Reach for the Stars

Chapter Thirteen

The sun was just beginning to peek over the icy horizon as Manda prepared to ski down Eagle’s Point. No wind today. The ideal way to practice her technique on the steep and menacing slope.

Get your mind in gear
, she told herself as she awaited the starting signal. But it was difficult. More than ever, her thoughts were caught up with Tarin and Mr. Greenberg. She’d made the mistake of calling her friend Heather last night. They’d talked about everything under the sun and then some. She’d actually confided in Heather about Mr. Greenberg!

Stupid
, she told herself.
What were you thinking?

She had no idea how ridiculous her comments might sound. Not until she had spoken them. Not until she’d
sat through Heather’s long, blank silence on the end of the phone.

“Reach for the stars,”
her mom had always said. And whether it was skiing or mountain biking—no matter what it was—Manda always approached life like an astronaut. She figured if she reached for the distant nova, she might lariat the moon. Or something else equally terrific.

Somehow or other, she’d got it stuck in her mind that Mr. Greenberg was the perfect man for her mother. And the perfect dad for her.

Of course, there was always the problem of Tarin the Terrible. No girl in her right mind would want
him
for a brother—stepbrother or otherwise! But then, what had Tarin accused her of being?
Insane?

Well, maybe she was out of her mind for wanting something so far out of reach. She burst out laughing at the starting gate. She couldn’t help it; the pressure had built up in her.

Coach Hanson looked at her with concern. “Are you all right?” he asked, coming over quickly.

The laughter subsided. “Have you ever aimed to reach for an impossible goal?”

Coach’s eyes were sincere. “Manda, listen to me. Nothing . . . I repeat,
nothing
, is impossible!”

He must’ve thought she meant the Dressel Hills Downhill Classic. She recognized the look in his face. He was determined for her to win. At least place high.

“What if I told you this isn’t about skiing?” she ventured.

He leaned his head back and looked at the pink hues in the morning sky. Exhaling, his breath cast a wispy cloud over his head. “I’d still say reach hard and high. You’ll always accomplish your dreams that way.”

She was pretty sure his answer dealt with athletic goals. He had no way of knowing what her deepest heart longings were. Not now. Now that she was almost a teenager. The private thoughts she had these days—this far past twelve—well, he just couldn’t possibly know. Or understand.

Truth was, she wanted a father. Someone just like Mr. Greenberg. Someone with a sharp mind and a warm smile. Maybe it wasn’t such a stretch after all.

When she was ready to conquer the mountain—respect the work of God’s creative hand—about that time, the go-ahead came. With a surge of renewed dash and determination, she shot out of the gate and skied hard and strong. Her way! The difficulty of Alpine skiing was always inside a person—never outside. At least, that’s what she’d been taught. And she believed it.

With that in mind, Manda pushed off and skied down Eagle’s Point—her best time yet.

The second she got in the front door, the phone rang. “I’ll get it, Mom!” she called, dashing to the phone. “Hello?”

“We’re having an emergency meeting for
Girls Only
,” Heather said. “Are you coming?”

“What emergency?” she asked breathlessly.

“Don’t worry about that,” replied Heather. “Just come this afternoon, right after lunch, okay? I really have to go. See ya at Jenna’s. Bye!” Heather hung up.

What’s going on?
she wondered. Was the president calling a meeting to vote her out? Jenna’s snide comment about the club’s
active
member requirements still bugged the daylights out of her.

Sure, she’d go. She would go and defend her right to belong to
Girls Only
. . . no matter what kind of weird stuff Jenna Song was pulling!

Manda strolled into the living room and sat in the chair across from her mother.

“Who was on the phone?” asked Mom.

“Heather Bock . . . we’re having another club meeting.”

“Oh? Sounds important,” Mom remarked. “When?”

“Around one-thirty.” She leaned back and stared at the oil painting above the sofa. Aspen Highlands had always inspired her. The mountain had the most double black diamond trails in America. A Christmas gift years ago from Uncle Frank, the picture was easily one of the coolest things in the whole house.

Because of her young, “rich” uncle, so to speak, Manda had been able to follow her dream of someday going to the Olympics. He wasn’t exactly loaded, but her mother’s brother had insisted on paying for her ski training from second grade on.

“Do you think Uncle Frank will ever get married?” Manda asked, feeling more relaxed now that she was sitting.

“He’s talking about proposing to his girlfriend,” Mom replied. She was propped up on the sofa like a rag doll. Her feet stretched out in front of her, taking up the length of the couch. “I do think he’ll marry someday.”

“What about
you?
” The question burst out before she’d thought over whether or not it was the right thing to ask.

Mom, however, didn’t seem too frazzled by it. “Well, I doubt at my age anyone would be interested,” she said softly. “Though I have thought it would be nice to get married to someone who stayed around. You know, a permanent fixture.”

Manda knew, all right, and she was dying to bring up Mr. Greenberg again. But she knew she’d talked her poor mother’s ear off about the man. No sense opening up that topic just now.

“What do you want for lunch?” Mom asked, stirring around like she was going to zip right off the sofa and cook up something.

“You name it . . . I’ll cook it,” Manda said, leaping up. “You stay right there. I’ll bring the food in to you, okay?”

Mom decided on tuna salad sandwiches and tomato soup. A good combination for a winter day. And as she went to the kitchen, Manda thought of Tarin the Terrible—the way he’d insisted on taking his peanut butter and jelly crackers into the living room. How he’d managed to smear them on her math homework.

Yet as she recalled her fury that day, she was surprised that she didn’t feel anger anymore. The kid was clearly
not
a brat. He was a dear, lost boy . . . needing the tender touch of a mother’s hand. Or someone who could possibly take his mother’s place.

She understood where he was in life. Fully understood! At that moment, as she chopped the hard-boiled eggs for the tuna salad, she knew why she was drawn to the boy. And she knew just how to help him—starting with giving him a new nickname.

But first she had an emergency to attend to. Jenna Song’s emergency club meeting.

What could possibly be so important?

Reach for the Stars

Chapter Fourteen

Jenna Song kept a journal. She was dedicated to writing in it. Every day. Her favorite place to write private thoughts was curled up next to Sasha, her golden-haired cat. At times, Manda wondered if Jenna’s obsessive journal keeping was a clue to her personality. She wasn’t sure, though, because she was still getting to know Jenna Song.

The Song family had arrived in Alpine Lake just as school was starting last fall. Jenna’s father had come to fill the pastorate of the local Korean church.

Jenna clutched her small leather journal as she called the
Girls Only
Club meeting to order. Not a single sign of slouching today. Nope, the prez was back to her normal self. “We’re here for an important reason,” she announced.

“What’s going on?” Manda finally spoke up. “What’s the emergency?”

Jenna smiled, opening her diary. “It seems to me that it’s time for the four of us to unify. You know, merge our feminine skills.”

The strange grin on her face worried Manda. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

Heather Bock was fidgeting like crazy. Like she was uneasy. “Wait . . . I have to tell Manda something first, uh, before you keep going.” Heather said this to Jenna, but she looked Manda square in the face. “I have a confession to make,” she said, her face pinched a bit.

Manda was thoroughly confused. “What’s to confess?”

Heather’s fair-skinned complexion began to redden. “I’m embarrassed to say this, but I told the girls about our phone conversation. The one about . . . Mr. Greenberg.”