Holly's Heart Collection One (39 page)
“This boy sounds too good to be true,” she said with a sad little smile. She headed toward her room.
I prayed silently that someone like Danny would sneak into Mom’s life. The anonymous letter writer was right. Mom
did
need to laugh again.
By the time we finished eating breakfast, it was time to leave for the bank. Carrie and I climbed into the car, and I thought how fabulous it was being with Mom again, without Mr. Tate hovering endlessly.
Mom and Carrie stayed in the car while I ran into the bank and withdrew sixty-five dollars from my account. I figured with tax, I’d need extra for the outfit.
Soon enough I was carrying the two-piece outfit to the car, swinging the bag as I bounced down the steps. I showed it off to Carrie and Mom as we rode home.
“It’s definitely your color,” Mom said with an approving glance. “I hope you tried it on.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve had enough outfits that were too loose around my waist not to remember.”
Carrie piped up, “You don’t look
that
skinny anymore, Holly.”
Mom shot me a knowing look. “You’re filling out, all right. And it’s all happened this summer.”
“Maybe my sister will get fat,” Carrie said, giggling.
Mom turned into the driveway. “That’ll be the day,” she said, turning off the ignition.
I spied the mail truck coming. Carrie saw it, too. “Beat you to the mailbox,” I challenged her, running toward it.
I won. Reaching for the mail, I immediately saw a letter addressed to Mom. It was postmarked Hawaii. I studied the envelope. “Hey, check this out.” I showed the letter to Carrie. “There’s no return address.”
“Is it from the same guy?” she asked, peering at the handwriting.
“How can it be? It’s Hawaii. Besides, the handwriting is different.” I hurried up the steps and into the house.
Carrie ran ahead of me into the kitchen. “Holly’s got the mail,” she called to Mom.
“Thanks,” Mom said, spying the letter. “Hmm, who’s this from?” Quickly, she tore open the envelope.
I leaned against Mom, following along as she read silently.
Dear Susan,
Need another laugh? Here’s a silly riddle to brighten your day: “What did the queen bee say to the baby bee?
“Bee-hive yourself!”
I simply couldn’t resist this bee joke. It’s so dumb, it’s funny. Can’t quite imagine you getting close to a beehive, let alone gathering the honey.
With sweet thoughts of you,
Your Secret Admirer
“This is nuts,” Carrie said. “Who
is
this guy going around the world, writing letters to our mom?”
“He certainly knows a lot about me,” Mom said, sitting at the bar and reading the letter again.
I grabbed her arm. “Isn’t this exciting?”
“Either exciting or a sick joke,” she said.
“Any idea who’s writing to you?” I said.
“Didn’t I ask
you
the same question just this morning?” She planted her elbows on the bar.
Pulling out a stool, I hoisted myself up. “You don’t think
I
put someone up to this, do you?”
Mom tapped her pink fingernails on the counter top. “This is just so…bizarre.”
“And mysterious,” Carrie chimed in.
“And now
two
different styles of handwriting,” Mom said, frowning.
“How could someone possibly know all this stuff about us, er…you?” I asked, feeling uneasy, like someone might be spying on us.
“I don’t know, but I’d like to find out.” A hint of a smile crossed her face. “You are not to mention
this
letter to Mike, uh, Mr. Tate,” she said. “Do you understand, girls?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Promise?”
I looked into her blue eyes. “I promise.”
She pulled Carrie over next to her. “And you?”
“I promise,” Carrie said solemnly.
“I mean it.” She shook her finger at us.
The tone of her voice and her eyes indicated she meant business like never before. However, there was one minor detail Mom had overlooked. Stephanie was coming over tomorrow night. What if
she
happened to spill the beans to Mr. Tate on Tuesday when he came to pick up Mom?
The more I thought about my nosy little cousin hanging out at our house, the better I liked it. The setup was fabulous.
Mom fixed cheeseburgers for lunch. I ate hurriedly, then excused myself. There were many advantages to not having Mr. Tate around.
He
wouldn’t approve of eating and running. Mom was cool. She didn’t mind as long as I didn’t rush though supper, our special family time.
“Spaghetti tonight,” she called as I took the steps two at a time.
In my room, I brushed back my hair, pulling it into a single ponytail. Next came the new shorts outfit. A perfect fit! I squirted on some light perfume, glad my cheeks were still rosy-tan from the summer.
“Not too bad, Holly-Bones,” I whispered as I smiled into the mirror. I was ready to meet Danny Myers.
SEALED WITH A KISS
Giddy with excitement, I imagined how the volleyball practice session with Danny might turn out. I sped up my pace, hurrying down the street to the school.
As usual, Danny was prompt. He met me at the gym, wearing green gym shorts and a white T-shirt. The contrast of white against his face made him look tanner than usual. “Hey! Ready to warm up?”
“Okay, let’s go,” I said, following him around the gym. A believer in limbering up the muscles before working out, Danny put me through my paces, showing me how to stretch out properly so I wouldn’t strain anything.
Next he had me practice serving techniques—how to put a spin on a fast serve. We bumped the ball, spiked the ball, and set it up.
But I could think of only one thing: When would Danny reveal his feelings for me? I couldn’t get Andie’s comment out of my mind.
Thirsty from running around, I stopped at the drinking fountain. Danny came over and got a drink, too. But he remained silent about anything but volleyball.
Over an hour later, Danny stopped bouncing the ball and held it. “I think that’s enough for today.” He flashed me a grin. “You’re great, Holly. I hope you’ll make the team.”
“Thanks.” Still panting from the exercise, I wiped my face.
“Want to drop by my house for a snack?” he asked. “My mom’s expecting you.”
“Okay.” I could only hope his mom hadn’t said anything about seeing me at the wig shop yesterday.
Danny and I began walking the long trek to his house. He lived at least a mile from the school. Now maybe we’d have time to talk for a change. Really talk.
“My mom baked your favorite cake.” His eyes twinkled.
“How’d she know?”
“
I
remembered,” he said.
My heart pumped ninety miles an hour. “Oh yeah, I should’ve
remembered
you would remember.” With that we burst into laughter. Danny’s gray-green eyes danced in the afternoon light.
We walked in silence for another half block.
What is he waiting for? What if Andie’s wrong?
I thought.
At last I broke the silence. “Do you really think I have a chance of making the team?”
“We’ll keep working at it,” he said. The way he said
we’ll
made my heart skip a beat. That is until he suggested that maybe Kayla Miller could be of some assistance, too.
“I’m fine with
you,
” I said, hoping he’d take the hint.
Instead he asked about my short stories. An awkward change of topics.
“Oh, I love to write mysteries. But they’re not so easy,” I replied. “You have to know the ending so you can work the plot backward.”
“That’s good. I’ll remember that,” he said, smiling.
Good for you,
I thought, totally confused.
Danny’s mom had ice-cold lemonade and angel food cake waiting in the breakfast nook for us when we arrived. What an inviting sight after the long walk in the hot sun.
“Did you have a good time?” she asked, pouring lemonade.
Danny nodded, smiling. “Holly’s something else. You should see her catch on…and fast.”
Mrs. Myers sat at the table with us. She opened her address book and found the
M
’s. “What’s your street address, Holly?”
I must’ve looked puzzled at first.
“I like to keep a record of addresses of Danny’s friends—you know, for party invitations, things like that,” she said.
“It’s 207 Downhill Court,” I replied quickly, observing the graceful motion of her hand. “You write something like my aunt Marla. She had the most beautiful handwriting ever.”
“Mom’s been writing like that all her life,” Danny joked.
“I’m not kidding, Danny. Look at it…her handwriting’s beautiful. Those perfectly formed loops on her
L
’s and the
T
’s are crossed slightly above the center of the line. Wow.”
“Which tells something about Mom’s personality,” Danny said. “If I remember correctly, the loops mean she has confidence and self-discipline, which is true.”
I looked at him curiously. “Do you know about handwriting analysis?”
“Sure…there’s a book on handwriting at the library. I read it a couple of years ago. Let me think a minute.” He stared into space a second. I could almost hear his brain sorting through one memory bank after another. “Yes, there it is.”
“Where?” I said, looking around the breakfast nook.
His mom chuckled along with me. “Danny’s amazing,” she said, excusing herself while I waited for the final “read out” from my friend’s wonder-brain.
At last he snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! The book I read is called
Handwriting: A Key to the Real You.
”
Faster than a speeding microchip, I thought of Mom’s mysterious letters. The handwriting had changed, though. The first two letters had definitely been scrawled. Today’s letter was more refined, almost stylish. Had the letters been written by two different men?
“Danny.” I turned to him suddenly, filling him in on the strange letters Mom was getting in the mail. “Want to help me solve an international mystery?”
“What are the clues?”
“I’ll make a list for you,” I said.
Eagerly, Danny went to the kitchen counter, pulling out scraps of paper from the top drawer. “Here’s some paper.” He brought the tablet to me and scooted it across the table.
I began to outline everything I could remember about the letters and their content, showing Danny when I finished. “There. Any ideas how to tell who’s writing anonymous letters to my mom?”
“We could check out the handwriting book at the library,” he said. “We’ll study the penmanship on the envelope and in the letters to see what personality type we’re dealing with. It should eventually lead you to your mystery man.”
“That’s logical,” I said.
Logic…Danny’s strongest point.
Mrs. Myers peeked around the corner. “Holly? Any time you’re ready for your new hairdo, let me know.”
“I almost forgot,” I said, studying the list of clues once more.
Danny looked startled. “You’re not going to cut her hair, are you, Mom?” he asked, concern in his voice.
“Never,” she said, waving her well-manicured hand.
Danny seemed to admire my hair with a fleeting glance.
