Holly's Heart Collection One (4 page)
When I arrived home, Carrie met me at the door. “Hi, Holly,” she said, looking up at me with pleading eyes. “Will you French braid my hair?”
I sighed. “Okay, but let me grab a snack first. Where’s Mom?” I poured some pop and threw together a peanut butter sandwich.
Carrie sat at the kitchen counter and banged her legs impatiently against the stool. “She’ll be down. She already drank her tea. Guess you missed it.”
It
meant the first half hour of Mom’s arrival home each day. She was usually cheerful even after a long day at work.
“How are my angels?” Mom said, coming downstairs a few minutes later. She was wearing the giant elephant slippers I had given her for Christmas.
I hugged her. “You look tired.”
“I guess I am a little.” She sat on the sofa, handing a yellow flyer to me. “This came in the mail today from church. It’s information about a teen choir audition. They’ll be traveling.”
I clutched my throat—this was one of my dreams! “Do you think I could audition?”
“There’s a good chance, honey. I’m sure the director will realize you’re
almost
thirteen. Your birthday is so close.” Mom flipped a page of the Psalms calendar on the lamp table. My birthday was marked with a red heart. It was going to be the best day of my life, if it ever arrived.
“When are the choir auditions?” I asked.
Carrie pulled me out of the living room, her pink brush and comb in her other hand.
“Next week, Tuesday,” Mom said.
“I’m definitely going to try out,” I called.
“C’mon, Holly, braid my hair
now,
” Carrie said.
I reached for her brush. “Okay, let’s do it.”
Andie and I had learned how to French braid early in the fall of third grade. We’d visited her aunt’s beauty salon one rainy day and had come home informed hairstyle experts.
Peering down at Carrie’s thick golden locks, I remembered the first time I’d tried to braid her hair like this. It was over four years ago, on the day Daddy moved out. Carrie was four, and I was eight.
I had helped carry Daddy’s shoe boxes out to the car. I knew I shouldn’t have tossed them in any old way. Lids and shoes scattered all over the backseat. Some helper I was. Daddy frowned at me for throwing them in. But I didn’t care. That’s how my insides felt—all scrambled up.
Inside the house, he put his arm around my shoulder. “Holly-Heart, you and Carrie can come visit me at my new place any time.” With that, he kissed my sister and me.
“
This
is your place,” I said. “And Mom’s and mine and Carrie’s!” It was weird—no one scolded me for yelling at him.
After Daddy closed the door behind him, I went over to Carrie, who sat huddled beside Mom on the couch. I took her hand. She followed me upstairs to the bathroom sink, where I wet her hair and tried the very first French braid. We could hear Mom’s soft sobbing downstairs.
Things will never be the same,
I had thought. It was the worst day of my life.
“Make it tighter, so it won’t come out.” Carrie’s voice pierced my thoughts. I pulled the strands carefully, making a perfect braid.
We didn’t see Daddy after that. It frightened me. Things
weren’t
the same. Eventually, though, things got better, little by little. Mom didn’t cry so much anymore, and Carrie and I managed to live on without Daddy around.
“There you go.” I finished off the braid with an elastic tie and a tiny ribbon. “You look fabulous.”
Carrie ran downstairs to show Mom. I headed to my room to write the latest developments of my life in my journal. Andie and I were both interested in the same boy. And even though we were years from being able to date, that spelled only one thing: trouble ahead.
During warm-ups in gym on Wednesday, Andie asked if I’d heard about the teen choir tryouts.
“Yep. Sounds exciting,” I said.
“Pastor Rob told us about it after the youth service last night.” She fluffed her hair, then twisted a strand of it around her finger. A bad sign.
“Jared and I signed up to try out,” she said. “Too bad you’re too young.”
She acted like they were a couple or something—just because they were both auditioning! “I’ll be thirteen before the tour,” I said.
But I felt left out. What if I wasn’t allowed to audition? What if Andie and Jared
did
go on choir tour without me? I couldn’t let myself think too hard about it. I just couldn’t.
We practiced lay-ups, and Andie missed every time. When my turn came, I dribbled up and banked it in. There were a few advantages to being tall.
“Nice shot, Holly-Bones!” Miss Neff shouted across the court.
There it was—the dreaded nickname. Half the class snickered. It was true. I was bony all right, and there was no hiding it. I tugged on the back of my green gym suit. My stork legs barely filled out the baggy shorts. Mom had darted the suit to fit my waist, but she couldn’t do anything about the hideous-looking wide-legged hems.
“Have you had your bacon and eggs today?” a curvaceous classmate joked as she dribbled past me down the court. I watched her move away gracefully.
Someday,
I thought.
Someday I’ll look like that.
“Each of us has a body clock,” Mom had explained when we had our first heart-to-heart talk about womanly things. Trouble was,
my
body clock seemed to be losing time.
“By the way,” Andie mentioned after showers, “Jared doesn’t need someone to type his paper, but he
does
need an accompanist for his choir audition.”
I whirled around. “You talked to him?” She was keeping her promise all right—no secrets between us. So how come it hurt when she told me everything?
“After youth group last night, he told me. And…he asked me to play the piano for him.” Andie swaggered around, emphasizing her excitement. And her shape.
I couldn’t compete with a fabulous pianist. Andie was moving in…fast!
After school I raced to my room to start the creative writing assignment for English. I titled it, “Love Times Two.” It was about fraternal twin sisters who had nothing in common except the love of their lives. I wasn’t foolish enough to give them names like Holly and Andie, but
I
knew what the story was based on, and so would Andie and Jared. But the story was safe. After all, it was for Miss W’s eyes only.
“Hi ya, Bearie-O,” I said, picking up Andie’s old teddy bear. “Depending on how things go with your owner, you might not be here much longer. But before you go, you have to hear my side of the story.” I began reading my first draft out loud. Halfway through the second page, Mom called from downstairs.
“Holly-Heart, Andie’s here.”
“Send her up,” I called.
Andie dashed up the steps and plopped down on my canopy bed, snuggling with Bearie-O. “Ready to launch a writing career?” she said.
“A what?”
She slid a twenty-dollar bill out of her jeans. “You heard me.”
I stared at the money. “What’s that for?”
“For you, if you do a good job on my short story.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Nope. I have to baby-sit my little brothers tonight. I don’t have time to do the assignment.”
“Andie, you know I can’t do that. It’s dishonest.”
A frown sat on her forehead. “What’ll I do? Miss W will hang me from the ceiling if I don’t turn in something.”
“Maybe she will, but it still beats lying,” I said.
Peeking over my shoulder, she asked, “What’s
your
masterpiece about?”
I shoved it safely into a folder. “You’ll never know.”
“You were reading it to Bearie-O, weren’t you?”
“Sure, I tell him everything. Same as you—just not this.”
“You’re hopeless,” she said, pushing the money back into the pocket of her faded jeans.
“Pals forever?” I said with a shy grin.
“Some pal you are.” She stood up to leave.
“At least I help keep you honest.”
She scrunched up her face and said, “You really are Holly-Heartless.” She closed my door with a thud.
Bearie-O took it all in. So did I. After all, I wasn’t interfering with
her
first crush. Just refusing to do her homework.
The next morning I hugged Mom before heading off for school. My clean hair smelled like roses under my knit hat. I couldn’t wait to turn in my fabulous short story.
At last, English class! I slid into my seat and pulled my fiction assignment out of its shiny red cover. It deserved a top grade, no question about it. Surely Miss Wannamaker would recognize my amazing ability and my destiny…to become a famous writer. She might even wonder—as she read and graded the stories in the privacy of her home—from where in the world such a creative plot could have sprung.
“Dear class,” she began as usual, “today we shall begin by reading our stories aloud.”
I felt faint.
BEST FRIEND, WORST ENEMY
Miss Wannamaker’s eyes skimmed over the desks. For a moment they stopped at mine. I held my breath. This was it, the end of life as I knew it. Someone sneezed behind me. Miss W looked up and miraculously called on Andie. I could breathe again.
Andie went to the front of the room. She opened her folder and began. “Once upon a year…”
I heard no more. If Andie picked me to read next, there were only about five minutes between now and a living nightmare! The similarities between my main characters, and the boy they liked, were too obvious. Could I change the story, making it up as I read aloud? Or become too sick to read?
My face burned with embarrassment as I thought how I would feel if I exposed details of my first real crush to the whole world—or at least the Dressel Hills’ seventh grade. I couldn’t risk it. Not to mention Andie’s fury when she discovered
she
was in my story, too.
The class applauded. Andie had done a quick job of it last night. At least she didn’t get hung from the ceiling.
I’d rather hang than read,
I thought as Andie’s eyes penetrated me. I quickly put my head down, avoiding her stare like a firingsquad victim.
Then I heard her say, “Jared Wilkins, you’re next.”
A truer best friend I could never have,
I thought as butterflies played tag in my stomach. I listened intently as Jared read his story. It was unique and well written—about a mad scientist who met Einstein in a dream every night for seven days, and at the end, became not only sane, but wealthy from the secrets passed to him from the old genius himself.
Jared’s story impressed me. We had more in common than I thought. I made a mental note to ask him about his writing ambitions.
The applause was loud. Some boys whistled. Miss W frowned.
Jared’s eyes scanned the classroom. He caught mine off guard. “I choose Holly Meredith,” he announced.
A declaration to the world! Under any other circumstances, I would have been thrilled at his words. But now they felt like a punch in the stomach.
I stumbled to the front of the class. How could I have concocted a stupid story like “Loves Times Two”? I prayed for a miracle. If God could roll back the Red Sea for the Israelites, He could easily get me out of this mess.
I stated my title. Girls giggled; boys slouched.
