Holly's Heart Collection Three (21 page)
Could I?
MYSTERY LETTERS
Paula appeared at my locker immediately after fourth hour. I smoothed out the scrunched-up letter and she read it. “The handwriting isn’t familiar to me, but that doesn’t mean it’s not Billy.”
I was puzzled. “Why can’t you be sure?”
She pushed her brunette hair behind her ears. “Billy can write with
both
hands. He’s ambidextrous.” She smiled as though it were some inside information, between just the two of them.
“Hmm, I never knew.” I surveyed the letter. “Could it be that Billy is also two-faced?” I had to say that—had to test her loyalty.
Paula’s eyebrows lurched up. “Two-faced? Not on your life.”
I closed my locker door and Paula turned to go. “Wait, there’s one more thing. You can’t mention any of this to Billy, okay?”
She nodded. “Sure.”
“And something else. I’ll tell Billy that I won’t be meeting him today . . . and the reason why.”
Her face turned ashen. “No, please don’t. It would be a big mistake to tell him you and I talked.”
“Why? Because then he’d know exactly how you
still
feel about him? Want to know what I think? I think you’re crazy about him.”
She shook her head. “It’s not important anymore, honest.” Seemed to me she was pleading.
“So . . . what really happened between you two?” I probably shouldn’t have stuck my nose in, but I was dying to know.
“Let’s leave well enough alone,” she said.
I could tell by the sad look in her eyes that the parting of ways hadn’t been her idea. Which had me even more worried. Did it have something to do with Billy’s silly crush on me?
Paula and I headed in opposite directions. Inside the cafeteria I felt torn up—really sorry. Especially for Paula. And now also for Billy. He’d had a difficult time getting up the nerve to ask me to meet him at the Soda Straw. And now I wouldn’t be going at all. I’d made a deal with Paula, and I wouldn’t think of breaking it.
Andie waved me over to her table, smack-dab in the middle of zillions of people. When I sat down and started eating, she jumped all over me. “Are you out of your mind, Holly?”
This line was beginning to wear thin. “What now?” I wailed.
“I saw you talking to Paula.” She tilted her head toward the hallway. “Don’t you know you’ll mess things up between you and Billy if he sees the two of you hanging out?”
“I really don’t care what Billy thinks.”
She sighed and shook her head at her tray. “Don’t you see? Billy’s gun-shy.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know, it’s taken him all this time to have the courage to—”
“Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “
All
this time? What are we talking here, a week—ten days?”
She threw her hands up, looking completely disgusted. “I’d think you’d catch on after a while. I mean, c’mon!”
She was actually frantic. So . . . why was Andie acting so strange?
“Look, I think we need to talk about something,” I said. “It’s about Sean.”
“Hamilton?”
I nodded. “Why are you so worried about him?”
Andie’s dark eyes clouded. “You’re making fun of me.”
I touched her shoulder. “Don’t be so sensitive.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then the words “I’m afraid” slipped out of her mouth.
This was bizarre. “Afraid of what?”
“Of losing you—us,” she muttered. “And don’t laugh.”
Again I was baffled. “You think I’m going to lose my head over Sean Hamilton? Is that it?”
She picked at her food. “Could be. After all, I did meet him last summer, remember? He’s a real gem, as my mom would say.”
“But aren’t you jumping to conclusions? I’m not even allowed to date for another four months, for pete’s sake.”
“But,” she protested, “you can’t tell me he’s not thinking and probably praying—if I know Sean—about God’s will for his life. Same as you, right?”
“Of course.” I reached for my chicken sandwich. “But you don’t have to worry
now
about that.”
“You’ll be going off to college in a few years.”
“That’s my goal.” I knew she’d ruled out going, but I kept hoping maybe she’d change her mind.
“So, no matter what, we’ll end up apart.” She leaned her elbow on the tray, staring at me. “We really only have a short time left, you know.” She sounded awfully gloomy. Almost as depressed as I’d been last month.
“Andie, you’re sounding morbid. Will you quit?” “Well, at least now you know the truth. I’ve been the one encouraging Billy, have been all along, hoping for a way to keep you here in Dressel Hills,” she confessed. “Because if the two of you actually get together—and get married eventually, after college—Billy would probably bring his bride back home to Dressel Hills.”
“There’s no guarantee. You can’t know what Billy or I would do after graduation—
separately
!” I said. “People move around; things change. Just because I might marry a hometown boy doesn’t mean I’d live forever in this town—or even in Colorado. You should know that. Besides, what if you end up marrying a guy from somewhere else?”
“I can’t see that happening.” She sighed. “Oh, it’s all so scary—the unknown—when you think about it.”
I laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “Then quit thinking. It gets you in trouble.”
She laughed, too, only not her cheerful, robust laughter.
My best friend was depressed over our future options, and she was also becoming paranoid. I couldn’t stand it—her obsession and fear of the unknown. “You really ought to get a grip on this whole future thing, Andie,” I said. “Why don’t you let God handle it—mine, too, while you’re at it.”
“I know, I know. Just please, whatever you do, don’t stand Billy up.”
I shook my head. “Look, it’s just this once—I have no choice.”
We talked some more. And wisely, I steered the conversation away from future hopes and dreams . . . and her fears, all the way to the big math mess I was in. “So how would
you
like to be stuck with your little brother for a tutor?”
That got a sincere smile. “How’s it working?”
“It’s not. In fact, it’s so bad I suggested we meet in a public place to avoid killing each other.”
Andie twisted a curl. I should’ve known right then she was cooking something up in her mind. “Are you saying you’ll be hanging out at the library after school today?”
I nodded. “And if you see Billy, would you mind giving him a message?”
“Like what?”
“Tell him I’m really sorry, but I can’t meet him after all.”
She gasped. “You’re honestly breaking your first date with the poor boy?”
“It isn’t a date, and Billy’s not poor.”
Andie frowned. “Why
are
you standing him up?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Yeah, right. Paula must’ve gotten to you.”
Suddenly, I missed Tina Frazer, my blind friend.
She
wouldn’t be giving me the third degree! She was as cool as you get . . . except she’d gone back to the School for the Deaf and Blind for the semester.
Andie stared at me. “Well, did she?”
“Paula?” I was tired of being interrogated. “Let’s just call it a day, okay?”
Andie made a face. “Whatever.”
“Ditto for me.” I was maxed out with Andie.
MYSTERY LETTERS
We had an open-book test in French class, and Mr. Irving was nice enough to come around and help some of us. Next class was English, and Mrs. Ross was her very cool self, encouraging several students to submit articles for
The Summit.
I secretly wondered if I’d ever be fortunate enough to have my novella published. The way I saw it, if I could just conquer my algebra problems once and for all—figure out the unknown quantities— I’d have plenty of time to work on my book.
Hey, wait a minute! I sat straight up in my desk.
The unknown.
That’s what Andie was talking about at lunch. She was afraid of it. Afraid and obsessed.
Was that my problem, too—except with algebra? Was I afraid of solving unknown factors? Maybe I was causing my own mental block. Hey, this was heavy, something a shrink might come up with. But I was still in that weird stage of life when adults expected hairbrained behavior. Actually, I was close to turning fifteen.
Ah, to be fifteen,
I thought.
Or sixteen, even.
The magical mid-teens when freaking out should be limited to finding the perfect clothes to wear on your first date. None of this rebellious stuff with parents, or fighting with smart-alecky stepsiblings or even best friends. Nope, very soon I would be breezing easy.
Mom always said once I got past fourteen, my up-and-down emotional roller coaster would probably start to level off. I hoped she was right.
There was something else I couldn’t wait for: the “Dear Holly” column, soon to be launched. It would be so fabulous to see my words in print again.
Mrs. Ross was talking to the class. “Holly, will you please distribute school papers to homerooms next week?”
I snapped out of my daze. “I’d love to.”
Her round face broke into a huge grin. “I had a feeling you might.” She took her place at the chalkboard, preparing to write the assignment. I thought back to seventh grade, when one of the boys had made fun of the fat under her arm. It jiggled when she wrote. But not anymore. Mrs. Ross had slimmed down considerably since she’d married our former science teacher.
“Dear class,” she began, as though dictating a verbal letter. As she lectured, I thought about another letter. The one I’d crumpled up and Paula had inspected. Could it be—was it possible—that Billy was the guy behind the strange letters?
Sitting there, spacing out, I wished I could take back the promise I’d made Paula. Why had she tricked me? If only I hadn’t fallen for her deal. If only . . .
“Each of you will write a scene—an imaginative scenario— based on an ‘If only,’ ” Mrs. Ross said. It registered in my brain as I began paying attention. I was amazed at this coincidence.
Smiling, I reached for my assignment notebook and pen.
If only?
What a perfect assignment for a girl who basically lived her life around the words. Now there was another thing I couldn’t wait for—the chance to sit down and begin working on Mrs.
Ross’s ingenious assignment.
After school I found my stepbrother Phil at the library, plugged in to a book. I’d chosen the public library instead of the high-school library for obvious reasons.
“Let’s hurry and get this over with,” I whispered, pulling out a chair and arranging my books. Glancing at him, I realized it hadn’t even registered with him that I was there. “Yoo-hoo, nerd-brain, your victim has arrived.”
Phil lowered his book, his eyes staring blankly. “Victim? Where?” He looked around.
“Duh? Are you dense, or what?”
He shook himself back. “Now, where were we?”
“We weren’t anywhere, at least not yet.” I had the feeling I’d interrupted a fabulous read. I reached for his book. “What’s the title?”
He showed me.
Search for the Unknown Species.
“Sci-fi?”
He nodded. “A little out there, so to speak, but then again, maybe not as far as we think.” A weird, half-baked expression flitted across his spectacled face. “You’d have to read it.”
I put up my hands. “Uh, no thanks, not my genre.”
“What
is
your fictional taste?”
“Oh, things like mysteries, suspense . . . and, of course, a little romance mixed in.” After I divulged my preferences, I realized that I’d actually lowered my guard.
“Hey, this is good.” He grinned goofily. “We’re making a connection.”
I didn’t let his remark shake me up. Honestly, I felt very weird talking to Phil at all. In public anyway. Sure, he was my blood cousin and stepbrother, but hanging out with ultimate geeks was not the best way to enhance one’s high-school reputation.
High-school students comprised a rare breed. I, having been thrust into high school prematurely, was beginning to see my own metamorphosis. At times, though, I didn’t like what I saw.
“Uh . . . hello, Holly?” Phil leaned forward on the table, waving his hands in my face. He was wearing a brown turtleneck, and for an instant, I thought he looked more like a
turtle
than a tutor.
“Sorry. Guess I spaced out.”
“You know,” he said, “since we’re opening up like this, I might as well tell you something.” He looked at me as though waiting for an invitation to continue.
“We’re here to work on algebra.”
“First, let me point out one of your bad habits.” He pushed his glasses up. No, he
slid
them up, with a lot of help from the nose grease that continuously oozed from his preadolescent pores. “You daydream too much. Way too much.”
I glanced around, embarrassed. “That’s none of your business.’ Whew, it sure seemed like I was saying or thinking those words a lot these days.
Phil must’ve picked up on my aggravated state. He dropped the subject of my reveries and opened my algebra book. “Let’s begin, shall we?”
“Oh, puh-leeze, can we just cut the intellectual jazz and talk like normal human beings?”
“Normal? According to whom?”
I shook my head. This was hopeless. “Just explain the stupid homework.”
