SummerHill Secrets, Volume 2 (33 page)

“Your pop’s awful funny,” she said as we headed for the gray carriage.

“He
can
be,” I said, getting in and sitting to her left.

She situated the woolen lap blanket over the two of us and then picked up the reins. “Why’dja tell him about taking my picture?”

I spun around, staring at her. “What?”

She didn’t repeat herself.

“I didn’t tell him, Rachel. I
didn’t
!”

“Then how’d he know?”

I sighed. It was going to be a very long ride.

All the talk in the world wasn’t going to convince Rachel to stay home on Monday morning.

Bright and early, she showed up at my house. “Plenty of time to change into modern clothes,” she said when we were alone in my room.

“Do you honestly have to do this?” I whined.

She shook her head. “Can’t talk me out of it.”

Since I knew I couldn’t, I started filling her in on life at public school—the teachers, the students, even the lockers.

“Lockers?” she gasped. “They have freezer lockers in a school? Whatever for?”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her naiveté. “School lockers aren’t for storing a side of beef or frozen vegetables, silly girl. They’re for books and notebooks…and hanging up jackets and other things,” I explained.

Eyes wide, she said, “Oh, I see.”

Of course, she didn’t comprehend; she couldn’t possibly understand till she laid eyes on the whole setup.

I tried to prepare her for the crammed hallways, kids rushing to and fro, talking and calling to one another. “It’s nothing like an Amish one-room schoolhouse,” I said, brushing my hair. “There are so many kids.”

“What about higher learning?” she asked, pulling on a pair of my best jeans.

“What?”

“Ya know, education past eighth-grade level. What about that?” she inquired.

“There’s nothing magical about going past the eighth grade. If you’re gonna be a good Amish girl, you can’t be thinking about such things.”

“Ya, I know. Still, it’s awful tempting.” Now she was standing beside me in the mirror.

“Don’t tell me,” I said. “You want me to do your hair like before.”

“Would ya, Merry? Please?”

If I wanted her to be halfway accepted by English teenagers, I’d have to do something with her long locks. Short of cutting her hair, I had to find a more becoming style, at least for a day at James Buchanan High.

“What about a French braid?” I suggested.

She grinned, showing her gums. “Whatever that is, I don’t rightly know, but it sounds mighty nice. Foreign too.”

I chuckled. “It’s mostly American, I guess you could say.

Don’t worry, nobody’s gonna mistake you for a French girl.”

“
Puh!
” she said, and we had a good laugh.

Thankfully, she’d already eaten breakfast at home, so we were able to bypass the kitchen on our way out the front door.

Mom was busy in her sewing room, so I put a finger to my lips, signaling Rachel to be discreet. I’d told her to meet me at the bus stop. While I went to say good-bye to my mom, Rachel crept down the hall to the entry and outside.

“What’s Rachel want so early?” Mom asked as I tried to wave to her and leave.

“What?” I said.

Mom looked up, needle poised in midair. “You heard me. What’s Rachel doing over here?”

I couldn’t tell her the ridiculous plan. She’d put her foot down; I knew she would. As I contemplated the situation, I realized that I was actually looking forward to taking Rachel to school with me, showing her around, introducing her to “what she’d missed.”

But first I had to get past my mother, who’d obviously smelled a rat, and that wasn’t just a joke. She was on to something.

Standing up, she came to the doorjamb and leaned out into the hall. “Where is she?”

“Rachel left already.” It was true.

“Oh, so that’s the end of it.”

“The end of what?” I said, wishing I hadn’t taken a bite of her bait.

She frowned, looking at me with inquisitive eyes. “From what your father says, Rachel Zook is walking a tightrope between Amish and English. He—uh,
we
don’t think you should be the one to assist her in this journey.”

“I’m not trying to influence her in any bad way.”

Mom put her hands on both my shoulders. “Oh, honey, I don’t mean to accuse you. Please don’t misunderstand. We want you to continue being a good friend to her.”

“But the best of friends put up with weird things sometimes,” I said, hoping Mom wouldn’t read anything into my comment.

“You’re right about that. And I know you’ll do the right thing by Rachel Zook.”

My heart was beating ninety miles an hour. I knew that if I didn’t leave soon, I might start blurting out some of the top-secret plans Rachel and I had together in order to defend myself.

Fortunately, I heard the familiar grinding and groaning of the school bus. Rachel would be freaking out about now, wondering why I wasn’t coming.

“There’s the bus, Mom. Gotta run.”

“Have a good day,” she called after me.

“Thanks, I will.”

Hopefully, it
would
be a good day.

First off, Chelsea wanted Rachel and me to sit with her on the bus. This came as no surprise. I always sat with Chelsea. Besides that, she no doubt remembered Rachel from a couple visits last fall and early winter. Rachel had even given her one of their puppy litter—a golden-haired cocker spaniel.

Still, I was curious if Chelsea would recognize my “cousin” today, all done up in fancy clothes.

“This is Rachel, my neighbor,” I said.

Chelsea did a double take. She studied her and then glanced at me. “You’re Rachel Zook?” she whispered.

“Jah,” said my Amish friend.

“Say ‘yes’ instead,” I advised her. “And please remember to say it all day.”

Chelsea was beginning to frown, leaning forward in her seat to survey the situation. “You’re not saying—”

“Yep,” I interrupted. “And it’d be best if you play along. Know what I mean?”

“Hey,” she laughed. “You’re the boss!”

Relieved that she had agreed to cooperate and keep things under wraps, I talked softly to Rachel, hoping I’d covered everything necessary. “The main thing is not to worry about taking tests or doing homework assignments. Teachers won’t expect you to participate. You’re an observer, just visiting. Don’t forget, okay?”

“Jah…I mean, yes.”

She was catching on fast.

The biggest hurdle was getting past Miss Fritz, our gregarious school counselor. She was known to roam the halls, greeting students by their first names, always eager to visit with new kids and their parents. Miss Fritz especially liked to meet visitors to the school. Actually, you were required to check in with her about any student or visitor who was
not
enrolled at James Buchanan High. A standing rule.

The second snag in getting Rachel through the halls and safely into my homeroom would be Jon Klein and his usual pre-class routine.

With Miss Fritz and the Alliteration Wizard on my mind, I guided Rachel through the labyrinth of hundreds of students, pointing her in the direction of the counselor’s office. “Don’t ask questions, just follow me,” I instructed. “I’ll do all the talking.”

Rachel seemed content with taking it all in. She scanned the rows of lockers, the banners on the wall, the water fountain, everything. There was a big smile on her face as we made the turn into the school office.

Miss Fritz was standing at her post near the attendance office, monitoring students with absentee slips and early dismissal permission slips. She was beaming as we came in.

“Good morning, girls,” she said, glancing at Rachel and then back at me.

“Miss Fritz, I’d like you to meet my cousin Rachel. She’s visiting school for the day,” I said.

“Welcome to James Buchanan High School.” Miss Fritz extended her hand. “Nice to have you, Rachel.”

My heart pumped extra hard as they shook hands.

“How long will you be staying in Lancaster?” asked the counselor.

Rachel looked at me, obviously unsure of herself.

“Oh, she’s from right here…out in the country, really.”

“Whereabouts?” came the question I’d dreaded.

“SummerHill,” I spoke up on Rachel’s behalf.

I was one-hundred-percent-amen sure what the next question would be.
Well, then, Rachel, why aren’t you in school?
she might ask.

Waiting for the inevitable, I realized I was holding my breath.
Relax
, I told myself.

The worst thing that could happen was for Rachel to be asked to leave, to go home.
Where she oughta be
, I thought.

But Miss Fritz didn’t press for personal declarations. She winked at me and welcomed Rachel to school once more.

“Whew, we did it,” I told her as we headed to my lockers. “We’re almost home free.”

“Home free?” she muttered. “What’s that?”

“I’ll tell you later.” I twirled my combination lock faster than most days. Now…if I could just keep Rachel from spilling the beans to the Alliteration Wizard, we’d be on our way.

“Mistress of Mirth!” I heard my alliterated nickname come floating down through the ocean of humanity in the hallway all the way to my locker.

“Jovial Jon,” I said, turning around.

He stopped in his tracks, glancing at Rachel. “Friend or foe?”

“This is my
cousin
Rachel.”

His face lit up. “Well, any relative of Merry’s is a friend of mine,” he said, pouring on the charm.

“Good to meetcha,” she said.

I wondered how on earth Rachel had remembered to substitute the word
good
for
gut
. Thinking that I would just reach up and grab my books from my locker and get going, I caught myself. I absorbed the interesting fact that Jon seemed taken with my thoroughly modern Amish cousin, clearly not remembering her from our Christmas skating party.

He was still gazing at her as I explained, “Rachel’s here visiting today. She’s my guest.”

They were in the middle of a proper handshake, and I waited for a moment till the initial greetings had been exchanged. Oddly enough, Jon seemed to have forgotten all about alliteration-eze and our before-the-first-bell word game frenzy.

Evidently, something more important was occupying the empty space in his brain.

Someone.

I watched, expecting him to back away from my locker, smile his biggest smile, and say “see ya around,” but this non-Merry-focused encounter was lasting longer than usual. Awkwardly so.

“Say, that was some science assignment,” I said, choosing
s
to bait him.

He looked at me momentarily, almost dazed. “You’re right.”

No alliteration comeback? What was going on?

I tried again. “Where’s the wonderful word Wizard?”

W—one of his favorite letters
, I thought.

“I’ll walk you to homeroom,” he said, meaning both of us. But he didn’t jump on the word game.

Truly amazing!

So we walked, the three of us. I couldn’t begin to set him straight about who Rachel really was, not without blowing the whistle on her temporary charade. But it was all I could do to stifle a giggle as we moved through the crush of students.

Wouldn’t Jon be surprised to know that Rachel was Amish? Wouldn’t he be embarrassed, too, that his alluring alliteration skills had just flown the coop?

The boy was smitten. For the first time in his life he was showing signs of truly liking a girl, and it had to be Rachel Zook. An Amish girl, of all things!

“You have to keep Rachel’s secret
all
day,” I told Chelsea outside homeroom—after Jon said good-bye to Rachel and a total of zero words to me.

“No problem,” she said.

“I’m trusting you not to tell a soul,” I whispered, hoping Rachel was gawking at the students running to beat the bell, not listening in on my conversation with Chelsea.

Staring at me with those sea-green eyes, Chelsea teased, “Is there an echo in here?”

“Sorry, it’s just that I’ve stumbled onto something that might help us beat Jon at his own game.” I had to keep my voice low. Rachel was inching closer, leaning against the classroom door a few feet behind us.