Holly's Heart Collection One (36 page)

Then I continued the letter.
Please tell me more about your aunt, Marty Leigh. I have admired her work for years and began collecting her books when I was only a child.
It was true. Under twelve, you’re a kid. I had read that somewhere. Besides, I’d received my first Marty Leigh mystery book on my eleventh birthday.

As for arranging to have her autograph my collection, well, it’s not necessary. But thanks for the kind offer.
That got me off the hook in case Lucas told his aunt about the “woman” in Dressel Hills who owned all her books. What a surprise it would be for her to discover me, a skinny little eighth-grader.

You’ll find my list of works at the bottom of this page.
The list would take a while to put together, so I set the letter aside.

Everything I’d written in my entire life was in the bottom dresser drawer, in a lavender file folder. There were essays and fantasies; secret prayer lists and secret journals; letters to pen pals and letters to imaginary people—famous and otherwise. There were also plans for surviving junior high, such as:

      Plan A

      Plan B (next best)

      Plan C (if all else fails)

Next came the Loyalty Papers—guidelines for conducting a best friendship. Andie and I had written them in grade school. Only the copy remained. The original documents had been ripped to shreds after a fight Andie and I had last winter.

Poetry by the pages spilled out. And short stories—mysteries, romance, drama. Lucas had requested a list of my work, published or not. That included more than just fiction. So I set out to alphabetize my “work.”

Halfway through, the phone rang. Mom called up the steps. “Holly, it’s for you. Danny Myers is on the line.”

Danny? Yes! I dashed to the phone in Mom’s room. “Hey, Danny,” I said.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Sorting through some of my old papers.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, just some stories and poems and things I wrote.”

“Sounds like fun. Maybe I could read them sometime.” It sounded like he was asking.

“Sure, I’d like that,” I said, wondering why he’d called.

“When do you want to practice for volleyball tryouts?”

I caught my breath. He still wanted to help me after spending a cozy rainy afternoon with stuck-up Kayla. “When’s a good time for you?” I said, trying not to sound too anxious. Or surprised.

“I’m free next Saturday. Will that work for you?”

“Okay. Where?”

“Let’s meet at school. The gymnasium will be open. It’ll be good for you to practice where the tryouts are held,” he suggested.

“Good idea,” I said.

“See you Saturday around two o’clock.”

I said thanks and good-bye and hung up. Immediately, I called Andie.

“Hello?” Mrs. Martinez answered.

“May I please speak to Andie?”

“She’s not feeling well, Holly. Is there something you want me to tell her?”

“I hope she feels better soon,” I said. “Tell her that.”

“She’ll be sorry she missed your call. Good-bye.”

Poor Andie. Standing out in the rain this afternoon hadn’t helped. And it was my fault.

The doorbell rang. It was probably Kayla and Paula’s mom coming to pick up Stephanie. I went back to my résumé, Bearie-O keeping me company on the floor.

I figured the minute Mr. Tate and Zachary left to go home, Mom would approach me about my big mouth. Why should a silly letter from Japan cause a problem between Mom and me?

Japan. Hmm, might be an interesting place for me to have a pen pal. One who could read and write English, though. As far as I knew, Andie hadn’t added any more pen pals. But there were only twentythree days left before school started on September seventh.

“Who wants ice cream?” Carrie yelled from the kitchen at the top of her lungs.

“I do!” I left my project on the floor and zipped down the steps.

Carrie helped Mom dish up some chocolate ice cream. We sat at the bar as Mom looked at me, her eyes squinted half shut. Her eyes spelled trouble.

I blurted out, “I shouldn’t have told Mr. Tate about the letter, I guess.” I hoped to get this conversation over so I could finish my letter to Lucas.

“You guess?” Mom’s eyes narrowed even more.

“I could tell you didn’t want me to say anything about it. But why, Mom? What’s the big deal?”

“
This
is the big deal. Mike has a tremendous amount of stress right now. With Zachary and other things.”

“So he’s too busy to have fun, is that what you’re saying?”

Mom looked tired, confused. “Right now, Mike doesn’t need to think there’s someone else in my life.”

“But there
is,
” I said. “And it’s not a mystery letter writer from Japan. It’s Zachary. He’s right in the middle of everything—the person you’re always with when Mr. Tate’s over here. I think he’s a cute kid, too, but I wouldn’t marry his dad just to give him a mother.”

Mom stared at me for a moment, leaning on her elbows.

Carrie got up and stroked Mom’s back. “Holly doesn’t really mean it, Mommy. She’s all mixed up.”

We sat there without saying a word. At last I felt so uneasy I said, “The ice cream is melting.”

Mom spooned up some of hers, glaring at me. “Lately, Holly, ever since your trip to see your father, I feel you’ve been trying to interfere in my life. I gave you a chance to exercise your independence this summer. Is this what I get in return?”

“That’s not fair,” I shot back. “And it’s not just
your
life with Mr. Tate. It’s ours, too.”

“And Zach’s,” Carrie added, scampering out of the room.

“Now’s not the time to discuss this,” Mom said. “I have a very early day tomorrow.”

“What, another romantic breakfast?” I scoffed.

“Holly, that’s quite enough.” She got up to rinse the empty ice-cream bowls.

I gritted my teeth. “I am not going to let you marry Mr. Tate just because you feel sorry for his kid.”

She whirled around. “We have plans to buy property together. We signed a
contract.
”

“Get your name off it. You’re a paralegal; you know how to reverse legal documents.”

“Holly, listen! I’m not interested in getting out of anything. Do you hear me? I am going to marry Mike Tate.” Her face looked almost stern as her blue eyes squinted shut.

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I turned to run upstairs. Carrie was sneaking away from my room as I reached the top step. My important papers still lay on the floor. All but my journal. Carrie had broken our rule again. I wanted to scream at her as I searched for it.

I heard the bathtub water running. Jumping up, I dashed to the bathroom door. “You’ll be sorry, Carrie Meredith,” I shouted, pounding on the door. “Tell me where you put it. Now!” I kept pounding my fist on the door. “Did you hear me?”

Mom came upstairs. “Holly, what’s going on?”

“Carrie’s been in my room again. She stole my diary,” I sobbed.

“I’ll handle this,” Mom said, leaning against the door. “Carrie, do you know anything about Holly’s diary?”

“I didn’t take it” came the tiny voice.

I shouted back, between tears, “Yes, you did. Or else you would’ve answered me before.”

“I was scared of you before,” Carrie said, opening the bathroom door a crack.

Mom turned, casting a disapproving look my way. “Holly, let it go for now. Okay?”

“But it’s the most important thing I own,” I cried. “I can’t live without my journal.”

I ran to my room, flinging myself across the bed. It seemed like the end of the world.

SEALED WITH A KISS

Chapter 8

I don’t know how long I buried my face in the pillow. A good cry sometimes helps make things seem less disastrous. Still, I vowed I’d get my diary back, no matter what.

Anger for Mr. Tate simmered in me, too. I was determined to do whatever it took to save my family from him. It might be easier than I thought, especially since I was sure Mom wasn’t in love with him. Downstairs, I had waited to hear her use love as a reason for marriage.

But she never had.

Wiping my tear-stained face, I knew she’d thank me someday for interfering.

Just then Mom peeked her head through the doorway. “Carrie has something to tell you, Holly-Heart.”

Carrie crept around the door, shyly. “I’m sorry I snooped in your room, Holly, but I never touched your diary, honest.” She disappeared before I could say a word.

I leaped off my bed and ran after her, into the hall. “Carrie, I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to scare you. You know I’d never hurt you.”

Her eyes grew big. “But you kept pounding on the door. I thought you were going to break it down.”

“I was angry at you because you broke our rule.”

“I won’t do it again. I promise,” she said.

Mom held the hair dryer, motioning to Carrie to finish drying her long hair.

“Good night, Carrie,” I called after her. “I love you.”

Back in my bedroom, I searched for my diary under an ocean of stories and paper on the floor. My back ached as I sorted through all the spiral notebooks in my drawer. And then there it was, in its usual place.

I hurried to tell Mom and Carrie. “It was right where I always keep it,” I said.

Carrie got a mischievous look in her eyes. “Where…where? Just kidding,” she said, laughing.

“Remember, you promised,” I said, pointing my finger at her.

“I know,” Carrie said as Mom braided her hair.

I put my hand in the small of my back as I headed to my room. The pain nagged at me. Maybe it came from leaning over so long, doing my résumé for Lucas Leigh.

I was too tired to finish alphabetizing my list of writings. There were more important things to do just now.

Reaching for my notebook full of secret prayer lists, I began writing a new page. Before I fell asleep tonight I would ask God to keep Mom from marrying Mr. Tate.

The next morning I dragged out of bed before anyone else. Even though I’d slept ten hours, I still felt groggy.

Smoothing the sheets, I noticed a spot.

Yes! My body clock hadn’t stopped ticking after all. I’d become a young woman during the night.

High in my closet, there were personal supplies waiting for this moment. On my way to get them, I posed in front of the mirror. Andie was right, I
did
have more going for me than just my long hair. I was developing, too.

Wait, what was that on my chin? I leaned close to the mirror. A pimple had emerged overnight, too. Andie had warned me about such nasties.

I couldn’t wait to tell her my big news.

Carrie was sound asleep when I peeked in her room, so I tiptoed to the kitchen. Some toast and a bowl of cereal was all I needed while I finished my résumé and letter to Lucas.

P.S. I think I know what you mean about cars and smooth riding,
I wrote.
A friend of mine owns a new SUV, and it’s very cool.

I didn’t know exactly how I would respond if he inquired about the car
I
drove. Maybe by that time, he’d be so impressed with my manuscripts, my age wouldn’t matter. I could only hope so. Keeping part of the truth back was strange to me. It made me jittery.

I peeled a stamp off anyway and positioned it squarely in the corner of my envelope. Then I hid it upstairs in my bottom drawer.

I sat on my window seat by the open window, breathing in the early morning air. Mr. Tate’s talk about fresh mountain air was pathetic. Fresh air was all around us, right here. There was no escaping it. And moving to a higher elevation wouldn’t help Zachary. In the mountains it was harder to breathe; there was
less
oxygen. Zach was just a feeble excuse to move us away from Dressel Hills.

I showered and dressed for church, singing songs from last spring’s choir tour, hoping to chase thoughts of Mr. Tate out of my mind. It was a day to celebrate my graduation from girlhood.

Using the hall phone, I dialed Andie. “Are you too sick to go to church?” I asked.

“I’m staying home,” she said, coughing. “But you can come over this afternoon. Just don’t catch what I have and miss out on your volleyball practice with Danny.”

“How’d you know about
that
?” I asked.

“Paula Miller told me. She said Danny called her sister last night and mentioned it.”

“He called Kayla? I wonder what about?” I asked.

“Probably something about volleyball tryouts. Who knows? Just don’t freak. Danny likes
you
better, I guarantee it.”

“Right,” I mumbled into the phone.

“Remember, Billy and Danny are good friends, and Billy and I talk,” Andie said.

“And exactly what are you holding out on me?” I asked.

She laughed in spite of her clogged nasal passages. “Wait and see.”

“Speaking of waiting,
I
have major news,” I said.

“Betcha not as big as my news.”

“Bigger,” I said. “But I can’t tell you now.”

“When?”

“Later.”

“Aw, tell me real quick,” she begged.

“Guess we’re even.” I giggled. “See you.” I hung up the phone.

With a sudden burst of energy, I dashed to Carrie’s room. She was in bed, still asleep, looking like the angel in the Christmas storybook Daddy had given us years ago. One arm was draped over the mermaid Mr. Tate had given her.