Holly's Heart Collection Three (20 page)

The two of us hung on as long as possible, but when it came to working on actual problems, I couldn’t take his arrogance. Sure, he was bright, and yes, he understood all this mathematical hodgepodge—but that sneer! And those cocky, superior grins. His attitude angered me—made me resent what he was trying to do. So our first tutoring session fizzled after about fifteen minutes.

“I have an idea,” Phil said as I stood up to go to my room. “Why don’t you just ask for help when you get stuck? I’ll be right here doing a memory experiment.”

I pounced on his verbal niceties. “And I’ll be making reservations for intergalactic travel,” I huffed, then dashed up the stairs.

“Holly!” Mom called. “Come down here.”

I stopped at the top of the stairs. “Mom, he’s driving me crazy.”

“Let’s talk,” she said, standing firm.

I shuffled back down and sat on the bottom step, pouting. “It’s not working. He’s impossible.”

Phil blinked his eyes like a lizard. One of his most disgusting attempting-to-appear-innocent routines. “We can’t give up on the first day,” he said.

“Oh yeah? Watch me.”

Mom put her hand on my shoulder. “The two of you need time to adjust. I think after several more sessions, things could fall into place. Holly-Heart, won’t you give it another try?” She was trying so hard to smooth out the rough edges. Mom was a true peacemaker.

Lizard Phil blinked again, his eyelids coming down like shutters. Made me livid.

I stood up. “Not now. I’ve had it for today.”

Once again I left the room, taking the stairs two at a time. Goofey ran up after me and clawed at my bedroom door. I endured his stubborn meowing for several seconds, then let him in.

“Life’s the pits.” I tossed my algebra book on my four-poster bed and pulled out my journal. If I didn’t unload my feelings soon, I knew I would explode.

Monday, October 21: I don’t know what to do! Having my stepbrother as a math tutor is absolutely horrible. It’s worse than I thought! I wish I could get past his puffed-up demeanor.

It’s true, I need help—Mrs. Franklin won’t let me forget that fact. Besides that, I almost lost it today when Phil started conversing with her like he was applying for a teacher’s aide position or something. It’s tough keeping my cool when what I really want to do is wring his little neck!

Praying is what I need to do right now. But it’s not like I haven’t been talking to God. I have. Being patient isn’t always easy. And the grace—where’s the grace?

Sometimes I think I’m a lousy Christian. Especially when I lose my temper and blow up at my own family members.

Surely Jesus never went off on one of His own brothers. I’m trying to be loving . . . and failing. Lord, help me. Please.

MYSTERY LETTERS

Chapter 13

Tuesday morning before school, a note was stuck on my locker. I surveyed the area, checking to see if anyone was observing— someone who might’ve planted the note. In the sea of student humanity, no one stood out as looking suspicious.

Marcia Greene and her brother, Zye, and his tagalong, Ryan, were heading down the hall. I figured they didn’t count, and everyone else was pretty much minding his own business.

I opened my locker and leaned inside a bit, shielding the note from prying eyes. Quickly, I opened it and began to read.

Dear Holly,

So you’re going to publish my letter—and your response to it—in the next issue of
The Summit.
WHERE do you think my words will appear in your column? And WHAT did I do to deserve such an honor? (Heh, heh.)

Certainly, I’ll be eager to see if you answered all my questions—the 5 W’s are so important to good journalism. Oh yes, and 1 H (HOW). Don’t forget!

HOW did you get to be so pretty?

Signed: WHO am I?

PS: WHY did you cut your beautiful hair?

I crumpled up the note and threw it into my locker. Whoever this was . . . he was out there.

Gathering up my books for the morning classes, I closed my locker and headed for my first-hour class. Government.

Jared Wilkins was waiting for me just inside the door. “I’m real sorry to hear what’s going on at home,” he began. “A girl like you shouldn’t have to put up with a little brother for a—”

“Save it, Wilkins.” I pushed past him and found a seat close to the front of the classroom.

“Holly, what’s wrong?” I heard him say. “I can help you. I’m pulling an
A
right now in algebra.” He sat behind me, ranting about his incredible tutoring abilities.

“Too bad everyone in Dressel Hills has to mind
my
business,” I mumbled into my backpack, searching for the textbook.

Jared touched my shoulder, and reluctantly I turned around. He flashed his dazzling smile. “I’m offering my services, Holly. No strings attached.”

A first,
I thought, pulling a smirk.

“Seriously,” he continued, “if you want help with algebra, I’m here for you.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Well, I don’t believe for one minute that you’re okay with having a fledgling brother tutor you.”

“I’ll survive.” The class was filling up, and I didn’t care to pursue the conversation further. I turned back around, facing the front.

Jared tried to push the issue, but I refused to budge in his direction. I opened the textbook, grateful to be pulling top grades in
this
class.

When the bell rang at the end of first hour, I noticed Billy and Andie together in the back of the room. “Yo, Holly!” Andie called. “Come here a sec.”

Jared was attempting to get my attention again. I ignored him and hurried to see what Andie wanted. “Hey,” I said, looking first at Andie, then at Billy.

“Hey, Holly,” Billy’s voice was hardly more than a whisper. Laryngitis, maybe?

“I’ll leave now,” Andie said, grinning at me. “Billy wants to talk to you.” And with that, she left.

The little sneak.

I stood there, feeling awkward. Billy coughed a little. “Got a cold?” I asked, trying to break the ice.

“Not really.” He looked uncomfortable, right down to his sneakers.

“Look, did Andie put you up to this?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Then what
would
you say? I mean, about Andie. Is she trying to get you to do something for her—about me, I mean?” I was remembering that she bristled every time I mentioned Sean. The long-distance letter-writing thing really bugged her.

“Don’t blame Andie.” Billy looked me square in the face. “I really wanted to talk to you, uh, about some . . . some other stuff.”

I was getting antsy. We only had five minutes for passing periods between classes. If we were late, there was a pink slip. Three pink slips equaled after-school detention. With a temporary
F
in algebra, I couldn’t afford even the tiniest flaw on my high-school record.

I glanced at the wall clock. “Okay, we can talk sometime. When?”

“After school?”

“Where?”

“Soda Straw okay?” he asked.

I almost asked why, but decided I was sounding like the nut who’d written the weird letters.

Then it hit me, and I probably stared at him. Could Billy Hill be the letter writer? I mean, he was obviously infatuated or whatever. But would Billy really do something that dumb? I couldn’t imagine it, but I was sure I could devise a plan to test my suspicions.

I eyed the clock. “We better get going. See you after school.” I rushed off to choir.

The risers were filling up when I arrived. Andie was perched on the piano bench, waiting for Mrs. Duncan, the director. Andie’s face lit up when she saw me.

I slid onto the piano bench and gave her a nudge. “Hey,” I whispered, “what are you trying to do? With Billy, I mean.”

“Nothing.”

“Think again,” I said. “You’re doing something weird—and using Billy in the process. I just know it.”

Andie offered a frown. “I can’t believe you think that.”

“Truth hurts.”

Mrs. Duncan arrived, carrying her burlap shoulder bag crammed with music. I hurried to my place on the risers, next to the Miller twins—Paula and Kayla, sophomores.

“You’re tardy,” Paula said smugly, and I smirked at her choice of words. Paula and Kayla both had a strange way with the English language.

“Not actually late,” I countered. “Just close.”

Paula rolled her eyes. She was obviously ticked at me. And I was sure it had nothing to do with tardiness. More than likely Billy Hill.

“Look, Paula, if you think I’m moving in on the guy you like, you’re wrong.”

She was silent.

“But . . .” I hesitated, thinking ahead. “I think you should know that he and I plan to meet somewhere to talk after school. It’s Billy’s idea,” I explained, in no uncertain terms. Paula, after all, was a good friend; it had taken a long time for us to get to a decent level of rapport. I wasn’t going to let Billy’s present insanity interfere. Besides, I wanted Paula to know I wasn’t sneaking around behind her back.

“It’s really none of my concern,” Paula replied. “What Billy does with his leisure time is entirely optional.”

Sounded like Paula and Billy might actually be history. No wonder Andie was pushing Billy toward me. It was perfect from her standpoint. Get Holly to fall for Billy and . . .
au revoir
to Sean.

But why was Andie so set on the demise of Sean’s and my friendship? I made a mental note to ask her.

Mrs. Duncan located her director’s copies of several songs; then she took the podium. “Sorry about the delay,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “Now . . . will the section leaders please pass these songs around?” She held up three of my favorites. One was from the musical
Cats,
titled, “Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats.”

We rehearsed parts on the first piece, then put the harmonies together. Paula, however, was barely singing. At least, not in her usual robust manner. I could tell she wasn’t just a little ticked over this thing with Billy. Of course, she would never admit it. Not in a zillion years.

I tried to honey-coat things over after choir by offering to sit with Paula at lunch. She had other plans. “Kayla and I are eating together today, but thanks.” She glanced at her twin, who was gathering up the sheet music. The two of them were dressed exactly alike in matching jeans and red shirts. It struck me as highly unusual since they’d been working so hard to establish their separate identities. Then Paula turned to me unexpectedly. “Did you get the letter I wrote, you know, for the editorial column?”

“I haven’t checked my mail yet today, but I will.” Then another idea came to me. “Did you sign your name to your letter?”

“Well, why not?” she said in a huff. “Of course I did. I don’t have anything to hide.”

I nodded. “I didn’t mean to imply that, Paula. It’s just that I keep getting these strange letters from someone who never signs off with a real name.”

“Really?” Her eyes grew wide. “Who would do that?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” I explained, suddenly thinking of the perfect plan. “By the way, do you think you would recognize Billy’s handwriting?”

“Billy’s?” She stiffened. “You think Billy’s writing weird letters to the school paper?” She looked completely aghast.

“I didn’t say that, did I?” It was getting close to the third-hour bell.

“No, but—”

“Would you be willing to at least take a look at one of the letters?” I asked.

“Well, I guess”—then a smile spread across her face—“if you’d be willing to do something for me.”

“Anything,” I said as we headed for the hallway.

“Promise you won’t meet Billy after school?”

“What?” I studied her. What a strange request.

“Please?” she said, accompanied by a pained expression.

I sighed. Paula wasn’t being devious. The girl was hurt— grasping at straws to keep her guy.

“Just plain stand him up,” she said. “Deal?”

This was unbelievable. “Uh, okay, you win,” I said, realizing how much I needed her help. “Meet me at my locker before lunch. I’ll show you the letter then.”

Paula’s face broke into a sunshine smile. Things seemed much better for her. But what about me? What would I tell Billy? I couldn’t just not show up.