Holly's Heart Collection Three (29 page)
The house at 207 Downhill Court housed my roots, my very life. A girl of almost fifteen years ought to have some say in where she laid her head at night—not to mention where she wrote her stories and kept a written record of her life.
My future writing career might be completely thrown off course if I were uprooted and forced to be in the same room— master suite or not—with Carrie and Stephie. It was outright injustice.
During lunch I poured out my heart to Andie. Even though she didn’t think the overall baby thing was anything to lose sleep over, she was sympathetic to the pain of giving up my room.
“My parents would never have done that to me, and we had
two
new babies at our house,” she said.
Paula and Kayla Miller, our twin girl friends, had been listening. But when they spoke up, it was obvious they weren’t exactly on my side, either.
“Perhaps you’re getting yourself worked up over nothing,” Paula suggested.
Kayla nodded. “Once the baby comes, you might surprise yourself and be willing to share your room. Who knows?”
“I doubt it,” I replied. “How would you like to go home to the sounds and smells of a newborn while you’re trying to write a novel or figure out the latest mumbo-jumbo algebra problem?”
Paula’s ears perked up. “Did I hear you correctly? Did you say you’re writing a novel?”
I shrugged. “Well, it’s not actually a full-blown one. It’s more like a novella—you know, a mini-novel.”
Andie whipped out her pocket dictionary, an English class requirement, and read, “A novella is a short novel.”
“Okay, Miss Know-It-All.” Reaching for the dictionary, I read the definition for myself. “Yeah, I guess Webster’s right—that’s what I’m writing.”
Andie slipped the tiny dictionary into her shoulder bag. “Okay, that’s settled.” She propped her elbows on the table, leaning over next to me. “So . . . when do we get to read your masterpiece?”
“Maybe never.”
“C’mon, Holly, you know you need a second opinion,” Andie said. “We’re precisely the ones to give it.”
Paula and Kayla were nodding their heads. “What could it hurt?” Kayla said. “We wouldn’t think of being hard on you. We give our solemn promise.”
Paula picked up her sandwich, inspecting it as she spoke. “Maybe the manuscript will turn out to be absolutely perfect, and then, when we tell you so, you’ll decide to dedicate your first published book to us.”
“Hey, I like that,” Andie chimed in. “Will you please dedicate your book to your best friends?”
I giggled. “You guys are too much.”
“Well, if you won’t let us read it, will you at least tell us the story line?” Paula asked.
Andie whispered, “Is it a romance?”
Paula and Kayla leaned in, waiting for my response.
“Definitely, it’s a romance. But I can’t tell you anything more.”
“Aw . . .” Andie groaned. “Don’t keep us in the dark like this.”
“Why not?” I said. “Are you worried that I’ll be old and gray before I ever find a publisher? That you’ll have to wait forever to read it?”
“No way,” Paula said. “You’re a good writer, Holly-Heart. I’m positive you’ll land a publisher.”
Kayla smiled. “Want to know what I always read first when the school paper comes out?” Paula and Andie were nodding their heads in agreement. “It’s the ‘Dear Holly’ column. I simply adore the way you answer those letters.”
“You’re very clever,” Paula said. “No editor in his right mind would abandon the opportunity to work with such a talented young author.”
“Girls, girls,” I said, blushing. “Enough.”
We ate in silence for a few moments, then Paula brought up the fact that Marty Leigh’s next novel was coming out soon. “Did you see the poster in the window at Explore Bookstore?” she asked.
Andie answered for me. “Boy, did she ever. You should’ve seen Holly hanging out the window, drooling all over the side of the bus.”
“Not quite.” I laughed. “But I am counting the hours till Saturday.”
“So are we,” the Miller twins chorused in unison, which didn’t happen often, but when it did, we always got a kick out of it.
“Speaking of Marty Leigh,” Paula said, “did I tell you about the cool letter I received from her?”
“You actually wrote to Marty Leigh?” I was in shock.
Kayla grinned. “I wanted to, but Paula had more courage. So she wrote for both of us.”
“I’ll bring the letter tomorrow—actually, it’s a newsletter highlighting the next books in her series, but she also sent a personal reply in her own handwriting!”
Now I was leaning forward. “You asked her questions?”
“My letter to her was almost like an interview by mail,” Paula replied. “I couldn’t believe it—she went through them one by one and responded to every question. It was astonishing.”
“Wow, you’re not kidding,” I said. “Do you have any idea how many fan letters she must get every month?”
“Probably tons,” Kayla said.
Andie was eating quietly, obviously not interested. Of course, if Marty Leigh’s mysteries had included romance, she would’ve been hooked.
“Tell me some of the questions you asked her,” I said, dying to know.
“Well, Kayla inquired about her favorite foods, hobbies, things like that, but I asked how she got started writing.”
I was all ears. “What did she say about that—how she got started?”
“Her grandfather was a journalist,” Paula continued. “She’s quite certain that she inherited his love for the printed word.”
“Wow,” I said. “When did she first get published?”
“I asked her that,” Paula said. “She said she’d had a short story published in a regional newspaper when she was only thirteen.”
“Hey, just like Holly-Heart,” Andie piped up. “Remember that cute story you wrote?”
Of course I remembered. It was my very first byline, and in the very teen magazine Marty Leigh had helped to launch, too. You never forget fabulous stuff like that.
“What was the title again?” Kayla asked.
“ ‘Love Times Two,’ ” I said. “About two girls liking the same guy.”
“It was fiction but actually based on the true story of Holly and me—and our crushes on Jared Wilkins,” Andie reminded them.
“Thank goodness those days are long gone,” I said.
“But Jared’s still in love with you,” Paula blurted.
I shook my head. “So he thinks. Please, don’t remind me.”
Andie played with the gold chain at her neck. “How’s Sean Hamilton these days? You two still writing?”
Andie hadn’t asked about him for several weeks. I figured she had at last come to grips with my long-distance friendship.
“Oh, Sean’s great,” I said. “In fact, he’s coming to ski here next month—maybe Valentine’s week.”
“Woo-hoo!” Andie cheered. “Just in time for Holly’s fifteenth birthday and her first real date.”
“That’s right,” I said, grinning. “I’m saving my first date for Sean.”
Andie was pretending to play a violin under her chin. “Aw, how sweet,” she sang.
I didn’t comment. The girl had romancitis!
“Is he coming alone?” Paula asked.
“He’s bringing a group of kids from his church youth group— they call themselves Power House. The group’s just for sixth through eighth graders, and Sean’s one of the youth leaders.”
“He sounds like a great guy,” Kayla said.
“He is,” Andie said, probably referring to last summer, when she met Sean for the first time. “Hey, maybe our youth group should join them when they come. We could have a snow party.”
Paula smiled, displaying her perfect teeth. “Maybe we should let Holly decide about that.”
Andie and Kayla stifled their laughter.
“Oh, c’mon,” I said, “there’ll be plenty of time for me to visit with Sean.” I gathered up the trash at our table.
“Uh-oh,” Andie said, “sounds like they’ve got this visit all planned.”
I felt my cheeks blush. Sean and I had discussed his trip here—in fact, we’d sent several letters’ worth of plans—emails, too. He was beginning to share more freely about his feelings for me. I, on the other hand, was careful not to seem too eager. Sean, after all, was older by almost two years.
I wanted God’s perfect plan for me as far as the boy I dated— and most of all, the man I would ultimately marry.
Andie got up with her tray just as Stan, my brousin—cousin-turned-stepbrother—and two other guys walked past our table. Kayla glanced up, following Stan with her eyes. I wondered about it.
Two years ago, when the Miller twins first moved to Dressel Hills, Kayla had confided in me about Stan. She’d had this major crush on him back in Pennsylvania, where the Millers had lived in close proximity to Uncle Jack’s family, long before Aunt Marla passed away.
After the funeral, months later, Kayla’s father encouraged his friend and prospective business partner, Uncle Jack, to move to Colorado for a fresh start. Kayla was thrilled to discover that Stan was attending the same school in Dressel Hills.
For the longest time, I thought she’d given up on Stan. But just now, the way her eyes lit up when he passed by, I had a feeling she wasn’t exactly over him. I decided not to say anything, though. Kayla was supersensitive.
Quickly, the Miller twins and I gathered up our trays and carried them to the kitchen, where Andie was waiting.
“Have you told Sean about your mom yet?” Andie asked.
“You mean about the baby?” I frowned. “Where in the world did that thought come from?”
Andie tapped the top of her dark, curly head. “I was just wondering. Sean seemed like a kid-crazy sort of guy when we were out in California, remember?”
She didn’t have to remind me. Sean’s married brother had two kids. In fact, Sean wrote often about his niece and nephew.
“I’m sure I’ll be telling him soon,” I found myself saying, wishing Andie hadn’t brought up the topic just as we were heading off for fifth hour. I’d had a tough enough time concentrating during my morning classes. I couldn’t afford to space out during French. The new dialogues were getting harder and longer this semester, and our teacher, Mr. Irving, wasn’t as lenient about prompting us these days.
Le bébé.
French for
the baby.
I’d have to get used to the baby idea eventually. Maybe saying and writing the words in another language would help.
Then again . . . maybe not.
EIGHT IS ENOUGH
After school I headed for the public library several blocks from the high school. I hadn’t been able to focus on my writing since last Sunday, when the baby news had been heralded at dinner. I was eager to get going on my project again.
Among the rows of tall bookshelves and long study tables, I began to work on my novella.
Okay, fine,
I thought, getting serious about chapter eight of my book. Only four chapters to go. When the first semi-polished draft was finished, I would go back and fill in, delete, tighten, and refine. Who knows, maybe I’d get brave and try to find a publisher. Mrs. Ross, my English teacher, had mentioned certain publishers who wanted only works by young people. Maybe I should talk with her further.
Unfortunately, I was going to have to deal with a new baby brother or sister in the next few months, and that could hinder me from completing the book. Maybe, if I was lucky, I’d finish it by the time I was twenty-something. By then, though, those publishers searching for young authors wouldn’t want to see my work. Nope. I’d be too old for them and probably not old enough for the other book publishers.
Sigh.
I jumped right in where chapter seven left off. My main character, Julianna, had just received a letter from her boyfriend, Christopher. As I wrote the lines, I thought of Sean. In no way did I want this story to be about him and me, fictionalized or not. I scratched out what I’d written and started over.
Thirty minutes later I stopped writing and was tempted to reread what I’d written. A mistake for me—deadly, actually—in terms of slowing me down and putting my mind in the editing mode. My creative side would get bogged down; I’d lose my flow. But my curiosity won out, and I went back and read each word, scrutinizing the whole.
None of it, however, was working. I was a perfectionist when it came to writing. So, discouraged and not looking forward to those inevitable baby discussions at home, I decided to stay right here and switch gears. I decided to write a letter to Sean, even though Mom would be wondering where I was. We had this after-school phone rule at our house. If any of us was going to be gone longer than one hour after school, Mom expected to be informed.
I’m not sure why I didn’t get up right then and call home. Something in me lashed out in defiance. I ignored my better judgment and stayed put.
It was time Sean heard from me about the latest turn of events at the Meredith-Patterson residence. Actually, I wouldn’t have been too surprised if he’d already heard the news. Sean attended the same church as Daddy, and Daddy’s mother, my grandma Meredith, still kept in touch with Mom. No doubt, Mom had phoned my grandparents with her news.
I took a clean piece of notebook paper out of my three-ring binder and began to write.
Tuesday, January 16
Dear Sean,
Hey! How’re you doing? I’ve been wanting to write for a couple days. Bet you’re having great weather there. It’s cold and snowy here, but what can you expect this close to the continental divide?
My algebra grades are up now, but I still have to work hard at keeping them there. Sometimes I wonder how this kind of math is ever going to help me as a writer. That is, IF I ever get published again. Maybe I’ll need to know algebra when it comes time for me to double-check my royalty statements someday. Ha!
Not long ago I read about five well-known authors and how they worked. One said that getting published the first time was relatively easy, but the second and third time he really had to work at it. I can’t help but wonder how I ever landed that first story with Marty Leigh’s cool teen magazine. Right now, if I didn’t have the published story to prove it, I’d probably doubt it ever happened.
By the way, my favorite author’s next mystery is due out this Saturday. I know you aren’t interested in books for teen girls, but my friends Kayla and Paula Miller and I are going to be the first ones at the bookstore when it opens! Andie, on the other hand, says she’s sleeping in—she couldn’t care less about mysteries.
