Holly's Heart Collection Three (8 page)

Zye sat there like King Tut. His lips curled into a disdainful sneer. “Look . . . uh, Andrea, is it?”

Andie’s face reddened but not from embarrassment. She was mad. “C’mon, you know who I am.”

Hang in there, Andie,
I thought.

Zye leaned back in his chair and cracked his knuckles. “I think I’m beginning to see who you are.” His fingers drummed the table impatiently.

Andie stood firm. “As you know, we were supposed to be in junior high this year.” She glanced at all of us. “So if you really want to be cool about things, you’d realize that fairness is in order here. And you seniors are the ones to get the ball rolling.”

Wow, was she bold!

I thought by the way Zye was unbuttoning his top shirt button that maybe he was getting hot under the collar. Andie, after all, was coming across like a pro.

“Fairness has never been a consideration in the past.” Zye stood up. He reminded me of an Elvis impersonator with his black pants and boots and that leather bomber jacket.

“So are you saying there’s no room to negotiate?” I heard Andie say.

“You’re hearing it right, girl.” Zye cracked his knuckles again.

“Well, that’s really a shame,” Andie said. “I can see we’re not dealing with typical seniors here—seniors with
class.
”

I thought she was pushing it and tugged on the back of her shirt. “Forget it,” I whispered.

Another guy stood up. “Hey, you’ve got a lot of gall, talking that way. Don’tcha have no respect?”

Zye clicked his fingers and the other kid sat down. “This conversation’s done. We’re outta here,” he said.

Good riddance, I thought. Not only was the guy an arrogant jerk, his friend needed grammar lessons.

“We tried,” Andie said when it was over. And there we sat, a bunch of whipped freshmen, too baffled to move. Zye and his entourage had exited loudly to the sitting area outside.

I stared out the huge cafeteria window at the students outside. Some of the senior girls were sunning themselves on the flagstone walkway. Others stood around talking and laughing with guys.

Zye sauntered around while sharing his soda with a blond cheerleader. Then I noticed a familiar figure approach him. Medium height, mousy brown hair . . .

I studied him. Then I called to Andie. “Hey, look who’s hanging out with Zye.” I pulled her over to the window.

“You’re kidding,” she whispered. “I thought Ryan Davis was history.”

Ryan was either a junior or a senior; I didn’t know which. I hadn’t seen him around school until now. He had that know-it-all upperclassman attitude and a letter jacket that smacked of machismo.

I’d first met Ryan last summer when Stan brought him home for supper after a swim meet at the Y. Now, however, it looked as though Ryan was linked up with Zye. “And I thought that opposites attract!” I said a bit too loudly.

Paula and Kayla came rushing over. “What’s going on?” Paula asked as the twins peered at the gruesome twosome.

Kayla clutched her throat. “Oh, say it isn’t so.”

“I knew that Zye fellow reminded me of someone,” Paula interjected.

“Right,” I agreed, hoping the thing between Zye and the freshman delegation had nothing to do with the color of Andie’s skin. Ryan had slung some disgusting racial slurs at Andie last summer.

“This is
so
sick,” Andie said, staring at Ryan.

“Don’t let it freak you out—about Ryan, I mean. We both know what he’s about.”

“He’s prejudiced,” she persisted.

I wanted to change the subject, to get Andie’s mind off what had happened between her and Ryan last summer. “Look, I’m proud of you.” I touched her shoulder. “You handled things really well just now.”

“Thanks,” she said, sounding discouraged.

“You did your best and that’s what counts,” Paula said, trying to cheer her up.

After school, Billy Hill stopped by my locker. “Did you think up any clever sayings for my campaign?”

“Yep.” I pulled out my notebook. “Here you go. Billy Hill’s No Hillbilly—Vote for a CLASS Act—Class Treasurer.”

He grinned. “That’s cool. Thanks, Holly.”

“Any time.” I closed my locker.

“Man, we need some decent leadership around here,” he said. “After the way those seniors acted today at lunch . . .”

“I know what you mean.”

“So . . .” He seemed hesitant. “I thought maybe you could write up something about me in
The Summit.
You know, just a blip on an unknown freshman running for office.”

“I’d love to, Billy. It’s just that I’m not officially on the paper staff yet.” I didn’t want to tell him about Marcia’s comments about having me write an occasional piece for the paper. Mainly because I was still wondering how complicated it would be to juggle everything. Grades came first.

Billy shrugged his shoulders. “Oh well, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to ask.” He turned to leave.

“Billy!” I grabbed his arm. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’ll gladly campaign for you. Hey, we want to see how many Christian kids we can get into office, right?”

“Thanks.” He smiled broadly. “That’ll be cool.”

“Want me to nominate you tomorrow?” I asked as he waited for me to get my books.

“Actually, Paula already offered. Thanks anyway.”

“Okay.”

“Maybe you should be the one to nominate
Andie,
since she’s your best friend,” he suggested just as Paula came walking over.

“Oh, I’m planning to,” I said, all smiles.

Paula shook her head. “Too late. It’s already set.”

“What is?” I asked.

“Amy-Liz is nominating Andie at your class meeting tomorrow,’ she said rather haughtily.

I frowned. “But she’s running for secretary, right?”

Paula nodded confidently, like she was aware of other privileged information.

“I don’t get it.” I tried to suppress the hurt.

“Well, I’m sure you understand the saying ‘one good turn deserves another’?”

I hadn’t the faintest clue what she was getting at. “What’s that got to do with this?”

“Plenty. Andie’s nominating Amy-Liz.” And with that, she and Billy left to catch the bus.

I stood there, gasping. Why did it seem that every time I turned my back, Andie had conducted some private meeting? Without me.

FRESHMAN FRENZY

Chapter 14

Monday, September 9
Dear Sean,

I got your letter two days ago. It was interesting, especially the part about your wanting me to decide about your hair! Please feel free to do absolutely anything you want to. I’m thinking of doing something different with my newly permed hair, too. Something to get rid of all these curls!

How’s your calculus teacher, Mr. Fremont? I’m sorry to hear about his cancer. Does he have much pain? I always worry when I hear that someone has cancer. Dad’s sister died from it two years ago this coming February. My favorite aunt was too young to die—around my mom’s age. Anyway, I’ll be praying for your teacher.

So much has happened since I wrote you last. Remember all those initiation questions I had? Well, this year it’s come down from the top (seniors, of course!) that there’s going to be fierce initiation. But, lowly freshmen that we are, we’ve decided that the sophomores are the ones who really deserve it.

I went on to explain how the sophomores of Dressel Hills High had experienced last year what we were missing now—top of the heap. So in our minds, that meant we shouldn’t be punished twice. It made perfect sense!

About the grading scale here, we have the same as you do. I can’t get used to a 94% being a high B—it’s six points away from 100, for pete’s sake!

Andie’s running for president of the freshman class. She wants me to write her campaign speech, and I promised I would, but now . . .

I read the last two sentences and decided not to tell Sean about Andie’s and my differences. I used white correction fluid to cover my words and rewrote the last sentence.

She’s turning into a regular social bug. It was unbelievable how she handled herself today at lunch with some of the world’s worst egomaniacs ever! Stay tuned . . .

I met an interesting girl today. Her name is Tina Frazer, blind from birth. She’s here for an experiment—mainstreaming a handicapped student—and I personally hope it’s going to be successful.

Well, I have lots of homework tonight, so I’d better end this letter.

I paused before I signed off, wondering if I should follow his lead. Sean always signed “Yours,” which could be taken several ways. Of course, he wasn’t really mine. That wasn’t what this was about.

Sean and I had a very long, very interesting conversation last summer about the boy-girl thing. And I was pleased in the end how we managed to agree to be friends. Even though Sean had asked me out while I was in California, I think he realized that a long-distance relationship of that kind really wasn’t possible. Not at our age.

So the way I signed my letters must not encourage him toward anything but continuing the correspondence the way we’d started. When it came right down to it, I was enjoying this sort of friendship with a guy. Sean had never been pushy, and I liked the fact that he seemed to want me to decide things, too.

The age difference was a minor factor in all this. In five years it wouldn’t matter, though. I’d be nineteen going on twenty and he’d be twenty-one. For now, things were best the way they were.

I slid Goofey, my cat, off my lap and settled him gently onto the window seat, where the two of us curled up together. Reading, writing, list making, and praying—all this was most readily carried out when I was cocooned away in my window-seat alcove. A world apart.

I signed my letter “Your friend” and addressed the envelope. Then I ran all the way down to the mailbox, beating the late pickup by only a few seconds.

Back at home, I gathered up two loads of my laundry and headed downstairs. Laundry was one of my weekday chores, so I’d designated Monday as my washday.

I thought of Andie slaving over her washing machine as a future mother, churning out one load of wash after another. All those children . . .

“Holly!” called Stan from the family room.

I peeked my head around the corner. “That’s my name, don’t wear it out!”

“Grow up,” he muttered.

“What do you want?”

“Uh . . . just wondered. What’s with Andie running for freshman class president?”

“It’s a free country, you know.”

“But isn’t it a little out of character for her?” He looked like a toad, all scrunched up on the floor in front of the sofa behind the coffee table, cracking pecans.

I stared. “What are you doing?”

“Mom’s baking, and I’m helping out.”

“Oh.” This was a first.

“So . . . what’s up with Andie?” He was holding the nutcracker in midair.

“Is there an echo in here?” I looked around. “For your information, Andie’s emerging from her junior-high shell.”

He sighed. “Then what’s she doing talking to a bunch of upperclassmen?”

“She has an important agenda, that’s what.” I disappeared behind the laundry room door. It would be only a few seconds before Stan burst in here, making demands.

“Well,” Stan said, barging right in, “your friend’s making herself way too visible.”

I tossed the whites into the washing machine and started the water. “Yeah, well, none of us would be normal if we didn’t change a little as we mature. Isn’t that what Mom’s always saying—your dad, too—that we have to be flexible in order to grow up?”

He glared at me. It was obvious he didn’t want solid answers. “Andie’s getting way too popular for her own good.”

“You’re just jealous.”

He cocked his blond head. “Jealous of what?”

“You know . . .”

He blew air through his lips in disgust. “Hey, guess what Zye Greene thinks?” he said, surprising me with his sudden reference to Marcia’s brother.

“Who cares what Zye-in-your-eye thinks? Don’t waste your breath!”

Stan frowned and ran his fingers through his hair. “He liked her,” he said in a half whisper. “He—”

“That’s hard to believe. If he liked her so much, why was he such a jerk today?” I interrupted and poured the liquid detergent over the laundry and shut the lid. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have homework coming out of my ears.”

I shoved past him.

“Holly, wait!” He grabbed my shirttail. “Do you think she’s . . . uh, getting in a little over her head?”

I had no idea what this brousin of mine was mumbling. “Look, if you want to catch all the latest on your ex-girlfriend, why don’t you just give her a call?”

He actually slumped against the furnace. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“You’re right, I don’t.” And with that I headed upstairs.

Later, while I was eyebrow-deep in algebra, Andie called. Only I didn’t talk to her. I asked Mom to tell her I’d see her tomorrow at school. Hopefully she’d understand. This homework thing was unreal.