Holly's Heart Collection Two (34 page)

I pushed the door open gently, wishing the jingling bell didn’t have to sound every time someone entered. And there they were—Mr. Barnett and Miss Hess, looking too cozy together in a corner booth. They never even turned around when the bell jingled. A bad sign. A sign that they were too deeply involved in conversation to care.

I chose the booth next to them, careful to sit with my back to Mr. Barnett. I wanted to hear
his
remarks.

The waitress came around, smiling politely. “What can I get for you today, sister?”

I glanced at the menu and saw precisely what I wanted. “This looks good,” I said, disguising my voice.

“A banana split?” She seemed surprised. Had I done something wrong? Something out of character for a righteous woman?

“Yes, please,” I said. “With extra strawberries and whipped cream, if you don’t mind.”

She jotted down the order and scurried off. I stared at the stools lined up at the aluminum counter as I eavesdropped on the conversation directly behind me. So far it was rather boring. Nothing like the things Mr. Barnett and I had discussed last Saturday. Or before that, in the choir room, the day he played his composition for me.

“Teaching on the junior high level is very challenging, but I have to admit that I do enjoy it,” Miss Hess was saying.

“So far, it’s fun,” Mr. Barnett agreed. “But what I’d really like to do is get my doctorate and teach at a college.”

“What about coaching drama?” she asked. “You’re so good at it.”

There was a slight pause. “I’ve been involved with summer stock since high school,” Mr. Barnett said. “But it’s very different coming from the other side of the orchestra pit, if you know what I mean.”

Miss Hess sighed. “Getting students to loosen up onstage takes some doing. Especially young teens.”

The waitress came back with my banana split with strawberries and extra whipped cream. “Here you are, sister.”

I nodded, smiling, relinquishing the opportunity to speak. The less I used my vocal chords, disguised or otherwise, the safer I would be.

My ears perked up when I heard my name in the booth behind me. “Holly sure has a feel for the stage,” Mr. Barnett said. “Has she had parts in other plays at school?”

Miss Hess said, “I think this is her first play. But her composition teacher says she has a vivid imagination and does quite a lot of writing.”

Mr. Barnett chuckled. “She sure knows how to conduct a good interview. I can’t wait to see what she wrote about me in the school paper.”

Suddenly Miss Hess changed the subject. Was she jealous?

“How long have you lived in Colorado?” she asked.

“My folks moved here from Seattle when I was a kid,” Mr. Barnett said. “What about you?”

Boring small talk.

“I’m one of the few natives around,” Miss Hess said, almost boastfully. “Ask me anything about Colorado—its music, its culture.

“Its anonymous letter writers?” Mr. Barnett interrupted.

I almost choked on a banana. No, not that!

Miss Hess actually giggled.
Now
she was enjoying the conversation.

“I didn’t write that note to you, Andrew. Honest.”

Would he believe her this time?

“C’mon, Vickie,” he said. “Tell the truth.”

It sounded like he wished she
had
written the note!

“I told you,” she said coyly.

“Are you sure about this?”

I could almost see the mischievous twinkle in his eye. Why wouldn’t he listen to Miss Hess?

Confused, I spooned up a bite of ice cream. It sure seemed like Mr. Barnett was flirting with Miss Hess. He even called her Vickie! Was he just a fun-loving tease?

I thought about his other wonderful words.
“Holly sure has a feel for the stage…she knows how to conduct a good interview….”

I heard Miss Hess talking again. “Looks like you have a thing for pistachio.”

Although I didn’t dare turn around, I could visualize a mountain of pistachio ice cream.

Mr. Barnett chuckled softly. “One thing’s for sure. The woman I marry better not mind a few pistachio shells around the house.”

The woman?
Where did that leave me?

The door jingled, and Andie and Paula waltzed in with Stan and Billy Hill. Yikes!

I flew off to the ladies’ room. Not very holylike, but, oh well.

Inside one of the stalls, I undressed, thankful I’d left my own clothes on underneath.
Love does strange things to people,
I thought, trying to figure out how to smuggle Andie’s costume out of here.

Just then, Andie flew into the rest room. “Holly,” she called to me in the stall.

I waited silently. Without breathing.

“I know you’re in here,” she continued. “And I saw you in that nun’s habit. What on earth are you doing parading around in my costume?”

I tried to stifle the giggles, but it was no use. They came pouring out, a little at first, then out came a full-fledged burst.

“You’re so-o immature,” Andie said. “Now come out here and talk to me.”

Slowly, I emerged from the bathroom stall. “How’d you know it was me?”

“How’d I know?” She nearly collapsed with laughter. “You left your hair hanging out, that’s how! Your hair’s a good three inches longer than the wimple, you know.”

I gasped. “Really? Oh, Andie, this is horrible. What if Mr. Barnett saw it, too?”

She shook her head, raising her eyebrows. “Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing? I could’ve advised you…helped you.”

“You still can,” I pleaded. “Get your school bag or your purse. Anything.” I began folding the habit.

“I don’t have anything with me that’ll hold the costume,” she said.

“Just please try.” I stood there holding the costume and looking in the mirror at my hair as she left. How stupid of me! Why hadn’t I taken time to plan this more carefully?

Andie said to wait here—“I’ll be right back!”

And she was. She flew in the door, and we began to stuff the habit into her school bag. Then, attempting to hide the bulging evidence, we returned to the booth where Paula, Billy, and Stan were waiting to order.

I slid in next to Paula. Glancing over at Mr. Barnett and Miss Hess, I hoped they hadn’t noticed my blond hair earlier. Then I spotted my perfectly good banana split waiting to be devoured. My heart sank. Which was worse? Wasting a delicious dessert or making a total fool of myself?

Shortly, Mr. Barnett and Miss Hess left via the jingling door. I dashed back to my table, rescuing my banana split just as the waitress came to remove it. She wore a vague, puzzled look as I told her, “Don’t worry. I’ll pay for it. The sister won’t be back.”

At least, not if I could help it.

I ate the remains of my sweet treat, rethinking my amateur spying attempts. While Billy and Paula bantered back and forth, I came to this realization: I was not nearly as mature as I’d thought. The truth was, I’d made a major blunder, forgetting to hide my hair under the wimple.

STRAIGHT-A TEACHER

Chapter 15

Two days later, on Friday, I was still trying to live down my illthought disguise. At least with Paula and Andie.

“You don’t have to be perfect to be mature,” Andie said, waiting at my locker for Paula. They were coming for a sleepover at my house.

“I know, but it’s so humiliating.” I closed my locker door.

“What about Mr. Barnett?” Andie asked. “Do you think he saw your hair hanging out?”

“Nah, I can tell by the way he acts around me.”

Andie waved as Paula came down the hall. Then, turning to me, she said, “I’m so glad you’re having us over. It’ll be so cool practicing our lines together. Maybe we can get one of your younger brothers to read the guys’ lines.”

“Don’t forget, Stan’ll be hanging around,” I said. “He might fill in some of the parts for us.”

“Just so he and Paula don’t get any ideas and rehearse that romantic scene of theirs,” Andie snapped.

When we arrived at my house, Mom was tossing a gigantic salad and putting the finishing touches on a homemade pizza. Leave it to Mom to make the perfect food for a party.

After supper, we headed for my room, scripts in hand. Since Stan was busy with Phil and Mark, playing the final level on a hold-your-breath computer game, I suggested we take turns filling in the parts of the male leads. Things went smoothly for over an hour, but soon our dry throats were ready for something cold and soothing. Mom offered to make root beer floats, and she brought them up to us on a tray.

Handing me a frosty-cold glass, she said, “Holly, your father called this morning. He’s coming to Dressel Hills…for your play.”

“He is?” I gasped. “Oh no, hand me my script.”

I caught it as Andie tossed it to me.

After Mom left, we started all over again on Act One. After two more times through, we stopped practicing lines, and Andie got up and went to my closet. She pulled out a yellow sweater and tucked it inside her oversized T-shirt. Marching around the room, Andie took ladylike steps, the way Mr. Barnett had instructed her to as the Mother Abbess. Paula and I laughed hysterically as the long yellow sleeve dangled down her back—the way my long hair had under the nun’s wimple.

“It’s not very funny, when you think about it,” Paula said, recovering from giggling. “I remember having a huge crush on a teacher back East, before we ever moved here.”

Andie stopped cold. “Really?” She looked horrified, then began to laugh.

“It happens,” I said, eager to plan my next move with Mr. Barnett. It was time to come forward and let him know how I felt.

Andie quit laughing and pulled my sweater down out of her top. She lowered her voice and checked the door. “Huddle up,” she whispered.

By the look in Andie’s eyes, I knew this was going to be good. Secrets were dancing in the air tonight.

“Promise not to tell anyone?” she began.

Paula and I nodded.

“Not a soul?” she demanded.

“You’ve got my word,” Paula said.

“Ditto for me,” I said.

Andie leaned in close to us on the floor. She opened her mouth to speak. Then she caught herself.

“Quick, Holly. Turn on your radio,” she said.

I frowned. “What’s the secret?”

“Hurry,” Andie insisted. “We need music to drown this out.”

I did as she asked, finding a contemporary Christian music station. “How’s that?”

She nodded as I scurried back to my place like a mouse hungry for a morsel of cheese.

When our heads were close enough to tell who’d brushed teeth after pizza and who hadn’t, Andie began. “Remember when Pastor Rob first came to Dressel Hills?”

I remembered. Andie and I had been only eleven.

“Well,” she continued, “I had this enormous crush on him. It was like every time I saw him at church, it got worse. I can’t believe I ran around asking to help him with church stuff. He must’ve known. Especially after I told him I’d put his name at the top of my prayer list.”

I gasped. “You
told
him that?”

“Give me a break.” She grinned broadly. “I was in fifth grade back then.”

“How come you never told me?” I asked.

“Because I thought you liked him, too.”

I grinned. “I did, but I didn’t want you to know.”

“This sounds like true confessions night,” Paula said.

“Yeah, right,” I said, thinking of Mr. Barnett.

The next day, after the girls’ parents picked them up, I hopped on my bike and rode downtown. I now had the perfect plan—with pistachio nuts at the center of it. Mr. Barnett had a weakness for pistachios; he’d said it himself.

I locked up my bike in front of Explore Bookstore and hurried a few stores down to the drugstore. Every kind of nut imaginable could be found in large bins. Locating the pistachio variety, I told the clerk I wanted enough to fill the plastic container on display.

“One moment, please.” And he disappeared behind the counter.

Soon, I was the proud owner of two pounds of pistachio nuts, the perfect answer to my dilemma. I couldn’t wait to present them to Mr. Barnett on Monday.