SummerHill Secrets, Volume 2 (17 page)

I stared at the back of his head—his light brown hair was always well-groomed. Jon was the picture of perfection.

Say that with all
p’
s
, I told myself, wondering how I’d fare if he ever decided not to stop at my locker for our session of silliness. What then?

I shot a desperate look at Chelsea. She shook her head and shrugged. “Why waste your time on a guy who hardly knows you exist?”

This was a brand-new approach. “Really?” I said. “Sounds to me like you think I oughta welcome Levi home with open arms.”

She twisted her thick auburn locks, worn straight today. “At least if you ended up with Levi, you wouldn’t have to hire a translator to read his letters,” she said, referring back to Jon’s note.

“No, but I think I oughta have a genuine call from God first.”

She frowned. “What are you saying?”

“Truth is, Levi Zook is studying to be a preacher. He really shouldn’t be hanging around with just any girl.”

“So…you think you’re a lousy choice. Is that it?”

“Don’t be sarcastic. I
mean
it. Levi should be spending time with girls who feel inclined to become a preacher’s wife.”

She leaned her elbow on her books and looked straight at me. “You know, Mer, now that I’ve actually started paying attention to all your God-talk, I think I better tell you something. Not to be mean, but I get the strong feeling you aren’t very trusting these days, at least not toward your heavenly Father.”

This comment seemed strange coming from Chelsea Davis, a former self-proclaimed atheist turned almost believer.

“You’re kidding,” I heard myself say. “You actually think that?”

“Let’s put it this way: Maybe if you spent less time reading that absurd poetry of yours…”

She didn’t have to finish; I knew what Chelsea meant. Reading the Bible was far more helpful—and important—in the long run.

“Well, if this isn’t a switch—you preaching to
me
.” I laughed, and wonder of wonders, the Alliteration Wizard turned around and smiled!

Jon began spouting alliteration-eze after his usual “Morning, Mistress Merry” greeting. “Whether wind be wintry or wild, we’ll wile away the wait for warmer weather.”

“What?” I said, prolonging closing my locker. With its door gaping wide and Jonathan standing near me, I felt sheltered from the world of school and students. It was only an illusion, of course. “
W
’s, huh? Well, if you ask me, your sentence doesn’t make much sense,” I was glad to inform him.

His heart-stopping grin caught me off guard. “Better not boast ’bout brilliant comebacks,” he replied.

Man, was he good!

“We’ll see about that,” I said. “Pick a letter. Any letter!”

He thought for a moment, but as he was about to speak, Ashley Horton, our pastor’s daughter and probably the prettiest girl in the entire school, came trotting by with Stiggy Eastman, winner of this year’s coveted photography contest honors.

“Hello-o, Merry. Hi, Jon,” she cooed, waving.

“Ashley!” The Alliteration Wizard turned suddenly. “You’re exactly the person I need to see.” And with that, he dashed off after her, completely forgetting our word game. Forgetting something else, too—a proper good-bye.

All day long, the east wind blew. And with it came echoes—memories of my past days and years as Levi’s friend. Was I worrying too much about my next encounter with him? Or was something else bothering me? Anyway, I was truly miserable and told Lissa Vyner, another one of my church friends, about it during P.E.

“You know what’s discouraging?” I said. “Every time I think Jon and I might actually have a chance, Ashley comes flouncing along and interferes. It’s so-o frustrating.”

Lissa pushed her wispy blond hair away from her delicate face, looking at me with wide blue eyes. “Are you praying about this?”

“No,” I reluctantly admitted. “I know I should be. It just seems like some of us get all the breaks.”

I remembered that Jon had been interested in her for a while last spring.

Lissa didn’t say anything, and we hurried out of the gym locker room wearing our white shorts and tops, ready for a rousing volleyball game. “How about if I call you tonight?” she said, hurrying off to take her position near the net.

I spotted Ashley Horton on my team.
Oh great
, I thought. How was I going to play a decent game with my competition hurling her smile around the court?

Off and on during the match, my mind seemed to play tricks on me. I actually started second-guessing my friendship with Jon. Maybe he was using me…could that be all it was? Was I simply someone to play his word game? I knew I was truly good as his partner in phrases. And I also knew for a fact that none of the other girls he’d ever liked had been introduced to the Alliteration Game.

What did it mean?

“Heads up!” The P.E. instructor blew her whistle.

I ducked.

But…too late.

The ball slammed into my head. I fell backward, stumbling onto the floor.

“Merry!” I heard Lissa call out.

But in nothing flat, I was sitting up, a goose egg on the back of my head.

I’d hit the floor hard, and the teacher was worried. “We better have the nurse check you out, Merry,” she said.

So with Lissa and Ashley on either side of me, I limped dizzily down the hall to the nurse’s room.

Served me right, I suppose. Men were a menace to the mind. Hey, I liked that!

And I made a mental note to communicate it to Jon after school.

The knot on my head turned into a sickening headache by suppertime. Of course my dad made a big deal about checking the pupils of my eyes. “Have to make sure they’re dilating normally.”

“Do I have a concussion?” I asked, letting Mom baby me by bringing meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans up to my room on a tray.

Flicking on his penlight, Dad shined it in my right eye, then away. “Looks to me like you’ll be just fine, honey.”

“Why didn’t my head hurt earlier?”

Mom pulled up a chair and sat down, watching me eat. “Could be a delayed reaction.”

“Perhaps,” Dad was saying. “Often the body will kick in enough adrenaline to carry through the moment of injury and awhile beyond.”

“But then, look out—whammy!” I joked but avoided laughing. My head was throbbing too much for that.

When the phone rang, Mom rushed out of the room and down the hall.

Dad winked. “I believe she’s expecting a call from your brother.”

“Is Skip doing okay now?” I asked. He’d found the adjustment to college life tougher than expected.

“If you’re referring to his homesickness, yes, I think that may have run its course.”

I sipped some hot tea. “Like my headache will, right?”

Dad rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “How did it happen—the volleyball hitting you in the head?”

To tell the truth, I felt uncomfortable spilling out the details to Dad. I mean, he wasn’t one to come down hard on stupidity or anything. But I couldn’t bring myself to talk about the state I’d been in during P.E.—contemplating the Alliteration Wizard during a fast-paced volleyball game. C’mon!

“I guess I wasn’t paying much attention,” I mumbled. Picking up my fork, I proceeded to fill my mouth with mashed potatoes and gravy. That way if he asked additional questions, I’d have plenty of time to think of a genius response while chewing.

“Merry,” Mom called from the hallway. “Do you feel up to talking to Lissa Vyner?”

I nodded my answer to Dad, who passed it on to Mom. Soon enough, she brought the cordless phone to me, and my parents made a reluctant exit.

“Hi, Lissa,” I said.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Okay, except for a monstrous headache.”

“You really got whacked today. What do you expect?”

“I’ll live, I guess,” I replied.

“Aw, Mer, don’t say that.” She paused. “Oh, before I forget, Ashley wants you to know she’s worried about you.”

“That’s nice.”

Silence came and went. “Uh…you two still aren’t—”

“It’s nothing to worry about, really,” I was quick to say. True, Ashley and I still experienced some friction between us, off and on. Probably because both of us had our hearts set on Jon Klein.

Lissa went on. “Will you let me know if there’s anything I can do?”

“Thanks, Liss, but I’ll be fine.”

“Well, if you need homework assignments or anything, have your mom call the school secretary and let me know.”

“I really can’t miss school tomorrow,” I assured her. “But thanks anyway.” We said good-bye and hung up, and I resumed eating my supper.

Later, when the pain medication finally took hold, I opened my Bible to the mini-concordance in the back. I searched for the word
echo
, curious to see if it was represented anywhere in the Scriptures. It wasn’t.

Then, silly me, I even thought of calling Ashley to ask if she might borrow her father’s big concordance to look up the word. Instead, I decided to try a synonym. I looked up the word
answer
in my Bible.

Sure enough, oodles of references. Actually thirty or more. I didn’t take time to locate all of them, but I did read Psalm ninety-one, enjoying it for its rhythm and flow—much the way an excellent poem is written in free verse. The part about the angels in verses eleven and twelve always excited me. To think that there were heavenly messengers in charge of protecting us here on earth!

Then I came to the next to the last verse. The one with the word I was looking for:
answer
.

God’s Word prompted me to pray for Chelsea’s mother once again. When I finished, I wondered if it was too late to call Chelsea herself.

I checked the clock in my room. Eight-thirty. She’d still be up. Swiftly, I dialed her number.

“Davis residence.” It was Chelsea’s father.

“Hello, Mr. Davis. This is Merry Hanson. May I please speak to Chelsea?”

“Hold on.”
Clunk
. He set the phone down hard.

I waited for a moment, feeling uneasy, then Chelsea answered.

“Is everything all right?” I inquired.

She sounded hesitant. “I’m not sure if Daddy wants me telling you this, but my mom just called.”

“She did? That’s great.”

“Well, I don’t know. We got the feeling she doesn’t wanna come home quite yet.”

My heart sank. “Oh, Chelsea, I’m so sorry.”

“Me too.” She sounded as if she might cry. “What if this rehabilitation stuff doesn’t work out, Mer? What if she never gets back to her normal self?”

I tried to comfort her. “My dad says it takes longer for some patients. But, please, don’t give up. We’re praying, remember?”

She was silent for a few seconds. Then—“I really think your prayers are the only thing keeping us going.”

I felt a lump in my throat. Dear, dear Chelsea. What she’d gone through! How could I help her now?

“You said something today that was absolutely correct,”

I added, remembering our conversation on the bus. “About my obsession for poetry. Well, I looked up some verses in the Bible on the word
answer
, and guess what? I found a bunch of truly terrific Psalms.”

“Why that word?”

“Remember how we were talking about echoes—from that poem by Longfellow?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I decided to check out some verses using a similar word. And ‘answer’ was it.”

“The book of Psalms does seem a little like poetry,” she remarked.

“You’re right.”

Soon we were talking about her worries and fears over her absentee mother. “Sometimes I get the feeling she doesn’t love me anymore,” Chelsea said.

“You’re her own flesh and blood—the only child she’s ever had. Of course she loves you.”

I heard her sigh. “I wish none of this had ever happened, Merry. I really do!” She paused for a moment. “Will you read one of those verses you found?” she asked unexpectedly.

“Sure.” I reached for my Bible. “Here’s Psalm ninety-one, verse fifteen. It goes like this: ‘He will call upon me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him.’ ”

“Wow,” she whispered. “That ‘he’ in the verse could be anyone, right?”

“Yep.”

She paused, then said, “Knowing that makes me feel a whole lot better.”