Holly's Heart Collection Three

by Beverly Lewis

  “You’d be tired, too, with just five hours of Zs.”

  Andie grinned. “You’re here; that’s all that matters.” I sighed, glancing at the twins heading up the school steps. “Getting stuck riding alone on the bus the first day of school when your best friend is—”

  “Don’t give me grief over that,” Andie interrupted. “It wasn’t my idea.”

  I felt foolish for saying anything. “Just forget it,” I muttered. And we turned toward the steps of the enormous old high school. I, for one, was definitely not looking forward to this day.

  Once inside, we headed for our lockers, assigned during recent registration. Andie’s was close to Paula and Kayla Miller’s— a random assignment from the school office. The threesome chattered about the day and their schedules while Danny and Billy hovered nearby. My locker was practically a mile away, down the hall. I trudged off by myself, feeling lonely. And puffy haired.

  A pit stop in the bathroom confirmed my worries. My hair was not only puffy, it had started to frizz up—and out! Now that it was shorter, there wasn’t enough length to weigh it down.

  I decided to brush it out and pull it back against my head in a tight, single braid. Running the hot water, I held my brush under the faucet. Frantically, I plastered my hair against my temples, as wet and straight as possible.

  Perfect. Now if I could just do this after every class. Sure, it was a hassle, but it beat looking like something out of a circus freak show.

  Homeroom, Room 202, with Mr. Irving seemed strange. A male homeroom teacher? It just didn’t fit. Not for me, anyway. Oh, there’d been male teachers in junior high—Mr. Ross, the infamous science teacher with only one necktie, and the adorable student teacher last spring, Mr. Barnett. But homeroom? Never!

  Maybe that’s why things were so unsettling. But maybe it was something else. Andie was down the hall in Room 210—Miss Shaw’s homeroom. My best friend and I had never been separated in school like this.

  I took a deep breath, trying to push out negative thoughts. Once seated, I got my backpack situated and located a pen and my three-ring binder just as Jared and Amy-Liz entered the classroom holding hands. The sight of them together struck me hard. I mean, ever since I’d first met Jared in November of seventh grade, he’d flirted with me. Even long after we’d decided to be just friends, he never seemed willing to let me go. Until now . . .

  Jared and Amy-Liz sat across from each other, and I saw that he had eyes for only her now. Cute, with naturally wavy, blond hair, my petite friend also had a high, clear soprano voice, not to mention a sparkling personality.

  The thought of my first crush interested in someone else made me feel even worse. I guess when it came right down to understanding why I felt this way, I was basically in the dark. But I knew one thing so far: Life as a freshman stunk!

  “Good morning,” Mr. Irving said. “I have a number of things to pass out to you today. Please bear with me as I do the required paper pushing.”

  Bear with me? Paper pushing? Where’d they find this guy? But the more I studied him, the more I realized he reminded me of someone’s uncle. He was almost parental, I guess you could say.

  There were zillions of things to be announced, and my attention wandered a bit while Mr. Irving listed various deadlines, mostly for the return of the papers he’d just distributed. But something about him—maybe his ongoing humorous remarks— reminded me of Uncle Jack.

  My ears perked up when he mentioned the election of freshman officers for student council. Jared and Amy-Liz seemed to pay attention for the first time, too.

  “One week from now—and you’ll be hearing more about this,” Mr. Irving explained, “we’ll be running student council election campaigns for this year’s freshman class.”

  Jared raised his hand. “Can anyone run?”

  “Absolutely,” Mr. Irving said. “America is still a free country.” Laughter splashed through the classroom.

  I glanced at Jared, who was whispering something to Amy-Liz. Was he going to run? And if so, would Amy-Liz handle his campaign?

  I’d already promised to help Andie and had assured her I wouldn’t run. Maybe I should’ve thought it through. Maybe it wasn’t too late to change my mind and run against Andie and Jared. And beat them both!

  I was feeling totally stressed out by lunchtime. On top of everything—bad hair day included—I had landed tons of homework. High-school teachers sure knew how to pile it on. They weren’t easing us lowly freshmen into high-school life very gradually.

  My hair newly wet down and rebraided, I settled in at a table in the cafeteria. I’d saved three places, hoping Andie, Paula, and Kayla might show up and share the woes of their first morning back at school.

  Suddenly I noticed a pixie-haired girl standing motionless in the doorway of the cafeteria. Her eyes were a blank stare. A beautiful dog—a golden retriever—stood at her side.

  I watched as the dog deftly guided her through the maze of tables and students to the teacher-monitor. Observing the girl, I felt ashamed. My feelings of contempt for these halls of higher learning and the cruel way life had seemingly treated me— forcing me out of my cozy junior-high nest, not to mention the over-perming of my hair—well, all that seemed unimportant as I watched the blind student.

  I began to eat my lunch, contemplating life without the fabulous sense of sight—thinking how it would be having to depend on another person or a guide dog for my mobility. Whew! The thought of such a thing made the imposed move to high school seem trivial. Ditto for hair problems.

  FRESHMAN FRENZY

  Chapter 7

  Curious about the blind girl, I started to get up to go introduce myself. That’s when Andie and Paula showed up.

  “Hey, Holly,” they said together, each of them pulling out a chair across the table from me.

  Andie seemed a bit startled when she looked at me. “What happened to your hair?” she asked. “It looked really good this morning.”

  “It started frizzing out, so I decided this was the best I could do.”

  “Oh, but it’s very stylish,” Paula offered.

  “Wish I had some hair product to weigh it down.” Quickly, I told Paula the perm story, playing it down in light of the blind girl who sat a few tables away.

  “Thank goodness for modern hair repair,” Andie said, laughing. “Holly was up all night applying moisturizers.”

  There was a glint of recognition in Paula’s eyes. “I’ve certainly had my share of such discouraging things.”

  I smiled at her comment. Paula and her twin, Kayla, had a very unique way of expressing themselves.

  Suddenly I noticed there were no lunch trays or brown bags for either of them. “Not eating lunch today?”

  They glanced at each other, smiling. “Oh, we just had burgers with some guys,” Andie said.

  “What guys?” I looked around.

  Andie explained. “Actually, it wasn’t just guys. Amy-Liz and Kayla were along, too.”

  “Oh yes, it was really very surprising how it all came about,” Paula spoke up.

  “How what came about?” I asked.

  Paula continued. “A group of us got charged up about student council elections—”

  “In two weeks,” Andie interrupted.

  “Yes,” Paula said, “and we decided to have sort of a prayer conference about it. So all of us zipped over to the Soda Straw, you know, and prayed about how we could influence our school for God.”

  “Over burgers?” I asked.

  Andie’s dark eyes twinkled. She stopped for a moment and spoke to Paula, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying because I was chewing potato chips.

  Paula burst out an explanation. “Since we couldn’t have group prayer on school grounds, we took our meeting to a public eating place.”

  “Who’s we?” I asked, wondering why I’d been excluded.

  “Jared, Amy-Liz, Kayla, and us . . . you know, the kids most interested in running for student council,” Paula said.

&nbs
p; “Oh.” I’d told Andie a few days ago I wasn’t interested. Not this year—too much homework. And I had to keep up my grades. Obviously she thought I didn’t care about any aspect of it.

  “So,” Andie piped up, “we decided that as many Christians should run as possible. What do you think, Holly?”

  I nodded, feeling completely left out at this point. “Well, I think it’s a great idea. Hey, why don’t we turn the elections into a crusade?” My words gave me away. I sounded way too sarcastic.

  “Holly? What’s wrong?” Paula asked.

  I shrugged. “High school’s just a little overwhelming, I guess. Haven’t you gotten tons of homework already today?”

  Paula shook her head. “It may seem rather unfair, but being a sophomore helps. Honestly, I can’t say that I’ve experienced the same sort of homework load that I hear most ninth graders talking about.”

  “Don’t call us ninth graders,” Andie retorted. “We’re freshmen.’

  Paula smiled, and when her lips parted, I noticed her perfectly straight, white teeth. I don’t know why I always noticed that part of Paula and her twin, but somehow their pearly whites always got my attention.

  “Did you and Kayla wear braces when you were younger?” I asked.

  “We never wore them,” Paula cooed.

  “Let’s face it,” Andie said. “They have teeth to die for. And poor me—I just found out I have to get braces. Can you believe it? At my age? I’ve got to wear them for nearly three years—ugh!”

  I laughed. “Well, your smile should be beautiful in time for senior year.”

  She sighed. “At least I’ll have one year of high school without braces.”

  “Well,” Paula said, glancing at her watch, “I have a class now. See you two later.”

  “Bye.” I expected Andie to stay a few minutes and chat, but to my surprise, she followed Paula right out of the cafeteria with only a fleeting wave back to me.

  I finished off my Jell-O salad and cookie, wondering how things between Andie and me could’ve gone from a super-tight friendship . . . to this. What had happened?

  On my way to the kitchen to return my tray and dump my trash, I noticed the blind girl again. She was sitting at a table with several other kids. Not one of them was talking to her. I wanted to go over and start a conversation, but I bumped into Billy Hill near the kitchen.

  “I’m thinking of running for class treasurer.” He rubbed his hands together. “You know how money and I mix.”

  “When did you decide this?”

  “Today at the Soda Straw.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, like he was too shy to continue.

  “Billy, what is it?”

  “Well, I heard you were helping Andie with her campaign and stuff, but I thought I’d ask.” Billy’s tall, muscular frame hovered over me, his blond bangs flopping across his forehead.

  “Ask what?”

  “For some expert advice about slogans. Paula says you’re good at making up things like that.”

  Paula said that? I was shocked.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

  “Thanks,” he called as I hurried off.

  My next class was French, but I wanted to make a quick trip to the girls’ rest room. I could feel my hair drying out.

  Searching for my schedule, I discovered that Room 202—my homeroom—was the location for French I. And Mr. Irving was the teacher.

  In the space of two minutes, I learned the correct way to pronounce oui, n’est-ce pas, mademoiselle, and au revoir. By the end of the hour I was asking questions in French, like, What time is it? What is your name? How are you? and Do you speak French?—with the right amount of throaty sound to my Rs. It was more fun than I ever dreamed. In fact, there was only one problem with my first encounter with French: Andie hadn’t shared it with me.

  Weeks ago we’d had a major discussion about foreign languages. Andie had tried to convince me that she shouldn’t take French since she was fluent in Spanish. “Why bother?” she’d said.

  “If you want to go to college and study music,” I argued, “you need four years of instruction in some language.”

  “Then it should be German—the language of the great composers,’ she’d decided. But when it came time to register, she had ignored the language classes.

  The truth was, at least the way I saw it, Andie hadn’t really decided to take the college prep track. For as long as I could remember, Andie had talked of getting married and being a mother someday. That was her number-one goal in life. That and teaching a few piano students.

  Andie’s goal was perfect for her. Sometimes hearing her talk about raising a large family and cooking great Mexican meals for them made me wonder if I was doing the right thing by reaching for a career in freelance writing. Andie’s uncomplicated, cozy future-to-be appealed to me. Some days.

  After school, Andie, Paula, and Kayla stopped at my locker. “We need to start planning my campaign,” Andie said. “You know, get a jump on things.”

  “Okay, so plan,” I answered, laughing.

  Andie grinned. “You’ve always been more popular than me, Holly. But I have every confidence that your fab-u-lous handling of my election campaign is going to make me president of the freshman class.”

  Kayla interrupted us, reaching over to touch my hair. “This is definitely permed,” she said.

  “No kidding,” Andie said, launching off on her explanation of how I’d spent all night taming it.

  “Oh dear.” Kayla put her hand over her heart. “You must be fairly exhausted.”

  Andie stepped closer. “Are you tired, Holly-Heart?” she asked, using the nickname my mother gave me long ago.

  “Well—” I yawned—“I guess I’m too tired to plan strategy for your election campaign tonight, if that’s what you mean.”

  “It can wait.” Andie shifted her books.

  I closed my locker door. “Tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” Andie said rather grudgingly. And the threesome headed up the hall to their lockers.

  Paula and Kayla started chattering about making banners and signs as they walked away. I tried not to let it bother me. But that was supposed to be the campaign manager’s job. My job.

  FRESHMAN FRENZY

  Chapter 8

  Thursday after school Andie and I met at her house to make banners and, in general, plan her campaign. “I think we need lots more help,” she said. “Don’t you?”

  I agreed. “I can round up plenty of kids.” I glanced around at the kitchen table. “But what about supplies? I don’t think there’s enough poster board here to make—”

  “Can’t we get started with what we do have?” she interrupted.

  I shrugged. Something was obviously bugging her. “Sure, whatever.”

  We made large, vertical posters and wide, horizontal pennants that tapered to a point. Some with sayings she’d thought up, others with more humorous slogans from my zany brain. One was Vote for Andie, She’ll Come in Handy.

  “That’s too weird, Holly,” she said. “Besides, you’re showing off. This isn’t a creative-writing class, you know.”

  I shook my head. The girl was behaving like a spoiled brat. Refusing to fight, I bit my tongue. “Have it your way,” I replied and reached for the glue.

  And that’s precisely how things were between us for the whole first hour. A negative and not-so-subtle undercurrent was evident.

  After five posters were completed, we tried to discuss her campaign speech. Andie had made up her mind about that, too.

  “You’re going to write it,” she insisted.

  “But it’s your speech.”

  “You’re the writer,” she whined.

  Now I was really upset. “Look, Andie, can’t you do something to solicit votes? After all, it was your idea to run for office.”

  Andie gave a disgusted grunt. “Fine, don’t help me. I’ll get Paula to write my speech.”

  “Hey, that’ll work . . . if you want to sound like someth
ing out of Jane Eyre,” I spouted. “Go ahead.”

  “What?” Amazingly, she didn’t get it, so I pointed out the way the Miller twins talked.

  “Yeah, I see what you mean,” she agreed, twirling a dark curl. “Won’t you please, please write my speech?”

  Andie was desperate. So I budged—an inch. “Okay, I’ll edit it,” I said. “But I won’t write it.”

  She grinned, obviously pleased. However, her change in attitude didn’t last long. Paula and Kayla Miller showed up a few minutes later and, honestly, Andie began to side with them. On everything.

  I was furious. For one thing, she liked their suggestions better than mine. For another thing, I felt a cliquish thing going on between them—creating a swell in the current. The undertow was growing to tidal-wave proportions—and I was getting sucked out to sea.

  To make matters worse for Andie, on Friday the very cool Jeff Kinney tossed his hat into the race. Posters kept showing up everywhere—Don’t Be a Ninny, Vote for Jeff Kinney.

  On top of that, Jeff was making campaign promises. Big ones. Stuff like a pizza bash at his election party. And free pop every Friday for the whole year!

  Such a smooth talker. Jeff had it all over Andie in that department. Not that Andie wasn’t articulate, but Jeff had a real way with words—something akin to a used-car salesman.

  I wondered how Andie could compete. Of course, I knew the answer. There was no way.

  Funny thing. People kept coming up to me, saying I should run. “Why don’t you?” Jared asked without flirting—probably because my hair looked so pathetic.

  When I explained my reasons—the homework, especially algebra, and the grade thing—he seemed to understand. Sort of. Then, right as he was about to leave, he said something obnoxious. “That’s you under all that . . . uh, fuzz, isn’t it, Holly?”

  “Get lost,” I muttered.

  “C’mon, I was only joking.”

  “Yeah, right,” I blubbered. “Go joke with Amy-Liz.” And I turned on my heel.