EIGHT IS ENOUGH
Chapter 7
Slamming doors and spewing annoying words always got me in hot water. And I mean hot. Uncle Jack didn’t take too kindly to one of us sassing his bride of fourteen months. Mom, who was known to take occasional outbursts in her stride, had come down on me harder than ever.
Shoot, if I didn’t do some fast-talking—as in sincerely apologizing. I would be grounded from now to Valentine’s Day. Of course, I was smart enough to admit that I was wrong; Mom was right. Still, I chafed at their correction—their unified front.
“Your mother says you want to modify the calling rule,” Uncle Jack said as we settled into the downstairs family room for the intimate meeting. The rest of the family had been shooed away—upstairs. Mom and Uncle Jack sat on the sectional, halfway across the room from me. I observed them from the bottom step, where I’d chosen to sit, keeping a safe distance.
I got the ball rolling. “After school, I think I should be allowed to have two hours of freedom. To go to the library or do whatever. That would be perfect,” I said, hoping I sounded polite enough to wage a victory.
Mom spoke up. “It’s the ‘do whatever’ that has me concerned.” She sighed. “How do I know you won’t be hanging out at the mall?”
“What’s so wrong with that?”
“Holly,” Uncle Jack reprimanded me. “Watch your attitude.’
“But all my friends are allowed to do whatever they want after school. For as long as they want.”
“All your friends?” Mom asked.
“Well, you know,” I said. “I was just trying to make a point. Sorry.”
Uncle Jack frowned suddenly. “No, I don’t believe you are sorry, and until you can discuss things respectfully, your mother and I won’t be interested in any sort of compromise.”
Rats, I blew it. I pulled myself up off the step. Being lectured to—no fun. Things around here sure weren’t anything close to the old days, before Uncle Jack had come along.
To be honest, I was sick of the super-private world he and Mom had created for themselves. Honeymooners? Lovebirds? Who cared! Their plans no longer seemed to include me. Maybe I was jealous; could that be it? Anyway, I seethed all the way up to my bedroom.
On Wednesday Paula brought her letter from Marty Leigh to school. I went wild with excitement, and Paula let me make a copy of it during lunch. Reading and rereading the letter was the high point of my entire week.
Unfortunately, the days flew by without another opportunity to talk about the after-school phoning rule with either Mom or Uncle Jack. Maybe it was just as well. Mom’s head was some-where in a blue or pink cloud called baby land, and Uncle Jack was just as preoccupied with his work.
First thing Saturday I met Paula and Kayla at the bookstore on Aspen Street. Bright anticipation shone from their eyes. “Holly!” they called to me. The girls were dressed in their typical weekend attire of blue jeans and warm sweaters. Their trendy ski jackets were new, Christmas presents probably.
“Looks like there’s no line,” I said, glad to see the twins.
“I can’t believe we’re the only Marty Leigh fans in town,” Paula said.
“All the better, my dears,” I chanted. “We want to be sure to get some pre-signed copies, right?” I peeked in the frosty window. “Hey, look! There’s a brand-new floor display loaded with books—it must’ve just arrived.”
“I know. I came by yesterday after school,” Paula said, “and the display was nowhere in sight.”
I shivered with excitement and from the cold. “This is going to be so cool.” Glancing at my watch, I knew we wouldn’t have to wait much longer to actually hold the books in our hands.
“I wish Marty Leigh would make more public appearances,” I said.
“High-profile authors usually only hit the big cities, don’t they?” Paula suggested.
I laughed. “Dressel Hills doesn’t exactly qualify for city status, but she was here the summer before last.”
A familiar face greeted us with an enthusiastic smile as the store manager unlocked the doors. “Good morning, young ladies,” he said. “I have a feeling you might be interested in my latest shipment. Am I correct?”
“Never more so,” Paula said as we scooted inside and dashed to the Young Adult section.
Kayla was first to find a book with the author’s autograph. “Here’s one with Marty’s full name and a special greeting.”
Paula and I crowded around her. “Oh, I hope there’re more,” I said, snatching up several from the display and finding the title page. “Fabulous! At least three books are signed.”
We stood there scrutinizing the cover and then flipped to the back and read the summary. Each of us held the treasured new books in our hands at last.
The book was about a girl named Tricia who’d decided she wanted to get to know her estranged father better and had initiated a joint-custody petition to the courts.
“This isn’t a mystery,” I said. “At least, it doesn’t seem like one.”
“Keep reading,” Kayla said.
“Why doesn’t Ms. Leigh come out with two or three books at a time?” Paula lamented. “Do you have any idea how fast I read these? Honestly, I cannot put them down!”
“Personally, I devour them,” Kayla said. “They’re addictive but in a good sort of way.”
I nodded. “I can only hope to write like her someday, with page-turning suspense and chapter cliff-hangers to die for.”
The twins exchanged secretive glances, grinning at each other. Paula reassured me that if I continued practicing my writing, I might offer Ms. Leigh some great competition someday.
Someday, I thought as I waited at the cash register.
Someday, if there weren’t a screaming half sister or brother to anticipate, who’d eventually grow into toddlerhood with even louder noises and, heaven forbid, into a school-aged snooper like Carrie and Stephie.
Someday might never come. Unless . . .
I reread the summary on the back of the book, my mind spinning nearly out of control. It said right here that Tricia Joellyn Engle, the main character, needed space—a break from her mother and sisters. Why else would she go through all the trouble of pleading to live with her dad part of the year? Did Tricia really want to get to know her dad better? Or did she just need some breathing room?
Joint custody, I thought. Hmm, is this an option for me?
Daydreaming, I thought of the warm beach sand, the pounding waves, the natural, peaceful setting of Daddy’s beach house in Southern California. What better option could an aspiring young author have as a place to live and work?
The store manager’s voice broke into my thoughts. “Will that be cash today?”
I dug into my wallet. “Here you are. And thanks!”
“Thank you,” he replied.
Kayla and Paula suggested we hit The World’s Best Donut Shop before heading home. “But I’m dying to get home and read,” I said, hugging my book.
“You have all weekend for that.” Paula took my arm and nudged me forward down the snowy sidewalk. “Besides, we have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?” I went willingly, of course. Curiosity ruled my life. “Aren’t you going to give me a hint?” We were within sniffing distance of the pastry shop.
“No hints,” Kayla said. “Just put on your best smile.”
“Uh-oh. This isn’t about a guy, is it?”
Paula blocked my view into the shop. “Come along,” she teased. “You won’t regret it.”
“I better not,” I said. Sean Hamilton came to my mind, and I wished he might be sitting in a booth waiting for me.
Now, that would be a fabulous surprise!
EIGHT IS ENOUGH
Chapter 8
But the boy waiting for me wasn’t Sean. It was Jared.
“What’s he doing here?” I whispered as we opened the door to the pastry shop.
Kayla said it first. “Just act happy.”
“Yes, please loo
k as if you’re thrilled to see him,” Paula said softly, then led the way.
We hurried across the room to a table set near a window. Window boxes filled with fake red geraniums framed the sill inside. Why did Paula and Kayla think coming here and finding Jared waiting for us was such a great surprise? I played along, though, and pasted a smile on my face.
“Hey, Jared.” I slid into the booth across from him.
“Holly-Heart, I’m glad you came,” he said as Kayla and Paula divided up and sat on opposite sides of the table, Paula next to Jared.
Why is he here? I wondered.
There was no flirting involved—surprise, surprise. Jared pulled no punches, either; he got right to the subject at hand, although I had no idea that what he had to say would turn out to be so incredibly fascinating.
“Have I ever told you about my uncle in Chicago?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Why?”
He ran a hand through his thick brown hair. “My uncle just bought a small press—a publishing company—and believe it or not, he’s looking for quality writing from young authors. I’m talking kids around our age.”
I sat up instantly. “Really?”
Jared’s eyes lit up. “Andie says you’re working on a short story or something.”
“Word gets around,” I muttered.
“Well, my uncle’s the publisher, like I said, and he’s putting together an anthology—compiling short stories by lots of different teen authors.”
I took a deep breath. Can this be true?
“Holly, are you okay?” he said.
“I’m fine. It’s just so . . . so . . .” I reached for the pastry list at the edge of the table and began to fan myself. “It’s just that I can hardly believe it. Are you sure about all this?”
Jared reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a letter. He handed it to me. “Here, read it yourself.” I could feel his gaze on me as I read silently. “I’m planning to submit a story— well, it’s a little longer than a short story,” he said. “Are you interested, too?”
Kayla and Paula smiled encouragingly, waiting for my reply.
I folded the letter. “Are you kidding? I’ve been living for this moment all my life. To be published in a book, a real book!”
Jared glanced at Paula. “Thanks for bringing Holly here.” His grin made his blue eyes twinkle.
I poked Kayla. “So you guys set this up with Jared? You knew about it?”
“Well, aren’t you glad?” she said.
“This is the best surprise I’ve had in years.” I opened my wallet. “Who wants a doughnut? I’m buying.”
Jared resisted my offer, but I managed to pull it off anyway. Kayla and Paula were nearly clucking with delight. They even opened their bookstore bags and showed Jared the new Marty Leigh book.
“Be careful, don’t get any chocolate on it,” Paula warned.
Jared listened as the three of us chattered about how wonderful we thought Ms. Leigh’s writing was. “Not better than some of the male authors I’ve read,” he scoffed.
“But if you’ve never read a Marty Leigh mystery, how could you possibly know?” I interjected. “She grabs you in the first paragraph. Here, let me give you an example.”
I wiped my sticky fingers, then licked the worst ones in anticipation of holding the brand-new book. “Oh, rats, wait here—I’ll be right back.” Quickly, I headed for the ladies’ room, where I washed the stickiness off my hands.
When I got back, Paula and Kayla were informing Jared in no uncertain terms that Marty Leigh was the contemporary queen of teen novels. “There’s no one better, trust me,” Kayla said. “And I’ve read tons of books.”
“Well, if she’s so great, let’s hear some of this wonderful writing,” Jared said, baiting me as I sat down. “Are your hands clean enough to touch the golden pages?”
I playfully slapped the book at him. “Okay, now you judge for yourself.” I began to read. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jared leaning forward, listening. After three paragraphs, I stopped.
“Whoa, don’t quit now,” he said, playacting. “Keep going! I think . . . I feel it . . . it’s happening . . . oh no, I’m being sucked into the story!”
Paula punched his arm. “Act your age.”
“No kidding,” I said, closing the book and studying Jared. “I suspect what is lacking here is a mature, female mentality. Obviously.”
Jared groaned. “It’s not that I don’t think the author is good— she is, but . . . I just tend to think that men have a better grasp of the English language.”
“Oh, puh-leeze,” I said.
We finished our doughnuts as we continued to talk. “I’ll let you know where to send your manuscript,” Jared said before we left.
“The entire manuscript?” I asked. “Your uncle wants the whole thing?”
“Don’t worry, mine’s not finished yet, either.”
I slung my purse over my shoulder. “So how long do I have?”
“The cutoff date is March something, and then they’ll make the decisions in April. I’ll have to check and let you know.”
“That should be perfect,” I said, thinking that if I hurried I’d have plenty of time to write and rewrite my novella before the Meredith-Patterson offspring arrived.
“April’s the birth month for Holly’s baby brother or sister,” Paula commented as we walked outside together.
“Yeah, Stan told me,” Jared said. “Big surprise, huh?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Whoop-de-do.”
“So you don’t approve?” he probed.
“At my mom’s age it seems very weird.”
The city bus was heading toward us. “Sounds like you’re not too thrilled,” he said.
“You can say that again.”
Paula took my side. “Think how you’d feel having to move out of your room to make space for a nursery.”
“You’ll have to do that?” Jared asked.
“Let’s put it this way: It’s been discussed as an option,” I said. “But I have a few options of my own.”
“Like what?” Kayla asked.
“I have to think things through first,” I replied rather secretively, although I hadn’t intended to encourage curiosity on their part.
“Hey, don’t get some wild idea about moving away to California or somewhere,” Jared said almost desperately. “Your friends need you here.”
His words thoroughly shocked me. Not the friends part, but what he’d said about California. How could he have possibly known what I was thinking?
I stared at him. Jared Wilkins had been my first crush, or whatever it was I’d suffered through back in my seventh-grade days. Anyway, here he was, somehow connecting with me. Almost pleading for me to stay.
The brakes screeched as the lumbering bus came to a crunching stop in the snow. We all scurried down the sidewalk in the frosty air and boarded it.
Jared scooted in beside me, behind the Miller twins. For a split second, the thought that they had set this up—this seating arrangement, this entire bus ride home—crossed my mind. Had they?
“You’re not really thinking of going to live with your dad, are you?” Jared asked softly.
I felt brave suddenly, so I tested the waters. “Why not? He’s my real father.”
“That’s true, but what about the rest of your family?”
“Mom has Uncle Jack, if that’s what you mean.”
Jared was silent, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.
“There isn’t room in the house for me anymore,” I surprised myself by blurting out.
Kayla and Paula turned around, aghast. Paula spoke up. “That can’t be true, Holly. What about that addition your uncle had built onto the back of the house over a year ago?”
“It only added two more bedrooms, and those are filled up with brousins—Stan, Phil, and Mark. Even if it’s a boy, there’s no way Mom will put a newborn that far away from her at night.”
“But maybe
when the kid’s older,” Jared suggested. “Stan wouldn’t mind sharing his room with a little brother. I wouldn’t.”
“You?” I was shocked. “You’re not into little kids, are you?”
“Hey, what’s the big deal? Kids are kids.”
It was a male thing to say. Truth was, guys had no idea what they were talking about when it came to babies—or toddlers, for that matter. Sean was the exception, however.
He knew exactly what it took to make a little kid happy. I’d seen him in action, and I was convinced he’d be a good father someday. No way could Stan or Jared ever begin to match that kind of behavior.
“Hang in there, Holly,” Jared said as the bus turned toward my street. “No need to freak out and do something impulsive you might regret.”
“How do you know I’d regret moving to California?”
Again, the twins turned around wearing stunned expressions. “Relax,” I said to them. “Jared’s the one freaking out.”
“Guess again,” Paula said.
“All right,” I admitted. “But don’t you dare breathe a word of this. Not even to Andie. I have some phone calls to make before I decide anything.”
Jared’s body slumped down in the seat next to me. He was actually hurt at the thought of my leaving.
I stood up, ready to exit the bus, but Jared wouldn’t budge. “Don’t do anything today, Holly. In fact, why don’t you wait a few days before you call your dad?” He’d done it again. He’d said out loud what I was already planning.
“Jared, for pete’s sake, will you move your legs?” I stood there, waiting for him, blocked in my seat.
Reluctantly, he slid out of the seat, standing up to allow me to pass. “I’ll call you later, and don’t say not to.”
“We’ll call you, too,” the twins said together.
I smiled at the unison comment. “Bye!”
“Thanks for the doughnuts,” called Paula.
“Yeah, thanks, Holly soon-to-be-author,” shouted Kayla just before the door closed behind me.
I should’ve felt terrific as I crossed the street and began the brisk walk home. Only one block to go, with thick flakes of snow falling faster and faster. With the new Marty Leigh mystery snug in my purse, the sweet taste of doughnut in my mouth, and the prospect of being published, I attempted to cheer myself.
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