Holly's Heart Collection Three

by Beverly Lewis

  When her backpack was finally jammed full, the homeroom bell rang. I said my overly enthusiastic good-byes. “See ya second hour,” I called over my shoulder before merging with the student congestion. Second hour was choir.

  Andie nodded and headed in the opposite direction, toward Miss Shaw’s homeroom, Room 210. I still found it hard to accept our homeroom setup; Andie and I were in different rooms. Here it was almost the end of March, nearly halfway through the second semester of my freshman year. By now I should’ve been accustomed to separate homerooms. But Andie and I had never been split up before.

  She had, of course, handled the situation well—actually was very cool about it. I was the one having to adapt.

  Amy-Liz Thompson, a friend from our church youth group, fell into step with me, and we allowed ourselves to be carried along with the throng of Dressel Hills High School students.

  “It’s a good thing I’m not as short as Andie,” she shouted over the roar. Her wavy, honey blond hair floated away from her face. “I’d sink and drown for sure.”

  “No kidding.” That’s when I grabbed her elbow and pulled her out of the current. Exit: Room 202.

  Jared Wilkins showed up, all smiles, just as we made the turn into Mr. Irving’s homeroom. I heard Amy-Liz groan softly, and she promptly followed me, sliding into the desk ahead of mine.

  “Don’t worry about Jared,” I whispered. “I think he’s starting to grow up.”

  “If you say so.” She pulled a notebook out of her backpack. Naturally, she didn’t believe a word of it.

  Just then Stan, my ornery brousin—cousin-turned-stepbrother—poked his head into the room, motioning to me. “Holly,” he called softly.

  “What’s this about?” I muttered, getting out of my seat and going to the doorway.

  Stan was a sophomore, a bit tall for his age, and almost as blond as I was. But he had an ever-growing chip on his shoulder, and I wondered how long it would be before he exhibited it today.

  “Look, Holly, I need you to go straight home after school.” His voice sounded confident and sure, like I was going to fall for whatever he said.

  “Why should I?”

  “Don’t ask, just do it,” he shot back.

  I sighed. Stan was sixteen now and the oldest of our blended family. More than anything, he liked to throw his weight around. Especially with me. And it wasn’t just my imagination, either. Even Andie and some of my other friends had noticed how Stan seemed to enjoy picking on me.

  “I suppose you want me to cover for you,” I retorted. “Mom’s counting on you today, isn’t she?”

  “C’mon, Holly, just this once.” He wasn’t asking or pleading. Nope. He was plain cocky.

  “So something’s come up, right?” I said, his attitude making me upset. “You need me to help out.”

  His eyebrows floated to his forehead, accompanied by a frown. “Why do you have to be so difficult all the time?” I knew right then that he did not want me to view the situation as a problem that only I could solve for him. He glanced around, probably hoping he wasn’t causing a scene.

  I sighed. “All the time, huh? Well, thanks for that enlightening comment.” I was not going to allow Stan to talk to me this way, not here, at the entrance to my homeroom—a place that was supposed to be a sanctuary, a place secure even from haughty stepbrothers. “You came here wanting a favor, and this is how you act? Well, forget it!” I turned on my heel and marched away— back to my seat and Amy-Liz’s curious expression.

  “He’s totally impossible,” I said when I was seated.

  “Brothers can be,” Amy-Liz replied.

  I grinned. My friend was the lucky one. She had no male siblings to drive her crazy. No siblings at all. “What do you know about brothers?”

  “You’re always complaining about yours, that’s what!” Amy-Liz laughed, but I could see she was dead serious.

  “I am?”

  Amy shook her head. “As a matter of fact, you complain about Stan a lot. I actually get the feeling that you can’t stand him.”

  “Can’t stand Stan,” I whispered, trying not to laugh. I thought about it and was ready to say something back—something to defend my position—but Mr. Irving walked into the classroom just then.

  I had to settle down and switch my thoughts to academia. It was time for morning announcements even though I had zillions more comments for Amy-Liz—things to verify the fact that Stan Patterson was so a rotten brousin.

  IT’S A GIRL THING

  Chapter 2

  I never had the chance to give Amy-Liz the earful I intended. My government class notes somehow got misplaced, and by the time I located them in my binder and frantically reviewed them for a quiz, it was time for first hour.

  The government quiz was child’s play, but the homework assignment looked like a nightmare in the making. I jotted down the notes, hoping there wouldn’t be tons of this sort of homework dished out all day. It was only first hour, for pete’s sake!

  After government I hurried to choir, hoping we’d have choir competition results from Mrs. Duncan, our director. She made her cheerful entrance, a flurry of navy and white, and my hopes soared.

  Her stylish canvas shoulder bag was brimful, as usual. She promptly headed to the piano and began discussing several musical scores with Andie, our accompanist.

  It seemed to me that Andie was eager to get to work, because I noticed her fingers wiggling on the piano bench on either side of her. But she listened intently as Mrs. Duncan pointed out various musical phrases. Andie had been doing some radical improvisation at the piano, somewhat hamming it up for the class, while we’d waited for our teacher to show up. Now, though, Andie was focused. And surely as anxious as all of us to know the outcome from district competitions.

  I fidgeted, sitting next to Paula and Kayla Miller, my twin girl friends. “I’m dying to know if we made it,” I whispered to Paula.

  She nodded. “I certainly hope we did. We sounded absolutely wonderful, didn’t you think so?”

  “I guess it’s hard to tell for sure if you’re not out in the audience,’ I said.

  Kayla pulled out her compact and peeked at the tiny mirror. “Mrs. Duncan wants to go to Europe as much as the rest of us,” she said.

  I grinned. Did we really have a chance?

  The quiet click of Kayla’s compact seemed to signal the end of the director’s discussion with Andie. Mrs. Duncan walked purposefully to the music stand, adjusted it for the correct height, and took the podium.

  For a moment she surveyed each of the choral sections: soprano, alto, tenor, and bass. Then, with a broad smile, she told us the competition results. “Are all of you ready to perform . . . again?” Her hands gripped the sides of the music stand.

  “Yes!” we cheered.

  “All right, then, we have some work to do.” She gave Andie a nod and raised her hands, and with a gentle sweep of her right hand, we stood in unison, ready to practice our pieces from memory.

  I was almost too giddy to sing. We were actually going to Denver for state competitions!

  Partway through the first madrigal, I stepped forward—slightly out of my row—and grinned at Jared Wilkins and Danny Myers just to the right of me, in the boys’ section. Jared gave me a not-so-subtle thumbs-up, and Danny, standing next to him, beamed back at me.

  Quickly, I turned my attention to Mrs. Duncan’s directing, even though I was pretty sure I could sing the entire choral repertoire in my sleep.

  As it turned out, I did go straight home after school. Not to help Stan, though. I wanted to send an email to Sean Hamilton, my friend in California.

  I’d met Sean, who was now a high-school junior, two Christmases ago, while visiting my dad and stepmom. During the course of many months of correspondence, he had become quite a close friend. In fact, if I dared to admit it to myself, I really liked Sean. Even more than Jared Wilkins, who had been my very first major crush. Actually, I liked him more than any boy I’d ever known.

  Sean ha
d a sensible way about him that most younger guys seemed to lack. He was a reliable, true friend and a strong Christian who had agreed to pray with me long-distance on several occasions. And he loved kids—maybe because he was already an uncle.

  But there was more between us than just friendship, I was beginning to discover. For instance, when he signed off that he missed me or asked when I was coming again to visit my father—those sorts of words made my heart flip-flop. And two weeks ago, when Sean called and we’d talked for nearly twenty minutes, I found myself floundering a bit, almost at a loss for words, which never, ever happens!

  Mom was okay with his phoning me; she figured we had a good, firm friendship through our letters and email. She’d even had the chance to meet him once herself. Besides, I was fifteen now—fifteen years old as of Valentine’s Day. The reason for my unique nickname, Holly-Heart.

  Anyway, I couldn’t wait to write Sean about our choir winning at districts.

  Hey, Sean!

  I’m so excited. Remember I told you about some of the choral music we were practicing, trying to memorize and polish the songs in time for the district competition? Well, guess what? We’ll be going to Denver this Friday afternoon for state competitions. That’s right—we took first place at districts. Can you believe it? (I hardly can myself!) If we make it at state, Mrs. Duncan thinks we have a good chance at regionals, which will be held in Topeka, Kansas. Ever been there?

  I went on to tell him about some of the baby-related plans my family had been making. Mom was getting more and more eager as the weeks rolled by, and quite uncomfortable, as well. Baby April—we knew it was a girl because of the ultrasound— was due April 25.

  The crib and chest of drawers fit perfectly in my bedroom, which is a large room to begin with. I don’t know when I’ve been so excited about something, unless maybe show choir and the competitions coming up. Of course, that’ll only last a short time. Little April will be my sister forever!

  I’ll write the second I know if we place this time. Okay?

  Sorry this is so short, but I have gobs of government homework—mostly reading and answering essay-type questions. How about you? Is second semester going well? I hope so.

  Write soon.

  Your friend,

  Holly

  PS: How’s your calculus teacher doing now that his chemotherapy is finished? Is his hair growing back yet? Is yours?

  Last September, Sean and a bunch of the guys in his class had joined ranks to offer support for their teacher, who had cancer. They’d actually shaved their heads!

  As far as I was concerned, it was a noble thing to do. But that was the kind of guy Sean Hamilton was. Maybe that’s why I liked him.

  I clicked Send, and my message flew into cyberspace to Sean’s laptop in California. Fabulous!

  By the time Stan got home, I’d almost forgotten how bossy he’d been at school. Besides, this was one of the quieter afternoons in the Meredith-Patterson household. Carrie and Stephie hung out in their shared bedroom, listening to their favorite songs while Phil and Mark did homework on the dining room table. Surprisingly enough, everything was under control.

  Mom, however, would want an explanation from Stan as to why he’d transferred sibling power to me while she was away from the house.

  “You better tell her,” I said later. “If she finds out, you’ll be in big trouble.”

  Stan swaggered around the kitchen, searching the cupboards for snack food. “I’ll handle it,” he muttered.

  I figured Stan would probably forget about it, hoping Mom wouldn’t find out. He was like that sometimes, irresponsible about the truth.

  “I think you had better get used to hanging out here after school,” I told him. “Our baby sister’s gonna need lots of attention.’

  He snorted. “Don’t look at me. I’m not changing diapers— none of that stuff.”

  What a macho guy he thought he was. “Having a baby around might do you some good,” I replied.

  “It’s a girl thing,” he shot back. “And don’t you forget it!”

  “Well, I can see you’ll make a fabulous father someday.” It was a retaliatory remark, and I could tell by his face that he recognized it as such. Fuel for the fire.

  Stan snatched up a large box of pretzels, wearing a determined frown. He marched to the door leading to the family room downstairs. This was not to be the end of round one. Not even close.

  IT’S A GIRL THING

  Chapter 3

  After supper Mom was settling into her comfortable Boston rocker when Stan sauntered into the living room. He glanced at me, his head giving a jerk toward the kitchen—my cue to get lost.

  As I left the room, I heard him telling Mom about an unexpected intramural game that had come up after school. I was curious to know if he’d get in trouble, so I hung around the area between the dining room and the kitchen, listening.

  Uncle Jack came downstairs then, headed to the living room, and sat on the couch near Mom. I could see the three of them from my vantage point and was about to indulge myself in a bit of delicious eavesdropping when Carrie caught me.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered.

  “Nothing.”

  She scowled. “C’mon, I’m old enough to know things.”

  “You’re only ten,” I replied.

  “I’m a preteen!” Her eyes flashed impertinence. “So . . . what’s Stan in trouble for?”

  I wasn’t going to let my mouthy little sister blow her top at me. Turning away, I headed downstairs to the family room, where Stephie and the younger boys were channel surfing in front of the TV.

  Carrie followed. “It’s about you coming home and baby-sitting us instead of Stan, isn’t it?”

  My lips were sealed. How did she always seem to know?

  “Why aren’t you talking to me?” she demanded.

  I turned and looked at my one-and-only birth sibling. “You don’t get it, do you? I just told you it’s none of your business. You’re acting like a spoiled brat.”

  “I’m not a brat—I’m nearly a teenager! Start showing some respect.”

  I shook my head. “You’re hopeless.”

  “She sure is!” Mark hollered.

  “No, she’s not!” loyal Stephie shouted back.

  And before I could stop it, a full-blown shouting match was under way.

  Uncle Jack called down the steps, and when the noise continued, he showed up, looking peeved. “Your mother and I are trying to have a quiet conversation upstairs,” he said calmly. “Do you think it might be possible to watch TV without raising the roof?” He smiled unexpectedly. “Very soon, there’s going to be a baby in this house, and the five of you”—and here he included me—“may need to rethink your interactive skills.”

  “It’s not my fault,” I spoke up.

  “You’re the oldest in the room, Holly.” That’s all he said before turning to leave, as though my age made me in charge.

  Carrie moved her lips at me, mimicking our stepdad’s words, and I charged at her.

  “Help!” she yelled. “Holly’s gonna—”

  I mashed my hand over her mouth. And then I felt it. Her tongue, warm and wet, pushed through her lips into my hand.

  “Eew!” I yelled, jumping away. “Don’t do that!” Which brought Uncle Jack right back downstairs.

  This time he wasn’t as cordial. He was tired. The wrinkle lines around his eyes were more evident than usual. He was working hard these days. His consulting firm had become so busy that he and the Miller twins’ dad were hiring on several more employees for the Dressel Hills-based company, as well as the Denver branch. With a new baby on the way, Uncle Jack was even more stressed, especially because Mom had experienced some problems early in her pregnancy.

  “Must you be yelling tonight?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry,” I said quickly, making no excuses as I wiped Carrie’s tongue print off my palm.

  “And the rest of you?” He looked at Carrie now, and Phil and Mark.

>   “I was quiet,” Stephie piped up.

  He nodded. “Let’s try and keep it to a dull roar, okay?”

  “This is the last time you’ll have to tell us, Daddy,” Stephie volunteered. “We promise.”

  Uncle Jack laughed softly, rumpling her chestnut hair. “It better be.”

  I decided to remove myself from the room. Being the oldest sibling in the lower level of the house was dangerous. Besides, homework was a good excuse to leave.

  Phil and Mark had located a reality show now, and Carrie was inching her way over to investigate it.

  Stephie, however, carried Goofey, our cat, upstairs behind me. She followed me all the way to my room. “Here’s your Goofey boy,” she said, putting him down gently.

  “Thanks.” I hoped she wouldn’t want to hang around and talk.

  But she did. She closed my door behind her and plopped down on my window seat. “I wish you’d come home and babysit us every day after school,” she began.

  “Really?”

  “Uh-huh.” She played with Goofey’s tail.

  “Why?”

  “Because Stan’s way too bossy.”

  I smiled. Nothing new.

  “Well, we’re all going to have to work together from now on—and especially once our new baby sister comes.”

  Stephie rolled her eyes. “It’ll be tough.”

  “I know.” I went over and sat beside her. “You won’t be the baby of the family anymore. Right?”

  “I’m being bumped.”

  “You sure are, but won’t it be fun to have a real live baby-doll around?” I was groping for the right words. What did I know about this? Shoot, I had been four when my little sister came along—not eight, like Stephie. By the time a kid reached her age, she had every right to assume that her spot on the birth-order ladder was fixed.

  “Do you think Mommy will let me hold her baby?” she asked, her round face full of anticipation.

  “I’m sure Mommy will show you how. But you might have to sit down the first couple of times . . . you know, to get the feel of a squirmy bundle.”