Holly's Heart Collection Three

by Beverly Lewis

  She giggled about that, and when she was satisfied that Goofey was snuggled down for the night, she left the room.

  I set to work reading my chapter for government, hoping I’d remember all the facts when it came time to write the long end-of-unit answers. It was a struggle but not as hard as algebra had been last semester.

  Later, I went downstairs for a bowl of strawberry ice cream— my reward for finishing homework in less than two hours.

  Stan, however, was snootier than ever. He dished up his own ice cream and made a big deal about taking it into the dining room, probably hoping to make me think he was abandoning me on purpose.

  I, on the other hand, greeted his abandonment with sheer delight. Fine, I thought as I sat at the kitchen bar alone. Act like the jerk you are.

  And he did. Right up to the moment I said good-night. “Mom wants both of us to come home right away tomorrow after school,” he stated snidely.

  “Whatever.” The word slipped out a bit sarcastically, but I didn’t care. Stan had wormed his way out of parental discipline once again.

  How he managed to pull this one off, I’d never know!

  IT’S A GIRL THING

  Chapter 4

  Friday, when Jared asked me to sit with him on the bus ride to Denver, I agreed.

  Andie, the Miller twins, and Amy-Liz took my decision in stride and sat across from us. Anyone could see that Jared was not the flirt he once was. Actually, the guy was metamorphosing, like most of the other freshmen in our class.

  I found it easy to talk to him, the way it had always been with Sean in California. And we had a lot in common, too. Both of us were still waiting to hear back about the manuscripts we’d sent to a small publisher—Jared’s entrepreneur uncle, who was eager to work with young authors like us.

  “Heard anything yet?” I asked, feeling completely comfortable now about sitting beside Jared Wilkins.

  He ran his hand through a shock of thick brown hair. “Only that they’ve narrowed down the manuscripts to be considered to seven or eight.”

  “Really?” This was amazing. “Betcha don’t know which ones made the cut.”

  “My uncle won’t tell me anything. I guess it wouldn’t be fair, you know, since I’m related . . . and since you’re my friend.” Jared smiled his glorious grin, making his blue eyes dance. “You are my friend, aren’t you?”

  I glanced over at Andie and Paula. They were playing a card game, wrapped up in their own little world. Good! I wasn’t wild about someone listening in right now. Not with Jared starting to talk personal stuff.

  Nodding, I said that I was. “And you know what?”

  He turned toward me, and for a moment I thought the old, flirtatious Jared might return. But I was wrong. After all, I’d opened the door wide for whatever smooth-talking reply he might want to offer.

  I took a deep breath. “It’s a fabulous feeling . . . you and me, uh, the way we are now.”

  He chuckled softly. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.” And that was that.

  We talked about story lines for our own individual projects, and by the time we arrived in Denver, Jared and I were actually discussing the possibility of collaborating on a bigger project. Someday.

  Andie couldn’t believe it when I told her about it in the ladies’ room a while later. “This is so-o cool! You’re actually getting along with Jared without the mushy stuff.”

  “I wondered what you’d think,” I replied, grinning. Andie had this thing about my becoming friends with lots of Dressel Hills boys, since she still wasn’t all that crazy about my long-distance relationship with Sean.

  Paula and Kayla listened without saying a word, and I wondered if they weren’t still a bit leery about Jared. After all, in the past he’d done a fabulous job of fooling every single one of us into thinking he was absolutely crazy over us.

  But things were different now—for me, at least. I didn’t feel vulnerable anymore. Mostly because of Sean. And Jared knew it, which made all the difference in the world.

  I primped and fussed over my hair, which was growing out from its first and only real cutting—back in September, the day before school started. And the perm was perfect now, too— relaxed but not limp. I only wished it might’ve behaved this way right from the beginning. But that was another story.

  “C’mon, Holly-Heart,” Andie said, gathering up my brush and comb and stuffing them into my purse. “This is a choir competition, not a fashion show.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “So forget the hair.” She pulled me away from the mirror.

  I studied her short, bouncy curls. Maybe someday I’d get brave and have my long hair really whacked off. With that thought, I followed Andie and the other girls out the door and down the hall to the practice room.

  Everyone seemed jittery. Not Mrs. Duncan, however. She was confident, poised—ready to go. “Let’s knock the judges’ socks off,” she said, sporting a winning smile.

  That got us revved up a bit, and then when we went through our vocalization warm-ups, I could feel the enthusiasm in the air as we worked to make our unison sound strong and clear, like one voice. The spirit of camaraderie and oneness was powerful. Like an electrical current.

  Was it even remotely possible for us to place at this level?

  We were certainly dressed for the occasion, wearing our Sunday best. For a change, Danny Myers fit right in. He was always dressing up for school and other everyday things, but that was his style. And thinking about metamorphosing, I had a sneaking suspicion that he was changing, too.

  The auditorium where we were scheduled to sing was bright with overhead lighting and a wall of windows on one side. The judges—two women and two men—sat about a third of the way back, their postures severe and precise, an indication of how scrutinizing they would probably be. Only one of them, the woman on the far left, even so much as cracked a smile.

  We filed onto the stage from behind the curtains, taking the risers without a single one of us tripping or falling. When we were all standing with attention-perfect postures, Mrs. Duncan lifted her arms, offering an encouraging smile, then gave us a one-measure cue, and we began. Even as we sang, I sensed that things were going well.

  The judges never took their eyes off us. Not once. And when they did glance down to write and calculate our points, we had already finished singing our first madrigal.

  By the time we’d performed the required competition pieces, I felt emotionally drained. All of us had expended so much energy putting out a great sound that we were more than ready to chow down.

  Back on the bus, Mrs. Duncan announced that we were going to stop off for supper. Everyone cheered.

  Somehow or other, Danny ended up sitting across from me at the restaurant. There had been a time, not so long ago, when he’d had the audacity to admonish me about my eating habits. He’d amazed me by quoting several Proverbs, humiliating me in front of my church friends—all because I’d ordered a giant helping of French fries after having devoured a strawberry sundae with three scoops of ice cream.

  Today, however, he said nothing when I smothered my order of fries with ketchup and salt and prepared to eat the Whoppin’ Burger complete with pickles, tomatoes, and extra cheese.

  What made the difference? I figured it was the maturation process. The tongue-lashing over my cravings for ice cream and fries had come in the autumn of my eighth-grade year. Danny, now a sophomore, was coming of age. At last!

  “So . . . how do you think we did today?” I said between bites.

  Danny leaned back and sighed. “To tell you the truth, I doubt that we’ve ever sounded better.”

  “Really?” Andie chimed in. “That good?”

  “Well, it’s not quite the same as our youth choir at church,” he said. And I knew what he meant. The spiritual unity was missing. Still, lots of us were Christians in the choir, which counted for something. And on top of that, we’d worked hard polishing our repertoire the past few months in preparation for the com
petition.

  Mrs. Duncan came around to chat at each table. Danny asked her opinion on how the choir sounded. Her face lit up. “I can’t ever remember a group sounding so terrific. Honestly, this year’s show choir is really tops.”

  “Do you think we have a shot at the international competitions in Vienna?” I asked.

  “It’s hard to say. I’m very sure the competition will become more intense as we move up the ladder, but if you kids keep singing as well as you did today—the sky’s the limit!”

  We must have really believed her, because when the final tally was announced the following Monday, none of us was too surprised to hear that the Dressel Hills Show Choir had taken first place once again!

  “We’re going to Kansas,” I told Mom after school on Monday.

  “When?” Her arms were wrapped around her protruding stomach as she sat in a sunny spot on her side of the bed.

  “Next Saturday and Sunday.”

  “Well, I hope you won’t be gone when the baby decides to make her appearance.” She looked a tad worried.

  “Do you think there’s a possibility of that?”

  “Holly-Heart, I don’t want to spoil your opportunity to sing with the choir,” she said, encouraging me to come around and sit near her. “But I’ll be needing your help here with the other children when I go to the hospital.”

  “What about Uncle Jack? Can’t he help?”

  She smiled. “Your stepdad wants to be present for the birth of our baby.”

  I wondered about that. Hadn’t he already witnessed a real, live birth? After all, he was the father of four other children.

  But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Uncle Jack would definitely want to witness the miracle of this child’s birth, as well.

  “What about Stan? Can’t he help out here if you go into labor while I’m gone?”

  Her forehead shifted up, creating lines. Lines that probably meant she didn’t think my brousin could handle the task, or worse, she didn’t think he would cooperate enough to pull it off. More than likely, the latter was true.

  “Stan’s not as eager to assist with the younger children, if you know what I mean,” she was saying.

  “Right,” I fired back. “Isn’t it just a little too obvious?”

  “Now, don’t go jumping to conclusions. Stan has his reasons.” She paused, then continued. “Your brother’s making his way through some very advanced high-school classes these days.”

  Sounded to me like she was sticking up for him. “C’mon, Mom, don’t you see? He’ll use any excuse he can.”

  She was silent for a moment, looking tired and radiant at the same time. Her golden blond hair hung in soft waves around her face, creating an almost ethereal impression.

  But I wasn’t dense. I could see she didn’t need her oldest daughter giving her grief about household chores and the possibility of having to baby-sit during her labor.

  My mother was pushing forty and not as energetic as she had been years before, when she carried Carrie and me to full term. Besides, she’d suffered a miscarriage back when I was in grade school, before she and Daddy got divorced. I wanted to go gentle on her. “It’s just that Stan expects me to pick up the pieces for him all the time . . . you know, sort of be his backup.”

  Mom nodded. “I understand how you must feel.”

  “I really don’t enjoy being Plan B,” I said, but in this case, I didn’t relish the idea of being Plan A, either. Especially if it meant jeopardizing my plans for choir.

  “Is there a good chance the baby will come early?” I said softly, afraid the very question might stir her up, get her thinking about it.

  She reached for my hand. “I don’t think we have anything to worry about. Many prayers have been going up for our baby, so we can both relax.”

  I gave Mom a kiss on her cheek. Everything was under control in the baby department. Mom would be just fine.

  What a relief. I was going to Kansas next weekend!

  IT’S A GIRL THING

  Chapter 5

  There were no signs of false labor, premature labor, or any other kind of labor as Mom waved to me from the living room window early the following Saturday morning. But thanks to the new cell phone I’d just received for my birthday, I was sure to hear the moment anything happened.

  Uncle Jack backed the family van out of the driveway, and we headed to the school parking lot, near downtown. The city school district had come up with the revenue for a chartered bus, maybe because Dressel Hills High had never placed in anything cultural. Oh sure, there were always trophies for football and track, but we’d never won one in the arts.

  I had a fabulous feeling about all of this. Our show choir was about to put Dressel Hills, Colorado, on the map!

  We boarded the bus while it was still dark. I waved good-bye to Uncle Jack, who stood tall and proud along with the other parents. I was surprised there was no media coverage of the event. This was definitely a first.

  By three o’clock in the afternoon, Central Time, we had arrived in Topeka, Kansas, warmed up, and were ready to outperform ourselves. The trip had taken less than ten hours, with no stops for lunch or anything else—we’d brought snacks and sack lunches with us, and the bus had rest room facilities.

  Most of us had snoozed off and on, so no one was really too wiped out from the trip. Except maybe the driver. Anyway, we did our best when it came time to hit the practice room. Mrs. Duncan, grinning broadly, gave us a pep talk before it was our turn to sing.

  “We’re this far, aren’t we? Is this great or what?” Her hazel-brown eyes twinkled as she looked out at all of us, perched on the risers. “Anybody here not ready to show the world who’s the best high-school choir around?”

  I smiled at her comment and stood up with the others when she gave the familiar motion. We worked through several interpretative spots from “Alleluia” by American composer Randall Thompson. Man, did I love this piece—I sang my heart out. Paula and Kayla did, too. In fact, as I glanced around, everyone seemed jazzed up about where we were and what we were about to do.

  After the competition we found the nearest fast-food place and pigged out. Once again, Danny Myers ended up sitting at the same table with me. He seemed more mellow than I’d ever remembered him. And as he talked, I noticed the preachy edge was missing from his voice.

  “What’s with Danny?” I asked Andie later that night. We were staying at a Comfort Inn near Interstate 70—four girls to a room. Paula and Kayla were my other two roommates.

  “Danny?” Andie stared at me. “Are you trying to tell us something?’ She glanced at the Miller twins, who, by now, were listening intently.

  “Yeah, Danny. He’s different . . . I think,” I said.

  “Well, you must want to be a preacher’s wife,” Andie said.

  “Which really is fine with me. At least you won’t be going off to California and getting married.”

  “Oh, Andie, please! Who said anything about marriage?” I opened my suitcase and pulled out my pajamas.

  “Danny’s definitely waiting for the right girl to come along,” Kayla spoke up. “He says he’s not going to date; he’s going to wait for God to bring the right mate to him.”

  I thought about that. “Hey, I like that.”

  Paula dug around in her suitcase and pulled out a slim paperback. She waved it in my face. “Here, take a look at this. I think this could be where Danny first heard about his approach to finding a wife.”

  “Really?” I turned the book over and read the back. “This sounds really interesting.”

  Andie came over and peered at the book. “Maybe you’ve just found some food for thought.”

  I looked at her. “Huh?”

  “You know, the next time Danny shows up at your table, you two could discuss this—common ground for conversation.”

  “Now you’re teasing me.” I handed the book back to Paula.

  “No, really. I mean it, Holly. The guy’s really tuned in to what he be
lieves is the best way to discover God’s plan for a life mate—simply wait.” Andie wasn’t joking at all. “It sounds unbelievable, I know, but I guess we’ll just have to read it for ourselves.”

  “Where’d Danny get the book?” I asked.

  “The church library has it,” she said.

  “So . . . how soon will you be finished reading it?” I asked Paula.

  “I’m on the next-to-last chapter.” She pulled on her terry-cloth robe. “If I finish it before we get home, I’ll let you take a look at it.” She showed me where she was in the book. Then, while Kayla, Andie, and I engaged in girl talk, Paula went to read in the corner of the hotel room nearest the table lamp.

  I couldn’t help glancing over at her every few minutes. The book intrigued me. I couldn’t wait to read it, too.

  The next day we were approaching the outskirts of Junction City, Kansas, on our way back to Colorado when Paula handed the book to me. I was so eager to start it that when Jared came and asked me if I wanted to talk, I declined. Politely, of course.

  “Do you mind?” I said apologetically.

  He spied the book in my hands and shrugged. “Well, if that’s what you’re reading, fine.”

  “You’ve read it?”

  He grinned. “It’s really . . . uh, different, but great.” And before he left to go back to his seat, he said, “When you finish it, let’s talk, okay?”

  “Sure.” I hadn’t realized how riveting a nonfiction book could be. I didn’t want to put it down! The concepts made perfect, good sense. And they were based on biblical principles—romance God’s way.

  Andie tried to get my attention several times. When I looked up, she was frowning. “Didn’t you hear the announcement?”

  “What announcement?” I looked around. Choir members were raising their hands for something.

  “They’re doing a head count for the McDonald’s in Salina. Do you want a burger or something else?”

  “What are the choices?” I asked.