Holly's Heart Collection Three (48 page)
I was glad it was his turn to ask questions. “Any idea where you might go to school?”
We resumed our walk, the smell of daffodils in the air. Letting my hair blow freely, I told him some of my future aspirations. “Well, I’m really interested in becoming a published book author . . . someday. It’s hard to say what school I should attend for that sort of thing. I know I want to study plenty of English and American literature before I attempt a novel or anything serious. Besides, Mrs. Ross, my English teacher, says a writer needs to live and experience life for a long while before attempting a book.”
Sean listened with rapt attention. In fact, both of us were so caught up in conversation, we almost missed turning south at Fourteenth Street.
“What are the chances of your show choir taking first place?” Sean asked later as we waited for the next available tour in front of the gray building—where America’s paper money was printed.
“Well, if you could’ve heard the other groups sing, you might think we had zero chance.”
“Really? Which ones were best?”
I told him my three top picks—one of them included the all-girls group from New York. “I guess when it comes right down to it, we’ll have to trust the judges’ vote.” I shook my head. “Man, I’d hate to be the one picking.”
He stepped back a bit, studying me. “What if—just what if—your choir is chosen? When would you be going to Austria for the international competition?”
“Why do you want to know?” I wondered what he was really asking.
“This summer?” he persisted.
“Sometime in mid-June, I think.”
By the way he nearly chuckled, I had a funny feeling he was fishing for something.
“C’mon,” I pleaded. “What’s up?”
“Let’s just see if your choir wins or not.” That’s all he would say.
I was beginning to feel comfortable with him. Really comfortable. That’s when I decided to bring up the subject of the book I’d read. And I was careful not to be too forward about it, either. “It’s really incredible—the concepts in the book, I mean.”
“Who’s the author?” he asked. “It sounds familiar.”
I began to tell him more. Afterward I hoped I’d done the right thing. “So, what do you think?” I asked, noting a sign warning tourists about taking photographs. “Is it a radical idea?”
“There’d sure be a lot fewer broken hearts in the world.”
I agreed. And I didn’t tell him, but I knew that the minute I let a boy hold my hand, the relationship had already begun to change. I didn’t want physical attraction to become more important than friendship.
We talked more about it, and soon he was pulling out his wallet and asking me for the name of the author. I waited while he jotted it down, inching along with the crowd.
At last we were inside and listening to an informative but brief spiel on the production of currency. How it was designed, engraved, and printed. Progressing along, we watched as thousands of dollars zipped through the printing presses. There were forklifts hauling crisp, green dollar bills, and other interesting things to see, like tons of postage stamps and passports.
Seeing the passports made me think of Sean’s secretive comment. Why did he want to know about Austria? Was he going there this summer?
Partway into the tour, Sean leaned over, and before I could stop him, he aimed his camera and it flashed.
“Halt right there, young man!” a deep voice bellowed into the crowd. The burly guard whipped out his two-way radio and began reporting the infraction as he headed straight for us.
Tugging on Sean’s shirtsleeve, I said, “Didn’t you see the sign back there?” I was sure he hadn’t. But that didn’t seem to hinder the guard.
“Hand over that camera!” the stern command was given.
I cringed. Was my friend going to jail?
“It’s against the law to take pictures in a federal building.” The guard was obviously wired up.
“I’m very sorry, sir,” Sean spoke up. “I didn’t see any sign, otherwise I would’ve kept my camera in its case.”
I worried that Sean’s expensive camera might be confiscated— his precious pictures erased.
“How could you miss seeing the signs?” the guard demanded, now out of breath and surveying Sean’s camera. “They’re posted everywhere.”
Sean glanced at me and said tenderly, “I was lost in conversation with my girlfriend.”
That helped. The guard hesitantly returned the camera— backing off. But my heart sure didn’t. It was going berserk. And after all our logical, serious talk about the fabulous book.
After all that . . .
Girlfriend!
Shoot, I was so bewildered by the unexpected comment, that at the end of the tour in the visitor’s center, I purchased a bag of shredded money as a souvenir!
What
was
I thinking?
IT’S A GIRL THING
“Do you think we’ll ever catch up with Mrs. Duncan and the choir?” I asked, still rather dazed, yet reluctant to end our private talk.
A boyish grin spread across Sean’s handsome face. “Let’s see the Washington Monument next.” He studied his map and discovered it was only a few blocks north of us. “It’s not far— look for the park and fifty American flags.”
I checked my watch. Two o’clock—still plenty of time.
“Is it true the monument stays open till midnight?” I asked. “A friend of mine once told me he climbed all 898 steps and rode the elevator down at midnight.” I didn’t tell him the friend was Jared Wilkins, who had visited it while on summer vacation with his family.
Sean held my hand briefly as we crossed the street, but I knew it was only out of concern for my safety. Besides, I wasn’t complaining. After all, my own father, now a Christian, had approved of Sean Hamilton right from the start—another one of the important principles taught in the book I’d read.
As it turned out, none of the Dressel Hills choir members was anywhere near the tall marble monument or its reflecting pool to the west. But Sean and I had fun riding the elevator to the top. The view was great, too. Exceptionally clear. We could see for a zillion miles in all four directions.
“Just think,” I joked, “if we had binoculars, we might be able to find Mrs. Duncan and the choir from up here.”
Sean laughed, but I sensed he wasn’t terribly worried about catching up to the others. Not yet. The day was young. And since we were in the vicinity, we paid a solemn visit to the Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial. Sean found his uncle’s name on the black granite wall and asked one of the park employees to make a rubbing of the name.
Baskets of flowers and personal letters, along with many other gifts, had been left behind at the wall. People in uniform, and others not, stood and cried openly. After a few moments of observing this perpetual silent yet emotional drama, I began to have a modest understanding of the pain and loss that comes with war.
Slowly and thoughtfully, Sean and I walked back to the reflecting pool. There, we sat on the grass and watched the ducks, talking softly about the effects of human cruelty.
After we’d rested our feet, we caught the Tourmobile to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and the Eternal Flame at John Kennedy’s gravesite in Arlington National Cemetery. Sean went camera-crazy, insisting on taking shots of me at each of the famous landmarks—even at some general’s gravestone I’d never heard of. Actually, it got to be comical, but I knew it would be a long time before we might see each other again, so I cooperated and put on my best smile for him.
Back at the hotel, I waited—actually sacked out on the bed for an hour—before Andie and the twins ever returned. And what a joyful reunion it was!
“We thought you’d eloped or something,” Andie joked.
I sat up and blinked my sleepy eyes. “Was Mrs. Duncan worried?”
“Not really,” Paula chimed in. “Anyone can take one look at Sean and see he’s a responsible guy.”
Kayla was nodding her approval. “It was nice, probably, that it worked out this way . . . right?”
“If you’re asking if I planned it, well, I didn’t.”
“But if you could do it over, would you get lost again? That’s the real question.” Andie was being silly. But she was right, and I knew it.
Somehow or other, it had seemed almost providential that Sean and I spent the afternoon together.
“Is he coming to the Kennedy Center tonight?” Paula asked as she plopped onto the bed with an exhausted grunt.
“I hope so.” I got up and started brushing my hair. “So . . . what do you think of him?” I asked rather sheepishly.
Andie jumped right on it. “Aha! She’s a goner—I knew it. We should’ve brought that no-dating, just-waiting book along with us on this trip.”
I studied my friends carefully. “It’s okay, I can take a joke.” But I wasn’t going to share the intimate thoughts going through my mind. Not now. I had some tall praying to do before I told anyone what I was thinking about Sean Hamilton.
After supper at a Chinese restaurant, we took the Metrorail once again—for the last time this trip—to the Kennedy Center.
Sean showed up in time to sit with us. All of us wore our patriotic competition outfits—navy blue pants or skirts with white Oxford shirts, and the guys wore red dress ties—in case we were winners.
“You look great,” he whispered.
“Thanks, so do you.” And I meant it. Sean was a fabulous dresser, wearing khaki-colored trousers and a light blue shirt. I was proud to be seen with him. And Mrs. Duncan obviously approved, too, because when I caught her eye, she winked at us.
The announcer started the evening by thanking the many choral groups from around the country. I glanced at Andie and saw that she had her fingers crossed. I hoped she wouldn’t be too disappointed if we didn’t make it. Andie would be talking of nothing else back home, probably for the rest of the school year. On the other hand, if we did win, she’d be packing and planning for all of us between now and June something.
The man in the black tuxedo stood before the microphone, waiting for the echo from the trumpet fanfare to fade completely. “I would like to begin by announcing the second runners-up.”
In other words, third place,
I thought.
Ceremoniously, he pulled an envelope out of his coat. We waited as he glanced at the card inside. “Second runners-up, all the way from Oregon—the Portland High School Choralaires!’
Everyone applauded, and I felt myself getting tense. Did we have a chance?
The group from Oregon headed for the stage. They were happy, from the smiles on their faces. They’d get to go to Austria this summer only if the first-place winners and the first runners-up couldn’t make it. Phooey. I wouldn’t have been smiling!
The emcee continued with his dramatic charade. I’d turned to look at Andie and the Miller twins, and the guy started saying something about the choir from Colorado. I’d almost missed it because of my daydreaming!
I was paying attention now. All ears.
“From the majestic Colorado Rockies—the Dressel Hills Show Choir—our first runners-up!”
Mrs. Duncan motioned for us to stand. Sean was beaming, and I heard him say, “Cool!”
I followed the rest of my friends as we headed down the long, carpeted aisle to stand onstage.
Hard as I tried, it was impossible to see Sean’s smiling face in the audience as I stood there on the wide, expansive stage. The spotlights were so powerful and the place so charged with excitement, I started to hold my breath again.