Holly's Heart Collection Three (6 page)
Funny, as you get older, those kinds of things—although heartfelt at the time—become virtually unnecessary. But in a childish sort of way, I was glad I’d saved our old pact. It was special beyond words. At least, that’s how I’d always viewed it.
I went to look for the box of childhood treasures stowed under my bed. Sure enough, the Loyalty Papers were tucked away for posterity, and I pulled them out for a comforting escape into the past.
Andie? She’d been a true-blue best friend for the most part up until around seventh grade. That’s when I’d freaked out and torn up our Loyalty Papers. But, angry as I was, the bond of friendship had shone through in the end. Thank goodness there had been a copy of the pact hidden under my mattress.
These days, Loyalty Papers were no longer in effect. We’d grown past our need for strict rules for conducting a perfect best friendship. Way past. Maybe so far past that a glimpse into the carefree days of our childhood—together—might help things between us.
I ran downstairs to the kitchen, grabbed the portable phone, and called Andie.
She answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Hey,” I said. “I was just thinking.”
“Yeah?”
“You remember those Loyalty Papers we wrote in third grade?”
She gasped. “Holly! You have to be reverting.”
“I’m what?”
“You know, you’re going backward,” she said. “Is it the high-school thing? The trauma of being pushed out of junior high?”
“The what?”
She tried to explain. “Sometimes people revert to a safer, more secure moment in their past to . . . uh, buffer their present situation. Is that it, Holly? Think about it, please?”
“Look, all I wanted to do was have you come over sometime today, just for old times’ sake.”
She exhaled into the phone. “I’m so busy. In case you forgot, I’m running for the highest office of the Dressel Hills freshman class.”
“Oh.” She knocked the wind out of me.
Neither of us spoke for a moment. Then she said, “Are you coming to
my
house? Paula and Kayla are here helping with more posters and stuff.”
“Why should I? You’re not interested in my suggestions anyhow.’
The silence made my heart pound. I wanted her to coax me, to plead with me to come.
“Fine. Have it your way,” Andie said finally and hung up.
Devastation set in, but it was my own fault. The Miller twins and Andie were having a party-down weekend. Without me.
FRESHMAN FRENZY
After brunch the mail came, and with it, snail mail from Sean. I ran to my room and opened the envelope.
Dear Holly,
Thanks for your letter. It’s always great to hear from you.
I’m going to be honest with you. I don’t think you have anything to worry about as far as high school is concerned. Maybe by now you’ve found that to be true.
Looking back on my freshman year, I remember feeling twinges of anticipation and worry. Mostly about the grading scale, I think. A score of 94 was a B+—that took some getting used to. What’s the grading scale there?
About initiation, I suppose the worst thing that could happen is you forget next year what it was like being a freshman and dish out some of the same stuff yourself.
But I have faith in you, Holly. You have a good heart. And always will.
I stopped reading and remembered the craziness I’d initiated during summer youth camp. Wow, I wondered what Sean would think of that.
Turning the page of his letter, I read on.
Just be on the alert to what might (or could) happen. I’ll bet your friend Andie will help watch out for pranks, too. How’s she doing, by the way?
I stopped reading again and thought about my trip to see Daddy in California this past summer. Andie and I had gone there together. What a crazy time that was, too, but we’d learned some important things about life . . . and about avoiding little white lies, no matter what.
Sean would be surprised to know that Andie was running for class president. The fact still surprised me. I turned back to Sean’s letter.
Let me know how your first week of high school goes. What’s your favorite class so far? Do you have any interesting teachers this year?
My calculus teacher is having chemotherapy. He’s really a terrific guy. We’ve had a couple private talks about the Lord after school. Unfortunately, Mr. Fremont has cancer. His hair is starting to come out, and several students have decided to shave their heads. What do you think? Should I shave mine? Tell me the truth, okay?
I really miss you, Holly. Please write back soon.
Yours, Sean
I refolded the letter and carefully slipped it back inside the envelope. What a great guy! Too bad Sean didn’t live in Dressel Hills or at least somewhere in Colorado. Somewhere closer.
I glanced fondly at the cream-colored envelope and his hand-writing. Clean, strong strokes and easy to read, unlike some guys’ I knew.
Dear Sean,
I thought.
He wants me to decide if he should shave his head.
A thoughtful gesture, a noble plan. And not a bad idea, especially since I wouldn’t have to witness it. A copout, though. What if I did have to see it every day? Would that make a difference?
This talk of head shaving made me think about my own kinky mess. Would my hair grow back curly or straight if I shaved it off? A frightening thought—a bald girl. Yikes!
Quickly, I got up and looked in the dresser mirror. My hair looked worse than ever—sticking out everywhere—even with a couple of days’ worth of scalp oil. Usually I washed my hair every other day. It wasn’t as oily as some girls’ hair. Amy-Liz for one. She had to wash her hair every time she turned around. If I had to wash mine every day, with hair as thick as this, I’d spend half my life drying it.
With that thought, I grabbed my robe and headed for the shower. If I washed my mop several times today, maybe the shampoo would weaken the perm. It was worth a try!
Later that afternoon Andie called. “Can I come over?”
“Sure,” I told her, even though I was still peeved at her. The girl sounded frantic.
I waited out on the front porch, letting the air dry my damp hair. The sky was scattered with high, feathery clouds that Daddy had always said were for the angels. Featherbeds. I smiled, glad that Daddy was a Christian now. And to think that Sean’s older brother had been partly responsible. Prayer really does change things . . . people, too.
Finally Andie arrived. I watched her get off the city bus and run across the street. I stood up and went to meet her. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Everything. Jeff Kinney’s making all those promises, you know.” She marched up on the porch and sat down on the swing. “I heard his dad’s a soda dealer; they’ll stock the pop machines, no problem.” Her words spilled out. “Oh, Holly, it’s hopeless. There’s no way I can compete!”
“So what’s wrong with good, solid representation? You know, listening to students’ pet peeves? You could make a complaint box and promise to read every letter. Then do whatever it takes to change things . . . solve the problems.”
“That’s hokey.” Andie stopped the swing and stared at me. “You sound like I’m a Miss Fix-It. I’m not running a Dr. Laura show here, for your information.”
I nodded. “But there’s nothing wrong with offering—and promising—to do your best to represent the wishes of the freshman class.”
She shrugged, then pushed her toe against the porch floor. “It’s just that I can’t compete with a rich kid. Jeff’s got the kind of backing I could only dream of.”
“I know,” I said softly. “It doesn’t seem fair.”
She talked about how rotten it was for Jeff Kinney to run his campaign like that. Bribery. And not knowing what else to say, I agreed.
We sat in silence for a few minutes. Then I said, “Why do you think Jared’s not running against you?”
“I don’t know. Guess he’s trying to be nice—for a change. He’s running for vice president, and so far no one’s competing against him. And did you hear? Amy-Liz is running for secretary.”
“Really?” This was news.
“Yep, she wants to make sure she sticks close to Jared. Personally, I think they make a good couple.”
Better than you and Jared,
she was probably thinking.
“Well, I hope he’s treating her better than he treated me. It gets old knowing your guy friend’s flirting with every girl in the school.”
Andie faced me. “That’s the amazing thing, you know. Jared’s actually quit flirting. It’s like some miracle.”
I laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far, but he does seem more mature. But then, I thought that about him last year. Maybe we should wait and see if the newness wears off.”
“Speaking of new, how’s Sean Hamilton?” She studied me with her dark, inquisitive eyes.
“I got another letter today,” I said. “He’s answered all my letters so far—email messages, too. And he asked about you.”
Her face broke into a wide grin. “He did?”
“Uh-huh. Hold on. I’ll read it to you.” I hurried inside.
When I came back, Stan was sitting on the front-porch step. He’d brought out some soda for Andie and was guzzling a can of his own. But he wasn’t making eye contact with her, so I knew he was being a jerk.
I folded the letter from Sean and stuffed it inside my jeans. Andie patted the spot beside her on the swing, and a few minutes later Stan left.
“What’s with him?” I asked.
“Try madly in love.” She laughed. “With himself.”
I snickered. Andie’s comment was a fitting diagnosis of Stan’s problem. When I was sure he was gone, I pulled the letter out of my pocket and began reading.
At the end of the letter, when I read that Sean missed me, Andie carried on. “Aw, how sweet,” she said. “It must feel really great having a guy who cares enough to write you letters like that.”
I held the letter against my heart. “Sean’s the best.”
She was grinning. “So when will you see him next?”
“Wish I knew. But for now, since I’m too young to date, this might be the best thing. A long-distance friendship.”
“C’mon, you can read between the lines, Holly. This guy likes you—really likes you!”
“Well, who said anything’s wrong with starting out as good friends? I think I prefer it to the mushy stuff.”
For a moment Andie didn’t respond; then she looked at me sadly. “I guess I thought Stan and I had a chance for a solid friendship like that.”
“Maybe you will someday,” I offered. “But you two went separate ways, right?”
She nodded. “And honestly, things feel good this way— boyfriendless.”
“Having a guy in our lives—especially at our age—is overrated. Besides, two weeks from now you could be freshman class president and too busy.” I meant it to cheer her up.
“If I could just think of something to promise—a really great campaign pledge. Maybe then I’d have a fighting chance.” She leaned back in the swing and stared at the sky.
With all my heart, I wished I could give her that. A fighting chance. My childhood best friend deserved it.
I couldn’t help but grin as we sat there. It felt like old times between us as the afternoon sun shone down on Dressel Hills.
I was getting caught up in the feeling of having her back— that Andie and I hadn’t lost anything, not really—when the most amazing idea hit me. The perfect campaign promise for Andie’s speech.
“I’ve got it!” I jumped out of the porch swing. “I guarantee this’ll get you elected.”
Andie couldn’t sit still. “What?” She got up and started dancing around the porch with me before I could even speak the words.
FRESHMAN FRENZY
When Andie calmed down I told her my plan. “Here’s what you have to promise the freshman class,” I said.
“Out with it,” she hollered.
“You have to promise to do away with initiation this year. You know, get us freshmen off the hook.”
Her eyes grew wide. “That’s incredible! But how do I pull it off? I mean, won’t I have to talk to a bunch of seniors about this? Especially the most popular ones?”
“Probably. They’re the ones who set up the pranks and stuff that goes on,” I said. “Then it filters down through the juniors and sophomores . . . like that.”
She twirled around in the middle of my porch. “This is so cool. You’re a genius.”
“Thank you, thank you.” I bowed repeatedly, hamming it up.
Suddenly Andie scooted up onto the porch railing, balancing herself there. “There’s only one problem. How will I do it? How can I possibly bribe the seniors?”
“Somehow you have to get them to waive initiation this year,” I replied. “It’s not fair in the first place because we’re supposed to be in junior high. You could start out by reminding them of that.”
Andie’s eyes dropped. “I just don’t know how we could talk them out of it. Maybe it isn’t such a good idea, after all.”
“We could suggest that they initiate the sophomores—they’d be getting it now if we hadn’t been moved up,” I said, thinking of Stan.
“Hey, you’re right. Maybe I’ll talk to Marcia Greene. Doesn’t she have a brother who’s a senior?”
“What about Shauna and Joy?” I said. “Don’t they have older sisters—seniors, too?”