Holly's Heart Collection Two

by Beverly Lewis

  Minutes dragged as I stared at the clock on my dresser and Goofey lazily washed his paws. Then an idea popped into my head. I could use the time to contemplate my life. On paper, of course. The usual way.

  I began to write in one of my many spiral notebooks, marked Secret Lists. This one was a skinny red notebook, perfect for making a single list down the left side. Today, I decided, the list would chronicle the major accomplishments of the last school year. Eighth grade.

  I, Holly Meredith, age 14 years, 4 months, and 3 days old, with the help of God, have accomplished the following:

  1. Passed eighth grade with mostly B’s, a few A’s, and one C+.

  2. Played the part of Maria in The Sound of Music.

  3. Made room in my heart for more than one best friend.

  4. Survived a huge crush on a student teacher…Mr. Barnett.

  5. Learned what true love certainly is not.

  6. Found out that God waits, sometimes till the very last possible minute, to answer prayers.

  7. Discovered that having a stepdad can be fabulous.

  8. Helped pray my father into the family of God.

  9. Made strides in getting along with my three brousins (cousins-turned-stepbrothers)—Stan, 15, Phil, 10, and Mark, 9.

  10. Showed big-sisterly love—most of the time—to Stephie and Carrie. (And may the Lord continue to assist me on this one!)

  I put my pen down and reread my list. Sounded good. I read it again. Something was definitely missing. Oh yes, I’d sponsored an overseas child.

  Number 11. Quickly, I added that to my list.

  Leaning against my heart-shaped pillows, I thought back over the last school year. Sometimes it was easier, more comfortable, remembering the past than looking ahead to the future. Maybe deep down I understood, but I shrugged the thought away. Next year—ninth grade—was going to be so different. Too different.

  I refused to think about it. After all, nearly the whole summer lay ahead. And in just five days…summer camp. A whole week of fun. There would be hiking, swimming, craft classes, horseback riding, camp choir, a talent night…and those cozy campfires with s’mores!

  Our church owned a large mountain property in the San Juan Mountains just outside of Ouray, Colorado, three hours from Dressel Hills, our tiny ski town. Ouray, pronounced you-RAY, was the perfect place for a camp, and I couldn’t wait. Not only was the camp in a fabulous setting, everyone in our church youth group was going.

  Last I’d heard, Jared Wilkins and Danny Myers planned to share a cabin with Billy Hill, my stepbrother Stan, and two other guys.

  Andie, Paula Miller and her twin, Kayla, and I would definitely be together in one cabin. Joy and Shauna, inseparable friends, knew we expected them to join us. Counting Amy-Liz, there would be seven girls crammed into a cabin set up for six girls plus a counselor. It would be tight, but hey, what fun!

  Oblivious to the time, I slid off the window seat and stretched for a few minutes. Then I went to get my devotional book and Bible off the lamp table beside my four-poster bed. I wasn’t exactly sure how long I sat reading, but suddenly I was aware of footsteps in the hallway. Probably Mom going downstairs to start coffee for Uncle Jack. I leaped off my window seat and opened the bedroom door. “Psst! Mom?”

  The top of her blond head appeared as she inched backward up the stairs. “Why are you whispering?” she asked.

  “Didn’t wanna wake up the whole crew,” I said, referring to my five siblings.

  Mom smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. “Everyone’s already up.”

  “They are?”

  She nodded. “We thought you were sleeping in.”

  I laughed, glancing over my shoulder at the notebook lying on the window seat beside my cat. “Guess I just got a little carried away.”

  “Well, come down when you’re ready. We’re having waffles.”

  “Didn’t miss devotions, did I?”

  “Uncle Jack left an hour ago,” she said, wiggling her fingers into a tiny wave and heading down the steps.

  “I’ll be right there.” I gathered up my pen and the Secret Lists notebook, putting it away for safekeeping. I could almost taste Mom’s blueberry waffles as I pulled on a pair of shorts and T-shirt. Now, that’s what I call a good way to start the day.

  After breakfast and after the kitchen was cleaned up with the help of Carrie and Phil—it wasn’t my turn, but I pitched in and helped anyway—I ran upstairs to call Andie in the privacy of my room.

  “Hey,” she answered softly. “It’s too early for intelligent conversation, in case you didn’t know.”

  “Just be glad I didn’t call you when I first got up,” I said, visualizing a disheveled Andie on the other end of the phone. “So you’re not officially up yet, huh?”

  “You could say that.”

  “When should I call you back?”

  “What’s the rush?”

  “Well, you know…remember what we talked about yesterday? About the money thing, for Amy-Liz?”

  “Is that why you called?”

  “I thought since we only have five days to raise the bucks, we oughta get started.”

  I could tell Andie wasn’t in the mood for fast-moving conversation, let alone actually getting out and knocking on doors, taking orders, and stuff like that.

  She sighed into the phone a little too heavily. Was she upset?

  “Sure, that’ll work,” she said finally. And then—“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

  I held my breath. She wasn’t backing out on me, was she? “Uh, yeah. It’s important, you know, for Amy’s sake.”

  Andie yawned into the phone. “I’m on my way. Don’t start anything without me.”

  I beeped off the phone. I figured she’d be over in a half hour or so—plenty of time to brush my hair and braid it. I reached for the wooden box on top of my dresser. My hair accessories were inside.

  Pulling my waist-length hair over my left shoulder, I began brushing. When the long, thick braid was secured with a hair tie, I went downstairs to the kitchen in search of my recipe box.

  Our kitchen was a large, sunny room with the refrigerator and pantry at one end and a built-in corner desk at the other. The pantry was almost a walk-in closet, although I couldn’t exactly stretch my arms straight out and still close the door. To me, a real pantry was one where a person could actually move around comfortably. Or hide from the world.

  As a kid, I had declared this spot the perfect hiding place from my sister, Carrie, now nine. Of course, I was much smaller then. That was long before my parents divorced and Daddy moved to California.

  Standing in the doorway, I scanned the shelves for my recipe box. The recipes had been an assignment for seventh-grade home ec. Probably wouldn’t have one to this day otherwise.

  Cooking was Andie’s thing, not mine. I’d much rather write stories or read mysteries than keep track of recipes and ingredients. Reflecting on that fact, it suddenly hit me that Andie was actually right about my plan. Recommending this baking thing really was out of character for me.

  Now…where was that silly recipe box?

  The doorbell rang just as I spotted the hot-pink file box. I reached for the top shelf. “Could someone please let Andie in?” I called to no one in particular.

  “I’m in,” she said, right behind me.

  I whirled around, almost dropping the box. “Don’t do that!”

  “Do what?”

  “Sneak up like that. You scared me half to death.”

  Andie snatched the file box out of my hand, grinning. “So this is your famous seventh-grade recipe fiasco.”

  “Give me that!” I grabbed for it, but she ran across the kitchen.

  “Why’d you always hide this from me?” Her eyes danced mischievously. “You were so secretive about it.”

  I could’ve easily retrieved the box. My arms were much longer than hers, and I was lots taller. “Go ahead, have a look,” I said, relinquishing it.

  She looked up at me. “
You sure?”

  “Uh-huh.” I nodded, staring out the window and acting disinterested. That’s when I noticed someone coming through the side yard.

  I hurried to the window. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  “Lousy timing!” I muttered, aghast. Amy-Liz was hurrying to the back door. I felt sorry for her—about her father losing his job. And worried, too, that Andie’s and my plan might fail.

  “What’s wrong?” Andie asked.

  I whispered, “Amy-Liz is here.”

  Smack! Andie dropped the file box on the island bar. She zipped over to the window.

  “You don’t think she’s heard anything, do you?” I said. Without waiting for Andie’s response, I turned and snatched my recipe box off the bar, returning it to the pantry.

  Andie’s eyes were transfixed on the window. Silently, I closed the pantry door behind me. The recipe box was safe. At least for now.

  “What’ll we do?” I said, tiptoeing to the window beside Andie. “I mean, she might discover the plan, and then she won’t accept the money if she knows—”

  “Relax, Holly,” Andie interrupted. And with an impish grin, she turned to look at me. “Just go open the screen door. Leave the rest to me.”

  I cast a disapproving glance at my friend as I took baby steps across the kitchen.

  Andie shooed me to the back door. “Go on,” she whispered. Her eyes danced with mischief.

  What did Andie have up her sleeve?

  NO GUYS PACT

  Chapter 4

  Cautiously I headed to the door, which stood ajar to let in the fresh breezes of summer. I unlocked the screen door and let Amy-Liz inside.

  “You’re right on time!” Andie told her.

  She looked completely startled. “For what?”

  Amy-Liz glanced first at me, then at Andie, who marched right over to the pantry, flung the door wide, and…

  Stop! I said with my eyes. Sending messages that way to Andie was a common occurrence. What was she thinking? How could she spoil our fabulous plan?

  Andie ignored my facial warnings and brought out my pathetic recipe box, displaying it on the bar. What scheme was she cooking up now?

  Andie motioned to Amy-Liz. “Here, pick out something, anything, for Holly to make for supper tonight. She wants to surprise her mom.” She glanced over her shoulder and shot me a weird look.

  I didn’t say anything, mainly because Amy-Liz didn’t seem a bit interested in my recipe box.

  “Uh, I’m sorry.” Amy-Liz backed away from the bar. “I really can’t stay. Sorry, Holly”—she turned to look at me, her blond curls dangling—“I wish I could help, but I’ve gotta go. I only stopped by to see if I could borrow some of your sheet music.”

  Andie smiled, obviously relieved. “Well, you came to the right place, because Holly has tons of it.”

  I closed the lid on the recipe box and stood in front of it—hiding it—facing the girls. “Borrow whatever music you’d like,” I told Amy-Liz. “Miss Hess let me keep some of the scores from the school musical, you know, just for the summer. I don’t think she’d care if you borrowed them.”

  “Could I?” Amy-Liz seemed delighted.

  “Wait here; I’ll be right back.” I hurried through the dining room to the stairs, leaving the recipe box behind.

  When I returned with the music folder, I found Andie and Amy-Liz huddled over the kitchen bar, laughing. They stood up quickly as I came in.

  “What’s so funny?” I clutched the bulging folder.

  “Just this,” Andie said, holding up a recipe card. “How do you make meat loaf?”

  I felt humiliation setting in. “Why…what does it say?” Although I didn’t remember much of anything I’d written on those file cards, I did know one thing: Part of the home ec assignment had entailed creating recipes out of thin air. In other words, we were to simply make up whatever we thought would be delicious concoctions.

  Andie waved the recipe in my face. “I can tell you one thing—nobody puts baking soda in meat loaf,” she announced through a stream of giggles.

  Amy-Liz frowned and pursed her lips. “Hey, give her credit for something,” she said. “Maybe Holly likes her meat loaf light and fluffy.”

  I couldn’t hold the laughter in. “Yeah, that’s it. Puffy meat loaf.” Reaching for the file box, I closed the lid. When it was resting safely in my hands, I smiled apologetically. “I think recipe analysis class is over now, girls.” I stared at Andie, who caught my meaning instantly. I knew she did because she watched in total silence as I handed Amy-Liz the folder of music.

  “Thanks, Holly,” Amy said. “This’ll keep me busy.” She thumbed through the folder without mentioning her family’s financial problems or the fact that her voice lessons had been axed. “I’ll take good care of this, I promise.”

  “Have fun.” I walked her to the back door. “And keep it as long as you want.”

  “Thanks again…and oh, sorry about your meat loaf recipe.“

  “No problem.”

  She waved good-bye. The screen door slapped shut.

  “Whew, was that close or what?” Andie muttered when Amy-Liz was gone. “Think she suspected anything?”

  “How could she?” I opened my recipe box and flipped through the index cards until I found my Super-Duper Snickerdoodle recipe under the tab marked Cookies and Pastries. And not once did Andie comment about the ridiculous meat loaf recipe the rest of the day.

  Aside from Carrie and Stephie showing up every five minutes to get something to eat, things went rather smoothly. We started work immediately on our money-making project by creating an order form on the computer, a kind of chart. Andie’s cookie orders were on the left side and mine on the right. When we’d finished creating the form, I returned my recipe box to the pantry.

  I checked to see that Carrie and Stephie were safely out of earshot. Then I called Pastor Rob to tell him our idea. He was delighted but reminded me of the short time remaining. I assured him that we could pull this fund-raiser off.

  That done, Andie and I pranced out the back door, eager to take on our first street. My street, Downhill Court.

  Probably anyone who saw us standing in front of Mrs. Hibbardfs house next door would have thought we were just two girls out visiting the neighbor lady on a lovely summer day. But I felt nervous about this whole money-making thing. What if no one wanted to buy our stuff?

  “Well, well, if it isn’t little Holly Meredith,” Mrs. Hibbard said, peering over her reading glasses. She glanced at Andie. “And who do we have here?” She lifted her head to get just the right angle, finding the bifocal line on her glasses as she reached out to touch Andie’s shoulder.

  “Aren’t you Holly’s girl friend? I believe I do remember the first time the two of you came to visit this old woman. Yes sirree, you were just about this high.” She leaned on the screen door with one hand while she held out her other hand, trying to find the correct height in the air.

  Andie grinned. “We’re taking orders for snickerdoodles and Mexican wedding cookies today, Mrs. Hibbard,” she said in her most pleasant voice. “You like delicious sweet and nutty treats, right? How many dozen would you like?”

  Mrs. Hibbard gasped. “Dozen? Why, my dear, it’s only me all by my lonesome. What could I possibly do with a dozen of any thing?”

  I sighed. Why had we come here first?

  “Well, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Hibbard,” Andie continued, “maybe you’d like to purchase a dozen of each and give them away to the children in the neighborhood. Or freeze them ahead for the holidays.” Before Mrs. Hibbard could interrupt, Andie said, “After all, it is for a worthy cause. You see, Holly and I are helping one of our girl friends go to church camp this summer. Because her father—”

  “Well, why didn’t you say that in the first place, little dear?”

  And with that old Mrs. Hibbard disappeared and went to get her purse.

  “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” I whispered. “We can’t forget this f
abulous approach, okay?”

  Andie wrinkled up her nose at me playfully. “I think it’s time for you to get your feet wet with this door-to-door sales business. You may have the privilege of the next house.”

  “Oh, Andie,” I moaned. “You’re doing so well. Can’t you keep—”

  “Here we are, girlies,” Mrs. Hibbard said, flashing a ten-dollar bill as she came to the screen door. “I don’t care what it costs, just keep the change. It’s for a worthy cause.” She adjusted her glasses and looked at us both. “Now, when can I expect those snickerdoodles?”

  My eyes darted to Andie’s. Whoops! We hadn’t discussed this important angle. “Uh, we’ll have them ready by Monday,” I said. “Is that all right?”

  “Quite all right,” the woman said, nodding.

  Yes, that’ll work, I told myself. Tomorrow’s Saturday—we’ll bake up all our orders then. Sunday isn’t a good day for deliveries because of church. Monday was perfect.

  “So…Monday it is,” Andie said, thanking my neighbor for her donation and the order. “Have a lovely weekend, Mrs. Hibbard.”

  Together we scampered down the steps to the sidewalk like schoolgirls on a picnic. We’d made a sale—our very first!

  The sun beat down hot on my head as we headed to the next house. I wished I’d worn a hat.

  “Okay, it’s all yours,” Andie reminded me as we made our way to the next house.

  “Please don’t make me do this,” I pleaded. “I’ll do everything else. The cleanup, the baking…”

  “Not my polvorones, you won’t,” she said. “That recipe does not leave my house!” Her eyes twinkled mischievously as I reached for the doorbell.

  The neighbor’s oldest son showed up at the door wearing his iPod. I waited for him to remove the plugs from his ears, but he didn’t. He just stood there in a half daze, caught up in whatever he was listening to.

  “Hey, Bryan,” I said, a little too loudly. “Wanna order some—”