Holly's Heart Collection Two

by Beverly Lewis

  When the kitchen encounter was over, Stan turned things around and acted like some kind of hero. Probably for Andie’s benefit. Not for mine. I couldn’t care less about his sudden change of attitude except that it meant our baked goods were going to get to our customers as promised.

  My veins pulsed with anger. The idea to raise money for Amy-Liz Thompson had been my idea. Now Stan was waving like a valiant soldier before he headed out the door to make the rest of our deliveries. His schizoid behavior was back, for sure!

  “Who does he think he is?” Andie said as we watched from the living room window.

  I scowled at Stan even though he couldn’t see me. “He’s so-o disgusting.”

  “Worse,” Andie hissed.

  I turned to look at her. “You two still together?”

  “Barely.” She shrugged flippantly. “All he wants to do is play those mindless arcade games and brag about ‘the virtues of virtual reality.’ I really wonder whether it’s worth being tied down to such a shallow guy.”

  “Especially since camp’s almost here.” I giggled, starting to feel much better just thinking about the possibility of the male options at Camp Ouray.

  “Exactly,” Andie agreed.

  Carrie and Stephie showed up just then. “How much money did you make?” Carrie asked, eyeing the leather money pouch Uncle Jack had loaned us for the occasion.

  “Let’s count it,” Andie said with a sparkle in her smile.

  “Hey,” I said to Andie, “sounds like you’re actually excited about this project after all.” After my words slipped out, I realized how insinuating they sounded.

  “Don’t give me that,” she shot back. “Just because I didn’t nearly sacrifice my life and die on the blazing sidewalks of Dressel Hills doesn’t mean I didn’t do my part!”

  “Okay, okay.” I dumped the dollars out on the coffee table. Then I handed the loose change to Carrie and Stephie, who spread the coins out on the living room carpet and took turns counting it.

  Together, the four of us tallied up the proceeds. By the time we subtracted the money for all the ingredients and the boxes we had to buy at the uptown baker, there was enough money to send not only Amy-Liz to church camp, but one more!

  That, of course, is when Carrie got the not-so-bright idea to pass herself off as a teenager. “I could go to youth camp, don’tcha think?” She pulled her hair up and strutted around the room.

  “Don’t think so,” Andie sang. “Besides, you don’t want to go to camp—there’ll be boys there.”

  Carrie sassed back, “Maybe that’s why I wanna go.”

  “Well, you’ll just have to wait,” Andie replied quickly. “Pastor Rob wants kids to be thirteen before they join youth group.”

  Carrie moaned.

  “What’s your hurry?” I asked, remembering Mom’s typical response to me when it came to the subject of dating.

  Carrie sat on the floor, letting her blond hair cascade down her back. “There’s a cute boy in the group.”

  I gasped. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope,” she said with a straight face. “I’m ready to start dating. I nearly choked. “Better not say that around Mom.”

  “And besides,” Andie piped up, “boys aren’t as cool as you think.” She looked at me with her all-knowing grin. “Right, Holly?”

  After a zillion and one hints, Carrie and Stephie finally left the room so Andie and I could talk privately. Not only were we thinking identical thoughts where the guys were concerned, but her finger was doing its twirly thing with her curls, which meant one thing: The male church youth population was in very big trouble!

  The following morning I boarded the city bus, the money pouch safely in hand. Andie and I had agreed to meet Pastor Rob at the church. He would see to it that the money we’d earned got to the church treasurer in plenty of time. Then he would notify Amy-Liz and her folks about the church scholarship, allowing us to remain anonymous. It was perfect.

  Andie joined me several blocks down. The minute she boarded the bus, I could tell by her face that she had bad news.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  She bounced into the seat. “More boy trouble,” she said. Then she proceeded to tell me the latest about Paula Miller’s hassles with her guy friend, Billy Hill. “She says he’s forgetting to show up when they have plans, and other stuff.”

  “How rude!”

  “I know,” she said. “But the worst thing is he’s paying more attention to her twin than to her.”

  “Sounds perfectly awful,” I said.

  “Wanna know my theory?” She frowned. “The guys around here are simply spoiled rotten. Spoiled brats—that’s what.”

  “But Billy Hill…I thought—”

  “Better think again. He’s turning out to be just like the others.” She lowered her voice. “And just for the record, I called it quits with Stan last night…for leaving us in the lurch yesterday. And for making you faint dead away from heat exhaustion.”

  I stared at Andie, shocked. “I wondered why he was hoarding the phone too long last night.”

  She shrugged, acting like she didn’t care. But her words told another story. “Did he say anything?” she said, almost too casually.

  “What do you care?” I teased. “You’re the one who ended it, right?”

  She sighed. “Sometimes it’s just nice to know the other person feels some of the pain, too.” She sat up straight and as tall as she could for being inches under five feet. One thing for sure, though, she looked fired up and determined to follow through with her decision.

  I tried to encourage her. “It’s really much better this way. You need to be available—without a guy friend—when camp starts. You just never know who might show up.”

  “Maybe…” She took a deep breath. The situation between her and Stan wasn’t quite as simple as she’d tried to make it sound.

  “Sounds to me like the whole youth group’s falling apart,” I said, “at least in the boy-girl department.”

  Andie nodded pensively, and I knew by her silence she wasn’t wild about discussing anything pertaining to guys.

  When our church came into view, we got off the bus. I clutched the money pouch as we strolled up the sidewalk toward the administrative wing.

  At the corner, waiting to cross the street, we spotted Kayla Miller. Instead of looking fabulous, as usual, she looked rather pathetic. And even though I’d once used “pathetic” to describe her sister, Paula, this time I meant the word in a completely different way. Something was very wrong with Kayla.

  It didn’t take long for Andie to notice. “Hey,” she said, giving me a quick nod of her head when Kayla wasn’t looking. The gesture meant we should hang around and talk. Cheer her up.

  “Hey, yourself,” Kayla said, forcing a smile. “Are you pleased with the outcome of your pastry sales?”

  The Miller twins always talked like they were fresh out of another century. But Andie and I were used to it; it was no big deal anymore.

  “Fabulous results,” I responded, more interested in finding out why she had wet mascara streaks down her usually perfectly made-up face. “Are you okay?”

  Kayla reached for her shoulder bag and groped for a tissue. “Danny’s completely unreasonable,” she sobbed.

  I might’ve predicted she and Danny Myers would end up like this. “So, which chapter and verse did he quote this time?” I blurted out.

  She actually looked a bit stunned, but after she blew her nose she made no comment, so I didn’t push for details. If she didn’t want to talk about it, fine. It was her choice. Besides, she might get the wrong idea if I pursued the matter.

  Kayla’s face said far more than a batch of angry words. Her attitude toward Danny, and guys in general, permeated the air. She was one more innocent victim of some unthinking guy’s lousy behavior.

  Andie finally spoke up. “So, did you call it quits?”

  “Absolutely,” Kayla said between nose blowing and eye patting.


  “Join the club,” Andie said, not pompously but almost militantly.

  “You too?” Kayla said.

  Andie nodded. “I think it’s time for a major change around here.”

  I registered exactly what she was thinking. “No kidding,” I said, thinking of yesterday’s lineup of miserable males: Stan’s irresponsible attitude, Jared’s glib “little red wagon” comment, and that goofy guy with the can of tepid V8.

  Kayla dabbed her tissue up and down her cheeks. “It sounds to me as though too many of us have suffered the ill effects of having devoted too much time to our male counterparts,” she said.

  We agreed, consoling her by inviting her to accompany us to the church. When she’d composed herself, we walked up the steps to the main doors, camp scholarship money in hand.

  Pushing open the church door, we headed inside like three musketeers. Down the hall, past the senior pastor’s office suite and the secretarial offices, to Pastor Rob’s little home-away-from-home.

  He smiled, looking up from his desk as the three of us came breezing in. “Morning, girls.” He looked relaxed in light gray casual slacks and a striped golf shirt. “Whoa, somebody’s got a sunburn,” he said, looking at me.

  “For a very good cause.” I placed the camp money proudly in front of him on his desk.

  “Thanks for your hard work,” he said. “I know Amy-Liz will appreciate this.”

  I spoke up. “But you can’t tell her where it came from, okay?”

  “I won’t breathe a word.” He grinned.

  The feeling I had as we skipped down the front steps of the church was excitement, pure and simple. Amy-Liz was going to camp. And her friends had made it happen!

  NO GUYS PACT

  Chapter 8

  Thursday, June 23: Yikes! It’s five in the morning! I can’t believe I’m writing this early. It feels more like the middle of the night than the crack of dawn. This’ll be the last time I write for one whole week.

  I wish I could take my journal along to camp, but it’s totally impossible—someone could find it and read it. No sense risking that. Besides, I’ll be too busy.

  I looked at my watch. Time to shower and get dressed for the day.

  Seven days. A painfully long time to go without writing. Some what reverently, I placed my pen and journal back in my bottom dresser drawer. But before I finished packing, I slipped a blank spiral notebook into my overnight bag, just in case….

  The church parking lot was crowded with parents and kids when we arrived. I couldn’t remember seeing so many bags of luggage piled up, except maybe during choir tour last year.

  The Millers’ van took forever to unload. Looked like Paula and Kayla had brought along their entire wardrobe and eight sets of shoeboxes to boot!

  Danny Myers was carrying a mountain of books, and I was sure several of them were Bibles. I wondered if Pastor Rob was going to have Danny lead some of our devotions. He was good at it, all right. If only he could learn to temper his Scripture quoting away from the pulpit.

  Amy-Liz and her girl friends Shauna and Joy stood around talking with one another’s parents. I noticed the funky tie-dyed tights Amy-Liz was wearing under her shorts. Weird, but the fashion statement was definitely hers. But most of all, I was thrilled she was coming to camp.

  I rushed over to her. “Hey, Amy!”

  She smiled. “I can’t believe this. I’m really here!”

  “I’m so glad you’re going. We’ll have a great time in our cabin.”

  After we said good-bye to our bleary-eyed moms and dads, Andie, Paula, Kayla, and I found seats together on the bus. We settled in for the three-hour drive to Camp Ouray, smack in the middle of the rugged San Juan Mountains of southwestern Colorado.

  Unlike the wild and crazy camp bus scenes so often depicted in books and movies, our bus ride was fairly sane. Most of the guys on board had wadded up a pillow and dozed off. I could see Jared and Stan toward the back of the bus sawing logs. Danny and Billy Hill were out of it, too.

  Amy-Liz sat toward the front with Shauna and Joy, singing songs in harmony from The Sound of Music. I watched Amy’s face as she sang one of Maria’s songs, obviously ecstatic about getting to go to camp. Tiny tears of joy came to my eyes, but I brushed them away before anyone noticed.

  On our church bus trips, girls were supposed to sit with girls, and guys with guys. So everywhere the girls sat, you could see two heads stuck close together, either whispering or giggling. A few of the guys, those who were not already asleep, were munching snacks.

  Andie, Kayla, Paula, and I passed the time by discussing everything from how to keep sneakers deodorized with sprinkles of baking soda to how many outfits we’d packed for camp.

  “How many outfits did you bring?” Paula asked me.

  “Five.”

  “That’s all?” Kayla looked dumbfounded.

  I explained my strategy. “I read a book once about packing light and still being able to bring along lots of different looks.”

  “Like how?” Kayla chirped in disbelief.

  “The trick is to layer, you know, like for weather changes and stuff. You never know what might happen in those ominous San Juan Mountains,” I answered.

  Kayla looked worried. This was her first trip to Ouray. “What do you mean, ominous?”

  “For one thing, lightning storms can come up out of nowhere, and sunburn is always a problem at such high altitude,” I said, remembering my own overexposure to intense heat three days ago. “And…it’s even possible to encounter a freak blizzard this time of year.”

  Andie groaned. “Oh, spare me. Let’s not talk about snow storms.

  Paula nodded sympathetically. “You must be thinking about the night we spent at school in that blizzard last March.”

  “Uh-huh,” Andie said, glancing at me.

  I remembered the blizzard. People had called it the storm of the decade. But it wasn’t the lousy weather that stuck in my mind. Jared Wilkins had shown his true colors that night, and we’d ended up having a terrible argument. The worst ever. Trapped inside the school with the wind howling and the snow falling, I’d ended our special friendship.

  Andie must’ve sensed my reminiscing. “So back to the wardrobe thing,” she prompted me. “Tell us more.”

  I shifted gears mentally, letting the image of Jared’s and my fight fade a bit before continuing. “You probably know all this stuff already,” I said. “It’s real easy to cut down on bringing lots of clothes just by learning to mix and match.”

  Paula nodded, smiling at her twin. “Kayla does that sort of thing automatically, don’t you, sis?”

  Kayla brightened, glancing down at her matching tan camp shirt and tennies. “I don’t mean to boast, but it does seem to come quite naturally to me.”

  On that note, Andie inched down in her seat, pulling her legs under her. “I’m gonna snooze for a little bit now if you don’t mind.”

  Snoozing sounded like the perfect solution to getting up much too early, along with being a good way to survive the long ride ahead of us. Except for one thing. I loved the mountains, and for me, experiencing a glorious sunrise while touring the Rockies was a fabulous way to begin a week of church camp. While my friends slept, I savored a pink and purple celebration of sunlight, a kaleidoscope of my favorite colors.

  At that moment, I had a strong desire to record my feelings. I missed my journal already. Staring lazily out the window, I let my thoughts go. Let my body relax, too. The tensions of the week—convincing Andie to help with the baking project, organizing the fund-raiser, and surviving my fainting spell—crowded my memory. I escaped by imagining that I was sitting on my window seat back home.

  I had always loved the way the sunlight filtered into my room above my cozy spot. Sometimes the light sprang in like a spotlight; other times it was like a warm, sleepy “hello.” The comfy padded seat ran the length of the window, which was longer than it was tall. Because Daddy built the house back before I was born, I always figured he’d had some s
ecret insight into my future snugglings there.

  My window seat stood for many things, but the most important were privacy and the feeling of security I had when I sat there, journal in hand, with Goofey, my cat, purring nearby. Just a few of the amenities writing freaks like me had to sacrifice in order to go to camp. It would be 168 long hours before I could register my thoughts about life. And God.

  After stops for refueling and rest rooms, we arrived on the out-skirts of Ouray, a picturesque relic of old mining days. Surrounded by towering rock cliffs, some pinnacles as high as five thousand feet, the place was hopping with tourists.

  Among other things, Ouray offered all-day jeep trips and hot springs, which the Ute Indians had called sacred long ago. It also had high mountain meadows and herds of wildlife, not to mention Box Canyon, with its five-hundred-foot walk to a thundering waterfall.

  Outdoor adventure, here we come!

  The bus wound its way through an alpine meadow via a dirt road dotted with zillions of wild flowers—blazing orange Indian paintbrushes and blue and white Colorado columbines.

  When we came to a clearing, the bus jolted to a stop. Instantly, sleepers awakened, yawning and stretching. I leaped out of my seat and crawled over Andie, drowsy from her nap, picking my way through the maze of passengers.

  I was first off the bus. Outside, I breathed in the clean, pinescented air. Even in June, the mountain air was crisp. Perfect weather, warm and breezy. And skies bluer than blue. Birds sang their welcome—a chorus of them. I felt the warm sun on my back and closed my eyes for a moment, realizing how very tired I was.

  Behind me I heard a twig snap. I turned around to see Pastor Rob stretching his arms and legs. He walked up the slope toward me, gazing in all directions at the rustic campsite, nestled in a secluded pine forest. “Sure beats the city any day,” he said.

  “This is definitely God’s country,” I agreed.

  “Yeah, and now it’s our country, too—for seven days!” He clapped his hands. I turned and headed back down toward the bus, waiting for my friends.