Don't Kiss Him Good-Bye

by Sandra Byrd

  “Hullo, there. How can I help you, then?” a stylish young woman asked.

  “My name is Savannah Smith,” I said, holding out my hand in the most professional, grown-up manner I could. “I’m a reporter for the Wexburg Academy Times. I saw your ad in last week’s paper, and I was hoping to do a little write-up on your store for the May Day Ball.”

  “Ah, that.” She looked a bit sad. “Haven’t had much business for the ball, I’m sorry to say. I suspect most girls are keen to take the Tube into London and shop at Miss Selfridge, Topshop, and Harrods. Can’t say as I blame them. I know it’s not as glamorous to shop in town.”

  She draped a tape measure around her neck, a centimetered boa, and set a box of pumps on the glass counter. “I’m Becky, by the way, the store owner. Come on back and I’ll show you the room we use for the ministry.”

  I was right! This was a Christian charity. She used the word ministry.

  “Back here are the clothes we buy with a percentage of the profits; these go to single mums. Normally they have a hard time making ends meet, right? So it’s difficult for them to find enough money to set aside for business clothes and such. But they need them to successfully interview for jobs.”

  I scribbled furiously, trying to get everything down.

  “My idea was to take a bit of the money we make from women and girls who do have money for fun clothes, ball gowns, extra fashionable wardrobes, and such, and supply these struggling women with good work clothes.”

  “How many people have you been able to help?” I asked.

  “So far, ten,” she said. I could hear the pride in her voice. “We could help dozens more if we had the funds.” The front door chimed, and she excused herself to go up front. I looked at the prim but stylish business skirts, slimly elegant and encased in dry cleaner’s plastic. Becky had partnered each one with a little bag of accessories.

  It would be extremely cool if I could help somehow, I mentioned to the Lord in my head.

  “I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home. I was naked, and you gave me clothing.” The response was so clear I turned around to see if some guy had snuck in and actually spoken aloud to me. But I was alone still, in the back room.

  “Well, then,” Becky said as she returned. “Let me show you the rest of the store and talk about the event we’re holding in the beginning of July.” As we wandered through the forest of mannequins and wheels of clothing, she shared her heart about building up as many funds as possible and then having a kickoff near Emmeline Pankhurst Day.

  “I’d like to help however I can,” I offered after jotting down Emmeline Pankhurst?? in my notebook. “I’m hoping that by putting this in the paper, I can drum up some support for this ministry. . . .” My voice trailed off as I came upon the most wonderful ball gown I’d ever seen. “Ohhhh . . .”

  Becky laughed. “I can see why you’d like that one. It’s called Faeries—it’s a new design by a young woman starting out in Kent. The tea green would look just right with your light coloring.”

  I reached out and gently touched the fabric. Becky held the dress up to me, and we walked together to the three-way mirror. It had a close-fitted halter top with thick straps—modest but lovely. The fabric shimmered under a lace overlay of the same color and finally cascaded into a close, conservative waterfall of froth that halted midcalf.

  “With tiny peridot green earrings,” I said to no one in particular. “And an updo.”

  “You’re a fashionista besides a journalist,” Becky said. She laughed and I reluctantly allowed her to hang the dress back up. “You’ve got style, anyway. Bought your dress yet?” she asked hopefully.

  I shook my head and tried to keep my voice peppy. “Not going—well, just going on assignment, that is.” I tapped my journalist’s notebook.

  “Ah,” she said. We locked eyes for a moment and felt the bond of sisterhood between two Christians who had hopes and dreams that seemed to have stalled right over the Bermuda Triangle. Another customer came into her shop, and rather than distract her from people with actual cash to spend, I snapped my notebook shut and headed out.

  “I’ll let you know when the article appears,” I said.

  “Thank you, Miss Smith.”

  “Savvy!” I said, feeling like my own upbeat self again for the first time in a long while.

  “Savvy, then.” She laughed. “I’m sure we’ll get on well.” She turned her attention to the two girls who had come into the store looking for ball dresses. I hoped they hated green.

  Chapter 21

  Night began to fall, and I headed toward Fishcoteque. I texted my mother that I’d be late. She and Louanne had plans for the evening, and my dad was working late, so she didn’t mind that I was going to hang out at the chippie to get some writing done. I had all the Asking for Trouble letters to sort through too, and I needed to choose one for next week’s column.

  I pulled open the door and breathed in the familiar steamy, greasy, fishy smell that signaled my London home away from home.

  “Hullo, luv. The usual, then?” Jeannie leaned over the counter and gave my cheek a friendly tweak.

  “Yes, please.” I withdrew the proper amount from my British flag coin purse and handed it across the counter. She gave me an ice-cold bottle of orange Fanta and a glass of ice.

  “Your young man is here,” she whispered.

  “Who?”

  She pointed to a booth across the room, and I saw who she was pointing to. Rhys.

  “He’s not my young man. He’s just a friend.”

  “Just as you says.” Jeannie nodded.

  I started toward another booth, but Rhys waved me over. I’d really wanted some time by myself, but he grinned and managed to look goofy and friendly and cute all at the same time. I headed in his direction even as Proverbs 31:30 ran through my mind; it’d been a memory verse some years back. “Charm is deceptive, and beauty does not last. . . .”

  On my way, I passed a booth with my science buddies Gwennie and Jill in it. “Want to join us?” they asked. I could see they had fashion magazines spread out in front of them.

  “Maybe later?” I asked, eager to get to Rhys . . . and possibly my own date for the ball.

  “Hey, Savvy, I had no idea you’d be here,” he said. But it didn’t sound true. After all, I’d been coming to Fishcoteque for months and had never seen him here before the past week or so. “I’m so glad you introduced me to this place.” It was like he was somehow able to read my mind and disarm my concerns.

  Jeannie delivered my fish-and-chips and mushy peas a few minutes later. I noticed that Rhys was eating this time. “She said no pay, no play. Truth be told, the fish is rather good!” He wiped his hands on a napkin. “No big date tonight?” I couldn’t tell if he was fishing himself.

  “Need a break from the constant dating whirlwind I’m caught up in,” I joked. “And I’ve got some work to do.”

  Just then one of his friends stopped by and they talked for a second. It gave me a chance to look Rhys over at close range without seeming obvious. He was cute, in a dangerous sort of way that I couldn’t identify but was really drawn to. He said nice things to me . . . sometimes. But I couldn’t put my finger on what bugged me. Every time I got close to figuring it out, it was like trying to pin jelly under my thumb.

  His friend left and Rhys turned back to me. “No church things to do tonight? Saving the world, converting the masses, smuggling Bibles?” He grinned.

  Was he serious? I couldn’t tell. “Not tonight. I’ve already rescued a child from a burning building today. That seemed like enough.” I said nothing more for a minute. “Do you have something against Christians?” I finally asked.

  “Not at all,” he said. “I’ve just never found any worth talking with . . . till now. They seem very stuck in their own opinions. Kind of like Americans. Always thinking they’re right on everything.”

  “Ah,” I said. “Seems like you d
on’t know too many Christians . . . or Americans. Always hard to form an opinion based on a small sample, don’t you think?” In my head, I thought, Of course you don’t think. That’s why you’re on academic probation. I smiled to myself. And then I blinked, shocked. I didn’t mind lighthearted back-and-forth with people, but I had never had many really snarky, mean thoughts like that before.

  He laughed. “That’s what I like about you, Savvy. One thing, anyway. You’re not dumb as dirt like a lot of pretty girls.”

  I gobbled up the compliment and pushed away my chips. “Tell me about Wales,” I said, changing the subject. I’d never visited Wales, but after hearing his description, I hoped to someday. “It seems rugged and ancient,” I told him. “I appreciate how hard they work to use the Welsh language in spite of English pressing in from every direction.”

  “Thanks,” he said a bit more softly. “I’m sure you’d love it.” His phone beeped, and he looked at it and then back at me. “I’ve got to go; Mum’s calling. Maybe next time you can tell me more about your church. Or the U.S. Or both.”

  He slid out of the booth. After he left, my phone beeped. It was a text from Penny.

  Do you want me to ask Chloe about Tommy?

  How did she know? I hadn’t said anything at all to her about Tommy. I texted back innocently.

  Tommy?

  Don’t give me that rubbish, Sav. Do you want me to ask her if they are going out?

  I thought about it for a minute. I’d had enough humiliation, and honestly, I wasn’t about to be a boy chaser.

  No thanks. But I appreciate you asking.

  While I finished my Fanta, I read the back of the papers used to wrap my fish-and-chips. Some of it was junk, but the weekly Fish Facts included just for the benefit of the chippies that still wrapped their wares in real newspaper were interesting. This week’s happy sample? Puffer Fish.

  Chapter 22

  Saturday. Went to the dog show with Louanne. I tried to talk to her about what was wrong, but she just told me she had to concentrate on Giggle.

  Louanne and Growl did exceedingly well.

  Didn’t see anyone I knew. Especially no one with dark brown hair and Johnny Depp eyes and whom I would find extremely attractive if he weren’t already going out with someone.

  Rats.

  Chapter 23

  Monday after school Penny and I hung out in the courtyard so she could say good-bye to Oliver before he left for a football—soccer, to me—match. Then we were going to her house.

  Oliver came out of the gym with his uniform on. He stepped to the side to talk to Penny. His teammates razzed him as they all headed toward the bus. I couldn’t help but tease Penny, too.

  “What? No kiss this time?”

  Penny blushed. “It doesn’t happen often. I’m actually pretty old-fashioned. My parents wouldn’t even let me date until I turned sixteen.”

  “What?” I blurted. “I’m fifteen—I’ll be sixteen in July—and I’ve never been kissed. I’ve never even danced with a guy if you don’t count my dad and my crazy uncle Ed. I’m plenty old-fashioned, too.”

  She grinned. “Okay. So, if you were to dance with someone, who would it be?”

  I thought. “Well, I dunno. I had a crush on Jack—but don’t tell Melissa, ’cause I don’t like him anymore. I normally don’t like blonds, so I don’t know what that was all about. Probably because he was the editor of the paper.”

  “Rhys is blond.”

  “Thank you for helpfully pointing that out.” I swung my bag over my shoulder, and we made our way through the courtyard.

  “Tommy is a brunet. Prefer them?” she teased. “Opposites attract and all that.”

  “Is this payback for the kiss comment?” I asked.

  “Nope. I am your best friend, though, aren’t I? You can’t go on pretending you don’t like him whilst you really do.”

  I didn’t answer, and I guess in a way that was an answer in itself. Instead I pointed at the ancient, arthritic fingers of wood curling around the arbors leading to her home, Hill House. “Have you noticed that the wisterias are starting to bloom, and their blooms actually look like clusters of juicy grapes?”

  Penny said nothing for a minute. “That’s lovely, Savvy. It’s no wonder you want to be a writer. How do you know so much about flowers?”

  “My mother is—was—a great gardener. She loved to garden at our old house. But she hasn’t been able to do much here yet.”

  “My mum is a gardener too,” Penny said.

  Just then we arrived at Hill House and walked up the long drive to the front door, where two Irish setters enthusiastically bounded out to greet us. For Penny’s sake I gritted my teeth and pretended to like the dogs jumping all over me. They were happy, after all. But Louanne was the dog person in our family.

  I followed Penny into her kitchen. “Hello, Mrs. Barrowman.”

  “Well, hullo, Savannah,” she replied. Penny’s mother was wearing a cashmere sweater set, wool pants, and pearls. I noticed a housekeeper bustling about in the background. “You’ll stay for supper tonight, then?”

  “Yes, thank you for the invitation,” I said. I hoped there wouldn’t be lots of strange utensils like oyster forks and fish knives that I had no idea how to use. Didn’t want to embarrass Penny.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” Penny said after kissing her mother on the cheek.

  I followed her up the long, twisty stairway and into her suite—I mean, room. Once there she threw her book bag in the corner and slipped on her fuzzy slippers. “I found a new quiz for us.” She threw a magazine my way. I started making check marks in blue ink—Penny had already answered in red—to see what my conflict style was.

  “So did you find a fancy dress?”

  “A . . . what?”

  “A fancy dress,” I said. “You know, for the ball.”

  She giggled. “Oh, Savvy. Fancy dress means a costume. I really couldn’t show up at the ball in a costume, right?”

  I blushed at my mistake. “Still learning British English,” I mumbled.

  “I know,” she said kindly. “But no, I didn’t find anything to wear.”

  I set down the magazine. “Really? I thought for sure you did but you weren’t telling me about it because you didn’t want to hurt my feelings.”

  “Really, I didn’t find anything,” she said. “The other girls found stuff. Most of the dresses were really cute. Except Chloe’s was a little . . . awkward looking.”

  I crooked my eyebrow at her, and we both laughed. I was sure Chloe’s dress looked great. But Penny was a loyal friend. “I went to Be@titude on Friday, and they had great dresses. Do you want to run down there before dinner and check them out?”

  “You don’t mind?” Penny asked.

  “Not at all. We should get there before the best dresses are gone.”

  Penny leaped up. “Perfect! I had fun with the girls on Friday, but I really missed your advice. You know, a lot of their dresses were kind of uptight, and I’m going for a more, uh, relaxed look now.”

  She ran downstairs to make sure her mom was fine with our going, and then we took off to the village square. “I’ve got to drop something off at the post for my mum,” she said. We walked into the chemist’s shop, which had the post office in the back, and she handed the letter across the counter to the postman.

  He looked at me and grinned. “How’s the writing coming, Miss Smith?”

  I grinned back. “My pen has yet to run out of ink!” I was one of the few people who knew his secret—that he was “Father Christmas” too. I still had the Times of London pen he’d delivered to my house on Christmas Day.

  A few minutes later Penny and I arrived at Be@titude.

  “You’re back!” Becky said. “I’m so glad. The dress is still here.” She headed over to the rounder, pulled out the Faerie dress, and held it up.

  Penny looked at me. “Dress?”

  “Not for me.” I shook my head. “My friend Penny needs one, though.”

  �
��Oh yes, sure,” Becky recovered nicely, sliding Faeries back onto the rack. After talking with Penny for a few minutes to get an idea of what kind of style she liked and what kind of shoes she preferred, she ran through the store and gathered up a few dresses, slung them over her arm like puffy bags of multicolored cotton candy, and headed back to the try-on rooms. “Just let me know if you need help!” she called out as Penny disappeared into the room. I sat on one of the chairs outside the try-ons and waited for Penny to appear.

  Meanwhile, I had an incoming text. It was Rhys, wanting to know what I was doing. I started texting back.

  “Ahem.” I heard Penny clear her throat.

  “Oh, sorry,” I said. “Rhys gets mad if I don’t text him back, like, right away.” I pushed Send and turned off my phone.

  A disconcerted look crossed Penny’s face, but it passed quickly. Then she looked down at her dress. “What not to wear?” she asked.

  It was a pink confection that made Penny look like Glinda the Good Witch from The Wizard of Oz. Definitely a no-go. We both burst into laughter as Penny pretended to have a magic wand. “No fancy dress,” I reminded her.

  The second dress, a deep purple one, was a bit too mature. “Vampire getup,” she said.

  The last dress was perfect. Teal blue and shot through with silver, it had a close-fitted sweetheart bodice and ended midcalf with a little Spanish flounce. “One of a kind,” Becky said. “No one else will be wearing this one!”

  Penny and I looked at each other, and then she turned back to the three-way mirror and spun around before looking at me again. We said it at the same time: “It’s perfect!” Then we jumped up and down and squealed like seven-year-olds.

  Becky agreed to put it on hold till Penny could come back the next day with her mom and pay for it. “The bill can tot up rather quickly,” Becky said.