James chuckled. “And I’ve certainly pushed her on that one.”
“Dad,” began Allison carefully, “I was thinking about the way this house is . . .”
“Yes?”
“Well, I just love it so much. It feels like Grandmother Mercury’s touch is everywhere. I like that.”
James nodded. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“But I’m worried that might all change when you get married—you know, when Grace comes to live here.”
James nodded thoughtfully. “I see what you mean. How about if I talk to Grace about it and see what she thinks. I want her to feel at home, too, and it’s only fair that she should have her say in things. But it would be nice if we all felt at home.”
“I know. I feel guilty even mentioning it. It’s probably very selfish—”
“Don’t you ever feel guilty for telling me what you think, Allison Mercury. I always want to know how you feel about things. Understood?”
Allison nodded. “Understood.”
“That’s my girl.”
Allison grinned and began to clear the table for Muriel. “I better get to my homework. The pile is starting to look like Mount Everest.”
“Then why don’t you let me finish this,” James offered, taking the plates from her hands. “Like my mother used to say, schoolwork comes first.”
When Allison got to her room, she found an unopened letter from Marsha on her desk. It was only the second one so far, and still a novelty. Like the previous one, it was quick and breezy, but the last few lines threw Allison for a loop.
I’d love to have you come down and visit for Christmas vacation. Stanley needs to stay in New York, but I’m throwing a little wingding and it would be fun to have you with me. Do you think your old man would mind?
Allison read it again. In the past, Marsha had put up with Allison during the holidays only when Grandmother Madison backed out, and then always grudgingly. This was something entirely new. Allison frowned. What would Dad say? This would be their first Christmas together, and in all honesty she’d prefer staying here. But on the other hand, if she rejected Marsha’s gesture of goodwill, would she ever get a second chance?
Allison put the letter back in the envelope and sighed. Homework first. She’d have to deal with Marsha, and Dad, tomorrow.
Throughout the next day, Allison heard mixed reviews on her story about Andrew’s perilous escape from death. The majority of the readers thought it was great, but a few girls, mainly staunch admirers of Shirley Jenson, openly criticized her. Allison tried to ignore them, but it still hurt. Fortunately for Allison, Shirley’s nose seemed to be seriously out of joint for the entire day, so she wasn’t speaking to anyone. Just the same, Allison had begun to dread the idea of working on the school paper with someone like Shirley. Who knew what she might pull next?
After school, Allison noticed Heather and Caroline giggling together as they walked arm in arm toward the orchestra room. Heather had explained that she was receiving clarinet lessons for free in exchange for tutoring Caroline on the flute. Allison felt a small pang of jealousy mixed with gratitude. She felt slightly possessive of Heather’s friendship but at the same time was glad that Caroline was so devoted to her.
Heather continued to amaze everyone at Port View High with her ability to fit in. Many times even Allison forgot that Heather couldn’t see. Occasionally, Allison said stupid things that only a sighted person would understand, like, “Did you see that?” But Heather never took offense. Allison knew that angels weren’t made of real flesh and blood, but she often thought that Heather was the most angelic person she’d ever known, and she frequently wished she were more like her best friend. Especially now, as she got closer to the journalism room, Allison longed for Heather’s gracious ways of smoothing things over.
“How’s our star reporter?” called Andrew as he waited for her.
“All right, I guess.” Allison glanced around to see if Shirley was lurking nearby.
“Howie said he’s going to start with a meeting today and not to be late,” he said as he held the door open. “Sounds like a good idea, if you ask me.”
“Howie’s a pretty smart guy,” said Allison. She noticed a slight crease in Andrew’s forehead as he closed the door.
Soon they were all seated around a large table, with Howie at the head. It reminded Allison of a boardroom scene from a Katharine Hepburn movie. Howie cleared his throat and stood. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and Allison noticed his hands trembled slightly as he held his notes. He cleared his throat again and began to speak.
“It’s great to have you all here today. Last year, the idea for the newspaper grew out of the yearbook, but most of the yearbook staff were too busy to help out. So we had two seniors who made all the decisions and did most of the writing; I took care of the layout, mimeographing, and distribution. But this fall I was invited to become the editor of the Pirate Chest, and fortunately for me, Beverly decided to help out. But we’ve been pretty short staffed. Not long ago, Beverly brought Allison on board, and now we have Shirley and Andrew, as well. And as some of you know, Shirley’s father has generously donated a special new printer so we can use real photography. Now I think it’s about time to get organized and assign roles. That way we can become more efficient—”
“And not have two people covering the same story,” said Shirley in a wounded voice.
“Yes.” Howie looked down at his notes. “We want to avoid duplications. Now, I will continue as editor, but due to Beverly’s responsibilities associated with cheerleading, she’d like to change her assistant editor position into a straight reporter—”
“So you’ll be looking for a new assistant editor?” asked Shirley eagerly.
“Eventually,” said Howie. “I don’t think it’s a decision we need to make today. Continuing with what I was saying, I’d like Allison to be our feature reporter—”
“What’s that?” asked Shirley.
Allison wondered if anyone else was getting irritated by Shirley’s constant interruptions.
Howie continued. “If Allison agrees, it means she’ll still be a reporter but will do longer, more in-depth stories.” Howie looked at Allison. “Is that okay with you?”
She smiled at him. “Sounds great.”
Shirley made a noise that sounded like “humph,” and Howie continued.
“Good. And you may have heard that Andrew has agreed to be our sports reporter. It seems a natural fit. Great to have you on the team, Andrew.”
Andrew thanked him, and Howie looked down at his notes again.
“What about me?” asked Shirley, hardly missing a beat.
“Oh, you’ll be a reporter, too,” said Howie with a stiff smile.
“Well, I have another idea,” said Shirley. She stood up as if to make a speech, straightening her shoulders and adjusting her short, fitted jacket. “I thought it would be nice to have a society column in our paper.”
Howie looked blankly at Shirley, Beverly rolled her eyes, and Andrew groaned. It was obvious that everyone was getting a little fed up, but Shirley seemed oblivious as she continued.
“A society column could be a way of informing students about what’s going on around school, who’s doing what and going where. My mother still has a newspaper sent up here from Los Angeles just so she can read the society column—”
“This is not Los Angeles,” said Howie wearily.
“Yeah,” agreed Andrew. “No one around here wants to read that stuff.”
Shirley frowned, then sank back down into her chair. “It figures,” she muttered. “No one ever likes my ideas.”
Suddenly, and unexpectedly, Allison experienced a tiny twinge of compassion for Shirley. Was it fair to dismiss her idea so quickly? And before she knew what hit her, Allison was speaking out in Shirley Jenson’s defense.
“What’s wrong with a society column?” she asked. “I’m sure students would enjoy hearing about what other students are up to.” Allison glanced at Shi
rley; the shocked girl’s mouth gaped slightly, and her eyes were large with surprise.
Allison continued with a slight warning edge to her voice. “As long as the column was honest and fair, included everyone, and was interesting to read—what could it hurt?”
“You know,” said Beverly. “I think Allison makes a good point. And I bet a lot of the girls would like it.”
“We could call it ‘Jenson’s Jetsam’ ” blurted Allison.
“Huh?” said Shirley. “What’s that?”
“You know, like flotsam and jetsam,” said Allison patiently, but Shirley still looked blank.
“Flotsam and jetsam are those bits and pieces of miscellaneous things that float in with the tide—all sorts of things,” said Howie, suddenly gaining enthusiasm. “Allison, that’s brilliant! Our paper is the Pirate Chest, and to have a column called ‘Flotsam and Jetsam’ is a stroke of genius.”
Allison felt her face beam with his high praise.
“But I thought it was my column,” said Shirley, “and she said ‘Jenson’s Jetsam,’ not ‘Flotsam and Jetsam.’ ”
Howie frowned. “Well, okay. I guess it can be ‘Jenson’s Jetsam.’ Does everyone agree?”
Andrew pointed out that it was a bit of a tongue twister, but finally they all concurred. And although Allison felt like “Flotsam and Jetsam” sounded better, she was not ready to rock Shirley’s boat again.
“Now let’s discuss next week’s paper. Beverly, you’ll cover the pep assembly on Friday. Andrew will get the game. Allison, do you still want to do that story about Caroline’s brother?”
“Caroline’s brother?” repeated Shirley. “Who cares about him?”
Allison took a breath and looked evenly at Shirley. She would remain patient. “Caroline’s brother fought for our country in Europe,” said Allison. “He was a prisoner of war but never returned home. He may be imprisoned in Siberia, or he might even be dead. I thought we could do a story about prisoners of war there with a focus on him.”
Shirley blinked. “Oh.”
“I think it sounds like a terrific idea,” said Andrew.
“The paper will continue coming out on Thursdays,” said Howie. “I will handle layout, but I’m willing to train anyone who’s interested.” He went on to tell them about deadlines and details, finally handing out an information sheet. “Any questions?”
“Not from me, Howie,” said Andrew. “I’m impressed. You seem to have everything under control.”
“Thanks,” said Howie. “But it doesn’t make much difference unless I have a good team behind me. That’s why each one of you is very important.”
“It doesn’t say anything in here about my word count,” said Shirley, holding up the memo.
“No, Shirley, that’s because I didn’t know we were having a society column then. I’d estimate about a hundred words should do.”
“But it says here that the feature editor gets about five hundred words. That means Allison gets five times as much as me.”
“Good math,” quipped Andrew. Shirley scowled.
“We’re looking for quality, not quantity,” said Howie with finality. “Okay, then, we better get to work.”
Allison immediately started outlining her story, jotting down questions she wanted to ask Caroline about her brother. One question had to do with Christmas, and suddenly Allison stopped writing and stared blankly at her paper. What was she going to do about Marsha’s invitation for Christmas?
“Writer’s block?” asked Andrew as he leaned against her desk.
“Not really.” Allison looked up at him. “I was just distracted.”
“What’s up?”
She thought for a moment. Andrew might have some good insight. “It’s about Marsha,” she began in a quiet voice, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. “She wants me to come for Christmas.”
Andrew frowned. “This Christmas?”
Allison nodded. “I think it’s really sweet of her to want me. And I sort of want to go—”
“But this is your first Christmas with your dad . . . and the rest of us.”
“I know. But in all my life, Marsha has never treated me like this—like she really wants me around—and I don’t want to hurt her.” Allison stopped in midsentence. Andrew’s brows lifted and his eyes focused on something just behind her, as if giving her a cue to stop talking. She knew it must be Shirley and turned in her chair to see.
“It doesn’t look like you two are getting much work done,” said Shirley lightly, then flitted away.
Allison rolled her eyes. “Great. A nice little piece of jetsam for her column. ‘Allison tells Marsha Madison she won’t go to Beverly Hills for Christmas.’ ”
Andrew’s eyes lit up. “Does that mean you’ve decided to stay here?”
Allison shrugged. “Of course that’s what I’d like to do. But is it the right thing?”
“I see what you mean. I guess it’s not an easy choice. You should discuss it with your dad. And if you decide not to go to Marsha’s, you could always make up for it at Easter or in the summer.”
“Yeah, I suppose it’s not such a big deal. But sometimes I get tired of being caught in the middle, trying to please everyone.”
“It’s okay to please yourself sometimes.”
Allison smiled up at Andrew. “Thanks. I’ll try to remember that.”
“Say, that was nice of you to speak out on Shirley’s behalf.”
“Thanks.” Allison looked down at her paper uncomfortably. Andrew’s praise meant more to her than almost anything.
“Want me to leave you alone so you can keep working?” asked Andrew.
“No, I think I’ll wait until I get together with Caroline. Maybe this weekend.”
“I don’t really have much to do, since the game’s not until tomorrow.” Andrew glanced at the darkroom, where Howie was working behind a closed door. “I wouldn’t mind learning a little about photography, though.”
“You should talk to Howie—”
“Looks like you two are hard at work,” said Beverly sarcastically. She looked at Andrew. “First day and you’re already slacking on the job.”
“It’s hard to write a story about a ball game that hasn’t been played,” said Andrew.
Beverly laughed. “Good point. Lucky me, I already know what we have planned for the pep assembly, so I have my outline all done.”
“Very efficient,” said Andrew.
“Thank you very much.” Beverly flashed a smile at him, and Allison thought again how pretty Beverly was with her dark brown hair and eyes. She was nearly as tall as Andrew, and she reminded Allison of Katharine Hepburn. Beverly turned her attention to Allison. “I think we have a new rising star in our midst.”
Allison looked up in surprise. “Who?”
“You, silly. Howie thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread. He was just going on again about that flotsam and jetsam idea of yours. He thinks you’re a genius.”
Allison blushed. “He’s just being nice.”
Beverly shook her head. “No, he’s being honest. But just between us, I think he has a bit of a crush on you.”
Allison felt Andrew’s eyes on her, and her cheeks grew warm. She looked down at her notebook, longing for some silly, glib response to take her out of the limelight, but none came. “I better finish this,” she finally mumbled without looking back up.
“Hey, Andrew, let me show you a book I found about sports writing,” offered Beverly. “We’ll let the little genius get back to work.” The two moved away from Allison, but she could still hear their chatter and laughter float toward her from the other side of the room. Why had Beverly mentioned that nonsense about Howie? And of all people, Andrew should know better. Well, they could say what they liked; she would prove that she and Howie were nothing more than friends and business associates.
When Allison got home, she told her dad about Marsha’s invitation for Christmas.
“Do you want to go?” James ran his finger
s through his hair. It looked as though he hadn’t shaved that morning, and he still had on his splotchy painting shirt. She smiled as she remembered the first time she’d met him in the lighthouse. The mad artist!
“I don’t really want to go, Dad. But I feel sort of guilty. You know, Marsha’s never actually wanted me before—I mean, with no ulterior motives.”
“Are you sure there are none now?” He turned toward the fireplace in the den and gave the smoldering logs a poke, sending sparks shooting up the chimney.
Allison thought about that for a moment. Was he suggesting that Marsha hadn’t changed after all and might still be up to her old tricks? “I don’t know for sure, Dad. It felt like she just wanted me to come. Stanley’s going to be in New York, and she’s all alone. . . .”
He turned and looked at her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I guess I’ve been through so much with Marsha that it’s hard not to think the worst. I’m not worried about me; it’s just that I don’t want you to get hurt again.”
“I know, but I don’t want to hurt her, either. Especially after she let me come live with you. It seems only fair that I go visit occasionally.”
James laughed. “Poor child, caught in the middle. I wonder what King Solomon would have suggested.”
“Hopefully not cutting me in two.”
“I’d never agree to that. Well, how about if I give the old girl a call and try to figure this all out.”
“Would you?”
“I would for you, Allison.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Allison thought for a minute. “Please don’t hurt her.”
He chuckled. “Now, wouldn’t that turn the tables. Don’t worry, Allison. I have no intention of hurting her, but I still don’t completely trust her.”
“Okay, Dad. That seems fair enough.”
“It’s almost time for dinner. I better get cleaned up before Muriel comes after me with her scrub brush.”
Allison told her father about the Howie situation at dinner. She was still unaccustomed to boy-girl relationships. “I just don’t know what to do, Dad. Howie’s a very nice person and very smart, but now I’m afraid I’ll feel awkward around him.”
Allison O'Brian on Her Own, Volume 2 Page 22