“Yes,” chirped Shirley. “We might even win.”
“Hey, there’s Howie,” said Beverly, waving.
“I just got here,” said Howie. He glanced at the scoreboard. “Is that thing right? Are we actually ahead?”
“You bet!” exclaimed Karen, her blue eyes flashing as she shook a pom-pom in the air. “And the Pirates are going to win tonight!”
“I hope so,” said Andrew. “It’d be great if my first sports story was about a victory.”
Soon, half time was almost over and they returned to their seats behind the bench. It was no surprise when Shirley followed. “It’s okay if I sit in the press seats,” she announced as she flopped down on the other side of Andrew. “After all, I am on the paper. Besides, I might find something I can use in my column.”
Allison’s stomach began to rumble. “Hey, Andrew, what about my hot dog?” she asked.
He bit his lip. “Sorry, Al. I totally forgot. Do you think you can wait until after the game? We could go to Wally’s then.”
Allison nodded. “Sure.” Going to Wally’s all by herself with Andrew? That was definitely worth the wait!
Howie sat next to Allison in the press area, and when Sam returned with a cup of coffee, Allison introduced the two of them.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Sam as he sat next to Howie. “I’d like to have a peek at your paper sometime.”
Howie grinned. “You’re in luck. I just happen to have a copy on me.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a paper.
“Thanks,” said Sam as he scanned the paper.
Allison joined in the shouting as the cheerleaders led a rousing spirit yell. Suddenly, she felt a sharp elbow from Howie. “Sam wants to talk to you,” he said urgently.
She looked past Howie and over to Sam. “Yes?”
Sam leaned over and held up the Pirate Chest, then pointed to her front-page article about Dad and Andrew’s plane going down. “Did you really write this, young lady?” His voice sounded stern—almost accusing.
She nodded with wide eyes. Was something wrong? She noticed Shirley leaning over, listening intently, always a nose for gossip.
“This is something, Allison.” He glanced past her to Andrew. “Is this really true, Andrew?”
“Yes, sir,” said Andrew. “Every single word.”
Sam looked at Allison again. “How old are you, anyway?”
She felt her cheeks growing warm. “Almost fifteen.”
“Jumpin’ jehosaphat, is that all? I thought you were a senior like Andrew, here. I was half ready to offer you a job with the Herald after you graduate next spring.”
Allison laughed nervously. “Really?” She wasn’t sure which was more flattering, the almost job offer or the assumption that she was older.
Sam nodded, then folded the paper and slipped it into the pocket of his sports jacket. Suddenly, it was time for the second half to begin, and their attention returned to the game. Allison could scarcely keep her mind focused after Sam’s unexpected praise. Did he really mean it?
The score went back and forth in the second half. Then in the final seconds, the Pirates lost, but only by a single point.
“It still makes a great sports story,” said Andrew as he flipped his note pad closed and stepped down from the bleachers.
“You bet,” agreed Sam. “No one thought the team would do this well. It’s a good start for a season that didn’t look too promising.”
“Will you be at all the games, Sam?” asked Allison.
“Nope. I’m not really a sportswriter, but I like to fill in when our regular guy can’t make it. I like sports.”
Howie climbed down and looked at Sam again. “You know, I thought your name was familiar. You’re Sam Long, editor of the Port View Herald.”
Sam nodded. “You got me pegged.”
“And what you said about my story—” began Allison. “Was it really true?”
“Sure. I think you’ve got style, kiddo. In fact, I wouldn’t mind running this piece in the Herald next week. I think lots of folks would be interested in a local story like this. I can’t pay you much—”
“Pay me?” gasped Allison. “You can have it for free!”
Sam laughed. “Now, you need to be a better businesswoman than that. But if you ever need a job, just give me a call. I think I can afford you.”
“Yeah,” chimed in Andrew. “She even works for food.”
Allison punched him in the arm. “Yes, and it’s time you paid up.”
“Right-oh. It’s off to Wally’s we go.”
“Wally’s?” echoed Shirley sweetly. “Do you have room for one more?”
Andrew cleared his throat and looked at Allison. “I . . . uh—”
“Oh, please,” begged Shirley. “I’m absolutely starved.” She glanced at Howie. “How about you, Howie? Do you want to come with us to Wally’s?”
Howie looked at Andrew. “Are you offering rides?”
Andrew shrugged, then looked at Allison as if it were up to her. Why was everyone making her decide everything all the time?
“Sure.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as deflated as she felt. “The more the merrier.” So much for going to Wally’s by herself with Andrew. By the time they reached the exit, Beverly and Karen had decided to join them, too.
“This is almost like a staff meeting,” joked Howie as they made their way to the green Buick.
“Except for Karen,” said Beverly. “But we can let her be an honorary member for the evening.”
“Who knows,” said Karen. “I might decide to join the paper, too.”
Before Allison reached the car, Shirley had already opened the passenger’s door in front. She smiled smugly at Allison, but in the same moment Beverly hopped in before Shirley had a chance. Shirley’s face looked as if she’d bit into a lemon as she mutely slipped in next to Beverly, and Allison had no choice but to get in the backseat with Howie and Karen. She wondered if Andrew even noticed or cared. Maybe he did only think of her as a kid sister.
They sat together in a booth at Wally’s. Andrew with Shirley and Beverly on each side; Howie with Allison and Karen on each side. Very cozy.
“Did you hear what Sam Long said about Allison’s story in the paper?” asked Howie after they ordered.
“Yeah, that was something, Allison,” said Andrew with what seemed honest admiration. She smiled at him.
“What was it?” asked Beverly. “Tell us all about it.”
“Just that he liked Allison’s story so well that he practically offered her a job,” said Howie proudly. “And Sam Long just happens to be editor of the Port View Herald.”
Allison made a face. “But then he found out how old I am.”
“Who’d want to work for some old hick-town paper like that?” said Shirley, this aimed in Andrew’s direction.
“I wouldn’t mind,” said Howie. “At least during the summers.”
Shirley just shook her head. “Good grief, you people. One would think you’ve got printer’s ink running through your veins.”
“Better than ice water,” Allison whispered to Howie, and he laughed.
“What’s that?” asked Shirley with narrowed eyes.
“I . . . uh . . . I just said I’d like some ice water,” said Allison.
“Looked more like you were whispering sweet nothings into Howie’s ear,” said Shirley. “Didn’t it, Andrew?” But Andrew was watching Allison with a slightly creased brow. He just shrugged, then turned to Beverly.
“Wasn’t that a great game?” commented Andrew. “I haven’t been much of a basketball fan, but I think I could get used to it.”
“It’s a shame you didn’t go out for basketball,” said Beverly, her dark eyes sparkling. “With you on the team, I bet they would’ve won tonight, Andrew.”
Andrew’s cheeks grew a little ruddier, and a little green monster in Allison wanted to scream. Instead, she turned to Howie and discussed the possibilities of actually working for a paper like the Port View H
erald.
“I don’t know that I’d want to work for a small paper indefinitely,” said Howie thoughtfully. “But I’m considering majoring in journalism in college . . . although I’d rather aim for something like magazines, maybe even National Geographic . . .” Allison tried to appear fully interested in Howie’s plans for the future, but her eyes kept wandering across the table to spy Andrew engaged in a lively conversation with Karen and Beverly.
Finally, it was time to go. They left the booth in pairs: Howie and Allison, Shirley and Karen, Andrew and Beverly trailing behind.
“Don’t Howie and Allison make a cute couple?” said Shirley in a voice loud enough for everyone in the soda shop to hear.
Allison couldn’t think of any response that wouldn’t hurt Howie’s feelings. “I wish Shirley Jenson would grow up,” she whispered when they reached the door.
“Some people never grow up,” said Howie as he held the door open for her.
Andrew became very quiet after they dropped the others off. It was foggy, and he drove carefully along the curving road toward Tamaqua Point. Allison was still angry at Shirley and somewhat irked with Andrew, too, and consequently could think of nothing to say. Finally, Andrew pulled the car into her garage, but she jumped out before he could even come around and open the door for her.
He handed her the keys. “Tell your dad thanks for the car.”
“Sure. Thanks for the ride.” She started to leave, but he was still talking.
“I confessed to Beverly that I don’t know much about basketball, so she and Karen explained some things to me tonight, and I think I’ll be okay. Beverly even offered to coach me through my sports story if I need it.”
Allison swallowed a hard lump in her throat. “That was nice of her.” It was obvious he wouldn’t need her help anymore.
“Yeah. Good night, Allison.”
“Good night.” Allison turned and ran into the house. Why did it hurt so much to care about Andrew? She wanted to tell Dad, but what would he think?
Her father was waiting up for her, but once inside, she shoved the worries of Andrew away. Instead, she told him all about Sam Long and the Port View Herald.
“Congratulations, Allison.” He patted her on the back. “A news story in the big paper. My little girl is growing up quickly.”
Not quickly enough, she thought as she headed up the stairs for bed.
The next evening, Allison sat down on her bed, flipped her open note pad, and licked her pencil tip. “Okay, Caroline,” she said in a businesslike voice, “how long has it been since you last saw your brother?”
Caroline scratched her head. “Let’s see, Kevin joined the army right after he graduated from high school in 1944. I was ten years old then. He went to boot camp in California, then came home for a quick visit before he was shipped off to Europe. August of ‘44 was the last time I actually saw him. I was just a kid then, and I remember how he suddenly seemed so grown-up in his uniform. But he was really excited about getting to serve our country—he had actually been worried that the war might be finished before he got a chance to go. Can you imagine? My mom kept saying it was all going to end as soon as Kevin got there and that he’d be back in no time.”
“And then the war ends, and he still doesn’t come back. . . .” Allison shook her head sadly. “Now, tell me about this news that your father recently heard, Caroline.”
“Dad has been writing letters for several years now,” began Caroline. “When the war ended, we heard that Kevin was in a German prison camp that had been liberated by the Russian army. We were so glad; we thought he’d be home soon. But when he didn’t come home, Dad began inquiring. Through various sources, Dad learned that thousands of U.S. soldiers were being held in Siberia—sort of like hostages until all the Russian soldiers were released. It’s sort of confusing—”
“Let me get this straight, Caroline,” said Allison incredulously. “You mean that our ally, Russia, is in essence holding our soldiers hostage?”
Caroline nodded. “According to the people my dad has spoken with. But the weird thing is that our government keeps saying that it isn’t so.”
“So how does our government explain all the prisoners that haven’t come home?”
“Oh, you know, missing in action, casualties of war. They’ve sent us nice letters, medals, even a flag. . . .”
“And your parents are sure that Kevin is still alive?”
“Well, they had almost given up hope, but just this year some new information has leaked out. Apparently a few prisoners have escaped and made it home. One soldier even brought photos with him of our soldiers in a prison camp in Siberia.”
“Amazing,” murmured Allison, her pencil flying across the page.
“Yes,” agreed Heather from across the room. “It’s incredible!”
“Go on, Caroline,” urged Allison. “Tell me more.”
“There’s really not much more. My dad keeps writing letters to senators and congressmen, even the president. They continue to deny the existence of any Siberian prison camps. They say it’s just a way for grieving families to keep their false hopes alive.”
“But what about the soldiers who’ve escaped? And the photos? How do they explain that?”
“I don’t know,” said Caroline sadly. “But this news does give us hope. We certainly don’t like the idea of Kevin being in some horrible prison, but we want to continue believing that Kevin is still alive.”
“How old is Kevin now?” asked Allison
“He’s twenty-two.” Caroline frowned. “But I just can’t imagine Kevin being that old. I mostly remember him as my goofy big brother, teasing me and pulling my pigtails.” She dug into her pocketbook. “I have photos of him—from high school and also in his uniform just before he left.”
Allison examined the photos. “Goodness, he’s quite good-looking, Caroline.” She glanced over to where Heather sat next to the fireplace, listening with a creased brow. Her knitting needles paused for a moment, then continued to click rhythmically as she returned to her work.
“He looks a lot like Caroline,” Allison explained to Heather. “Blond wavy hair . . . I’m guessing blue eyes.” Caroline nodded. “And he’s tall with nice broad shoulders.”
“I think Kevin looks like the actor Van Johnson,” said Caroline proudly. “He probably would’ve had a dozen girlfriends, except that he’s so shy.”
Allison shook her head. Seeing photos of Kevin made him seem even more real. She could almost imagine him shivering with cold in the Siberian snow. “I sure hope he’s okay, Caroline,” said Allison softly.
“Me too,” said Caroline, her voice breaking a little. “Christmas is always the worst. Mom and Dad try to act all cheerful for my sake, but I’d rather they didn’t bother with all the presents and trimmings—it only makes me feel worse. And then I feel like I have to put on a big act, too. It’s really rather pitiful.”
“I have an idea,” said Heather as she laid down her knitting. “Why don’t we pray for Kevin—right now.”
“That would be nice,” said Caroline. “Would you?”
And the three of them quietly prayed for her brother, right there in Allison’s bedroom.
When they finished, Caroline was actually smiling. “Thanks. You know, I pray for Kevin every single day, but for some reason it felt more effective when you both prayed, too.”
“That gives me an idea,” said Allison. “How about if I put a suggestion in my article that everyone join together and pray for Kevin this Christmas season.”
“Really? You would do that?” asked Caroline.
“Sure. Why not?” Allison continued some wrap-up interview questions with Caroline, and when they were finished, she put a new Doris Day record on her phonograph. She hoped that the happy songs would lighten up the gloom a little. Soon they were singing along with Doris, and Heather began to show them the beginning steps in knitting.
“I just love Doris Day! She’s my favorite singer. And June Allyson is my favorite mov
ie star,” said Caroline dreamily as she cast clumsy stitches onto her knitting needle. Suddenly, she stopped and looked at Allison in horror. “Not that Marsha Madison isn’t—”
“Don’t worry,” Allison cut her off. “Marsha isn’t even my favorite actress. Of course, I wouldn’t tell her that. Actually, I prefer Katharine Hepburn.”
“Almost time for dinner, girls,” called Muriel from the hallway.
As Allison went down the hall to wash up, she overheard Dad’s voice coming from Grandpa’s old bedroom. Probably just talking to someone on the phone, but why in there? She paused for a moment. She didn’t really mean to eavesdrop, but she was interested.
“I wouldn’t exactly say that, Marsha, but yes, things do seem to be picking up for me.”
He laughed, and Allison moved quickly past. Why was he talking to Marsha again?
At dinner, Allison eyed her father with curiosity. He was pleasant, as usual, making polite small talk with Heather and Caroline, but Allison couldn’t shake the way his voice had sounded when he’d been talking with Marsha earlier. Was it possible that he still had feelings—
“Allison?” said Dad as if trying to pull her back to earth. “You look like you’re floating on cloud nine right now.”
“Sorry, Dad. Did you say something?”
“I asked how your article with Caroline is coming.”
“Oh, it’s just fine.” Allison looked down at her plate and poked her fork into her mashed potatoes.
“Maybe Sam Long will be interested in it, too,” said Heather. “Andrew told me all about what he said last night.”
“Oh, I doubt he’d want to use that—”
“But wouldn’t it be great?” exclaimed Caroline. “Especially the praying part.”
Heather explained to Dad about Allison’s idea to ask people to pray, but Allison was too distracted to listen. Instead, she was imagining what it would be like if Dad and Marsha got back together again, living happily with her as their daughter. Of course, she knew it was completely ridiculous. What about Stanley and Grace? And even if some weird miracle made it possible, would she truly want it?
Allison O'Brian on Her Own, Volume 2 Page 24