Allison O'Brian on Her Own, Volume 2

by Melody Carlson

After dinner, her dad went to take Grace for a ride, and the girls settled into the den to continue their knitting lessons. George had made a pleasant fire, and Muriel brought in a plate of homemade doughnuts. While Heather was working with Allison, Caroline sat in the bay window, looking out across the inlet.

  “Does someone live in the lighthouse?” asked Caroline suddenly.

  “No,” said Allison without looking up from her knit-one, pearl-one stitches. “The Coast Guard took it over last fall. They installed an automatic light. Andrew was the last one to work there.”

  “So no one goes out there anymore?”

  “Not really, unless it’s just to look around or have a picnic or something.”

  “Would someone do that at night?”

  “I can’t imagine why.” Allison looked at Caroline. “Why all the questions?”

  “I thought I saw a lantern or something moving around over there,” said Caroline. “I just wondered what it was.”

  Allison dropped her knitting and went to the window. Even in the dimly lit bay window, it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the darkness out there. All she could see was the lighthouse beam roving across the water. “You probably just saw the lighthouse light,” she said, returning to her knitting.

  “No, I’ve been watching the lighthouse light. This looked different.”

  Allison thought for a moment. “I suppose someone could be out there, but I don’t know why. And it’s awfully cold and windy tonight. I know I wouldn’t want to be out there.”

  “Caroline,” said Heather, “have you ever heard the story about when Allison went out there during a storm?”

  “I’ve heard parts of it, but never the whole tale. Please tell me, Allison.”

  So Allison launched into the story of how she rowed out in the midst of a storm to find her father. She wondered if the story was growing more dramatic with each retelling, or if she had really been so crazy as to risk her life like that. Caroline thought it was a terrific tale, and concerns about the mysterious lantern were temporarily put aside.

  Earlier that evening, James had suggested that the girls might be more comfortable sleeping in Grandpa’s spacious room, and Allison took him up on the offer. After the three of them were cozily packed into the big bed, they began to chat and giggle.

  “Do either of you want to go to the Christmas dance?” asked Allison when the subject finally progressed to boys.

  “Not me,” said Heather. “I had fun at the Harvest Ball, but I don’t mind sitting this one out.”

  “You’d probably rather be home writing a long letter to John,” suggested Allison.

  “Maybe,” said Heather mysteriously.

  “How about you, Allison?” asked Caroline.

  “I have to admit it sounds like fun, but I’m certain that I’m not going.” Allison tried not to think about her last conversation with Andrew.

  “I wish Andrew would take someone,” said Heather. “After all, it’s his last year in high school, and it seems like he should have more fun. I’d even be willing to go with him if it would only get him there.”

  “If Andrew wanted to go, there are plenty of girls who would jump at the chance,” said Caroline. “Not to mention a certain friend—”

  “Maybe he’ll invite Beverly,” said Allison lightly. “They seem to be getting along.”

  “But what about you?” asked Caroline.

  “I don’t know . . .” Allison felt a lump grow in her throat. “I think Andrew and Beverly like each other, and she’s closer to his age. They were having a swell time together at Wally’s last night.”

  “I suppose that’s for the best,” said Caroline decisively. “After all, before long you and Andrew will be like brother and sister, with your parents getting married and all.”

  “Well, at least Beverly is nice,” said Heather. “She and Karen seem like the most thoughtful of the cheerleaders.”

  “Yes,” agreed Caroline, “they even talk to me now.”

  “How about you, Caroline?” said Heather. “Would you like to go to the dance?”

  “Maybe,” said Caroline softly. “Maybe if the right person asked. . . .”

  “The right person?” repeated Allison. “Okay, Caroline, out with it. We want to hear the whole story.”

  Caroline giggled. “It’s probably nothing. But there’s this boy in orchestra named Tommy Obertti who’s been very friendly to me—”

  “You mean Tommy who plays cello?” said Heather.

  Soon Heather and Caroline were chattering away about Tommy Obertti and several other kids in the orchestra that Allison had never heard of. Allison tuned the girls out and took a trip in her own overly active imagination. She pictured Andrew dressed in a tuxedo with tails, escorting a scarlet-gowned Beverly, who looked suspiciously like Marsha Madison, to the Christmas dance. Oh, why was she being so foolish? And why did it have to hurt so much to think of Andrew with a girlfriend? If this was how it felt to care for a boy, then perhaps she’d be better off without it. If only she could escape her feelings, at least for a while.

  Suddenly, she remembered Marsha’s invitation. Maybe she should accept. If Andrew was going to be dating Beverly, it might help if she could get away during the holidays. Naturally, she would return in time for the wedding, but a little time and distance from Andrew might be a good thing for her right now. She decided to talk to her father about it first thing tomorrow—and while she was at it, maybe she would find out why he was talking so sweetly to Marsha these days.

  Allison sighed deeply, then realized that both Heather and Caroline had drifted off to sleep. Muriel had cracked the window earlier to air out the room, and now Allison got out of bed to close it. She stood in front of the window for a moment, looking over to the lighthouse, when suddenly she saw what looked like a lantern. She blinked her eyes. Perhaps Caroline hadn’t imagined it after all. But as quickly as she’d seen it, the lantern disappeared. How strange. Allison sleepily shook her head and returned to the warm bed.

  The next day, Allison got up early, slipping out of the room while the other two girls were still sleeping. She dressed for church, then crept downstairs to see if her father was up yet. She found him in the dining room, sipping coffee and reading the paper.

  “You’re quite the early bird this morning,” James said as he laid down his paper.

  Allison nodded and sat down. “I wanted to discuss something with you before Heather and Caroline got up.”

  “Sounds serious.” He peered at her curiously.

  “Not too serious. Last night, I was thinking about going to Marsha’s for Christmas. I think I’d like to go, Dad.”

  Dad nodded slowly, a slight frown creasing his forehead. “I see. . . .”

  Suddenly, Allison knew that he was hurt. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. Oh, why hadn’t she thought about this more carefully? “It’s not that I don’t want to be here, Dad. It’s just—”

  “I understand, Allison. It’s okay. Do you want to call Marsha this morning?”

  Allison stared at her father. It was as if something in him had shut down. She knew he wasn’t going to try to talk her out of this, and suddenly she wasn’t so sure she wanted to go. “I don’t know, Dad. To tell you the truth, I guess I’m not absolutely sure that I want to go to Marsha’s. . . .”

  His face brightened a little. “Are you feeling sorry for Marsha? Is that why you want to go?”

  “Sort of . . . but not completely.”

  “Oh.” Once again his face clouded over. “Naturally, it must sound very exciting and glamorous to spend the holidays down in movie land. I’m sure any girl your age would leap at the chance—”

  “That’s not it, Dad. You know me. I don’t even like that kind of stuff.”

  James sighed deeply. “Whatever you decide to do, Allison, you know I’ll support you in it. I had just hoped—” He stopped himself, pressing his lips tightly together as if to hold in the words.

  “What, Dad? What did you hope?”

&n
bsp; “That you’d want to be here.”

  Allison heard the girls coming down the stairs and knew she’d have to wrap this up fast. “Well, Dad, I guess my mind isn’t made up after all. It’s not always easy to know what the right thing to do is, especially when you’re just a kid.”

  He nodded and picked up his paper. “That’s for sure, Allison. But it doesn’t necessarily get any easier when you grow up.”

  “So did you make up your mind about Marsha yet?” asked Andrew as they walked into the journalism room together.

  “Not really,” said Allison. It was the first private conversation she’d had with Andrew in days, and she wasn’t eager for it to end. “But I’m working on it—”

  “Hi, you two,” said Beverly. “Howie has photos ready from Friday night’s game, Andrew. Want to see them?”

  “Sure,” said Andrew. “That might help me with my opening line.”

  “They’re all developed but still in the darkroom.” Beverly opened the door. “Right this way.”

  Allison watched in dismay as Andrew followed Beverly into the tiny room. What would they do in the privacy of that dimly lit room? They could tell secrets or even hold hands—

  “Is your story ready, Allison?” asked Howie with a friendly smile.

  “Yes. And I think you’re going to be surprised.” Allison pulled the three-page story out of her notebook and handed it to him.

  “Why’s that?” asked Howie, scanning the first page with interest.

  “Caroline’s story is really pretty amazing.”

  Howie continued to silently read. Allison stood, waiting apprehensively. What would he think of this Siberian prison camp business?

  Howie looked up, adjusted his glasses, then spoke quietly. “Allison, this is almost unbelievable.”

  Allison frowned. “You mean that you don’t believe it?”

  “No, I mean this story is incredible—amazing—unfathomable.”

  “Does that mean you like it?”

  “Of course I like it. It’s great! Front-page stuff. In fact, I’ll have to send a copy of the next paper to Sam Long.”

  Allison beamed. “Really? You think it’s that good?”

  “You’ve definitely got a great story, Allison.” Then Howie smiled. “However, I’d like to see you do some editing on it.”

  “Editing?” Allison frowned. “But I thought you liked it.”

  “I do. But it could be even better with some tightening.” He flipped to the next page. “And maybe a little restructuring.”

  Allison moaned. “That sounds like work, Howie.”

  “I’ll help you. Besides, don’t you want to improve your writing?”

  “I guess so.” Allison wasn’t so sure. She had been pleased with the story just the way it was, but she reluctantly followed Howie to his desk and watched as he made ugly red marks across her neatly written pages. When he was finished, she snatched up the article and walked over to a free typewriter.

  “What’s bugging you?” asked Shirley. Just then Andrew and Beverly emerged from the darkroom, laughing loudly as they closed the door behind them.

  “Oh, I think I know,” said Shirley, nodding in their direction. She smiled smugly and walked away. Allison rolled her eyes and began to rewrite her story. It seemed she and Howie were the only ones to take this newspaper business seriously. Although she wondered if Howie took it a little too seriously.

  She was almost done when Andrew stopped by her desk. “Working hard?” he asked as he leaned over to peer at her paper.

  “I suppose,” she snapped without even looking up. “Someone has to.”

  Andrew chuckled. “It sounds as if someone is having a bad day.”

  Allison sighed and looked up. She had no reason to be short with him. “Sorry, Andrew. Howie is having me rewrite my article, and I’m not too happy about it.”

  “Don’t feel bad. He’s having me do some changes to mine, too. I guess that’s why he’s the editor. Say, Allison, you were telling me about the deal with Marsha, but you never got to finish. What’s going on?”

  Allison looked up into his clear green eyes and suddenly wished he didn’t have to be so nice all the time. It would be so much easier if he were self-centered or arrogant or just plain mean. But Andrew was Andrew—he couldn’t help it.

  “I haven’t really decided yet. I thought I had made up my mind to go, but I told Dad and he was so hurt that I immediately backtracked. I’m right back where I started.” Allison looked down at the typewriter and sighed. She couldn’t tell him that the reason she’d wanted to go to Marsha’s was to get away from him.

  “Of course your dad’s going to be hurt. But if that’s what you really want to do, he’ll understand. I’m sure it would be lots of fun down there in Beverly Hills, lying around a swimming pool in the sunshine, chatting with movie stars—”

  “Beverly Hills?” said Shirley with interest. “Chatting with movie stars? We wouldn’t be talking about Allison’s mother, now, would we?”

  Allison suppressed a groan. “Not exactly, Shirley.”

  Shirley pretended to pout. “Always keeping secrets from me, aren’t you, Allison?”

  “Allison was just trying to decide where to spend her Christmas holidays,” said Andrew. “It’s no big deal.”

  “Are you going to visit your mother?” asked Shirley suspiciously. “You know, Allison, if you need any company, I’d be glad to go, too. In fact, my grandma on my mom’s side lives in Los Angeles. I just might decide to go down there.”

  “Good for you,” said Allison curtly. “Right now I want to finish my article.” She turned her attention back to her revisions.

  “Yes,” said Shirley suddenly. “I better go work on my column, too.”

  “That was too easy,” whispered Allison as Shirley hurried to her desk.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned your dilemma to Shirley,” said Andrew apologetically. “I thought it might be a way to distract her.”

  “It’s okay, Andrew. She would’ve found out sooner or later. You know how she has a nose for news.”

  Andrew chuckled and returned to his typewriter. A little later, Allison observed Beverly hunched over Andrew’s desk with him. Allison quickly turned away. What difference did it make to her? Andrew would soon be like a brother to her. The sooner she got over it, the better.

  Allison finished her rewriting just before it was time to go. With a sigh of relief, she handed her typed revision to Howie.

  “Good for you, Allison.” He patted her on the back. “You’re a real trooper.”

  Andrew stepped up and handed Howie his sports story. “How about me, Howie? Am I a trooper, too?”

  Howie glanced down at the paper. “You better believe it. Now everyone has turned in their assignments except for Shirley.” He looked over to where Shirley was hunting and pecking on the typewriter.

  “Oh, don’t worry about me, Howie,” chirped Shirley. “Jenson’s Jetsam’ will be handed in first thing tomorrow. I just need to gather some more facts.”

  “Facts?” said Beverly with a raised eyebrow. “Now, there’s an idea.”

  “You guys are a great team,” said Howie. “I really appreciate your hard work.”

  The next day, Howie stopped Allison on her way to lunch. “Can I talk to you?” he asked. “Privately?”

  She nodded and followed him to an empty stairwell. “What’s up, Howie?”

  “Shirley handed in her column today,” began Howie. He adjusted his glasses and glanced around to see if anyone was listening, then continued with his head close to Allison’s. “I thought I should run it past you—” He stopped talking just as Andrew came around the corner. “Oh, hello, Andrew.”

  “Hi. What’s going on?” said Andrew, stopping for a moment.

  “Just having a chat with Allison,” said Howie in a dismissive tone.

  “Oh, sure,” said Andrew. He turned and continued toward the cafeteria. Allison noticed him glance back, a curious look on his face, just before he w
ent through the door.

  “Sorry to seem so cloak and dagger, Allison. I just don’t want Shirley to know. I waited until she was in the cafeteria before I caught you.”

  “What does Shirley’s column have to do with me?” asked Allison.

  “Everything.” Howie shook his head slowly. “She’s written the whole thing about your mother.”

  “Really? Whatever for?”

  “I’m sure because she thinks it’s interesting.” Howie cleared his throat. “And to be honest, it is interesting. But it is also pretty sensational and not very flattering to your mother. I’m not sure that it’s even true. I figured you could be the one to make that call.” He pulled two pages out of his jacket and handed them discreetly to Allison. “Just don’t let Shirley know that you have this.”

  Allison shoved them into her notebook. “Okay.”

  “And let me know after school what you think. Whatever you say goes, Allison.”

  “Thanks,” said Allison. “I appreciate that you came to me.”

  “When you read it, you’ll understand why.” Howie’s face was grave.

  Allison had no appetite. Instead, she went into Mrs. Jones’ classroom and sat down to read. It required every ounce of Allison’s self-control not to rip Shirley’s column into shreds. It was too incredible. Shirley even went so far as to suggest that Marsha Madison had a boyfriend for every day of the week. Where had Shirley gathered her information? Probably those trashy movie magazines combined with Shirley’s cruel imagination. Not only did Shirley manage to portray Marsha as a demanding, egotistical, over-the-hill, immoral snob, but she had painted Allison in the very same light. And at the end, it came as no surprise when Shirley reported that Allison would spend her Christmas holidays with her movie-star mom, in her den of iniquity, doing who knows what.

  Allison leaned her head into the desk and moaned. Why in the world was Shirley Jenson so meanspirited? Was it simply that misery loved company? Or did Shirley just hate Allison through and through? Allison took a deep breath and read the column again, this time more calmly. Perhaps she had imagined it to be worse than it was. But when she finished the second time, she knew it could not go to print. Maybe Allison had overreacted, but the column was inaccurate and unfair.