Sierra Jensen Collection, Vol 4 Sierra Jensen Collection, Vol 4

by Robin Jones Gunn

  “I know. Growing up is nothing like I thought it would be,” Sierra said.

  “I can’t figure out how I got to this point all of a sudden, you know?” Vicki said. “I felt like I was fifteen for about three years, and then I turned sixteen and everything started going so fast.”

  “Can you believe all of us are seventeen already?” Sierra said.

  “I have a better one than that,” Amy said solemnly. “Can you believe we’re going to graduate from high school eight weeks from this Thursday?”

  The gathering around the table grew silent. They spontaneously reached around the daffodils and mugs of tea and grasped each other’s hands. With a wary smile, Sierra gave Amy’s and Vicki’s hands a squeeze.

  As the raindrops roller-coasted down the front window of Mama Bear’s Bakery, the three friends sat together quietly, holding on tight.

  one

  SIERRA JENSEN DREW in a deep breath and closed her eyes. The letter she held in her hand brought news she didn’t know if she dared to believe. She looked again at the thin onionskin paper and the precise, bold black letters. Yes, it was Paul’s handwriting. And the words were his, too.

  I’ve made an adjustment in my plans for the trip home from Scotland. I’m flying out of Heathrow on the 12th, which will give me a four-day layover in Portland before I go to my parents’ home in San Diego. So, what do you think? Do you have room for one more person at your graduation?

  I’ll ring you up—or wait … How do you say it in the States? Phone you. I’ll phone you. No, it’s “call,” isn’t it? Yes, call. (I’ve been gone too long!) I’ll call you next week after you receive this, and you can tell me what you think. I wanted to see my uncle Mac and find out how things were going at the Highland House, so I’ll be staying the four days with him.

  Now, Sierra, I want you to be honest with me, as I know you always are. (I’m grinning at the thought of your trying to concoct a polite fib. Nearly impossible for you, right?) When I call, I want you to tell me truthfully if you want me at your graduation. I know this is an important time for you and all your friends, and I don’t want to interfere with your plans.

  “My plans?” Sierra laughed aloud. As she sat curled up on the porch swing on this warm June afternoon, no one was there to hear her. “What plans? A walk down the aisle, a few photos with Mom and Dad. Maybe a dinner with the family. Those are my plans. I have all the time in the world for you, Paul.”

  She flipped her long, curly, blond hair off her shoulder and squinted at the sharp reflection of the sun that bounced off the truck pulling up in front of her house. The cab door slammed, and Randy shuffled to the front steps and smiled at Sierra. He held a legal-sized white envelope in his hand.

  “Guess what?” he said, adjusting his baseball cap. He grinned his crooked smile and held out the envelope. “It came.”

  Sierra quickly folded up her letter from Paul. “What?” she asked.

  Randy handed her the envelope. Taking it, she noticed that the return address was Rancho Corona University’s. Her face turned to Randy, and she expectantly raised her eyebrows. “Well? Were you accepted?”

  Randy stood with his arms folded across his chest, waiting for her to read his letter to find out if he had been accepted to the same university she and several of their friends were attending in the fall. Randy had been more excited about the college than almost any of them when they had gone down to Southern California to check it out a few months ago. Sierra had received her acceptance letter a few weeks ago. Vicki hadn’t heard yet, and neither had Randy—until now.

  Sierra hesitated. He didn’t seem too excited. Did that mean he hadn’t been accepted? What would she say to him? How could she hide her soaring excitement over Paul’s good news if Randy’s letter brought bad news? Carefully pulling out the single sheet of university letterhead, she read aloud. “Dear Randy: We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted for enrollment at Rancho Corona.”

  Sierra sprang from the swing. “Yahoo! You did it! This is great, Randy!” She wrapped her arms around him. He stood with his arms still crossed. Sierra pulled back. “What?”

  “There’s more. Keep reading.”

  Scanning the letter, Sierra went on to the next paragraph. “Blahda, blahda, blahda … ‘and we want you to know that your scholarship application for the music department has passed the first round of advisers and now goes into its final evaluation. We should have an answer for you within the next three weeks.’ ”

  Sierra hugged him again, and this time Randy hugged her back.

  “This is so perfect! I can’t believe it! Aren’t you excited?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Randy said. His expression looked about the same as it always did, and Sierra realized she had never seen Randy particularly emotional about anything—except maybe once when his band had received a good review in a local paper after a performance at The Beet, a teen nightclub in downtown Portland.

  “We have to tell Vicki,” Sierra said, turning around and snatching Paul’s letter from the swing. “I’ll be right back. I’ll tell my mom we’re going over to Vicki’s.”

  “I think she’s at work,” Randy said.

  “That’s right. It’s Tuesday. Then we’ll go …” Sierra stopped midstep before entering the old Victorian house where her family lived with her Granna Mae. “I know, let’s go out to dinner to celebrate! I’ll tell my mom we’re eating out. Why don’t you come in and call some other people to meet us?”

  “Where do you want to eat?” Randy asked, following Sierra into the kitchen.

  “How about someplace downtown? I don’t want to just go for pizza or tacos. This is a big event.” Opening the door into the basement, Sierra yelled down the stairs for her mother.

  “You think maybe Italian?” Randy asked with the phone in his hand.

  “Perfect!” Sierra said, pointing at Randy. “And I think Amy’s working tonight, so she’ll be there already. Do you think we need reservations? Mom, are you down there?”

  “I don’t know,” Randy said. “What time?”

  “Make it right away so we beat the dinner rush. We probably don’t need reservations. Just call Amy to tell her we’re coming. Maybe her uncle will even treat you to a free dessert when he hears your good news.”

  Sierra hurried halfway down the stairs and called out again. “Mom?” The light over the washing machine was turned off; the basement was silent. Sierra headed back up and met her mother at the top of the stairs.

  Sharon Jensen, a slim woman with an energetic spirit like Sierra’s, had raised six children. She should have been used to noise, but she greeted Sierra with a scowl. “What’s all the yelling for? I was upstairs with the boys.”

  “Randy was accepted to Rancho! Isn’t that great?”

  “Congratulations, Randy!” The scowl disappeared as Mrs. Jensen patted Randy on the back. He was talking to one of their friends on the phone and responded with a smile and a nod.

  “And he might receive a scholarship,” Sierra said. “The letter said he’ll know in three weeks.”

  “That’s great,” Mrs. Jensen said. “Good for you, Randy. I imagine your parents must be proud of you.”

  Randy nodded his head and went back to talking on the phone.

  “I received a letter, too,” Sierra said, holding up her envelope with stamps from Great Britain. She slid closer to the dining room and motioned for her mom to follow, as if she were about to share a secret. “Guess what? You’ll never guess. Paul said he’s coming for my graduation.” She waved the letter jubilantly. “And he can stay for four days!”

  “With us?” Mrs. Jensen immediately asked.

  “No, with his uncle Mac. You know, at the Highland House.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course. Well, that’s wonderful news, Sierra.”

  “I know. Randy and I are going out to dinner to celebrate. He’s calling some people, and we’re going to Amy’s uncle’s restaurant. That’s okay with you, isn’t it?”

  “Who’s
paying?”

  “We all pay our own,” Sierra said. “We always do.” She glanced down at the pair of baggy shorts and T-shirt she had changed into after school. “I wonder if I should change?”

  Mrs. Jensen looked at Randy in his jeans, T-shirt, and baseball cap and said, “I think you’ll be okay. You could always go someplace a little more casual.”

  Randy hung up the phone and announced, “Okay. It’s all set. Tre is going to finish making the calls so we can pick up Vicki. I think she gets off at five.”

  “You’d better move,” Mrs. Jensen said, glancing at the clock.

  “Who’s driving?” Sierra asked.

  “You are,” Randy answered. “I’m almost out of gas, and we might need to give Tre a ride home. My truck doesn’t have enough room if I have you and Vicki, too.”

  “Remember, Sierra,” Mrs. Jensen said, “you can take only three other people in your car.”

  “I know, Mom. Don’t worry.” Only once had Sierra squeezed five friends into her old four-passenger Volkswagen Rabbit. Vicki was the one who had ended up sitting in the middle of the backseat without a seat belt. They had gone just seven blocks, but Sierra had felt guilty for days and vowed she would never hedge on her parents’ seat belt rules again.

  Sierra led Randy to the coat tree in the front hallway, where she pulled a small canvas bag from the outside pouch of her backpack. It was only big enough to hold her driver’s license, some money, and a small container of lip gloss. But that’s all she needed, since her key chain latched to the outside zipper. After Sierra tucked Paul’s letter into her backpack, she and Randy slipped out the front door.

  Brutus, the Jensens’ overly friendly, overly slobbery, overly huge dog, watched them with his paws up on the fence that kept him confined to the backyard. He gave a deep “Woof,” and Randy went over to scratch his head.

  “Come on,” Sierra called from the car. She had the keys in the ignition and was ready to go. “Tell the old fur ball your good news, and let’s go.”

  Randy crawled into the car’s backseat and closed the door.

  “What are you doing?”

  He sat in the middle of the seat with his arms spread out, playfully looking down his nose at Sierra. “I feel like being ‘Prince for the Day.’ Drive me around. I want to see what it feels like. It’s not every day a guy gets accepted to college and practically has a music scholarship handed to him.”

  Sierra laughed and started the car. “As you wish, Your Highness.” They both laughed.

  “Just make sure you put on a seat belt. You know what my mom said.”

  Randy scooted to the right side. “Got it on.”

  “I can’t believe I’m acting as your chauffeur.” Sierra headed across town to the dealership Vicki’s dad owned, where Vicki worked part-time in the office.

  They stopped at a notoriously long stoplight, and Sierra spotted a can of soda rolling around on the car’s floor. “For your enjoyment, our in-flight beverage service will now begin.” She scooped up the can and handed it to Randy.

  “What? No ice in a little plastic cup?”

  “Sorry, sir. That’s what you get for riding economy.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to say, ‘As you wish’?” Randy teased.

  The light turned green, and Sierra zipped through the intersection. She pulled into a gas station and parked in front of the convenience store. Hurrying inside, she grabbed a cup, filled it with ice, popped a lid on it, and plucked a straw out of a container. She also snatched up a couple of candy bars and paid for everything—all in less than a minute. Stuffing the change into her pocket, Sierra returned to the car, where she found Randy stretched out across the backseat, with his feet propped up and sticking out the opened window.

  “As you wished,” Sierra said, handing him the cup of ice and the three candy bars. “Enjoy the pampering, Prince for the Day, because this is the last time you’ll ever get this kind of attention from me.”

  Randy gladly accepted the “en route snack service” and offered Sierra first pick of the candy bars. They went on their merry way as Sierra added to her earlier comment. “But you deserve the attention today, so soak it up, buddy.”

  “I am.” For emphasis Randy took a big slurp of his now iced beverage.

  When they pulled into the entrance of Navarone’s Car Dealership, Randy said, “Isn’t that Vicki over there, leaving the showroom?”

  Vicki had a distinctive swish to her walk. Today her silky brown hair was twisted up on the back of her head in a clip, and she carried her dark blue backpack over her shoulder.

  “Looks as if we arrived just in time.” Sierra honked her car’s horn, and it let out a pathetic “ ’eep! ’eep!”

  Vicki turned around and saw them. She had a concerned look on her face. Sierra pulled up next to her and called out the window, “Hey, Vicki, hop in. We’re going to celebrate!”

  Vicki leaned into the car and looked at Randy in the backseat. “What are you doing back there?”

  “Being Prince for the Day.”

  “I call him ‘Your Highness,’ ” Sierra added.

  “Why?” Vicki still looked concerned.

  “Because,” Randy said, “I am the proud recipient of an acceptance letter from a certain university and possibly of a scholarship as well. You don’t have to bow—at least not this time. You want the other half of this candy bar?”

  “Really?” Vicki said, not appearing at all interested in the candy. An even deeper scowl shadowed her delicate features. “You received your letter today, too? And you were accepted for sure?”

  “Yep, for sure. It’s official.”

  “Did you get your letter, Vicki?” Sierra asked.

  Vicki nodded grimly.

  “And?” Sierra prodded.

  “My mom called and told me it came, but she wouldn’t open it. She said I should be the one to read it. I’m really nervous about this, you guys. If they say no, what am I going to do?”

  “They won’t say no,” Sierra said. “You have to go to Rancho with us. We won’t take no for an answer. We’ll storm their administration building or something. I’m sure it’s an acceptance letter. Let’s run by your house, grab the letter, and then all go out to Degrassi’s for dinner. Randy already called some other guys, and they’re going to meet us there.”

  “I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t go,” Vicki said. “I have so much homework.”

  “Homework?” Sierra said. “Who gave you homework? I don’t have any. All we have to do is study for finals next week, and then it’s cruise time.”

  “It’s actually some makeup work for Mr. Ellington’s class. I’m trying to pull my final grade up, and the paper is due tomorrow.”

  “It’s only five o’clock,” Randy said. “We won’t stay long. You can be home by seven. Hop in, and we’ll bring you back here afterward.”

  Vicki hesitated before opening the front passenger door. “As long as I’m home by seven. Seven-thirty at the latest.”

  “Not up there,” Randy said. “You have to ride back here with me.”

  Vicki’s worry wrinkles finally gave way to a smile. “Okay, scoot over, Your Majesty.”

  “It’s ‘Highness,’ not ‘Majesty,’ if you don’t mind.”

  “And what exactly would the difference be?” Vicki teased.

  Sierra turned her car around and headed for Vicki’s house a few miles away. She felt silly being the only one in the front of the car. It was one thing to have Randy goofing off and for her to play along. But now she felt ridiculous driving through town with her two friends laughing it up in the backseat.

  In one way, Sierra thought it was great that Randy wanted Vicki to sit by him. Vicki had liked Randy for a long time, but he had always played it cool with her and all the other girls. Randy’s treating Vicki a little special in his lighthearted mood was probably a fun encouragement for her.

  At the same time, Sierra felt a foreboding sensation. What if Vicki hadn’t been accepted to Rancho? Then what? How c
ould they celebrate Randy’s good news if Vicki had bad news? A worse thought struck her. How would Sierra be able to make it though her freshman year if Vicki wasn’t there? They had talked about being roommates and how they were going to make sure they had several of the same classes so they could help each other with homework. Sierra would feel awful if Vicki weren’t accepted. And she knew Vicki would feel even worse.

  “You know,” Sierra suggested, “we could just go straight to the restaurant, since people are waiting for us. Then you could read your letter when you get home, Vicki.” Sierra glanced in the rearview mirror to see if her feeble suggestion met with acceptance.

  There wasn’t a response at first.

  “Why would I want to make this torture last even longer?” Vicki said finally.

  “I was just thinking you might be able to forget about it for a little while. We could eat first and then go over to your house. If you want us to, Randy and I could stay with you when you open the letter. But only if you want us there.”

  “I don’t know,” Vicki said.

  “Bring the letter with you to the restaurant, and you can open it there,” Randy suggested.

  “And if it’s a rejection?” Vicki questioned.

  “Then you’ll have all of us to cheer you up,” Sierra said, glancing again in the rearview mirror.

  “Is that the way you would have wanted to open your letter?” Vicki asked.

  Randy shrugged and met Sierra’s gaze in the mirror.

  “No,” Sierra answered for both of them. “You’re right. We should just drop you at your house and let you read it alone. Then you can come over to the restaurant to meet us and tell us the good news—because it has to be good news, Vicki. It has to. Randy and I both received good letters today. Now it’s your turn.”

  “One problem,” Vicki said. “We just left my car at work.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Then you’re stuck with us,” Randy said. “All for one and one for—”

  Vicki leaned forward and grasped the back of Sierra’s seat. “What letter did you get, Sierra? You already heard about Rancho. Did you receive another scholarship?”