Holly's Heart Collection Three (38 page)
Before going to bed, I wrote in my journal. Time to catch up the private record of my life.
Friday, February 2: I finally got things out in the open with Mom and Uncle Jack last night. After that incredible ultrasound video, well, things totally changed for me—the way I view things around here, at least.
First off, I apologized for the crummy way I’d treated Mom and Uncle Jack. I even offered to share my bedroom with baby April whenever they were ready to set up the crib.
Of course, I have no idea how all that’ll work out, but I figure by the time I graduate from high school and head off to college (about three-and-a-half years from now), my baby sister will already be a toddler. How hard could it possibly be sharing my beautiful, spacious room with someone named April Michelle?
Oh . . . the joint custody issue is pretty much solved by the fact that I no longer sense a conspiracy between Mom and Uncle Jack. There had been one reason, and only one, why Mom hadn’t told her special secret. Fear of miscarriage. Knowing what I know now, her decision makes perfect sense. I plan to call Daddy tomorrow and fill him in on my decision. After talking to God, I know what I should do.
Last night, at the end of our talk, Uncle Jack said something really fabulous. Some cool quote from a philosopher guy named Kierkegaard. I really like it, especially in light of my recent blunder. I hope I never forget the lesson. The quote goes like this: “Life must be understood backward. But that makes one forget the other saying: That it must be lived— forward.”
Everything, right down to the anger and belligerence that prompted me to call an attorney’s office and to get Daddy all upset, EVERYTHING is clear to me now. I fully understand my life—this segment of it, at least.
Jared and I had a long talk today at lunch. We ate by ourselves until Andie and the Miller twins showed up and tried to rescue me. They were mistaken, of course; I didn’t need rescuing at all. Jared and I are friends. Good friends and nothing more. Someone else holds a special place in my heart. Someone who’s never given me any reason to distrust him. Someone who’s seeking God for guidance about his own personal future. And for mine.
I sort of doubt whether Jared heard God telling him I should drop the joint custody issue. But his comments got me thinking more about prayer, and I’m happy to say that I’m keeping the heavenly lines of communication open again. I missed talking to my number-one BEST friend.
I put my pen down and closed my journal. Reaching for my Bible, I turned to Psalm 139—the Scripture Uncle Jack had recited to us while we watched our baby sister float inside Mom’s stomach. “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.”
This verse was awesome. The more I thought about it, the more I realized something powerful. This same Creator-God who knew me and made me also knew my future. He knew what would happen between Sean Hamilton and me. He knew whether or not I’d have a first real date on or after my fifteenth birthday. He also knew if or whom I’d marry, if I’d have children—all that kind of important stuff.
I had desperately needed a lesson in trust. To learn to trust God’s plans for my life—the way Mom had entrusted her unborn child to the care of the heavenly Father.
“Thank you, Lord,” I prayed, “for loving this family of eight enough to give us a bonus baby. And thanks for helping me accept your perfect plan. Amen.”
For my delightful fans
Mindy and Katie Dow.
IT’S A GIRL THING
Opening my eyes, I sat up in bed and stretched. A fabulous sensation zipped through me, something like the adrenaline rush you get when you know beyond any doubt that something incredible is about to happen. I could feel the excitement in my bones—wrapped right around my nerve endings.
Hours later, at school, I stopped at Andrea Martinez’s locker to tell her about my jazzed feeling. Andie reacted a bit nonchalantly, and I should’ve expected as much. My best friend’s not a morning person. Who is?
Anyway, she got bossy on me. “Take a deep breath, Holly. You’ll get over it.”
“But you know how it is when there’s anticipation electrifying the air,” I said.
Andie shrugged and touched her dark curls, obviously not wildly interested. “Maybe you’ve got it in your mind that we might have placed at district choir competitions. But don’t go getting your hopes up about Washington, D.C. Lots of choral groups make it this far.”
She was right. Still, I couldn’t help the feeling . . . and the hoping, holding out for a trip to nationals—at our nation’s capital. What a way to top off our freshman year!
If the Dressel Hills High School Show Choir made it to state finals—and we would find out this week—and then went on to win at regionals, the way I figured it, we’d have a fabulous chance at nationals. And after that, maybe the international choir competitions in Europe!
Andie took her time gathering up her usual Monday morning assortment of books and a three-ring binder. I waited for her, trying to control the thrills I felt prancing up my spine. We could be going to state . . . this Friday!
When her backpack was finally jammed full, the homeroom bell rang. I said my overly enthusiastic good-byes. “See ya second hour,” I called over my shoulder before merging with the student congestion. Second hour was choir.
Andie nodded and headed in the opposite direction, toward Miss Shaw’s homeroom, Room 210. I still found it hard to accept our homeroom setup; Andie and I were in different rooms. Here it was almost the end of March, nearly halfway through the second semester of my freshman year. By now I should’ve been accustomed to separate homerooms. But Andie and I had never been split up before.
She had, of course, handled the situation well—actually was very cool about it. I was the one having to adapt.
Amy-Liz Thompson, a friend from our church youth group, fell into step with me, and we allowed ourselves to be carried along with the throng of Dressel Hills High School students.
“It’s a good thing I’m not as short as Andie,” she shouted over the roar. Her wavy, honey blond hair floated away from her face. “I’d sink and drown for sure.”
“No kidding.” That’s when I grabbed her elbow and pulled her out of the current. Exit: Room 202.
Jared Wilkins showed up, all smiles, just as we made the turn into Mr. Irving’s homeroom. I heard Amy-Liz groan softly, and she promptly followed me, sliding into the desk ahead of mine.
“Don’t worry about Jared,” I whispered. “I think he’s starting to grow up.”
“If you say so.” She pulled a notebook out of her backpack. Naturally, she didn’t believe a word of it.
Just then Stan, my ornery brousin—cousin-turned-stepbrother—poked his head into the room, motioning to me. “Holly,” he called softly.
“What’s this about?” I muttered, getting out of my seat and going to the doorway.
Stan was a sophomore, a bit tall for his age, and almost as blond as I was. But he had an ever-growing chip on his shoulder, and I wondered how long it would be before he exhibited it today.
“Look, Holly, I need you to go straight home after school.” His voice sounded confident and sure, like I was going to fall for whatever he said.
“Why should I?”
“Don’t ask, just do it,” he shot back.
I sighed. Stan was sixteen now and the oldest of our blended family. More than anything, he liked to throw his weight around. Especially with me. And it wasn’t just my imagination, either. Even Andie and some of my other friends had noticed how Stan seemed to enjoy picking on me.
“I suppose you want me to cover for you,” I retorted. “Mom’s counting on
you
today, isn’t she?”
“C’mon, Holly, just this once.” He wasn’t asking or pleading. Nope. He was plain cocky.
“So something’s come up, right?” I said, his attitude making me upset. “You need me to help out.”
His eyebrows floated to his forehead, accompanied by a frown. “Why do you have to be so difficult all the time?” I knew right then that he did not want me to view the situation as a problem that only I could solve for him. He glanced around, probably hoping he wasn’t causing a scene.
I sighed. “All the time, huh? Well, thanks for that enlightening comment.” I was not going to allow Stan to talk to me this way, not here, at the entrance to my homeroom—a place that was supposed to be a sanctuary, a place secure even from haughty stepbrothers. “You came here wanting a favor, and this is how you act? Well, forget it!” I turned on my heel and marched away— back to my seat and Amy-Liz’s curious expression.
“He’s totally impossible,” I said when I was seated.
“Brothers can be,” Amy-Liz replied.
I grinned. My friend was the lucky one. She had no male siblings to drive her crazy. No siblings at all. “What do
you
know about brothers?”
“You’re always complaining about yours, that’s what!” Amy-Liz laughed, but I could see she was dead serious.
“I am?”
Amy shook her head. “As a matter of fact, you complain about Stan a lot. I actually get the feeling that you can’t stand him.”
“Can’t stand Stan,” I whispered, trying not to laugh. I thought about it and was ready to say something back—something to defend my position—but Mr. Irving walked into the classroom just then.
I had to settle down and switch my thoughts to academia. It was time for morning announcements even though I had zillions more comments for Amy-Liz—things to verify the fact that Stan Patterson was
so
a rotten brousin.
IT’S A GIRL THING
I never had the chance to give Amy-Liz the earful I intended. My government class notes somehow got misplaced, and by the time I located them in my binder and frantically reviewed them for a quiz, it was time for first hour.
The government quiz was child’s play, but the homework assignment looked like a nightmare in the making. I jotted down the notes, hoping there wouldn’t be tons of this sort of homework dished out all day. It was only first hour, for pete’s sake!
After government I hurried to choir, hoping we’d have choir competition results from Mrs. Duncan, our director. She made her cheerful entrance, a flurry of navy and white, and my hopes soared.
Her stylish canvas shoulder bag was brimful, as usual. She promptly headed to the piano and began discussing several musical scores with Andie, our accompanist.
It seemed to me that Andie was eager to get to work, because I noticed her fingers wiggling on the piano bench on either side of her. But she listened intently as Mrs. Duncan pointed out various musical phrases. Andie had been doing some radical improvisation at the piano, somewhat hamming it up for the class, while we’d waited for our teacher to show up. Now, though, Andie was focused. And surely as anxious as all of us to know the outcome from district competitions.
I fidgeted, sitting next to Paula and Kayla Miller, my twin girl friends. “I’m dying to know if we made it,” I whispered to Paula.
She nodded. “I certainly hope we did. We sounded absolutely wonderful, didn’t you think so?”
“I guess it’s hard to tell for sure if you’re not out in the audience,’ I said.
Kayla pulled out her compact and peeked at the tiny mirror. “Mrs. Duncan wants to go to Europe as much as the rest of us,” she said.
I grinned. Did we really have a chance?
The quiet click of Kayla’s compact seemed to signal the end of the director’s discussion with Andie. Mrs. Duncan walked purposefully to the music stand, adjusted it for the correct height, and took the podium.
For a moment she surveyed each of the choral sections: soprano, alto, tenor, and bass. Then, with a broad smile, she told us the competition results. “Are all of you ready to perform . . . again?” Her hands gripped the sides of the music stand.
“Yes!” we cheered.
“All right, then, we have some work to do.” She gave Andie a nod and raised her hands, and with a gentle sweep of her right hand, we stood in unison, ready to practice our pieces from memory.
I was almost too giddy to sing. We were actually going to Denver for state competitions!
Partway through the first madrigal, I stepped forward—slightly out of my row—and grinned at Jared Wilkins and Danny Myers just to the right of me, in the boys’ section. Jared gave me a not-so-subtle thumbs-up, and Danny, standing next to him, beamed back at me.
Quickly, I turned my attention to Mrs. Duncan’s directing, even though I was pretty sure I could sing the entire choral repertoire in my sleep.
