“Thirsty?”
I twirled around. There stood Andie, holding out a tall glass of lemonade. “Mmm, looks good. Thanks.” I reached for the icy glass.
Andie shot me a hesitant look. “Are you totally sure about going off to California in just four days?”
“I don’t have second thoughts if that’s what you mean.”
Her big brown eyes did a little rolling number. “Hey, can’t a girl ask a question?”
I was silent. She was pushing way too hard.
“If I could, I’d try and talk you out of it, you know.” Andie took a long drink of lemonade, then looked up. “C’mon, let’s go around to the backyard.”
I followed her through the side yard toward the back of the house. Andie didn’t wait for me to catch up. She kept twisting one of her dark curls around her finger, which
always
spells trouble. She was acting downright weird, like she had some big secret or something.
Around the back, positioned near several small aspen trees, a large jungle gym stretched out across one end of the yard. The play set had been purchased earlier this summer for Andie’s three-year-old twin brothers, Jon and Chris. Numerous times, Andie and I had entertained the busy little boys while their parents were away. For pay, of course.
I went to the swings and sat down, swaying gently as I sipped my lemonade. Andie plopped down on the bottom of the slide.
“Look out—it might be hot!” I said, just as she scooted off and fell into the sand.
Getting up, she brushed off her shorts. “We oughta go swimming. You can get in on my Y membership.” She sat on the swing next to me. “Want to?” she asked.
It
was
hot; a cool dip would feel fabulous. “Sure,” I said. But Andie seemed suddenly distant—preoccupied—as she drank the rest of her lemonade. Was she still brooding about the California thing?
I chewed on the ice at the bottom of my glass. “Something bugging you?” I asked.
“Sorta,” she said softly.
“So talk to me.”
She shuffled her feet around in the sand a bit before she spoke. “It’s just that…I, oh, I don’t know.”
It wasn’t like Andie to stall. If something was on her mind, she never hesitated getting it out in the open. Especially with me. Andie and I had been close friends since preschool days.
“What
is
it?” I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me.
The sun glistened on Andie’s hair, and she studied me with a clear, steady gaze. “What would you think if I went along with you?” She seemed almost shy. For the first time in her life.
“Let me get this straight,” I said, smiling. “
You
want to go to California?”
“Yep. With you,” she emphasized.
“Sounds like a good idea to me, but what about your parents? Do you think they’ll agree?”
Her smile faded quickly. “I don’t know. My parents are real protective.”
“Well, why would you want to go in the first place?” I asked, eager to get to the bottom of this.
“It’s just that I never get to go
anywhere,
” she exaggerated. “I was born here, and except for camping, we hardly ever leave Dressel Hills.” She stood up just then and flung her arms wide. Something like the way Maria does in the opening scene to
The Sound of Music.
“There’s a world out there just waiting for me. I don’t want to stagnate and die here in Colorado.”
I giggled. Now,
this
was the Andie I knew and loved. High drama at its best.
“Okay, okay, I get the picture. But don’t forget our choir tour to California, and there was the Grand Canyon, and—”
She grabbed the chain on my swing. “So you’ll take me along?” she begged, her face inches from mine. I could smell the lemon on her breath.
“It’s not up to me to decide,” I said more seriously. “Even if it’s okay with your folks, I’ll still have to clear it with my dad and stepmom.” Then I remembered Jon and Chris. “Who’s going to help with your brothers while you’re gone?”
“Two weeks?” She waved her hand like she was swatting flies. “No problem.”
“So you think your mom can manage?”
“I guess we’ll just have to ask.” She motioned for me to go with her into the house.
“Wait.” I stopped at the back door. “Maybe we should talk this over with my dad first, uh, you know, since he hasn’t seen you for a while.”
Andie’s countenance dimmed. “Oh yeah. Maybe he won’t want his daughter bringing home her
Hispanic
friend.”
I stared at her, shocked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She put her hands on her hips. “He doesn’t care that I’m His-panic, does he?”
“Look, Andie, I don’t know what you’re getting at, but Daddy’s not prejudiced. Not even close. Besides, he’s a Christian now.”
Her voice quivered. “I know. But I’ve heard how it is in some places for different ethnic groups—even worse than in a small town like Dressel Hills.”
I reached for Andie and gave her a hug. “You’re my friend. Nothing will ever change that.”
Andie started to tremble.
“Andie?”
Quickly, she wiped her eyes, pulling away.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered. “Are you all right?”
She shook her head, eyes filling with tears.
“Has someone said something?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she managed to say. “Maybe we should just forget the whole dumb idea.” She turned away quickly so I couldn’t see her cry. “I’ll see you later, Holly.”
“No, wait,” I called to her. But it was too late. Andie had gone inside. She closed the door without even the slightest glance back.
Tears stung my eyes as I imagined someone, anyone, insulting my friend. How rotten!
It was obvious Andie wanted to be left alone. As much as I hated leaving her like this, I knew it would do absolutely no good to ring the doorbell, hoping she’d answer. Andie was too hurt to talk.
She and I were opposites in that way. If I was hurting, I wanted someone around. Someone who would talk to me and help me through my tunnel of pain. Andie and my mom were both good about pursuing me at times like that. Even when I might insist that I wanted to be alone, they knew deep down I really didn’t.
Feelings of concern pricked at me as I got on my bike. Andie had actually become hostile, and all it took was a single comment about Daddy not having seen her lately. She’d mistaken my words completely—jumped to conclusions.
Something, or
someone,
was bugging her. Why, I didn’t know. But I was determined to find out.
LITTLE WHITE LIES
When I arrived home, supper was almost ready to be served.
I sniffed the air as I came into the kitchen.
Oven-baked chicken, yum.
“Smells like the Fourth of July all over again,” I said.
“Oh, there you are, Holly-Heart.” Mom gave me a quick hug. “Hungry?”
“Starved.”
“Well, good,” she said, turning around to check on the oven. “I didn’t make thirty pieces of chicken for nothing, did I?”
“Thirty?”
Some quick math told me that with six kids, plus Mom and Uncle Jack, there were eight of us. Divided into thirty, that’s about four pieces each. “Why so many?” I asked, even more puzzled when I spied two huge steaming bowls of mashed potatoes.
“Well,” she said, a twinkle in her eye, “we’re having company.
“We are?”
“Stan has a new friend.” She reached for two potholders and opened the oven door. Tantalizing smells escaped and wafted their way through the kitchen.
“A girl?” I asked, hoping not—for Andie’s sake.
“No girl,” Mom said. She carried a huge oven tray over to the island bar and began to place pieces of chicken on a large platter.
“Who, then?” I checked to see if the dining room table was set. It was.
“Oh, just a guy he met down at the Y,” Mom said. “I’m sure you’ll find him interesting.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re not setting me up with…”
“Oh, Holly, you know how I feel about girl-boy stuff at your age.” She untied her apron and flung it over the drainboard near the sink. “Can’t I say something nice about a boy without you getting defensive?”
“Sorry, Mom, I just—”
“Just what?” It was Carrie. My little sister had materialized out of thin air.
“Carrie,” Mom reprimanded. “How many times have I told you not to do that?”
I sighed. “Oh, give or take two thousand.”
“That’s
not
true!” Carrie shouted, shooting daggers at me with her beady eyes.
“You mean you haven’t been getting A-pluses in sneaking up on people? Tell me it isn’t so,” I sneered.
“Girls, girls,” Mom said, wagging her finger in front of our faces. “Be sweet to each other. You only have a few more days together before Holly leaves for California.”
“Yes,” Carrie whispered, flicking her long ponytail.
I didn’t say what
I
was thinking. It wouldn’t have pleased the Lord. Mom either.
“So,” Carrie inquired, “who’s coming for dinner?”
“Never mind,” I said, turning her around and giving her a gentle shove.
Mom smiled. “You’ll both find out soon enough.”
Carrie turned around and wrinkled her nose at me.
“Holly, will you pour the iced tea, please?” Mom asked.
Gladly.
Anything to get away from my pesky sister.
When everything was in its place on the table, Mom rang her dainty white dinner bell. Mark, Phil, and Stephie came running up the family room steps. Stan and his friend came barreling up next. I wondered why Stan avoided my eyes as he walked through the kitchen.
Funny. Just when things were perking along on an even keel with my fairly snooty stepbrother, a thing like bringing a friend home for supper threw everything out of whack. How could that be?
I studied Stan’s friend discreetly. Medium frame…not quite as tall as Stan. Average brown hair, sort of mousy, actually. And horror of horrors—a ripe pimple. Right next to his nose!
Uncle Jack waited for us to get situated at the table before he offered the blessing. Afterward, he turned to Stan, who sat across from me, and asked him to introduce his friend.
“Sure, Dad,” Stan began. “Everyone,” and here he made eye contact with each of us at the table, even me, “this is Ryan Davis, one of the guys on the swim team at the Y.”
Stan introduced each of us individually, starting with Stephie, the youngest. When he came to me, he said, “Ryan’s into creative writing…like you, Holly.” He paused. “Maybe you could show him that story you got published last year.” He smiled like he was actually proud of my accomplishment.
“Really?” Ryan said, his hazel eyes lighting up. “Published?” He said it like it was a sacred act or something. “What magazine?”
“I’ll show you after supper,” I said, not really caring about this little charade Stan was playing, using me to impress his pimple-faced friend.
“Okay,” Ryan said, smiling too broadly for my taste.
Mom and Uncle Jack carried the conversation with Ryan and Stan clear through dessert. Now and then I caught snatches of Carrie and Stephie whispering next to me. Sounded like they were making plans for the two weeks I’d be gone. I grinned. What a fabulous break from these two—escaping to Daddy’s wonderful beach house overlooking the ocean, relaxing in the sun, sipping iced tea. Ah, what a way to spend fourteen carefree days. No time pressure. No stress. I could scarcely wait.
I was daydreaming, blocking out Stan and Ryan’s jibber-jabber, when suddenly I heard Andie’s name mentioned. I spooned up some of Mom’s apple crisp and a scoop of ice cream on the side, trying to act disinterested. Staring at my plate, I chewed in silence, but I was all ears.
Stan was saying he and Ryan had bumped into Andie at the Y yesterday. “We were going in and she was ready to leave,” he said nonchalantly.
I waited for him to mention that Andie was his former girlfriend and that they still spent time together off and on. But he was silent about that.
Strange.
Mom wiped her mouth with a napkin, then reached over and touched my left hand. “I think Holly and Andie must have the longest-running friendship around Dressel Hills,” she said. “Right, honey?”
I nodded.
Uncle Jack nodded, too. “I’d say they’re nearly sisters.”
A smirk swept across Ryan’s face. “Well, they sure don’t look it.” He snickered.
“Very funny,” I replied.
“Well…you know,” Ryan muttered.
“No, I don’t,” I said. “And I think you’d better spell it out.”
Stan frowned, casting at stern look at me. “Just drop it,” he said.
“Look,” I said, directing my comment to Stan, “Andie’s fabulous and
you,
of all people, should know that.”
He didn’t comment, and it infuriated me. Why wasn’t he sticking up for Andie? I didn’t get it.
I slid my chair away from the table, remembering the way Andie had cried earlier. “Excuse me, please.”
“Holly!” Mom said stiffly.
Ignoring her, I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the portable phone.
“What’s your problem?” Stan said as I flew through the dining room.
Turning around, I stared him down. “Think about it,” I said in my coldest voice. “Andie was perfectly fine for you”—I forced my gaze away from him and looked at Ryan—“until now.”
The entire family was staring at me. I could almost hear the wheels in Mom’s brain turning.
What’s gotten into her?
she was probably thinking.
Sure as shootin’, Uncle Jack was thinking something along the same lines, except his face was less revealing. He leaned back, scratched his chin, and winked in a fatherly fashion—to let me know he’d have a talk with Stan later, no doubt. It was just what I needed from my stepdad—the best around.
Ryan’s voice rose out of the silence. “Very nice meeting you, Holly.”
I wanted to say “Go pop your pimple,” but I turned and fled to my room. I choked back the horrible thought, only to have it rise up like a flood:
Had Stan’s friend ridiculed Andie to her face?
I closed my bedroom door behind me. My hand shook as I gripped the portable phone. It was time to get to the bottom of things.
LITTLE WHITE LIES
The phone rang a zillion times.
C’mon, Andie, pick up,
I thought.