Holly's Heart Collection Three Read online

  Holly’s Heart: Collection Three

  Copyright © 2003, 2008

  Beverly M. Lewis

  Updated and revised for 2008 edition.

  Previously published in four separate volumes:

  Freshman Frenzy © 2003, 2008 Beverly Lewis

  Mystery Letters © 2003, 2008 Beverly Lewis

  Eight Is Enough © 2003, 2008 Beverly Lewis

  It’s a Girl Thing © 2003, 2008 Beverly Lewis

  Photographer: Mike Habermann Photography, Inc.

  Cover design by Eric Walljasper

  Unless otherwise identified, Scripture quotations are from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION.® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved. The “NIV” and “New International Version” trademarks are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by International Bible Society. Use of either trademark requires the permission of International Bible Society. www.zondervan.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy ing, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

  E-book edition created 2011

  ISBN 978-1-58558-695-0

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  About the Author

  BEVERLY LEWIS, born in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, fondly recalls her growing-up years. A keen interest in her mother’s Plain family heritage has inspired Beverly to set many of her popular stories in Amish country, beginning with her inaugural novel, The Shunning.

  A former schoolteacher and accomplished pianist, Beverly has written over eighty books for adults and children. Five of her blockbuster novels have received the Gold Book Award for sales over 500,000 copies, and The Brethren won a 2007 Christy Award.

  Beverly and her husband, David, make their home in Colorado, where they enjoy hiking, biking, reading, writing, making music, and spending time with their three grandchildren.

  Books by Beverly Lewis

  GIRLS ONLY (GO!)*

  Youth Fiction

  Girls Only! Volume One

  Girls Only! Volume Two

  SUMMERHILL SECRETS†

  Youth Fiction

  SummerHill Secrets Volume One

  SummerHill Secrets Volume Two

  HOLLY’S HEART

  Youth Fiction

  Holly’s Heart Collection One†

  Holly’s Heart Collection Two†

  Holly’s Heart Collection Three*

  www.BeverlyLewis.com

  * 4 books in each volume

  † 5 books in each volume

  Table of Contents

  Freshman Frenzy

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Mystery Letters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Eight Is Enough

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  It’s a Girl Thing

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Acknowledgments

  For my cool niece

  Amy Birch.

  And . . .

  for a very special fan

  in Roseville, Minnesota—

  Beth Alexander.

  FRESHMAN FRENZY

  Chapter 1

  My freshman year was doomed, thanks to the Dressel Hills, Colorado, school board.

  “How can they do this?” I wailed, watching Mom prepare a casserole for supper.

  “Well, try looking on the bright side.” She offered a comforting smile. “You get to go to high school a whole year early.”

  “That’s exactly the problem!” I argued.

  She continued. “And don’t forget, now you can see your tenth-grade friends every day.”

  That’s cool, I thought. Friends like Danny Myers . . . and Stan Patterson, my brousin—cousin-turned-stepbrother.

  I could almost see it now, Stan sneering down his sophomore nose at me. Probably all year long, too! I couldn’t wait not to go.

  Of course, my twin girl friends, Paula and Kayla Miller, would be there. An encouraging thought. But in spite of the togetherness aspect, it didn’t change the fact that I was being cheated out of my last, fabulous year of junior high. Top of the heap was an honor. Something to look forward to. Something to remember . . . forever.

  Lofty freshmen had always ruled the corridors of Dressel Hills Junior High. Paula and Kayla were constantly talking about how cool it was last year. Now, just when it was my turn to be in the highest class on campus, I was being shoved out—off to high school, returning to the bottom of the barrel.

  I stared at Mom’s creamy chicken-and-rice casserole.

  It smelled perfectly delicious, even with the broccoli bits not-so-subtly mixed in. But my appetite had vanished. How could the voting public possibly think this was a good move? So what if the junior high was too crowded? I mean, come on—it was a rip-off for us freshmen. Didn’t we deserve our rightful privilege?

  I must’ve sighed or something. Anyway, Mom glanced at me. “You’re taking this too hard, Holly-Heart.”

  “I don’t know how else to take it, Mom! I just can’t deal with it. It’s just so . . . so . . .”

  The sparkle faded from her cheerful eyes
. “What?”

  “It’s so unfair!” I blurted.

  “Life’s not always fair. You and I both know that.” She turned around to set the oven timer.

  I shrugged and headed upstairs to my room. Mom was too glib. Sure, she’d been through her teen years and lived to tell about it—eons ago. How could she possibly remember how it felt to be my age?

  I hurried upstairs to my desk. I owed someone a letter. A very special someone—sixteen-year-old Sean Hamilton. The boy I’d met last Christmas while visiting my dad in California. Sean was the sweetest guy I’d ever met. Best of all, he was a Christian.

  I’d surprised myself and faithfully answered each of his letters since returning home five weeks ago. In fact, my correspondence with Sean was very interesting. His letters were friendly, and he was open about his life goals and other things.

  I reached for a box of pastel pink stationery and picked up my pen.

  Thursday, August 29

  (Four days of freedom before school starts!)

  Dear Sean,

  Hey. How’s everything out there? Did you get your car fixed? If not, are you still jogging to your summer job at the radio station?

  I guess there’s not really much to write about. I mean, there is—it’s just that I’m not sure if you’d be that interested. Okay, I can hear you saying, “Go ahead and tell me.”

  Well, to begin with, the schools here are overcrowded, and sixth graders are being moved up to the junior high, now the middle school. That pushes the freshmen like me up to high school. And, you guessed it, I’ll have to deal with initiation and stuff. Worse than that, I’m going to miss being top dog in junior high. Being on the low end of the totem pole doesn’t sound like much fun. But, oh well, I guess I’ll survive. I have no choice, right?

  School starts next Tuesday.

  I was wondering, did you have to go through high-school initiation as a freshman? If you did, what kinds of things did they do to you? I’m dying to know, so I can prepare myself. Ha!

  Actually, it’s not very funny. When I think about it, sometimes I feel like crying. That might sound dumb to you, but it’s true.

  Anyway, life stinks here.

  Hope your school year’s better than mine!

  Your friend,

  Holly

  I reread the letter and decided it sounded almost too personal, especially the crying part. I thought about rewriting the whole thing. Then I got the idea to dig out Sean’s letters to see how he’d expressed some of his concerns about life.

  After looking through them, I decided to let my words stand as written and sealed the envelope. Personal or not, Sean would be reading it in about three days. Mom hadn’t understood my feelings about school. I hoped Sean Hamilton would.

  FRESHMAN FRENZY

  Chapter 2

  After supper I walked to the mailbox to mail my letter. Since it was still light out—and I wanted to avoid another conversation at home—I continued walking down the brick sidewalk.

  The sky was full of small, shredded clouds floating across deep-blue space. Summer was winding down in more ways than one. Everywhere I looked, families on Downhill Court— my street—were outdoors grilling hamburgers. The final relaxed moments of summer would soon dissolve into a hectic hustle of kids bustling back to school.

  Three blocks down, I came to Aspen Street—the only stretch of road leading into and out of town. Compared to the bumper-to-bumper traffic during ski season, the street seemed lonely now.

  A musty, nostalgic feeling swept the air—a hint of fall, I guess—accompanied by an unexpected breeze. I shivered a bit. The minute the sun set in Dressel Hills, things began to cool off. Even in late August.

  Colorado mountain towns are like that. After all, we aren’t far from the continental divide. Top of the world.

  Just not top of the heap.

  I sighed, thinking about my old junior high. And the lost ninth-grade, top-dog status. Gone forever! The more I thought about it, the more frustrating it seemed.

  Then, just as I was about to explode, I noticed my best friend, Andrea Martinez, coming out of the doughnut shop. She wore her church camp T-shirt and faded blue jean shorts. Her hair framed her face in dark curls. “Hey, Andie!” I called.

  “Hey!” She waved back.

  I had to know what she thought about the school mess. “Heard the latest?”

  “Unfortunately.” She wrinkled up her nose. “What’s going to happen to us lowly freshmen?”

  “That’s what I’m worried about.” I began to tell her how I’d flung my concerns on my mom.

  Andie nodded. “My mom thinks it’s too soon—moving us to high school a year early. She wishes I could stay in junior high another year. But then, she’s a helicopter mom—you know, always hovering.”

  Andie’s mother was more than overly protective. She was an outright worrywart.

  “What they should do is give us freshmen our own wing of the school or something. Then we’d have something to claim and rule.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, “but who’s going to suggest something like that?”

  Andie fluffed her curly locks. “I will.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re looking at the president-to-be of the Dressel Hills High freshman class!”

  “Don’t you wish.” I studied her, waiting for the usual hilarious outburst. But she was confident, smiling. “When did you decide this?”

  “Oh, a bunch of us were talking at the Soda Straw a little while ago.”

  “Today?” A strange, left-out feeling poked at me.

  “Uh-huh.” She glanced at me. I could tell by the recognition in her eyes she’d caught on. She knew how lousy I was feeling. Growing up as someone’s best friend tends to give instant insight to the other person’s feelings. “Aw, c’mon, it’s not like we planned a meeting or anything,” she said, obviously trying to back away from the subject. “It just happened.”

  “So . . . who all was there?”

  “Just people.”

  “Right.” Now her private little planning party had been reduced to “people.” I stared at her bag of doughnuts. “What’s going on?”

  “Honestly, nothing. Paula and Kayla Miller were there having sundaes with Billy Hill and Danny Myers. All of us were kicking around some ideas.”

  I was all ears. “And?”

  “Someone said I ought to run for freshman class president . . . that I’d make a good one. You know, a strong Christian voice in the school and on the student council.” She grinned.

  I agreed on one thing: Andie had a strong voice.

  She continued. “Then Jared Wilkins and Amy-Liz Thompson showed up. When they heard what we were discussing, Jared came up with the idea that a bunch of us from church ought to think about running for student offices—we could evangelize the school.”

  I nodded, listening to her explain, although somewhat distracted. Jared and Amy-Liz—together?

  Andie kept talking, but I tuned her out. It was easy to see she was off on one of her fantasy tangents. No way could she get voted in. Shoot, I hated to think this about my best friend, but there were lots of other, more popular, kids who stood a way better chance.

  “Earth to Holly?”

  I snapped out of it. “Huh?”

  “Well, what do you think?”

  I was still half dazed. “About what?”

  “Will you be my campaign manager?”

  Andie was serious about this running for president thing. I could see it in her eyes. “Uh . . . well, I guess I could. But, hey, wait a minute—how do you know I don’t want to run?” I faked a good laugh. “I just might, you know.”

  “Oh, Holly,” she groaned. “Give me a chance—just this once?”

  I waited for her to stop whining. “Look, you don’t have to worry. I’m going to be too busy adjusting to high school. You know how I am about my grades,” I assured her.

  “Yeah, you actually study!” she snickered.

  “Just give me a year to sett
le in,” I said. “Then watch out!”

  Andie’s eyes danced. “So you promise not to run?”

  I nodded. “I really couldn’t care less about all this. If you want to run, I’ll manage your campaign.”

  She grabbed my arm and squeezed. “Oh, thank you! You won’t be sorry, I promise!”

  “What a relief,” I teased, pulling the doughnut bag out of her hand. She chased me all the way to Downhill Court. We stopped running and started giggling in front of my next-door neighbor’s house.

  Mrs. Hibbard was entertaining her sewing-circle friends on the front porch. “Hello, girls,” the elderly woman called to us.

  Andie and I waved politely. “How are you doing, Mrs. Hibbard?’ I replied.

  “Oh, not too bad,” she answered. “Won’t you girls come join us for pie?” The thoughtful woman stood up and leaned on the porch banister. “Holly?” she called again without waiting for my reply.

  I wanted to say no, but out of respect—and it was obvious she wanted us to come—we climbed the steps leading to her porch. “Hello,” Andie and I greeted all her lady friends.

  “Now, you just have a seat, girlies,” Mrs. Hibbard said, hobbling off to get some pie. Soon she was back with an enormous piece of apple pie a la mode for both of us. “Here we are.”

  “Thank you,” I said, conscious of five wrinkly faces staring at us. How long had it been since these senior citizens laid eyes on teen girls? Decades? Maybe longer? It sure felt that way, having five sets of eyes bore into me and my every move.

  I slid my fork into the pie and tasted the fabulous dessert. “Mmm! Delicious,” I said as they observed.

  “Would you care for some tea?” one of them asked, leaning forward.

  “No, thank you.” I glanced over at Mrs. Hibbard and noticed that her eyes were transfixed on my hair. Reaching up, I felt the top of my head. Nothing unusual.

  Mrs. Hibbard kept staring. “Your hair is so long and pretty, Holly,” she said. “I remember seeing you as a wee girl, your hair flying free in the wind or gathered into a ponytail. Just the way you have it now.”

  Hearing her mention my childhood and associating it with my long hair made me feel uneasy. Here I was, on the verge of high school, wearing my hair the same old way. Maybe it was time for a change.

  “Well, I’ve thought about doing something different with it. But the urge to change it comes and goes.” I almost told her about going with my stepmom to an exclusive beauty salon in Beverly Hills while I visited in California last month. Saundra had nearly convinced me to have a spiral-wrap perm. She thought the crisp, vertical waves would look good in long, thick hair like mine. Daddy said so, too. But at the last minute I’d chickened out.