Secret Admirer (8 page)

Later on they all drifted over to the games room where kids took turns playing pool, ping-pong, or video games. And while Carlie tried to stay involved with her friends, she was getting tired and her arm was starting to ache again. So she sat down with a soda and just watched the buzz of activity all around her.

“Hey,” said Whitney as she joined her. “What’s up?”

Carlie shrugged. “Not much. I guess I’m kinda tired.”

“How’s the arm?”

“A little sore.”

“That’s too bad. Do you wish you’d gone home?”

“No …” said Carlie slowly. “Not at all. I’m really glad I stayed. Just to be here for Cory’s talk tonight was awesome. And then being with my friends … well, it’s worth it.”

Whitney nodded. “I saw you and your friends afterward. To be honest, I think I was a little jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Yeah. I mean, I know you and your friends were kind of in a squabble, but it seems like you guys really love each other.”

“We do.”

“And Amy told me about your club and your clubhouse and everything.”

“Did you think it was silly?”

“Not at all. I think it sounds pretty cool. I think you’re lucky.”

Suddenly Carlie felt uncertain. Was Whitney hinting that she wanted to be involved? But, even if that was the case, it was a decision that would have to be made by the group. Just the same, she knew she would bring it up — when they got back home anyway. But now it was time to go back to the cabins. Janna and Cory were going around and telling kids that it was time to call it a night, and Carlie was glad.

“Janna’s going to talk about boys,” said Amy with excitement as they walked back to the cabin.

“How do you know?” asked Emily.

“She told me,” said Amy.

“She told me too,” admitted Carlie.

“This is going to be good,” said Amy.

But all Carlie could think about was sleep. She just wanted to crawl into her bunk and close her eyes. And that’s just what she did when they got back to the warm cabin. She tried to listen as Janna talked to the girls. Still, she realized it wasn’t much different than what Janna had said to her on their way home from the clinic. And
it wasn’t that much different from what Carlie already believed in her heart. Even though she had learned to appreciate boys, including Enrico, in a new way, she had no interest in anything beyond friendship.

“There will be plenty of time for boyfriends later,” Janna was telling the girls. “Right now you should just enjoy being yourself and having good friends. This is a time in your life that can never be repeated, a time when you can grow close to God and learn how to live a life that honors him. Having a boyfriend can really mess that up.” Then Janna started telling a story about a thirteen-year-old girl named Jessie who thought the best thing would be to have a serious boyfriend. She hooked up with a guy named Hunter who was sixteen, but it quickly turned into a mess. And, as much as Carlie wanted to hear the end of that story, she was about to drift off to sleep. But she also knew that her friends would retell the story to her tomorrow … if she asked them to.

Mostly she knew that something really big had changed in her heart tonight. She knew that her commitment to God had deepened, and that her commitment to her friends had deepened as well. And, even with a broken arm and feeling too sleepy to think quite straight, she couldn’t wait to see what was going to happen tomorrow. She knew that with God in her life, it would have to be good.

“So are you guys going to the Valentine’s Day dance?” asked Amy.

“Why would we want to do that?” Morgan’s brows drew together, and she peered at Amy like she’d just suggested that they all go jump into the ocean. Not a great idea since it was wicked cold and wet outside.

“Yeah,” said Carlie, as she picked up a chip and popped it into her mouth. “Who wants to go to some lame dance?”

“Because it’ll be fun,” said Amy hopefully.

“Fun?” Emily frowned at Amy as she picked up a bead. “You gotta be kidding.”

Now Amy regretted bringing the subject up. She looked out at the rain pelting the windows of the clubhouse, a converted school bus. The girls had gathered to spend a rainy Saturday just hanging together, doing beadwork and, of course, eating junk food — well, not
exactly
junk food, but not exactly the kind of food that Amy’s mom allowed in her house either.

“What do you plan to
do
at the dance, Amy?” asked Morgan.

“Dance, of course.”

“You’re actually going to dance with
boys
?” demanded Carlie.

“That’s the basic idea.” Amy just shook her head as she stared at her three friends. What was wrong with these girls anyway? Why were they so totally clueless when it came to boys?

Emily laughed. “You’re nuts, Amy.”

“Thanks a lot.” Amy frowned. This whole thing about not liking boys did not seem to be improving in the least with her friends. Amy had hoped they’d made some progress on their recent ski trip, but once they got back in school again, everything had gone pretty much back to the same old-same old. Just like always, most of the seventh grade boys would stick to their side of the locker bay with the girls clustered on the other. Not that Amy wanted to be like those girls who were regularly seen globbed onto their boyfriends and sometimes even kissing in front of God and everyone else. But, on the other hand, Amy thought it would be cool to have a guy interested in her. And she knew just which guy she wanted too.

“Seriously, Amy, do you really want to dance with some smelly boy?” asked Morgan.

“Not
all
boys are smelly,” argued Amy.

“How many boys have you actually smelled?” teased Emily.

“Which boys
aren’t
smelly?” asked Morgan.

“Yeah, are you thinking of some boy in particular?” asked Carlie with a little too much interest. “Anyone we know?”

Amy wished that Chelsea would hurry up and get here. That would help to balance out this discussion. Because Amy knew for a fact that Chelsea planned to go to the dance. In fact, Chelsea probably already had a new outfit all picked out for it — probably something very cool and expensive. And even though Chelsea had given up on Jeff Sanders (since he obviously liked Emily), she hadn’t given up on boys in general. In fact, she had already started flirting with that hottie Wade Ketwig. He was an eighth grader and, in Amy’s opinion, he was a little out of their league.

But at least Chelsea got it. She understood Amy’s desire to go to dances … to be around boys … to be liked by boys. Chelsea thought that was just normal. And it was something that she and Amy had in common. Not like Morgan, Carlie, and Emily. They still acted like all boys had cooties, which in Amy’s opinion was just so juvenile.

At times like this, Amy found it hard to believe that she was actually the youngest girl in their club. In some ways, she felt she was more mature than most of her friends. Of course, they would never see it that way, and if she even hinted at the possibility, they were quick to
remind her of her age. As well as the fact that, although she’d skipped a grade, she was still a whole year younger. They loved to point out that while the rest of them were thirteen (or in Carlie’s case, almost thirteen), Amy was still
just twelve
.

So what if they were “teenagers.” Really, what was the big deal? It was just a number. But as a result of being younger, they often treated Amy like she was the baby of the group. Sometimes they would tease her or call her a child. Now how ridiculous was that? Not to mention aggravating. Of course, it wasn’t much different within her own family. Being the youngest by far of three older siblings, all in their twenties and living in their own house, Amy sometimes felt as if the entire world saw her as
the baby
.

“Hey!” Chelsea greeted them as she burst into the bus. She shook her head, sending droplets of water flying out of her auburn curls. “Did you guys notice that it’s raining cats and dogs out there?”

“Any Chihuahuas?” asked Carlie. “I’ve been begging my mom for one.”

“What? So you can carry it around in a purse like Paris Hilton?” teased Amy.

“No,” said Carlie quickly. “But I would get a little doggy carryall bag.”

“Sorry I’m late,” said Chelsea, as she peeled off her soggy Tommy Hilfiger hoody and hung it over the bus’s
steering wheel to dry. “But my mom just had to stop by the bakery on the way over here. And it took her like forever to order some stupid cake for the dinner party they’re having tonight.”

“What kind of cake?” asked Amy.

“Something dark chocolate with no flour. Sounded pretty weird, if you ask me.” Chelsea looked around the bus. “So, what’s up?”

“Amy’s freaking over the Valentine’s Day dance,” said Morgan.

“Huh?” Chelsea peered at Amy.

“I’m so relieved you’re here,” said Amy. “I simply asked if anyone was going to the Valentine’s Day dance, and they all acted like I’d totally lost my mind.”

“Is that all?” Chelsea slid into the seat by the table, across from Amy. “Of course we’re all going to the dance,” she announced with confidence.

“Says who?” challenged Morgan. She adjusted her glasses then care fully strung a bright blue glass bead over the needle and onto the growing strand of colorful beads.

“Says Honor Society,” declared Chelsea.

“Huh?” Emily looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Well, as you guys know, we all made good enough grades to make the honor roll,” pointed out Chelsea.

“Barely,” said Carlie.

“You and me both,” admitted Chelsea. “But the point is that we made the first cut.”

“First cut?” Morgan frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that making the honor roll is the first step, but if we want to make it into Honor Society, we have to continue keeping our grades up, and besides that we need to show some genuine interest.”

“What kind of genuine interest?” asked Emily.

“And what can that possibly have to do with the Valentine’s Day dance?” asked Carlie.

“I get it,” said Amy suddenly. “Honor Society sponsors the Valentine’s Day dance, right?”

“Exacto-mundo,” said Chelsea as she took a chip and dipped it into the salsa then popped it into her mouth. “Umm, this is good. Homemade?”

“My mom,” said Carlie.

“She should sell this.”

Carlie shrugged.

“Back to the dance,” said Amy with even more impatience.

“Right,” said Chelsea. “So Vanessa Price, she’s an eighth grader — you know who I mean?”

“We know,” said Morgan in a slightly bored tone.

“Everyone
knows who Vanessa is,” said Carlie.

“Vanessa Price, the most popular girl in eighth grade,” said Emily as if reciting the words. “Cheerleader, president of Student Council, editor of the newspaper, pretty brunette with perfectly straight teeth.”

“And she’s nice,” added Amy.

“Yes,” said Chelsea. “She actually is nice. And she told me that if we want to make it into Honor Society, it would help if we volunteered for the Valentine’s Day dance.”

“You mean they want us to volunteer to dance?” said Morgan. “I can do that.” Then she got up and started to do some dance step that Amy had never seen before, but had to admit was impressive.

“I call it the Electric Porcupine,” said Morgan.

They all clapped, and she bowed then sat back down and returned to her beading.

“Where did you learn that?” asked Emily.

“I made it up.”

“I learned a fun dance from
High School Musical
,” said Chelsea.

“Can you teach us?” asked Morgan.

“Wait a minute — wait a minute.” Amy banged her fist on the table so hard that the bowl of chips jumped. “First things first — we need to finish discussing the Valentine’s Day dance.”

“What’s to discuss?” asked Carlie.

“Well, like Chelsea said,” persisted Amy, “if it will increase our chances of making it into Honor Society, we should participate, don’t you think?”

“I think you don’t need any help getting into Honor Society,” pointed out Carlie. “You always make straight A’s, Amy.”

Amy nodded, trying not to appear too smug. This was true. Her grade point average was always perfect. She would settle for nothing less. “But what about you, Carlie? And you, Chelsea?”

“My point exactly,” said Chelsea.

“But what’s the big deal about being in Honor Society anyway?” asked Morgan. “I mean, who really cares?”

“Who cares?” asked Amy. She was stunned. “How can you
not
care?”

Morgan shrugged and reached for another bead.

“I actually do care,” admitted Emily. “I plan to keep my grades up throughout high school. I hope to get an academic scholarship. I want to go to a good journalism school.”

“And my dad hopes that I’ll be the first one in his family to go to college,” said Carlie.

“And that’s all just fine,” said Chelsea. “But I’m talking about the present, the here and now. I’m talking about the Honor Society perks.”

“Perks?” inquired Amy.

“Yeah,” said Chelsea. “Vanessa told me they have this really great overnight, all-expenses-paid trip every spring where they go someplace really fun. Last year they went to Portland where, besides other things, they went ice-skating and to the theater and stayed in a really swanky downtown hotel — and they got to miss two full days of school too.”

“Cool,” said Carlie.

“So,” continued Chelsea. “We all need to volunteer to help with the Valentine’s Day dance to make some Brownie points.”

Amy nodded. “And if we help with the dance, it seems only appropriate that we should attend the same dance.”

“Right,” agreed Chelsea. “Of course.”

Amy grinned. She’d known that Chelsea would support her on this. Chelsea got it.

“So what will we volunteer to do for the dance?” asked Carlie. She held up her arm, still in a cast from her snowboarding mishap. “I get this removed next week, so I should be able to do something.”

“Decorations,” proclaimed Chelsea. “Vanessa said that no one ever wants to do decorations. And she is heading up the committee and suggested that I should volunteer.”

“Why does no one like to do decorations?” asked Carlie. “I think it sounds kinda fun.”

“She said it’s because you have to do all the decorating right before the dance, and that last hour is crazy because you have to get everything up in the cafeteria, and it’s a zoo. Vanessa said you end up all sweaty and messy. Apparently none of the eighth grade girls ever want to do it, so it’s kind of an initiation to get the seventh graders to help out.”

Amy frowned now. “So we have to go to the dance all sweaty and messy?”

“Talk about those smelly boys,” teased Carlie. “Wait until they get a whiff of us.”

“I have a plan,” said Chelsea. “We’ll just bring our dressy clothes and shoes and stuff in bags. And then, after we’re done decorating, we’ll do a quick clean up and be all ready for the big dance.”

“Perfect,” said Amy. She smiled hopefully at her friends.

“So, are you guys all in to help decorate?” asked Chelsea.

“I am,” said Emily.

“Okay,” agreed Morgan.

“I guess so,” added Carlie. “Although I’m not so sure I can keep my grades high enough to stay on the honor roll, so it might be a waste of time for me.”

“Why’s that?” asked Morgan.

Carlie looked a little embarrassed. “I’m having a hard time in Algebra One right now. I just don’t get it.”

“I can help you,” offered Amy. Math just happened to be one of her best subjects, and she was actually taking Algebra
Two
this year, the only seventh grader in the class. Not that she needed to brag. Everyone was pretty much aware of her academic skills.

Carlie brightened. “Hey, that’d be great.”

“And, speaking of grades, I’m kind of floundering in Spanish just now,” admitted Chelsea. “It’s like I’m language impaired or something.”

“Hey, I can help with that,” said Carlie proudly.

“Would you?” asked Chelsea eagerly.

“Sí, amiga. No problema.” Carlie laughed.

“I have an idea,” said Morgan suddenly. “Why don’t we have at least one homework meeting each week — you know, where we help each other with various subjects. I mean, it’s like we all have these different strengths and stuff.”

“Like Emily is a fantastic writer,” said Chelsea.

“And Morgan is Mr. Hilliard’s favorite in social studies class,” pointed out Emily. “She always knows everything about everything in there.”

“So we can schedule a weekly time to meet here and help each other out,” continued Morgan with enthusiasm. “That way we’ll all keep our grades up and we can all stay on the honor —”

“Great idea,” said Amy, “But before we get all distracted, I want to take a vote.”

“A vote for what?” asked Emily.

“For the dance,” said Amy impatiently.

“I thought we already agreed,” said Chelsea.

“We agreed to decorate,” explained Amy. “But I want us to agree that we’ll all go to the dance.”

Morgan rolled her eyes and groaned. “What if we don’t
want
to dance?”

“But you like to dance,” protested Amy. “We just saw you.”

“But that’s different,” said Morgan. “It’s just you guys.”

“Is it because of your church?” asked Chelsea suddenly.

“I mean, I had this friend back in California, and her church said that it was a sin to dance.”

“A sin to dance?” Morgan looked shocked. “No, of course it’s not a sin to dance — at least not in my church anyway. Sometimes we even dance during worship service.”

“You dance at church?” Amy tried not to look too shocked.