Two of my Cotillion photos are on the front page of the school paper, plus Colt posted a slide show of several others online. I got tons of compliments, which floored me because I didn’t know so many people could put my face with my name from the paper. Funny how I’d planned on hiding out all through high school, and here I am being recognized for my photography. Still, winter break comes just in time.
It’s a relief to get away from homework, studying and tests for a while. Christmas is totally great. I don’t get any socks, but Ray gets two packages of jockey shorts. However, he also gets a slew of electronic games and gadgets, some so new I’m not even sure what they are. These are from our Aunt Frances, who visits us each year from Houston and believes Christmas should be a time of Texas-sized giving. So Ray is more than happy. My gift from Aunt Frances is a heart-shaped amethyst ring with a small diamond on each side. It is beautiful and it fits perfectly on the ring finger of my left hand. I fantasize that it is a promise-slash-engagement ring from Brent, which goes to show that at Christmas my imagination really goes into overdrive. Almost all my other gifts are books I wanted and can’t wait to read.
Mom, Dad and Aunt Frances never want anything, so I had stars named after them. They are all delighted and can’t wait until dark. Ray is actually thrilled when I give him a “fake” book from the music store. It’s one of those big, thick music books that has like a gazillion songs in it.
New Year’s Eve afternoon Ray has a gig that Mom arranged for him for the son of a guy who goes to the Chamber of Commerce lunches at The Colonial Inn. New Year’s Eve is the kid’s birthday and he always complained that it was overshadowed by the holiday. Not this year. Mom caters the cake, a raspberry filled, chocolate-covered, football-shaped sensation. The party is a huge success and Mom starts talking seriously about expanding her catering and being the manager for Ray’s group. Dad makes a joke about being left out and next thing he and his band have a regular gig at the monthly Chamber-of-Commerce-sponsored Downtown Franklin Open Houses, where the small stores stay open later than usual and have refreshments and special discounts.
So everyone else’s real life is seriously on the upswing, whereas for me only my fantasy life is going anywhere (well, except for my photographs for the school paper).
I decide I need to do something about my, um, personal life. But how?
* * *
“...and it’s not due for six weeks,” Deadly Dudley says. He doesn’t sound so deadly now that we’ve finished grammar and are into writing, but the nickname is engraved on my brain. “You don’t have to start working on the paper right away. Just start thinking about it. And, of course, read your assigned book.”
I moan to myself. As if I want to think about a major assignment on the weekend before Valentine’s Day.
“Also,” Deadly adds in a voice that almost resembles cheerful, “you might want to start consulting with your partner. On an informal basis, of course.”
I moan again, out loud this time. Fortunately, I’m drowned out by the bell. As I gather my books, I glance at Colt, who’s my assigned partner for a paper about Pride and Prejudice. Colt is smart and all that, but somehow I don’t exactly see him connecting with Jane Austen.
Of course, there’s no arguing with Dudley about partners or topics. He made that clear when he made the assignment. I read the book last summer just because I like anything by Jane Austen. So I’ll have to wait for Colt to read it anyway.
“Becca, we need to talk about our assignment.” Colt steps back against a locker and pulls me aside.
I don’t want to get into some major strategy session. I have Brent-fantasy plans to attend to. “I think we’ll need to read the book before we do anything,” I say. “So next week is probably soon enough for us to start working on our assignment.”
“Well, sure,” said Colt. “But, I’ve already—”
“I really have to run,” I say quickly, making a big deal of checking the time. “I’ll talk to you next week, after—” I almost say Valentine’s Day. But I don’t want to sound too unscholarly. “I’ll talk to you after school.”
Colt rubs his jaw. “But—”
“Gotta go!” I’m already turning and heading down the hall. “I’ll talk to you next week.” I try to look totally purposeful as I speed-walk away. Nina has a Scene Stealers meeting and Tanya left school for a haircut the second the final bell rang. I don’t look for Randi, because I’m sure she’s stalking Justin, as usual. I should make good time on my own.
I’m in such a hurry, I crash right into Randi.
“And hello to you too, Becca.”
“Hi,” I said. “Sorry, I’m in a hurry.”
“Going somewhere?”
“Uh, just home,” I say.
“Yeah, well, me too,” Randi says, almost apologetically. It’s been ages since she’s gone home right after school. If she isn’t stalking Justin, she works on a project in the shop class she signed up for winter term. Who would have thought Randi would love to hammer metal and cut wood, but she does. She brightens and continues, “It’s only long enough to change clothes. I’m pretty sure Justin drives Madison to the mall after school, so I’m gonna take the bus out there.”
“You need to change your clothes to go to the mall?” I say, dodging a flailing elbow as we work our way down the hall.
“I want to wear something sexier than I can get away with at school.”
“Oh, sure. Makes sense,” I say. It doesn’t really, since I doubt Justin is going to see Randi in something “sexier” and suddenly abandon Madison, but of course I don’t say that.
“So,” Randi says, “Any big plans for this weekend?”
She has to know I never have big plans for the weekend, but it’s nice of her to pretend that she thinks I might. “Not really.”
What I don’t say is that I’m planning to make a Special Delivery Valentine for Brent. Every year the French Club raises money by delivering valentines, from anyone to anyone, anonymously, for a dollar a card. For two dollars more, they make a card for you. But I want to create my own. Fancy and romantic and poetic enough to grab Brent’s attention. And after he asks around school about what girl could possibly have sent him such a completely magnificent card, I’ll tell him. Then he’ll fall as hard for me as I have for him. That’s the way it works in my too-fertile imagination, anyway.
Just so Randi doesn’t think I’ll be doing nothing and therefore available to maybe do something with her in the event her one-hundred-forty-third plot to lure Justin away from Madison doesn’t work, I add, “I’m going to make Valentines.” I quickly add, “For my family.” I’ve already bought cards for her, Nina and Tanya, and I’m just going to exchange cards with them at school.
“We’ll, I’m hoping to be Justin’s Valentine.” Randi wriggles her eyebrows.
“Um, good luck with that.”
* * *
That night after supper I go straight to my room. I pull out my yellow lined pad of paper and my favorite Number Two pencil to work on the poem to put in my valentine to Brent. Somehow this is much more romantic and inspiring than tapping out something on the computer. I love the sound and feel of the pencil lead moving across the paper.
Trouble is, my hand is not moving. That’s because my brain is not clicking. I mean, Brent is totally dreamy looking, but what exactly is it about him that makes us soul mates?
I try to think. The more I think the emptier the blank page of paper in front of me looks. What’s wrong? Brent is gorgeous. I’ve had a thing for him for months. Why can’t I think of something to write? What’s stopping me?
Finally, it hits me. Writer’s block! I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never experienced it before. Frankly, I never exactly believed it existed. I thought it was just an excuse. But now ... now! My mind is blank! As blank as the yellow-lined paper. It has to be writer’s block.
Maybe if I start making the Valentine itself, it will free my mind. I toss aside my pencil and paper and run to the closet. I pull out the box of art supplies I bought to make valentines and find ... nothing! My lace doilies. My silvery foil. My red construction paper. Gone! All gone!
“Raymond!” I shout as I storm down to my brother’s room. I pound on his door, then barge right in. “What have you done with my supplies for—eeeek!”
All over his room are the remnants of my carefully chosen valentine supplies.
“Oh, was that your stuff?” Raymond asks in the totally-unconcerned way only an eleven-year-old could express. He tries to hide a wrinkled, lopsided red heart raggedly decorated with silvery foil and trimmed with portions of a torn lace doily.
“Raymond,” I say through clenched teeth. “Those are my valentine supplies. I was saving them for a very special card.”
“Oh ....” Raymond lowers his eyes and pretends to look apologetic. “Sorry.”
“You owe me. Cold hard cash.” I shoot him my best glare. “And don’t tell me you don’t have any money. You had a gig just a couple weeks ago.”
“Yeah, but Mom makes me bank most of it.”
I stand firm, my hand out. “Most of it. Not all of it.”
“Oh. All. Right. Go back to your room and I’ll bring it to you. I don’t want to you see where I keep it.”
As if I’d raid his stash of cash! “Fine!” I stomp back upstairs.
Ray brings the money, but it’s too late to go to the store. I’ll just have to wait until tomorrow.
The next morning I slap my hand over my alarm clock. But it keeps ringing. I sit up and realize it’s my cell phone. I don’t remember leaving it on. I answer with a groggy, “Hello?”
“Hey, Becca. It’s Colt. “How ‘bout starting on our assignment today.”
“Ummm …. Sorry, I’ve got plans today. But I’ll talk to you next week. Really. Bye!”
I don’t exactly hang up on Colt. But I don’t wait for him to say “goodbye” either.
I rush out to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat and almost run over Ray, who is standing next to the counter making toast.
I hurry through breakfast, dress and leave a note for Mom to let her know I’ve gone to Paper Palace and maybe a bike ride. I’ve decided a ride might help jumpstart my brain, so I can think of something seriously romantic for Brent’s card.
Trouble is, when I get there I discover Paper Palace isn’t open yet. Don’t they realize people are actually out and about before eleven o’clock? Since I have almost a whole hour to kill, I decide to go for my ride now.
The nearest road with a bike path heads west, so that’s where I go. I hit Greenhill Road and decide to stay on that. It circles around town and avoids all the stop signs. After a few minutes I realize that I’m nearing the stable where I used to go horseback riding until the owners retired. I turn off at the next intersection.
Trouble is, I’ve forgotten just how narrow and winding the road is. There’s a lot of gravel and not much of a shoulder. Suddenly, a huge SUV roars around the curve.
I skid and swerve and slide off the road right into a ditch as the SUV disappears around the bend. My bike crashes on some rocks in the ditch while I sail over it and land in some thick grass at the edge. For a second I just lie there. Okay. I’m breathing. I can see the sky. I can feel my arms and legs. I’m a little sore, but I can move. I sit up and inspect myself. I’m kind of dirty and grass-stained, but other than that, I’m okay.
Wish I could say the same for my bike. The front wheel is bent and the handlebars are all askew. Great. I am miles from home. And, of course, I didn’t bother to bring my cell phone with me.
The sun, which had been peeking through some gray clouds, disappears. The breeze picks up. I feel a drop of rain.
I hadn’t seen anyone except the person in the SUV for a while now. How long would it be before someone else came along? I look around. There’s a mailbox just ahead. Where there’s a mailbox, there must be a house, even it is set so far back off through the trees along the driveway that I can’t see one.
“Okay,” I tell myself (since there’s no one else to talk to), “I can walk my bike to that house, call home and have Mom or Dad pick me up. They can probably lash my bike to the back of the car or something.”
I reach the driveway. The mailbox has a five-numeral number on it, which means I’m way on the edge of town. I should’ve paid more attention and not ridden so far. Oh, well, too late now. I head up the driveway. Because of the dented tire, it’s kind of hard to steer the bike as I walk. It keeps swerving and I keep stumbling.
A loud bark almost scares me out of my clothes. A big yellow dog stands inches in front me. It barks and barks and barks some more. It doesn’t really seem to be barking at me, though. It’s more like it’s barking to someone. Like Scooby-doo in those old cartoons.
“What is it, Maggie?” says a deep voice coming from the direction of the house. “What’s out there, girl?”
Maggie points her nose at me and barks.
I see a pair of cowboy boots, jeans, a heavy jacket, and a leathery face topped off by a black cowboy hat.
“Becca?” It’s Colt. He takes one look at my bike and says, “Looks as if you have a problem.”
“Yup.” Yikes I’m sounding as if I’m the farmer! “Um, can I use your phone to call home, so someone can pick me up?”
“When my dad gets back with the pickup, he could take you and your bike home.”
I’m sure my parents would appreciate not having to drive out here and figure out how to load my bike onto the car. “That’d be good. Thanks.”
“Hey, Colt, are you ready?” A girl with Colt’s dark eyes, who looks a little younger than Ray, calls from the porch.
“Just a sec.” Colt explains about my bike. He points his thumb toward the girl. “My sister, Grace. Grace, this is Becca Bidwell.
“Bidwell?” Grace almost shrieks. “Is … is Ray Bidwell your brother?”
“Yes.” Yikes, his reputation has reached the outskirts of town.
“I heard his band at Minda Alphin’s birthday party. They were totally spectacular!”
“Um … good.”
“Hey,” Grace says as I lean my bike against the porch. “I’ve got plenty of stuff for making valentines, if you want to make any.”
“Uh, that’s okay,” I say, but Grace is already dashing back into the house.
Colt and I go inside. “If you’d like to call your folks, there’s a phone right over there.”
I call home, Dad answers and goes into his drill routine. I tell him where I am and go on to explain that Colt is my partner for a school project, that I’m going to help his sister make Valentine’s, that I’ll be home later, I just want him to know where I was. I leave out the part about the SUV running me off the road and my bike being out of commission. It’s probably just as well, because it’s the kind of thing where Dad’s imagination can take off and picture me with broken bones and all sorts of trauma. Why freak him out over nothing?
Just as I hang up, Grace runs back into the room with an armload of valentine-making supplies. There’s enough paper, lace, glitter and colored markers for a hundred cards. “Here,” she says, spreading the stuff out on a table in front of me. “Help yourself.”
“Um ... that’s really nice,” I said. “But ... but I really don’t need to ... that is—”
“It’s so fun to make valentines!” Grace rummages through her supplies. “And it’s even more fun doing it with someone!”
I don’t want to kill her enthusiasm, so I decide to go along, “Yeah, it is fun.”
“What do you need?”
“O-oh, nothing all that sp-special.” I stutter as if somehow Grace could read my mind and know that the card I make is going to be for Brent. My face is burning. I must look like a nuclear reactor out of control. I lean over to hide my face as I pick out some paper and scissors.
“C’mon, Colt, you can make some too!” Grace says.
Colt shakes his head. “Not my thing. Besides, I’ve got stuff to do.”
As Colt leaves the room, Grace and I set to work. Funny, I have no trouble making the actual card for Brent. It’s turning out great. Trouble is, I still haven’t thought of one word of text for it. Oh, well. I’ll have all day Sunday.
Just as I apply a final touch of glue to my masterpiece, Colt announces, “Lunch!”
Turns out he made it himself. “Is there nothing you can’t do?” I joke.
Colt pulls out a chair for me and says with an almost-straight face, “Well, I haven’t completely figured out the secrets of the universe yet.”
After a delicious lunch of homemade vegetable soup and homemade bread spread with homemade butter, Colt turns to me and says, “I guess my dad’s going to be a while. I’ve got to head out to the barn and do some chores. Want to come along?”
“Sure.” I say. I’ve finished making my valentine and have nothing else to do anyway.
Colt rummages around in a closet and finds some old boots that more or less fit me. “I don’t want you ruining your shoes.”
“And by that I assume you mean by stepping in, um, manure.”
“Ah, you’ve been around barns before.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Colt and I trudge out to the barn through a light sprinkle. The wind has stopped blowing. The grass and trees look fresh from the rain.
Colt grabs a pitchfork and goes from stall to stall, cleaning out soiled hay and spreading fresh hay for some cows and two beautiful horses. The horses thrust their heads out to nuzzle Colt. He runs his hands along their proud curved necks.
“Would you like to feed Lightning?” Colt takes a carrot from a feedbox, snaps it in pieces and holds out some to me.
I gaze at the gleaming black horse. “Sure.”
I take a few pieces of carrots, place them on my hand and hold it out flat. Lightning lowers his head, sniffs suspiciously at first, then eagerly nibbles the treat. I pat his velvety nose.
“Hey, Thunder, you want some carrots, too?” Colt presses his cheek against the head of the sleek palomino in the next stall. Thunder whinnies softly. Colt looks at me over his shoulder. “You like to ride?”
“Oh, yes! I used to ride at the Circle B Ranch.”
“Well, these guys love to be ridden,” said Colt. “When the weather’s better, you’ll have to come over.”
He says it so matter-of-factly that I can’t help but say, “I’d like that.”
After all, I could go riding with Colt and still date Brent (once he gets my valentine, realizes the author is his soul mate—and Claire is out of the picture for some convenient reason).
Colt feeds grain to all the animals. “Dad feels bad because Grace and I had to take over so many chores back when Mom died, but I don’t mind the work. In fact, I kind of … like doing chores.” He turns his head as a pink shadow runs over his cheeks.
I give a nod of understanding, even though I’m not sure Colt sees me.
When we’re done in the barn, we sit on a bench on the back porch to take off our wet, messy boots. Colt says, “As long as you’re here, this would be a good time for us to start on our assignment.”
“Well,” I say, tugging on a boot. “It’d probably be better to wait until we’ve both read—”
“I’ve already read Pride and Prejudice.”
“You have?”
Colt grins. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I didn’t mean ... it’s not that I thought ... I’m sure you’re ... what I mean is, I’ve read it too.”
“You have?” Colt’s face spreads into an even bigger grin.
I break into a wide-open smile myself. “Touché.”
“Okay, it’s established that we both like Jane Austen enough to have already read her on our own time. How ‘bout tackling the assignment?” Colt pauses, then says, “Unless you still need to work on that valentine?”
I feel the color rising in my face. Someday, someone is going to discover a cure for blushing. “I ... I don’t need to right now.”
“Okay, then.”
We leave our boots on the porch and head inside. Grace is still churning out valentines in the living room, so Colt leads me to a small room lined with books. “Our study,” Colt said. “Aptly named, because it’s where Grace and I study.”
“Very clever.” I scan the shelves. Not only do I see the entire Jane Austen collection, but just about every book from English and American literature that I’d ever heard of. “You must really like to read.”
“Sure do,” said Colt. “Does that surprise you?”
Before I blush again, I quickly change the subject. I mean, I know he’s smart, I now know he read Pride and Prejudice, but I guess I think of him as more the math-and-science type than the all-kinds-of-literature type. “Maybe for our paper we could focus on a theme—that Elizabeth represents prejudice and Mr. Darcy represents pride.”
“You don’t have to twist my arm on that one,” Colt says. “Although Elizabeth definitely has pride too—especially in her own wit.”
“And Darcy is snobbish—which I think is a variation on prejudice.”
Next thing I know Colt and I have gone on for over an hour, dissecting Pride and Prejudice and making a ton of notes for our paper.
Suddenly Grace runs into the room. “Dad’s home!”
After quick introductions and an even quicker bite to eat, he’s ready to drive me and my bike home.
For some reason, I feel a stitch of disappointment. Colt and I were making some real progress on our assignment.
“Thanks, for lunch and everything, Colt,” I say.
“We got a lot done.” The warm smile Colt gives me is echoed in his voice. “Hey, I think I’ll hitch a ride with you and Dad. I, uh, need to, um, do a couple errands in town. And besides ….” He plunks his large hand on my shoulder. “… I want to make sure you get home okay, that Dad doesn’t get lost or something.”
“I heard that!” Mr. Strand says.
“Just kidding.” Colt grins.
“Not to worry.” Mr. Strand loads my bike into the back of the pickup.
“Becca, wait! You forgot this!” Grace runs over and hands me something. It’s the card I made for Brent.
I can’t believe I forgot it! “Thanks, Grace.”
“Oh … and … um … here’s one for Ray.” Grace stares intently at the ground as she hands me a card in an envelope covered with glitter and little red hearts.
“I’ll see that he gets it.” And I won’t even tease him … much.
Colt, his Dad and I pile into the pickup. Mr. Strand suggests we drop my bike off at Franklin Cycle to be repaired, and I agree. Otherwise, the ride home is uneventful. It’s kind of weird, though, because I’ve never sat next to a guy who wasn’t a relative before. It’s kind of nice.
When I get home, Mom is busy baking a cake “for us for a change,” she says. Dad and Ray are both off practicing with their bands. I go upstairs and leave Grace’s card for Ray propped up on his dresser where he’ll be sure to see it. I decide I won’t tease him about it.
In my room I pull out the pad of yellow lined paper. I try to think of what to write on the card I made for Brent to show him my total love and devotion. Okay, maybe that’s overstating it, but I definitely want to say something romantic.
I decide to call Randi. Maybe a little girl talk will get the words to flow.
“Hi, where are you?” I say. There’s music and chatter in the background.
“At the mall.”
“Again?”
“I’m at Shoe World. I found the cutest black boots!”
Randi has so many black boots, I don’t know how she tells them apart. I sure can’t.
“Cool,” I say, before I quickly tell her about my afternoon.
“Sounds as if you and Colt have a lot in common,” Randi says.
“Horses and Jane Austen. That’s about all.”
“Maybe that’s not all ….”
No need to explain it’s all about Brent, as far as I’m concerned. I quickly change the subject. “Um, how did it go yesterday?”
“Yesterday…? Oh! Yeah! I can’t believe I forgot to tell you! Turns out Justin takes Madison to Bibi’s Boutique, where she has a part-time job!”
“You mean he hangs out at Bibi’s while Madison works?”
“No. He drops her off. He then has a couple of hours to kill before he has to pick her up.”
“Um,” I say, “And you know this because …?”
“Because about three seconds after he walked out of Bibi’s, he ‘just happened’ to bump into me and he told me.”
“Since you were conveniently standing where he could bump into you?”
“Well, duh!” Randi laughs.
I’m not sure this conversation is going to inspire my writing, but it’s better than staring at a blank piece of yellow paper. “So … what’d you do after he bumped into you?”
“We drove up to Hilyard Butte.”
“Yikes!” Hookup Hilyard? That’s only the hottest, most secluded make out site in the whole county practically. Not that I know from personal experience, but there are plenty of stories. “And you … enjoyed the view?”
“The view? Oh, yeah.” Randi laughs. “For about three seconds. Then things got hot. I let Justin get to second base.”
“Second base?” I wasn’t exactly sure what getting to second base entailed, but it was one base past first.
“Yeah, no more bases until he breaks off with Madison.”
“I’m glad you’re standing firm on that,” I say, hoping Randi doesn’t notice the sarcasm in my voice.
“Totally. Whoa! I see the most adorable dress! It has all these snaps on it, so you can drape it any way you want. Gotta try it on! Bye!”
“Bye,” I say, although Randi is already gone. I pick up my pencil and pad of paper. But still, nothing. Absolutely nothing. I put down the pencil. I close my eyes. Maybe if I just let my mind drift ….
I see … I see … I see myself feeding carrots to Black Lightning. Wait. That is totally not romantic. I try again. Okay. I see Elizabeth and Darcy, dancing! That’s more like it. That’s romantic. Trouble is, I still can’t think of anything to write on my valentine for Brent. Well, there’s always tomorrow. I’ll … I’ll have a good night’s sleep, and wake up inspired. Yeah, that’s it. Tomorrow is another day to compose the perfect expression of my love for Brent.