One True Way Read online

  Sam plopped down on the plaid quilt covering one of the twin beds. “The Pinto World Championship Horse Show is in Tulsa, Oklahoma,” she said.

  “You went all the way to Oklahoma to ride in a horse show?”

  Sam grinned. “Yeah, my mom thought it was a crazy idea, but my dad loves horses as much as I do. The whole family went except for Melissa.”

  I picked up a picture from the shelf of Sam wearing chaps and an enormous belt buckle. “Guess you have to dress the part.”

  “Yep, and your horse has to look good too. When Penelope was first born, I noticed her coat was as shiny as a new penny. That’s where her name comes from.”

  “She’s a beautiful horse.”

  “I’ll teach you to ride her,” Sam said.

  I shook my head. “My mom would worry that I’d get hurt.”

  Sam sat up and leaned against the headboard. “You could fall down the stairs on the way to supper, or slip in the bathtub, or get bit by a rabid raccoon. If you’re afraid all the time, you’ll never have any fun.”

  Sam looked so serious. “A rabid raccoon, huh? Are there a lot of those around?”

  “I’ve never met one yet,” Sam said. “That’s my whole point. You’re wasting time worrying over things that will never happen.”

  That was the difference between us. Nothing bad had ever touched Sam’s family, but since Eric had died, my safety net had a huge hole in it. “I stopped by Coach Murphy’s office to get a quote for our interview, but something strange happened.”

  Sam leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. “What?”

  “Coach was with Miss Holt, and I got a weird feeling. Like I’d interrupted something private.”

  Sam looked away. “Coach is my best friend. At least, she’s my best adult friend. When I first met her, I knew we were alike.”

  “Because you both like sports?”

  “Yeah, something like that. Don’t mention what you saw to anyone else, okay?”

  The way Sam’s voice sounded, serious and sad, made me even more curious. “I promise, but can you tell me why?”

  Sam shook her head. “I asked Coach a hard question, and she told me the truth. I can’t break her trust in me.” She climbed off the bed. “Do you smell hamburgers? I bet Mom could use some help in the kitchen.”

  I was left holding a picture of Penelope while Sam clambered down the steps. She knew something about Coach and Miss Holt that I didn’t. That was my first clue.

  I stood in the kitchen doorway while Sam slapped slices of American cheese on the burgers. “Mom, this is my friend Allie Drake.”

  Mrs. Johnson had teased hair, the kind that requires a weekly beauty shop appointment. She opened a jar of mayonnaise and spooned a large glob into a bowl of diced potatoes. “Glad you could stay to supper.”

  Sam complained that we were having potato salad, but I didn’t mind at all. With the red-checked tablecloth, it seemed like a picnic.

  Outside the kitchen window, a deep voice sang “Hello, Darlin’.”

  “Who’s the Conway Twitty imitator?” I asked. I’d been listening to the local radio station and singing with a twang to make Mom laugh. The music and the accent were so different from what we’d listened to in New Jersey.

  “It’s my dad,” Sam groaned. “He thinks he’s a country music star.”

  Mr. Johnson waltzed into the kitchen with Jonathan following him. He kissed Sam on the cheek and hugged Mrs. Johnson from behind. It was easy to see who Sam got her personality from. “You must be Allie,” he said. “Jonathan told me you were staying for supper.”

  “I hope that’s okay.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Of course it is. There’s never a shortage of food around here.”

  I sat across from Sam and didn’t say much during dinner. No, make that supper. Southerners called it supper. Mostly, I watched Sam’s family and thought how different it was from a quiet meal with Mom. Sam and her father actually arm wrestled for the last burger.

  “I declare a tie,” Mr. Johnson said. “Looks like we’ll have to split the burger.”

  “You two beat all I’ve ever seen,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Allie will think we’re a bunch of heathens.”

  “What’s a heathen?” Jonathan asked.

  “Somebody who’s uncivilized,” Melissa answered. “Like you when you chew with your mouth open or forget to use your napkin.”

  Jonathan grabbed his napkin and put it in his lap.

  Everybody laughed, but not in a making-fun-of-him way. They all adored him. I could tell.

  Mrs. Johnson said, “That’s enough talk about heathens. Allie, have you and your mom found a church? We’d surely love to have you at One True Way.”

  Sam pushed some potato salad around with her fork. She had the same tense expression as when I asked her about Coach and Miss Holt. My reporter’s antenna hummed. Could there be a connection between One True Way and our teachers? “We’re Methodists,” I said, “but maybe I could visit your church sometime.”

  When Mom came to pick me up, Mrs. Johnson was reading her Bible. She marked her place and followed Sam and me to the front porch. While our moms chatted, I said to Sam, “I’m gonna start reading the sports page.”

  “Why?”

  “So we’ll have something in common.”

  Sam laughed. “I like that we’re different.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, it’s nice. Just be who you are, Allie. I think you’re pretty special.”

  My cheeks felt warm, even in the night air.

  On the drive home, Mom stared straight ahead with both hands gripping the steering wheel, her knuckles white. “It’s so dark out. Hard to see.”

  She had a point. There were no streetlights on these winding country roads. Mom had never been a confident driver, but it was much worse since Eric’s death. I knew the only reason she had agreed to drive at night was so I could make friends. While I’d been having fun, she had had dinner alone. That’s the kind of thing I would’ve never worried about when there were four of us, but now Mom was all I had and vice versa.

  I knew Eric didn’t mean to wreck our car, but he shouldn’t have been driving so fast. If he hadn’t, I’d still have a brother, Dad would still be living with us, and we would have never moved from New Jersey.

  It seemed Mom could read my mind. “Dad called you tonight.”

  I hated him. I didn’t answer and stared out the window into the darkness. It wasn’t my fault or Mom’s that Eric died, but Dad had left us anyway. I scrunched my eyes closed and admitted the truth. I didn’t really hate Dad. I remembered what Sam had said. Just be who you are, Allie. I think you’re pretty special. But if I was so special, why had Dad left me? And more important, how could I get him back?

  I was daydreaming about Sam when Coach Murphy asked me to stay after class.

  She stood in front of her desk and fiddled with the whistle around her neck. “Look, Allie, I’m sorry about yesterday. Miss Holt’s mom fell and broke her hip. She was telling me about it when you walked in.”

  “Oh, I knew it was something private. Sorry.” That solved half the mystery, but it didn’t explain why Sam had asked me not to talk about it. My reporter’s antenna went up. There was more to this story.

  Coach reached into the jacket of her nylon tracksuit and handed me a folded piece of paper. “This is the quote you wanted. Go ahead and read it. Make sure it’s all right.”

  I unfolded it and read: Sam Johnson is the most talented point guard I’ve coached in twenty years. Her big heart and outgoing personality make her a leader both on and off the basketball court.

  “It’s great!”

  Coach smiled. “My pleasure. Sam is really something special.”

  I couldn’t have agreed more.

  After school, I hurried home to the Smith Corona typewriter Mom had given me last Christmas. I put in a clean sheet of paper and started my article: “Sam Johnson—A Star On and Off the Court.” In my opening paragraph, I wrote about mee
ting Sam on my first day at DB. I admitted how nervous I’d been about eating lunch alone, but that Sam had introduced me to Webster. I told about watching her practice basketball, how she glided through the air scoring a layup. I dropped in the quote from Coach and added a couple paragraphs about the Pinto World Championship Horse Show. I even threw in how she had arm wrestled her dad at the dinner table. I ended the article this way: Whether on or off the court, Sam Johnson makes every day more interesting at Daniel Boone Middle School.

  While I was proofreading and erasing my mistakes, the phone rang. I ran to the hall to answer it.

  “Hey, it’s me,” Sam said. “What are you doing?”

  “Working on a story about my favorite star athlete.”

  “Good. I’m way more interesting than Johnny Tremain. He is one boring dude.”

  “Promise you won’t laugh at me.”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “Yeah, but do you cross your heart and hope to die, stick a pin in your eye?”

  “I do,” Sam said. “What’s the big confession?”

  “I love Johnny Tremain. The way it takes you to another time and place.”

  “I officially declare you the smartest person I know,” Sam said. “Except for Webb. He’s a brain too. Are you sure you want to be my friend?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Sam and I sat breathing into our phones. We didn’t have much in common, but it didn’t seem to matter. “Maybe I could tutor you in English.”

  “I’ll make a deal with you,” Sam said. “You can tutor me in English, and I’ll teach you to ride Penelope.”

  My heart slammed against my chest. I was afraid of Penelope, but I wanted to impress Sam. I’d have to trust her not to laugh at me or let me get hurt, and I’d have to hide it from Mom. “It has to be a secret. My mom wouldn’t like it. Not one bit.”

  “I won’t tell her,” Sam said, “but won’t she notice when your clothes get dusty and you smell like a horse?”

  If I wanted to be a normal kid again, I had to take some risks. “No problem. I’ll bring old clothes to change into and some perfume.” In my best Monty Hall imitation, I shouted, “Let’s make a deal!”

  The next morning, I hurried to Miss Holt’s classroom for an early meeting with Webb. He’d brought Krispy Kreme doughnuts, which put me in an outstanding mood.

  While I licked jelly off my fingers, Webb read through my article. When he got to the end, he put the second page down and started reading the first page again. “Webster, you’re driving me crazy. Do you like it or not?”

  Webb pushed his glasses up. “It needs a little more depth. Highlight the coach/player relationship. You tell us how Coach Murphy feels about Sam, but how does Sam feel about her coach?”

  He was right. I thought I’d turned in a perfect article. I’d even had Mom proofread so it wouldn’t have any mistakes. “I can fix it, Webb. Do you think I’m good enough to join your staff?”

  “You don’t mind revising?”

  “I wish it had been good enough the first time, but I know revision is part of the process.”

  “Revision is the magic word!” Webster said. “Allie Drake, you’re hired. The pay is zero, the hours are long, but on the plus side you’ll get to work with a handsome devil like me.”

  That Webster had a real sense of humor. “Doughnuts, Webb. I’ll work for jelly doughnuts.”

  I ran home after school bursting with good news. “Mom,” I shouted as soon as I pushed the door open.

  She hurried from the kitchen wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Somebody sounds happy.”

  I proceeded to tell her the whole story. How Webb liked my article, but I had to revise. Mom’s face glowed. It was the same look she used to get when Eric hit a home run or picked flowers for her. She hadn’t looked happy in a long time.

  “That’s wonderful news,” she said. “I’m proud of you, Allison.”

  “Would you call me Allie?”

  Mom’s eyebrows shot up. “What brought this on? Allison is a beautiful name.”

  “Allie is my byline. Allie Drake—Staff Reporter.” I waited for an argument, but didn’t get one.

  “I’ll try and remember to call you Allie. Reverend Walker says, well, she says I have to loosen up. The way I’ve treated you since Eric died is not exactly healthy.”

  That was putting it mildly. Mom was smothering me. “So you went to counseling today?”

  Mom nodded. “I need to talk about Eric.” She clutched the dish towel over her heart. “It’s all bottled up in here, and if I don’t get it out, I’ll suffocate.”

  What she didn’t say was talking had pushed Dad away. After Eric died, the more she talked about him, the later Dad stayed at work. He wanted to pretend like nothing had happened. One night I’d heard him yell, “What good does talking do? We can’t fix it!”

  “Allison … I mean, Allie, maybe you’d like to talk to Reverend Walker. Eric’s death and what happened with your dad has been hard on you too.”

  I liked having a woman minister. I liked it a lot, but I wasn’t sure about counseling, at least not yet. “Let me think about it.” The smell of lemon and fresh herbs wafted through the house. “Roast chicken?”

  “You have your dad’s nose for food. Since it’s Friday, I’ve invited Reverend Walker, Coach Murphy, and Franny Holt for dinner.”

  “How do you know my teachers?”

  “Silly question,” Mom said. “Teachers use the library all the time. Do you mind that I included them?”

  Mind? I was thrilled! That would give me a chance to observe Coach and Miss Holt together again. Maybe I could even solve the other half of the mystery. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’m looking forward to it.”

  Hosting a dinner party was a big deal for Mom. She used to love entertaining, but hadn’t made the effort since Eric died. When I saw fresh flowers and candles on the dining room table, I showered and changed into a dress. I wanted my mom back. She hadn’t actually gone away, not like Dad, but she hadn’t been herself either. A dinner party seemed like a positive sign.

  Reverend Walker was the first to arrive. She had the smile of an angel. Seriously, it lit up her whole face. She thrust a long Pyrex dish into my hands. “I brought a Coca-Cola cake for dessert.”

  I’d never heard of such a cake. It was bound to be another strange Southern food like grits or black-eyed peas. My palate was definitely expanding.

  I carried the cake into the dining room and placed it on the sideboard. I heard Reverend Walker say to Mom, “I’m happy you followed my suggestion. Finding something to look forward to every day is one of the keys to feeling better.”

  I slipped into my room and pulled out my journal. I jotted down, Find Something to Look Forward to Every Day. Underneath it I wrote one name: Sam. She was better than hearing a favorite song on the radio or slurping a cherry coke.

  When the doorbell rang for a second time, I hurried to answer it. Coach Murphy and Miss Holt stood outside. Both women fit their job descriptions. Coach was tall and muscled, while Miss Holt was small and bookish.

  Coach handed me a Tupperware container cold enough to freeze my fingers off. “Homemade ice cream. Cranked the freezer myself.”

  “It’s wonderful with Coca-Cola cake,” Miss Holt added. “I’d pop it in the freezer until after dinner.”

  Reverend Walker must have planned dessert with them—ice cream to go with her cake. “Thank you,” I said. The frog was back in my throat because they were being so nice to us.

  All three women crowded into the kitchen with Mom. She tried to shoo them away while she finished dinner, but they weren’t having it. Reverend Walker stirred the gravy, Coach carved the chicken, and Miss Holt rummaged in the junk drawer for matches. Maybe Mom had it all wrong when she’d shut herself away in the house and the library. Having people around wouldn’t bring Eric back, but it might help with her loneliness.

  After Miss Holt lit the candles, we held hands around the dinner table. Reverend Walker prayed:

&
nbsp; “Gracious Lord,

  We thank you for the gifts of food and friendship. Bless my old friends Murph and Franny and my new friends Elizabeth and Allison.

  Amen.”

  I didn’t say much while the grown-ups chatted about how they’d spent their summers. Instead I watched Coach and Miss Holt with a reporter’s eye. I wanted to figure out what Sam wouldn’t tell me.

  “Everybody should see the Grand Canyon at least once,” Coach said.

  “It’s spectacular,” Miss Holt agreed. “I would have never ridden a burro in the canyon, but Murph insisted.” She laughed. “And the year before that she talked me into scuba diving lessons.”

  “I’m not sure I could be talked into either of those things,” Mom said, “but it sounds like you enjoyed them.”

  “You should see the pictures Franny took of the Grand Canyon,” Reverend Walker said. “She’s a gifted photographer.”

  “I’d like to see those pictures.” I hadn’t meant to blurt that out, but I liked taking pictures too.

  “Everybody’s invited to our house for a cookout,” Coach said. “You can see the pictures then.”

  I had an aha moment. Coach had said our house. She and Miss Holt were roommates. The only other adults I knew who lived together without being married were Dad’s brother, Jeffrey, and his boyfriend, Dominic.

  After dinner, Mom brewed coffee for the adults and heated apple cider with a cinnamon stick for me. I kept watching Coach and Miss Holt. They looked at each other in a different way from how they looked at Mom or Reverend Walker.

  “Dwayne.” Coach snapped her fingers twice. “I can’t remember that kid’s last name.”

  “Williams,” said Miss Holt.

  “Yeah, Dwayne Williams. Unless I miss my guess, he and Sam Johnson will both be standouts in high school.”

  “Sam is a natural salesman,” Reverend Walker added. “Every year she sells me magazines I don’t have time to read and candy I don’t need to eat.”

  “I like Sam,” Mom said. “I’m glad she and Allie are friends.”