SummerHill Secrets, Volume 1 Read Free Page B

“The coast is clear.”
    He looked puzzled. “What was that all about?”
    “Say it with all p ’s,” I said, hurrying to first-period history class.
    He slammed his locker door. “Hey, not so fast!”
    I brushed my hair back and rushed through the hall, cautiously looking in all directions.
    Is Mr. Vyner gone? I wondered.
    Sneaking around the corner, I made a detour to survey the school office. Yee-ikes! There sat Lissa’s father, waiting for the principal.
    I could see it now. Mr. Vyner would ask the principal for the names of her best friends, maybe even call them out of class. “Merry Hanson, please come to the school office….”
    Pins and needles pricked my conscience, and I spent the rest of the day on the verge of hysteria, waiting to hear my name over the intercom.

    After school, I scrambled onto the school bus. Sliding in beside Chelsea, I tried to avoid Jon by scooting down in my seat. When he boarded the bus, I lowered my head.
    “Hiding from someone?” Chelsea whispered, giggling.
    “Sh-h!”
    “He’s coming,” she teased.
    Jon planted himself in front of us, leaning his arm on the back of the seat. His light brown hair was cropped short, and a creamcolored shirt peeked out of his open jacket. “You can’t ignore me all day,” he said.
    I sat up and pulled a snack-size bag of chips out of my schoolbag. I shot glances at Jon while Chelsea smirked knowingly.
    Persistence, a fine trait in a fine guy. And fine was putting it mildly. “That was some history test,” I said.
    “You’re changing the subject,” Jon replied.
    “What?”
    Chelsea pretended to choke. I poked her in the ribs as my handsome interrogator grinned, waiting for an answer.
    I sighed. “Things are blurry, bleary, blue. Sorry, I can’t share ’em with you.”
    Jon’s brown eyes grew serious. “Coming to the church hayride tonight? Everyone will be there.”
    Our eyes locked. “I can’t.” It was a hayride not to be missed. Full moon. Good times. Too bad Jon thought of me only as a friend.
    His smile warmed my heart. “The hay wagon’s coming right down SummerHill Lane, past your house,” he persisted. “We could stop and pick you up.”
    “I’m sorry, really.” I hoped he’d let it drop.
    The bus slowed to a crawl as we came up on a horse and buggy. The Amishman sat in the front seat on the right, holding the reins. His wife sat on the left. Two cherub-faced girls stared over the backseat from beneath black bonnets.
    “It’s the Yoders,” Chelsea said, shoving her knees up against the rear of the seat. “My mom drives Mr. Yoder and his business partner to town every day.”
    The kids behind us jumped up for a better look. “Why don’t they just buy a car?” one boy taunted. “Those old buggies are tearing up the roads.”
    “Relax,” Jon told the boy, who was new to the Lancaster area. “They’ll be turning off soon.” And in a few minutes they did.
    The bus sped down the lane past the Amish farms, to my house, one of the few non-Amish residences on the three-mile stretch. The bus groaned to a halt, sending a cloud of dust swirling as I hopped out.
    Eager to get back to Lissa, I made a quick stop at the mailbox. Its contents almost spilled out with tons of important-looking mail. A letter from Aunt Teri and Uncle Pete caught my eye.
    Dashing into the house, I dumped Dad’s mail on the hall table. Checking for any early signs of Skip, I raced upstairs.
    “Lissa, I’m home,” I called, digging into my jeans pocket for the key to my bedroom.
    Inside, I discovered Lissa asleep on my unmade bed, the book of poems open on the floor. The cat trio bounded into the bedroom, nosing their way into my hands as I sat on the floor watching my sleeping friend. I rubbed Abednego’s black neck. His gentle purring rose to a rumble. I smiled at the yellow ribbon on his neck, the one Lissa had tied there this morning.
    “You look beautiful, little boy,” I whispered, hugging him. As usual, Shadrach and Meshach