had Robert Land and foreign language instructors Jack Williams and Thomas Davenport. Male callers had outnumbered females three to one even though they represented barely a third of the faculty.
When the second-period bell rang at nine, Michelle withdrew to her desk, sat down, and tallied ten notes from parents. Some were creative. One mother wrote that her son had volunteered at a soup kitchen and had lost track of time. Two were typewritten. Most offered excuses that Michelle had used at least once as a student. She laughed at the thought of someone arriving late on the first day of school until she remembered that she had done just that as a senior. Suddenly, the notion didn't seem funny. It seemed even less hilarious when she got out of her chair, faced the attendance window, and saw a petite brunette stare at her with piercing blue eyes.
"I'm late. I know it," the girl said. "I'm just here to manage the damage."
Michelle stared at the youth for what seemed like an eternity before pulling herself together and walking to the window.
"Do you have a written excuse from a parent?"
"No. But I do have a note I forged in the parking lot."
Michelle bit her lip and held back a laugh. The girl had game.
The clerk picked up the slip the student had placed on the counter and gave it a look.
"It says here you have the Hong Kong flu."
"I slept in."
Both women laughed.
"What did you miss?"
"English."
"Mrs. Powell?"
"Mrs. Powell."
"Well, I'll tell you what, Miss . . ."
"Preston. Shelly."
"Well, I'll tell you what, Miss Shelly Preston. If you promise to bring me a better note and a better story the next time you're tardy, I'll accept this today."
"Are you kidding?" Shelly asked. Her eyes grew wide.
"No. I am not."
"Wow. Mrs. Wainwright would have never done that."
"I'm not Mrs. Wainwright." Michelle grinned. "I'm Miss Jennings."
Shelly stuffed a few items in a zippered notebook and then looked back at the secretary.
"Thank you, Miss Jennings. You're a lifesaver. You have no idea how crazy my mother gets over stuff like this."
Michelle laughed.
But I do, Shelly Preston. I do.
CHAPTER 12: SHELLY
Monday, September 10, 1979
Shelly shook the transparent sphere, placed it next to a greeting card on a picnic table, and watched the weather change in New York. She looked at her friend and raised an eyebrow.
"A snow globe?"
"I knew you'd like it," April said as an impish grin swept over her face. "You've always wanted to shake up Manhattan, and now you can!"
Brian spit out his milk and laughed. He wiped his mouth and turned to the comic.
"Will you stop it? I'm trying to finish my lunch."
"I'm sorry, Brian," April said, lifting her nose. "But today is an important milestone in the life of Irene. She's turning eighteen and I need to set the proper mood."
Brian smiled and shook his head. He downed what remained in his half-pint carton of milk, grabbed a plastic bag off the ground, and placed it atop the table, one of ten in a courtyard on the sunny backside of Unionville High School. He pulled a thick book out of the bag and pushed it toward the brunette in the tight designer jeans and pink blouse.
"I got you something too," he said. "Happy birthday, Shelly."
Shelly picked up the book, a hardbound edition of Writer's Market , and thumbed through a few of its pages before setting it to the side.
"Thank you, Brian. That was sweet."
Shelly Preston beamed as she looked at her two dearest friends.
April Burke never failed to disappoint at times like this. Smart, witty, and mischievous, she was the life of every party and the one person in the world who could pull her out of any funk. The product of an Irish father and a Native American mother, she had been a part of Shelly's life since moving to Unionville in the third grade.
Brian Johnson had been around even longer. He had been Shelly's friend since infancy. Brian was goofy, studious, and socially inept. But the lanky, bespectacled boy next door had a
When the second-period bell rang at nine, Michelle withdrew to her desk, sat down, and tallied ten notes from parents. Some were creative. One mother wrote that her son had volunteered at a soup kitchen and had lost track of time. Two were typewritten. Most offered excuses that Michelle had used at least once as a student. She laughed at the thought of someone arriving late on the first day of school until she remembered that she had done just that as a senior. Suddenly, the notion didn't seem funny. It seemed even less hilarious when she got out of her chair, faced the attendance window, and saw a petite brunette stare at her with piercing blue eyes.
"I'm late. I know it," the girl said. "I'm just here to manage the damage."
Michelle stared at the youth for what seemed like an eternity before pulling herself together and walking to the window.
"Do you have a written excuse from a parent?"
"No. But I do have a note I forged in the parking lot."
Michelle bit her lip and held back a laugh. The girl had game.
The clerk picked up the slip the student had placed on the counter and gave it a look.
"It says here you have the Hong Kong flu."
"I slept in."
Both women laughed.
"What did you miss?"
"English."
"Mrs. Powell?"
"Mrs. Powell."
"Well, I'll tell you what, Miss . . ."
"Preston. Shelly."
"Well, I'll tell you what, Miss Shelly Preston. If you promise to bring me a better note and a better story the next time you're tardy, I'll accept this today."
"Are you kidding?" Shelly asked. Her eyes grew wide.
"No. I am not."
"Wow. Mrs. Wainwright would have never done that."
"I'm not Mrs. Wainwright." Michelle grinned. "I'm Miss Jennings."
Shelly stuffed a few items in a zippered notebook and then looked back at the secretary.
"Thank you, Miss Jennings. You're a lifesaver. You have no idea how crazy my mother gets over stuff like this."
Michelle laughed.
But I do, Shelly Preston. I do.
CHAPTER 12: SHELLY
Monday, September 10, 1979
Shelly shook the transparent sphere, placed it next to a greeting card on a picnic table, and watched the weather change in New York. She looked at her friend and raised an eyebrow.
"A snow globe?"
"I knew you'd like it," April said as an impish grin swept over her face. "You've always wanted to shake up Manhattan, and now you can!"
Brian spit out his milk and laughed. He wiped his mouth and turned to the comic.
"Will you stop it? I'm trying to finish my lunch."
"I'm sorry, Brian," April said, lifting her nose. "But today is an important milestone in the life of Irene. She's turning eighteen and I need to set the proper mood."
Brian smiled and shook his head. He downed what remained in his half-pint carton of milk, grabbed a plastic bag off the ground, and placed it atop the table, one of ten in a courtyard on the sunny backside of Unionville High School. He pulled a thick book out of the bag and pushed it toward the brunette in the tight designer jeans and pink blouse.
"I got you something too," he said. "Happy birthday, Shelly."
Shelly picked up the book, a hardbound edition of Writer's Market , and thumbed through a few of its pages before setting it to the side.
"Thank you, Brian. That was sweet."
Shelly Preston beamed as she looked at her two dearest friends.
April Burke never failed to disappoint at times like this. Smart, witty, and mischievous, she was the life of every party and the one person in the world who could pull her out of any funk. The product of an Irish father and a Native American mother, she had been a part of Shelly's life since moving to Unionville in the third grade.
Brian Johnson had been around even longer. He had been Shelly's friend since infancy. Brian was goofy, studious, and socially inept. But the lanky, bespectacled boy next door had a
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