Secret Admirer (9 page)

“Well, not like couples dance,” Morgan told her. “I mean, we dance as a form of worship. Like you’re so happy to be singing to God that you can’t keep your feet from moving too.”

“Yeah,” said Emily. “It’s really fun.”

“Dancing at a dance is fun too,” said Chelsea.

“Anyway, let’s get this nailed down, okay?” Amy held up a hand. “I motion that we take a vote, President Morgan.”

“I second the motion,” said Chelsea.

“Fine,” said Morgan with a lack of enthusiasm. “Who is in favor of attending the Valentine’s Day dance?”

To Amy’s relief, they all raised their hands. To be honest, other than Chelsea, the others still seemed fairly reluctant, but at least it was agreed upon now. They had given their word, and they would all go to the dance. Amy couldn’t wait!

On Sunday afternoon, Amy began to make a plan. She would spend the upcoming week doing whatever she could to catch a certain guy’s eye. Her goal was to make him like her before the big dance. Okay, she knew she couldn’t actually
make
him like her. But perhaps she could at least make some kind of connection. Because, more than anything, Amy wanted Brett Woods to invite her onto the dance floor at the Valentine’s Day dance. Nothing would make her happier than for her friends to stand on the sidelines with their mouths hanging open as she and Brett actually danced. Now the big question was — what could she do to get Brett to notice her?

Amy stood in front of the mirror and frowned as she studied her image. It wasn’t easy being small for her age. Some people even assumed she was still in grade school. Just last week, a teacher’s aide had asked if she was in the wrong school or needed directions. Amy looked at the outfit she had worn to church that morning. It was pretty much her typical wardrobe, but it did nothing to make her look older. Even her sleek black hair, cut in a bob which
was now reaching to her shoulders, looked sort of juvenile. Somehow she had to change her image.

As a result, a couple of hours later, Amy’s previously orderly room looked like her closet had exploded. A variety of shirts, pants, skirts, jeans, and shoes were splayed all over her bed, dresser, and floor. She’d already tried on about a hundred outfits, but everything she owned seemed totally childish — like things a grade school girl would wear. She wanted to look older, more sophisticated. But how?

She considered calling Chelsea, but she knew that Chelsea and her mom had driven up the coast to go to the outlet mall to do some shopping and probably weren’t even home yet. Why couldn’t Amy have a mom like Chelsea’s? Amy’s mom was hopelessly old-fashioned, could care less about style, and thought that fashion was a big waste of money. Her mother had worn the exact same clothes for years. In fact, Amy couldn’t remember her mother ever buying anything new. Not even shoes. “These are good for work,” her mother would protest when her daughters gave her a bad time about her boring selection of ugly white athletic shoes.

Seriously, Amy sometimes felt that the only thing her mother ever thought about was the restaurant. Although, to be fair, Amy also knew that it was only because of her mother’s fierce work ethic that the family business managed to support them all like it did. And Amy knew she
should be thankful. Still, she sometimes secretly wished there was no such thing as Asian Garden.

Finally, feeling completely hopeless, she dialed An’s cell phone number. An was, in Amy’s opinion,
the good sister
. Not only was she much kinder than her oldest sister Ly, she had a good sense of style as well.

“Hey, Amy,” said An cheerfully. “What’s up?”

“I need some fashion help,” moaned Amy.

An laughed, but not in a mean way. “What kind of help are you looking for?”

So Amy explained her problem. “All my clothes are so babyish, An. And all my friends are older than me. And I hate looking like the baby all the time.”

“Uh-huh …”

Amy could hear the background noise at the restaurant, and she knew An was probably busy, but she also knew that she was desperate. “I really, really need your help, An,” she begged.

“So, what can we do?” asked An. “I mean, you know that the restaurant doesn’t close until nine, and there’s no place to shop around here at that time of night.”

“I know …” Amy let out a sad little sigh.

“How about tomorrow?” said An brightly. “I could pick you up after school, and we could do a little shopping together. Would you like that?”

“That’d be fantastic!” Then Amy thanked her and
hung up. Okay, that didn’t exactly solve tomorrow’s outfit, but Amy decided she’d just have to make do for the time being.

On Monday morning, Amy walked to school with Carlie, Morgan, and Emily. They were chattering away, just like usual, but all Amy could think about was Brett Woods. She knew it was kind of silly, and she knew her friends would probably tease her if they knew, but she just couldn’t help herself. With his sandy blond hair and expressive brown eyes, Brett was by far the cutest guy in seventh grade. Also, he was smart and athletic. And, although Amy suspected that lots of girls had crushes on him, he did not have a girlfriend. Yet.

Amy had two classes with Brett — English and social studies — and she daydreamed about him more than she would ever admit. Her favorite daydream, the one she was having as they walked to school, was the one where they were at the dance together. She was wearing a pretty print skirt and embroidered top that she’d seen in one of Chelsea’s fashion magazines. And Brett had on a neat white shirt and chinos. In her fantasy, he shyly approached her, asked her to dance and, while her friends were gawking, he took her by the hand and led her to the center of the dance floor where they danced, not just one dance, but until the last song of the dance.

“Earth to Amy,” said Morgan in a loud voice.

“What?” Amy turned to see that all three friends were staring at her.

“What’s up with you?” asked Emily.

“Yeah,” said Carlie. “It’s like you’re on another planet.”

“Sorry,” said Amy quickly. “Just thinking about something.”

“Probably a boy,” teased Carlie.

“No,” said Amy. “I was thinking, uh, about an assignment in English.”

“Yeah, right,” said Morgan in a tone that sounded skeptical.

“Anyway,” said Emily. “We were asking you which day works for our homework meeting. We all thought Tuesday was good. But we know you sometimes work at the restaurant.”

“Tuesday is fine,” said Amy. “I can arrange to have it off.”

“Great,” said Carlie. “Now tell us which boy you were daydreaming about.”

Amy felt her cheeks getting warm.

“See,” teased Carlie. “I knew it was a boy.”

“None of your business,” said Amy as she shifted her clarinet case to the other hand. She started walking faster. “And if you guys don’t hurry, I’m going to be late for band.”

“How can you possibly be late?” asked Carlie, glancing at her watch.

“Late for Amy means not being early,” Morgan reminded her friends.

“And I
need
to be early,” Amy told them. She had switched from orchestra to band this year, and so far she had only made second chair in clarinet.

“Are you still worried about being the best clarinet player?” asked Emily.

“It’s only natural,” said Amy, happy to have distracted her friends away from the daydreaming stuff. “I was always first chair flute before I switched instruments.”

“So who is first chair clarinet?” asked Carlie.

“That geeky Oliver Fitzgerald,” she told them.

“That’s not very nice,” pointed out Morgan.

“Sorry,” said Amy. “Okay, he’s not really a geek. But he sure dresses like one. He even has a pocket protector.”

“Isn’t he an eighth grader?” asked Emily.

“Yes.” Amy nodded. “And he’s a Mr. Know-It-All when it comes to band. It’s like he thinks I’m a total idiot, because he’s always telling me what to do and how to do it.”

“And you’d probably like to tell him what to do instead,
Miss Ngo It All
,” teased Morgan. And they all laughed. Even Amy. It had been a while since anyone had used her old nickname. And it was a good reminder to her that she should probably watch what she said about others — particularly that obnoxious Oliver Fitzgerald. Or, as An would say, “people in glass houses shouldn’t throw
rocks.” Still, it would be easier if Oliver didn’t provide such a big target. And, if Amy didn’t have him in two classes — band and Algebra Two.

“Anyway,” said Morgan. “Monday was our second choice for homework night. So if Chelsea has a problem, maybe we’ll have it this afternoon.”

“I can’t,” said Amy. “I’m going shopping with An.”

“Shopping for what?” asked Emily.

“Just stuff.” Amy wasn’t sure she wanted to go into details just yet.

“Probably something for the dance,” said Morgan in a suspicious tone.

“Maybe,” said Amy. “Or maybe I just want to change my image.”

“Why?” asked Carlie. “I think your image is fine.”

Amy frowned now. “I look way too young.”

“Too young for what?” asked Morgan.

Amy stopped walking now and stared at her three friends. “Look at you guys,” she said, pointing to them. “You all look so much older than me. It’s just not fair.”

Morgan laughed. “Well, we are older, Amy.”

“And you’re petite,” said Carlie.

“And we happen to think you’re cute just the way you are,” added Emily. “You don’t need to change anything.”

“Well, I want to,” declared Amy. “And An has agreed to help. So today is definitely not going to work for me. Okay?”

Carlie suddenly held up her cast. “I just remembered — it won’t work for me either. I get this thing off today, right after school.”

“I’ll bet you can’t wait,” said Emily.

“Totally,” said Carlie.

They arrived at school, and the girls soon parted ways. Amy hurried toward the locker bay to unload some things from her overloaded backpack. But just as she reached her locker, she noticed that Brett was standing right next to it. Was it possible that he was looking for her? But as she got there, he simply turned and walked away — as if he hadn’t even seen her. She tried not to feel too disappointed as she opened her locker. As usual, her locker was neat and orderly, but there was a piece of folded notebook paper with her name printed neatly on one of the folded sides. It seemed that someone had slipped a note into her locker for her. How odd. Amy peered down the locker bay just in time to see Brett ducking around the corner. Was this note possibly from him?

Of course, she knew that was a totally ridiculous idea — and probably just the result of too many Brett Woods daydreams, but as she opened the note, she was suddenly not so sure.

Dear Amy Ngo
,

You are the prettiest and smartest girl in the entire school, and I really, really like you. Someday I will
reveal my true identity. Until then I will remain your Secret Admirer (ysa)
.

♥ ysa

Amy blinked in disbelief as she read the note again — more slowly this time. The penmanship was neat and blockish, and the spelling was correct. Had Brett Woods possibly slipped this into her locker? Her heart pounded with excitement as she quickly rearranged her backpack, closed her locker, and hurried toward the music department. The note was safely tucked into a pocket of her backpack, and she planned to read it more carefully later. Somehow she had to find out who YSA really was — and whether or not it was Brett Woods. She couldn’t wait to tell Chelsea! In fact, she would call her right now.

“I’m on my way to band,” she said breathlessly, “but I can’t wait to talk to you, Chelsea. Something totally amazing has happened.”

“What?” demanded Chelsea.

“No time to tell you now,” said Amy as she went into the band room. “But I’ll show you at lunch, okay?”

“Okay, but now I’m going to be dying of curiosity.”

“Later,” said Amy, hanging up and turning off her phone. Cell phones were a controversial topic at their school. They were close to being outlawed altogether, and you could get into real trouble just for having one on during class. But Amy was always careful with hers.

“Hey, Number Two,” said Oliver as Amy took her seat in the band room. “What’s up?”

“My name is Amy,” she told him for the umpteenth time.

“You’ll always be Number Two to me,” he teased.

“Always?”
She felt her brows arch in that expression that her friends had warned her could come across as snotty or superior if she wasn’t careful. But it felt like she couldn’t help it with this guy. Why did Oliver Fitzgerald insist on being so obnoxious?

He laughed. “Do you seriously think you can unseat me, Number Two?”

“I can seriously try,” she said as she snapped open her clarinet case.

“Bring it on,” he told her. Then he continued warming up, perfectly too. Naturally, this only served to remind Amy that winning first chair was going to continue to be an uphill battle. Still, Amy wasn’t about to give up. Besides, she was in an extra good mood today. Without even trying, it seemed that she had caught Brett’s eye. Because the more she thought about it, the more certain she felt that she had nearly caught him in the act. Surely he had to be YSA! The big question now was what should she do about it? Obviously, he was too shy to say anything just yet. Maybe, like her, he had been daydreaming about them getting to know each other. Maybe this was his way
of making the first step. She couldn’t wait to see what might happen next. But for now, she knew she better stay focused on her music.

“Wow,” said Chelsea as she reread the note. “You’re certain that this is from Brett Woods.”

“Not absolutely,” admitted Amy. “But I did see him right next to my locker … and then the note was there.” They were standing in the lunch line now. Morgan, Emily, and Carlie were already heading for their regular table.

“Are you going to tell them?” asked Chelsea as she nodded toward the others.

“I don’t know …” Amy frowned. “I’m sure they’ll tease me.”

“Or be impressed,” said Chelsea. “I mean, everyone knows that Brett Woods is one of the coolest guys in seventh grade.”

“I know,” said Amy happily. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Hey, there he is,” said Chelsea, nodding over toward the main door. “Maybe you should wave.”

“No way,” said Amy. She felt her cheeks flushing now, and she looked the other direction.

“Want me to talk to him?” offered Chelsea.

“No,” said Amy quickly. “I want to wait and see what he does next.”

“When’s your next class with him?”

“Not until seventh. It’s English.”

“Maybe he’ll offer to walk you home,” said Chelsea.

“Oh, I don’t think so …” And suddenly Amy wasn’t sure how she’d feel about that. It was one thing to daydream about Brett … and the dance and all … but the idea of him actually walking her home was kind of weird.

They had barely sat down at the table with their friends when Chelsea blurted out Amy’s big news.

“Seriously?” said Emily.

Amy nodded.

“Can we see it?” asked Morgan.

“I don’t want to get the note out right now,” said Amy, glancing over to where the cool seventh grade boys were sitting. “He might see me and feel uncomfortable.”

“You really think it’s from Brett?” asked Carlie.

“He was the only one by my locker,” said Amy. “And then I found the note.”

“But someone could’ve put it in earlier,” suggested Morgan. “Someone that you didn’t see.”

“I just have a very strong feeling it was Brett,” said Amy stubbornly.

“And he was looking our way when he came into the cafeteria,” pointed out Chelsea. “I saw him.”

“But writing a note?” questioned Emily. “He doesn’t really seem like the type.”

“How do you know?” demanded Amy.

“Just a hunch.”

“Well, sometimes hunches are wrong.” Amy opened one end of her straw and blew the wrapper off, directly into Emily’s nose. “And now, let’s talk about something else, okay?” She turned to Chelsea. “How was the outlet mall?”

Fortunately, Chelsea distracted everyone with a detailed description of a “fabulous” outfit that she’d gotten for the Valentine’s Day dance. And as Chelsea rambled on, Amy sneaked peeks at Brett. And it seemed like he was looking directly at her too. This was just too perfect! She could not wait until English!

But seventh period came and went, and Brett never said boo to her.

“I’m so bummed,” she admitted to Chelsea. It was starting to rain again, and they were seeking shelter under the overhang by the front door, keeping an eye out for their rides. An was picking up Amy and, as usual, Chelsea’s mom was playing chauffeur for her.

“Why don’t you let me talk to him for you?” said Chelsea eagerly.

“I don’t know …” Amy sighed. “I don’t want to push things too fast. I mean, he’s obviously shy. I should just let him handle this his way. Don’t you think?”

“I don’t know.” Chelsea shook her head. “Sometimes
guys need a little boost, you know. A little encouragement. I wouldn’t have to mention the note, Amy. I could just hint that you might like him.”

“Let me think about it,” said Amy. She spotted An’s little car coming their way and waved. “I’ll get back to you on it, okay?”

“Okay. Have fun shopping.”

“I wish you could come,” said Amy.

“Me too, but there’s no getting out of the orthodontist. I just hope he doesn’t decide to put me back in braces.” She made a face. “Wouldn’t that be perfect for the Valentine’s Day dance.”

“Good luck,” called Amy as she ran toward An’s car.

“Ready to rock and roll?” asked An as Amy hopped in.

Amy grinned and nodded. “You won’t believe what happened to me today,” she told her sister as she pulled back onto the street.

“Did you make first chair?”

“Better than that,” said Amy. Then she told her the whole story, even reading the note, which she had actually memorized now.

“Wow, pretty exciting stuff,” said An as she got onto the highway.

“It’s like my dreams are coming true,” said Amy happily.

“So, what will you do if the note really is from Brett?” asked An.

“Besides being deliriously happy?”

“Yes. I mean, will you guys become boyfriend/girlfriend?”

Amy shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know …”

“No offense, but you seem kind of young for that sort of thing, Amy.”

Amy frowned at her sister. “I thought you’d understand.”

“It’s not that I don’t understand, Amy. But getting serious about a boy in middle school … well, it just seems too much … too soon.”

“What do you mean by
serious?”
asked Amy.

“You know, like you’re going out, or going steady or dating, whatever you call it.”

“Going out.”

“Right.” An nodded. “Would it be like that?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Amy.

An smiled. “Yes, I’m probably making this into a big deal. Sorry. But I just happen to care about my baby sister.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“That’s right. I know you’re not. I can’t believe how quickly you’re growing up too, Amy. So, let’s talk about clothes. What do you have in mind?”

Naturally, Amy didn’t even know what she had in mind. But, as it turned out, An was full of good ideas. And Amy went to some of the same outlet mall stores that
Chelsea had told her about. By the time they finished, Amy had spent most of her tip money, saved up during the holidays when they’d been unusually busy, and accumulated a number of “older-looking” items of clothing as well as a very cool outfit for the upcoming dance. She couldn’t have been happier. Well, almost anyway.

“How about makeup?” asked Amy as she paused in front of a cosmetics store.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Amy.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing there’s Mom. For another thing there’s Dad.”

“But you and Ly use makeup,” protested Amy.

An laughed. “Yes, and we’re a whole lot older than you, Amy.” An frowned. “I’m already freaking over the shoes you got. Mom will have a fit when she sees them.”

“But they make me so much taller,” Amy pointed out.

“But you could fall and break an ankle if you’re not careful.”

“Other girls at school wear them. I’ve never seen anyone trip.”

“You’re not
other
girls, Amy. And Mom will make that crystal clear when she sees those shoes.”

“Maybe Mom won’t see my shoes.”

“Oh, Amy,” said An as she attempted to tug Amy away from the front of the cosmetics store. “I know you
want to be grown-up now, but trust me, it’ll all come soon enough.”

But Amy wasn’t budging. “How old were you when you started wearing makeup, An?”

“Sixteen. Well, officially that is. To be honest I was sneaking it before that — but I was still around fifteen I think.”

“Really?” Amy frowned. Fifteen seemed a long way off.

“And just so you know Ly was
eighteen
.”

“No way! That’s old enough to vote.”

“You know how old-fashioned our parents are. Dad honestly used to believe that only
disrespectable
women wore makeup.”

“But not now?”

“He’s come a long way. And so has Mom. But, trust me, Amy, they will both say that twelve is way too young for makeup.”

“You mean besides lip gloss.” With An’s help, Amy had somehow slipped lip gloss beneath the parental radar screen.

“Yes. Besides lip gloss.”

“I sometimes use Chelsea’s makeup,” Amy admitted as she looked longingly in the store window. “Her parents think
she’s
old enough.”

“Well, ours do not, Amy. And if they catch you wearing makeup, you can count on fireworks.”

“Couldn’t you just sort of look away?” asked Amy as she peered into the store window. “I mean, if I sort of sneaked in and got a couple of things?”

An frowned. “Well, I obviously can’t keep you from buying makeup if you’re that determined. I mean, there are plenty of places in town, and you have your own money. All I can do is warn you, little sister.”

“I just need to look older,” pleaded Amy. “I want Brett to really notice me — I want him to take me seriously.”

“But what about that note?” asked An suddenly. “Didn’t he already think you were pretty?”

Amy considered this. “Yes …”

“And you
are
pretty, Amy.” An peered down at her. “You have a beautiful complexion and nice dark lashes. You don’t need makeup. Why not leave well enough alone?”

“I want to look older, An.”

An held up her hands in a helpless gesture. “It’s your life, Amy. Just don’t tell Mom and Dad that I encouraged you.”

“Well, you didn’t.”

“And for that matter, don’t tell Ly either. She’s so grumpy lately.”

“And why is that exactly?” asked Amy. “Is she still jealous of you?”

“She thinks she needs a boyfriend,” said An sadly. “But I think she needs God. And whenever we talk, it usually ends up in an argument.”

“I better not tell her that I might have a boyfriend,” said Amy.

“That’s for sure. Ly would probably throw something at you.”

“Poor Ly.” Amy peered longingly in the cosmetic-store window again.

“Yes. If anyone could use a secret admirer just now, it is our older sister. “An sighed.

“I’m going in there,” said Amy quickly.

“You’re sure you want to do this?”

“I am,” said Amy, acting more confidently than she felt. And, of course, she was barely inside the door when she realized she was in way over her head when it came to cosmetics.

It was one thing to borrow items from Chelsea — like she’d done on the ski trip — but trying to figure this out on her own? That seemed hopeless. She was just about to make a quick exit when the woman at the counter asked to help her.

“I don’t know much about makeup,” Amy said cautiously. “But I’m in middle school, and all my friends look older than me and I —”

“I’m sure we have just what you need,” said the
woman. And before long, Amy was not only buying blush, she also had eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara, and a sweet little daisy-print bag to keep them in.

“Oh, dear,” said An when Amy finally emerged.

“I know the woman probably put too much makeup on me,” admitted Amy. “But I’ll wipe it off before Mom and Dad see me.”

“You better.” An just shook her head.

Amy used tissues to remove the makeup as An drove them home. Monday was the only day that the restaurant was closed, and Amy could count on the fact that at least one of her parents would be home when she got there.

“How was shopping?” asked Mom as Amy came into the house.

“Great,” she said.

Mom scowled. “I don’t see why you needed new things, Amy. You have lots of nice clothes.”

“Everyone
looks older than me, Mom. All my friends —”

“All your friends
are
older than you, Amy. You know that.”

“But I don’t like being different.”

Mom threw up her hands. “Everyone is different.”

“Well, I used my own money,” Amy pointed out.

“You mean you
wasted
your own money.” Then her mom began to go on about how they used to be so poor
and how they never had money for fancy clothes and how Amy should be thankful …

“Yes, yes,” said Amy as she made her way to her bedroom. “I am thankful, Mom. Very, very thankful.”

Her mom continued rambling now, reverting to her native Vietnamese tongue, and Amy knew that she hadn’t heard the end of the lecture against wasteful spending. Still, she felt it was worth it as she tried on some of her outfits, complete with makeup. Because suddenly, she did look older. And maybe Brett had already noticed her — but now he would notice her even more. How could he not? And maybe he would feel brave enough to actually speak to her now.