A Storybook Finish (3 page)

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before turning to the computer.

While scanning for e-mail messages, she saw a pop-up ad

for finding old high school classmates. Again she thought of

Ron. Dare she try to discover what had happened to him? So

many of her classmates had moved away. Only a few were

left in the area, and through the years they had lost touch

with each other. Her forefinger responded, clicking the

mouse button that sent her to the site. She keyed in her old

high school and scanned the list of registered classmates,

recognizing several names from long ago. Cassidy Richards, the

prom queen. John Evans. Michael Jones. She inhaled a deep

breath. Ronald Mackley. There he was, big as life. Lindsay’s

fingers shook as she searched for his e-mail address, only to

find that she must sign into the program and pay a yearly

fee to access his portfolio. “Of course,” she muttered, reaching

for her purse and a credit card. “Nothing’s ever free in

this world.”

At last she accessed his personal database, including his email

address. She noticed he still lived out in California. She

saw no family data. Her fingers trembled as she typed out a

simple e-mail message to him. I wonder what he’ll say, she

thought, clicking the mouse. He was one of a kind in her

book back when they were in high school. The two of them

were quite popular. Lindsay and Ron often gathered a crowd

of schoolmates together for lunch. After-school hangouts at

the local diner became a daily routine. And quiet nights on a

side road they had come to call Lovers’ Lane brought back

memories of his sweet kisses. Lindsay sighed. She should

never have let him go off to college clear across the country.

Either that or she should have followed him to the moon

instead of staying here in Dullsville, USA, where nothing

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exciting ever happened, except for her challenging run-ins

with Jeff Wheeler.

Before retiring that night, Lindsay accessed her e-mail to

find a note waiting for her.

Hey, there

Great hearing from you. Wow, has it been eight years

already? Hard to believe. Glad to see you’re doing what you

do best, making otherpeople happy by raising them a bunch of

money. I’ve got a great job here at a computer firm. Haven’t

been back East much, but I hope to someday.

Sure, I remember high school and you. That was a great

time. Lots of fun with the gang.

Gotta run. See you.

Ron

Lindsay blinked. No mention of a family within the context

of the reply, but no warmth or personal interest either. She

sighed and turned off the computer for the night. She should

never have expected a spark after all these years. The flame

had long since gone out.

25 After all the planning and anxiety over the presentation, the

day of Jeff Wheeler’s junior class fundraiser arrived. Lindsay

refused to indulge in a cup of hazelnut coffee as she often did

in the morning. She feared an upset stomach with the way her

nerves were on edge. Despite the relaxing bubble bath she’d

taken last night (she’d taken a similar one last week before the

project was postponed), she felt uneasy. Her mind went

through the list of materials required for the presentation. If

she lacked anything, Mr. Wheeler would be sure to mention

her incompetence. She checked her notes on his favorite

students, Troy and Jewel. If she could grab them before the

program began, it would put her in a better position.

Lindsay arrived at the school with plenty of time to spare.

She made several trips to and from the car, carrying in the

materials. On the way in with the duffel bag slung over her

shoulder, she found Jeff Wheeler standing in the rear of the

auditorium. He seemed to be perusing the place like a director

scanning a set before a major shoot.

“Good morning, Mr. Wheeler,” she greeted him in a bright

voice. “Nice day out today, isn’t it?”

“The students will be here in about a half hour,” he

answered. Were his hands shaking, or was it her imagination?

“What’s that?” He nodded at her duffel bag.

“Sample prizes to show the students. They can earn them

if they sell enough items. We talked about it on the phone a

26 few days ago.” Lindsay set down the bag and withdrew the Goofy

phone, shipped out on the bus from Skip last week.

“Now this is a great prize. Let me demonstrate it for you.”

Lindsay pushed the start button, and Goofy did his thing—

first the snoring, then raising his head and announcing the

telephone call.

“Are you joking?”

“Isn’t it fun?”

“I’m not sure if fun’ is the word I would use. What else is

in there?”

Lindsay almost took out a Silly Slammer but decided he

would dislike those as well. Instead, she showed off the more

sophisticated prizes: a camera, a hands-free headset—”very

popular with cell phones nowadays,” she explained to his

expressionless face, a CD organizer, a personal radio.

“What these students need is something that stimulates the

mind. An encyclopedia set on CD, a museum pass, or a gift

certificate for a bookstore. That’s the problem with kids

nowadays. They waste their brains on Play Stations; then you

wonder why they come to school brain-dead.”

“Uh… ,” Lindsay faltered. “We’ve found that students sell

better if they have a goal to reach. And of course you do want

them to make money”

He nodded and followed her to the front of the auditorium.

“So what’s the rest of this stuff?”

At least he’s curious, she mused. “Brochures, charts for the

teams—

“Teams? This isn’t a sports team, you know. It’s the entire

junior class.”

Lindsay felt her cheeks flush. She cleared her throat.

know, Mr. Wheeler, but the class will do better if the students

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divide themselves into teams. Accountability among the students

helps them sell more.” She paused as his gaze centered

on her. He did have the most attractive set of blue eyes, but

this was hardly the time to contemplate that. “We find that

students are more likely to relate to their peers. In fact, Troy

and Jewel will be helping me out with this part.” She searched

for a positive reaction to this announcement but found none.

“Miss Thomas, all I want you to do is hand out the

brochures and tell these kids what they’re selling. If you must

show those prizes, go ahead. Remember you have only twenty

minutes. That’s all I can give you.”

Lindsay felt herself begin to fume. Does he really want to

earn money? Obviously not, with these kinds of ultimatums. He

just wants to have it done with and then blame me if the whole

thing fouls up. She inhaled a deep breath, trying to control her

nerves. Keep cool, Lindsay. Don’t let him rattle you. Remember

the adage that the customer’s always right. “Hah, what a

joke,” she said, then felt warmth spreading over her face when she

realized her statement had been audible.

Jeff whirled at the sound, staring as if his eyes would pop

out of his head. Without a word, he strode off to the rear of

the auditorium.

Lindsay pushed the embarrassing moment aside to set up a

display of prizes on a blanket of blue velour with the company

logo stamped on it. Afterward, she pulled out a sheet of paper

printed with a simple introduction. She hoped Jeff Wheeler

would at least provide her a decent introduction before the

faces of two hundred students soon to occupy the auditorium

seats. With great trepidation, she ventured to the rear of the

room where he was busy consulting with another teacher.

“Yes?” he asked, without giving her a glance.

28 “I wanted to give you this sheet that outlines a suggested

opening statement for the fundraiser. Since the students

don’t know me from Adam, a good introduction will get their

attention.”

He took the paper and set it on a seat before resuming his

conversation with the teacher. Lindsay managed a lopsided

smile before hustling down to the front of the auditorium.

The students had begun filing in to take their seats. She put on her best smile for the curious faces arrayed before her. All at once she singled out Troy

and Jewel, who marched up

front. Hope soared within her. She quickly told them to

gather more team leaders together. Lindsay then handed out

the team sheets, asking the leaders to pick names for their

teams and assign groups of fellow students to be a part.

“Glad you both are here,” she added in a low voice to Troy

and Jewel. “I really appreciate it.”

“Sure,” Troy said. “Anything to get us out of class.”

“Look—I could use the names of some of your football

players and other toughies in the class. Also I could use your

support during the presentation. When I ask a question, for

example, shout out an enthusiastic response every so often. Be

motivated, and that will help a great deal.”

“Sure.” Troy then rattled off a list of names.

Lindsay nodded in satisfaction. With all that accomplished,

she strode to the front of the auditorium to await Jeff

Wheeler’s introduction. Minutes ticked by. The students

became edgy. Several of them walked the aisles, visiting.

friends. A few shouted at Lindsay, asking her why they were

here. Lindsay tried to remain patient, waiting for what

seemed like an eternity for Jeff to come out of hibernation.

At last he strode to the front of the auditorium with the

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paper in his hand. “Quiet down,” he ordered the class. “All

right—we’re having this special twenty-minute assembly so

Miss”—he paused and looked at the sheet—”Miss Thomas

here can give her little spiel about what stuff you’re going to

sell to raise money for the prom. I want everyone to be quiet

and give her your undivided attention for twenty minutes.

Then it’s back to class.” Without looking her way, he meandered

up the aisle and took a seat.

Lindsay felt like dying on the spot. Obviously the man

knew nothing about motivating students, let alone giving her

a pinkie of help with the presentation. The apathy would certainly

trickle down unless she turned it around quick. Lindsay

inhaled a breath of determination.

“I’m sorry I had to take you out of your history class with

Mr. Wheeler or any of the other classes you have this period.

I know how much you were looking forward to that surprise

quiz on the Revolutionary War that Mr. Wheeler planned to

spring on you today.”

At this, the students ceased in their private conversations

and stared at her. Some laughed nervously. Others threw

looks to the rear of the auditorium where Jeff Wheeler sat

with his arms folded.

Lindsay smiled. She had rescued the students’ attention

with the carefully choreographed introduction. Thank You,

Lord. “As you know, we’re here to raise three thousand dollars

for the prom and other junior class activities. I’m sure you all

want to hire the best band for the prom—am I right?”

“You bet!” shouted a rowdy student.

“Only the best for our class,” Troy added.

“Good. And since the band has to be hired within the next

few months, we need the money now. You want to see one of

30 the hot items you’ll be selling?”

“Yeah,” came a chorus of voices. “

Lindsay reached into a bag tucked behind the display of

prizes. “After much thought, I’ve decided you should sell one

of Mr. Wheeler’s favorite snack foods, sure to make a hit with

your neighbors and friends. And of course Aunt Mabel and

Cousin Elroy will want crates of it.” Lindsay held up a can of

Spam, to the roar of the student body.

She glanced to the rear of the auditorium and saw Jeff

Wheeler jump in his seat as if struck by the joke. For an

instant, she caught the crook of a smile on his face before he

lapsed into his usual grim expression.

A burst of confidence shot through her. Lindsay continued

with the presentation. She displayed samples of the merchandise

on the brochures and the amount each student was

expected to sell by the end of the program. “And for all those

that reach their fair share of twelve items by tomorrow, we

have a special gift for you. A class T-shirt with a mug shot of

Mr. Wheeler printed on it.”

The students laughed and turned in the direction of their

history teacher. He sat straight up in his seat. Again Lindsay

detected the quiver of a chuckle on his lips as if he were trying

to stifle a laugh. “Really, though, we have great senior class

T-shirts printed in fun colors. Now the main question of the

day is: Should we also have the opportunity of earning

prizes if we sell enough chocolates to Mom, Grandma, and

Cousin Louise?”

Affirmations trumpeted the room.

“You mean, you don’t want to raise the money simply out

of love for your history teacher? Just think what Mr. Wheeler

could do with all the money you bring in. How about