Read Online Holly in Love by Caroline B. Cooney - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Caroline B. Cooney
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had.
“Okay,” said the tester, “thanks, Miss Carroll. All done.”
“How’d I do?” I said eagerly.
He smiled at me. “Don’t have a criminal career,” he said. “You’re as transparent as glass. May I have the paper clip back for the next volunteer, please?”
I walked slowly out of the test room, seeing myself in a new light. Transparent as glass. How unattractive. Jamie was sitting there, alone in a room. All would-be untested thieves had given up and gone home. “Hi,” I said gloomily.
“How’d you do?” he asked me, which I thought was quite unnecessary. If I’d won the fifty dollars I’d have been doing pirouettes.
“Lost.”
He grinned at me—not a superior grin, but a bubbly, eager grin that made him look like both Kate and Christopher—an unlikely combination if I ever heard of one. I couldn’t help grinning back. “You beat it, didn’t you?” I said.
He beamed at me. “Sure did. I stole the nickel, and they were convinced I took the key.”
“Fantastic! You’re rich! How did you do it? Did you have a technique, or are you a natural born liar?” I said.
“I had a technique. Although I put the nickel in my shoes, I kept saying to myself, Stealing keys! Disgusting. Low. Immoral. That’s a crime, James Winter, stealing keys, and you should be ashamed of yourself. I convinced my heart, I guess, because the lie detector proclaimed that I actually had stolen the key!”
I shook hands with him. “I’m glad to know somebody devious and mysterious,” I said. “I myself rated transparent as glass.”
We walked out of the Psych building together, laughing and talking. “What are you going to do with the fifty dollars?” I said enviously.
“I really don’t know for sure. Want to break it by having a muffin with me at the Pew?”
“I thought the Pew was college territory,” I said.
Jamie laughed. “The Pew is in the muffin business. They wouldn’t care if vampires sat there as long as they bought muffins. I go to the Pew all the time. Other people like French fries best, or pizza, or ice cream bars, or candy. I like muffins with butter.”
“That’s not a very fitting food for a successful thief,” I said. “Corn muffins are too tame.”
“I usually eat blueberry. Although apple, and cheese, and bran muffins are good, too. As long as I can butter them. I belong to the slathering school of thought,” Jamie explained. “If it comes out of an oven it needs butter.”
“A cholesterol fiend,” I said. “Do you know I’ve been to the Pew only twice in my life, and I’ve lived here all my seventeen years?”
He shook his head in amazement. “That’s why you’re so slim, then,” he said. “You’ve never discovered the joys of butter melting on the Pew muffins.”
Me. Slim. In fact— so slim, was what he’d said. I liked it so much I no longer wanted butter on my muffin, so I could stay slim.
We walked the long way, so we’d be on cleared sidewalks and not have to churn through the crusty snow and ice. Jamie began telling me some of his thoughts on spending the fifty dollars. His hobby, it turned out, was steam engines. He had small steam engines mounted on boards to run miniature trains and light bulbs and whistles, and right now he had his eye on an antique threshing machine that had a steam engine.
“A threshing machine?” I said, sure I had misunderstood. “A real one? As big as a house?”
“Well, they’re not quite that big, but yes, a real one. The owner doesn’t want it. In fact, he hasn’t wanted it for forty years. For fifty dollars I could get it towed to my backyard and begin a lifetime project of restoring it to its former glory.”
It was difficult to imagine a threshing machine having any glory, former or present. Bringing an antique threshing machine home? One presumably covered with rust and filth and having a cracked boiler and missing some parts? “What will your parents say?” I wanted to know. I didn’t know Jamie’s
“Okay,” said the tester, “thanks, Miss Carroll. All done.”
“How’d I do?” I said eagerly.
He smiled at me. “Don’t have a criminal career,” he said. “You’re as transparent as glass. May I have the paper clip back for the next volunteer, please?”
I walked slowly out of the test room, seeing myself in a new light. Transparent as glass. How unattractive. Jamie was sitting there, alone in a room. All would-be untested thieves had given up and gone home. “Hi,” I said gloomily.
“How’d you do?” he asked me, which I thought was quite unnecessary. If I’d won the fifty dollars I’d have been doing pirouettes.
“Lost.”
He grinned at me—not a superior grin, but a bubbly, eager grin that made him look like both Kate and Christopher—an unlikely combination if I ever heard of one. I couldn’t help grinning back. “You beat it, didn’t you?” I said.
He beamed at me. “Sure did. I stole the nickel, and they were convinced I took the key.”
“Fantastic! You’re rich! How did you do it? Did you have a technique, or are you a natural born liar?” I said.
“I had a technique. Although I put the nickel in my shoes, I kept saying to myself, Stealing keys! Disgusting. Low. Immoral. That’s a crime, James Winter, stealing keys, and you should be ashamed of yourself. I convinced my heart, I guess, because the lie detector proclaimed that I actually had stolen the key!”
I shook hands with him. “I’m glad to know somebody devious and mysterious,” I said. “I myself rated transparent as glass.”
We walked out of the Psych building together, laughing and talking. “What are you going to do with the fifty dollars?” I said enviously.
“I really don’t know for sure. Want to break it by having a muffin with me at the Pew?”
“I thought the Pew was college territory,” I said.
Jamie laughed. “The Pew is in the muffin business. They wouldn’t care if vampires sat there as long as they bought muffins. I go to the Pew all the time. Other people like French fries best, or pizza, or ice cream bars, or candy. I like muffins with butter.”
“That’s not a very fitting food for a successful thief,” I said. “Corn muffins are too tame.”
“I usually eat blueberry. Although apple, and cheese, and bran muffins are good, too. As long as I can butter them. I belong to the slathering school of thought,” Jamie explained. “If it comes out of an oven it needs butter.”
“A cholesterol fiend,” I said. “Do you know I’ve been to the Pew only twice in my life, and I’ve lived here all my seventeen years?”
He shook his head in amazement. “That’s why you’re so slim, then,” he said. “You’ve never discovered the joys of butter melting on the Pew muffins.”
Me. Slim. In fact— so slim, was what he’d said. I liked it so much I no longer wanted butter on my muffin, so I could stay slim.
We walked the long way, so we’d be on cleared sidewalks and not have to churn through the crusty snow and ice. Jamie began telling me some of his thoughts on spending the fifty dollars. His hobby, it turned out, was steam engines. He had small steam engines mounted on boards to run miniature trains and light bulbs and whistles, and right now he had his eye on an antique threshing machine that had a steam engine.
“A threshing machine?” I said, sure I had misunderstood. “A real one? As big as a house?”
“Well, they’re not quite that big, but yes, a real one. The owner doesn’t want it. In fact, he hasn’t wanted it for forty years. For fifty dollars I could get it towed to my backyard and begin a lifetime project of restoring it to its former glory.”
It was difficult to imagine a threshing machine having any glory, former or present. Bringing an antique threshing machine home? One presumably covered with rust and filth and having a cracked boiler and missing some parts? “What will your parents say?” I wanted to know. I didn’t know Jamie’s
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