My Best Friend's Boyfriend Read online

  "Oh, I don't know." Amy sighed. "I like working on the hotline, but sometimes I get so stressed out about the callers' problems."

  "But they're total strangers," Jessica said. "Do you want to talk about it? I mean, pretend you're calling and I'm the one listening," she suggested.

  "I shouldn't, but I'm so angry—so outraged . . ." Amy rested her forehead on her hand. She lowered her voice. "I just spent half an hour listening to this girl. Don't ask me what school she goes to, because I'm not saying," she added quickly.

  "I won't," Jessica said, leaning closer.

  Amy's slate-gray eyes were dark with suppressed emotion. "She's being harassed by one of her teachers," Amy began.

  "What? You mean her grades are slipping?" Jessica prompted.

  "No, I mean he's coming on to her," Amy whispered fiercely.

  A slightly sick feeling settled in Jessica's stomach.

  "She thought it was all in her imagination," Amy went on, shaking her head. "But she told me some of the details of what's been happening, and asked me what I thought. I told her it sounded as if her teacher was taking advantage of the teacher-student relationship, assuming she'd be too scared or confused to say anything to anyone."

  "That's awful," Jessica said.

  "It's sick. The girl was freaking out. She didn't know what to do, where to go." Amy's voice cracked. "I felt so—so—I wanted to kill him."

  Jessica sat back. To think of a teacher behaving that way with a girl who trusted him, making her feel so confused and ashamed and frightened—it was sick.

  "Listen, I can't talk about it anymore," Amy said tiredly. "I really shouldn't have said anything at all. And Jess—I'm sorry, I don't feel like going shopping right now. I'll get a ride home later. I'm going to stay here for a while."

  "I'm totally bummed out, too," Jessica muttered. She stood up and hitched her bag over her shoulder.

  Amy nodded. "OK. Sorry."

  "Don't be," Jessica answered. She trudged across the waiting room and opened the door. As she did, someone coming in bumped into her. "Oh, sorry, Jenny," Jessica said.

  "It's Ginny," Ginny Belasca replied with a blush.

  "Right. Sorry."

  Ginny watched as Jessica made her way out to the street. Popular girls like Jessica Wakefield made Ginny feel even more insecure than usual. For them, talking to boys—talking to anyone—was as easy as falling off a surfboard. Denise was always trying to get Ginny to eat lunch with her and Jessica, or Lila, or the cheerleaders, but Ginny just couldn't do it. She was simply too intimidated by them. With Denise, it was different. She knew Ginny, and Ginny could be herself with her. But as far as the Jessicas of this world were concerned, Ginny tried to keep her distance.

  Swallowing her nervousness, Ginny continued through the door. The first person she saw was Amy Sutton. Ginny cringed under a fresh wave of intimidation. But a moment later, Ginny's common sense took over, and she realized that if Amy was a volunteer here, there had to be an open, welcoming side to her.

  "Hi. Um, I'm supposed to meet Kathy Henry," Ginny said shyly.

  Amy looked at her blankly, and then shook her head. "Oh, right, Ginny. You're starting today?"

  "I spoke to Kathy on the phone. She said to stop by this afternoon," Ginny explained.

  "Hang on, I'll get her," Amy said.

  While Amy went to find the director, Ginny examined her surroundings. The waiting room was warm and inviting. Posters covered the walls and comfortable chairs were scattered around the room. A rack of pamphlets stood by one window; titles such as "Dealing with an Alcoholic Parent" and "Coping with Stress" leaped out at her. She gripped the shoulder strap of her bag more tightly and wondered if she was doing the right thing, if she was really up to this kind of work.

  "Ginny? I'm Kathy. It's nice to meet you."

  As soon as Ginny turned around and saw Kathy Henry, her anxiety began to fall away. Kathy had an aura of calmness and understanding about her that put Ginny at ease from the start. "Hi," she said. "Well, I'm here."

  "Great. Let's sit for a few minutes and I'll explain how all this works," Kathy suggested, gesturing toward two chairs. "We've got a total of four hours of training for you to go through. We'll give you tips on how to listen effectively and tell you what kinds of other counseling agencies exist in the area so that you can steer a client in the right direction. And we'll tell you how to preserve your sanity! That sort of thing."

  Ginny smiled. "It sounds reassuring," she said.

  "You'll have your first hour of training now, and then you'll sit at the switchboard with a coach," Kathy explained. "Your coach will listen in on your calls, and be there as a backup."

  "That sounds great," Ginny said. When Kathy stood up to lead the way into a private office, Ginny jumped up eagerly. She was ready to start.

  For the next hour, Kathy and Ginny performed role-playing exercises. Kathy, as the caller, expressed different forms of anger, confusion, fear, and sadness. Ginny, in turn, tried to find a way to cut through each emotion and to get the caller to talk. Kathy then pointed out all the positive things Ginny had done and said, and also suggested possible alternatives. Even though Ginny was always aware that Kathy was acting a part, she still felt good as she tried to support and reassure, and to draw out the ideas behind the emotions.

  When the hour was over, Kathy led Ginny into the switchboard room.

  "You know Amy Sutton, right?" Kathy said. "And this is Barry Rork."

  Ginny nodded shyly. She knew Barry was Amy's boyfriend, but she had been in a few classes with him and knew that he wasn't the kind of arrogant boy who made her completely tongue-tied.

  "Hi," Barry said in a friendly voice. "I'm going to be your coach."

  "He was my coach when I started," Amy said. She smiled warmly. "He's the best. I'm leaving now, so good luck."

  "Thanks," Ginny said. She looked nervously at the switchboard and headsets and wondered how she would ever have the presence of mind to keep it all straight in her head.

  "Relax," Barry said after Kathy and Amy had left the room. "It looks weird, but believe me, it's a piece of cake using this thing. Messes up your hairdo, though," he joked.

  "Trust me, I'm not worried about that," Ginny said with a trace of her usual wryness. She sat down and listened carefully while Barry explained how to operate the lines.

  "Got it?" he asked finally.

  "I think so," she said.

  "Good. I'll listen in on your first couple of calls."

  Ginny put on the headset. Just then, a red light began flashing under one of the buttons. She glanced at Barry and he nodded for her to go ahead. Ginny pressed the button.

  "Hello, this is Project Youth," she said. Her voice was calm and gentle, in spite of her fluttering stomach.

  "Hi, my name is Valerie," a young girl said. "I don't know who to talk to."

  "You can talk to me," Ginny said softly. "Are you worried about something?"

  She saw Barry smile and nod at her. She was doing fine—so far.

  "It's just that I was supposed to go to this party," Valerie said. "But my grandma's seventieth birthday is the same day, and my mom says I have to be with the family."

  Ginny frowned. "Are you upset because you can't go to the party, or because your mother doesn't want you to go?"

  "I don't know," Valerie complained.

  "Well, let me ask you this. How do you feel about your grandmother?"

  "Grandma? I love her more than anyone," Valerie said passionately. "She's so special to me. And I do want to be with her on her birthday," she added after a short pause.

  "Maybe that's what matters most right now," Ginny said slowly. "It would be too bad if that fact got lost in the arguments with your mom."

  "Well . . . that's true. And it's probably not even going to be such a hot party," Valerie admitted.

  Ginny and Barry exchanged a smile. "So . . . ?" Ginny said to Valerie.

  "So, I'll go to my grandmother's because I want to, not because my mother says I have to."

  "It might help if you try to explain that to your mother," Ginny said. "Get her to see your point of view. Have you tried that before?"

  "No, but I will. Thanks. I feel so much better!" Valerie sighed with relief.

  "Call anytime," Ginny said. Then she cut off the line, sat back, and let out her breath. "Whoa."

  "That was great," Barry said, giving her a thumbs-up sign. "Really nice."

  "You have to admit, it was a pretty simple problem," Ginny countered.

  "There aren't any simple problems, Ginny. Not for the kids who are having them."

  "That's true," Ginny said, tapping her finger against her chin in a habitual gesture as she thought over the conversation. "Are you supposed to feel this good after listening to someone's troubles?"

  Smiling, Barry tipped his chair back on two legs. "It does feel good, doesn't it?"

  "It's great," Ginny continued. "You don't have to worry about whether the person likes you, or if you're making a good impression, or anything like that. You can just concentrate on the conversation and on the other person and be yourself."

  "It can be pretty addictive," Barry agreed.

  Another phone line began to flash. Ginny adjusted her headset quickly and hit the button. "Hi, this is Project Youth. What's on your mind?" she asked as Barry pressed down an extension button to listen in.

  There was a long silence. Frowning, Ginny adjusted her headset again. "Hello? Are you OK?"

  The person at the other end took a long, shuddering breath. "I—I don't know what to do," a boy said in a choked voice. "I'm just going out of my mind."

  Ginny looked anxiously at Barry. This caller sounded seriously upset, and she thought someone with more experience should talk to him, but Barry simply nodded to her to continue.

  "Listen," she said soothingly. "Can you start by telling me your name? You don't have to, but—"

  "Mike. It's Mike," he said.

  "Mike, can you try to tell me why you're so upset? Just a little bit at a time. You can stop whenever you want," Ginny promised.

  "OK. OK, I'll try." Mike took a deep breath. "See, I just moved here two weeks ago. I go to Big Mesa High now."

  "Mmm-hmm," Ginny murmured. Big Mesa was one of Sweet Valley High's main rivals. "Is it a problem at school?"

  "No! It's not," he almost shouted. "Sorry, I didn't mean—"

  "It's OK. You can shout at me if you want." Ginny looked quickly at Barry, and he nodded again.

  "I'm really not crazy," Mike said, managing a faint, small laugh. "OK. Here's the story. My father . . . he—he died two years ago from cancer. We didn't find out he was sick until—" He broke off, obviously trying to bring his emotions under control.

  "I'm sorry," Ginny said softly, her heart going out to this boy who until a moment ago had been a complete stranger to her. She hoped she would find the right things to say.

  "Then, six months ago," Mike went on, "my mother told me she was getting married. And I didn't even know she was dating anybody. She was keeping it a secret."

  "Maybe she thought it would hurt you if you knew," Ginny suggested gently.

  "Yeah, well, it hurt even more to find out that way. Suddenly she was making wedding plans, and I'm getting introduced to Joe—my stepfather—and his two kids. It was like a nightmare. It happened so fast, and it was like it wasn't even me going through all the motions, you know?"

  "I know," Ginny said. A painful rush of memories swirled through her, but she kept focused on Mike.

  "Then we moved here. New family, new town, new school—I can't take it. I don't even know where I am or what I'm doing half the time. And Joe—I just can't do anything right, according to him. He thinks I should get a job after school instead of joining the track team, because his kids have jobs. He's always comparing me to them, always trying to boss me around. And my mother is always on his side! I just can't take it anymore! I won't!" Mike's last words came out in a tumbling, angry rush.

  "What do you mean 'you won't'?" Ginny asked quickly.

  There was a pause. "Nothing," Mike said glumly. "Forget it."

  Ginny had seconds to make a decision. She had a hunch that Mike might be planning something desperate, but he clearly wasn't ready to confide that much. She could either push him to tell her what it was, or try to build his trust so that he would tell her on his own. She decided to treat him gently.

  "Let me tell you what happened to me," Ginny said, her eyes scanning the room as her memories flooded back. "My father died when I was ten, and my mother got remarried a few years later. It was hard for me, but you know, I think it was hard for all of us. Trying to figure out what this new family was, how it works . . . it's tough, believe me. But we talked about it a lot, and that helped. Eventually, we worked it all out."

  "Really?" Mike sounded hopeful.

  "Try talking to your mother first," Ginny said. "If she didn't tell you about Joe when they were dating, it was probably only to protect you. You might have been afraid Joe would try to take your father's place, and maybe she thought she could save you from that pain. Maybe she didn't realize it had the opposite effect, that it made you feel powerless and betrayed."

  "I don't know . . . " Mike said reluctantly.

  "Have you tried to talk to her about your feelings? And ask her what her feelings are?" Ginny went on.

  "No, not really," Mike confessed. "Maybe I haven't really tried hard enough."

  "Give it a shot, OK?" Ginny said. "You have nothing to lose, right?"

  "That's for sure," Mike said bitterly. He sighed. "I feel—I'm not sure what I feel, actually. But thanks. You've been great."

  Ginny smiled, and felt tears of sheer relief come to her eyes. "That's what we're here for. Call back after you talk to her. The line's always open."

  "But when do you work there?" Mike asked. "If I call back, I want to talk to you. I can't explain it all over again."

  "I'll be here on Wednesday," Ginny said.

  "I'll call on Wednesday. Thanks. Oh, what's your name?" he asked with a startled laugh.

  She smiled again, feeling an incredible rush of happiness and confidence. "My name is Ginny."

  "Ginny. Thanks again."

  Feeling utterly weary and utterly elated, she took the headset off and stretched her arms.

  Thanks for pushing, Denise, she said privately. Thanks.

  Three

  Denise wearily closed her math book and leaned back against the bleachers. The echoing thud-thud of the basketball and the short, sharp squeaks of the boys' sneakers filled her ears. Denise watched Jay run into the net for a lay-up; then she glanced at the clock. Practice was supposed to be over soon, but Denise knew that the coach sometimes kept the team late. She had plans to study with Ginny after dinner, but she hoped to talk to Jay before she left for home. During basketball season, most of his time was taken up with games and practices, and she felt that they hadn't had a conversation in ages.

  It was getting late. She stood up.

  "You're not leaving, are you?" Jay asked, running over to her.

  "Well, I do have other things to do besides watch you all the time," Denise said, smiling down at him from her perch at the top of the bleachers.

  Jay was panting hard from practice. His sandy hair was wet and tousled, and his eyes sparkled. "Did you see that last lay-up?" he asked.

  "Yes, it was perfect, stupendous, incredible," Denise replied, shouldering her bag and climbing down the steps. She sighed forlornly when she joined him at the bottom. "When are you going to be done?"

  "Well . . ." Jay breathed deeply and looked over at the rest of the team. "I'm not sure. I'll call you later, OK?"

  "OK," Denise said. "But Jay? Let's do something together tomorrow."

  Jay glanced at the team again. "Uh . . ."

  "Don't you have any time for me anymore?" Denise asked playfully.

  Jay made a slight grimace. "You know I'm in training, Den. You understand."

  "Yeah, I understand." Denise tried not to sound too impatient.

  "We'll do something," he said quickly. "I have to go now. Bye."

  "Bye." Denise followed him with her eyes as he ran back onto the court. She had the unpleasant suspicion that he had forgotten her the moment his back was turned.

  Elizabeth sank back into the couch and propped her feet up on the coffee table in front of her. "Thanks for getting the ice cream," she said to her boyfriend, Todd Wilkins.

  "No prob," he replied, groping underneath a cushion. "Where's the—I got it," he said. He fished out the remote control and turned on the television.

  "What's on?" Jessica asked as she sauntered into the room.

  "At the moment, we're coasting," Elizabeth said.

  Todd continued to skim through the channels, pausing for a few seconds on each one. For an instant, they saw a teacher standing in front of a blackboard in a deserted classroom, leering down at a pretty, dark-haired student who looked up at him uncertainly. Todd flicked to the next channel.

  "Ugh!" Jessica flung herself into an easy chair and made a horrible, sour face. "That show just reminded me. I've just got to tell you guys something," she announced.

  Elizabeth rested her hand on Todd's to prevent him from switching from the nature program on the screen. She smiled. Animal behavior in the wild couldn't hold a candle to Jessica's behavior at home. They had their own wild kingdom whenever Jessica was around.

  "OK, what is it?" she asked.

  Jessica's eyes were stormy. "I was at Project Youth this afternoon, waiting for Amy? And she comes out, right? All upset?"

  "Stop ending sentences on a question?" Elizabeth begged.

  "Listen, this is serious," Jessica said firmly. "She had a call from a girl at some high school who said a teacher of hers is coming on to her."

  "What?" Elizabeth cried. "Wait a minute. Amy's not supposed to say anything about—"

  "Well, she did. She was so upset, she had to vent her feelings a little," Jessica said, waving aside Elizabeth's objection. "And she didn't give any specific details. But that's not the point. The point is, it's just horrible that this poor girl is the victim of sexual harassment. Think about it—you wouldn't know if you were getting good grades because he liked you, or because you were earning them."