Page 28 of More Than Pen Pals

I can tell everything is not good, so I stop working, sit back on my heels, and look up at her. Panic flashes across Carmela’s face as she turns her head away from me.

“Tell me, Carmela. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She shakes her head. She’s still facing mostly away from me, but a tear rolls down her cheek. I stand and gently turn her toward me. Then I tilt her head up until she looks me in the eye.

“Tell me. Maybe I can help.”

Carmela shakes her head again. “You cannot help. I asked Mr.—” She claps a hand over her mouth.

I lightly grasp her wrist, and when she doesn’t resist my touch, I pull her hand away from her mouth. “You asked Mr. …?”

“Mr. Hamilton told me he will not help. I cannot ask again.”

I’ll get to which Mr. Hamilton she’s talking about in a minute, but I can already guess which one. “You can’t ask again because you don’t want to or because you were told not to?”

She presses her lips together and shakes her head yet again, which tells me all I need to know.

I sigh. “You’ve been told not to … by my father?”

She finally nods, her eyes focused straight ahead at my chest, not up at my face. I don’t have the heart to make her look me in the eye again. Instead, I close the door and set up two metal folding chairs.

“Please sit and tell me everything. You can tell me in Spanish, if that helps.”

fifteen

Wendy didn’t lie—at least not about being in my office when I arrive. Still, I greet her with, “You lied to me!”

She grins from her seat in the purple chair. “And I will never, ever regret it!” Her feet are propped on my upturned trash can, which makes me laugh.

“Thank you,” I say. “Truly.”

“Would you have gone if I hadn’t lied to you?”

I stop to think about it. “I don’t know. Possibly not, because I wouldn’t have believed he would actually show up. How did you talk him into it?”

She shrugs. “I told you I’m good. And he’s a reasonable man most of the time. Now, pull up a seat,” she points her toes toward my desk chair, “and tell me every juicy detail.”

I don’t. Well, I sit down, and I tell her some things, but not all the things. I give her the high-level details of Ash’s response to my confession.

She’s not satisfied with my storytelling.

“You’re holding out on me, my friend. What are you not telling me?”

“That’s everything.”

“It’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re being cagey. And you smile every time you say his name.” She puts her hand over her heart, gives me the same ridiculous grin she gave Ash yesterday at lunch, and says, “Aaaaash.” Then she shoots me a stern look. “Am I going to have to go pull the rest of the details out of Aaaaash?” She does the weird smile again.

“No!” I shout, before I can stop myself.

“Aha! Thereissomething you’re not telling me.”

I don’t intend to tell her everything, but I need to give her something, because I’m afraid she’ll carry out her threat. “Look, there was chemistry, okay? And I’m positive it wasn’t one-sided.”

“I knew it!” She thrusts a finger into the air. “Within twelve months, you’ll be Mrs. Aaaaashley Hamilton!”

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