"I think worrying about grades would be the least of the girl's problems," Todd pointed out.

  "I think it's disgusting," Elizabeth said indignantly. "It makes me feel like punching something."

  "All I can say is, it's totally gross and barbaric," Jessica stated. "Change the channel, OK? This is boring."

  Elizabeth stood up abruptly. "I need some fresh air."

  She left the room and went out the back door to the patio. After a moment, she heard Todd walk out behind her. They stood in silence for a few moments, listening to the water lap and gurgle against the sides of the pool.

  "Are you OK?" Todd asked at last.

  "Yes," Elizabeth answered. "It just got to me. That poor girl. If it's true, she must be going through a lot of pain."

  Todd slipped an arm across her shoulders. His special brand of sympathy and understanding was just one of the things that Elizabeth loved about him. He always knew when she needed a good listener.

  "And if it isn't true, and she wrongly accuses her teacher," Elizabeth continued slowly, "that would be pretty rotten."

  "Like what happened to Mr. Collins," Todd said, referring to the school's most popular teacher and advisor for The Oracle.

  "Right," Elizabeth said, watching the pattern of reflected light dappling the branches overhead. "When Suzanne Devlin told everyone he had made a pass at her, he nearly lost everything: his job, custody of his son, his reputation. It nearly ruined his life."

  Todd leaned against the edge of the picnic table. "Most accusations of sexual harassment aren't false, though."

  "I know," Elizabeth said. "And that's why hearing about it gives me the creeps."

  "There's nothing you can do," Todd reminded her gently. "Try not to lose perspective."

  Elizabeth began to pace. "I know, I know. Sometimes I wish I didn't see so many of the things that make me mad, but when you write for a newspaper, you're supposed to see them. You're supposed to go looking for them."

  "Are you surprised that you don't like what you find?" Todd asked,

  "No."

  "And you always end up pointing out the injustice to everyone else, too," Todd teased her gently.

  Elizabeth shook her head. "I know. But I can't help it. When I see something that's unfair or stupid or harmful, like beauty pageants, where women are displayed and judged like cattle—"

  "Don't start on that again, please," Todd begged.

  "Sorry." Elizabeth smiled at Todd in the darkness. "I just feel strongly about these things, you know that."

  Todd reached for her and gave her a hug. "I know."

  Elizabeth did feel strongly about unfairness. And hearing that a girl—who was probably a lot like Elizabeth or any of her friends—was being sexually harassed by a teacher made Elizabeth sick at heart. It also made her burn to do something about it.

  "Do you suppose anything like that happens at our school?" she asked, tipping her head back to look up at the stars.

  "I don't know," Todd admitted. "It's not the kind of thing you expect to see. And if it is there, you wouldn't necessarily notice it."

  "Unless you were on the receiving end," Elizabeth said. "And even then, you might not really understand what you were seeing or hearing."

  They were silent for a few moments. "There is something I can do about it," Elizabeth said finally.

  "Such as?"

  "I can write an article," she announced. "I want girls to be aware of what can and does happen in high schools, and tell them what they can and should do if they believe they're being harassed. I can tell them not to be afraid to tell someone."

  "Another crusade?" Todd asked. "You take these things so hard, Liz. Don't do it if it's going to hurt you."

  Elizabeth smiled and shook her head. "I'll try not to get so wrapped up in the story this time," she promised. She stepped close to him again and put her arms around his neck. "I'll be cool, detached, and objective."

  "Sure," Todd said. "The reason you're such a good reporter is that you care. Just try not to care so much."

  "I will," Elizabeth said. "At least, I'll try."

  Ginny sat down at the Hadleys' dining room table with two glasses of orange juice. "Here," she offered, handing one to Denise.

  "Thanks." Denise looked up from her homework with a swift smile. "I hate to ask this, but can you quiz me on these geometry rules?"

  "Sure." Ginny pulled the sheet of paper toward her and ran through them for her friend. She only gave half her mind to the subject, though. She was remembering her afternoon at Project Youth, and especially her conversation with Mike.

  I hope I was able to help, she thought. After all, it had only been her second call. She was not experienced the way Barry was. The one thing that held any hope for her was Mike's promise to call on Wednesday.

  "What's wrong?" Denise asked. "You haven't caught me on one mistake."

  "Oh, sorry." Ginny shook her head. "It's this Project Youth thing."

  Denise smacked her forehead with one hand. "Oh, no! I can't believe I forgot to ask you about that! You must think I'm so selfish!"

  "Don't be dumb," Ginny said fondly.

  "So, tell me everything," Denise prompted with a smile.

  Ginny rested her chin in her hand. "First of all, thanks for talking me into it. I really felt good about today. Except . . . Forget it," she said, waving her hand dismissively.

  "No, tell me. What's wrong?" Denise said.

  Ginny frowned. The most important thing about being a volunteer on the hotline was keeping everything confidential. Still, she thought she could discuss the situation in a general way with her friend. She trusted Denise completely.

  "OK, here's the deal," Ginny said as Denise smiled at her encouragingly. "My second call was from a boy who was really upset about his home life. I'm pretty sure he was about to do something—run away or get into trouble—I don't know."

  "And you talked him out of it," Denise said.

  Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Well, that's what I'm not so sure about. We talked for a pretty long time, and he was a lot more relaxed at the end."

  Denise leaned back in her chair and shook her head slowly. "I knew it. I knew you'd be great at helping people. You turned that guy around."

  "I don't know if I did or not," Ginny insisted.

  "But you said yourself he was much more relaxed," Denise pointed out. "That's the main thing, right? To get someone to let off steam so he doesn't blow up?"

  "That's true," Ginny agreed.

  Denise picked up her orange juice and took a sip. "I can see how you'd be worried, though. I mean, you'll never know how it turns out."

  "Well, actually," Ginny said, "he promised to call back Wednesday afternoon and tell me how it's going."

  Denise's eyes gleamed. "Oh, really? Do I detect a budding friendship here?" she teased lightly.

  Ginny blushed. "Oh, please, Denise. That's all you ever think about. He just doesn't want to have to explain the whole story to someone new when he calls again."

  "You never know where these things can lead, though," Denise went on.

  Ginny balled up a sheet of scrap paper and threw it at Denise. "For your information, phone counselors never meet the callers. It's strictly a first-name-only operation."

  "So what does he sound like? Does he seem like a nice guy?" Denise asked.

  "Ugh!" Ginny moaned. "You never give up, do you? He was too busy having a crisis for me to tell if he was a nice guy, OK?"

  Denise nodded. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely.

  "Don't worry about it." Ginny pulled her homework toward her and bent over it with an attitude of concentration.

  But inside, she was thinking about Mike and about how she was looking forward to his call on Wednesday.

  "You will tell me what happens when he calls back, won't you?" Denise asked suddenly. Her smile told Ginny that her matchmaking thoughts were long forgotten.

  "I will," Ginny promised. Then she crossed her fingers surreptitiously. "If he calls."

  On Tuesday afternoon, Elizabeth walked into the Oracle office and put her backpack on a shelf. John Pfeifer was sorting through some black-and-white photographs for the sports page, and Penny was looking something up in a tattered, well-worn dictionary. Olivia Davidson, the arts editor, was busy typing.

  "Hi, all," Elizabeth said. She pulled up a chair next to Penny and leaned forward. "I have an idea for a story," she said eagerly.

  Her editor-in-chief sat back and folded her arms. "OK. What is it?"

  "I want to do an article about sexual harassment on high school campuses," Elizabeth explained.

  Penny's eyebrows shot up, and Olivia paused in her typing to listen in.

  "Do you know of a case of sexual harassment?" Olivia asked.

  "No, not exactly," Elizabeth said slowly. She couldn't reveal the story of the girl who had called the hotline about a teacher's questionable behavior. Amy had already told Jessica, and Jessica had already told Elizabeth and Todd. The story had gone far enough.

  "Well, what do you mean, then?" Penny asked.

  "I mean an article describing what it is, and what it means, and what can be done if it happens," Elizabeth said. "It's a subject that nobody talks about, and I think that's a dangerous thing. A lot of girls can get hurt by the silence."

  John put down his photographs and nodded emphatically. "I totally agree, for another reason," he said. "There are lots of things that guys don't realize are offensive to girls unless someone tells them. Men and women see things differently, and sometimes you have to tell guys how a girl sees a situation that might be scary to her."

  "I understand what you're saying," Olivia agreed. "But I'm sure any teacher who is coming on to a student knows perfectly well what he's doing."

  John nodded again. "I know. I'm just saying that there are other good reasons for doing the article besides protecting girls."

  "What do you think?" Elizabeth asked Penny.

  Penny tapped her pencil against her palm. "Hmm. It's not a bad idea."

  "I think it's a good idea, if you want to know my opinion," Elizabeth said firmly. "What do you say?"

  "I say yes. But you know, this sort of thing has the potential to make a lot of people very nervous," Penny said. "We should run the idea by Mr. Collins."

  "But—" Elizabeth began.

  "Did I hear someone taking my name in vain?" came a cheerful voice from the doorway.

  Mr. Collins, English teacher extraordinaire and newspaper advisor, walked in with a smile on his handsome face. "What's up?"

  Because Elizabeth knew about his own painful experience, she was nervous, and a little embarrassed, about discussing her idea with him.

  "Elizabeth has a story idea that I think you should know about," Penny said without preamble.

  "OK. Shoot." Mr. Collins pulled out a chair and straddled it.

  Elizabeth cleared her throat. She knew that Mr. Collins was a fair person, and he was always very supportive of their plans for The Oracle. But she wished she had had a chance to discuss the article further with Penny before having to run it by him. There was no avoiding it now.

  "I want to write a story about the issue of sexual harassment," she said.

  Elizabeth could see the color drain from Mr. Collins's face.

  "What exactly do you mean?" he asked. "Are you saying this is happening at Sweet Valley High?"

  "No, not at all," Elizabeth assured him quickly. "I don't mean to do an expose or anything like that. I just think it's important for people to be able to recognize sexual harassment if they see it, and to know what they can do about it."

  Elizabeth felt the tension increase as Mr. Collins sat without speaking. She was sure that a flood of painful memories was engulfing her teacher.

  "Elizabeth," he finally said, "I'm sure you can appreciate that my own involvement in this issue makes it very difficult for me—"

  "I know," Elizabeth cut in. "Honestly, I do realize that this will stir up a lot of bad memories for you."

  "Not that my personal life should have anything to do with the editorial decisions I make," Mr. Collins said. "But I wish you would reconsider. It could lead to all kinds of mistakes. You could start a real witch hunt without meaning to."

  Elizabeth shook her head. "That's not the point. It's an important issue, and I don't see why we shouldn't be able to discuss it."

  "I just don't think you should stir up trouble where none exists," Mr. Collins countered. "If a teacher here at Sweet Valley is guilty of sexual harassment, then something needs to be done. If there is a girl who is being harassed, we should get her to go to the proper authorities. It's not our job to raise a lot of groundless suspicions."

  "But isn't it our job to give students information that may be important to them?" Penny argued.

  "I promise the article will be fair and fully researched," Elizabeth said. "And I don't think you can assume that an informational article about sexual harassment would start a witch hunt. That's like saying an article about anti-Semitism would necessarily lead students to spray-paint swastikas on the wall."

  "This is different, Elizabeth, and I think you realize that," Mr. Collins argued. "Careers are at stake. A false accusation could ruin a teacher's whole life. It nearly did mine."

  Elizabeth nodded. "I understand what you're saying, honestly," she said. "But if something ever did happen here—or somewhere else—and the student didn't know where to turn for help . . ."

  "That would be tragic," Penny said simply.

  Mr. Collins ran a hand through his reddish blond hair and sighed. "OK," he said with obvious reluctance. "But I'd like to ask you to clear it with me after the first draft."

  Elizabeth was about to object, but Penny cut her off. "That's fair enough," she said. "That's your job as advisor."

  "I'm glad you see it that way," he said quietly as he got up to leave.

  When he was gone, Elizabeth let her breath out in a rush. "This is going to be harder than I thought," she said.

  Four

  On Wednesday after school, Ginny took the bus directly to Project Youth. Kathy greeted her and took her into the office for her second hour of counselor training, which covered all the related social services available in the area. Ginny gave her full concentration to the information on substance abuse programs, runaway shelters, and family therapy centers, even though she kept sneaking glances at the clock. When Mike called, if he called, she had to be in on the switchboard, not in Kathy's office. But the hour went by quickly, and when Ginny went into the switchboard room, she saw that the lines were quiet.

  "Hi," she said shyly when a girl she didn't know smiled. "My name is Ginny."

  "I'm Cynthia. I hear you just started," the girl said. "How's it going so far?"

  "Fine, I guess," Ginny said. "I get to solo today."

  "Great. Oh, a call," Cynthia said as one of the lines lit up. "Hello, Project Youth. What's on your mind?"

  Ginny sat down and put on a headset. Her heart was pounding, and she took a deep breath to relax.

  "Over to you by special request," Cynthia said to Ginny, pointing to the blinking hold button. "This guy is asking for you specifically."

  Ginny's spirits soared. She adjusted her headset and pressed down the button in front of her. "Hello?"

  "Ginny, is that you? This is Mike. Remember me?"

  "Remember you?" Ginny laughed with relief. He had really called!

  "Of course I remember," Ginny said quickly. "I'm really glad you called back. How is it going?"

  "Well," he began, "at first, I didn't think I would be able to go through with talking to my mother. But then I figured I had nothing to lose."

  "Mmm-hmm," Ginny murmured encouragingly.

  "So I did. I asked her to go for a walk with me last night after dinner, and I just told her how I felt. I started out by saying that I was glad she'd found someone new to love, but then I said I felt kind of abandoned. She started crying," he said softly.

  "What else did you talk about?" Ginny asked.

  "Mostly we talked about my dad," Mike said. "We never really did, after he died. And there were some things I wanted to ask my mom about him."

  "So you didn't really talk about what's going on right now," Ginny said.

  "No. It just seemed . . . at the time, what I really wanted was to talk with my mother and just be honest with her."

  "I think that's great," Ginny said. "I bet the rest will come naturally. You just have to give it time."

  Mike chuckled. "I know. I always want everything to happen instantly, but some things take a while. If it's worth waiting for, you just have to sit and wait."

  "Maybe you should be the one on this end of the line," Ginny teased.

  "No way. I could never do what you're doing," Mike said. "You've been fantastic."

  "Come on, all I did was sit here and listen. That's what the hotline is for."

  "Well, I still say you're terrific," Mike insisted. "It's going to be tough for a while, though, while I'm trying to work things out with my mom and Joe. Is it OK if I call again?"

  "Of course it is," Ginny said emphatically. "You don't have to ask. Just call whenever you need someone to listen."

  "What about if I need you to listen?" Mike asked. "Are you there only on Mondays and Wednesdays?"

  "That's right." Ginny tucked one foot up underneath her. "I'll be here if you need a friend to talk to. And you know what I think? I think you're going to be fine."

  "Well, I hope so," Mike said. "I'm not really wild about taking on Joe."

  "Don't look at it as though you're enemies," Ginny suggested. "Have the attitude going into the discussion that you're friends. You have something important in common, you know."

  "Like what?"

  "Like you both love your mother," Ginny said. "That's a pretty major common denominator."

  Mike sighed. "OK. I'll give it a shot and let you know how it turns out."

  "And listen, if you need to talk before Monday, just call anyway. All the counselors here are really good listeners, I promise."

  "No way," Mike said with a laugh. "You're my one and only."

  Ginny was silent for a moment. She knew what Mike meant, that she was his one and only counselor on this problem. But she almost wished those words meant something else—something really special.

 

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