The Best Friend (4 page)

Laughing, Trish buried her face in a window seat pillow.

“Do you remember her?” Becka demanded.

Lilah and Trish shook their heads.

“Why should
we
remember her?” Trish said. “She was
your
best best best best best friend!”

Trish and Lilah collapsed in hysterics.

Becka didn't join in. She pulled the pillow out of Trish's hands and hugged it. “But—but what if she was right? What if we
were
best best friends? How could I be so awful to forget?”

“Face it. You're awful!” Trish declared. She and Lilah both thought this remark was hilarious too.

Becka heaved the pillow at Trish. It missed and bounced off the window.

“You'll probably forget us too,” Lilah declared.

“Forget who?” Trish cried.

Both she and Lilah collapsed in laughter.

“Come on,” Becka urged. “This is serious. Did you see how happy Honey was to see me? And all I could do was stand there with my mouth open and go, ‘Duhhh.'”

“I've never seen her before,” Trish said. “Weren't we in the same fourth grade class? Didn't you have Miss Martin?”

“Yeah,” Becka said.

“Me too,” said Lilah. “Whatever happened to Miss Martin?”

“Moved away, I think,” Becka replied. “I think she had a baby and got married.”

“Don't you mean got married and had a baby?” asked Lilah.

“Whatever,” Becka replied impatiently.

“So why don't we remember Honey Perkins?” Lilah asked.

“Do you have your class pictures?” Trish demanded, standing up and walking over to the other two.

“From fourth grade?” Becka shook her head. “I don't think so. Oh. Wait.” She made her way to the desk against the wall, leaned down, and pulled out the bottom drawer. “I might have it in this box.”

She pulled out a battered cardboard box and began rummaging through it. A short while later she lifted out their fourth grade class picture.

The girls huddled close to study it.

“There she is,” Trish said, putting her finger on a face in the upper right-hand corner. “It's got to be her. The same hair.”

And as Trish pulled her finger away, all three girls suddenly remembered Honey.

“Yeah. Right. That's her,” Becka recalled. “She was weird.”

“She was real weird,” Trish agreed. “She was quiet. Almost never spoke. When Miss Martin called on her, she used to choke. Remember? She'd turn real white and just sputter.”

“No one liked her,” Lilah commented, staring hard at the photo. “Hey, Becka, nice bangs!” she cried, pointing to Becka in the front row.

“You were always so stylish!” Trish teased.

Becka gave her a hard poke in the ribs and returned to staring at Honey's unsmiling face. “Honey used to
burst into loud sobs for no reason at all,” she remembered.

“Yeah. She was scary,” Trish added.

“She had no friends at all,” Lilah said.

“So why does she think that she and I were such good pals?” Becka asked.

“She must have an
awesome
fantasy life,” Trish mused.

“Guess you're real lucky to have a new admirer,” Lilah teased Becka.

“Yeah. A new best best friend,” Trish said, grinning.

Becka frowned. “I'm not so sure.”

She put the photo back in the box and replaced the box in the desk drawer. They talked about Honey for a little while longer, remembering what a strange, lonely girl she had been.

“She moved away before the end of fourth grade,” Lilah recalled. “I remember now. She sat next to me. And then one day her desk was empty.”

“I've got to go,” Trish said abruptly. “Talk to you later, Becka. It's been real.”

She started toward the door, Lilah following. “Wait up. I'll walk with you. Call you later,” she told Becka.

Becka didn't seem to hear their farewells. “Hey—my pin,” she said.

Lilah and Trish turned back to see Becka gaping at her dresser top. “Huh?”

“My parrot pin,” Becka exclaimed. “It's gone!”

“D
id Honey take it?” Lilah asked.

“I thought I saw her put it back on the dresser,” Trish said.

“Well, it's not there now,” Becka muttered unhappily. She was down on her hands and knees, searching the carpet around the dresser.

Lilah and Trish quickly joined in the search. “It's not on the desk,” Trish reported.

“Look under the desk. Maybe it fell,” Lilah suggested.

“I love that pin,” Becka said, bending low to peer under the dresser. “It's the only present Bill ever gave me, and it's my absolute favorite.”

“And it's so stylish. Don't forget stylish,” Trish joked, mocking Honey.

“Very funny,” Becka said under her breath. She climbed to her feet. “She stole it! Honey stole my pin!” she cried, hands on her hips.

“She didn't
steal
it,” Trish said, still searching, her
head under the bed. “She probably forgot she had it on.

“Yeah. I'm sure she didn't deliberately take it,” Lilah agreed.

“If I've lost that pin, I'll be so upset,” Becka said heatedly, searching the top of the dresser again.

“Go ask Honey for it,” Trish suggested, climbing to her feet, brushing herself off. “It's probably still on her sweater.”

“That tacky orange sweater,” Lilah commented, making a face.

“What was wrong with her sweater? I liked it,” Trish replied.

“Honey looked like a pumpkin in it,” Becka said absently, concentrating on her search.

“You redheads stick together,” Lilah accused Trish. “Maybe
you
should be Honey's best friend.”

“I'm going next door to get my pin back,” Becka said. “You two coming with me?”

“What for?” Trish asked.

“I'm going home,” Lilah said, glancing at her watch. “Talk to you later.”

Trish and Lilah disappeared down the stairs. Becka continued her search for a little while longer. But the pin definitely was not in the room.

Glancing out the window, Becka saw that it had started to snow again. Big flakes drifted down slowly, rocking from side to side like white feathers as they fell.

I'll run next door to ask Honey for my pin, Becka decided. She pulled her parka from the closet, and was slipping into it when the phone rang.

She made a dive for the phone extension on her desk, but she wasn't quick enough. It stopped after the
first ring. Her mother must have answered it downstairs.

Leaning against the desk, Becka waited with the parka on to see if the call was for her. Sure enough, a few seconds later, her mother called up from the bottom of the stairs.

“Becka, phone for you.” Mrs. Norwood's voice revealed her disapproval. “It's Bill. Why is he calling you, Becka? You know you're not allowed to see him.”

“I know, Mom,” Becka shouted down angrily. “Spare me the lectures, okay?”

She picked up the phone, listened for her mother's retreating footsteps, then said hello to Bill.

“Bill, hi. How's it going?”

“Hi, Becka. I'm okay.” He sounded far away. There was a lot of interference. He must be calling from a pay phone, Becka decided. “Your mom didn't sound too friendly,” he said.

“She was just surprised to hear you,” Becka lied.

“She never liked me much. I think it's my pierced ear.”

“She's used to that,” Becka told him. “Why are we talking about my mother?”

He chuckled. “Beats me.” She loved his voice. It was soft and smooth. Musical. “Hey, can you meet me tonight?”

“Where?” Becka realized she was whispering even though her mother was nowhere near.

“Meet me at the mall?”

“I don't think so,” Becka replied, hesitantly, thinking hard.

How come? Because of your mom?”

“And my dad,” Becka joked. “Don't forget my dad. He doesn't like you either.”

“So does that mean you'll meet me?” Bill asked slyly.

She loved his sense of humor. Even when things were going wrong for him and he found himself suspended from school and in deep trouble, he had still been able to make jokes about it.

“No. I'd better not,” Becka whispered. “I'd like to, but . . .”

“Is that a yes?”

“No. I mean—”

“Sneak out,” he urged. “Wait till they're asleep, and sneak out.”

“Bill, you know my parents stay up really late,” Becka replied, shaking her head. Suddenly she had an unpleasant thought. “Mom, are you listening in on the extension?” she asked loudly.

She listened for the click of the downstairs phone being hung up, but there was none.

“Whew.”

“I thought you were going to talk to your parents,” Bill said, sounding hurt. “You know. Tell them what a good guy I am now.”

“I'm going to,” Becka said, feeling guilty. “It just hasn't been the right time.” And then she quickly added, “I'm sure they'll understand. I'm sure they'll give you another chance, Bill.”

“Yeah. Sure,” he muttered bitterly. “Are you going to sneak out and meet me tonight or not, Becka?”

Becka hesitated. “I don't think so. Not tonight,” she decided.

“That's okay. I'm busy anyway,” Bill joked.

She laughed. “Very funny.”

“I am very funny,” he insisted.

“Yeah, funny looking.”

“Is that
your
idea of a joke?”

Becka heard her mother approaching the stairs. “I've got to go. Bye, Bill. See you.” She hung up quickly.

She was halfway down the stairs, the heavy parka sailing out behind her, when her mother appeared in the hall. “What did Bill want?” she asked, frowning.

“Just wanted to say hi,” Becka replied, stopping a few steps before the floor.

“You know how your dad and I feel about him, Becka.”

“Yeah. I know. But Bill is different now, Mom. He—”

“Especially after what happened to you, what you went through afterward.” Mrs. Norwood got that faraway look in her pale blue eyes, the look she always got when she was recalling something bad that had happened. “You were so hurt. So upset. Your father and I don't want to see you that upset again.”

“Mom—” Becka started, but restrained herself.

“Where are you going? It's almost dinnertime,” her mother said, noticing the parka.

“I'm not sneaking out to meet, Bill, if that's what you mean,” Becka replied shrilly.

“Becka—!”

“I'm just going next door. I'll be right back.” Becka pushed past her mother and out the front door. She slammed the door behind her and stepped out into the snow.

She raised her face to the sky. The cold snowflakes felt good on her hot cheeks.

Sometimes her mother made her
so mad.
What business was it of hers if Becka wanted to go out with Bill?

“When is she going to stop interfering in my life?” Becka cried aloud. “When?” she demanded of the sky.

She got a snowflake on her tongue in reply.

She lowered her head, pulling the parka hood over her hair, and began to trudge across her snow-covered front yard to Honey's house.

The house had been vacant for several months. Becka eased her way through the untrimmed hedge that divided the two yards. The tall weeds that had taken over the unmowed lawn poked up through the snow.

It'll be good to have someone in the house, she thought. It was so creepy to see it standing empty like that.

Approaching the front of the house, she stopped just past the snow-covered driveway.

And looked up at the house—and gasped.

T
he house is still empty, Becka realized with a shudder.

Honey had lied about moving next door.