The Best Friend (7 page)

“How could I?” Mrs. Norwood asked, staring at Becka. “I haven't been home all afternoon.”

“T
hat was so much fun last night,” Becka told Lilah. “I had a great time. Your little brother is a riot.”

“You ever see anyone find so many ways to break tree ornaments?” Lilah asked, shaking her head.

“But the tree looked perfect,” Becka said. “Scrawny but perfect.”

It was Wednesday afternoon, a clear day, warm for winter, and only a few tiny patches of snow remained on the asphalt of the student parking lot. School had just let out. Becka and Lilah, backpacks slung on their shoulders, made their way toward the bike rack.

“Where do you want to ride?” Lilah asked, waving to some kids piling into a red Civic.

“Anywhere,” Becka answered with enthusiasm. “I just want to ride and ride and ride. I feel as if I haven't used my legs in weeks.”

“Yeah. Me too,” Lilah replied. “I was so glad the snow finally melted so we could take our bikes. Let's take Park Drive to River Road, okay?”

Becka nodded. “The hills will be a challenge.”

“It'll be really pretty up above the river,” Lilah said. She stopped suddenly. “Look, there's your pal Honey at the bike rack.”

Becka groaned. “Just my luck she moved in next door. She's like my shadow. Only closer.”

“Why don't you tell her to get lost?” Lilah asked, stepping back as the red Civic roared past, its horn honking loudly.

“Sometimes I'd like to,” Becka said thoughtfully. “But then I decide she's not so bad. I think she's just really insecure.”

“Who isn't?” Lilah said dryly.

They made their way to the bike rack at the back of the student lot. Honey was examining one of the bikes, but she stepped away when she saw Becka and Lilah approaching. “Hi! How's it going?” she called, waving. She was wearing a yellow wind-breaker. Her hair was tied behind her head with a yellow ribbon.

“Hiya, Honey,” Lilah said cheerily.

Honey didn't seem to hear her. Can I go home with you?” Honey asked Becka.

“No. Lilah and I are going for a long bike ride,” Becka told her, tossing her backpack over the handlebars of her bike. “We've been sitting around for weeks. We need a workout.”

Honey frowned. “I've got to get a bike. I want one just like yours. It's a ten-speed, right?”

Becka shook her head. No. A twenty-one speed.”

“I like your hair that way,” Lilah said to Honey.

“Will you be home tonight?” Honey asked Becka. “Yeah. I guess. I've got to work on my research paper for science.”

“Me too,” Honey said. “I'll call you, okay?” “Okay,” Becka said, backing her bike out of the rack.

“See you,” Honey said. She stood beside the rack, her hands crammed in the pockets of her windbreaker, watching as Becka and Lilah pedaled away.

They made their way out of the parking lot and turned right onto Park Drive. The curb was still puddled with melting snow. Their tires sent up a spray as they rolled past.

“Did you see the look on Honey's face when you said she couldn't come with us?” Lilah called, pedaling hard a few yards ahead of Becka. “She looked as if you'd just killed her puppy.”

“She's very emotional,” Becka replied, leaning forward over her handlebars. “One minute she's ecstatically happy, the next she's ready to weep bitter tears.”

“Weird,” Lilah said.

They rode past the front of the school, the flag hanging limp on this windless afternoon, and headed through the neighborhood of big houses and tree-filled front yards known as North Hills.

“My legs ache already,” Becka complained.

“We haven't even reached the good hills yet,” Lilah said, pedaling harder.

“I've just been so lazy lately. This really feels good,” Becka said.

“We're supposed to go skiing this vacation,” Lilah
said, staring straight ahead as the road dipped to the east. “But we may not go. My dad may have to go to Akron on business.”

“Akron? For Christmas?” Becka cried, pumping hard to keep up with her.

“No, he'd be back by Christmas. But we wouldn't be able to go away.”

“What a drag,” Becka groaned. She took her hands off the handlebars to unzip her jacket.

The sun was an orange ball just over the tops of the trees. In the center of a yard across the street lay a top hat and a straw broom, the remains of what must have been a pretty fancy snowman.

Becka pedaled rapidly to catch up to Lilah, and they biked side by side for a while. “Here come the hills,” she warned.

“The first one is downhill. No problem!” Lilah cried.

“Watch out. There are still a few patches of ice,” Becka said, pointing.

She stopped pedaling as they started to roll down the hill toward the intersection with River Road. The hill was steep, and they started to pick up speed.

Becka saw the brown delivery truck first. It was speeding toward the intersection, its engine roaring.

“Look out!” Becka warned. She pressed her hand brakes and started to slow.

But not Lilah.

It all happened so quickly.

In a second. Maybe less.

Becka saw the panic on Lilah's face.

“My brakes!” Lilah shrieked.

Becka squealed to a safe stop.

Still picking up speed, Lilah flew over her handlebars into the intersection.

Becka shut her eyes.

Then she heard a loud
thump.
Followed by a sickening
crunch.

T
he sun was behind the trees now. The air carried a bitter winter chill.

The red lights on the top of the ambulances circled around and around.

Becka sat on the curb and stared as the red lights rolled over the ground, over the street, over Lilah's bent and mangled bike, still lying in the middle of the intersection.

Over the dark circle of blood in the street.

She heard a high-pitched voice talking rapidly, excitedly.

It was the truck driver, a young man in a denim work shirt and black jeans, with a red bandanna tied around his forehead. He was explaining to a grimfaced police officer what had happened. Gesturing wildly. His voice kept cracking as he talked.

Becka didn't look at him. She kept her gaze on the sweeping red ambulance lights.

The lights were comforting somehow. Hypnotic. So regular. So mechanical.

There were two ambulances there, Becka knew. And several black and white police cars.

The officers had wanted to talk to her, but she told them she wasn't ready to talk. She wanted to sit on the curb, on the cold, solid concrete, and watch the lights go around for a while.

Round and round.

She looked up in time to see the white-jacketed medics lift the stretcher into one of the ambulances.

The stretcher carrying Lilah.

The stretcher slid silently into the back of the ambulance.

Silent as death.

And then the doors were closed with a bang.

Lilah was alive.

The officers had told her that Lilah was alive.

She was unconscious. She was in bad shape.

But she was alive.

Becka shut her eyes. The sweeping red lights disappeared.

She heard the thud again.

And then she heard the crunch.

When she opened her eyes, she was panting, her heart thudding in her chest.

Will I hear those sounds every time I shut my eyes?

Becka realized she was standing. She didn't remember climbing to her feet.

But she was standing now.

Am I in shock?

The officer had muttered something about shock.

The red lights swept over her as she found herself walking toward the intersection.

Round and round.

I'm inside the red lights now.

So cold. So cold.

Will I ever be warm?

The red is cold.

And then she was lifting Lilah's bike. It had jerked to a stop and then slid into the intersection after Lilah. So bent. So totally wrecked. The seat as flat as a sheet of cardboard.

And the brakes—

Huh?

Becka's mouth dropped open. She stared hard at the mangled bike in her hands as the red lights swept over her. Then there was darkness, then the red light again.

One brake cable.

One of Lilah's brake cables.

It's
missing,
Becka saw.

She searched the street. There were no pieces there.

“My brakes!”
Those were the words Lilah had screamed just before—before the bike slammed to a stop and she was thrown off.

Lilah had no rear wheel brakes. No brake cable to her back wheel.

The cable couldn't have come loose from
both
ends, Becka knew.

It couldn't have fallen off from both ends.

It had to have been removed.

“Hey—her rear brake cable—it's gone!” Becka shouted.

Did anyone hear her?

Did she really shout it?

Or did she just imagine that she had shouted it.

“Lilah's brake cable! Where is Lilah's brake cable?”

Was she talking to herself?

Wouldn't anyone listen to her?

Becka felt a hand on her shoulder. The hand was gentle. Protective.

She raised her eyes to the face of a young police officer. “Your friend is on her way to the hospital,” he said softly, staring into her eyes with his wet blue ones. “Are you feeling better?”

“I don't know,” Becka heard herself say.

“Would you like to go to the hospital too?” he asked, not blinking, not taking his eyes from hers. “Or would you like us to take you home?”

“Home,” Becka said.

“Lilah is still unconscious,” Becka whispered into the phone. “My mom just talked to her mom. The doctor said Lilah is stable.”

“Stable? What does that mean?” Bill asked on the other end of the phone line.

Becka leaned over her desk. “I don't know. I guess that means she isn't getting any worse.”

“And how are you doing?” Bill asked softly.

“Okay, I guess. Better. I keep getting chills. Mom keeps bringing me soup. Like I'm the one who's sick or something.”

“You going to school tomorrow?” Bill asked.

“Yeah. I guess. I don't know.” She uttered a loud sob. “I just can't believe it, Bill. Last night I was at Lilah's and we had such a good time. We were trimming her tree. Everyone was so happy, and now—”

“She'll be okay,” Bill said soothingly. “I know she will.”

Becka forced herself not to cry.

She hadn't cried at all. Not a tear.

Every time the urge hit her, she forced it back.

“You've been through a shock,” Bill said.

“I'm keeping it together,” she told him, her voice breaking.

“Lilah will be okay,” Bill repeated.

He doesn't really believe it, Becka realized. He's trying to make me feel better.

He's sweet.

“Let's do something Saturday night,” he urged. “Try to take our minds off everything.”

“Okay,” she agreed. The word tumbled out of her mouth. She was feeling so close to him now. He was being so understanding, so caring.

She just agreed without thinking.

“You'll do it?” He sounded very surprised.

“Yeah. I'll just sneak out,” she told him. “It won't be any big deal. I'll tell my parents I'm going over to Trish's.”

“Better let Trish in on it,” Bill warned.

“Hey, I'm not stupid,” she snapped.

“I know. But you're also not good at being sneaky.”

“I can handle it,” Becka assured him. “I really do need to get my mind off this. Poor Lilah.” Again she choked back the tears.

“We'll go to a movie. A comedy,” Bill promised. “We'll laugh all night. You'll see.”

“I don't want to laugh all night,” Becka insisted. “I just want—”