The Best Friend (9 page)

“But what?” Bill demanded.

“Well, Lilah told me the strangest thing.” Becka swallowed hard, then continued. “Lilah told me that Honey had been asking her questions about her bike. A day or two before the accident. You know. Questions
about what kind of bike it was, how the brakes worked—stuff like that.”

“So?” Bill asked, his expression puzzled.

“I don't know. I just think it's odd,” Becka replied thoughtfully. “I didn't remember it until I talked to Lilah this morning. But Honey was at the bike rack when Lilah and I came for our bikes. She was examining a bike. Then she—”

“You don't think Honey did something to Lilah's bike, do you?” Bill asked skeptically.

The car suddenly filled with bright light as another car rolled past. Becka shielded her eyes. Darkness returned as the other car drove on.

“Maybe we should get going,” Becka said nervously. She shivered.

“In a little while,” Bill replied, staring at her intently. “First, tell me what you meant about Honey.”

“Nothing,” Becka replied uncomfortably. “I shouldn't have said it. I just—I've been thinking about it all day, picturing Honey there at the bike rack. And then . . .” Becka started to wipe the windshield clear with her hand.

Bill pulled her back in the seat. “Becka, come on,” he scolded softly. “You really don't think Honey would try to kill Lilah just because Lilah was your friend.”

“No, I guess not,” Becka said uncertainly. “I don't know. I mean, I've been thinking so many crazy things. Honey just—she just—I'm a basket case, Bill. I really am!” Becka sobbed.

Bill reached for her, slid his arms around her, and held her close.

Becka stared out the windshield as he raised his face
to kiss her. Her eyes grew wider as she glimpsed something outside, something red behind a tree.

“Bill, she's there!” Becka cried, pulling away from him violently. “Honey! She's out there! She's watching us!”

Becka fumbled for the door handle.

“Wait—!” Bill cried.

He reached for her with both hands. But Becka pushed open the door and leapt out of the car.

“There she is! She followed us!” Becka screamed frantically, running to the tree.

B
ecka's breath steamed up in front of her as she ran through the darkness to the tree. Her heart pounded.

She was so angry, she felt she might explode.

How
dare
Honey?

What right did she have to follow Becka? To spy on her?

It was crazy. Just crazy.

Becka heard Bill's footsteps pounding the hard dirt behind her. “Becka, wait up!”

They both reached the tree at the same time.

“Honey?” Becka called breathlessly. “Honey?”

She gasped in a mouthful of cold air.

And stared at the red kerchief. The red kerchief dangling from a skinny, low tree branch.

How could she have thought that that red kerchief was Honey?

Bill grabbed the kerchief and pulled it down. He held it up to Becka.

She expected him to laugh at her. But Bill's face was serious, his features narrowed in concern.

“Becka, I'm really worried about you,” he said softly. He lowered the kerchief, then let it drop to the ground. “You've got to find a way to calm down,” he said, staring at her intently.

“I know,” Becka replied, trembling all over. “But what can I do, Bill? What can I do?”

Becka groaned and tried to sit up.

Her head felt as if it weighed two tons. She sank back onto her pillow.

She reached for the thermometer, then remembered she had just taken her temperature ten minutes before. It had been 101.6.

What time was it, anyway?

She struggled to focus on the clock radio beside her bed. A little past noon. Monday afternoon.

She had felt a little strange Sunday night. A little queasy. A little achy.

When she had tried to get out of bed Monday morning, she knew at once she was really sick. The flu, probably. Or some kind of virus. Something was always going around.

“I wish I could stay home and take care of you,” her mom had said, bringing her tea and buttered toast on a tray. Becka forced down some of the tea. She couldn't eat the toast.

“That's okay, Mom. I'm not a little kid. I can manage,” she had said. Her head throbbed as if someone were inside, pounding with a hammer to get out. “I'm just going to sleep all day.”

“I'll try to come home early,” Mrs. Norwood said,
frowning. “Drink plenty of liquids, okay? Here. Wait a sec. I'll get you some Tylenol.”

Becka's mom didn't return for what seemed a long while. Becka lay on her back, feeling uncomfortable but too weak to change her position. She stared up at the ceiling, trying to remember what was going on in school.

“Here are the Tylenols. Take them with this juice.” Her mother leaned over her, holding a small juice glass and two pills. “That was Honey downstairs,” she said, as Becka sat up with great effort. “She wanted to come up, but I told her how sick you are.”

“Thanks,” Becka said weakly. She choked down the two pills and handed the juice glass back to her mother.

“Honey said she'd be sure to bring you your homework after school,” Mrs. Norwood said. “She's such a considerate girl, isn't she.”

“Who needs homework?” Becka muttered bitterly. She sank back onto her pillow with a loud groan.

“Does anything hurt in particular?” Mrs. Norwood asked, biting her lower lip.

“Everything hurts,” Becka moaned.

“Well, sleep all day then,” Mrs. Norwood said, placing a cool hand on Becka's hot forehead. “Ooh. Pretty hot. I'll call you later. Be sure to drink a lot. If you're not better by tomorrow, we'd better call Doctor Klein.”

Becka's mom disappeared out the door.

Becka stared up at the ceiling for a long while. Then she shifted onto her side.

I'm dying, she thought. I feel so bad.

She fell into a restless sleep. Her mother called
around eleven, waking her up. After mumbling something to her, Becka padded down to the kitchen, poured herself a tall glass of apple juice, then returned to her bed.

The afternoon passed in a feverish blur. Half awake, half asleep, Becka tossed uncomfortably, feeling hot and sweaty, and then pulling the covers up to her chin when she had the chills.

She had wild dreams, vivid with glaringly bright colors.

Dreams with chase scenes.

She was running, running desperately, trying to escape from she didn't know what.

The dreams collided with other dreams.

She and Lilah were riding the same bike. Then Honey was running alongside.

Then all three of them were on the bike and the bike toppled over.

Such strange dreams, disturbing dreams.

One right after the other.

The phone rang at three-fifteen.

It took three rings for Becka to realize what the sound was.

“Hello?” Her voice was choked. She coughed hard to clear her throat.

“Oh. You're home,” a familiar voice said on the other end.

“Trish?”

“I didn't think you'd be home,” Trish said.

“Huh? Why not?”

“Well, I thought maybe you were in the hospital, Becka. I've been so worried. I couldn't wait to get home to call you.”

The room was spinning around Becka. Gripping the phone tightly, she closed her eyes and sank back onto the pillow.

“Trish, why on earth would I be in the hospital?” “Well,” Trish hesitated on the other end of the line. “Honey told everyone about your breakdown.”

B
ecka's throat tightened.

She suddenly felt cold all over. Chilled.

“Trish, what did you say?” she asked in a quivering voice.

“Well, when you weren't in homeroom this morning, I asked Honey where you were. And she said she had really bad news. She said you'd had a breakdown.”

“Huh? She
did?”

“Yeah, she said it was because of Lilah's accident.”

Becka tried to talk, but the words wouldn't come out. She suddenly realized she was gripping the phone receiver so tightly her hand was aching.

“Honey said you totally freaked out,” Trish continued. “She was telling everyone. I was sure you were in a hospital or something. I was so worried, Becka.”

“I don't believe it!” Becka managed to cry in a high-pitched voice. “I don't believe it!”

“So, you didn't have a breakdown?” Trish asked timidly.

“Trish, I have a virus,” Becka told her. “A stupid virus. That's all.”

“Whew.” Trish exhaled noisily.

“Why would Honey do that?” Becka cried. “Why?”

“Beats me,” Trish replied. “She must have gotten mixed up, I guess. I'm just so glad. I mean, I'm not glad you have a virus. I'm just glad you're not—”

“Is she crazy?” Becka interrupted. “Is she some kind of compulsive liar, or something?”

“I don't know,” Trish said. “I don't know what to say. Honey is strange. That's for sure. Listen, Becka, I have good news about my party.”

“Party?” Becka's head was spinning. Her thoughts were all jumbled, falling one on top of the other the way her fever dreams had.

“You know. My Christmas party.”

“Oh, right.”

“I'm sure you'll be feeling okay by then,” Trish continued. “The good news is my parents agreed to go out. So we won't have anyone in our faces, watching our every move.”

“That's great,” Becka replied weakly, trying to concentrate.

“That means my parents won't know that Bill is at the party,” Trish continued. “They won't be able to tell your parents. So you're safe. No problem!”

“Great,” Becka muttered.

“Gee, you sound terrible,” Trish said sympathetically. “Can I bring you anything? Chicken soup. A hot fudge sundae ...”

Becka groaned in reply.

“I talked to Lilah. Last night,” Trish said. “She
sounded pretty good, considering what she's been through.”

“Yeah. I visited her yesterday,” Becka said. “She's doing really well. She's desperate to get out of the hospital now.”

“Poor thing,” Trish replied, tsk-tsking. “It's going to be a really long time. Months maybe. Then lots of therapy for her legs. But at least she'll be okay someday. I feel so bad that she's going to miss my party, but you'll be there, right?”

“I'll be there,” Becka groaned. “Even if I'm dying.” She kicked off the sheet and blanket. She felt hot and sweaty again. Her mouth felt as dry as cotton.

“So you haven't seen Honey today?” Trish asked.

“How could I?” Becka snapped. “I've been lying in this bed all day, moaning and groaning.”

“Wait till you see her.”

“Huh? What about her?” Becka demanded.

“I don't want to spoil the surprise,” Trish said mysteriously.

“Surprise? Trish?”

“I've got to run,” Trish said. “Call me if there's anything I can do. Glad you're okay. I mean, you know.”

She hung up.

Becka stared at the receiver for a long time, then finally dropped it back.

She sat up, feeling dizzy. She took a long sip of the apple juice she had carried up earlier. It was warm and tasted sour to her.

She shook the thermometer and put it in her mouth.

I know I have a fever, she thought. Tomorrow's the last day of school before the vacation. But I won't be able to go.

Her temperature was still a little over 101.

She replaced the thermometer and fluffed her pillow. She was just lying back on the pillow when she heard footsteps on the stairs.

“Hi, Becka, it's me!” Honey called up cheerfully. “The front door was unlocked, so I let myself in. How are you feeling? I've been worried about you all day.”