The Best Friend Read online

  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!”

  chapter

  4

  “Did 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.

  chapter

  5

  The house is still empty, Becka realized with a shudder.

  Honey had lied about moving next door.

  A gust of wind sent a curtain of powdery snow across the yard. The bare trees rattled and creaked, then resumed their silent watch over the house.

  The dark, still house.

  Becka stared from window to window, searching for a light, any sign of life. But the old house, snow drifts pushed up against its dark shingles, icicles hanging from the low roof of the front stoop, appeared as empty and deserted as it had for months.

  “How can this be?” Becka said aloud.

  As she trudged up the unshoveled walk to the ice-covered front steps, she felt a shiver run down her back, a shiver of dread.

  There were footprints in the snow, but they were old, half filled in by the afternoon’s snowfall.

  Becka slipped on the first step, but stopped herself from falling by grabbing onto the metal rain down-spout beside the stoop. Making her way more carefully, she crossed the small, square stoop and pounded hard on the front door.

  Silence.

  Leaning off the stoop, she peeked into the living room window.

  Darkness inside.

  Were those cartons against the wall? Too dark to tell.

  She knocked again. Tried the doorbell, but the button was frozen in place.

  Silence.

  Another wind gust tossed a swirl of powdery snow onto the stoop.

  Shivering, Becka turned away from the dark, empty house, carefully made her way down the frozen stairs, and started to jog home.

  Where is Honey? she wondered, questions swirling across her mind like the flakes of snow being tossed by the wind. Why did she appear so suddenly and lie about moving in next door? Where is my parrot pin? There’s got to be a logical explanation for this—right?

  Right?

  “Did you see Mary Harwood when she came out of the supply closet with David Metcalf? She had a big purple spot on her neck.” Lilah shook her head and giggled.

  Becka stopped walking and gaped at her friend. “You mean a hickey?”

  Lilah rolled her eyes. “Mary said it was a mosquito bite. Isn’t that lame? A mosquito bite in December?”

  Both girls laughed and began walking again. It was a bright afternoon, the sun high in the sky, making the melting snow sparkle like silver. School had just let out, and they had decided to walk home.

  “What’s with Mary’s mother?” Becka asked, shifting her backpack from one shoulder to the other, then adjusting the hood of her parka. “Doesn’t she know what a tramp Mary is?”

  “She has no idea,” Lilah replied, an amused grin on her face. “Mary’s mom lives on some other planet. Billy Harper told Lisa Blume that he was making out with Mary Saturday afternoon on the couch in Mary’s living room. Mary’s mom walked up to them with a tray and asked if anyone wanted homemade fudge!”

  This story made them both laugh gleefully.

  “Wow!” Becka exclaimed. “And my mom monitors every phone call I get!”

  “Speaking of phone calls,” said Lilah, turning serious, did you hear from Bill again?”

  Becka shook her head. “No. He’s probably angry with me because I wouldn’t sneak out and meet him at the mall Saturday night.”

  They crossed the street. Becka had to hurry to keep up with Lilah’s long strides.

  The blare of a car horn startled them both. They turned to see a station wagon rumble by, filled with kids they knew from school. It stopped in the middle of the intersection. The driver’s window rolled down, and Ricky Schorr poked his grinning head out.

  “Want a ride?”

  “There’s no room,” Becka told him, pointing to the crowd jammed into the back of the wagon.

  “You can sit on my lap!” Ricky yelled. The car exploded with raucous laughter.

  “I’d rather walk home barefoot,” Becka shot back. She and Lilah turned and continued on their way. The station wagon rumbled on.

  “Ricky’s friends think he’s a riot,” Becka muttered.

  “Since when does he have friends?”

  “Since he began driving that station wagon to school,” Becka replied.

  “So did you tell your parents you want to start seeing Bill again?”

  Becka shook her head. “I haven’t been in the mood for World War Three.”

  “Are you going to sneak out and see him?”

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know. I can’t decide.”

  “You sound pretty undecided,” Lilah said. She stopped to wave to a man and a woman in the yard across the street. The man was up on a ladder, stringing a row of Christmas lights along his roof edge. His wife was on the ground, helping to untangle them.

  “The Andersons really get into Christmas,” Lilah said softly. “Look at all those lights. Their house looks like one of those Las Vegas casinos! Can you imagine their electric bill?”

  “Well, at least I’ll get to see Bill at Trish’s Christmas party,” Becka said, sighing.

  “He’s coming?”

  “Yeah. Who isn’t? It’s going to be a mob scene. Trish has invited everyone in the world!”

  “Did you buy a dress?” Lilah asked, kicking a clump of hardened snow along the walk.

  “I got a great skirt,” Becka said enthusiastically. “It’s really short and really silky. It’s silver. I’m going to wear it over that black catsuit I bought at the mall.”

  “I can’t wear a catsuit. I look like a broom,” Lilah complained.

  “I can’t believe you’re unhappy about being tall,” Becka told her. “I would kill to be as tall as you.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “Well. . . almost as tall as you!”

  Both girls laughed. They said their goodbyes, promising to call each other later. Becka watched Lilah jog over the snow toward her house, her long brown ponytail bobbing out from under her blue wool cap. Then Becka turned and headed for Fear Street, thinking about Bill and about Trish’s party.

  “Anyone home?” she called, stepping inside the kitchen and closing the door behind her. The kitchen was warm and smelled of cinnamon. There was no reply.

  Becka made her way through the back hall and started up the stairs to her room to get rid of her backpack. She stopped halfway up and listened.

  A voice upstairs.

  A voice from her room.

  Was it her mother? Who was she talking to?

  Becka climbed two more stairs and stopped. Hidden by the railing, she peered across the landing into her room.

  The door was open more than halfway. The lights were on. Becka could see a portion of her bed.

  Someone was moving around in there, chatting.

  Someone.

  Becka poked her face through the railing and watched.

  Honey!

  Staring across the dark hallway, Becka saw Honey deposit some clothes on Becka’s bed.

  My clothes, Becka realized. What is going on here?

  Honey is in my room, taking clothes out of my closet.

  Honey disappeared from view. Becka heard her voice but couldn’t make out what she was saying.

  When she reappeared, Becka recognized the skirt Honey was wearing. It was the silver skirt Becka had bought for Trish’s party.

  She’s wearing my skirt?

  Becka gripped the rail tightly, frozen, staring in disbelief at what the rectangle of light revealed in the doorway to her bedroom.

  She’s wearing my skirt!

  She was also wearing a silky blue top that Becka’s parents had given her for her birthday.

  Once again, Honey stepped out of view. Becka could hear her opening dresser drawers now.

  What is she doing here?

  Why is she in my room, trying on my best clothes?

  And who, Becka wondered, is Honey talking t
o?

  chapter

  6

  “Honey!” Becka burst in to her bedroom, her heart pounding.

  “Oh, hi.” Honey stood up from the dresser drawer she had been leaning over. A smile spread across her face. “You’re home.”

  Becka gaped at her, speechless for a moment. Her eyes darted around the room. Honey, she saw, had removed most of the clothes from the closet and piled them on the bed.

  “Uh—I didn’t know—I mean, I didn’t expect. . .” Becka stammered, feeling her face grow red.

  “Your mom said I could come up,” Honey said casually. She turned and pushed the dresser drawers closed.

  “My mom? She’s home?”

  “No. I think she went out,” Honey told her.

  “Then who were you talking to?” Becka demanded, stepping reluctantly to the bed.

  “Huh?” Honey stared at her, a bewildered expression on her face. She pushed back her disheveled pile of auburn hair.

  “I heard you talking to someone,” Becka insisted, turning to examine her nearly empty closet.

  “No. Not me,” Honey replied, her smile returning. “I’m all alone.”

  “But—” Becka realized she was still holding her backpack. She let it slide to the floor and kicked it under the bed.

  “Oh, Becka, I just love your clothes!” Honey gushed. She swirled around in front of the mirror, admiring herself in the silver skirt and the silky blouse. “You always had such great taste! Even when we were little, you knew just what to buy.”

  “But, Honey—”

  “I don’t believe this skirt!” Honey exclaimed, not giving Becka a chance to get a word out. She spun around one more time, then walked over to Becka, stopping so close to her that Becka could smell the sweet chewing gum on her breath. Feeling awkward, Becka took a step back.

  “I just bought that skirt. I haven’t worn it yet,” Becka said unhappily, hoping Honey would hear how irritated she was.

  “Where did you get it?” Honey chirped. “Not at the mall. You couldn’t have bought this skirt at one of those tacky shops at the mall. Where, Becka? You have to tell me! It’s just so sexy!”

  “At a little shop in the Old Village. Petermann’s, I think,” Becka muttered.