The Best Friend Read online

  “Why are you picking on me today?” Honey demanded, tears forming in the corners of her gray eyes. Her chin trembled. “Tell me, Becka. What have I done?”

  Becka leaned against a sink, squeezing her hands on the cool porcelain, trying to force herself back in control.

  “You were so mean to me outside by the football field,” Honey exclaimed, two large tears running down her scarlet cheeks. “And now you come barging in here screaming at me for no reason.” Honey uttered a loud sob. “Why, Becka? Why are you picking on me?”

  “Just stay away from my things,” Becka managed to say through clenched teeth. “Stay away.”

  “Oh.” Honey wiped the tears off with her hands. “I get it. You mean Eric. You saw me with Eric.”

  “No,” Becka snapped.

  “You’re angry because I’m with Eric now,” Honey interrupted. “But that’s not fair, Becka. You broke up with him.”

  “I don’t mean Eric,” Becka cried. She realized she was trembling all over.

  She took a deep breath and held it.

  Gripping the sink, she closed her eyes.

  But the trembling didn’t stop.

  “I don’t mean Eric,” she repeated.

  “You gave him up. Now he’s with me,” Honey insisted. She turned to the mirror and examined herself, wiping another tear off her cheek.

  Is she checking out her hairdo? Becka thought bitterly. My hairdo!

  Is she getting tear stains on her blue blouse? My blue blouse!

  “I’m telling you, Honey, it isn’t Eric. It’s everything else!” Becka said.

  “Now what are you talking about?” Honey asked, bewildered.

  “Everything else,” Becka repeated. “I want you to stay away from my house! Stay away from my room! Stay away from my friends!”

  Honey cringed, a wounded expression twisting her features. “You, you can’t talk to me that way, Becka! You can’t!” Her expression quickly became angry, her gray eyes burning into Becka’s. “I’m your best friend! Your best friend!”

  With a desperate cry, Honey reached into her jacket pocket. After a brief struggle, she pulled out a silver pistol.

  “Honey, no! Put that down!” Becka shrieked.

  Her face twisted in anger, Honey raised the pistol, aimed it at Becka’s chest, and pulled the trigger.

  chapter

  17

  Becka uttered a high-pitched scream.

  A stream of cold water shot out of the gun onto the front of Becka’s jacket.

  Honey laughed.

  “Come on, Becka,” she scolded, shaking her head. “Whatever happened to your sense of humor?”

  Becka, breathing hard, glared silently back at Honey.

  “I gotcha again,” Honey boasted. She squeezed the trigger of the silver squirt gun, sending a spray of water to the mirror. She grinned at Becka.

  Why is she grinning? Becka asked herself angrily. Hasn’t she heard a word I said?

  Becka stared at the water dripping down the mirror.

  “Come on, Becka,” Honey repeated. “Don’t you remember how we both used to carry squirt guns all the time? Those red plastic ones? Remember? We used to shoot each other every time Miss Martin turned her back?”

  ”No,” Becka said softly.

  Honey laughed. “We’d be totally soaked by the end of the day, remember?”

  “No,” Becka repeated more loudly.

  “Becka, don’t you remember?”

  “No! No! No!” Now Becka was screaming. “No, Honey, we didn’t! We didn’t! We didn’t have squirt guns! We didn’t squirt each other!”

  “Of course we did,” Honey insisted, still smiling. “You just don’t remember.”

  “No! No!” Becka screamed, out of control.

  The bell rang.

  “No!”

  She turned and ran, pushing the door open with her shoulder, out into the crowded hall, still running, past startled faces, past kids calling her name, running faster. No, no, no! The word repeating endlessly in her head.

  Running blindly against the tide of kids.

  Running breathlessly.

  Wishing she could run forever.

  “Whoa,” Bill greeted Becka at his front door, surprised as he pushed open the glass storm door and stared at her under the yellow porch light. He was wearing a faded maroon and gray Shadyside High sweatshirt over jeans. He was barefoot despite the cold.

  “Hi,” Becka said shyly, biting her lower lip. “Okay if I come in? I was going to call first, but I thought my mom might overhear.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” He scratched the front of his long, scraggly hair.

  Unzipping her jacket, she pushed past him into the narrow hallway. The house was hot, almost steamy, and smelled of fried grease. “Anybody home?” she asked, peering into the dark living room.

  “No. Just us mice,” he told her. He took her jacket, carried it into the living room, and tossed it onto a chair. Then he clicked on a table light and motioned for her to sit down on the navy blue corduroy couch.

  “My dad’s still at work,” he said, dropping down beside her, pushing his hair back off his face. “My mom’s grocery shopping, I think.”

  Becka sniffed. “What’s that smell?”

  “We had hamburgers for dinner,” he told her. “Did you eat?”

  Becka nodded. “I wasn’t very hungry.”

  He crossed his legs and stretched an arm behind her on the back of the couch. “What did you tell your mom?”

  “That I was going to Trish’s,” Becka replied. She sighed. “I had to talk to someone. I’m so messed up, I can’t . . .

  He lowered his arm and put it around her shoulders. He started to pull her close, but she edged away.

  “No, I have to talk,” she told him.

  He obediently pulled his hand away.

  Without taking a breath, Becka unleashed a torrent of words. “I don’t know what to do, Bill. It’s Honey. She’s driving me crazy. Totally crazy. I really think I’m freaking out because of her. I can’t think straight. I can’t do my homework. I can’t do anything.”

  “What did she do now?” Bill asked, frowning.

  “Everything!” Becka exclaimed. “She doesn’t leave me alone. And when I tell her I want her to go away, when I tell her to back off, she just laughs. Like it’s some kind of joke. Like she doesn’t believe I could be serious.”

  Bill’s expression showed concern. He stared intently at Becka. “Becka, you’ve got to calm down,” he started.

  “How can I?” she cried shrilly. “Have you seen her, Bill? She’s wearing my clothes. She has my hairdo. She’s going with Eric. She—she—”

  “Really,” Bill said softly, putting a hand on Becka’s shoulder. “Look at you, Becka. You’re shaking. You’re making yourself crazy.”

  “I’m not! Honey is!” Becka shrieked. “What am I going to do?”

  Bill edged toward the arm of the couch. Becka knew he hated it when she screamed and lost control. He just didn’t know how to deal with her being so high-strung.

  But she couldn’t help it.

  She was too upset. She needed to confide in him now. She needed his help.

  “I’m really worried about you,” he said quietly, lowering his eyes to the worn carpet. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

  Becka took a deep breath and held it. She didn’t want to start to cry.

  Bill hated crying even more than shouting.

  “Have you talked to your mom about Honey?” Bill asked.

  Becka nodded. “Yeah. But she thinks I’m exaggerating. Every time she sees Honey, Honey is on her best behavior. She’s always flattering my mom and telling her how she wishes she was part of our family. My mom keeps telling me to give Honey a chance, that Honey is lonely. Mom says Honey will make other friends after she’s been here for a while, and then she won’t pester me so much.”

  “But you don’t believe that?” Bill asked, working his big toe into a small hole in the carpet in front of the couch.
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br />   Becka shook her head. “No. Of course not,” she replied shrilly. “Mom and I got into the worst fight over Honey. I know it was childish of me, but I just couldn’t stand for her to take Honey’s side.”

  Bill concentrated on digging his toe into the hole. He didn’t say anything.

  “Trish says I have to get tough,” Becka continued. “Trish says I have to be mean. I have to tell Honey exactly how I feel. I have to tell Honey that I don’t want her coming over, that I don’t want to be her friend.”

  Bill snickered. “Trish is tough,” he muttered.

  “Well, at lunch period today I sort of tried it,” Becka told him. “Trish and I were walking by the football field. And Honey was in the parking lot with Eric. She wanted to join Trish and me. But I said I wanted to talk to Trish alone. I thought maybe Honey got the point, but then—”

  “Oh, wow,” Bill interrupted. “Did you hear about the guys who broke into the school during lunch period today?”

  “Guys? What guys?”

  Bill shrugged. “Some guys. They ran through the halls, trashing lockers. You know Gary Brandt? They tore up all his textbooks and stole his letter jacket. Some other kids had their lockers trashed too. It was unbelievable. Then the guys ran out the front door and got away.”

  “Oh, no!” Becka sank back into the couch and stared up at the ceiling.

  “What?” Bill asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “My locker was trashed too,” Becka said weakly. “And I didn’t know it was vandals. I accused Honey.”

  Bill said something, but Becka didn’t hear him. She stared up at the ceiling, stared at the gray smoke detector near the wall, stared without seeing, without hearing.

  I accused Honey. No wonder she looked at me like that in the girls’ room. No wonder she didn’t know what I was talking about. And then she accused me of picking on her. Picking on her for no reason.

  And it turns out Honey was right.

  Bill was talking, but Becka didn’t hear him. He seemed far away, miles away, his voice a distant murmur.

  I screamed at Honey, Becka recalled. I screamed at her and threatened her. Honey tried to make a joke of it. She tried to get me to lighten up with the squirt gun.

  But I acted like a total psycho!

  Like a crazy person.

  “Am I being unfair to Honey?” Becka asked aloud.

  She lowered her eyes to Bill. The room came quickly back into focus.

  “Maybe,” he said thoughtfully.

  “You think so?”

  Becka felt completely confused now. She had sneaked over to Bill’s to confide in him, so certain that she was right about Honey. So certain that Honey was her enemy.

  That Honey was determined to ruin her life.

  But now . . .

  Becka’s mind was thrown into turmoil.

  Honey probably thinks I’m crazy, she thought, feeling very embarrassed.

  I’m the one who flies off the handle and accuses her of things she didn’t do.

  I’m the one who screams and cries.

  She’s the calm one. She’s the one who tries to calm me down.

  She puts up with me because she wants to be my friend.

  “Maybe you are being a little unfair to Honey.” Bill’s words cut through Becka’s painful thoughts. “Honey isn’t that bad. In fact, she’s kind of cute.”

  “Huh?”

  Becka sat up straight and glared at Bill. “You think she’s cute?”

  Bill realized immediately that he’d made a mistake. “I just said kind of,” he muttered.

  “You shouldn’t take her side,” Becka said, feeling herself go out of control. Fighting it. Fighting it.

  “I didn’t,” Bill quickly insisted. “Now, listen, Becka—”

  “You shouldn’t take her side, even joking around.”

  “I didn’t,” Bill repeated, rolling his eyes.

  “Did she ever come on to you?” Becka demanded.

  “Huh?”

  “You heard me. Did Honey ever come on to you?”

  Bill turned his eyes back to the carpet. “Maybe,” he said softly. “But it was no big deal.”

  Becka left Bill’s house a few minutes later, feeling more unsettled and troubled than when she had arrived.

  Bill had pulled her close to him on the couch, had wrapped his arms around her, had kissed her. Long kisses. Kisses she normally would have enjoyed.

  But not tonight.

  As she pressed her mouth against his, her eyes closed, she thought about Honey.

  She saw the squirt gun. Honey’s short haircut. The enamel parrot pin.

  She saw the girls’ room. Honey standing by the sink. The surprised look on Honey’s face when Becka began accusing her.

  Go away, Honey, Becka thought. Please, go away.

  She pulled herself away from Bill, left him with a startled expression on his face. He reached for her. Missed. She grabbed her jacket and hurried out the door.

  She drove around for a while, thinking, thinking.

  But not feeling any more settled.

  She thought about dropping in on Trish, but decided against it.

  It was nearly ten o’clock when she pulled up the drive and parked the car in the garage.

  The cold air stung her face as she made her way to the back door.

  When she pulled it open, she saw that someone was huddled at the kitchen table, her back to the door, waiting for Becka.

  “Oh!” Becka cried.

  chapter

  18

  “Mom!” Becka cried. “Why are you sitting there?”

  Mrs. Norwood turned around slowly. She didn’t smile.

  “Mom, are you okay?”

  “Have a good time?” Becka’s mother asked coldly. She pulled herself to a standing position.

  “No,” Becka replied, bewildered. “I ... uh . . .”

  “Were you at Bill’s?” Mrs. Norwood asked angrily. She placed her hands at her waist and stared hard at Becka, searching her face.

  “Mom, I don’t get it,” Becka replied, dread forming in the pit of her stomach. She busied herself pulling off her jacket, thinking hard, trying to decide how much her mother knew, trying to decide how honest to be.

  “I know you’ve been seeing Bill again,” Mrs. Norwood said in a flat, emotionless voice. “I know you’ve been sneaking out. Is that where you were tonight?”

  “Yes,” Becka admitted. “How did you know? Did Trish—?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Mrs. Norwood said sternly.

  “Were you listening in on the phone?” Becka demanded.

  Her mother frowned. “I don’t spy on you,” she said, her voice an angry whisper. And then her composure fell apart. “I—I’m just so disappointed in you, Becka,” she said, her chin trembling. She chewed her lower lip.

  “Mom. Really. I—

  “Sneaking out like that,” Mrs. Norwood said, closing her eyes. “Sneaking out behind my back.”

  I had to sneak out!” Becka snapped. “If I told you I was going to Bill’s, you wouldn’t let me!”

  Mrs. Norwood shook her head sadly. “Becka, Becka. You already had your heart broken once by that boy.”

  “Mom, that isn’t fair!” Becka screamed, advancing on her mother.

  Mrs. Norwood, startled by Becka’s vehemence, retreated until her back collided with the kitchen table. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Things are different!” Becka screamed, unable to hold her anger, her frustration back. “Bill is different. He’s not the same person. But I knew you and Daddy would never believe that. You’d never give Bill a chance.”

  “So you had to sneak around behind our backs?” Mrs. Norwood demanded, raising her voice to match Becka’s.

  “What would you do?” Becka cried.

  “Obey the rules,” her mother answered, lowering her voice, regaining her composure. “That’s what I’d do. We have rules in this house, Becka. Important rules about honesty. And you’ve broken them.”

  She
stared hard at Becka, hands pressed against her waist, one shoe tapping rapidly against the linoleum.

  “I—I wanted to tell you about Bill,” Becka stammered. “But—”

  “But you didn’t,” her mother said.

  Becka could feel herself falling apart.

  There was no way she was going to win this argument. No way to get her mom to see her side of the argument.

  I can never win an argument against her, Becka realized unhappily. Because she always gets cooler and cooler as the argument continues. And I always fall to pieces and get emotional and lose control.

  And that’s just what was happening then.

  “Mom, you’ve got to give me a break,” Becka pleaded. She crossed her arms in front of her, pressed them tightly against her chest, trying to stop her trembling.

  “A break?”

  “Yeah. It’s hard to explain,” Becka started.

  “Then don’t bother,” her mother snapped. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, staring hard at Becka the whole while.

  “Mom, please—”

  “Too late,” Mrs. Norwood said curtly. “You’re grounded.”

  “Huh?

  “You’re grounded. Permanently.”

  “But, wait. You can’t!” Becka cried.

  “Oh, yes, I can,” Mrs. Norwood said firmly. “I can and I will. You cannot have the car. You cannot see your friends. You cannot go out at night—until further notice.”

  “But, Mom, it’s Christmas vacation,” Becka wailed. “What about Trish’s party Saturday night?”

  “You’ll have to miss it,” Mrs. Norwood said. She pushed off from the kitchen table and strode quickly from the room.

  chapter

  19

  Becka ran upstairs and threw herself face down on her bed.

  She was prepared to cry. She expected the loud sobs to shake her chest and hot tears to fall down her face.

  But the tears didn’t come. She lay there, her face buried in the bedspread. Too angry to cry. Angry at her mother. Angry at herself. Angry at Bill. She had risked so much by going to see him. And he hadn’t been helpful at all.

  He hadn’t made her feel better. In fact, he had upset her even more by admitting that he thought Honey was “kind of cute” and that “maybe” Honey had come on to him.