Best Friend Next Door (19 page)

“How nice.”

“She’s getting three tubes. For the three of us.” Emme holds up three gloved fingers. “I told her to get a blue tube for you.”

I clench my teeth. All I want right now is to be back in Greeley, in my house, in my room.

“You could at least say thanks,” Emme says.

She’s asking me to
thank
her? This is too much. WAY too much.

“Thanks a lot,” I say sarcastically.

“You know,” Emme says, “you’re being really awful. Sophie thinks so, too. I’m sorry we went skating without you but I didn’t think—”

“Didn’t think what?” I snap. “Didn’t think I’d care that my two best friends like each other more than they like me?”

Emme pushes her scarf down so it’s around her neck. “I thought you
wanted
us to get along.”

The lunch bell clangs and a bunch of people wander onto the porch. I wait until they’re inside the dining hall and then I say, “I don’t know what I want.”

Emme presses her lips together. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look this angry. “It’s not a hard question, Hannah. Do you want me to get along with Sophie or not?”

“I don’t know if Sophie is who she was before,” I say to Emme. “I think she’s changed.”

“Maybe you’ve changed!” Emme shouts, pointing her finger in my face. “You eat pizza now and you dropped out of swimming and your mom is having a baby.”

“Like that’s my fault!” I scream, so loudly that people coming up the path stare at us.

“I’m just saying that I’m dealing with your changes and—”

“I didn’t know you had to DEAL with me,” I say, jumping to my feet.

“Listen.” Emme pushes off the bench, too. “I’m sorry we went ice-skating without you this morning, but it was actually nice not having you sulk the whole time. Deal with that. I have to pee.”

Emme stomps through the door of the dining hall. As I watch her go, I suddenly have that feeling like I can’t breathe. It’s similar to what I’ve had before, when I was in the baby’s room, but much worse. I run back to the bunk. When I get inside, I clutch my hands to my throat and keel forward, trying to suck in air.

After a while, my counselor pushes open the door to Icicles.

“Hannah?” Meredith asks, sitting next to me on the bed. “I heard you were upset. Are you okay?”

I shake my head. The tears are coming, but I don’t care. Because everything is hitting me at once. Sophie and me growing apart. Sophie and Emme getting along so well. Emme saying she was glad I wasn’t polar bear ice-skating with them. The new baby. Getting adopted.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” Meredith asks. She takes off her glasses. “You came with Sophie Park, right? Want me to have someone get her?”

I shake my head. Everything feels mixed up right now, like my whole life is changing and there’s nothing I can do to stop any of it. “I just … I want to go home.”

“A lot of people feel that way on the first day of camp. I can take you over to the infirmary. The nurse can check out that mark on your forehead and maybe she’ll—”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Can you please call my parents? I want them to pick me up. I want to go home.”

This time it sinks in with Meredith. She knows I’m not kidding. I want this to be over. Emme’s mom Julia was planning to drive us all back to Greeley after camp. Now she can just get Emme and Sophie. They’ll probably be happier without me anyway.

Meredith goes into the bathroom and comes back with a few sheets of toilet paper for me to blow my nose. Once I’ve dried my face, I pack my suitcase and backpack and grab my snow pants off the peg. On the way out of Icicles, I tape a note to the side of Emme and Sophie’s bunk bed.

Enjoy each other

—Hannah

And then I walk out.

H
annah and I haven’t talked in three and a half days, not since our fight outside the dining hall. Part of that time, I was at Deepwoods. Try having fun at camp after your best friend has ditched you without saying good-bye (and might not even be your best friend anymore).

For the past day and a half, I’ve been back home. It’s still February break and I’m right here, right next door to Hannah. I’ve seen her hanging a Popsicle-stick birdhouse on their side porch with Margo and playing basketball in her driveway with her uncle. One time, when Mom J and I were getting in the car to go to the mall for new clothes (yes, I finally grew a full inch), Hannah and her dad were getting
out
of their car with bags from the Gap and Old Navy. Our parents said hi, but we didn’t look at each other.

I’m so mad that Hannah ran away from camp like that. Yes, maybe Sophie and I should have told her we signed up for polar bear ice-skating. But Hannah was moody from the second I arrived. Plus, it’s obvious she hates ice-skating. I knew she wouldn’t want to come. And that note she wrote!
Enjoy each other.
That made Sophie and me cry.

After Hannah left Deepwoods, I only skated one more time. Sophie and I tried to have fun together, but it was awkward. Sophie was stressed because she was going back to Hannah’s house and sleeping over before she flew home to Canada. I was upset because maybe it’s true that the Og Twins are over.

But it’s not all my fault!

I’m sick of the way Hannah has a meltdown whenever things don’t go her way, like when the New York City trip was canceled or when Sophie and I realized we actually got along. (It turns out Sophie was as nervous about meeting me as I was about meeting her.)

The thing is, even with everything that’s happened, I really miss Hannah. I just want this fight to be over. I start crying whenever I think about it.

Mom J and Margo had a long talk yesterday, to see if they could help. According to Margo, Hannah still needs time to cool off. I know what
that
means. It’s a gentle way of saying she wants nothing to do with me. And the truth is, if Hannah and I were in the same room, I don’t know what I’d say to her either.

I took down the first-place ribbon that Hannah made for me and put it in my dresser. It hurt too much to look at it.

Even the blue streak in my hair isn’t making me happy.

I am definitely in a doom mood.

On Thursday morning, Mom C is at work and Mom J is at the greenhouse. They’re having kindergarten camp this week, and Mom J has been volunteering at it. She invited me to come along today, but when I considered choice one (herding five-years-olds wielding spades through a room of dirt) versus choice two (sketching, reading, snacking, screen time), it was a no-brainer.

Around ten, I’m walking to the fridge for a glass of orange juice when I notice Butterball’s dish is full of food.

Oh, no. Not again.

Sure, it’s his (even grosser) diet food, but he wolfs it down in eight seconds anyway.

I quickly check the shelf for his yellow collar. Phew. At least he has his cat tags on. But why didn’t he eat breakfast? Did he run away again? What if he ran to Hannah’s house like before and when I go get him she tells me to my face that she never wants to be friends again?

Just then, I hear a whimper coming from the downstairs bathroom. It’s like a meow but it sounds weak and muffled. I run into the bathroom and there’s Butterball, sprawled on the floor under the sink. His eyes are half closed and his body looks limp. I try to rouse him, but he won’t move.

I hurry to the phone and dial Mom J.

“Emme?” she asks, answering on the second ring. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s Butterball,” I manage to say. “He’s collapsed. I’m not sure he’s even …” I can’t say
alive
out loud. Butterball has been my cat since I was six. There’s no way he can die on me.

“I’ll be right home,” she says. “Get the travel case ready. I’ll call Dr. Konning and tell her we’re on our way.”

I’m trying to hold it together, but the tears are coming. “What should I do with Butterball until you get here?”

“Just hold him,” Mom J says. “Sit with him. I’m sure he’ll feel better knowing you’re there.”

As soon as Mom J hangs up, I stand at the door of the bathroom. I’m shaking all over. What if Butterball
is
dead? But no. His chest is slowly rising and falling. He’s breathing.

Even so, I’m scared to be alone with him. After I get the travel case out of the hall closet, I go to the phone and call Hannah.

“Hello?” a man’s voice asks. It doesn’t sound like her dad.

“Hey, this is Emme.”

“Hi! This is Uncle Peter. Let me get Hannah.”

I hear talking in the background.
Please come to the phone,
I silently will Hannah.
Please, please, please.

“Hey,” she says after a second.

As soon as I hear her voice, I start crying all over again. “It’s Butterball. Something really bad has happened to him. He’s barely conscious.”

“Are you serious?” Hannah asks. “When?”

“Right now. My mom is on her way home. We’re taking him to the vet.”

“I’ll be right over,” she says.

Three seconds later, Hannah bangs at our front door and I let her in. She’s in slippers and she’s not even wearing a coat. We hurry into the bathroom.

I can barely look at Butterball, but Hannah slides her hands under him and lifts him into her lap. She pets him and whispers “It’s okay” over and over again. I notice he looks a lot skinnier now, and his fur is droopy and loose.

“Hannah?” I say, sitting so close to her that our knees are touching. I have the hugest lump in my throat. “I’m sorry about the things I said at camp and how Sophie and I left you out. I didn’t mean I had to
deal
with you. I just meant—”

“I know you didn’t,” Hannah says. “I
was
being awful. You were right when you said that. It wasn’t fair the way I took it out on you. I’ve been upset about the baby coming and it was weird seeing Sophie again. But that wasn’t your fault. I’ve been wanting to say I’m sorry to you but …” Hannah pauses.

We’re both wiping tears from our eyes and gently stroking Butterball’s back.

“What?” I ask.

“I was worried if I talked to you, you’d say you didn’t want to be best friends anymore,” Hannah says.

“Of course not. I’d never say that.”

“So we’re still the Og Twins?” Hannah asks.

“Always.”

At the exact same time, we reach over and hug each other. I’m careful not to press into Butterball or hurt him in any way.

“The thing is,” Hannah says after a second, “there’s something else going on, too.”

“What?”

“Margo went into labor. She left for the hospital an hour ago. That’s why my uncle—”

“Your mom is having the baby
right now
?” I ask, my voice rising.

Hannah nods slowly.

We sit in stunned silence until we hear Mom J’s car pull into the driveway.

T
his whole morning, it feels like everything has been going really fast. Or really slow. Or maybe both.

Ever since I came downstairs for breakfast, Margo was having contractions and my dad was timing them and talking on the phone to the obstetrician. I kept telling them they should GO TO THE HOSPITAL! But they said they had to wait until the contractions were five minutes apart for an entire hour. Which seems bizarre. The last thing we want is for the alien baby to come out in our living room. That’s the part that was going slow.