The Best Friend (6 page)

Do I believe her or not? she asked herself.

I guess I believe her.

There was really no reason not to believe that story. It seemed perfectly logical.

“Do you have any ribbons?” Honey asked, fiddling with her hair. “I'd like to try tying it the way you suggested.”

“I think I have some ribbons in my top drawer,” Becka said. “But they might not be the right color.” Becka took a deep breath. She realized she suddenly felt very nervous. “One more question.”

“Uh-huh?”

Becka cleared her throat. “Know that parrot pin? The enamel one you tried on? Did you accidentally wear it home on Saturday?”

Honey hesitated for a brief moment.

Then, instead of answering, she reached out with both her large hands, grabbed Becka by the throat, and began to choke her.

B
ecka gaped as Honey's hands closed around her throat.

Struggling to twist out of Honey's tight grasp, Becka felt her breath catch.

She's strangling me!

I can't breathe!

Then, just as suddenly, the powerful hands let go.

Bending over, her hands pressed against her knees, Becka sucked in a deep lungful of air, let it out, and sucked in another.

When she looked up, Honey was laughing triumphantly.

“Gotcha!” Honey cried. “I gotcha that time!”

“You—” Becka tried to speak, but her throat was still choked and tight. “You
choked
me!” she managed to utter in a hoarse, strained voice.

Honey's laugh was cut short. “Hey—don't you remember our Gotcha game?”

“No. I—” Becka coughed. She was panting, her chest rising up and down, her heart still thudding.

“We used to do the
worst
things to each other,” Honey recalled, shaking her head. “We always thought that Gotcha game was a riot. You remember—don't you, Becka?”

Becka didn't reply. Still breathing hard, she made her way to the mirror. Leaning close, she examined her neck. It was bright red, the skin rubbed raw.

“You
hurt
me!” Becka said angrily to Honey's reflection in the mirror.

Honey's smile faded quickly. Her dark lips formed a pout. “You forgot our Gotcha game?” she asked in a tiny voice, sounding hurt.

Becka tenderly rubbed her neck. She searched the cluttered dressing table until she found a bottle of skin lotion. Her back to Honey, she carefully rubbed the white lotion onto her scarlet neck.

“We used to shock each other all the time,” Honey continued. “Remember that time in third grade when you pulled up my dress in front of that entire busload of Cub Scouts? That was the worst. The worst! I don't think I ever really paid you back for that one. Wow, that was funny! Fun times, huh, Becka?”

I don't remember any of that, Becka thought miserably. I really think she's making it all up. What's going on here?

“Listen, Honey,” Becka said, leaning on the dressing table to stop her hands from trembling. Did you accidentally take my parrot pin or not?”

“Sure, I took it,” Honey replied without hesitating. “But it wasn't an accident.”

Becka wheeled around in surprise. “Huh? What do you mean?”

Honey tossed a thick strand of hair behind her shoulders. “You gave it to me, Becka, remember?”

“Huh?” Becka's mouth dropped open in disbelief. “I
what?”

“You gave the pin to me,” Honey insisted cheerily.

“No I—”

“It was very sweet of you too,” Honey said, a warm smile spreading across her face.

“No, Honey—wait,” Becka said, feeling her pulse throb against her temples. “You asked to try the pin on, and—”

“And then you said that since I liked it so much, I could keep it.” Honey's smile faded. She stared at Becka now with a hurt expression, her full lips lowered in another pout. “You did say I could keep it, Becka.”

“But, Honey—” Becka suddenly realized that Honey was really upset. Her shoulders were trembling and her lips were quivering.

“Ask your friends,” Honey said defensively. “Ask those two girls. They'll tell you. They saw you give it to me. Really.”

Becka couldn't decide what to do. Honey, she saw, was about to burst into hysterical tears. Becka didn't want that. She wanted her pin back, but she didn't want a big emotional scene. Most of all, she just wanted Honey to leave.

“You gave the pin to me,” Honey said, softening her tone, “and now it's my most special
special
possession. I will always treasure it, Becka.”

“Well—uh, I'm glad you like it so much, Honey,” Becka said weakly.

Honey was grinning now. No sign that she had been
about to cry or make an ugly scene. She plopped down on the bed, on top of one of Becka's best blouses.

“Uh—would you help me put this stuff back in the closet?” Becka asked, gathering up several pairs of jeans and slacks.

Then maybe I can get you to go home so I can call Bill, she thought.

“Oh. Sure.” Honey popped up energetically. “I didn't get to try everything on. But there'll be plenty of time for that, right?”

“Yeah. Sure,” Becka replied absently, shoving the jeans onto their shelf, then returning to the bed for more clothing.

Honey, meanwhile, was still standing by the side of the bed, making no move toward helping. “Oh, look! I got a stain on your top,” she said, holding the stain up close. “What could that be?” she asked, consternation on her face. “I'd better go run some cold water on it.”

“No, that's okay,” Becka said quickly. “Just leave it. I've worn it before anyway. It has to go in the wash.”

“No, really,” Honey insisted. She stopped in the doorway. “Tell you what. I'll take it home and get the stain out. I'll wash it there and bring it back as good as new.”

“No, really—” Becka started to say, but Honey had her mind made up.

As Becka returned her clothes to the closet, making several trips, Honey slipped out of the silver skirt and into her own faded jeans. “This is so exciting!” she exclaimed.

Becka, hanging the skirt in her closet, didn't respond.

“I hope you're not mad at me for getting the seating assignments changed in homeroom so we can sit together,” Honey called to her. She was back sitting on the bed.

“No, no problem,” Becka replied blankly.

“Just like the old days,” Honey said happily. “You know, we can walk to school together every morning. Just like we used to.”

“Sometimes my dad drives me,” Becka told her, pushing the dresser drawers shut.

“Great!” Honey said. “That'll be great.”

“And when the weather's nice, I sometimes ride my bike,” Becka said. “It's good exercise.”

“Yeah. I have to get a bike,” Honey said thoughtfully. “You'll have to let me check out yours so I'll know what kind to get.”

“Where did you move to when you left Shadyside?” Becka asked.

“Oh. Upstate,” Honey answered vaguely. “What a drag that was. I didn't want to leave. Mainly, I didn't want to leave you, my best best friend. I can still remember that awful day so clearly, even though I was only nine. Can't you?”

“Yeah. I guess,” Becka replied uncomfortably.

I don't even remember talking to her when I was nine!

“Remember the two of us, sitting on the curb in front of my house, our arms around each other's shoulders, crying and crying. Just crying our eyes out. Wow, that was awful. Remember?”

“Yeah,” Becka said, avoiding Honey's stare.

“And remember that guy stopped his car and took our picture? He thought it was such a touching scene. He snapped our picture, and that made us cry even
harder.” Honey sighed and leaned back, supporting herself with her hands. “It was the worst day of my life, Becka. It really was.”

“Well, I guess I'd better get downstairs now,” Becka said awkwardly, turning her gaze to the bedroom door. “I haven't said hi to Mom, and—”

“I told you. She went out, I think,” Honey said, not budging from the bed.

“Well, I've got some chores to do, and—”

“You want to come over and study tonight?” Honey asked. She glanced down and began rubbing at the stain on the silky blue top.

“Uh, I can't tonight,” Becka told her.

“Well, how about tomorrow night?”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Honey. I can't tomorrow night, either,” Becka said, telling the truth. “I promised Lilah I'd go over there and help her family decorate their tree.”

“How nice,” Honey said coldly, lowering her eyes. Then a strange, thoughtful look crossed her face, and she added, “You spend a lot of time with Lilah, don't you.”

“Yeah. Lilah, Trish, and I are good buddies,” Becka replied impatiently. “I have some chores to do and stuff, Honey, so . . .”

Honey pulled herself up from the bed. “Okay. What a nice visit.” She grinned at Becka as she made her way across the room. “I feel as if I haven't been away a minute. Although, we have so much catching up to do. There's so much to talk about, so many things to share.”

“Yeah,” Becka replied awkwardly.

“See you first thing in the morning,” Honey said, starting down the stairs. “I'll see myself out. Bye!”

Becka stood frozen in place with her eyes closed, not moving, not even breathing. She didn't move until she heard the front door slam shut behind Honey. Then she took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and walked out to the stairway.

“Mom, are you home? Mom?”

No reply.

Honey was right, Becka decided. Mom went out.

Good. I can talk to Bill without worrying. Without Mom butting in.

Becka hurried to her phone and punched in Bill's number. It rang twice before he picked it up.

“What are you doing?” Becka asked, whispering even though she was alone in the house.

He chuckled. “Would you believe
homework?”

Bill should have graduated the previous spring. But because of his suspension and the fact that he had flunked most of his courses, this year was his second as a senior.

“This stuff makes a lot more sense the second time around,” he said, only half joking. “I may even pass. What are you doing?”

Becka sighed. “That girl I told you about, Honey, my new neighbor, she came over. I mean, she was here when I got home.”

“You don't sound too thrilled,” Bill commented.

“Well . . . Honey comes on a little strong,” Becka told him.

“She's okay, I guess. She just makes me nervous.”

“What
doesn't?”
Bill snickered.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Becka snapped.

“Nothing. Just kidding. I mean, you're not the
calmest
person in the world, Becka.” He quickly
changed the subject to get himself out of trouble. “Are you going to meet me Saturday night?”

Becka hesitated. “I don't know. I really don't want to sneak out.”

“But, Becka—”

“I've always been honest with my parents, Bill. I'm not sure I want to start sneaking around behind their backs now.”

“Then tell them you're meeting me,” he urged.

“I want to. I just haven't found the right time. It seems—”

“I'm not a serial killer, you know,” Bill said heatedly. “I got in a little trouble last year. But I'm totally straight now. I'm not going to corrupt the Norwoods' precious daughter.” And then he added playfully, “Well . . . maybe a
little.”

“I know, I know,” Becka told him. “It's just that you don't know my parents.”

“Well, I'd really like to see you Saturday night,” Bill said curtly. “Maybe I'll come over and
really
freak them out.”

Becka started to reply, but she heard her mother's car pull into the drive. “I've got to go. See you in school,” she said breathlessly and hung up, her heart pounding.

She hurried downstairs to greet her mother.

Mrs. Norwood made her way through the kitchen door, carrying two bulging grocery bags. “It's so slushy out there,” she complained, setting the bags down and bending to pull off her wet boots. “I hate it when the snow gets old and starts to melt.”

She turned her attention to Becka. “How are you? What are you doing? Homework?”

“Not yet,” Becka told her. “I've been busy with Honey.”

“Honey?” Mrs. Norwood started to unpack the groceries.

“Yeah,” Becka said, moving to the counter to help. “Why'd you let Honey go up to my room? You
know
I hate people trying on my stuff.”

“Huh?” Becka's mom set down a bag of flour. “What are you talking about, Becka?”

“You didn't tell Honey it was okay for her to wait in my room?”