A Whole Lot of Lucky (25 page)

With slow, deliberate movements, I dial Amanda's house.

Mrs. Stiles handles everything from there. She calls around the shops and before long, Mrs. Grant appears in the doorway looking as limp as unstarched laundry. The other girls had told her I'd left before them for the bus. When the teachers did a head count, they discovered they were minus one Hailee Richardson. Mrs. Grant waved the bus off and pounded doors and the pavement looking for me until she came upon a store manager who'd just received Mrs. Stiles's alert. “Thank God you're all right,” Mrs. Grant says, looking as wiped out as I feel. Then she takes Mrs. Stiles's hand in both of hers. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Stiles takes care of her, too, and we're all sitting in the back room a couple hours later when the shop door chimes, signaling someone has wandered in.

“Hello?”

Amanda's mom! I pop off the love seat, dart through the shop, and launch myself into Mrs. Burns's arms. She hugs me and pats my back, and it's almost as good as having my own mom's arms wrapped around me.

I lift my head and start to rattle off my tale of woe. Then I spot Amanda in the doorway, crossed arms, mad eyes.

“I'm so sorry,” I say, looking at Mrs. Burns. “I'm sorry you had to drive all the way out here to get me.” I glance at Amanda. “I'm sorry.”

I hang my head and one big fat tear plops onto the floor, leaving a round wet spot.

“Oh, honey,” Mrs. Burns says. “We're just glad you're okay. I couldn't get ahold of your parents, but I left them a message and a note on the front door.”

Amanda and I don't look at each other as the adults chitchat for a few minutes. I hug Mrs. Stiles good-bye, then I'm in the backseat with Amanda heading home. Her mom and Mrs. Grant gab in the front while Amanda and I sit in stony silence.

I try to ignore the quiet between us, but it's too loud. It fills my ears and breaks my heart. I can't believe I have any tears left, but here they come. I cover my eyes with my left hand. Sobbing, I hunch over like a baby curling in her sleep.

“Hailee,” Amanda murmurs and leans closer.

All the salt from tears and sweat have made my face sticky. I wipe my nose with my bare arm, then face her.

She starts crying. “Something could've happened to you!”

I start crying again. “I know!”

We cry together for a few minutes, then laugh at our crying, which makes us cry and laugh again.

Rubbing both eyes, Amanda looks straight at me. It's getting dark, but I can still see her. She starts to say something, changes her mind, then changes it again and says, “I was so mad at you. It was like … you were getting stuck-up just because you're so rich and popular now. And you were sort of mean to me at Emily's sleepover.”

I think of how embarrassed I was at Emily's party—embarrassed of Amanda's clothes and embarrassed of Amanda's conversation—and then I see myself acting like I was
all that.

Then Amanda says, “
And
you called me a—” She cuts herself off. “Well, you know what you called me,” she says.

Witch with a B.

I hear myself saying those words and I cringe. The sharp tip of my poisonous words pierces my heart. They must still hurt Amanda, too, because she straightens away from me.

Silence sits between us on the seat, laughing at how it separates us.

I am guilty as charged. My crimes are many and
some are secret, but there's one person who knows about all of them. In my head, I ask God to forgive me for Happy Hannah Hearts, eggs, and witch with a B. I
don't
ask him to forgive me for kicking Alexis in the shins; the Bible says God loves justice, so you know he had to love that.

Mom says forgiveness is divine, but Amanda is human and she doesn't have to forgive me. I wouldn't forgive me.

I feel like I did when I egged Emily's house, only this time, I will try to clean up the mess I made. “I'm sorry.”

She doesn't move or say anything.

She's still my best friend. If you don't believe that, then just ask yourself why is she in this car right now? It's like a two- or three-hour trip from Palm Hill; she didn't have to come, but she did. Don't worry if you didn't see that right away—I just realized it myself.

“You are the best friend a person could ever have,” I say. “I'm the witch, not you.”

She looks down, then purses her lips. “You're not a witch.”

“Neither are you.” My hands clasp in my lap and I look down. “Guess what else? I'm not popular. I just wanted you to think I was. Plus”—and I try to keep the hurt out of my voice—“you have a boyfriend now and you asked him to do your last project with you. I thought you and I were going to do them together.”

Her mouth parts. “But you've been busy with Library Club.”

“You've been busy with Tanner.”

“Why didn't you want me at your sleepover?”

Taking a deep breath, I exhale. There's so much to explain and I am so tired. The windows darken as the highway takes us closer and closer to home. I open my bag and give the little jewelry box to Amanda.

Her hand covers her heart. “For me?”

“I told them I was looking for something special.”

She flips on the side light, then opens the box. “Told who? It's so pretty! It's a compass—oh, my gosh—it's a compass, for the Compass Club! I love it!” She hugs me hard, then fastens the chain around her neck. She tilts the compass and reads it. “We're heading
south,”
she says emphatically. “South, Mom—got it?”

“Oh, thank you,” Mrs. Burns says. “Now I have a GPS.”

In a robotic voice, Amanda says, “Take next exit for McDonald's.”

“Go through drive-through. Buy milk shakes.” I speak and move my arms like an automaton. “Use apparatus known as straw to drain container of substance.”

Amanda jerks her arms, lifts her robot voice to her mother. “Milk shakes. Buy some. McDonald's in point-five miles.”

“Point five,” I drone.

“Milk shakes,” Amanda orders.

“Oh, my gosh, girls!” Mrs. Burns says. “I'm going to buy milk shakes just to hush you two up.”

We break into android laughter. Ten minutes later, Mrs. Burns has her wish and so do we.

I get two yearbooks at the end of the school year: Palm Middle, which I ordered way back in October; and Magnolia, where I'll be attending through eighth grade. Amanda passed around my Palm Middle yearbook and had everyone sign it, but her autograph is my favorite. On the page with her photo, she's written along the gutter where the pages are glued in:

I signed your crack! Ha-ha! Hailee, you are my best friend always and we are going to have the most awesome summer!

Amanda

Magnolia's yearbook is beautiful. Lying on my stomach on my bed, I pore over the faces of the
friends I've made this year and read what they've written.

We should hang out this summer!

Cynthia

One of my best students!

Ms. Reilly

Have a great summer and keep reading!
Hope to see you in Library Club next year.

Mrs. Weston

I wasn't able to get Nikki's signature because her parents took her out early for a trip to Europe. Next year, she's going to boarding school. I hope she doesn't get herself into any more trouble.

Ever since St. Augustine, I've been trying to think about what makes Nikki different from girls like Alexis or Megan. I mean, they're all pretty and they're all popular, but I think it boils down to this: Nikki has her own problems, but she's still nice to people. The other girls are mean because they
can
be mean and they
want
to be mean and it makes them feel good to make others feel bad.

In my opinion, that's the worst crime a citizen can commit.

And just so you know, Alexis and Gia got in trouble for causing Mrs. Grant and me to be left behind in St.
Augustine. Not only did they get in-school suspensions, they had to write apology letters to me, my parents, Mrs. Grant, and Mrs. Burns.

I sigh into my Magnolia yearbook.

I want so much for Emily's signature to be on these pages. Flipping over to the sixth graders, I find her student photo. The photographer must have asked her to move her hair off her face. She's smiling in the picture, like we all do—smiling because we're told to, smiling because we're nervous, and smiling because we hope our pictures will turn out well and people, when they look at us later, will point to us and say,
Remember her? She was really nice.

Emily and I haven't talked since the day she shut the door on me.

But I remember her. She was really nice.

Tucking the yearbook under my arm, I jog downstairs. Happy Hannah Hearts sits in the saucer while Libby bangs the musical buttons. I ruffle Libby's hair, then give Mom a peck on the cheek as she reads the course catalog from the university.

Dad's been teasing her about being a
co-ed,
whatever that means. I'm kind of proud of her, too. It takes a lot of guts to start a new school. Mom lowers the catalog and looks over her reading glasses. “Where you off to?”

“Just around,” I say. “On my bike.”

The Silver Flash and I make it to the perfect green grass in record time. From her window, Emily's flute
trills like a bird in summer. I listen for a few minutes, then swipe down my kickstand and walk up to the front door.

I rap my signature knock.

The flute stops.

I wait.

I press my face against the etched glass but I can't see through it.

I ring the doorbell.

Minutes pass.

Emily isn't ready to open the door.

That's okay. My friendship will wait for her. As I turn from her front door, I lay the yearbook down and break off a twig from the bushes. I snap it in two and arrange the halves into an X behind the banister.

* * *

When Dad comes home, we grill outside to celebrate the end of the school year. Dad flips burgers and turns the corn on the cob, but mostly he looks past the grill, smiling at the roof of the garage, where brilliant displays of bright pink bougainvillea explode like fireworks. Mom's blasting her favorite track on the CD player—a song called “Macarena.” I'm blowing bubbles for Libby when my phone tweedles.

Amanda:
Tanner kissed me after school today!

I nearly spill the bubbles. I cap the bottle and leap up.

Me:
omg! OMG!

I shake my shoulders and move my hips. Mom catches sight of me, then sticks her right arm out and lifts her left leg. Then left arm out and right leg up. This is the dance for the song. Libby sees what we're doing and starts bouncing from her knees.

Amanda:
Call me!

“Mom!” I roar. “I've gotta call Amanda!” Mom waves me off, keeps dancing with Libby.

I prance around the yard and punch in Amanda's number.

“Hello?” she answers breathlessly.

“It's me,” I say. “Tell me everything.”

1. New bicycle

2. Cell phone

3. New clothes (from where Megan and Drew shop)

4. Full-length mirror

5. TV for my room

6. DVD player for my TV

7. TV stand

8. New furniture for my room

9. Computer

10. Laptop