The Best Friend (10 page)

Becka jerked upright.

Her entire body tensed.

I'm going to ask her right out if she's been spreading horrible lies about me, Becka decided.

Honey floated into the room. “Hi. You feeling better?”

Becka's mouth dropped open in shock.

She stared wide-eyed at Honey.

“Like it?” Honey asked, striking a pose.

Becka couldn't speak.

Honey twirled around in a circle.

Her long mane of thick auburn hair was gone.

She has my short haircut,
Becka realized.
She's cut her hair to look exactly like mine!

A
fter Honey finally went home, Becka drifted in and out of sleep. She managed to down two pieces of buttered toast with a cup of tea for dinner. Then she fell back into a troubled sleep while staring at her television.

The jangling of the phone stirred her from her unpleasant dreams. Groggily, she reached for it, struggling to focus on the bedtable clock. Ten thirty-three.

“Hello?” Her voice came out still choked with sleep. Her head ached. Everything ached.

“Becka, it's me again. Honey.”

Who else?

“Honey, I was asleep.” Groaning, Becka raised herself on the pillow.

“Oh. Sorry. I just had to call one more time, Becka.”

Honey had already called twice since that afternoon.

“I'm feeling a little better, I think,” Becka whispered. “But I don't know if I'll go to school tomorrow or not.”

“I didn't call about that,” Honey replied, her voice quivering. “I just can't stop thinking about—I just can't
stand
it that you think I said those horrible things about you in school today.”

“Honey, we've been over this already,” Becka said, sighing wearily. Her mouth felt dry. Balancing the phone on her shoulder, she reached for the water glass on the bedside table.

“I know we have. I'm sorry,” Honey replied. “But I have to know that you believe me, Becka. You have to believe me. I never told anyone you had a breakdown. That's just too stupid. Why would I do a thing like that?”

“Honey, really,” Becka tried to cut in, but Honey insisted on continuing.

“I never said those things,” Honey said emotionally. “Really. Trish lied. I never told her or anyone else that you had a breakdown. Trish is a liar, Becka. You've
got
to believe me.”

Becka's head felt as heavy as a bowling ball. She dropped back onto the pillow and shut her eyes. “Honey, I'm sick. I really have to sleep. Please—”

“Just say you believe me,” Honey insisted.

Becka took a deep breath. “Okay. I believe you.”

Anything to get her off the phone.

“Oh, thanks,” Honey cried gratefully. “Thanks, Becka. I knew you wouldn't believe such a dumb story. It's just that we had such a bad visit this afternoon. I mean, I could tell you didn't like my haircut, and—”

“I didn't say I didn't like it,” Becka groaned. “I—it was just a shock, that's all. I didn't expect—”

“You mean you really do
like
it?” Honey asked.

“Yes, you look great,” Becka told her.

“But do you like it?” Honey pleaded.

“Yes. It's wonderful,” Becka lied. “Listen, Honey, I really feel lousy. I've got to get back to sleep, okay?”

“Okay. I feel much better about everything. I won't call again, Becka, but I'm here if you need me, all right? I'll call tomorrow morning. I hope you'll be well enough to go to school. It's the last day, you know.”

“I know,” Becka said. “Good night.” She replaced the receiver without waiting for a reply.

Honey is driving me crazy! Becka thought.

Crazy!

She pulled the pillow over her and pressed it down over her chest.

What am I going to do about her?

She gripped the pillow tightly, holding on as if her life depended on it.

What am I going to do?

Honey had upset her so much, it took Becka nearly two hours to fall back to sleep.

Becka undid the combination lock and pulled open her locker door. She reached up to get a looseleaf binder from the shelf.

“Ow.” Her head throbbed when she looked up.

She still felt weak. She probably should have stayed in bed one more day. But she didn't want to miss the last day of school before Christmas break.

“Oh! Becka, you're here!”

Hearing a cry of surprise behind her, Becka turned
around. “Oh, hi, Cari,” she said, balancing her backpack on one raised knee and struggling to stuff the binder into it.

It was her friend Cari Taylor, a petite, pretty girl with bright blue eyes and straight blond hair tied to one side in a short ponytail. Cari had the locker next to Becka's.

“I—I didn't think you'd be here,” Cari said awkwardly, studying Becka intently. “I mean, I heard ...”

“I had a virus or something,” Becka said, frowning. Her math textbook slipped out and fell to the floor. “I'm a little better today.”

Cari blushed. “I'm glad,” she said. “I mean, I'm not glad you were sick. I—I just heard you were
really
sick.”

“Who said that?” Becka snapped, bending to retrieve the math text. Her head throbbed painfully again as she reached down for it.

Cari shrugged. “Some kids said you'd had a breakdown,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper.

Becka shook her head. “No, I'm okay. Really.”

“A stupid rumor, I guess,” Cari said, obviously embarrassed. “Who knows how these things get started?”

“I know,” Becka muttered bitterly.

She zipped up her backpack. The first bell rang. Locker doors slammed all down the long hallway. Combination locks clicked. Kids made their way, talking and laughing, to their homerooms.

Becka snapped her lock and began walking down the hall with Cari.

Honey is a total liar, Becka realized, feeling her
anger grow. Honey did tell everyone I had a breakdown.

She saw a cluster of kids waiting for the library to open. Their faces filled with surprise when they saw Becka pass by.

They must have heard the rumor too.

“What are you doing this vacation?” Becka asked Cari, trying to force her mind off Honey.

“Oh, Reva Dalby invited me to go skiing with her and her dad,” Cari answered, smiling. “They go skiing every Christmas, just about. I can't wait. I've never been to Aspen. It should be really awesome at Christmastime.”

They stopped outside Cari's homeroom. “What are you doing?” Cari asked.

“Not much,” Becka said. “We always stay around home. We have a million relatives to visit. And you know Trish is having a big party Saturday.”

The second bell rang.

“Yeah. I'm sorry I have to miss it. Bye. Have a good one!” Cari cried, ducking into the classroom. And then she added, “I'm glad you're okay.”

Becka dashed across the hall to her homeroom, tossed her backpack to the floor, and slid into her seat.

Is it just my imagination? she wondered. Or is everyone staring at me?

Did Honey tell everyone in the room that I had a breakdown?

She turned to look at Honey in the seat beside her. It was still a shock, a horrible shock, to see Honey's short auburn hair, an exact copy of Becka's haircut.

She's wearing my silky blue top, Becka realized angrily. And she has my parrot pin on the collar.

Honey had a book open in her lap. She closed it and smiled at Becka.

“How are you feeling, Becka? You look so pale.”

“Not so great,” Becka muttered, frowning.

“I told you before we left your house you should've stayed home,” Honey scolded. “I would've brought you all your homework. I would have taken care of everything for you. Everything.”

What am I going to do about her? Becka asked herself miserably.

The question had become an obsession, an endless refrain.

What am I going to do?

“What am I going to do, Trish?” Becka asked. It came out sounding more like a plea than a question.

Trish shivered and zipped her wool parka up to the collar. She stuffed her hands into her coat pockets and picked up her pace to keep up with Becka, her boots sinking into the soft ground.

It was lunch period. But Becka didn't have any appetite. After much pleading, she persuaded a reluctant Trish to go for a walk behind the school.

It was a cold, gray day, heavy clouds hovering low. The air was wet. It smelled as if it might start to snow any minute.

“You shouldn't be walking around outside. You're sick,” Trish scolded.

“I had to get out,” Becka told her. “I just couldn't bear the idea of sitting in the lunchroom, trying to choke down a sandwich with Honey staring across the table at me.”

They followed the walkway that led behind the
stadium. The football field was silent and empty. One of the goalposts had been knocked over in a strong wind a few weeks before.

“Honey is ruining my life,” Becka moaned. “What am I going to do?”

“Why don't we murder her?” Trish suggested.

B
ecka stopped and gaped at Trish.

Trish laughed.

“Oh, Trish,” Becka cried, shaking her head. “Honey has me so messed up, I actually believed you. I thought you were serious.”

“No, it was a joke,” Trish said, pulling her green wool cap down lower over her head, pushing her red curls inside it. “You really
are
in bad shape, Becka.”

They had circled the stadium. Behind them stretched Shadyside Park, wintry and bare, dark, leafless trees shivering in the wind. They turned away from the park and, with the wind at their backs, began to make their way slowly toward the student parking lot.

“I can't believe I let you talk me out of lunch. I'm starving!” Trish complained.

“You're not being very helpful,” Becka said. “I mean, about Honey.”

“And I'm freezing,” Trish continued, ignoring Becka. “This cold air is making my braces freeze up!”

Trish stopped first, her mouth dropping open in surprise. She raised an arm to halt Becka.

Becka followed her friend's gaze to the parking lot.

There was Honey. She was walking slowly between the two rows of cars. Walking with a boy.

He had his arm around her shoulders.

They stopped and kissed.

“I don't believe it,” Becka whispered, moving behind Trish as if to hide.

They stared in silence as Honey leaned her back against a car, and she and the boy kissed some more.

“Who's she with?” Becka whispered.

“I can't see his face,” Trish replied. “We're too far away.”

Staying close to the metal chain-link fence that lined the football field, they made their way closer to the parking lot.

“Oh, wow! It's Eric!” Trish declared.

“Eric who?” Becka demanded.
“My
Eric?”

“Yeah.” Trish nodded

Becka grabbed the metal wires of the fence and squeezed till her hands hurt.

“Well, you broke up with him,” Trish said. “I guess she has a right—”

“Trish! Look at her!” Becka cried heatedly. “Her hair is cut like mine. She's wearing a down jacket just like mine. She's wearing my blue top that she took home and never returned. And my parrot pin, the enamel pin that Bill gave me. And she's standing there in the parking lot, kissing my old boyfriend!”

“Becka—”

“That's sick! It's just
sick!”

“Becka, you're screaming. Calm down, okay? Just chill!” Trish grabbed Becka's shoulder and stared at her, concerned.

Becka hadn't even realized she was screaming. She took a deep breath and held it. She let go of the fence and shoved her frozen hands into her jacket pockets.

“I knew we should've stayed inside,” Trish said, frowning.