The Best Friend (11 page)

“What am I going to do?” Becka asked once again, forcing her voice to stay low and steady. She returned her eyes to the parking lot. Honey and Eric were walking arm in arm along the walk, toward Becka and Trish.

“You're just going to have to be honest with her,” Trish said, fiddling with her wool cap.

“Honest? What do you mean?” Becka demanded.

“You're going to have to tell her you don't want to be friends with her.”

Two large blackbirds swooped low overhead, cawing loudly, on their way to the park.

I wish I could fly away with them, Becka thought miserably, watching Eric and Honey approach.

“But if I tell Honey that, I don't know what she'll do,” Becka said. “She's so emotional. She's crazy. She's really crazy. I mean, I even think she caused Lilah's accident.”

Trish raised her eyes to Becka's, her expression troubled. “Don't you totally freak over this, Becka,” she warned quietly. “Don't get totally paranoid. Honey may be a terrible pest. And a copycat. But if you start making crazy accusations ...” She didn't finish her thought.

“You don't know her as well as I do,” Becka argued.

Glancing up ahead, she saw that Eric had suddenly turned around and was hurrying back to the school building. Honey was approaching quickly, jogging toward them, waving.

Eric must be embarrassed or something, Becka thought.

“Hi, Becka!” Honey called. She stopped in front of Becka, breathing hard, her breath steaming up from her mouth, a big smile on her face.

“Hi,” Becka muttered with an obvious lack of enthusiasm.

“What are you doing out here?” Honey asked.

“Just talking with Trish.”

“Oh.” Honey seemed to notice Trish for the first time. “Hi.”

Trish nodded.

“Can I join you?” Honey asked Becka.

Becka shook her head. Not now, Honey. I really want to have a private talk with Trish.”

“Private?”

“Yeah,” Becka replied coldly.

Honey's mouth dropped open. Her gray eyes narrowed. “What's going on, Becka?” she demanded, sounding hurt. “There's nothing you can't share with your best friend.”

“That's why I'm talking to Trish!” Becka said pointedly.

There, Becka thought. That should be clear enough. Now maybe Honey will take the hint.

Honey's expression became a blank. It revealed no emotion, but her face turned bright red.

She shoved her large hands into the pockets of her
down jacket and turned away quickly. “Talk to you later,” she called behind her and began jogging to the school.

“That was subtle,” Trish said dryly. She chuckled. “I think Honey got the point.”

Becka didn't smile. She suddenly found herself overcome with regret, with fear. “I shouldn't have been so blunt,” she said, her voice a whisper.

“Yes, you should,” Trish insisted. “You've been patient for so long. It was the only way.”

“You'd better be careful, Trish,” Becka said, biting her thumb.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“You'd better be careful. I know it sounds crazy. I know it sounds paranoid. But I really think Honey could be dangerous. If she's jealous of you, if she starts to really resent you, she might try to do something.”

Trish laughed and shook her head. “Chill out, Becka,” she scolded. “I mean, really. What can she do?”

“T
ake care of yourself,” Trish said as they stepped into the warmth of the building. “You
can't
miss my Christmas party Saturday.”

“I'll be okay,” Becka said, shivering. “Talk to you later, Trish. Thanks for walking with me.”

Becka waved to her friend, then turned and headed down the crowded corridor to her locker. She still felt achy and sick.

I probably shouldn't have stayed out in the cold like that, she thought.

She waved to some kids, then turned the corner and kept walking. Glancing at a wall clock, she saw that there were still ten minutes left in the lunch period.

Good, she thought. It'll give me time to go to the girls' room and get myself together.

After stepping around a group of guys who were huddled together, laughing about something, slapping one another high-fives, she stopped in front of her locker.

“Oh.” To her surprise, the locker door was open a crack.

I
know
I locked it, she told herself.

She pulled open the door and gasped.

“Becka, what's the matter?”

Becka turned to see Cari Taylor beside her, starting to open her locker. “Look,” Becka said, pointing.

“Oh, wow!” Cari exclaimed, moving over to peer into Becka's locker. “Someone trashed everything!”

“Everything,” Becka uttered weakly.

Her textbooks, usually neatly stacked on the top shelf, had been tossed to the locker floor. Her binders had been torn apart, pages pulled out. The wool scarf she kept in the locker had been balled up under a jumble of loose papers. The note cards for her research project were scattered over everything.

“How
gross!”
Cari exclaimed. “Who would do this?” She put a hand on Becka's trembling shoulder. “You've got to report this.”

“Yeah, I know,” Becka replied.

A wave of nausea swept over her. She forced herself to look away from the mess.

“Who would do this?” Cari repeated.

Several other kids had hurried over to see what the commotion was.

I know who did it, Becka thought bitterly.

I don't have to guess.

Honey did it.

Of all the stupid, babyish things!

Just because I hurt her feelings, she had to pay me back instantly by messing up all my stuff.

“Aaaagh!” Becka uttered an exasperated cry and lurched away from the noisy crowd that had gathered in front of her locker.

“Becka, where are you going?” Cari called after her.

“To the girls' room,” Becka shouted.

She pushed her way through a group of cheerleaders, in their uniforms for some reason, and hurried down the noisy hall, voices echoing in her ears.

Into the girls' room at the end of the corridor.

Breathing hard.

Gray light flooded in through the frosted glass of the tall window.

Honey stood at the sink.

Still in her down jacket.

“Oh!” Becka cried out.

Honey turned to her, also surprised. “Hi.” She turned off the water faucets and pulled a paper towel from the dispenser beside the mirror.

“Honey!” Becka screamed. She felt herself going out of control. She couldn't help it. She'd been holding back too long.
“How could you?”

Honey's eyes opened wide in bewilderment. She stopped drying her hands. “Huh?”

“How could you?”

“What, Becka? How could I what?”

“You know, you liar!” Becka shrieked.

Honey crumpled the paper towel in her hand and let it fall to the tile floor. “Becka, you're screaming,” she said, her bewildered expression turning to one of concern. “Are you okay?”

“No, Honey, I'm not okay!” Becka cried, taking angry steps toward Honey. I'm not okay, and you know I'm not okay.”

Honey, alarmed, took a step back toward the stalls. She raised her hands in a gesture of surrender.

“How
could
you?” Becka screamed, straining her throat. Her hands were balled into tight fists at her
sides. Her temples throbbed. The white light from the window shimmered in front of her.

Honey sighed. She stood tensely, returning Becka's stare. “Really, Becka, you'll have to calm down. I don't know what you're talking about. I really don't.”

“Liar,” Becka said accusingly. “I'm talking about my locker, of course.”

“What about your locker?” Honey asked, innocent as innocent could be.

Becka took a breath, started to reply, found herself speechless. Too angry to make a sound.

“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.

B
ecka 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.