Friends ForNever (16 page)

“Here,” she said, approaching me with her hand out. “These are yours. It was really rude of me to keep them for so long.” In the palm of her hand were my little heart earrings.

“I don't want them! You keep them,” I insisted.

“No, they're yours. I always meant to give them back to you. I just . . . kept forgetting,” she said, her tone not nearly as hostile as it had been five minutes ago.

“I'm giving them to you. As a token of our friendship,” I said.

Nicole's hand dropped to her side. She still clutched the earrings in her palm. I watched her expression change a few times as she tried to make up her mind what to do.

“Thanks,” she said finally. Then she took the earrings and put them back into the little jewelry box in her trunk.

“I'm really sorry about the tank top,” I said.

Nic didn't say anything at first. “Just ask me the next time, okay?” she said finally.

  •  •  

After dinner we had to wait while the CATs and some of the counselors moved all the tables and chairs out of the way for dancing. Some people went back to the cabin for last-minute touch-ups on their hair or makeup. Nic and I waited out on the hill with Sarah and Whitney.

“Is everything all right?” Sarah whispered to me when she got the chance.

I nodded, afraid to say much of anything with Nic around. So I wasn't the only one who'd noticed Nic's snippy mood. I just hoped it would improve once the dance started.

When the counselors opened the dining hall doors, we knew we could go inside. Pretty soon the vans and buses from Camp Crockett were pulling in, and as groups of boys came through the doors, I kept a lookout for Blake. I was really eager to talk to him about Mom being pregnant. He'd barely even mentioned it in his letters, but they did tend to be only three or four sentences long.

“Let me know when you see Blake, okay?” I told Nicole.

“Okay.” She seemed to be over the whole tank top incident, but she'd picked one of her own pairs of earrings to wear—some tiny silver loops. I wondered if that meant anything, but I was too busy looking for Blake to really care.

I scanned the crowd of boys pouring through the doors and standing in a clump across the dining hall from us. Not a sign of him.

“He might be hiding from me,” I said. “He knows I'll be looking for him.”

“I don't see him either,” said Nicole.

“There's his counselor in the gray Abercrombie polo,” I said, pointing to Brandon. “But where's Blake?” My eyes kept searching the crowd, but I still couldn't find him.

“Let's go over there and look for him, okay?” I suggested, and Nic followed me across the dining hall. We weaved in and out of the groups of boys standing around, some of them snickering, like they didn't know why we were coming to them.

I was really starting to get frustrated now. I was about to start yelling, “Blake Bridges, where are you?” I was convinced he'd spotted me and was ducking behind his friends, trying to keep out of sight as long as he could.

“Where
is
he?” I asked Nicole. Through the window screens, I could see the trucks and vans parked outside. Nobody else was coming in now.

“I . . . don't see him,” said Nic. “I don't think he's here.”

“He's gotta be here! Where else would he be?”

“Do you see any of his friends?” Nic asked.

I searched through the crowd, trying to find a familiar-looking face. “I can't really remember what they look like. We barely talked to him at the last dance.”

Now I was feeling panicked. It reminded me of the time we'd gone to the state fair a few years ago, and I'd lost him when he needed to go to the bathroom.

“He is
not
here,” I told Nic, trying to keep my voice steady. “I have looked at every single boy's face in this room about twenty times. He's not here!”

“Calm down. You said you saw his counselor? Maybe we should ask him,” Nic suggested.

I made my way over to where Brandon was standing with a couple of other counselors. Nic was right behind me.

“Hi, Brandon? I'm Blake Bridges's sister,” I started off. I was about to go into a long explanation about how I'd been looking for him, but I didn't get very far.

“Oh, hey! Wow, that was quite an injury, huh? Poor kid. Don't worry, though. He'll be out of the hospital tomorrow morning. I'm sure they're giving him the star treatment.”

“WHAT?” I yelled.

“Yeah, they'll take care of him. It's really just for observation. He would've been fine in our infirmary, but with a concussion, they always want to keep a close eye on you. I've had two myself—one from football and one from lacrosse.”

“
Concussion
? Where's Blake?” I screamed.

Brandon looked surprised by my reaction. “Didn't anyone tell you about the accident?”

“What accident? What happened?”

Nic grabbed my arm and held on to it, maybe to calm me down, maybe to keep me from jumping down Brandon's throat to try to yank this story out of him.

Brandon let out a long, low whistle. “Wow. I figured someone would've contacted you or something. Blake was trying to do a backflip off the diving board this afternoon. He went up, flipped, came down, and smack!” Brandon smacked his hand against his forehead. “His head hit the board, he fell into the water, the lifeguard on duty was, like,
Whoa!
So he jumped in, pulled Blake out, there was blood everywhere—the kid had a gash across his eye a foot long. He passed out cold right there at the lake. It was a major scene.” Brandon nodded like he couldn't believe what a great story it was.

Meanwhile I was doubled over, clutching my stomach. I couldn't talk because I couldn't get any air into my lungs. Nic was kind of holding me up so I didn't fall to the floor.

“So a couple of counselors drove him into town to urgent care. He got twelve stitches. By now he's conscious and everything, but his vision's a little blurry from the clonk on the head. So they admitted him to the hospital and they're gonna keep him overnight. They do that when you have a concussion. They have to keep waking you up every hour or so, to keep you from going into a coma.”

A little groan came out of my mouth. I leaned against Nic, feeling woozy as an image of Blake covered in blood swam through my head.

A counselor standing next to Brandon smacked his shoulder. “Dude, shut the freak up. She's gonna pass out,” I heard him whisper.

“Do my parents know?” I squeaked. Blake was only ten years old. He couldn't pass out, get stitches, and recover from a concussion without Mom there to hold his hand.

“Oh yeah, we called them right away. Don't worry. He's gonna be fine. He really is.”

“Are you okay?” the other counselor asked me. “You want a drink of water or something?”

I shook my head. Nic still had me by the arm. “Let's go outside and get some air,” she told me. We walked to the door, with me leaning against her.

“I think I'm going to faint,” I moaned.

“Seriously?” asked Nic, sounding really concerned. “Want me to get someone?”

“Uh, no. Just let me sit down.” We went to the end of the dining hall porch and sat on the steps. I leaned forward, resting my head on my knees.

“Take deep breaths,” Nic advised. “Maybe you do need a drink of water.”

“No. Ugh. It sounded so horrible—blood, stitches, concussion. And he's all by himself.” Then I started to cry. “I wish I could see him!”

Nic patted my back. “Maybe you can. Maybe you could see him tomorrow.”

I put my head down and sobbed. I felt so scared and lonely for him. Had he cried? I knew he'd wanted Mom, but all he had were counselors, all those older guys, and he wouldn't want to cry in front of them. And was he really going to be okay? Blurry vision? A foot-long gash across his eye?

“What if he can't see? What if this affects his sight?” I cried.

“It won't! I'm sure he'll be fine,” Nic said, rubbing my back.

“I'm so glad you're here. I don't know what I'd do without you,” I said.

“I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere,” she said.

“Thanks,” I whispered, but there was something so familiar about this whole scene that made me feel like I'd done this before, felt this before.

The phone call from my mom. With Nic so supportive and concerned. Until it turned out to be good news. And she'd been mad at me ever since. Mad that I was happy, mad that my life was
perfect
.

“You're a really good friend,” I managed to say through my tears.
As long as there's a crisis.

“Thanks.” She patted my back. But now her pats annoyed me and I wanted to push her hand away. But I didn't. I just cried and cried and cried.

Mostly I cried for Blake. But there was another reason. I had a horrible, sick feeling that deep down in some secret part of herself that she would never admit to, Nicole was enjoying this.

That night I fell into a half sleep that lasted all night long. I drifted in and out of dreams, rolled over and over trying to find a comfortable spot, and dozed off only to jerk myself awake for no apparent reason.

Mostly I kept thinking about Blake, lying in a hospital bed, his head bandaged. But there was something else that kept swimming around inside my head every time I started to drift off to sleep.

I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.

Nicole had been a great friend, my
best
friend, the one I could talk to about anything. The one who'd helped me live through my parents' divorce, the one who could always give me advice when I had a problem.

But this summer, we'd fought more than ever. Well, not exactly fought. It was just that she'd often been annoyed about something or other. And this last week especially, I'd felt like I had to hide my happiness from her, that I couldn't talk to her about how excited I was about the new baby without her getting all quiet and moody. But the second there was a problem, she was right by my side.

I rolled over and looked at the dark outline of Nicole in her cot. She was asleep; everyone was asleep. It was probably about two or three o'clock in the morning.

Something was not right. What kind of friend gets mad at you when you're happy, and enjoys it when you're having a crisis?

It wasn't that she was cruel. She wasn't
glad
that Blake had gotten hurt. But she did seem to enjoy being the one to give everyone advice, to help people with their problems. She wanted to be the shoulder to lean on.

Which was fine, really. I really had needed her tonight. But if she wanted to help me through the bad times, why couldn't she be happy for me during the good times?

I looked at the dark lump in the cot next to me. I was tempted to wake her up right now and confront her.
What's wrong with you? Can you only be my friend when I'm unhappy?

I decided I had better get some sleep.

Finally, sometime in the early morning hours, I did fall asleep. But when the rising bell rang, I could barely open my eyes. I stayed in bed, not moving, for as long as I could. I remembered it was Sunday, and that meant we didn't have to clean the cabin for inspection, and we could go to breakfast in pajamas. I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow while everyone else got out of bed. A hot feeling was burning deep inside my stomach.

I felt a hand patting my back. I opened one eye to see who it was. Nic, of course. My
best
friend. The feeling got hotter.

“Time to get up,” she said softly. I could hear the screen door opening and closing as everyone else left the cabin. I sat up so Libby would know I was awake.

“You feel okay?” asked Nicole, looking concerned.

“No. I feel horrible,” I told her.

“Well, don't worry. Maybe you can talk to Eda about what happened. Maybe they'll let you go see Blake today. I'll go with you. To talk to her, I mean. And to go see him too—that is, if you want me to.”

I stood up and slipped my feet into my flip-flops. I was cold with just a cami and pajama pants on, but I didn't bother to put my robe on. Every muscle in my body felt tense and ready to snap. The cabin was almost empty, except for Claudia and Jamie still over on Side B. I waited till they had walked out the door before I looked at Nicole.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

A look of surprise spread across her face. “Like what?”

“To go with me and see Blake all bandaged up. Whenever I have a problem, you're right by my side, aren't you?”

Nic stared at me, her mouth slightly open.

“But if it's good news, if I'm happy about something, you can't stand that, can you?”
I should stop
, I thought.
I should walk out the door now. Go to the bathroom, the dining hall. Go somewhere where I won't be able to say these things.