CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Rhonda sat on her front steps in the choking sun, chucking tiny pebbles, one at a time, at the petunias lining the front walk. She was aiming at the throats of the dopey flowers—if I get one in, I’ll go say hey to Lee. If I don’t, I’ll go in and eat some raw cookie dough. By the time she’d come to the last pebble in her hand, she realized she didn’t want to sink the stupid thing—cookie dough was sounding pretty good about now—so, of course, she sunk it.

Rhonda put her chin on her knees and stared down at the caterpillar droppings peppering the concrete steps around her feet. If she kept perfectly still, she could hear the little turds dropping through the leaves. Rhonda brushed off the top of her head, stood up, sighed, and walked toward Lee’s house. She could see him digging up dandelion roots with a dull butter knife in his front yard.

Rhonda had learned not to expect much from Lee these days, so she was surprised when he said, “Hey,” back and actually smiled. It was a weird smile, mind you—the kind you might give an annoying old relative who expects you to be sweet, and doesn’t know a darned thing about you; easier to just give ’em what they want sometimes. But weird or not, at least it was a smile. Rhonda gave a cautious one in return. For all she knew, this was some kind of trick of his to draw her in, just to knock her down.

“Doin’ anything?” she asked.

Lee looked at the butter knife in his hand and the pile of dandelion roots by his knees and gave her a “duh?” look.

“Yeah, well,” she said, “can’t ya think of anything better to do than that?”

“Like what?”

Rhonda thought about saying something totally insulting just then, so he’d be forced to chase her, just like in the old days. Instead, she played it cool.

“I dunno, bike ride or something?” She waited for him to laugh in her face.

“Sure.”

Sure. That’s what he said, just like that. Not “Take a hike, pipsqueak,” or “In your dreams, dumbo.” Just, “Sure.” This was too easy. It made Rhonda nervous. And anyway, now that he’d said yes, she realized she didn’t even want to go for a bike ride with Lee McGillicuddy. She’d only wanted to pester him a bit.

But Lee was already up and brushing the mud from his knees as he headed toward his bike. He stopped and looked over his shoulder at Santiago. Might as well kill two birds with one fake stone, thought Lee. He whistled for Santi like he used to, and she came bounding toward him.

Lee slipped Santiago’s leash over his handlebar and walked his ten-speed over to Rhonda’s side of the street. He waited at the end of her front walk. Rhonda wondered what she could do to get out of this, but couldn’t think of a thing. She pulled her own bike from the weeds by the fence and got on.

“Where to?” she asked.

“Name it,” said Lee.

Oh, man, what was up with him? When was the last time he’d ever let her decide anything? Now she was sure he was cooking up something evil. Well, good, thought Rhonda. I like it better that way. She rode ahead, with no particular destination and tried to prepare herself for the prank he was surely about to pull.

When she’d ridden for almost twenty minutes, and found herself nearly at Roblin Boulevard, she looked behind, half expecting to find him gone. He was there, though, and as soon as he noticed her looking, he gave her that idiotic smile again. The next time she looked around, the smile was still there, as if pasted permanently on his face. It was fake. You didn’t need to be Einstein to figure that out. And it infuriated her. To have Daddy McGillicuddy, of all people, following her blindly like some mindless, blockhead puppet disgusted her. And disgust always made Rhonda merciless.

Fine, vacuum head, you’re going to follow me like some idiotic puppy, I’ll lead you so far your legs’ll fall off from pure exhaustion. And she picked up the pace and rode like the wind. She made it all the way to the tracks at Wilkes Avenue before realizing that if she were going to force Lee’s legs to fall off, her own would be hitting the dust in the process. As she slowed her pace, she could almost hear the muscles in her calves gasping for breath and cursing her name. This was ridiculous.

Rhonda squeezed her hand brakes for all they were worth and sent gravel spraying everywhere.

Lee burned to a stop just inches from her back fender. Rhonda swung a leg over the crossbar of her boy’s bike, dumped it in the gravel on its side, and marched over to Lee. She was about to let him have it, give him a piece of her mind, tell him to stop acting like a loser and more like the self-respecting jerk she used to know. She intended to knock the wind out of him with her words, give him something to think about, maybe even use a few choice swear words. She opened her mouth to do just that, but what she saw on Lee’s face stopped her cold. Rhonda had seen the same thing in her own mirror once or twice in her life. She knew what it was, that clean little trail cutting its way through the Wilkes Avenue dust on Lee’s cheek. She knew the telltale signs of a tear. Oh, no. No no no no no no no. No way. This isn’t what she’d bargained for. She’d known Lee for a long time. She guessed that meant she must care about him. But dealing with his stuff—anybody’s personal stuff—was something she wasn’t made for. There were shoulders in this world meant for crying on, and hers definitely wasn’t one of them. Rhonda had always imagined that if her shoulder got wet, she’d melt away like the Wicked Witch of Oz. “Help me. I’m shrinking, I’m shrinking!”

Rhonda closed her mouth, turned around, pulled her bike from the side of the road, and got on.

“What are you doing?” called Lee, out of breath.

“Going home. I forgot, I have some things to do.” She started to ride, then looked back. Rhonda could see Lee standing on the side of the road, taking a puff from his asthma inhaler with one hand and patting Santiago’s head with the other. Suddenly she felt painfully sorry for him. Great. Almighty, frickin’, frackin’ great. Rhonda turned her bike around and slowly pedaled back to Lee.

The only way to have a friend is to be one.

– Ralph Waldo Emerson