The Pillow Friend Read Online Free PDF Page B

had come in, Leslie had bounced over to her and dropped her bomb. She looked from Myles' ungiving face to her friend's lively, excited eyes, searching desperately for a tease, not daring to display disbelief.
    “Really?”
    “It was so neat!”
    “What did he say?”
    “He told me a story. It was just like you said! I can't remember it exactly, but it was really exciting. It was about us, you and me, finding a treasure—jewels and everything, buried under a bush. We put them in the cubby so the grown-ups wouldn't take them away from us.”
    It numbed her, this betrayal. Unless, she thought, Leslie was pretending, or had dreamed it—but that was something she did not dare to hint at, or Leslie would suspect that she had lied. “Neat. Um, look, I can't stay, I have to go now, my mom's taking me to the library.”
    “I'll walk you halfway. Just wait for me to get dressed.”
    “No, I really have to go. I told my mom I'd run straight back.”
    “You going to come over later?”
    “Probably.”
    “You're not mad at me?”
    “For what?”
    “I don't know. Maybe something about . . . Myles? I know he's yours, and it was really nice of you to let me borrow him.”
    “I'm not mad.” She knew she had no right to feel so murderously hurt. She was jealous, of course, but who was she mad at? It wasn't Leslie's fault if Myles had spoken to her. . . . “I'm just in a hurry. I'll see you later.”
    “Alligator.”
    “After while, crocodile.”
    Halfway home, clutching Myles in one sweaty hand, she stopped to have another look at him. He looked the same as ever, like a cold, dead, antique doll. But she knew that wasn't so; she could still feel the reality, the life buried beneath the surface. The question was no longer why wouldn't he talk; it was why wouldn't he talk to her. Or maybe the question was, why couldn't she hear him? Leslie had heard one of Myles' stories—and it didn't even really matter to her.
    It's me, thought Agnes. There's something wrong with me. Myles had spoken not to Mary but to her sister Marjorie; he had spoken not to Agnes but to her best friend.
    She began to walk again, blindly and fast, her sandaled feet slapping the hot pavement as the unwelcome truth pounded through her brain.
    He'd talk to me if I were different. If I was someone else, I could hear him.
    She didn't notice that she had passed her own house until she had turned the corner. When she did realize, she just kept going. She had lied to Leslie. Her mother wouldn't mind if Agnes stayed out all morning.
    Agnes kept walking without a plan in mind. She soon left the familiar, four-block area that was her regular territory, driven by the desire—so powerful it seemed a need—to be somewhere new and different. It was strictly forbidden to venture beyond the boundaries of Oak Shadows without an adult, and she didn't feel brave enough to defy that rule. She was supposed to ask permission if she wanted to cross The Boulevard, but her sisters were allowed, and she knew it was a much smaller sin. She was careful to look both ways before crossing, although at this time of morning, after all the adults with jobs had gone to work, there was no sign of a car moving on any of the quiet streets.
    The first two streets she came to on the other side of The Boulevard looked familiar. There was even one house that was practically identical to her own, only the trim was painted gray instead of green. The sight of it brought Agnes up short. She stood and stared, fascinated, until a woman, a stranger, appeared at one of the large front windows to stare back at her. Then, unsettled by the idea of complete strangers living in a house so much like her own, Agnes hurried away.
    Gradually, as each successive block took her farther from Rosemary Street, the atmosphere began to change, and Agnes was aware of more differences than similarities to the houses that she knew. This was the more expensive side of Oak Shadows. The houses and the lots were larger, and