Ten by Lauren Myracle Page B

“What is it? What’s wrong?”
    She slapped at her torso, panicked sobs and screeches making my pulse race.
    â€œIs it a wasp?” I said. “Amanda—what is it?”
    She couldn’t get any words out, but whatever it was, it was hurting her, and it wasn’t letting up.
    â€œIt’s okay, you’re okay,” I said, my voice coming out stronger than I expected. I took hold of her watermelon shirt and tried to wrestle it off her, even as she grabbed the fabric and tried to pull it back down. “It’s trapped in your shirt.”
    The shirt snagged on her fancy bow. I yanked, and finally the shirt was off. A wasp flew out, head-butted the honeysuckle trellis, and plummeted to the ground. A second later, it was up once again, zigzagging away.
    â€œOmigosh,” I said, panting. I took in Amanda’s bare torso, which was dotted with three angry red welts. There might have been more, but I couldn’t be sure since she’d wrapped her arms around herself to hide herself. “Thank goodness I was here, huh?”
    She burst into a fresh round of sobs and fled toward her house. Like the wasp, her path was zigzaggy, because she refused to let go of her nakedness, and it threw her balance off.
    â€œGo away!” she cried.
    â€œWho? Me?”
    â€œYes, you, and it was a bumblebee, you stupid-head. Not a wasp. Now go away !”
    My jaw dropped. Stupid-head? Amanda had never called me a stupid-head before. And it was so a wasp, and I saved her from it. Why was she acting like this?
    Amanda’s back door slammed shut, her house swallowing her up. I could follow, but she told me to go away.
    Slowly, I walked toward the wooden fence that enclosed the backyard. With every step I took, I expected Amanda to reappear. I expected her to sniffle and apologize and say, “Come back. We’ll make milk shakes.”
    I lifted the latch and slipped through the fence door.
    Still no Amanda.
    Bad thoughts came into my mind, and I couldn’t make them go away. Sandra would say pooey to what I was thinking. She’d remind me that August was the cranky season for wasps, and though it was sad Amanda had been stung, it didn’t mean anything.
    But I was the one who knew the whole story. Amanda and I had been talking about scary things, and then something scary had happened— right after we’d told each other that the things we were scared of wouldn’t happen , because they weren’t real .
    So what did that suggest about gossip and boys and fifth grade being different from fourth, different in a bad way? And what about the Bathroom Lady? And two weeks from now, when school started, would there really be rules about friendship?
    Sandra had warned me to stay away from wasps, and I’d warned Amanda. Even so, she’d gotten stung, and here I was walking home alone.
    Did that mean it was impossible to stay away from the things that could hurt us? If so, what bad thing would happen next?
    I shivered despite the heat of the day. I was afraid to find out.
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    Amanda and I made up before dinner. I picked up the phone to call her, and it was so weird, because she was already on the line! She’d decided to call me at practically the exact same time, but I picked up the phone before it even had a chance to ring!
    We both said we were sorry, my words tumbling over hers and hers over mine. We promised we’d always be best friends and that nothing would ever change that, not the Bathroom Lady or boys or anything. And fifth grade would be great and not scary at all, we both decided. It would be great because we’d make it be great.
    Amanda continued to insist it was a bumblebee that stung her, however.
    â€œNo, because bumblebees die after one sting, and you were stung three separate times,” I said. I wasn’t just going to lie about it.
    â€œActually, four. One of the stings was near my . . .”
    â€œNear your what?”
    â€œNever