Read Online Eleven Things I Promised by Catherine Clark - Free Book Online Page A

didn’t mean to imply anything,” I said, trying to be patient. “I was just asking. I know—”
    â€œYou
don’t
know, actually.”
    How could she say that to me? I was her closest friend. I’d done everything I could to understand what she was going through. I’d given her all the time and devotion I could, and I’d keep doing that forever. I was here for her, but she couldn’t acknowledge it.
    I stretched my legs, and immediately my calf started cramping again. I pressed my lips together, trying not to cry. The physical pain of my leg, plus the cold anger coming from Stella, was making my head spin.
    â€œFrances?” she asked when I didn’t say anything for a minute. “Are you still there?”
    â€œI’m here,” I said.
Are you?
I wanted to add.
Because it sure doesn’t sound like you.
I was killing time, waiting for her tofeel better. Whatever she wanted to take out on me, I had to accept. But our friendship wasn’t the same, and I didn’t know when it would be again.
    When I got off the phone a minute later, Margo was standing beside me, staring at me, looking as critically at me as she always did. “What now?” I asked. “Am I late or something?”
    â€œNo.” She shook her head. “I was just wondering something. How did you and Stella get to be friends? It’s weird, because you’re so different. She’s such an amazing athlete and she’s on the debate team and . . .”
    And what? I’m nothing?
I wanted to say. “You don’t have to be the exact same as your friends. You know that, right?”
    â€œI know. I know that,” she said, sounding defensive.
    â€œI’m friends with Stella because she’s kind, and accepting, and she is more fun than anyone else I know,” I said. “Being different . . . believe it or not? Some people think being different is actually a good thing.”
    She frowned at me. “You’re not
that
different. You give yourself too much credit,” she said.
    â€œWhatever. You want to know how we became such good friends? I took a risk.”
    Sure, I was only nine at the time.
    But my parents were in the middle of getting divorced,and neither one of them had a lot of time for me. I had a couple of good friends, but not exactly a “best” friend, and when they were busy with ballet or piano—my parents didn’t believe in spending money on lessons—I’d hang out by the baseball field that I passed on my way home from school.
    There was this girls’ softball team, fast pitch, ten and under.
    I didn’t know anything about softball, not really, other than when my dad pitched a ball, I could hit it. I was a good hitter, though I had no idea why—probably something genetic, because it wasn’t like I worked on it all that much. It was just something my dad and I did.
    About my fifth afternoon walking by, I stopped and asked the coach if I could be on the team. “We have a hole at second,” she said. “Can you play second?”
    Stella was the shortstop, and she quickly realized I didn’t know much about the actual game, like rules, and she spent the first few days coaching me. I don’t know to this day whether it helped when I joined the team or not. Stella was probably covering second and shortstop just fine on her own that day. But she never acted like I was hurting the team, and we had so much fun that spring that we’d been friends ever since.
    Softball. It was something else she might not be able to do for a while.
    â€œYou don’t strike me as a risk taker,” Margo said.
    â€œI’m here, aren’t I?” I said.
    â€œYes, but you’re only doing this out of guilt. That doesn’t count.”
    â€œYou don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “I signed up for this long before Stella’s accident. Stella and I are friends