Read Online Girl's Best Friend by Leslie Margolis - Free Book Online
Authors: Leslie Margolis
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just kidding.”
He turned to me. “I’ll get the cards if you get the chips. They’re in my desk—the drawer on the left.”
“Okay, be right back,” I called to my friends as I turned around and headed out.
As soon as I walked through my bedroom door I jumped, totally shocked.
I wasn’t expecting to see Ivy standing by the fake fireplace.
Meanwhile, she probably wasn’t expecting to see anyone.
Not when she had my cigar box in one hand … and all my dog-walking money in the other.
Chapter 11
♦ ♦ ♦
Ivy and I used to do everything together: Music and ballet when we were little. Fencing and T-ball when we got older. Scrapbook making, modern dance, quilting, origami … All these activities our parents signed us up for. Some fun. Some dumb.
I even helped her pick out Kermit—the most adorable black-and-white Labrador Dalmatian mutt you’ve ever seen. We were nine then and Ivy said he could be my dog, too.
We walked him every day after school, taking turns holding his leash.
I helped her give Kermit his first bath—a wet, soapy disaster.
Helped her carry home his first big bag of dog food from Acme Pet Food (before we found out they delivered for free).
He really felt like my dog.
Just like Ivy really felt almost like a sister.
Then Eve O’Sullivan’s parents had twin boys. They all moved to Brooklyn and everything changed.
At first it was small stuff: Eve and Ivy giggled over stuff that wasn’t even funny. They had matching retro rainbow flip-flops and thought it proved they were destined to be friends. More likely it meant that Urban Outfitters had a sale on flip-flops, but when I pointed this out they accused me of being jealous.
One day the two of them set up a lemonade stand outside Ivy’s building.
I asked if I could help out. They said there wasn’t room. And that was the beginning of the end.
The Ivy I knew disappeared—morphed into a different person: a girl who had perfect hair and actually thought that made her better than everyone else.
A girl who wore eye shadow in the sixth grade and real lipstick, not just tinted gloss.
A girl whose socks always matched her shirts, which coordinated with her belts.
A girl who made fun of those who didn’t get their ears pierced because maybe they were afraid of needles.
A girl who doled out dirty looks the way she used to pass out sticks of gum.
In short, Ivy turned into someone I didn’t even know. Someone I no longer even liked. And yet, I still missed her.
But how can you miss someone who doesn’t even exist anymore? Two years should have been enough time for me to get over it and move on. And I had, for the most part.
I already knew that Ivy was a lot of things—backstabbing; gossipy; and, okay, even pretty mean. But I never knew she was a thief, too.
Yet here she was, taking my stuff.
“Steal from me much?”
Ivy screamed and jumped what seemed like a mile.
“You scared me,” she yelled, all accusing—like I was supposed to feel bad.
“Should I apologize for getting in the way of your robbery?”
“It’s not like that,” Ivy cried. And that’s when I noticed her glassy red eyes. She swiped her shiny tears from her face with the back of her hand.
But were they real? I couldn’t tell. There was a time when I’d have given her the benefit of the doubt. Those days were long gone.
“I can explain,” she said, staring down at the cash in her hand like she didn’t know how it got there.
I walked across the room and grabbed my box back.
“I can’t believe you still have that,” said Ivy.
It’s not that I’m so sentimental. I swear I didn’t keep the cigar box because I was pining over our lost friendship. Rather, the box was one of the coolest gifts anyone had ever given me. It’s faded red with a map of the world inside. Musty smelling like it had an exciting history. We used to hide stuff in it when we played Pirates, an elaborate treasure-hunting game we made up. But that
He turned to me. “I’ll get the cards if you get the chips. They’re in my desk—the drawer on the left.”
“Okay, be right back,” I called to my friends as I turned around and headed out.
As soon as I walked through my bedroom door I jumped, totally shocked.
I wasn’t expecting to see Ivy standing by the fake fireplace.
Meanwhile, she probably wasn’t expecting to see anyone.
Not when she had my cigar box in one hand … and all my dog-walking money in the other.
Chapter 11
♦ ♦ ♦
Ivy and I used to do everything together: Music and ballet when we were little. Fencing and T-ball when we got older. Scrapbook making, modern dance, quilting, origami … All these activities our parents signed us up for. Some fun. Some dumb.
I even helped her pick out Kermit—the most adorable black-and-white Labrador Dalmatian mutt you’ve ever seen. We were nine then and Ivy said he could be my dog, too.
We walked him every day after school, taking turns holding his leash.
I helped her give Kermit his first bath—a wet, soapy disaster.
Helped her carry home his first big bag of dog food from Acme Pet Food (before we found out they delivered for free).
He really felt like my dog.
Just like Ivy really felt almost like a sister.
Then Eve O’Sullivan’s parents had twin boys. They all moved to Brooklyn and everything changed.
At first it was small stuff: Eve and Ivy giggled over stuff that wasn’t even funny. They had matching retro rainbow flip-flops and thought it proved they were destined to be friends. More likely it meant that Urban Outfitters had a sale on flip-flops, but when I pointed this out they accused me of being jealous.
One day the two of them set up a lemonade stand outside Ivy’s building.
I asked if I could help out. They said there wasn’t room. And that was the beginning of the end.
The Ivy I knew disappeared—morphed into a different person: a girl who had perfect hair and actually thought that made her better than everyone else.
A girl who wore eye shadow in the sixth grade and real lipstick, not just tinted gloss.
A girl whose socks always matched her shirts, which coordinated with her belts.
A girl who made fun of those who didn’t get their ears pierced because maybe they were afraid of needles.
A girl who doled out dirty looks the way she used to pass out sticks of gum.
In short, Ivy turned into someone I didn’t even know. Someone I no longer even liked. And yet, I still missed her.
But how can you miss someone who doesn’t even exist anymore? Two years should have been enough time for me to get over it and move on. And I had, for the most part.
I already knew that Ivy was a lot of things—backstabbing; gossipy; and, okay, even pretty mean. But I never knew she was a thief, too.
Yet here she was, taking my stuff.
“Steal from me much?”
Ivy screamed and jumped what seemed like a mile.
“You scared me,” she yelled, all accusing—like I was supposed to feel bad.
“Should I apologize for getting in the way of your robbery?”
“It’s not like that,” Ivy cried. And that’s when I noticed her glassy red eyes. She swiped her shiny tears from her face with the back of her hand.
But were they real? I couldn’t tell. There was a time when I’d have given her the benefit of the doubt. Those days were long gone.
“I can explain,” she said, staring down at the cash in her hand like she didn’t know how it got there.
I walked across the room and grabbed my box back.
“I can’t believe you still have that,” said Ivy.
It’s not that I’m so sentimental. I swear I didn’t keep the cigar box because I was pining over our lost friendship. Rather, the box was one of the coolest gifts anyone had ever given me. It’s faded red with a map of the world inside. Musty smelling like it had an exciting history. We used to hide stuff in it when we played Pirates, an elaborate treasure-hunting game we made up. But that
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