14 Hollow Road

by Jenn Bishop

  “That’s not going to happen. I talked to them on the phone, remember?”

  Before we’re even out of the car, the front door of the house opens. Out comes a little girl, not much older than Cammie, with frizzy blond hair and a Popsicle stain on her white tank top.

  And behind her is Hank.

  A bit of slobber drips from his mouth, in which he’s got not one, not two, but three tennis balls. Not exactly a record for Hank, but still.

  “It’s him! It’s him!” Cammie shouts, fumbling with the seat belt. I leave Avery to help with that. I can’t wait one second longer.

  “Hank!” He barrels straight toward me as I step out of the car and into the humid air. Jumps up on me, even though we trained him not to. One of the tennis balls falls out. “Hey, buddy.” There are so many spots I haven’t petted in so long that I don’t know where to start, so I attack him all over. Scratch and pet behind his ears and all over his back. Once he settles down, I hug him close to my chest and press my cheek against his.

  “Oh my gosh!” Cammie proceeds to maul Hank, getting him all riled up again.

  “Watch out,” Mom says. “Don’t give him too much attention. He might come to demand it every day once we’re home.”

  Avery squeezes in for a pet.

  “I can’t believe you found him,” I say. “We owe you a reward or something.”

  “You don’t owe me anything,” he says. “Okay, maybe an ice cream.”

  “He loves when you scratch behind his ears,” the little girl says, sitting over on the concrete steps leading up to her house. Her name is Caroline.

  When I get closer, I can hear her sniffle. Even though she’s trying to be brave, it must be hard for her. For almost two months, Hank’s been her dog. She’s taken care of him, given him food and water and love. But tonight, the end of her bed will be empty.

  “You know, you can always come visit him if you want to. We’re not that far away.” I glance back at Mom, hoping she’ll jump in.

  “Of course,” Mom says. “Though it sounds like you’re getting a new puppy, right?”

  Caroline sniffles again and smiles. “We’re getting a new puppy next week.”

  “What kind?” Avery asks.

  “A labradoodle.”

  The construction guy. Mom and Dad must have hooked them up.

  “Thanks for taking such good care of Hank,” I say.

  “He’s a great dog.”

  Caroline’s mom butts in. “He sure is.” She reaches down to give Hank another pat. “I’m sorry to hear about what happened to your house. Losing your home and your pet all at once? That must’ve been hard on you folks.”

  “They’ve been real troupers,” Mom says, giving my shoulder a squeeze.

  I wrap my arms around Hank and press my cheek against his golden-brown fur again. He smells like he’s ready for a good bath. I wonder what he’s going to think when he meets all of Peg’s cats.

  “You ready to go home, buddy?”

  When we get back to the McLarens’ house, I wait for the right moment, when Cammie is downstairs playing Go Fish with Mom, and head up to our room, closing the door behind me.

  “Here goes nothing,” I say to Louie, who hops up to cuddle next to me. Turns out he’s not the kind of cat that will sit on your lap—he doesn’t even sit on Peg’s lap and Peg feeds him—but he sure loves sitting next to you.

  I dial Kiersten’s number and listen to the rings.

  One.

  She’s not going to answer.

  Two.

  Sure, she’s back from Florida. But that doesn’t mean things will go back to normal.

  Three.

  She’s probably over at Gabriella’s house.

  Four.

  They’re probably making plans for how they’re going to conquer junior high without me.

  Five—

  “Hey.”

  It’s been so long I almost don’t recognize her voice.

  She clears her throat. “Sorry, I think I’m choking on a piece of popcorn.” (Maybe you can’t actually forget someone’s voice in one week.) I hear her cough a few times. “Okay, I think it’s gone. What’s up?”

  What’s up?

  “I get why you didn’t reply to my texts or send me any pictures while you were down in Florida. I do. I wasn’t being a good friend, and—”

  “My phone died.”

  “Wait—really?”

  “Yeah. I accidentally dropped it in the pool at my dad’s condo, and I only got a new one today.”

  “Oh. So, you weren’t—”

  “Maddie.”

  “What?”

  “Even if that hadn’t happened…I was still upset. Everything that happened at the pool party. You and Gabriella fighting? I hated that.”

  “Me too,” I say. “I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t said those things. But still, I just…I can’t believe you knew that whole time and didn’t say anything.”

  “I know.” Kiersten gets quiet on the other side. “I’m sorry about that—I am. But what was I supposed to do? You told me not to say a word to Gabby about the emails from Gregg. And I kept that promise. When Gabby made me pinkie-swear I wouldn’t tell a soul that she kissed Avery, what was I supposed to do then? I don’t like lying. Or, you know, not saying anything. But I didn’t feel like I had a choice. It’s no fun being stuck in the middle, trust me.”

  I had never seen it that way.

  “Well, it’s no fun being left behind either.”

  “What are you talking about?” Kiersten asks.

  “When you went on vacation with Gabby and her family. I mean, I get that she could only bring one person, I do…but”—I suck in a deep breath—“I don’t want to lose you, too.”

  “Lose me?”

  “That’s what it feels like. At least a little. Losing my house. And Hank. Avery rejecting me at the dance. Losing you to Gabby.”

  “Maddie, how are you losing me?”

  Louie rolls over onto his back and I stroke his tummy.

  “Gabby’s really fun and nice. Of course you’re going to want to be friends with her. I mean, obviously Avery thought she was cooler than me. I thought maybe you’d decide the same thing.”

  “Maddie.”

  “What?”

  “I like hanging out with Gabby because she’s actually really fun and smart and a good listener. And because she lives right next door. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for someone my age to move into my neighborhood? You’ve always had Avery. I haven’t had anybody.”

  “You’re right.” I chew on my lip, still not entirely sure I believe her.

  “Hey, can I tell you something?”

  “Yeah.” Always.

  “There’s this cute boy, Nate, that lives next door to my dad’s place in Florida.”

  “No way. What’s he like? Did you talk to him?”

  “Tan and sort of tall, but with really blue eyes, and thick eyelashes, but the kind that still look good on a boy, you know? I talked to him a couple of times by the pool. Bryant was being all obnoxious about it. I don’t know how he could tell I had a crush on him! I was playing it so cool, Maddie. Like, you’d barely believe it was me. My hands didn’t sweat or anything when I talked to him.”

  So unfair. I wish my hands would stop sweating around Avery. “How did you stay so chill? I need tips!”

  Kiersten laughs. “Maybe…maybe it was because I knew I might never see him again. Like, what was the worst thing that could happen if I embarrassed myself? I was heading back to Massachusetts in a couple of days anyway.”

  “Good point. Maybe that’s what I need to do next time. Pretend there’s a good chance I’ll never see Avery again. Better than watching YouTube videos.”

  “Watching YouTube videos?”

  “Before the pool party, I watched all these YouTube videos on flirting. That’s how I ended up with the cheese curls in my hair! Turns out you cannot learn everything on YouTube.”

  “Oh, Mads.” Kiersten’s voice softens
.

  “What?”

  “You don’t need to watch videos to learn how to flirt.”

  “Clearly! I need a whole class or something.”

  Kiersten laughs. “No, that’s not what I mean. The right boy’s going to like the real you. Even if you have cheese curls in your hair.”

  “The real me. Yikes.”

  “I’m serious,” Kiersten says. “You don’t have to be perfect.”

  I don’t have to be perfect. It takes hearing my best friend say that, over the phone after not hearing her voice for a whole week, for it to sink in. Why did I think I had to be? Where’d that idea even come from anyway?

  Gabby probably isn’t perfect. She just seems that way because I don’t know her well enough yet. I’m sure she has flaws. Just like Kiersten’s a little bit bossy sometimes and Avery chews on his thumbs.

  Maybe that’s the foundation—the first layer—to friendship. The kind that gets you through junior high and everything else that comes after. Knowing you don’t have to be perfect, and that nobody else is either. Even Avery.

  “Maddie?”

  “Sorry,” I say. “I was just thinking about something.”

  “Someone named Avery?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “Is he really leaving?” Kiersten asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. I hear the thuds of heavier feet coming down the hallway. “Uh-oh.” Louie’s ears perk up and he rights himself. “Better hide.”

  “Hide? From what?” Kiersten asks.

  “Sorry, I was talking to the cat.”

  Hank nudges his head in the door. Louie backs up on the bed as Hank trots over to say hi. Right before he gets there, Louie bounds across the bed and shoots out of the room. “Sorry, Hank.”

  “Wait, Hank’s there?”

  “Oh my gosh, I didn’t tell you yet!” Hank jumps up on the end of my bed, and while I tell my best friend everything that happened, I run my fingers through his fur. It’s just like it used to be. Or maybe it’s better. I scratch and scratch around his ears. Definitely better.

  With the start of school just a couple of weeks away now, Mom and Dad and I are super busy getting everything ready. The trailer is being delivered in about a week, and there’s so much to do for the house still. You’d think these construction workers would know what they’re doing, but evidently not all the time. They forgot to put electrical outlets in my bedroom! How am I supposed to charge up my phone? Sheesh.

  Mom and I have made about a thousand trips to Target because it turns out there are so many things you need for junior high. Thirty-seven, to be exact. My new science teacher even told us which binder to buy—not three inches, not one inch, it has to be two inches. And it’s hard to find a two-inch binder that’s blue, my favorite color. But it must be done.

  I’m lying out on a blanket in the McLarens’ backyard with Hank on Friday afternoon after camp, still feeling like my head is going to explode any minute, when Kiersten calls.

  “I’m going to die.” From the tone of her voice, it doesn’t sound like she means for real.

  “What?”

  “The bus schedule! Did you see it?”

  I shift over on the blanket so I’m out of the sun. “Not yet. What’s it say?”

  “My bus comes at six-fifty-five. That’s before seven! How am I going to wake up that early? I’ll be late every day.”

  “When does my bus come?”

  “Hold on. Checking. Checking.”

  Hank rests his head on his paws.

  “What does it say?”

  “Your bus route won’t load. Probably because Bryant’s hogging all the Wi-Fi watching Netflix!” She raises her voice for that last bit.

  “I’ll see if anyone’s on the computer here and check it,” I say. “Later!”

  I head in through the back door and notice a bunch of suitcases and bags piled up in the foyer. Avery comes down the stairs with a black duffel bag.

  “You guys are leaving?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

  “Yup,” Avery says. “My dad just picked up keys for the apartment.” He adds the duffel bag to the pile.

  “That’s so exciting,” I say. My voice catches on that last word. This is it. My final moments sharing a house with Avery. “Can I help you carry some stuff down?”

  “There’s only a few things left,” he says. “I’ve got it.”

  “I don’t mind.” I follow him up the stairs.

  His room is back to looking like it belongs to Peg and Frank. The bed is stripped of the sheets. The desk is free of his laptop and all its cords. All that’s left is one more small suitcase and, over in the corner of the room in a sunbeam, the guitar.

  It must’ve sat there all summer. Neither of us ever played it. I pick it up and wipe my finger along the top. Dust flies in every direction.

  “We never learned how to play,” I say.

  “Guess we were busy with other things.”

  I take a few stabs at strumming. It sounds terrible, like I belong in a band with Cammie and that xylophone he played with as a baby.

  Avery laughs. “You’re a natural.”

  “Naturally bad.”

  “You should take lessons. Who knows, maybe you’re the next Taylor Swift.”

  I stifle a snort. “Yeah, right.”

  We carry the last few things to the front door. I rest the guitar on top of the bags.

  “That’s everything,” he says. “My parents should be back soon.” He turns on the TV and is just sitting down on the couch when he jumps up. “Almost everything!” He dashes up the stairs.

  There’s scratching and moaning at the sliding glass door in the kitchen. Hank!

  “Sorry, buddy. I didn’t forget about you, I swear.” I freshen up his bowl with cold water and set it down on the floor.

  “Almost forgot this.” Avery walks into the kitchen holding his toothbrush. He digs through the drawer looking for a ziplock bag.

  “Hey, Avery?”

  He pops his head up when he finds one. “Yeah?”

  “I hope that everything works out, you know, with your house.”

  He shrugs. “There’s not much I can do about it.”

  “I know,” I say. “It’s weird. The whole time we’ve been here, I couldn’t wait to get home and have my own room again. But I think I’m going to miss it a little.” Miss him. That’s what I mean to say. But I can’t get the words out.

  “Me too.”

  He heads back into the living room to watch TV while he waits for his parents to return. I join him. The bus schedule isn’t going anywhere. But this is my last time with Avery.

  —

  A week after Avery and his parents leave, our trailer gets delivered. I didn’t think it would be sitting smack in the middle of our front yard for everyone to see, but Dad says we have no choice in the matter—and to remember it’s temporary.

  I’m not sure he understands that some of the kids are probably going to make fun of me on the bus for it. But I try to push that thought away because, well, what other choice do I have.

  It’s pretty easy to push almost all my thoughts away, sharing a tiny trailer with Cammie, because I can never hear myself think. I got so used to how big the McLarens’ house was and the fact that I only had to share a room with my brother.

  Mom wasn’t exactly lying when she said that Cammie and I wouldn’t be sharing a bed. What she didn’t say was that we would be sharing bunk beds…in a closet!

  The entire trailer is about the size of the room Cammie and I shared at the McLarens’ house. And the living room and the kitchen are basically the same room.

  At least, Hank gets to sleep outside in the new doghouse Dad bought for him. I went with him to pick it out and asked if I could have one, too.

  Dad didn’t laugh, which was fine because it wasn’t a joke. I was serious. Some of those doghouses were big enough for a sleeping bag.

  It’s temporary.

  It’s an adventure.

  You’re lucky.r />
  I have to use those phrases like a mantra when Cammie’s playing with ninja turtles right below me as I’m scrambling to finish the last summer-reading assignment, Johnny Tremain, on Friday night. The first day of school is Tuesday. Dad says I can’t play the “tornado card” and that he can’t believe I waited all summer to do my summer reading.

  Sorry, Dad. I was a little distracted.

  “Blam! Blam blam! You’re dead, suckaaaah.”

  “Cammie! Language!” Mom shouts from the couch.

  “Can’t the turtles all get along?” Dad asks from over by the stove. He’s making a stir-fry, so the whole trailer smells like onions and spices. The pan sizzles and crackles. Dad was right when he said it would be like camping. We’re always going to smell like our food and how it was cooked.

  “Nope!” Cammie replies.

  Plastic smashes plastic below me, and I pop in my earbuds.

  I’ve got to finish the last thirty pages of Johnny Tremain before Kiersten’s mom picks me up for the carnival, and I only have an hour.

  It’s temporary.

  It’s temporary.

  It’s temporary.

  “We’ll meet up back at this gate—gate A—at nine o’clock. That’s nine o’clock sharp, girls. None of this nine-fifteen business, all right?” Kiersten’s mom looks each of us in the eye. Kiersten, me, Gabriella. She’s trying to be tough, but she isn’t fooling me.

  “Yup, yup.” I stare at the Ferris wheel, arcing above all the games where the carnies basically take your money as you try but fail to win the big stuffed panda. The carnival is a kaleidoscope of bright colors and flashing lights.

  “All right, then. Have fun, girls. Nine o’clock!”

  “Yeah, yeah, Mom.” Kiersten grins, turning to me and Gabriella. “Where should we go first?”

  We head down the first row, scoping out the food choices: cotton candy, candy apples, deep-fried Oreos, ice cream sundaes, fried dough, pizza. I should have eaten less of Dad’s stir-fry to leave more room for all this stuff.

  “Candy apples?” Kiersten heads straight toward them.

  Gabriella shakes her head. “I can’t,” she says. And then she smiles wide, showing off the new silver wires on her teeth.

  “When did this happen?” Kiersten asks.