Chapter 25

I know some people aren't fortunate enough to live out their whole lives in one house, but I was one of the few who lived fourteen years in the same house. Stacey, Mary Anne, Kristy, Mallory, Jessi, Dawn, Abby, and Logan weren't so lucky. Shannon Kilbourne was, although I never considered her much of a friend. As an associate member, she was on-call and only took jobs the seven regular members couldn't handle. That didn't happen often, but when it did, it was great to have someone to call on.

Sitting on my bed, looking around—it was hard to believe this was the room I would soon be leaving behind. We had held countless BSC meetings here. We'd argued and slept and had countless pillow fights, right here. I had rummaged for candy and painted almost every picture I'd ever done here. When Dawn and I had been stranded on the island, my friends had come here to support each other. It was hard to imagine my stuff—the desk Mimi had bent over beside me to help me with my homework, the window that faced my former friends' former homes—in a different room or as something from my past.

A little part of me was excited, though. Along with the stability I'd had, I never had the chance to make a fresh start. I had grown up with the faces around me—Rick Chow, Pete Black, and Alan Gray, among others. What would it be like to start fresh, in a place where nobody knew that my sister had an IQ of almost 200 and memories of Stacey's death didn't come back to haunt me whenever I stopped at the corner of Elm street (where it connects with Oak) on my way to school? And it could be a fresh start in a new way—new friends, new baby-sitting clients, and maybe a few boys who didn't know I was once sent back to the seventh grade.

There would be no more walking past houses of former friends and clients. Jessi had gotten used to life in Stamford, and Mallory's family, as far as I knew, had moved to Riverbend so she didn't have to travel so far to see them. And, of course, Cokie Mason, Alan Gray, and Cary Retlin, people who used to annoy the BSC, would also be a part of the past.

And Bobbi would be in Chicago, too. At least I'd know one person. And I could still watch Kerry.

Maybe Janine was right. It IS time to put the past behind us and move on.

Just as the thought was clear in my mind, my bedside phone rang. As I answered it, I realized that I would have to change my number and get used to a new one if we moved.

"Hello?"

"Claudia."

"Kristy? I didn't expect to hear from you," I replied, honestly surprised. Having just decided to put the past behind me, I had thought Kristy would just fade off into the back of my mind, someone I'd remember when I was ninety years old and suffering from Alzheimer's and think was a hallucination.

Okay, maybe not. It's hard to forget someone you spent almost thirteen full years of your life with. But I hadn't expected her to call. What was there to say?

"Yeah, well, I didn't want to."

"Then why did you?"

"Because I heard you were moving to Chicago. Is that true?" It figured that I had just emotionally closed a chapter of my life and Kristy, always strong-headed, had opened it again. Would she mention the poisoned dog treats? Would she want to reminisce? Or was she just calling to give me a push—to rid Stoneybrook of the last of her former friends?

"Yes, it's true."

"Because you made the News? Is that why you're leaving?"

"Why do you care? You stopped caring ten months ago," I said, honestly not trying to be mean or unfair. I just couldn't see what she was getting at and her questioning me after so long without bothering to talk to me at all was annoying.

"Because I heard from Miranda Shillaber that you were leaving, and I should have been told first."

"We've only notified the school, Kristy. I didn't tell Miranda or anyone else I was leaving. She must have overheard us talking. And why should you have been informed first? We aren't even friends anymore."

There was a short silence following my words, in which I was unsure of whether Kristy was laughing, crying, or if she was still on the line at all.

"We used to be," she finally replied, and although her voice wasn't perfectly steady, I still wasn't sure if she would laugh or cry or hang up.

"Yes, we did. That's all in the past now, though."

"How can you be so cruel? Think of everything we went through together! All of those BSC pizza parties, the trip to California—didn't any of that mean anything to you?" She sounded almost hysterical, and her voice had gotten too loud for my liking at three-sixteen P.M. on Friday. After any school day, I don't like to come home and be yelled at. On this day, with the sudden stress of Dahlia's capture lifted and the new stress of moving thrust back at me, and the thought of being dateless to my first and last SHS dance, I was in no mood for Kristy's hysterics. At least I wouldn't have to worry about homework—the school hadn't assigned any. Luckily.

"Yes, it did!" I snapped. "The things we went through as friends and as members of the Baby-Sitters Club—that was all great! But it's something we're never going to get back!" I sighed a little, already regretting my words as memories flashed through my mind. Not everything about the BSC had been great—arguing certainly hadn't been a highlight for the books, and Kristy being such a perfectionist had been a real drag. Why was she even calling? Just to drag me down and make me just as miserable as she'd been? "Why are you calling?" I finally asked.

"Why do you care?" Kristy imitated me.

"If you don't have anything to say, I'm going to hang up—" I began.

"Okay, okay," Kristy replied irritably. "I called because I wanted to make things right between us. We were all we had. Now it looks like we won't even have that."

I felt a little guilty suddenly. Kristy would be alone, aside from Shannon and Logan, in Stoneybrook. Everyone else had left, and when Kristy finally called to make peace, I was leaving. And while I might have been all Kristy had, although she hadn't seemed interested in me while I was here, I had moved on. I had made friends.

Don't feel bad. It isn't your fault your family wants to move to Chicago, or that Kristy waited a year before calling to make peace. It isn't a bad thing to have other friends.

I knew it was true, but I still felt a little bad. I had moved on while I was here, and Kristy hadn't. Now I was moving away, more literally, and she would still be here, in a small town full of memories, both good and bad. Would her previous withdrawal from life return and worsen?

It isn't your fault if she had a breakdown, and it won't be your fault if she has another, the rational part of my mind shouted. You want to go to Chicago. You need a fresh start. And, anyway, you don't have much of a choice. Your family is going to Chicago.

The irrational part of my mind just kept screaming. Everything felt like it was crowding in on me again—stresses and pressures from all of the different aspects of my life.

In a voice far too calm to express the inner turmoil my mind was feeling, I tried to gently explain—avoiding the details—what had happened to me. I still wasn't sure I could trust her. And since she would soon be a part of my past, I had to let go of her. And she would have to let go of me, which would probably be harder for her than it would for me, although she'd make it hard for me because it's impossible not to in a situation like this. She listened silently, but I could imagine her propped up beside the phone and picking the strings from a hole in her jeans.

I wasn't imagining the new Kristy, though. I imagined a short girl with a brown ponytail and a baseball cap with a collie on it, wearing jeans and a T-shirt despite the February chill. I imagined David Michael running from Sam as she sat there. (Charlie had been home from college the last time I'd seen him, which had been the night Emily and I saw him leave for a basketball game with Sam when we were spying on Kristy, but was likely back at school now. Maybe that was one of the reasons for Kristy's depression; two divorces and a brother, soon to be two, off at college. It must have felt like her life was falling apart.) The chaos that used to define her life—a house full of people and animals, all busy—was gone. Her stepfather was out of the picture now, and he'd taken his children, Karen and Andrew, with him to Fire Island when he moved. He took Emily Michelle, the Vietnamese orphan he adopted, with him. Kristy's grandmother moved out with her boyfriend. The animals still live at home, but I doubt it's much of a consolation when you've lost your second father figure, a brother, a grandmother, and three little siblings.

I had done my best to explain my situation as best I could, without detail—but when I finished, I heard only silence from Kristy's end of the line. When I was finally about to ask if she was still there, I heard the disconcerting click that disconnected the last tie I had to Stoneybrook.

The phone rang before I could put it back in the cradle, so I answered it. I expected Kristy to laugh and tell me Shannon (the dog) had unplugged the phone from the wall.

"Claudia?" Emily sounded nervous, and I was suddenly wishing we'd put off calling the school. How many students would call me before I actually left?

Only two, apparently. Emily was the last call of the day. She wanted to know if 'the rumors' were true, and I confirmed them. It was about the only thing we said. What had once been a friendship built on suspicion and recovery from our individual tragedies was now nothing more than two stranger-style acquaintances who happened to know each other's numbers. It was like we were business people; formal with everyone and close to no one.

After all the secrets we'd shared—in the last three months and even before that...our friendship would end with an emotionless discussion about whether it was true that I was leaving, and probably never coming back? I couldn't let this happen. Enough sacrifices had been made. I had to salvage whatever I could.

I could let a thirteen-year friendship go, but I wasn't about to let Emily go with it into a past I would probably try my best to forget for the rest of my life. I wouldn't ever forget Mimi or Stacey or the real friends I had, and Emily had been a good friend. She may not have been beside me in the cages, but she had come pretty close—in her own home. My abusers had been the sister of my friend, but it hadn't been a related guardian of mine. Of all the people I had ever met—aside from Ashley, who had also seemed abused, though aside from in the cages, I didn't know for sure about that yet—Emily would probably be one of the few who could come close to understanding. Besides, it was good that she hadn't been with me in the cages. I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

I don't really know how the conversation started, or how long it lasted. In fact, I really don't remember a lot of it. But when we hung up, I knew we would be okay. We already had each other's e-mail addresses. We would keep in touch. That was good, too. Losing everything I'd had would make restarting so much harder.

When I glanced up at the clock, I realized that my stomach was rumbling and that unless I hurried, I would either go to the dance with an empty stomach or without makeup.

I slipped three Pizza Pops onto a plate and microwaved them as I gathered my makeup together. I figured I could eat and do my makeup in half an hour, unless the phone rang.

I had spent enough time thinking back and tying together some of the loose ends of my life. Things were about to change, and I was going to change with them. I was going to do better in school, no matter which school I ended up in. My parents would do well at their new jobs, and Janine would make a good impression at whatever college she ended up attending. If my parents ended up getting divorced, it would be sad. But I wasn't going to worry about that now. Maybe the move would solve all of our problems. And if it didn't, my life wouldn't fall apart. I knew I could be strong enough to survive something like that. I had survived plenty already.

I ate, brushed my teeth, took a quick shower, did my hair and makeup—and was ready in an hour. It wouldn't matter if I was late to the dance; I didn't have a date. And since Emily and I were going together, and she'd be late, maybe it was kind of a good thing. I just hoped Ashley would forgive me—since I hadn't been able to get back to the city, we'd had to settle for talking on the phone. She had been questioned, and the police asked me about her, but it looked like they were going to leave her alone. Maybe a fresh start was what she would need, too. She was excited about being in Chicago, and especially with living with us when she was out of the hospital. I just hoped everything would go well when the five of us lived together.

"Claudia? Have you been on the phone all day?" Mom asked, when I bounced down the stairs and prepared to meet Emily. We'd agreed to meet at the bus stop, where we'd take the bus to school. Because the buses didn't run late enough for us to return home by bus, Mom had offered to pick us up. But one of the conditions for my going to the dance at all was to be done my homework. I hadn't told her that I didn't have any.

"No," I replied, "because I spent an hour getting ready for school, six hours in school, and another hour getting ready for the dance."

"And what about the four-and-a-half hours unaccounted for?" Mom asked, not fooled.

"I had to solve some problems between old friends. Since we're leaving," I added, knowing it was a solid reason she wouldn't waste time arguing with. "And I don't have any homework."

"Okay," Mom replied. She shrugged, as though she couldn't believe that a school wouldn't give out homework. "Will you be warm enough?"

She and I both knew that she was really asking me whether or not I actually planned on showing up in public in the dress I'd picked out. It was a metallic red dress with pink and white ribbon tassels hung over the back of the shoulders, and a layered hem that was fashionably uneven. The neckline was a little low, and the dress itself was a little tight, but as far as I was concerned, that made it perfect for a Valentine's Day dance. The whole point is to look good, and with the red heels I'd chosen to wear, I looked good enough for a dance called the 'Heart Hop.' I'd pulled my hair back in a braid held together with a pink flower, and while I wasn't particularly clashing, I would definitely be noticed among the miniskirts other girls had chosen.

"No, but it won't matter," I added hurriedly. "We'll work up some heat at the dance, and you can blast the heater the whole way home if you like."

Mom shook her head a little, but shrugged again.

Emily and I entered the gym about twenty minutes later. She and I hadn't said much on the walk, but as we entered, I suddenly knew I would miss her and Stoneybrook when we left. Unlike the SMS school gym, which was where I went to all of last year's dances, the SHS gym was decorated—tastefully, I have to admit. Pink and white streamers sloped from the corners of the gym to the center, where pink, white, and silver balloons were grouped together like a cluster of grapes. Silver rain (like tinsel, but longer and thicker) hung from the ceiling. Along one wall was a long table under a white tablecloth, covered in snacks, pink confetti, and refreshments. Helium balloons in pink and silver stood at each end of the table, weighed down by red heart paperweights. Red hearts covered the walls, and the band had already started playing. Groups of kids and several couples were already dancing, but almost everyone was just laughing and talking and eating. Almost everyone was dressed up, so I knew Kristy wasn't here yet—she'd probably wear jeans and sneakers to the dance, if she came at all. Her school attendance hadn't been great, so I wondered if she even knew about the dance.

Unwilling to let Kristy see that I'd come with Emily and not even mentioned the dance to her when we'd spoken only an hour earlier, I left Emily with Elizabeth Parker and gravitated toward the snack table to check out the goods. I saw a lot of variety—chocolate cupcakes with pink frosting, heart-shaped cookies, red punch, as well as the usual soda and chips—but I didn't see the one person who would probably be there. Kristy and Mary Anne spent most of their dance time at the snack table, but Mary Anne wouldn't be here. Still, knowing Kristy's past insistence on punctuality, I was surprised that she wasn't here yet. It wasn't like her to miss out on anything involving her school, her town, or anything else—thinking about how she'd thought she deserved to be told first that I was leaving was just one of many examples—and I wondered again if my explanation about my move was that upsetting to her.

In the past, that would have been a no-brainer. Of course she would want to know first. Of course she'd be upset. Unfortunately, things had changed—and as far as I could tell, things were going to continue changing.

Author's Note: Here it is… :D