BFF: A Story About Bullycide

By Lindsey G. P. Bell

Thirteen year-old Abby and her father have just moved from a leaky old sailboat in California to an inherited mansion in South Carolina, and Abby does not fit in. This is the story of the summer adventures she shares with new best friend, Hollis, and two boys from their class. But when school begins, Abby is shocked to learn that Hollis is a bul

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lindsey G. P. Bell
• Release date: Jul 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781733874823

Book preview

Prologue

An old, faded photo that was taken in my kitchen over thirty years ago now hangs there in a sterling silver frame. In it are two boys and two girls, and we’re all grinning like superheroes with our arms around each other’s shoulders. It’s the one thing I would grab if my house were ever on fire. It was taken when I was thirteen, when I thought losing my mother was the worst thing that would ever happen to me…right before I learned how very wrong I was.

One

Dad was singing about a bathroom on the right as we carried the last boxes of stuff into our new, two hundred thirty year-old home.

In the wake of Mom’s death—Mom who’d walked out on us six years ago right after I turned seven—Dad and I had been shocked to find out that she’d left us a totally-paid-for mansion in the small South Carolina town where she’d grown up. And because Dad’s a writer who hadn’t written his best-selling Great American Novel yet, we’d had to go with totally-paid-for. Even though it meant leaving San Francisco and my BFF, Noa.

Dad hadn’t wanted to leave San Francisco either and was especially sad about selling the Aaargh!, the leaky old sailboat he’d rebuilt that we called home, but he promised I’d find a new best friend and that we’d have what writers consider the best thing in the whole world: an adventure.

Still, I felt sure no one would ever replace Noa. I’d cried a few times about leaving, but it had upset Dad so much, I’d stuffed my feelings until the day we pulled out for good. And even then he’d said, Have faith. I’ll write a bestseller, and we’ll come back to California faster than you can say, ‘Home sweet home.’

Our new old mansion reminded me of a museum, full of ancient stuff that had belonged to my grandparents. It stood on a huge piece of property overgrown with bushes and gigantic trees covered with hairy stuff the guy at the gas station had called Spanish moss. The house was three stories tall and pink and much too fancy for us.

Just as I picked up the last box, I noticed a girl being dragged across our property at the end of a bright orange rope attached to the biggest, dirtiest dog I’d ever seen.

The girl had chin-length brown hair and was wearing a green and yellow dress. As she passed by, I watched her lean backwards against the rope only to be dragged further.

Dad said, Don’t just stand there, Abby, help her!

Without thinking, I dropped the box to run and grab the rope to help the girl tug.

When the tinkling of broken ceramic died out, Dad yelled, I always hated my mother’s dishes.

But the gigantic, wild dog pulled, and the girl and I laughed. That seemed to be the arrangement—getting dragged, and in exchange laughing about it.

Our jungle-like property passed by in a blur. All I could see were our hands on the rope and my blue flip-flops on the ground trying not to trample the yellow-sandaled toes of the girl next to me.

She said, He’s going to pull us into the pond.

What? I asked, noticing a swampy-looking pond coming up fast.

He’s going to pull us into the water if you don’t let go by the count of three. And this is Ol’ One-Eye’s pond. ONE!

The pond was getting really close. Who’s Ol’ One-Eye?

TWO! Only the biggest gator around.

GATOR? I screamed. As in ALLIGATOR? Common sense shouted in my head to release my death grip on the rope, but instead I twisted it around my back and leaned against it to try to stop the dog’s forward momentum.

Of course my actions tangled the girl and me together, and before I knew it, we were both lying on the ground being dragged through some grass and mud right into the pond.

Thankfully, once we were forced to use our hands to brace ourselves, the rope came free.

As I lay in the stinky muck, I noticed the girl sprawled a foot or so away with bright green slimy stuff all over her. She wiped her eyes and quickly stood up.

I spit mud and slime out of my mouth and realized there were at least a million bugs swarming me. Oops!

The girl looked at the surface of the water carefully. You can say that again!

I followed her eyes and quickly stood up, too. You were kidding about the alligator, right? While Dad had mentioned crazed hillbillies, the KKK, and flying cockroaches in his list of possible southern dangers, he’d failed to include anything about alligators.

The girl walked up into the brush and smiled. I told you to let go.

I noticed that she had really big greenish-brown eyes and more freckles than I’d ever seen on one person. You never said ‘THREE!’

She threw her head back and laughed.

I kicked my feet through the water trying to rinse the mud off my flip-flops while swatting at the bugs.

The girl nearly shouted, I sure do wish you’d get out of the water.

I could feel the little hairs on my neck stand up and practically ran to where she was. After how big her dog had been, my mental picture of Ol’ One-Eye had him almost Godzilla-sized.

The girl walked around the pond to where the orange rope lay in the reeds.

I followed right on her heels. That’s the biggest dog I’ve ever seen! What is it?

She draped the rope around her shoulders and turned to face me. Well…he’s a stray, so I’m not entirely sure, but I reckon part Great Dane, and Mama says his face and coat look like maybe Irish Wolfhound. He’s been running loose for a long time and I keep trying to take him home to give him a bath, but every time I get the rope around his neck, he drags me to the pond. And I’m NOT bathing him here!

How many times has he pulled you in?

Counting this time?

I nodded.

Once. She smiled. I always let go.

I could feel my cheeks getting hot. Sorry about that.

The girl waved her arm around to shake some mosquitoes free. What’s your name?

Abby. What’s yours?

She stuck out a muddy hand to shake. Hollis Wickwire.

Nobody my age had ever wanted to shake hands, but I gave her mine, and she pulled it through a strong yank up and down.

From the moment our hands touched I knew something important was going to happen. If you still haven’t caught the dog by tomorrow, I’ll help you.

Hollis burst into laughter and struggled to talk through it. Isn’t that what you were doing today?

I tried not to laugh but couldn’t help myself. Is there really an alligator?

Hollis nodded. There are a lot of them, but Ol’ One-Eye’s famous because he’s the biggest and people think he ate a Yankee.

I considered the fact that there were alligators here that weren’t locked up in a zoo. And then I considered the fact that the biggest alligator lived on my property—and that he’d eaten a person. And lastly, I considered the fact that this girl called someone a Yankee and wondered if northern California counted as Yankee territory. I took a deep breath. For real?

Nobody ever found any part of him, so no one knows for sure. Hollis raised her eyebrows. Are y’all staying at Concannon Manor?

If that’s the pink house. My mother grew up there. As soon as I’d said it, the hurt and dread of talking about her burned in my chest.

Hollis gasped and her eyes got huge. Who’s your mother?

This girl had more of an accent than I could remember Mom having. She died, but her name was Elizabeth.

Some kind of creature made a strange noise in the trees to our right, and it made me jump.

I looked, but didn’t see anything. I don’t like to talk about her. To change the subject away from my mother, I said, What grade are you going to be in?

Hollis fished a bug out of her mouth. Seventh.

Me, too! I was just considering the fact that it might not be totally hateful here, when I heard my name being shouted in the distance. I’d better get back and help out, but if you want to come over for dinner, I’m sure it’d be okay.

Two

AbbEEE? You have companEEE. Dad’s voice echoed up the gigantic curved stairwell and through the second floor where I’d chosen my room. I knew it would be my new friend, Hollis, from the pond earlier, and I was excited to hang out.

From the top of the grand staircase I could see that she was all dressed up in a light blue dress while Dad was in his Kermit-the-Frog-playing-the-banjo pajama bottoms and nothing else. I wouldn’t call Dad fat, but he had a stomach he jokingly referred to as The Baby that spilled over his waistband. I yelled, Geez, Dad, put on a shirt! then looked at Hollis and laughed, hoping she wasn’t totally grossed

out.

Dad looked up at me and said, It’s five thousand degrees in this state, and did one of those over-the-top shrugs he does when he expects me to accept whatever crazy thing he’s just said.

I trotted down the stairs and stood next to my new friend.

Hollis was saying, No, sir, I’m an only child. I live with my mama, Evvy—Evelyn Campbell Wickwire—in the yellow house with the big pillars, three estates over. Mama grew up here, but she’s away for the summer as a missionary, setting up a school-slash-orphanage in Rwanda.

I looked at Dad, who I now realized had been giving Hollis the third degree, and rolled my eyes. Any serial killers in her family tree?

Dad raised his eyebrows. I didn’t get that far.

We both looked at Hollis, who laughed a little and said, No serial killers, but I do have several relatives with what Mama calls, ‘a fondness for the drink.’

Dad looked at me, and I could tell he was trying not to laugh.

Then, to Hollis, I said, Come on, let’s go upstairs.

Hollis offered a polite, Nice to meet you, sir, to Dad, and I led the charge up the giant staircase.

Once we were in my room, I closed the door. My room, like the rest of the house, was decorated with really old furniture that had belonged to my grandparents. Part of me wanted to explore every inch of this place to try to figure out who my mother had been, but part of me wanted to run as far as I could from the memory of the woman who’d abandoned me. So far, I felt like a guest in a fancy hotel, and I sat on the edge of the bed feeling uncomfortably out of place.

Hollis looked at the gold-framed portrait of the girl on the wall and took a deep breath like she was about to say something.

I waited, watching her mouth open and close, until finally she said, That’s your mama, right?

I’d thought so, but wasn’t sure, and my mind raced to find an appropriate answer. I mean, what would Hollis think if she knew I couldn’t even recognize my own mother? She wasn’t a very good mom…and then she died. I…uhhh…don’t want to talk about her anymore. It hadn’t come out sounding very friendly, and I was sorry for that.

The sadness on Hollis’s face made my anger at my mother feel worse. I was much more mad at her for leaving than I was sad about her dying, and I didn’t want to admit out loud that my mother hadn’t loved me.

Dad knocked on the door.

Come in, I yelled, thankful for the interruption.

The door swung wide and Dad appeared wearing the same Kermit-the-Frog pajama bottoms with his Dolly Parton tee-shirt on top.

I wanted to die.

The image of Dolly Parton’s face as large as life inspired a loud gasp from Hollis, who said a very dramatic, I LOVE HER!

Dad’s eyes got big. Who doesn’t?

Hollis lit up like Dolly Parton herself had just walked in. It’s only about six hours to Dollywood! And it’s sooo much fun!

Dad stepped further into my room. It’s at the top of my Bucket List! And South Carolina’s a lot closer to Tennessee than California is!

I’d never thought much about Dolly Parton, beyond her being my favorite in the movie 9 to 5, but Dad totally loved her. He’d told me once that she’d decided to wear the wigs and makeup so that she’d look like the town tramp—whom she’d thought was beautiful when she was growing up—but that she was supposedly a very, very good person. Dad always says, Opposite qualities like that are what make someone interesting, both as a character in a book and in real life. All the best books are full of Dolly Partons. So, when he’d found the shirt at a yard sale right before our trip, he’d warned me that it was a good omen and that there was no way he was leaving without it.

Dad leaned against the doorframe. I tried to order dinner, but I couldn’t find any pizza places in my mother-in-law’s address book. Where does your family go, Hollis?

Hollis stepped around a bit. We don’t eat pizza at my house, but I’ve had it a couple of times when I’ve volunteered at the senior center. You could call them and ask.

Dad’s mouth fell open and he gasped. You don’t eat pizza at your house? Are you kidding me? He did one of his over-the-top shrugs. It’s one of our food groups.

Hollis laughed.

All right, he said, I’ll go to the market and pick up a frozen one. Anything you don’t like—pepperoni, Italian sausage, anchovies, jalapeños?

Hollis smiled and shot me a glance.

Dad breathed out the words, Cheese pizza it is, then closed the door behind himself.

I sat back against the headboard on the far side of the bed in case Hollis wanted to join me. Are there any other kids nearby?

Her lips moved from one side of her face to the other. There’s Conner Muldoon in the white house with the beautiful wrought iron trim. He’s sooo…nice.

It looked like Hollis was blushing, and just as I was about to say something about it, she continued with, And Adam and Amelia Hartley who are twins, but they’re two years ahead of us. And then there’s Lexie Cross. Hollis rolled her eyes. She’s our age exactly, but you’ll want to steer clear of her. She’s meaner than Ol’ One-Eye.

What does she look like?

Her parents let her wear makeup and she has shoulder-length blond hair in a flip.

For a second, I didn’t know what I’d heard. What’s a flip?

Hollis grabbed her hair and demonstrated what looked like ski jumps