Friday began with Chad’s now-familiar Song of Despair (I wish I knew the real name of that song).  For some reason, as with all disasters, I just couldn’t miss a minute of this visit, however much I dreaded it.  My sleep-blurred eyes read six fifty-five on my alarm clock, but I went ahead and got out of bed.

What clothing to prepare for this in?  Something that wouldn’t be easily ruined.  I chose an older T-shirt of mine with “Sunnydale Middle Drama Club” written in pink and green on the front.  I pulled my hair back with a pink scrunchie.

Knock. KNOCK.  Knock.

I signaled to Chad, and we leaned out of our windows for a conversation.

“So,” I began, “today’s the day.”

“Don’t remind me,” he said, rolling his eyes, and turned his gaze out to the dark yard.

I felt a pang of sudden disappointment.  What for?

We stood for a few more moments.  I suddenly remembered something.

“Hey, Chad,” I said, and he looked back at me with that look of practiced anguish.  I blinked, then continued. “I almost forgot.  I wrote a poem for you.”  He made a face, but I could tell he was pleased as I passed him the piece of paper from my window.

He read it aloud.

“Bethany cousin visits again.

For Chad, not to babysit would be a sin.

With that little brat, there is no way to win.

In the words of Crystal: ‘here we go again!’”

Chad smirked, but looked troubled at the same time.  “Let’s hope this isn’t prophetic.”

I snorted. “How could it not be?”

He smiled again and put the poem away in his room, but when he came back to the window again he looked troubled.  Even more troubled than before.

“Chad, is it just me, or are you too nervous?”

“Better safe than sorry,” he said, with that tragic-hero look again. “If I prepare for the worst now, I won’t be shocked when it comes.”  He shrugged.

I shrugged.  Made sense.  “Want me to come over and help you get ready?  Hide away your precious Metallica CDs?”

“Um—no,” he said, suddenly looking like a caged animal.

“Any reason why?” I asked. 

“Oh, Mom’s cleaning house.  She doesn’t like people coming in and out when she cleans,” he said.

I looked at him shrewdly. “Chad, it’s seven o’ clock in the morning.”

He shrugged, but looked like I’d just confronted him with a torture weapon.  “She wants everything to be perfect. 

I let it drop.  Chad heard his mom calling him, so he left for the downstairs floor of his house.  I hadn’t heard anything.  I went downstairs and fixed myself a bowl of cold cereal.

There’s one reason, more than any other, that Bethany visits bother me—more even than her brattiness, which should be amazing.  It’s that Chad’s house, which is usually open to me, is closed and bolted shut during a Bethany visit.  Figuratively, of course, though I’ve never tried the front door during a visit and I have a sneaky suspicion it would be bolted if I did.  I’ve never figured out why.  As I might have said before, secrecy bugs me. 

It was probably nothing.  I was probably imagining things—I mean, if I were Chad’s parents, I wouldn’t want extra people gallivanting through my house when Bethany was there, too.  Too much hassle.  But Chad never had an explanation.  And I was his best friend.  And for some reason, this visit he was more nervous than for others. 

I pushed my cereal around in its bowl.  I wasn’t hungry.

No matter what else can be said about Chad’s relatives, they are punctual.  At ten o’ clock on the dot, a cranberry minivan pulled into their half of our shared driveway.  Bethany was the first to exit it.

“Wowee!” she shouted, looking up at the house. “It’s humongous-gigantic!”

In case I forgot to mention it, Bethany hides her bratty side under an almost opaque coat of cuteness.  Until she doesn’t get her way, that is.

The front door opened to Chad’s half of the house, and his family (consisting of him and his parents) spilled out to welcome their visitors.  Bethany, perhaps trying to atone for past grievances, clapped her hands together and shouted, “Yay!  It’s cousin Chad!” and ran and gave Chad a hug.  He was visibly shocked.

The party relocated inside the house.  I could hear, faintly, Gracie saying, “Now, Bethany dear, don’t—“ followed by a muffled crash.  I rolled my eyes, then turned my gaze back out the kitchen window.

Chad’s father and Bethany’s father were still outside on the driveway talking.  Chad’s father seemed a bit disturbed.

“Gerald.  Six is the age when children…learn much.”  He paused.  I leaned forward, intrigued.  He continued. “Frankly, I’m worried if our house will still be standing next Friday.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” Gerald assured him. “All she knows is little stuff, you know, colors and all that.  Nothing that can’t be easily fixed.”

“You’re sure?”

“Sure, I’m sure.”

What the heck was this conversation about?  If Bethany didn’t know her colors by now, I’d be worried.  She must be in kindergarten, at least.

Chad’s father happened to glance my way.  I don’t know what came over me then.  I knew eavesdropping was wrong, but I still managed to do it quite a lot.  And it wasn’t that bad a thing.  I think it was fear.  For some reason, I just didn’t want anyone to know I’d heard that.  I hit the deck before you could say “lickety-split.”  Crouching on the linoleum, I heard the two men enter Chad’s house.  I sat up and regained my seat, shaken.

Just then my mom wandered into the kitchen.

“Crystal—what are you doing, up so early without help?  And did I just see you laying on the floor?”