It’s the summer after seventh grade, and my best friend is Haley, a tall blonde full of moles. There are ten of them shaped like a soda bottle on her back. I wish my freckles could be as cool.

“Don’t be jealous,” she says. “You have so many. I bet we could find something there if we tried.”

Haley lives at the end of my street in a yellow Tudor. It’s massive compared to my parents’ bungalow. I walk to her house every day, and she teaches me to fit in.

“These jeans don’t fit me anymore. Want them?” She tosses a pair of Levis on the bed.

“Wow. Thanks!” I have never in my life owned a pair of brand name jeans.

We swim in her pool during the day and play Ouija board in her parents’ pop-up camper at night. Some nights, we summon so many spirits I make my step-dad pick me up in the rusted minivan instead of walking home. The single-wide trailer park on my street gives me the heebie-jeebies at night. Half the trailers have boarded-up windows, but others have foldable lawn chairs and little pots of annuals out front. It’s a strange addition to our otherwise bland street.

One day while waiting for Haley to get home from her boyfriend’s house, I meet a new girl in the neighborhood. She stops her bike in front of my house, anchors it between her legs and says, “Hey.”

I stop the porch swing. “Hey.”

“Wanna be my friend?” she asks, chucking a pop-it onto the ground. She tosses another, and it snaps as it connects with the pavement.

“Sure. Can I have a pop-it?” I hop off the swing and jog down my steps to her.

“Sure.” She hikes her leg over her bike and parks it on the sidewalk. Then in one graceful swoop, she flips her crimped blonde hair over her shoulder and dumps sawdust and pop-its into my hand. “I’m Kristin.” She flashes a big smile.

“I’m Danielle.” I smile back.


“You just move here?” I ask, throwing another onto the sidewalk. It doesn’t pop, so I stomp on it.

“My dad did. He lives in a trailer down there.” Kristin nods sideways toward the trailers. “I’m here for the summer.”

“Are those dangerous?”

“The pop-its or the trailers?” She jokes.

I laugh. “The trailers.”

“Nah.” She shrugs. “Mostly old folks.”

“Cool. Where you from?”

“Florida. With my mom.”

“I’ve never been there,” I say in awe. Kristin has a special magic, a glue that draws me toward her.

I find out she’s the same age as me, we both like to ride bikes, and we’re both poor. Or at least her dad is.

When Haley gets home, I invite her to come with us on our bike ride to the park.

“It’s too hot,” she says. “Go play with your new friend. We’ll catch up later.”

Haley invites us to come swimming that afternoon, and Kristin won’t go.

“I only swim in the ocean,” she says.

I have just a month with my new friend, so I don’t go either. I figure Haley has her boyfriend, and now I have Kristin. It’s even.

Two weeks fly while I spend every waking minute with Kristin. I don’t see Haley at all, and I miss her.

So, when she calls and says, “I need to talk to you … Alone,” I go.

My fingers graze the diamonds of the chain-link fence along the front of the last trailer in the trailer park making a soft clinking sound. I’m thinking about how my skin will smell dirty and metallic when Haley startles me by screaming “You’re a terrible friend!” She’s suddenly in front of me and so close to my face. I’m worried she may punch me for no reason.

“What?” I ask, freaked by the level of her voice. “What did I do?” I don’t know. I really don’t.

Her face is flushed and eyes are wet. She’s been crying. I wonder why she’s so sad. Haley pulls photos of us from her pocket and rips them.

“You picked that girl over me,” she says. She turns and stomps away, leaving me with shreds of our friendship at my feet. “One day you’ll get it.”

At the end of the summer, when Kristin goes home, I do.

Photo courtesy of Pixabay on Pexels

8 thoughts on “Betrayal

  1. Aw man, poor thing. I like how you hint at what’s to come (with the whole pool v ocean thing) and yet little Danielle has no idea. And when Haley gives “permission” to go play without her, it took me right back to the bizarre and confusing world of young girl relationships.

    Something to think about: “full of moles” read sort of awkward to me because I equate “full” with something that contains other things, as opposed to something that is covered in stuff. (If that makes sense?)

    I really love the imagery of the metallic smell on your fingers after touching the chain link fence. It sort of makes me want to wash my hands, but also really grounds the piece in a very real and sensory way. Great work!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Awe, thank you for your in-depth and kind comments.

      The critique does make sense, and I appreciate it!

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Aww poor young, Danielle! Childhood friendships are difficult to navigate at the best of times. I knew immediately what was going to happen to poor Haley when Kristin appeared. You showed this very well throughout! Just a very minor note, I’d never heard of pop-its before, so I was taken out of the story a bit whilst trying to figure out what you were both doing. (I think some states don’t allow types of fireworks.)

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Ahh, darn! Shoulda explained that better 😐. Thanks for the comment love, Love!


  3. This pulled me right back to those young teen years. The random reasons for friendships (like cool clothes and mole patterns) and the snap judgement fears all made for a very real point of view. Well done! I have to say though that Haley wasn’t blameless. If she had joined you and Kristin from the start you might have avoided the heartbreak.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes, it was definitely a double betrayal. I thought it was okay, when it wasn’t. If she only would’ve said what she really thought, right?

      Thanks for commenting, Margaret 😊

      Liked by 1 person

  4. I am new to blogging and this was one of the first things I saw and I love it! This bought back so many memories of my own friendships as a young child.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks for reading! I’m glad you liked it.


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this:
search previous next tag category expand menu location phone mail time cart zoom edit close