Heavenstone 02 - Secret Whispers

on, shoes, jewelry, everything!”
    “Well, what should I do?” I asked her.
    “Nothing. There’s nothing to do. I’m telling you all this so you won’t expect any real favors from any so-called best friend, Semantha. Just don’t be naive, and above all, never trust any other girl but me.”
    I had swallowed what she told me and reluctantly digested it because I didn’t want to believe these things. Surely, there was someone out there, maybe a number of girls, who would be like a sister to me someday, a girlfriend I could trust and who really cared about me. The world Cassie was describing was far too lonely for me. She was comfortable in it, but I knew I would never be.
    However, in my private high school, Cassie’s warnings seemed justified. I did seem to be threatening to some girls, and not only because of any psychological history. I’d really never had a best friend in the public high school I’d attended. I suppose I could easily explain my low level of popularity now by saying I was still fresh from all the tragedy and still quite emotionally wounded. Dr. Ryan said I was simply and clearly terrified of any relationships. Cassie’s betrayals had wounded me too deeply and left large scars. A friendly word, a soft touch or smile, actually frightened me. I fled from friendships and especially avoided relationships with boys.
    “None of this will ever completely go away, Semantha,” Dr. Ryan said. “What we have to work on with you are ways to help you live with it so that you can assume a somewhat normal life.”
    I always wondered what he meant by “somewhat.” How far from normal would I be? And who would want to be with someone who could never be completely normal? Who would put up with my introverted ways, my fears, my unexpected and unexplainable cloudbursts of tears? What man would want someone who never held his hand as tightly as he held hers or returned a kiss without some skepticism? I would surely grow old wearing the invisible banner that read: Teddy Heaven-stone’s Emotionally Crippled Daughter. If you know what’s good for you, stay away.
    Despite Cassie’s warnings, I had been roommates and close friends with Ellie Patton during all of my time at Collier, and I had yet to feel that she viewed me as any sort of feminine threat. She was quite attractive, with her tall, slim, fashion-model figure, her thick and rich licorice-black hair and stunning pearl-black eyes. Her facial features were as diminutive as mine. If I had anything over her, it was my higher cheekbones and more shapely bosom, but to my way of thinking, that would hardly tip the scales in my favor when it came to competing for boys. Not that I ever did.
    In fact, it was only at her insistence that I attended any social functions at all. Whenever I did, I looked for the warning signals Cassie had taught me, but none of the young men who showed interestin Ellie showed any interest in me. I knew a few of them actually felt uncomfortable in my presence, and one of them, according to Ellie, stopped calling her because of me.
    “In other words,” she said, “you spooked him. I told him that was just too damn bad. We were roommates, and if he didn’t like it, he knew what he could do.” She shrugged. “I guess he did. He stopped talking to me.”
    I started to apologize, but she wasn’t upset about it. She wasn’t particularly fond of him. In fact, Ellie was as flighty about her male relationships as I was indifferent. Her problem was quite unlike mine, though. She was always worried that she was settling too soon or too low, and consequently, she was always looking over their shoulders at the next possibility or someone else’s boyfriend. I couldn’t imagine Ellie thinking of me in Cassie’s feminine gunslinger terms, but that was about to change.
    About two weeks after she had walked in on my secret birthday ceremony in the bathroom, which was about a week after we had returned from spring break, Ellie told me I had to do her a big favor.
    “And don’t pull a Norma Bates on me,” she said before she got specific. “Don’t come up with any of your weird excuses this time, Semantha.”
    She had come back from a late tutoring session with Mr. Schooner, our math teacher. Ellie rarely got better than a C or C-plus, whereas I rarely got a grade below B-plus. I thought for sure she was going to ask me to do one of her final research papers or some extra math assignments Mr. Schooner had given her.From time to