Nobody's There Read Free

already had close friends. She didn’t need new friends—especially women older than her own grandmothers.
    But in the morning Judge Wilhite’s wife telephoned early. Abbie was munching through a bowl of cereal and staring blankly at the row of small, colorful cream pitchers that marched across the kitchen windowsill, when the phone rang and she reached for it. “Hello,” she said. Overbright sunlight blasted through the window, ricocheting off the polished wooden table, and the blare of Davy’s Saturday-morning cartoons made her head ache.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Abbie continued. She motioned to Davy to turn down the sound of the television. “I didn’t hear you. Who did you say you were?”
    The woman’s voice was steely. “Why don’t you turn off those cartoons, please?”
    Abbie grabbed the remote control out of Davy’s hand and turned off the television. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “My little brother—”
    â€œPlease pay attention,” the woman said. “As I told you, my name is Judith Wilhite. I’m president of the organization Friend to Friend.”
    â€œOh—oh, y-yes,” Abbie stammered. She sat on the remote control and turned her back sothat she didn’t have to look at the faces Davy was making at her. “I’m Abbie—uh—Abigail Th—”
    â€œI know. My husband informed me about you and your circumstances.” Mrs. Wilhite’s words remained so clipped and cold that Abbie hunched her shoulders, her back pressing uncomfortably against her kitchen chair.
    â€œThe girls who are volunteers in our program are top students and leaders in their high schools. It’s certainly not standard rules or even good judgment to add to this outstanding group a girl who has been in criminal trouble and is on probation. However, my husband has convinced me to give you a try.”
    Sick at heart, Abbie struggled to keep her mind on what Mrs. Wilhite was saying. Criminal trouble? A girl on probation? The label made Abbie feel like some terrible kind of lowlife.
    â€œGimme!” Davy said, and held out his hand for the remote control.
    Mrs. Wilhite told Abbie that a package of information had been sent by messenger to her home. “Please read all the rules carefully. If there are any questions, just telephone our secretary’s number on the first sheet of the booklet. I believe you agreed to pay an afternoon call today on the woman who’ll be assigned to you?”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” Abbie answered.
    â€œVery well,” Mrs. Wilhite said. “I hope there won’t be any problems.”
    â€œNo, there won’t,” Abbie said, but Mrs. Wilhite had already hung up the phone.
    â€œBefore Mom went to her office, she said I could watch Saturday-morning cartoons!” Davy yelled at Abbie. “Gimme back the control.”
    Abbie sighed and handed Davy the remote control. He didn’t used to be so argumentative. He’d always been a happy kid, and they’d had fun together. Now he was angry most of the time. He hadn’t heard Dad’s parting words, as Abbie had, but it didn’t matter. Davy must still feel as rejected as Abbie did.
    â€œThat was an important phone call,” she tried to explain. “It was all about something I have to do to make up for what happened last night.”
    Davy clutched the remote control, but he didn’t turn on the television. He cocked his head, studying Abbie with curiosity. “You threw rocks at Dad and his girlfriend,” he said. “I heard some of what Mom said to Mrs. Erwin.”
    â€œI didn’t throw rocks at anybody,” Abbie told him. “Dad and … that woman had already driven off. I threw them at the front window of her apartment. I didn’t know she had a roommate and she’d be there.”
    Davy smiled. “I wish I’d seen that. I wish I’d