The Pillow Friend Read Free Page A

never said so, and there were other ways for wishes to come true. She did want to open her presents, so she shrugged and nodded at her mother, and let Leslie link arms with her and pull her away.
    After the singing of “Happy Birthday,” as the flashbulb in her grandfather's camera popped, she blew out all seven candles with a single breath. Now she
had
to get her wish. She looked at the pile of presents and wondered which one held the doll.
    Leslie pinched her. “Go on.”
    “Which one should I open first?”
    “Mine, of course. I'm your best friend.” She pushed forward a tiny, pink-wrapped box which turned out to contain a round locket on a golden chain, just like the one Leslie wore, which was in turn just like the one Hayley Mills wore in
Pollyanna,
their favorite movie.
    “Oh, boy! It's just what I wanted!”
    “I know. I was afraid you were going to steal mine, that's why I got you one. Ha ha just kidding.”
    Her sisters both gave her books:
Charlotte's Web
from Rosamund, and
A Child's Garden of Verses
from Clarissa. The other gifts included a piano for the dollhouse, a Snoopy beach bag and towel, a jigsaw puzzle, a box of pencils, and bubble bath. Finally there was only one package left, the one she had been saving. It was obviously “the big one,” but it looked too big for her heart's desire.
    “Well, what are you waiting for? There's still one left,” said her mother. Her cheeks were flushed, her lipstick faded, and she was fanning herself with a Japanese paper fan.
    “Maybe she's had enough presents for today,” said her father. “You going to save that one for tomorrow? Or maybe you want to give it to somebody else?” He leaned across the table as if he would take it from her, and she tore the paper off in one jerky motion, and lifted the lid of a plain white box to see what was inside.
    Dead blue eyes in a hard pink plastic face glared at her, the finger of one hand pointed accusingly. Her chest went tight with shock.
    All around her the others were making noises of awe and delight. A flashbulb popped.
    “She talks,” said her father, his face gone soft and round in a big grin. “Pick her up; let's hear what she has to say.”
    When she still didn't move, Leslie reached past her and picked the thing up out of its box, speaking self-importantly: “I know how it works; I saw it on TV. There's a ring at the back of her neck that you can pull. Look, want me to show you?”
    There was a whirring sound and then an eerie, wavering voice declared, “I like you.”
    “What'd she say?” demanded one of the twins.
    “‘I wike you,'” replied the other, and they both hooted.
    “Please brush my hair.” The whirring sound of the ring-pull. “I like you.” Whirring sound. “Will you be my friend?”
    Agnes screamed.
    Everyone went quiet. Leslie pushed the doll into her arms. The horrible closeness with the dead, plastic body, her recollection of that ghastly, robotic voice grinding on, was more than she could bear, and she hurled it savagely to the ground.
    There was a reproving gasp from her grandmother. Leslie giggled. “Leslie,” said Leslie's mother sharply.
    “I'm sorry,” Leslie muttered.
    “Honey, what's wrong?”
    It was her father who asked, but she looked at her mother when she replied, at her mother who stopped fanning and turned a disapproving face away from her awkward daughter.
    “It's not real! That's not what I meant! I want a doll that really talks!”
    “This doll talks,” said her father. “At least, it does if you haven't broken it.”
    “It does not! It just says things, like a record. That's not talking. If I say something, it can't answer me back!”
    “I'd call that an improvement,” said her father. Then he sighed. “Look, Nessie, you're a big girl, you know dolls can't
really
talk. Maybe by the time you're grown up the scientists will give us walking, talking robots, but for now that's as good as it gets. It honestly is. I asked in the store, and although