Free Unfriended by Rachel Vail

I could chat, but as I said I really have to study. Call me if you and Hazel need anything.”
    She left. I sat alone in the humongous kitchen, listening to the clock tick, wondering if I should call my dad and ask him to pick me up early. Last year my brother picked me up from friends’ houses on his way home from team practices. Just as I was walking out of the kitchen to get my phone, though, Hazel appeared in the doorway. She had a small jewelry box in her hands.
    â€œIs that the kind where, when you open it, tinkly music plays and a ballerina spins on her toe?” I asked.
    â€œYes,” Hazel said.
    â€œI had one of those when I was little,” I said.
    â€œWant to do a funeral?” Hazel asked.
    â€œIs he in there?” I asked.
    Hazel nodded.
    I followed her through the kitchen out into the huge backyard. Across a big green lawn, up a hill toward some evergreen trees, we came to a shed. “Hold this,” said Hazel, and she handed me the jewelry box/coffin.
    â€œOh,” I said, “Um, okay.”
    I waited outside the shed while she went in. I tried to be very still so I wouldn’t drop it, thinking about the dead bird body just inches from my fingers. Hazel came out wearing big green gloves and holding a small shovel.
    â€œReady to do this?” she asked me.
    â€œI don’t have any experience with death,” I admitted.
    â€œI didn’t think I did, either,” said Hazel. “I guess you never know.”
    â€œGood point.”
    I followed her to the evergreen trees. She knelt down beside one and started digging. I just stood there, carefully holding the jewelry box/coffin. When she was done, she said, “You can put him in.”
    â€œMaybe you should,” I suggested. “You’re the one, you know . . .”
    â€œThat’s okay,” she said.
    So I placed the box into the hole.
    â€œKneel down with me,” she whispered. “Please? I’ll be quick.”
    I knelt in the soft dirt. Usually at a friend’s house we play Ping-Pong or bake or watch stuff online.
    â€œI’m going to say some stuff, okay?”
    I nodded.
    Hazel took a deep breath. “Good-bye, Sweet Pea. I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were actually a series of birds. I’m sorry I wasn’t a good enough bird-owner, and you never learned to talk and you never flew anyplace interesting. You obviously had a boring and misunderstood life. I’m so sorry.” She sniffled.
    I was thinking she might start really crying again, and if she did, where would I find her mother? But she cleared her throat and turned to me. “Do you want to say anything?”
    â€œUh-uh.”
    â€œYou can. Just say whatever comes to mind.”
    â€œI’m not that good at saying things,” I whispered.
    â€œThat’s okay,” whispered Hazel. “He can’t really hear you anyway.”
    I turned and looked at her. She was sort of smiling at me. I sort of smiled back. Hazel closed her eyes and lowered her head again.
    I took a deep breath and said, “Um. Sweet Pea? Hi. Or . . . I mean, I guess . . . good-bye. Sorry. Too soon?”
    â€œNo,” Hazel said. “That’s right. Good-bye. Good night, Sweet Pea. And flights of angels something something. Keep going, Brooke. Please.”
    â€œOkay.” I closed my eyes and wished for words to come and giggles to not. “So, uh, Sweet Pea. I never knew you, you know, alive, and I honestly don’t know Hazel that well either—but, um, I think she really, kind of, loved you.”
    â€œI did,” mumbled Hazel with her eyes closed. “I did.”
    â€œSo, yeah,” I continued without a clue. “Well. Um. So. I was thinking maybe it would be nice, if you could, like, maybe show up in her dream some night, and fly with her. Because Hazel likes to imagine she’s flying. Anyway, um, thank you for, well, that’s