Free A Friend at Midnight by Caroline B. Cooney Page A

airport. I bet he couldn’t actually drive away. He tried to find Michael.”
    â€œNo. Because if he had tried, and he didn’t find Michael, he’d have called airport security.” Lily pictured her father driving away. Paying highway tolls. Stopping for takeout. Unlocking an empty apartment. Watching television. Staying up for the eleven o’clock news. Worrying about the situation in the Middle East.
    Not worrying about Michael.
    â€œI bet your father is suffering,” said Amanda. “Think of him, hundreds of miles from here, all day, all night, picturing his little boy alone and scared.”
    Lily took off her sunglasses and stared at Amanda.
    â€œRight,” said Amanda. “If he cared, he wouldn’t have left his little boy alone and scared to start with. How come your mom and Kells haven’t gotten to the bottom of this?”
    â€œThey’re e-mailing. Thank you, Dennis, for agreeing to ship Michael’s stuff. Best—Judith.”
    â€œSo she didn’t ask your father what happened and your father didn’t say. Did Michael tell you?”
    â€œI don’t think anything happened. I think Michael was just more effort than Dad felt like. You know little boys. Michael needed laundry and breakfast and dinner and help with his reading and chauffeuring and games and attention and conversation and snacks. And he said to me on the plane, he said—oh, Amanda!—he said,
I thought we would play catch.”
    â€œPoor Michael. How’s he doing?”
    â€œHe sort of isn’t doing. Just sitting there.” Lily felt strangely heavy, hanging on to everything that hurt Michael. No wonder Michael is just sitting there, she thought. He’s weighted down.
    Amanda slathered sunscreen on her legs and arms. “Still, Lily. Just because Dennis Rosetti is totally worthless, I’m not sure it means that God is. Let’s not say it out loud. God might strike us down.”
    â€œIf God planned to strike anybody,” said Lily, “and if there’s any justice in this world, He’d strike Dad. But no, Dad is fine.”
    â€œWell, you’re right,” said Amanda. “That is not fair.” She smacked the sunscreen bottle down on the tiles. She got on her knees. Then she tilted her head back and glared straight up into the sky.
    â€œWhat are you doing?”
    â€œI’m praying. I’m watching closely so God can’t wiggle to the side and pretend He doesn’t see me. God!” she yelled. Slippery with sunscreen, ponytail wet and tight, sunglasses sliding around, long thin arms sticking straight up like a gymnast about to break her back, she pointed accusingly upward. “God! Give us revenge! I suggest a slick spot on the road. Dennis Rosetti driving too fast and braking too late! A man who abandons his third grader at the airport, God, deserves to suffer and suffer and suffer and suffer! Or die. You choose.”
    Amanda lay back down on her towel.
    â€œAmen,” said Lily Rosetti.

chapter
7
    W ho could have guessed that hate would be so fierce, so alive?
    Lily had thought of “hate” as a verb for clothing (I hate pink) or school (I hate essays) or weather (I hate when it’s this hot). What a misuse of the word. Hate was a burning wilderness. It occupied her like an army.
    And the thing she could not get over was that Dennis Rosetti had no hate because he had no interest. His interest in Michael wasn’t even enough for short-term parking.
    Her Amen to Amanda’s prayer pounded like a snare drum in her ears and made it impossible to think. School, which had always been friendly and bland, was a carnivore, chewing on her. And for the first semester in their lives, Lily and Amanda had no classes together and did not see each other during the day. It was like walking without a floor.
    If this was life, Lily was staying home to watch television for the next fifty years.
    She was thinner. She