Violet Raines Almost Got Struck by Lightning by Danette Haworth Page B

Um . . .” She looks down, rolls a little dough, looks back up. “I don’t know if there’ll be time.”
    â€œWhat do you mean? I’ll just run and get my suit after we get these pies in.” No big deal.
    â€œWell, I mean, like—” She sets her rolling pin down and looks at me straight on. “Okay, don’t be mad, but Melissa invited me over to watch Paris Heights with her.”
    My eyes narrow into slits so thin I can barely see out of them. My cheeks turn into stone.
    Her shoulders droop. “Violet!”
    â€œWhat?” I say and purse my lips.
    â€œShe’s nice. I don’t know why you don’t like her.”
    â€œI never said that!”
    Lottie leans her head. “It kind of shows.”
    I look away from her so she can’t see that I know what she’s talking about. “She tries to be so glamorous all the time.”
    â€œShe thinks you have pretty eyes.”
    Okay, I do like hearing that. But still, I’m not giving up my best friend for “pretty eyes.” I shrug so’s Lottie can see I don’t care about that.
    She heaves a big sigh. “I’m allowed to have other friends, you know. You do.”
    I lay my perfect pie circle in a pan. I grit my teeth as I roll out the next ball. “No, I don’t.”
    â€œWhat do you call Eddie?” She settles a crust and rolls out another ball too. “Half the time you’re out doing something with him.”
    I roll faster, harder. “Eddie doesn’t count. He’s a boy. Besides, you don’t like doing some of the stuff we do.”
    We got the crusts in the pans and the tops rolled out. The windows darken as we work.
    â€œMaybe there’s stuff I like to do that you don’t like to do.” She pinches around the crust so the top and bottom’ll stay together. “I’m just saying that you have other friends and I don’t get mad about it.”
    It’s true. She don’t ever get mad when I’m out with Eddie. But like I said, Eddie’s a boy. Melissa’s trying to get my spot. I try to get the madness out of my face. It’s still in my heart, but I don’t want Lottie to know that. I just want everything to be like it always is. I grab the apples and a knife and start cutting. “I don’t see what’s so interesting about Paris Heights. ”
    Lottie laughs and grabs an apple. “You’ve never even seen it.”
    I am beginning to simmer. She knows Momma don’t allow me to watch programs like that. I use my knife like an ax. Chop. Chop. Chop. I’m done cutting apples. As we mix the apples with sugar and spices, a long train of thunder rumbles by.
    â€œI wonder if we’ll have time to bake these pies,” Lottie says.
    â€œPlenty of time,” I say. I dump the filling into both pans and we lay the tops on. “That thunder is far away.”
    Then it booms again.
    â€œI don’t know,” Lottie says, a worried look on her face. “Sounds like it’s getting louder to me.”
    Thunder drums in the clouds again. Irritation crosses over me. I know what she’s getting at. “You just want to hurry up and go to Melissa’s.”
    â€œNo, I don’t. I just don’t know if there’s time for these pies to bake before the storm starts.”
    â€œYou can’t tell when a storm’s going to hit? Well, I can tell you.” I grab the pies, open the oven, and slide them in. “It ain’t hitting now, so these pies are going in.” I slam the oven shut. Paris Heights will have to wait.
    I spin around and look at her. “What do you want to do now?” I ask. “We can’t go swimming.”
    Lottie fingers the ties at her neck. “Let me clean up this mess first.” She goes to the sink, looking out the dark window as she runs the water.
    A soft light flashes inside the clouds. One thousand one, one thousand two, one