The Adventures of Betty, the Most Lovable Girl in the World.

By Ari Melman Dedicated to Gavi Melman Table of Contents: Chapter One - Chapter One: Friendship is a Black-and-White Advert Chapter Two - Chapter Two: Hope in Honey Chapter Three - Chapter Three: Bravery in Bamboo Chapter Four - Chapter Four: Safety in Stories Chapter Five - Chapter Five: Cotton is Soul Candy Chapter Six: Mapping out Mischief Chapter Seven: Oh, Boy Chapter Eight: Cleaning is Caring Chapter Nine: Alien Ambrosia Chapter Ten: Dreaming Dark Delights Chapter Eleven: Rusty our Russian Relations Chapter Twelve: Where Babies Purr, Mothers Roar Chapter Thirteen: Pickled Pride for Peaceberg Chapter Fourteen: A Well for Swell Friends Chapter Fifteen: Play Along Parents Chapter Sixteen: Set Off Sisters Chapter Seventeen: Log-Lie Lane Chapter Eighteen: Hear Hear, The Heroine Here Chapter Nineteen: Neighborhood Versus Dad Chapter Twenty: Tangled Twine Chapter Twenty One: Unraveled Chapter Twenty Two: Victory Shaded Velvet Chapter Twenty Three: Going, Going, Gone Chapter Twenty Four: I Am Security 1 7 15 22 27 ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ?? ??

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CHAPTER ONE Chapter One: Friendship is a Black-and-White Advert

Betty was a strange little girl. Instead of playing with dolls, or doing up her hair with beads and pretty ties, Betty liked to do housework. She didn't have much choice in the matter. As the youngest of five children, all girls, she had two choices. Either she enjoy doing all their chores, or bitterly, ineffectively complain. Betty had never known any other way to live in a family. Her sisters had not wasted any time in transferring their responsibilities. At four months, when her fingers were just strong enough to grasp and hold onto objects, instead of fingers and binkies and dandelions, they handed Betty a small broom. At nine months, Betty uttered her first word. Mom told all her friends that she said "sleep", wasn't that the cutest thing?, but the sisters knew better. For what Betty was really repeating, like a meditative

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mantra defining the rest of her days, was "sweep." When she was old enough to walk, her sisters hailed this age of new jobs they could give her. They'd stack all their dirty clothes over her neck until she looked quite like a walking laundry heap. For her second birthday, they bought her a stool so she could climb up onto the washer, which loomed over her twice as tall, and start the wash. The drying rack was her monkey bars, and as she dangled above the ground, she'd shake her head making clothes fall onto the string. Mother told her friends with great pride. "My Betty is such a good influence on her older sisters. Ever since she was born, they've worked harder than ever to keep the place clean. They must really love her to want such a clean house for her to grow up in." But why were her sisters so selfish? Why would they make their little sister do all the work while they talked on their phones, watched TV, tried on new hairstyles and played on the playgrounds? If you have to ask, you've clearly never had older siblings. Being an older sibling is

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like being a queen all these servants who look up to you just waiting to follow your every command. If parents don't watch carefully and make all the children do their share, every older sibling would act exactly as these girls had. Betty never complained. She didn't know better. And mom and dad never asked. It does nobody any good to meddle when things are going well better not to question and enjoy. So day after day, week after week, year after year, Betty kept the house cleaner than it had ever been without asking for anything in return. Until one Sunday morning, as she cleared the Sunday circulars off the kitchen table in her hands, the most incredible flyer slipped from the comic pages. With years of trained reflexes, she caught the floating advert between his fourth finger and pinkie, her only free fingers. It read: "Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, prepare yourself for the most extraordinary event in this history of the American Girl Panda Bear Collection. To celebrate fifty years of supreme craftsmanship, the finest stuffed

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animals the world has ever seen, and a reputation for fulfilling the greatest childhood memories, we'll be bringing every American Girl Panda Bear in America together for three days of unprecedented joy and love. As you all know, American Girl Panda Bears are the most exclusive, hand-knit, soft and loving stuffed animals in the world. Each bear is carefully stitched by hand in a process that takes a full month! Each bear is custom designed for its owner. Standing at three feet, they quickly become companions for life. To celebrate the finest achievement in childhood wonder, we're flying in every owner of an American Girl Panda Bear for three days of enchantment. Every Panda bear under a single roof! If that wasn't enough, one lucky girl

or boy will receive a special edition fiftieth anniversary American Girl Panda Bear absolutely free. As you know, they usually retail for $2000 so the recipient will be very happy indeed. th

Address: Intercontinental Hotel, 55

and Lawrence

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Ave. Date: Sunday, June 20" Betty had never wanted anything in her life as badly as this. Even though she had never spent much time with stuffed animals or dolls, deep down in her heart she wanted one who could be her best friend after all the work was done. And just like choosing a best friend or a spouse, the perfect stuffed animal couldn't be chosen willy-nilly. It had to be perfect! Finally, she had found the perfect friend, but it was so expensive her mother would never approve. Besides, even if she managed to buy it, her sisters would just take it for themselves. It had to be gotten in such a way that the whole world knew it belonged to Betty and Betty alone. If only she could go to the American Girl Panda Bear festival. She tucked the flyer into her elastipants. Then she began plotting how she could convince the family to let her go. Mom would say yes, as long as the house stayed clean while she was gone. So the big issue was convincing her sisters to keep clean for three days without her.

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That was harder than it sounds: once, she had stayed three hours late at school to study for a test. When she got home, there were clothes all over the house, banana peels and candy bar wrappers strewn across the floor. Dirty dishes in every bedroom and dirty napkins piled high on the kitchen table. Working by herself, it took three hours just to get everything back to normal. Would they even still be alive if she left for three days? So she'd need to bribe them, convince them to tone down their messy ways while she was gone. It would take six tons of honey, a handful of hair braids, and a slip and slide.

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CHAPTER TWO Chapter Two: Hope in Honey

Fortunately, the Friday of the convention was her third oldest sister's birthday. While Betty's sisters slept late, she woke up an extra hour early to prepare her sister's birthday celebration, baking a funfetti cake with sprinkles and extra cream to fill the house with the smell of loveliness. She laid the slip-and-slide across the backyard grass, turned the nozzle of the water hose covering the front of the slide. But not the back half. No way, no how. She had special plans for that. She rolled the six jugs of honey over, each taller and wider than she was. She had found them last week by the expressway leading to her house. A few early mornings and she'd rolled them home. With a devilish grin, she opened the tops and poured the honey all over the slipand-slide.

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It was so thick and gooey that it rose high above the ground, wobbling tenuously, waiting to consume unsuspecting approachers or be consumed by the hungry. When the sisters awoke, Betty invited them for cake and birthday games. They pushed and shoved, struggling to get everything first. "I'm the birthday girl. I should get the first slice of cake!" Ashley squealed. "I'm the oldest, therefore I rule over you all and I say I eat first." Olivia ordered. "I'm the most sensitive to germs. If I don't get the first slice, the cake will be exposed to all sorts of gross bugs. I need the first slice." Margarette whined. "It's my day for special favors. Everybody else got their special favor days. My special favor is getting cake first!" Young Valentine chimed. "Oldest first." Isabel, the second oldest sister reasoned. Of course, none of the sisters could agree on who would get first so they all grabbed as much cake as they

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could and stuffed it into their mouths as quickly as possible. Nobody bothered to thank Betty for baking the cake, but she didn't mind. She was happy to see how much they enjoyed it. While the crumbs were still falling from their lips, the sisters turned toward the slip-and-slide. It was so shiny and wet. Everyone wanted a try. Once again, they all wanted to be first, for all the same reasons. They fought and clawed and yelled but just as before, what decided it was when everyone ran and jumped toward the slide at the same time. The water splashed into the grass in waves that upturned anthills as the girls slid faster, faster with glee upon their faces. By the time they noticed the towering honey, it was too late to move out of the way. Splat! The girls stuck to the matted honey. They tried to lift their hands. Globs of honey swished across them. Their bodies and legs sunk like quicksand beneath the mountain of sweet orange goo and it took all their energy to keep their heads from falling in too. Betty came over with four baby bottles of water

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and placed one next to each sister's mouth. "What's the meaning of this? Let us out!" Olivia cried. "It's only for three days while I'm away. The honey has plenty of nutrition for food and makes a warm blanket. We wouldn't want the house to fall down without me." "This is the worst birthday ever!" Ashley yelled. "Well, it sure will be if you keep screaming like that." Betty said. "Maybe you can take the time to get to know each other." But the sisters would have none of Betty's logical, rehearsed words. They screamed and cried and threatened revenge. Betty took the watery side of the slide and draped it over her sisters. Their cries immediately muffled under the tarp. Mom would just think there were some stray animals loose. "Hi mom. I'm ready to go!" Betty said cheerfully as she walked back inside. "The house looks so clean honey. Get in the car,

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I'll drive you to the bus station." Mom said. In no time at all, young Betty was a hundred miles from home in New Heathen City. Interesting people glittered before her from the moment she entered the American Girl th

Panda Bear 50

anniversary collection convention. Women of

all ages, with makeup drawn boldly around their eyes all the way up to their ears. It was supposed to make them look like panda bears, but truth be told, they looked more like freaky aliens. Always in two shades of color, they slapped on purple and black, green and orange. Black and white if they were particularly uncreative. Covered with mounds of glitter and sequins. Betty had never seen anybody like them, and she knew instantly, she wanted in. She was surprised to see so few little boys and girls there, but it made sense. Of the thousand owners of American Girl Panda Bears, 800 were full grown women, 180 were full grown men, and only twenty were young boys and girls. After all, a stuffed panda is a lifelong companion. A fifty-five year old woman with a crooked nose, hairs like

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dead autumn grass, and ears as shiny black as an oil spill smiled and waved at Betty. She held her panda bear's hand and puppeteered it to wave too. Betty felt a rush of warmness coming through her. She smiled back and held her gaze until the woman sided to the clothing accessories booth. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. It is now time for the main event. The great American Girl Panda Bear collection convention competition. Three challenges to discover the greatest Panda friend among us, with one deserving winner coming home with their own custom designed special edition Panda Bear. Sign up at the booth but beware, you can't refuse any challenge, and they will test you as you've never been tested before. Choose wisely." Larry the announcer was a tall wiry man in a white fur coat and black galoshes. He walked toward the stage in the back of the conference hall, sheparding flocks of panda-faced people behind him. He looked like the kind of man as likely to lead a three-ring circus as be top sales man at the Wringley bubble gum confectionary. Equally drawn

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to fun as he was drawn to controlling people. He had constantly tried to blow himself up, projecting the greatness of mass and success he could never achieve in that skinny skin. The contestants signed away their liabilities and lined up on stage. In total, only two hundred of the thousand attendees registered to participate. They were old and satisfied. Another panda in the family would be too much to take care of, and most weren't confident they could do a proper job of making the panda feel part of the family. They had their own pandas, and they loved them, and that was enough. But Betty didn't have any panda. She didn't even have parents that would tuck her in at night, or sisters that would walk her across the street to meet the ice cream truck. There was nobody in the entire world that Betty could open up to, and she had a very big place in her heart for the panda that could fill it.

"Step right up, contestants. Don't be shy.

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For on this first challenge, you'll get sick but not die. We've got such lovely bamboo here, picked right from the tree. Just the kind that pandas love to eat. So prove to your fellow bears just how much you care. Eat the entire stick, make it disappear!"

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CHAPTER THREE Chapter Three: Bravery in Bamboo

The contestants grabbed their sticks and began to barrel away at it. Turner the Terrible had been a Coney Island sideshow act for twenty long years, bitterly entertaining children by swallowing swords and letting small children staple ten dollar bills to his chest. Now, it all paid off as he suppressed his gag reflex, lowered the entire tube of bamboo down to his stomach, and let his stomach acids do the breaking down for him. Sylvia Silinca karate chopped the bamboo and gritted it between her teeth until it had the consistency of sand. Her taste buds had stopped working thirty-five years earlier after chugging a cup of hot coffee on a bet. She won thirty dollars from her coworkers and would claim the bet was worth it, but poor Sylvia had no more taste buds or vocal cords. She whispered out death, secretly

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screaming for someone to pour her heart out to, one who would sit and listen all day with nothing but praise for her ways. Thus dedicated, she ate the bamboo without protest. As for young Betty, she did as she always did when given clear instructions for a task most disturbing and unfair. She took out her handy pocket fork and knife, cutting and eating the bamboo branch one piece at a time. Mom had told the girls they must clear their plates before leaving the table, but as she was always the first to leave, on call with her various girl friends, the older sisters simply piled their unwanted leftovers on Betty's plate. Always obedient and cheerful, Betty simply learned to enjoy cold asparagus and chicken-bone strewn skins and broccoli. The bamboo wasn't worse or better than anything she'd had to eat before, so she grinned her way through it without a word. Onlookers were delighted at the victors' success, for they were surely in the minority. Boris the lifelong bachelor looked at the bamboo for so long even the bamboo

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started to get uncomfortable. Then he nibbled at it cautiously, and finding something slightly distasteful, put it down and complained to Larry that all the other contestants got bamboo so much riper and fresher. Booted. Coral, the fifty year old woman who still thought of herself in her younger days, those being when she was five years old, stuck the stick up her nose and expected the bamboo to do the hard part of chewing itself. When she

realized the stick wasn't moving, she threw a tantrum until she too was thrown off the stage. In total, one hundred thirty five contestants couldn't get past the bamboo challenge. But enough talk about the failures you're far more interested in the champions. Sigh. You fussy readers should know Both Coral and Boris had written TV scripts detailing their lives. Both thought of themselves as stars in a television show aired every day, not on their screens but through their eyes. Their lives were so interesting, so full of misadventures, yet just like their TV scripts before, they were kicked off the stage and not another word was said of

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them. "Ok contestants. Time up. Everyone put your bamboo sticks down. If you're still around, that means you advance to the next challenge. Oh, isn't panda life grand? Come out back everybody, our next challenge is set up outside." He led them through the auditorium to a door with a disabled red 'Emergency Exit Only' sign above it. Instead of finding an empty lot with trashcans as Betty expected, she saw towering trees as high as the third story of their hotel. They were bamboo once again, with heavy branches sticking out in all directions like a topsy-turvy porcupine. "To appreciate the hardships of a Panda, one must learn to move their way. Climb one tree, cross the bamboo branches and climb down the other side. Those that make it back down on their own merit will move on to the final round." Dozens of middle aged women, a handful of greying men, and Betty raced toward the trees. Turner the terrible wrapped his giant hands around the trunk and began to climb

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but he kept getting jammed. Looking down toward his stomach, he realized with horror that he hadn't taken his most recent batch of stapled bills out of him. Letting kids staple his skin made him the wealthiest street performer in town, but it always left him sore for a day after he took them out. Too sore to suffer scraping up a tree. This left Turner the Terrible in a tricky situation. He continued to catch on small branches and unsmoothed trunk, as parts of his abdomen hung onto the tree while his hands tried desperately to ascend. He wiggled and wormed, slid and squirmed, until he could do so no more. Turner the Terrible's staples were so stuck across the tree that he could move no more. Booted. A fat bald man whose name was too difficult for Larry to pronounce climbed over Turner and continued upwards. Meanwhile, forty contestants were still trying desperately to get more than three feet off the ground. They kept jumping up and sliding down like firemen. But the only fire here was burning in their hearts, and it was quickly extinguishing.

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Betty grabbed the trunk and slid down like the rest. She looked up past the leaves and branches, to where she needed to go. Think like a panda. This time, when she jumped up the trunk, she bit with her two front teeth as hard as she could. Crunch, went the trunk. Tastes just like bamboo, Betty confirmed. Using her teeth as a third arm, she climbed higher and higher. As light as she was, the branches held her easily without swaying, and she crossed comfortably. This time, only fifteen people accomplished the challenge, making it to the third round. Only the most dedicated, panda-like people remained. Betty gulped down her fear then followed Larry back onto the stage inside. She smiled at him, but he ignored her. An announcer had to be impartial, after all. "Now, audience, you may have been watching the contestants thinking, why is that announcer going so easy on them? I could do a much better job of picking the true panda person than he could. Well, now I leave the fur in your coat. For the last test, contestants will explain why

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they deserve the American Girl Panda Bear Collection Convention Special Edition Bear. Applaud and circle contestants after they share their stories. May the most heartwarming win!"

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CHAPTER FOUR Chapter Four: Safety in Stories

Nearly 1,000 men and women clutching their panda bears encircled the remaining contestants. They all looked so strange with their colored glitter makeup around the eyes. To Betty, as they stomped, jeered, and stared with teeth bared, they were hunting predators, not the warm family looking to adopt someone new into their midst. If she had anyone to turn to, she would have run off the stage right there. But there was nobody waiting for her. A thirty-year-old man in the circle stood up first. He wore red suspenders and a straw hat with enough thistles sticking out to feed a horse. His face was flushed with the red stains of someone who ate an entire cherry pie forehead first. "My name's Cleo. I've been a farm boy all my life. When I was five years old, my best friend was a pig named

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Charles. Charles and I would roll around in the mud for hours, snorting and honking each other's noses, racing to the fence and back. I'd stick stickers on his back and he'd flip me into the grass until I was green. We were inseparable. Then one night, dad made the most delicious dinner for us. Pork loins with cranberry sauce. I must've eaten more that night than all week combined. He said he'd just signed a deal with a county distributer and we'd be selling more than ever. But I never saw Charles again. It took me a long time to get over the loss of my best friend. But when I was eight, I met Calvin the Cow. Calvin was so good at learning tricks. He would moo when I told him to speak. He would chew grass when I told him to chew. He would even play dead whenever I tipped him over. We would lie in the fields for hours, just talking and making mud pies. Calvin could even make his own mud. Then one day, dad was so excited, he told us all about his new business partner who was going to make him rich. We had him over for dinner that night, and we had the

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most delicious steaks my dad has ever grilled. And I never saw Calvin again. It was many years before I could make another friend. Every time I started to get close, I was afraid dad was watching in wait to part me from the ones I loved. So I grew up into the teen years, milling the hay and collecting sheaves of wheat for the horses. But that all changed on my twenty-second birthday. We got a new litter of lambs. The moment I saw her, we were in best friend love. We'd baaaaaa' at the moon, snuggle up at bedtime, even eat dinner out of the same bowl. But even though I could keep dad out of my dreams, I couldn't keep him out of the pen. After a few months, dad was serving lamb at our table, and I had no one left to talk to. All I want is a best friend my dad can't eat. The American Girl Panda Bear is stuffed with genuine Egyptian cotton, tender enough to sleep with but too firm for dad to digest. Could you please make this poor farm boy's dreams come true, and give him the friend his parents never

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could?" Everyone awed in sympathy, with polite applause. They cared, but not enough to want him to win. Something about his story made them feel if his dad hadn't wanted him to have a best friend, it was best not to stand in the way. Three other contestants shared their stories, all of which were much too ordinary to share with you now. The usual sadness and sense of belonging that everyone feels at some point or another. And then, all eyes turned to Betty, who had been so caught up with everyone else's stories that she quite forgot to prepare her own. If only they didn't live so far away, she would have given anything to be friends with them. But now Larry was calling her name on the microphone, louder each time with a hint of aggravation growing. "Betty, if you don't talk soon, we'll be forced to disqualify you. Which would be an awful shame, considering you're the only child to have qualified for the final round." "I don't...." Betty choked out a whisper. She'd

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never talked very much, seeing as how nobody had shown interest in hearing her. Words sounded foreign in her. "You'll have to speak up. Nobody can hear you." "I don't have..." Betty said, still far too quietly.

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CHAPTER FIVE Chapter Five: Cotton is Soul Candy

"You don't have what? A story? A microphone? A special edition collector's contingent American Girl Panda Bear? Speak up girl, speak up!" "I don't have any friends!" She cried. "Oh." Larry said. But now that the first words were out, Betty couldn't stop. It was like a single log had been removed from a dam and the flow had broken. "I don't have any friends. I don't have any friends. I do all the work for my sisters and mother and father and nobody likes me. Any doll I get is from the trashcan after my sisters throw it away and as soon as they see me with it, they rip its head off just to be mean. I know life isn't fair and I'm not angry with them, but they have friends.

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I only want one friend. One friend I could call my own. A friend nobody could claim was theirs because everyone who's anyone would know it's mine. A friend I could tell all my secrets to, who we could climb up to the highest trees and eat softly from the bamboo leaves, who'd hide away when trouble was near and comfort me in my darkest fears. Whose hug would melt nightmares and stomach would always be open to share. From the moment I saw, I knew nothing could compare to an American Girl Collection Panda Bear." Betty's face was covered in tears. Her body shook like a hummingbird, each limb turning numb individually in order to tell her brain to cool it with all the talking. It was all she could focus on until the clapping hit her. Not the polite clapping from before, from all those sad lonely stories before her, but real, excited momentous applause, the kind reserved for last second winning touchdowns and gold-medal Olympic gymnastics. The crazy ladies were smearing their makeup as lines of purple and black poured from their eyes to their chins. The crowd circled around

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Betty, pushing the other contestants to the sides. They chanted, "We will bear with you, as true as bamboo." Larry spoke up, "It seems the crowd has spoken. But to be fair, there are ten other contestants who have yet to go. Would any still like to share their stories, or can we declare Betty the winner?" The contestants looked from the crowd to each other and surrendered to the excitement. Nobody had the heart to wrestle a friend from a girl so in need of love. One by one, they offered Larry their resignations and joined the crowd. And as each one joined, the crowd's cheers grew louder. "Just one cock-a-doodle peacocking feather of a minute. You haven't heard from the great Queen Mathus of Ulickistein. Quit your gloating and parading, I've worked far too hard to be besmirched now." The crowd turned and glowered at the Queen. Her voice crowed, hanging onto random words for far too long, mixing up expressions in tongue-twisted finesse. She wore a tiara

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studded with diamonds, a long blue frock with floral pattern, and a scarf of so many colors that Betty wondered if it fell off a rainbow. Her neck was as long as a Condor's wing, covered in multi-colored scarves to more properly resemble a homeless person's idea of rich people. She was covered in so many layers, a collage of ten crazy cat ladies rolled into one. And while the entire crowd slowly realized their jubilant celebrations were premature, she addressed them. "I've worked faaaaaar too long a slave in the city, dreaming ever since I was a young-in' even squatter than that girl to have a friend as close as you all. You think life's so difficult for a little girl with no friends? I've been without friends all my life. You think this princess thing comes easy? All I got is a bunch of cock-a-mamey twobit suitors and a legion of enemies who dream of taking over my kingdom. This slimey goo-ball plays you for chumps. I'm the real victim here." Nobody knew how to respond, as all eyes turned to Larry to lead. He gave the why-are-you-looking-at-me? shrug, then

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did his best to respond. "It sounds like you've had a tough life, Queen Mathus." "You don't know the half of it buddy. The witch Burma of Shikelstein is always poking around my palace, trying to put the bread in the bathwater, isn't that crazy? She thinks she can light the fireplace without a fuse. Well this will show her. Hahahahaha." "I'm not sure I follow you." "Pickles on my windowsill are one thing, but ending a contest I bothered to put on my formals for. Well, you sure know how to sour one's mood." "Listen, Queen Mathus of Upickabean." "Ulickistein, you fool." "...Right. Ulicisteinufool. We at American Girl make it our number one priority to have one hundred percent satisfaction with all our loving fans. What could we do, other than letting you win this contest, to make you the happiest girl in the world?" "What does a Queen want? To wade through the jungles of her own front yard without being harassed by invaders

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saying, 'You're a blight on the neighborhood Mathus. Get that grass cut already.' To have someone by who joins in adventures through the murky swamps of backyardia. A knight to slice mosquitos in half when they stand in the way of our treasure. Will you be my sidekick knight, Larry?" The crowd went wild for that idea, holding their Pandas above their shoulders and clapping their paws in silent applause. Larry squirmed his professionalism was being compromised. "Queen's are rich, right Mathus? Why don't you just buy an American Girl Panda Queen Mathus stuttered. "You can do that? My mother always told me 'money can't buy you love'. Are you saying she lied to me?" "It sounds to me like your mother didn't want you spending money. Almost every person in this room bought their American Girl Collection Panda Bear, and look how happy they are." Larry waved his arm over the throngs of smiling, make-up drenched adults in the crowd. "Don't you want to be like them?"

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"I do I do. I had no clue. Making a friend is as easy as one, two." She whipped out a credit card rubber banded to her furry rainbow scarf. The crowd roared with delight, and Mathus roared back. Larry handed off the card to a service representative. On his way back, he whispered to Betty. "Don't believe everything you see. Money only buys happiness when everyone else has given up on you. You should never depend on money for love." "But she looks so happy." Betty said, as Mathus clutched her brand new American Girl Panda Bear. Mathus smiled radiantly at the crowd and they lifted their Pandas to welcome her into their group hug. "She found friends." Larry said. Then picking up the microphone to address the crowd, he said. "Without further adieu, I am thrilled to announce the winner of this extraordinary American Girl Collection Convention Competition. We are surrounded by the Panda elites, and this little girl has proven herself among the top ranks. We can all look forward to seeing her climb to ever-greater

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heights. Please join me in welcoming Betty Hassen!" The crowd lifted Betty up and passed her around, above the heads of all. She floated on the fluff of a thousand custom stuffed, Panda Bears, each of whom had been absorbing the emotional power of a combined best friend diary for decades. The warmth and comfort atop cotton was incomparable. For the first time in her life, Betty felt full. The crowd wave cruised Betty back to the stage, where her Panda awaited her. Panda wore green suspenders and a blue belt imprinted in cursive gold lettering: American Girl Best Friend For Life. His face held a black nose curved toward two black eyes and a straight-laced mouth that said, tell-me-more. His hands and feet were lined with surface sensitive Velcro, able to attach to its owner instantly while easy to peel off. Betty hugged her Panda with instant attachment. Betty came home with a framed plaque asserting her unique relationship with Panda. Her sisters had given up on squirming but, finding conversation beyond taunts tiring, spent all three days listing things and people they

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disliked. By the time Betty came home, her number one place had been practically forgotten by the dozens of others who had filled the time. "This is my Panda. If you hurt him or take him from me, there are a thousand adults who will help me. Everyone knows he is mine. I will keep doing your laundry and we never mention this weekend again. Deal?" "Alright, fine, whatever. Just let us out of here already. Do you know how long it's going to take to get this honey out of my hair?" Olivia said. "Happy Birthday Ashley!" Betty said. Finally, everything was as it should.

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