The Rooftop Pact

My name is Clara, and I’m nine now, but I remember the summer I turned six like it was yesterday. We lived in a yellow house with a flat roof, the kind you could climb onto from the porch if you were brave. That summer, I had a friend named Mellie. Only I could see her. She had long brown hair and wore a red dress that never got dirty, and she always smiled like she knew a secret.

Mellie was with me everywhere. We’d swing on the tire swing in the backyard, play pretend in the tall grass, and she’d sit with me at breakfast, though she never ate. At school, she sat in the empty chair beside me during circle time. The teacher would just shrug when I’d whisper to Mellie. The other kids thought I was weird, but they didn’t care much until gym class.

It was a Thursday, not a Saturday, but Mellie was there, on the gym floor with us. We were playing dodgeball, and Mellie was on my team. I lobbed a ball at the other side, and it missed. Then, from across the gym, a boy named Derek shouted, ‘Hey, Mellie’s out! She got hit!’ The ball had grazed her shoulder, and she’d stumbled back. I looked at her, and her face changed. Her smile faded into a flat line. Then, she pulled a knife out of nowhere, a shiny silver blade. ‘Watch out!’ I screamed, ‘Mellie has a knife!’ Everyone just laughed. ‘Give it up, Clara! Mellie’s not real!’ someone yelled. But I saw her clearly, holding that knife, pointing it at the kids who were laughing.

Then the bell rang. Gym was over. Mellie slipped the knife away, and her smile returned. She skipped beside me to the lunchroom, and I couldn’t stop trembling. At home, I told my mom about Mellie’s knife, but she just said, ‘Honey, you have such an imagination.’ I wished she could see Mellie, but only I could.

Saturdays were special. Mellie was brighter, more solid, and she would talk more. One Saturday morning, we were sitting on the porch step, watching the ants. Mellie looked at me with those dark eyes and said, ‘Clara, do you want to be best friends forever?’ I nodded. ‘Then you have to jump off the roof. If you jump, you’ll fly, and we’ll be together forever.’ She said it so sweetly, like it was a game. I didn’t want to fly; I was scared. But I wanted to be her best friend.

That afternoon, I climbed onto the roof. The shingles were warm. I walked to the edge, looking down at the driveway. Mellie was below, waving up at me. ‘Come on, Clara! Jump!’ My mom saw me from the kitchen window. She dropped her coffee and ran outside. ‘Clara, no!’ She was right underneath me, reaching up. I hesitated, and Mellie called again, ‘Jump, and we’ll be together!’ I leaned forward, and my mom grabbed my sleeve. I dangled in the air, and then my dad burst out of the house and caught me in his arms.

After that, my mom took me to a doctor, a tall man with glasses. They asked me about Mellie. I told them she was my best friend, but that she had gone away. I didn’t tell them that Mellie visited me on rainy days, sitting on my windowsill, saying, ‘You almost made it, Clara. But don’t worry, you’ll be ready next time.’ I’ve never told a soul. But I know she’s still there, and someday, I’ll be brave enough to jump.

Now, when I pass the yellow house, I don’t look up at the roof. I keep my eyes down. But at night, I hear a tapping on my window, and I know it’s her. Melly, my best friend, waiting for the day I’ll finally join her.