It was never like this with my old boyfriend, Mike, even when we were dating, but I can’t stop myself. And even though I know I’m building this out of nothing more than a few friendly words, I’ve become suddenly — painfully — aware of his every move.
“More soda?”
I flinch, startled at Reeve’s offer, and send a stack of DVD cases tumbling to the ground.
“Graceful,” Fiona informs me. She’s lying flat out on the living-room floor at the Johnsons’, emptying crumbs from a pack of cookies into her mouth. We’re nearing the end of our Kudos sci-fi marathon, with Grady sprawled on the cream carpet nearby and Ethan lounging on one of the floral print armchairs.
Reeve is sitting on the couch with me.
“Umm, no thanks,” I tell him, scrambling to pick up the mess. “I’m good.”
Good is stretching it; a wreck might be closer to the truth. All evening, I’ve been frozen in place, hyper-aware of his body and the tiny section of his jeans touching my leg. Every time he shifts for snacks or the remote, I can’t help wondering: Is he leaning closer on purpose? Did that nudge mean anything at all? Does this mean he’s comfortable around me or that he couldn’t care less? I don’t think I’ve ever focused so much on three square inches in my life.
“I could use another drink,” Ethan adds, not lifting his head.
“And if you find any more of those brownies —” Grady burps, the floor around him already littered with junk-food debris.
“Dude, get off your ass.” Reeve kicks him as he steps over their bodies.
“Mnueh.”
As he disappears toward the kitchen, I look around, checking that nobody has seen my awkwardness. But they’re all lolling back, eyes glazed by hours of TV. I try to relax, stretching the muscles that have been set, tense, for hours now. I never realized crushing on a guy could be so exhausting, but the amount of extra effort it takes to act totally casual around Reeve is wiping me out.
“You know, we should probably get going soon,” I tell Fiona, noticing the digital display on the TV with some relief. “It’s nearly ten thirty.”
“So?” She shrugs.
“So, Susie said to be back by then.” It’s only after I reply that I realize my reason will probably have her camped out here until dawn.
Sure enough, Fiona reaches for the next disc.
“Fiona.” I sigh as Reeve wanders back in the room. I pause, distracted. His faded gray shirt hangs close to his torso, and he gives me a half smile, holding up the six-pack of soda.
“Last chance?”
I shake my head. He breaks off cans to toss to the other boys and then collapses back next to me, utterly relaxed. “Where are we up to — episode fifteen, sixteen?”
“The girls might bail.” Ethan looks over, questioning.
I pause, torn. I don’t want to cause problems with Susie, but if Reeve is staying . . .
“Fine!” Fiona exclaims suddenly, as if I’ve been nagging her for hours. “We’ll go now.” She gets to her feet and pulls on a hooded sweater. “You so better not watch any without me,” she tells the boys before stalking out of the room, leaving a mess of wrappings and empty cans on the floor.
“Sorry,” I apologize tiredly, leaping up. “See you tomorrow?”
“Maybe.” Ethan nods. “We might be heading into Kamloops with Dad. I’ll call or something.”
“Later, Jenna.” Reeve nods. Grady makes a noise of agreement as I grab my bag and hurry out.
“Fiona, wait up!”
I catch up with her out on the road. It’s dark outside, but she’s not using our mandated flashlights; instead, she just kicks at gravel with her hands deep in her front pocket.
“That was kind of rude,” I say cautiously, falling into step beside her. The warm glow of the Johnsons’ neighbors’ light melts away behind us, and I shiver — I’m still wary of wandering around here after dark. “We should have stayed to help clean up.”
“So why didn’t you? Oh, right, I forgot, you have to get home to your precious Susie.” Her voice sneers on the last word. It’s nothing but the same bitchy crap I’ve been dealing with all month, but for once, something in me snaps.
“What the hell is your problem?” I exclaim. Moving quickly to block her way, I demand, “Seriously, this spoiled brat thing of yours is getting ridiculous.”
Fiona rolls her eyes and tries to push past me, but I stand firm in the middle of the dark road. Jeremiah B. Coombes would probably tell me to flee the wild beast and retreat to safety, but I’m sick of tolerating all her crap. No more.
“I mean it,” I insist. “What’s going on? I get that you’re angry and you miss your mom, but don’t you want Adam to be happy?”
“I want him to be happy, just not with her.” Fiona glares back at me. It’s the kind of stare that would wither anyone in their tracks, but I have a jolt of adrenaline running through me now, and I won’t quit so easily.
“So what happens if you get your way? Do you really think that will make things better? Your dad will just have another divorce on his hands, and you’ll find something else to bitch about.”
“Nope.” She smiles tightly. “That would pretty much solve everything.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “Would you listen to yourself? I’d understand if Susie was the wicked stepmother or something, but she’s awesome. Really amazing, and she’s falling over herself to give you everything you want!”
“She shouldn’t be here,” Fiona replies stubbornly.
I throw my hands up. “But she is! And if you don’t think the way you act hurts her, you’re wrong. And that goes for me too,” I add, quieter. I’ve been tiptoeing around her for too long. “You’ve been mean since I got here, and I’m sick of it, Fiona.”
“And . . . ?” she drawls, extra-sarcastic, like she’s just trying to show how insignificant my feelings are.
“And if you keep going like this, you’ll end up with nobody!”
Fiona seems unmoved. I wonder if she cares about anyone here. She’s got to. Nobody can get by without friends, especially way out here where there’s nobody for company for another fifty miles in any direction. “The way you bitch at us all the time — Ethan, Reeve, Grady . . . You know it sucks,” I say bluntly, spying my opening. It may not matter what Susie and I think, but the others . . . ? And sure, they tolerate it for now, but one of these days, they’ll get sick of it, too, and then you’ll be left alone. Is that what you want? Really?”
Fiona is looking at me defiantly, but I think I see something flicker in her expression.
Or maybe that’s just sheer rage.
“Think about it.” I sigh, backing away. “You just keep acting like the same spoiled, selfish brat you always do, and see who’s around to be your friend.” Now it’s my turn for sarcasm. Crossing my arms, I begin to stride away, but not before I turn back with one last warning. “Either way, for now you’re stuck with me!”
I soon find that instead of making things better, my fight with Fiona unleashes, well, hell. Her tantrums go from loud to epic, the door-slamming never ends, and over the next three days, Susie is reduced to tears on two different occasions. My headache is most definitely back.
When I head downstairs the morning after a particularly obnoxious fight (in which Fiona screamed that she wished Susie was, and I quote, “mauled by wolves”) and find her sitting at the breakfast nook, eating Cocoa Puffs, my heart sinks. I grab some cereal and try to assemble breakfast before she breaks out with another chorus of “I hate you/you’re evil/life isn’t fair!”
“Morning,” Fiona says, not looking up.
I stop dead.
“Umm, hey?” Shooting her a glance, I check for a scowl and sarcasm, but she just looks . . . normal. Almost relaxed.
I edge closer. “How are you?”
“OK.” She shrugs, returning to her book, but I can’t believe the change. Deciding to push my luck, I actually sit down at the table and pour myself a bowl. Yesterday’s paper is folded on the side, so we sit there, readi
ng in companionable silence for a moment, while I try to figure out what’s going on. Our fight was days ago, and it’s not like she would ever care about my feelings. I pause. Maybe not mine, but that stuff I said about the others . . . ?
Perhaps I finally got through to her.
“How’s the website going?” Fiona asks out of nowhere.
I blink. Neutral tone, normal expression — now I’m really weirded out.
“Good!” I recover. “Ethan’s kind of lost interest, so I was thinking of taking it over. We put up the photos of town, and the video posts, but it’s still pretty bare.”
She puts her finger in between her pages to keep the place. “You should probably start getting pictures of the house now, right? A couple of rooms are done, and if you look at the outside from way out back, you can get an angle where the plastic doesn’t show.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
Before I try to wrap my head around the miracle of this new, civil Fiona, she adds, “I don’t know what good it’ll be. I mean, they’ll never be done in time.”
“Still, it’ll help.” I decide. Baby steps.
When Susie finds us later, photographing the parts of the house that actually look habitable, her expression is exactly what I expect. After all, there’s no screaming, stomping, or sulking going on — unheard of in Fiona-related activities.
“Hi, girls!” She edges over as if the slightest move could unbalance this precious calm.
“Hi, Susie.” I look up from the camera. “Everything’s coming along great. I like the wallpaper in the living room.”
“Thanks.” Looking breathlessly between us, she seems at a loss for words. “I was just at the store, and I got some ice cream. Did you girls want some?”
“That sounds great.”
“OK,” Fiona says reluctantly, and then, quieter, “That would be cool.”
Susie’s face melts into the biggest grin. “I can dig out sauce, too, and even those cherries you like so much, Fiona. We can make sundaes!” She spins around and heads toward the kitchen, still babbling about the different things we can add and how lovely it is outside.
Fiona turns to me and raises her eyebrows in a familiar show of disdain.
“She means well,” I argue, praying her mood-switch holds. And, thank God, it does.
Fiona lets out a weary sigh, but there’s no tantrum, just the mutter, “There better be chocolate.”
We spend the afternoon lounging around in the sun, even though there are a million other things Susie needs to be doing. (Well, Susie and I lie in the sun; Fiona pulls her blanket into the shade and sits there with a drooping sunhat and sunblock slathered everywhere.) Fiona manages not to make a bitchy comment every ten seconds, and in exchange, I manage to convey to Susie that enthusiastic chatter doesn’t exactly help her cause. After fluttering around, making sure we’re fully stocked with sundae ingredients, she finally settles down on the grass with one of my cast-off romance novels and a glow of contentment.
“Can you pass the Cool Whip?” Fiona stirs a gloopy concoction that would send even the healthiest person into a diabetic coma. She pauses and then with super-human effort adds, “Please?”
I nearly faint.
“Here you go!” Susie passes her the can. Fiona rolls onto her back and proceeds to squirt artificial cream right into her mouth.
“Eww, gross!” I cry, throwing a jelly bean at her.
“Shut up,” she says through the cream.
“Wait, hold that so I can immortalize you.” I reach for my camera. Fiona ignores me and flips back onto her stomach, but I start shooting anyway, capturing her lazy pose and the way her hat sends crisscrosses of light over her face. I switch between manual and automatic modes quickly to try different lighting effects, more practiced now.
“Can I see?” Fiona asks.
“Sure.” I pass her the camera and watch, a little nervous, as she flicks through the past weeks of images on the digital screen. Too late, I realize there are a few of Reeve — shirtless — in there, but I hope the other stuff disguises my attention to his details. “It’s just for fun. I mean, it’s not supposed to be like a portfolio or anything.”
She lingers on a set of photos I did the other week: a series of the guys with their Rock Band instruments, caught in action during a song. “Those were hard,” I say. She’s looking at one of Grady flipping his drumsticks. “The light down there was weird, and I had to try and get the movement . . .”
“No, these are . . . actually good.” She sounds surprised.
“Thanks.” I feel kind of shy. “Like I said, they’re just a fun thing.” I never really had time for art stuff before, what with all my Green Teen commitments, but out here, I’ve got nothing but time. My collection of photos is actually a big file by now, and I make a note to upload them to Susie’s computer soon.
“Look, Susie, she’s got one of you and Dad.” Fiona pushes the camera in her direction. It’s only a snapshot of them working on the back wall, but Susie can’t stop tears from welling up. I have a feeling it’s less about my magnificent photography skills than Fiona’s civil tone.
“Thank you, Jenna.” Her bottom lip is trembling.
“No problem.” I exchange a look with Fiona, and we go back to our ice cream and books in silence for the rest of the afternoon.
I think it’s the closest thing to domestic harmony this place has ever seen.
Beep.
“Olivia! Hey, how are you? Just calling to see what’s up, but I guess you’re out saving the earth or in that yoga cabin again. Umm, nothing much to report here . . . Oh, Fiona’s actually acting like a human being now — it’s a total mystery, but I’ll tell you all that in person. I’m just heading over to Ethan’s to hang out with everyone. Anyway, miss you. Call me!”
Beep.
“Hey, Livvy . . . Voice mail again . . . OK. Things are going fine here, good, actually. I spent the day down at the lake today, and Fiona even lent me this old Polaroid camera she hasn’t used in ages, so I was able to get these faded old shots. I wish you had e-mail so I could send scans or something; it gets so pretty here, especially in the evening right before the sun sets — the light is just awesome . . . Umm, hope you’re having fun. Give me a call back when you can!”
Beep.
“Olivia! Since you’re not returning my calls, I figure you’ve either transcended to a whole new plane of existence or you’re shunning modern technology or you’ve passed out with hunger from that detox of yours. Is everything OK? I miss you. Call me.”
Beep.
“Hey, Livvy, I got your text. All twelve words of it. I’m glad you’re having a good time out there, and things are going good with Cash. But, ummm, maybe you want to think some more about the whole ‘not going to college’ thing? I know we’ve been planning on college together forever, but even if you don’t want to do that, there are tons of other options we can think about. Don’t do anything rash, OK? Anyway, hopefully we can catch up soon. . . . Miss you!”
Beep.
“Hey Olivia, just checking in. But you’re not answering. Again . . . Nothing much to say, just seeing if you’re around. Things are good. I’m just heading out to the woods again, so, I guess call me later, OK? Bye.”
You can only prepare for so much. All the planning in the world is no match for the real wilderness — out there, you’ve got to learn to deal with the unexpected. Improvise, adapt, get messy. Nothing’s fun when you can see it coming a mile away.
—“Outdoor Adventuring,”
The Modern Mountain Man’s Survival Guide
“I’ve got something for you.” Susie pokes her head out onto the back porch to find me and then emerges, dangling a crisp paper bag from one finger. It’s late on a Friday afternoon, my favorite time of day. The fierce heat of the day has faded, and now there’s a cool breeze slipping through the backyard, the sun sinking lower in the sky.
I push my magazine aside. “Oooh, what?”
She laughs, dropping the bag beside me o
n the wicker love seat. “Don’t get too excited.”
I eagerly open it up, pausing when I find a pale, solid package. “Tofu?”
Susie grins, pulling up the rocking chair opposite. “I ordered it in from a health food company. Lentils and beans, too. I know you’ve been missing that kind of food.”
“Aww, that’s really sweet of you.” I put the bag aside and hug her. To tell the truth, I haven’t been missing it that much at all. It turns out Adam picks up most of our fruit and vegetables from local farm stands nearby, which is plenty eco-friendly for me, and as for the rest of it . . . well, chalky tofu is no match for Susie’s corn fritters.
“Thank you,” I tell her, all the same. “You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.”
“I know.” Susie’s pulled her wet hair back into a braid, and she’s actually wearing a crisp shirt instead of her usual paint-splattered T. “But I wanted to say thank you.”
“For what?”
She breaks into a proud grin. “We’ve had our first booking!”
“No way — that’s great!” I clap my hands together. “Tell me all the details!”
“It’s a family, from Boston. They’re driving across the province, and they decided to stay with us for a few nights.”
“Ah, I’m so happy for you guys!” I reach over and give her a hug. “It’s only the first; there’ll be tons more to come.”
Susie beams back. “And it’s all because of you! They found us through the Stillwater website you guys put up, said it sounded ‘rustic and adventurous.’ They want to do all those activities you showed, so we’ll have to organize the boys to take them out. For a fee, of course.”
“They’ll be happy to,” I promise. “That’s really great.”
“Isn’t it? And the timing’s perfect, because I’ve got a meeting with the bank this afternoon.”
“What for?” I remember that stack of paperwork I wasn’t supposed to see. “Is everything OK?”
“It will be now,” she reassures me, straightening her shirt and smoothing back a stray curl until she looks every inch the respectable business-owner. “And with you and Fiona pitching in, we’re even ahead of schedule.” She pauses. “I know I shouldn’t jinx it, but do you know why . . . ?”
Boys, Bears, and A Serious Pair of Hiking Boots Page 13
