I used to think I was lucky. Blessed with a wicked slapshot and a skating stride that scouts drooled over. Parents who wrote cheques so I could fly all over the country and play with the best teams. I even got to go to a tournament in the Czech Republic when I was fifteen.
But shit happens and it turned out I wasn’t so lucky.
Richard turned into Dick. I got locked out of the house because addicts weren’t welcome. As if tough love could fix things.
I started thinking about my dad more, wondering what my life would have been like if he’d still been around. I trolled through the cemetery looking at grave-stones until I found the one with his name on it.
Crouching down over the marker, I wondered if he was with me, watching me. He’d barely been around when he was alive, weird to think he cared about me now that he was dead.
An old man, bow-legged, walked off the path to a gravestone. He stood above it, then held his head in his hands. His shoulders shook with sobs. I watched him with envy, wishing I could do that, let go. But it was too late. Whatever emotions had been inside me had turned hard, cooked by the meth.
Hope
“Where are you going?” Cassie asked sleepily as I put on my slippers.
“I have to pee,” I whispered. She rolled over and faced the wall. The branch outside the window rapped on the glass, disputing my lie. Shut up.
I closed the door carefully and snuck down the hallway. If Ms. Harrison caught me out of my room at midnight, I’d get detention. If she found us drinking, it would be worse. I had to admit, tiptoeing down the hallway, that this was thrilling. My heart beat quickly with trepidation as I went past Ms. Harrison’s room.
I knocked softly on Lizzie’s door and heard a giggle. “Get in here,” she whispered, peeking down the hallway. I was barely inside before she’d shut the door. Emily and Vivian were sitting on the floor and gave me conspiratorial grins.
“Vivian just came up with the best idea,” Lizzie started in a hushed voice. She leaned in with a giddy smile. With rosy cheeks and wide, shining eyes, she looked like a wholesome schoolgirl. But, when she put her face close to mine, I could smell her breath. The sweet tang of alcohol, something sugary, enveloped me. It wasn’t wholesomeness that had made her eyes shine, it was booze.
“Here.” Emily reached behind her and pulled out a bottle. Vodka, probably, peach flavoured to make it drinkable. She waved it under my nose. It smelled like candy.
“That’s okay. I don’t want any,” I said, shaking my head.
“Oh, come on!” Lizzie hissed. “Just a sip. No one’s going to tell on you.” I watched each girl warily. They hadn’t drunk enough to be unruly, but there was an air of recklessness that set me on edge. My stomach clenched at what would happen if they—we—got caught.
Even though all my instincts told me not to, I grabbed the bottle from Emily. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tipped it back and felt the alcohol burn down my throat. The sweet aftertaste of peach clung to my lips. “So, what’s the idea?” I said changing the subject and passing the bottle to Vivian.
She looked around at us. “A drinking game: Truth or Dare.” As if she’d invented it.
“Hope has to go first, she’s new,” Lizzie commanded, then giggled, resting her head on Emily’s shoulder, who patted her cheek affectionately.
“That’s not fair, she just got here.” Vivian shook her head. “Emily, you go first.”
I threw Vivian a grateful smile and sat down between her and Lizzie. Their room had the same furniture as mine and Cassie’s. But instead of the bare-chested actors gracing the wall on Cassie’s side of the bed, pictures cut out from fashion magazines had been taped up. Girls in sunglasses and huge purses boarding airplanes, the sun bathing them in a golden glow, or lying in grassy meadows wearing shimmering white dresses.
“Fine,” Emily sighed. “Dare.”
Vivian reached under the bed and pulled out two paper shopping bags. One had “Dare” written on it and the other “Truth.” She held the “Dare” bag out to Emily, grinning with anticipation. Emily stuck her hand in and pulled out a slip of paper. Unfurling it, she read, “Strip naked and walk past Ms. Harrison’s door three times.”
We all squealed, Emily with wide-eyed dread. “Oh my God! I can’t!” she wailed, laughing and crying at the same time.
“You have to!” Lizzie said.
I cringed for her and didn’t think she’d do it, but before I knew it, her pajamas lay in a pile on the floor, and her round, white butt was at the door. It creaked when she opened it. We peered out as she tiptoed past Ms. Harrison’s door, halfway down the hallway. Clamping a hand over my mouth, I watched as she walked once, twice, and then three times past the door. On the way back to the room, she dashed in, pushing us out of the way, stifling triumphant giggles.
We all collapsed onto the floor and Emily wagged the bottle in Lizzie’s face. “Drink up!”
Lizzie volunteered to go next. She dug into the “Truth” bag. “What is your biggest fear?” Everyone got quiet. The warmth of the vodka had worked its way to my head. Things felt a little fuzzier. “Turning out like my mother.”
Vivian and Emily each took a swig and the bottle came to me.
“Why?” I asked.
She pursed her lips, sobering up. “She killed herself.”
I caught my breath and wished I hadn’t asked. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I didn’t know.” The others exchanged glances and the mood in the room changed. I felt like an idiot for asking. This time, I drank without complaint.
Vivian picked a dare and had to text a topless photo of herself to one of their friends at Melton Prep.
I gaped as she pulled off her shirt and pushed her breasts together, covered them with an arm, and snapped a selfie, making sure her face wasn’t in the shot, giggling as she pressed Send. “That one was easy,” Emily chided her. “You do it all the time!”
We all took a drink. It was my turn. There was no way I could do one of the dares. “Truth,” I said and took a deep breath as I reached into the bag. “The secret you don’t want anyone to know.”
I looked at all of them, my heart clenched at the thought of Eric.
I had to tell them. It was the game. The alcohol made my head light and warmth spread up from my throat. Lizzie’s eyes bored into me.
I forced the words to leave my lips. “My brother’s a meth addict.” My chin quivered, waiting for their reaction.
“Are you kidding?” Emily asked, frowning.
“Look at her face,” Vivian replied for me. “Either she’s an amazing actress, or it’s the truth.” She reached out and held my hand.
“Have you ever tried it?” Lizzie asked, her eyes narrowed, like she could discern the truth with a penetrating gaze.
“Hey, only one question allowed,” Emily said, playfully slapping Lizzie’s arm. But the glance Emily received made it clear that Lizzie could change the rules if she wanted.
I shook my head. “No.” I’d seen what it had done to my brother.
“That stuff’s deadly.” Lizzie stared at me, waiting for a reaction. Vivian squeezed my hand and then let go.
Lizzie glanced at the clock. “It’s late.” She took the bottle and twisted the cap back on. The game was over. “See you tomorrow,” she said as Vivian and I slipped back into the hallway to go to our rooms.
Vivian gave me a silent wave and we went our separate ways. I fell asleep worried that I shouldn’t have told them the shameful truth about Eric. I felt lighter without the dark shadow looming over my life. But, what if they told other people? Being the sister of a meth addict was the identity I’d tried to leave behind.
A secret
Held close
spills,
dripping like blood into
your waiting hands.
Eric
I met Cheez in his basement, tossing my jacket onto the floor beside
the couch. He had all the supplies ready to go. Spread out like a crystal-meth buffet. About a year ago, he’d given me my first hit, looking for someone to party with. It was a slippery slope. Pretty soon, I was hanging around outside his house, waiting for him to come home from work.
He was careful, only shooting crystal on weekends, so he could crash the next day. I’d learned his schedule. Lots of times, he bought enough for both of us. If I had cash on me, I’d pay him back, but he was cool if I couldn’t quite cover it. Cheez was a good guy.
I passed Cheez a handful of change. Added up to ten dollars. I’d panhandled all day by the gas station, breathing in the fumes, so I wouldn’t come empty-handed. He took it and snorted. “That all you got?”
Rolling up my sleeve, I could almost taste the speed. My teeth ached with want of it. “I can get more next time, man. How much do you want?”
“You owe me twenty from last weekend and another thirty from the week before. Shit, Eric. If you can’t pay up …” He shook his head.
I rocked back and forth, the threat potent, staring at the bag of crank on the table. Like shards of ice, beautiful and sharp. “Okay, okay. I’m good for it, I fucking promise, I swear!”
“Yeah, well, that new jacket of yours must have cost a few bills.”
“That was a gift.” He was right, though. Selling it would bring in enough money to get high for a couple of weeks. “My sister.” He’d turned on some music, something heavy, the bass pounding out of his speakers. “If I had any more, I’d give it to you, you know that. What about that job you were talking about, working for the town, doing landscaping and shit? That still gonna happen?”
He threw me a disgusted look. “I told you about that months ago, at the beginning of summer. You didn’t do anything about it?”
I scratched my head. Months? It felt like last week.
“It was a summer job. Summer’s over. Fuck, man. You’re getting too into this shit.” He flopped back onto the couch. We still hadn’t taken a hit, and having it within arm’s reach was torture. I leaned toward it, to let him know I was ready, but he started talking again.
“There might be some winter work, snow removal, flooding outdoor rinks. You want me to ask around for you?”
“Yeah, yeah. That’d be good. I mean, I know about ice, right?”
He grunted in agreement. He started to roll up his sleeve, resting his elbow on his knee and tying off a vein. Finally. I smiled with relief. If he’d talked a minute longer, I’d have punched him. “This is the last time. If you don’t come with money next time, I’m not partying with you.” He meant it. His eyes were arrows, shooting my way.
For a second, before the meth carried me away, I thought about what would happen if I didn’t bring him the cash. I couldn’t imagine not getting high. It was the only thing I looked forward to. It was the reason I woke up in the morning.
Without meth, what would be the point in living?
Hope
I squirmed on the couch beside Vivian. “You know for sure it was Cassie?”
Lizzie shot me a piercing look. “Yes. It has to be. She probably told her brother and now it’s all over Melton. She’s always hated me.”
“She’s just jealous of you,” Emily muttered, tufts of downy curls framing her face.
“And a complete bitch,” Lizzie fumed, her red lips pulled into a scowl. “Girls like her look harmless. You should be careful.” She turned to me. “You never know what she’s saying behind your back.”
Across the room, Cassie and another girl sat with their heads together, avoiding looking in our direction. She’d asked a few times what I talked about with Lizzie, Vivian, and Emily, digging for details and turning away in a huff when I wouldn’t tell her. Things had gotten chillier between Cassie and me since I started sitting with Lizzie and her friends at lunch and in the common room.
I looked longingly at some of the other girls, laughing together, relaxed. Everything with Lizzie was a drama, there was no letting your guard down. But at least I had someone to sit with. Cassie had never invited me to spend time with her friends.
“I have never given any Meltie a blow job,” Lizzie explained, using the nickname for boys who went to Melton Prep. Vivian and Emily shook their heads. “And she’s making it sound like I went down on half of the grade twelves.”
“Why do you think it was Cassie who started the rumour?” I asked.
She rounded on me. “Are you defending her?”
I cringed in my seat, wishing I was somewhere else. “No. I just want to know who started it.”
Lizzie glared at me. “I told you who it was. She goes out of her way to make me look bad. If you’d rather be friends with that fat cow, go ahead. But I can’t even look at her,” Lizzie said loudly. “She’s a backstabbing bitch.” A noticeable hush fell over the room as Lizzie stalked off. Cassie looked as confused as everyone else.
“Do you think Cassie really said those things?” I asked Vivian.
She leaned in conspiratorially. “She and Lizzie have never gotten along.” I wrinkled my forehead, waiting for more. “It’s because Lizzie had a thing for Cassie’s brother. He’s, like, one of the best-looking guys at Melton. But,” she dropped her voice, “he won’t even talk to Lizzie. She thinks it’s because of Cassie.”
Was that why Cassie had warned me about Lizzie, because of a feud over her brother? “Why is it such a big deal?”
Vivian shrugged. “Lizzie gets like that,” she sighed. “Cassie and I used to be friends, but Lizzie made me choose. Said I couldn’t be friends with her if I was friends with Cassie. Sometimes I think it’s just a game to her, seeing if we’ll do what she wants us to.” Vivian’s phone buzzed with a text. She grew quiet as she read it and then turned to me. “Lizzie wants to meet in her room tonight. She says she has a plan for—” She chin-nodded toward Cassie.
“A plan?”
Vivian shrugged. “Sometimes it’s easier to just go along with things.”
“Yeah,” I said, like it made sense to me. I didn’t get their inside jokes or understand their secret code of girl behaviour, but I didn’t want to spend the next four years alone. I wanted things to be different at Ravenhurst. It wasn’t Lumsville; Eric wasn’t here, a shadow I couldn’t shake off. Anyhow, what was the worst Lizzie could do?
Eric
I had a girlfriend, before, when I was playing hockey. Christa. Now she works at the grocery store in town, saving up to go to university. Light brown hair, cute. She’d come to my games and watch in the corner, too nervous to sit with the other fans. We used to mess around in her parents’ basement. Didn’t get too far with her, though. She was a good girl.
I saw her through the window standing at the checkout. Her hands moved automatically, sweeping things over the scanner. Keeping my head down, I ducked inside. I hadn’t seen her in months, maybe longer.
The shelves were full of cans and boxes, the labels bright. They lit up the aisles like fireworks. I wanted to take one of everything, but I couldn’t fit it all in my arms. Things started to tumble out, spilling to the floor and making a fucking racket. “Shh!” I hissed at the groceries. I had to walk away, leaving the pile in the middle of the aisle. The sound of the cans banging on the floor echoed in my head. I darted down an aisle and grabbed some bread. Squeezing it, the cellophane bag rustled in my hands. I wanted to rip it open and sink my teeth into the spongey softness.
When I got into Christa’s line, she looked up at me, her face flickering recognition, then a frown, one eyebrow crunching against the other one. You look good, I wanted to tell her. But she looked uncomfortable, like I’d said something rude, when I hadn’t even opened my mouth yet.
I flashed her a grin. Good thing I was buzzing on meth, otherwise, it could be awkward, seeing her after so long. I dumped the loaf of bread and a couple of cans of ravioli I’d rescued from an aisle display onto the conveyor belt. Someone got in
to line after me, but she held up her closed sign. “Sorry,” she said to the guy behind me. “He’s my last customer.”
She held her finger over the bar code on each item and put them into a bag. The total on the computer screen didn’t change from zero. She didn’t have to help me, but she was. My gratitude spilled over in disjointed conversation about the weather, school, hockey. I spoke too fast, words spilling out.
“Thanks, Christa,” I said, eager to grab the bag. Our hands collided. She pulled hers away quickly, like from a too-hot pan. Flustered, she looked away, tidying the stack of bags at her till. “See you around.”
She nodded. Through the window, I waved to her, bursting with gratitude. But she wasn’t looking at me. She was leaning against the cash register, her forehead in her hands.
Hope
The four of us were sitting in a circle on the floor. I was relieved to see that no bottle was being passed around tonight. But the look of anticipation on Lizzie’s face meant she had something else brewing.
“I came up with a plan,” Lizzie said. From behind her back, she pulled out a pair of scissors. “Guess what you have to do.” Her mouth twitched with eagerness.
I shook my head.
“Cut Cassie’s hair.”
My mouth went slack as I stared at them in disbelief. “Her hair?” I thought of her golden curls, ringlets that hung halfway down her back.
“Tonight!” The excitement in her voice made my stomach queasy.
I looked at Vivian and Emily, as shocked as I was. “You’re joking.” Lizzie pressed the scissors into my hand. Heavy and metal, with a long blade, they sat cold on my palm.
Finding Hope Page 4
