by Carrie Mac
“Now you have to tell me because you’re scaring me.”
Simon took a deep breath.
“We were eleven. Beginning of grade six. Beck was making scrambled eggs in one of those iron skillets. You know those really heavy ones?”
Zoe nodded.
“She was making her dad breakfast. She always made his breakfast. He worked nights and was just coming home. So I guess it wouldn’t really be his breakfast, because he went to bed right after. I remember going over there to play and we had to talk in whispers because her dad was sleeping. He was always really grumpy—” Simon stopped talking as Zoe cocked her head at him, a gesture to stick to the topic.
“Anyway, the phone rang and she answered it and it was Heather and they started talking and the eggs started burning. Mr. Wilson came in just as the smoke alarm went off. He went off too. He grabbed her and he grabbed the fork she’d left in the hot pan and he burnt her with it.” Simon pointed on his own arm, the same spot Zoe had her scar. “Branded her.”
Zoe swallowed. “How do you know that’s what happened?”
“We used to walk to school together. I came to the door just after. The smoke alarm was still screaming. So was Beck. I ran home and told my mom. She phoned the police. I remember she let me stay home from school that day.”
“What about Beck?”
“She went and stayed at Heather’s for a few days. A social worker checked up on them after that, or that’s what they told my mom would happen anyway. I don’t really know.”
“The Beckoners?” Zoe stared at her lap. “When did that start?”
“Heather did it right away. And then the others, one a year on the anniversary until they all had it and there was no one else. So last year they tried Lisa Patterson. And now you.”
“Why me?” Zoe looked up.
Simon shrugged. “The five of them have always been best friends. There’s no one left, unless they were going to start doing matching ones on the other arm. I don’t know why Beck wants to keep doing it.”
“How long did Lisa Patterson last?”
Simon shrugged again. “Not long.”
Zoe felt sick while she was writing her lab quiz that afternoon. The pulsing pain in her arm was worse: dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb. Mr. Turner collected the quizzes and then redistributed them for the students to mark each other. Simon got Zoe’s. She’d failed, but Simon erased her wrong answers and circled the correct ones so that she aced it in the end, or it looked like that anyway.
leaf
Simon made Zoe promise never to tell Beck what he’d told her in the ravine. It was a double cross-my-heart, hope-to-die, curse-me-if-I-don’t kind of promise. Zoe felt a little sorry for Beck now. She was at Beck’s house one night, waiting for her in the living room with the others while she was still upstairs in the shower. Mr. Wilson was getting ready to go to work. Mrs. Wilson padded around the kitchen, putting his lunch together, the bottom of her long sweater flapping against her pale veiny calves. Mr. Wilson grumbled about his coveralls not being dry, the car needing gas, his lunch not being ready and his cigarettes being lost. When he left, Mrs. Wilson perked up considerably.
“Do you kids want some hot chocolate?” She kept her ear directed at the door, listening to the car back down the drive. She wore too much makeup. When she smiled, her eyebrows were dark arches over blue eye shadow ponds. Zoe wanted to wet a facecloth and wipe it off. She wanted to sit Mrs. Wilson down in a chair and bring her a mug of hot chocolate.
Zoe had not expected to feel sorry for Beck. It made backing away a little more difficult, because now there was the added complication of having empathy for the very person she was trying to extricate herself from. Before Simon told her about Beck’s dad, Zoe’s first move was going to be to tell the Beckoners about Mrs. Henley putting her and Dog together in the Mrs. Henley’s Underground Program for Gifted Children. It’s not that Zoe still didn’t think that was a good place to start. She wanted Beck to know she was choosing to stay in it, even though Dog was the only other student. She wanted Beck to know that she cared about other things, that she was interested in other things, that she was more than someone with Beck’s warped idea of an initiation scar on her arm.
But so far, Zoe hadn’t told her about Mrs. Henley. She was going to; in fact, one morning she decided she was going to tell her after class, but then in came Mrs. Henley waving a copy of the school paper. The essay contest. Zoe had started and finished her entry the day it was due and hadn’t given it another thought until this moment. She hoped Mrs. Henley wouldn’t say anything about it that would link her with Dog.
“Seats, everyone! I have the winning essay in hand. The author of which, as you all know, will be the assistant editor at the Central Reporter this year.”
A couple of kids in the front row leaned forward, trying to read the name at the top. Mrs. Henley wagged a finger at them. “I don’t think so. We have a special guest coming to announce the winner. By now you’ve all probably guessed, unless you are in fact cretins, that the winner is a member of this very class. Beck, eyes to the front. You and Lindsay can plot your overthrow of the government later, I’m sure.”
“Just tell us who it is,” Beck said. “No one cares anyway.”
“Well, Beck—” Mrs. Henley was interrupted by a knock at the door. In walked a wiry guy with rock star yellow-tinted glasses, black hair with blue tips hanging in his face, cuffs of his black jeans folded up, a dark gray work shirt undone over a black Ramones T-shirt, a stack of the school paper under one arm and a vintage Dick Tracy lunchbox in the other hand.
“As I was about to say, Beck, I can think of at least one other person who cares besides myself.” Mrs. Henley waved him in. “Our esteemed editor himself, Leaf Morrison.”
In that instant, Zoe became fairly sure she was not a lesbian.
“Hey.” Leaf nodded at the class.
His voice was deep, midnight radio announcer smooth. Zoe hadn’t thought that teenaged boys could sound that cool.
Mrs. Henley beamed at him. “For those of you who don’t know, Leaf is in his last year here at Central and has been the editor for the past two years. Leaf, the honor is yours. Don’t keep us in suspense, child.”
“This lunchbox is filled with everything an assistant editor needs to do the job.” Leaf set the lunchbox on Mrs. Henley’s desk. “It’s been passed down from assistant editor to assistant editor since 1958. It’s got your standard pens, pencils, notebooks, instant coffee and cigarettes.” The class laughed. “There are some modern conveniences as well, a mini disc recorder and a photocopier key. This year it goes to—” he checked the name, “—April Donelly for her essay about teenage mothers at Central, running front page in this issue, hot off the press.” He thumped the stack of papers. “Congratulations, April. April?”
The class was silent.
“Which one’s April?”
“This is a joke, right?” Beck laughed. “You’re not serious.”
Leaf turned to Mrs. Henley. “Is she here, Mrs. H?”
“April!” Mrs. Henley waved the paper at Dog. “You won! Stand up, say a few words, child. Congratulations!”
“Um.” Dog pushed herself up in her seat just a bit. “Um, thanks.”
Leaf’s expression changed from curious anticipation to sinking dread and back in less than five seconds. A very quick recovery. “Hi. April. Donelly. Right.”
“Look at him, he had no idea it was Dog!” Beck laughed again.
“Beck, I’ve asked you before not to—”
“You absolutely have to pick someone else, Henley. She’s not mentally fit for the job. Aren’t I right, Lindsay?”
“A complete nutcase.”
“Jazz? Back me up here.”
“Big mistake, Mrs. H.”
“Enough! If you’d bothered to notice, the winner was selected by blind judging. I trust you all at least know what that means?” There was a definite edge to Mrs. Henley’s voice. “So, it has already been proven that she has the skill. If you have such a veste
d interest, I suggest you enter the contest next year. April? Are you all right?”
Dog stared at her desktop. She’d watched Leaf’s penny drop, followed immediately by his quick scramble to pick it up. The whole class had seen it.
“She’s always like that,” Beck said.
“Zombie,” Lindsay said. “Completely brain dead. She should be institutionalized. It’s very sad.”
“The two of you, that is more than enough! April, why don’t you take this opportunity to check out the Dungeon with Leaf? I believe there’s a desk there with your name on it. Leaf?”
“Yeah. Right. There is.” Leaf studied Dog as she got her books together, his brow furrowing. Dog scurried to the front of the room, taking a circuitous route up an aisle well out of reach of Beck.
If only Zoe had spent more time on her essay. And why had she picked such a stupid topic? Nobody cared if there was no main entrée for vegetarians in the school café. Vegetarians were pathetic anemic losers, Zoe decided as she watched Dog leave, and she, Zoe Anderson was a complete and total idiot.
“There goes the paper,” Beck said as Dog left without so much as shaking Leaf’s reluctantly stuck out hand as she passed. He dropped his hand and looked at Mrs. Henley, who was proudly passing a newspaper to each student. The look he laid on her was one of abject disappointment, as though she’d duped him on purpose, as though she should’ve known better than to let this happen. He stared at her back, and then collected the lunchbox and left the room without another word.
By lunchtime that day, the school was barking at Dog with a renewed enthusiasm. Simon and Teo and Zoe walked behind her down the hall as Dog headed out of the school. Dog looked like she wanted to bolt, but was resisting. Zoe had to give her credit. If she bolted, it proved they’d gotten to her. Ignoring it was a small triumph that at least suggested that she didn’t care. The barking stopped when Dog stepped outside, because of course all the barkers would look pretty stupid if there were no Dog to bark at.
“That girl is so marked.” Simon said as the door slowly shut behind her. “You’d think the air around her would be a different color.”
Zoe stopped at her locker to grab her lunch, and then the three of them went outside. There was Dog, whistling to Shadow, who’d been waiting at the curb across the street. He bounded over to her as best he could with his stiff legs. Zoe and the boys watched Dog make her way down the path between the portables to the little strip of grass she ate her lunch on, alone with her dog, every day.
If Zoe had Mrs. Henley’s job, she would’ve taken Dog’s essay out of the running. She would’ve slipped it out of the pile and tucked it in her satchel and fed it to the fireplace at home, because even if she was a hoity-toity English teacher at the sunset end of a fifty-year generation gap, Zoe would’ve known better than to keep Dog in the running. Never, ever, ever focus the spotlight on someone who is naked and alone and tiny in the world.
Simon and Teo went on ahead while Zoe watched Dog take her lunch out of a paper bag and line it up in front of her on the grass: apple, cheese sandwich on brown bread, juice box, granola bar, carrot sticks in a baggie. She gave Shadow half the sandwich, looking up to see if anyone was watching. Zoe ducked. Squatting there just outside the main doors with students passing, wiping the strange looks off their faces when they realized it was a Beckoner hiding there like she was about to take a dump in the bushes, Zoe discovered she was actually a little jealous of Dog. Zoe had to admit she’d rather be Dog, sharing a quiet, private patch of grass with Shadow instead of looking forward to yet another lunch hour in the smoke hole, fending off Heather’s psychic vampirism and the general inanity of the Beckoners.
happy birthday
The night of Beck’s sixteenth birthday changed everything.
Zoe wasn’t going to go. She didn’t want to, and it was at Heather’s, so she’d assumed that even if Beck wanted her there, Heather wouldn’t let her through the front door.
“What the hell do you think?” Beck had said when Zoe told her she wasn’t going. “You’re a Beckoner. You go. Don’t be an idiot.”
Alice was covering an overnight shift at the shelter, so she’d arranged for the young mom who lived next door to babysit Cassy. Her name was Wish. Zoe expected a willowy hippie girl with messy dreads and flowing skirts and moccasins and silver bangles on her wrists, the kind of mom who breastfed her kid until they were four. Wish showed up half an hour before she was supposed to, and she was no hippie.
Standing there, clutching a squalling, writhing toddler in her arms, was the most pierced person Zoe had ever seen. In addition to the small thick rings lining her ears, she had metal in her nose, lower lip, both eyebrows, and in the space between her eyes, which was hard to see above her silver-rimmed, rhinestoned cat’s-eye glasses.
“Zoe?” She shifted the kid to her hip and held out her hand. “I’m Wish, hi.”
“You’re early.” Zoe tried not to stare at the stud in her tongue.
“Yeah, uh...look, I’ve got to take Connor to Emergency.” She put her palm to his brow. “He’s got a massive temperature. I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Zoe was relieved to have an excuse not to go, an excuse even Beck had to buy. “I’ll stay home, it’s no big deal.”
“Oh, you can still go. Mrs. D’s daughter is coming. I called your mom. She said that was okay.”
“Really?” Zoe hesitated. “She said it was okay? You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. You can call her if you want, but she said it was no problem. Make it quick though, because I got to go.”
“No, no. That’s okay.” Zoe watched a black tow-truck with silver lettering on the side pull in, its diesel engine idling, thrasher music pulsing from the cab. Wish pushed a chunk of purple hair out of her eyes and waved at the driver. From the doorway all Zoe could see of him was that he had freaky black hair and a huge bullring through his nose.
“That’s T-Bone. I have to go.”
When the doorbell rang half an hour later, it was Dog standing there, dressed in saggy-kneed overalls, notebook sticking out of her pocket. Shadow sat at her feet, tail wagging.
“What are you doing here?”
“I thought you were out.” Dog’s words were just as sharp as Zoe’s. “I thought your mom was here.”
“She’s at work. You’re Mrs. D’s daughter, of course.” Zoe smacked her forehead. “Mrs. Donelly. I thought everyone called her Barb.”
“You didn’t know it was me?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I’ll go.” She gestured back towards her house. “I’ll just go.”
“No, no. I was just surprised, that’s all.” Zoe checked both ways, just in case Janika was on her way. “Come in.” Janika was supposed to pick her up and Zoe did not want her to see Dog being ushered into her house. But here was a perfect opportunity to show Dog that she wasn’t like the others. “Come on in.”
“You’re sure the coast is clear?” April said sarcastically.
“I was just seeing if my ride was here.”
“Uh-huh,” April said. “Can Shadow come in? I won’t babysit for you unless he can come in.”
“Whatever, sure.” Zoe checked the road again. No Janika yet. “Just come in.”
Shadow trotted in happily, turned around in circles by the couch and plunked himself down under the coffee table, grizzled chin on his big paws.
“He won’t make a mess or anything.”
“Whatever. It’s fine with me, really.” Zoe gave her a quick tour of the place, apologizing for the lack of junk food and the fact that they only had two channels.
Janika hollered from out front. Zoe stiffened. She stepped in front of Dog, so Janika wouldn’t see her right away if she barged in.
“Uh, I don’t know when I’ll be home.” Zoe pulled on her jacket and backed towards the door. “Is that okay?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I have plans or anything.”
Janika pounded on the kitchen
window, her dark saucer eyes peeking in. Zoe waved at her and she disappeared. Zoe hesitated at the door. Dog stood there, hands stuffed into her pockets.
“Well, thanks,” Zoe said. “For doing this on such short notice and everything.”
Dog shrugged. “I wasn’t doing anything anyway.”
“Still, thanks—” Zoe was just about to call her Dog to her face, but she caught herself. “Thanks, April.”
At Heather’s, Lindsay flung open the front door. “Janika! Girlfriend!” she slurred. “Get your skinny black ass in here!” She smelled of beer and of her musky perfume, which she’d put too much of on, as usual. She pointed her drink at Zoe and practically hollered, “You brought her! Man, Heather’s going to freak!”
Zoe watched the taxi pull away, brake lights disappearing around the curve. She was stranded.
Zoe wandered through the crowded house and found Beck in the kitchen, sitting cross-legged on an island counter in the middle of the room. Heather stood in front of her, leaning against Beck’s legs. Brady was in front of Heather, his hands gripping her hips. Zoe stood in the doorway for a while, watching Beck. People bee-lined to her, bringing her drinks and birthday gifts. She had a red feather boa draped around her neck, and a tight black T-shirt with the words sugar & spice on it in curvy silver letters across her chest. She evaluated each of the gifts when the giver left the room, either flinging it over her shoulder or adding it to the little pile beside her. She was tanked, her movements exaggerated and sloppy.
After a long while, she noticed Zoe. She winked slowly at her.
“Zooooooooooooe. What the hell kind of name is that, huh? Zoooe. Zzz, ooooh, eeeee.” She kicked a red boot in her direction. It skidded onto the counter near her, sending a full whiskey bottle smashing to the floor. Everybody laughed except Heather.
“What the hell is she doing here? I told you I didn’t want her in my house, ever.”
“It’s my party, right?” Beck leaned into Heather’s face. “And I want her here.”
“You should’ve told me.”
