Trish’s friends Madison and Olivia walk by our table on their way to the grade twelve table. It seems like they slow down, and Madison…looks at me. Then they keep going.
I start fanning myself with a scribbler as droplets of sweat erupt along my hairline. “Did you see that?”
Willa bites the end off a garlic cheese finger. “No. What?”
“Madison. She looked at me, for like a long time.”
She pours me a puddle of what the caf tries to pass off as donair sauce. “You’re just being paranoid.”
Am I? Am I just being paranoid?
Between living in fear that one of Trish’s evil minions spotted me and Garret at Tim’s and being terrified of coming face to face with Amy and seeing that flicker of recognition in her eyes, I’m seriously considering joining the witness protection program.
And how can I forget about the possibility that a random someone’s out to get me, or Willa, or both of us, or The Goodbye Girls? Jesus!
I slide my chair out from the table. “I’m going to the library to read.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Willa asks.
“Yeah. Just having a claustrophobic moment or something.”
“Okay, I’ll come meet you after I brush my teeth.” She puffs out a mouthful of air. “Garlic breath.”
I make my way to the library, and who’s standing right outside the door talking to the gym teacher? Garret, of course. Who else would it be when I’m literally looking like a decomposing corpse?
I tiptoe backward and hide in a corner at the end of a row of lockers.
Willa shows up and wedges herself in the corner with me. “Who we hiding from?”
“Garret.”
She nods. “Got it.” She squishes in tighter.
I love how no further explanation is needed.
* * *
The next week passes with no incidents. Everything seems normal with Trish and her friends—they’re all carrying on in their usual bitchy way. There’s no new developments with Claire and Bradley—they appear to be nauseatingly in love—so maybe whoever was behind that basket has accepted defeat. But for now all our business is suspended, which means I get a break. I swear the stress is starting to make my hair fall out. I keep pulling gobs of it out of my brush.
The only glitch is that Amy hasn’t returned to school yet. Willa said she heard someone say she had an infection, something to do with her jaw surgery. So I can’t be sure if she knows it was me who was in her yard that night or not.
“In the highly unlikely event that she can ID you,” Willa says, brushing some nail polish on her thumb, “it’s Amy. She’d probably apologize because her front steps were responsible for your fall. Also, I can’t see her having any interest in blowing our cover. She’s way too nice.”
We’re hanging out at the makeup counter at Shoppers Drug Mart, trying all the samples and making the cosmetician cranky. We walked down after school. Our P.O. box rental fee is due.
I don’t respond. Instead I spray some of Taylor Swift’s perfume on my wrist and sniff.
“So…how are things going with Garret?” Willa opens another colour of nail polish and paints her other thumb.
“There are no things going with Garret. We’re just friends.”
“Oh, Lizzie. Please help me sell wreaths,” she says in a supposed Garret-like voice. “Though I’m a six-foot-tall football player, I’m just not capable of doing it by myself.”
“That’s the worst imitation I’ve ever heard.” I spray a blast of Chanel N°5 into the air. “This is Mom’s perfume.” Then I walk through the mist. “This is how she puts it on.”
Willa nods, looking impressed. “Fancy.”
“Are you sure I can’t help you ladies?” the cranky cosmetician asks tightly.
“No, we’re good, thanks,” Willa says, cracking open another bottle of nail polish.
The cranky cosmetician sucks in her cheeks, resulting in some bright coral fish lips, and returns to the far end of the counter.
I check the time on my phone. “We should go, shouldn’t we? Isn’t your dad picking you up at five?” Willa finally agreed to spend a weekend with her dad, and she has mentioned numerous times that she’s looking forward to it like she looks forward to going to the dentist.
“Yeah, yeah,” she says. “Soon.”
After Willa has every fingernail painted a different colour and the cranky cosmetician is on the verge of a nervous breakdown, we finally leave and start for home.
“You never did answer my question about Garret,” Willa says.
“Oh. Well. There’s nothing to say. We’re going out again. To sell wreaths,” I clarify.
“But you like him.”
I shrug. “What’s not to like? It would never be worth it, though. You know. Trish.”
As we cut across the parking lot, we pass by McDonald’s. Through the window I can see Trish standing at the head of a table, hands on her hips, holding court, lording over her subjects.
Willa follows my gaze. “Might be worth it.”
* * *
“Okay, so I plan on being home by suppertime Sunday,” Mom says, reaching for her overnight bag. “Look after your sister.”
“Will do,” I say.
“And the Mitchells know I’m away. Mrs. Mitchell will be watching this house like a hawk, so no funny business.”
“Mom,” I say. “Look who you’re talking to.”
She smiles. “You’re right. Wrong kid.” Turning at the door, she says, “Try and have a little fun, okay? Maybe you and Trish could have a movie weekend or something.”
I choke back a laugh. “Yeah. Sure, Mom.”
I watch her pull out of the driveway.
And so begins my watch. Trish will be home soon. My only fear is that she’ll have all her idiot friends with her. I sit in the living room, right in front of the window so I can see the street. I have this insane need to protect my turf. The cafeteria ladies aren’t the only ones who need riot shields.
Trish shows up about an hour later alone, carrying grocery bags. I follow her into the kitchen, surprised when I don’t hear the clanking of bottles as she puts the bags on the counter. I had assumed it was all liquor.
“What’s up?” I ask.
She seems distracted, searching through one of the bags. “Prom committee stuff.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You’re on the prom committee?”
She looks up, a big scowl on her face. “Yes.”
“Sor-ree,” I mutter. Trish doesn’t exactly seem like the prom committee type. I can’t help feel a bit surprised.
“Anyhow, a bunch of us are going to Madison’s to make grab bags and stuff for the coffee house.”
“So…not here?”
“Oh my god.” She throws back her head. “You’re not going to cry about being left home alone, are you?”
“No,” I say, all defensive. “I’m home alone all the time.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” she smirks.
Bitch. “I just thought, you know, with Mom gone….”
“What? That I’d throw some wild party? Yeah right. You’d rat me out in a nanosecond, and then there’s Mrs. Snitchell next door. I wouldn’t stand a chance.”
It’s weird. I was so prepared to do battle, I almost feel disappointed that there isn’t going to be one.
“Plus, I don’t have time,” Trish says, whipping open cupboard doors and dumping random stuff into bags. “This is our biggest fundraiser of the year. We’ve got way too much shit to do.”
Wow. Trish, a doer. Who knew?
“Okay,” she says, taking a last look around the kitchen. “I’m outta here.” She scoops up her grocery bags. “Later, loser.”
* * *
For a long time I stand in the kitchen staring at the empty doorway, wishing that just once I could t
hink of some vicious and witty comeback for Trish. I never can, though. That’s more Willa’s thing. But man oh man…just once would be nice.
My phone chirps. It’s Garret.
Park lanes showing spaceballs tomorrow nite 1 nite only do you wanna go?
I hesitate, but only long enough to replay Trish’s “later, loser” in my head.
Sure, I text back.
Chapter 18
This morning comes way too soon. I stayed awake most of the night having mental arguments about how insane it was to say yes to Garret.
I pull on my housecoat and step out into the hall. The house feels empty. Weird. On weekends Trish rarely comes out of her lair before noon. Maybe she never came home. I stick my head in her room. Her bed’s messy and there’re clothes all over the floor, though that doesn’t really tell me anything.
Over my Eggos I text Willa and ask her how it’s going at her dad’s.
She texts back: K I guess. I picture her making a face and shrugging her shoulders.
Then I text her about Garret asking me to a movie.
WHAT!!!???
I know right?
What movie?
Spaceballs
????
I think it’s a spoof of starwars
Not very romantic…
I’d rather funny
Ya right.
There’s a pause, then another text.
Gotta go dad making us go out for brunch check in later.
I sit for a minute, phone still in my hand, and think about what to do next. Then it dawns on me. I actually have a date with Garret. Tonight. I dump my dishes in the sink and tear upstairs. I only have about eight hours to figure out what to wear and get ready.
Quickly I flick through every hanger in my closet. I go so fast I don’t think I even look at anything. I don’t have to, because I know nothing’s going to work. Next I dig through my chest of drawers. It only takes a few minutes before my room is an exact replica of Trish’s.
I wade through the mess on my floor and head for Trish’s closet. Yuck. She really does have horrible taste. I’m about to leave her room when I see her latest issue of Cosmo on her desk. I scoop it up, along with her giant makeup bag, which is really more like a makeup…suitcase.
Emma, Emma, where are you, Emma? I thumb through Trish’s magazine looking for Emma Stone’s latest Revlon ad. I’ve seen it a bunch of times and love her makeup in it. Bingo. I rip out the page and stick it on my mirror, then I line up all of Trish’s tubes, bottles, brushes, pencils, compacts, and lipsticks. My eyes sweep back and forth between Emma and the array of makeup. Yeah, I totally got this.
I allot an hour for shower and hair straightening, an hour for makeup, a half hour to figure out what to wear, a half hour for getting dressed, and an hour to do my nails and toenails. It’s December, so I don’t know why I’m doing my toenails, but like, what if I twist my ankle and I have to take my boot off? Garret would tell me to take my sock off to check the swelling…I can’t risk it. My toes better look good.
The countdown begins. I keep listening for Trish, hoping she stays away. She’d take one look at me, know something was up, and start machine-gunning questions.
Garret texts to say he’ll pick me up at nine thirty.
Must be a late movie. Ok, I text back.
Don’t eat we can grab a burger at Darrell’s then head over to theatre
Grab a burger? Before the movie? I have no choice. I have to ask. What time’s movie?
1130
Eleven thirty? Uh-oh. I’m supposed to be home by midnight.
He must clue in when I don’t respond. Sorry should have mentioned that. Problem?
I tap a freshly painted fingernail against the side of my phone. It’ll put me at least an hour and a half past curfew. Tap, tap, tap. I could call Mom and ask, explain the situation…but if the planets align, Mom won’t even find out. Trish will probably be MIA, and if she does come home to sleep, it’s likely it’ll be past her curfew and I’ll still make it back before her. No, it’s fine, I text.
It’s around a quarter to nine when I finish my transformation. I look in the mirror, tuck my hair behind my ears. I’m as good as I’m gonna get.
I text Garret and ask him to pick me up around the corner. I tell him I have to feed my neighbour’s cat. Though Trish still hasn’t come home, I can’t take the chance that she’ll show up, or pop in to get something, between now and nine thirty. All she’d have to do is peek out the window and she’d recognize his car. Then—well, I shudder to think.
I pick a house with an empty driveway and stand on their lawn trying to look casual. Garret arrives a few minutes later and honks. I wave and jump into the car.
“How’s the cat?” Garret asks.
“Haven’t starved it yet.”
“Speaking of starved, I hope you are. Have you been to Darrell’s?”
I shake my head.
“Then you have to try the peanut butter burger. It’ll change your life.”
I make a face. “Really?”
“Trust me. It will literally change your life.”
* * *
I do have the peanut butter burger, and it does literally change my life. “I’ll never go back to a plain ol’ burger again,” I say, wiping melted peanut butter off my chin.
He grins and passes me another napkin. “Told ya.”
We finish up and sit for a minute, both with a hand on our stomachs, stuffed, then pry ourselves out of the booth and make our way to the theatre.
While waiting in the ticket line, I do a quick scan of the lobby to make sure there’s no one I recognize. It’s clear. Not surprising. Isn’t it almost bedtime?
I was right about the movie. It’s a spoof of Star Wars. It was funny, in an eighties kind of way. I laughed a lot. Garret laughed way more than just a lot. One time he laughed so hard, I actually thought he was choking. He recovered just as I was about to flag down an usher.
“Do you want water or something?” I whisper.
“No,” he croaks. Then he laces his fingers through mine. “I’m good.”
I basically lose the thread of the movie after that, concentrating only on the feel of his hand, warm, around mine.
When the movie ends and the lights come on, we leave the theatre and walk along Spring Garden Road. It’s decorated for Christmas—wreaths on the street lamps, twinkling lights and ornaments in all the shop windows. It’s pretty, and sort of romantic. Willa will be happy. We grab a coffee and a hot chocolate at Tim’s and head back to the car. I don’t look at my watch because I don’t want to know how late it is, I’m having too much fun.
“I hope you didn’t find it over-the-top cheesy,” he says. “It’s probably not for everyone.”
“No, no, it was…good.”
He raises his eyebrows.
I laugh. “No, really, it was.”
He gives me a serious look. “Because you know they don’t make them like that anymore.”
“There might be a reason for that,” I say out of the corner of my mouth.
He nudges me with his shoulder. “Ha, ha.”
I nudge him back.
The drive home is quick. It’s after one thirty and there are hardly any cars on the roads. As we get closer to my house, I realize I can’t let him drop me off at home, for the same reason I couldn’t let him pick me up there.
I reach out and put my hand on his arm. “Can you pull over here?”
He gives me a puzzled look. “Okay.” He parks against the curb. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. I want to walk the rest of the way, that’s all.”
He laughs. “I’m not going to let you walk a block by yourself this late at night.”
“It’s fine, really. I just want some fresh air.”
He laughs again. “No way.”
I might as well tell the truth. “Okay, look,” I sigh. “One, I’m way past my curfew, and two…” I’m actually sort of surprised he hasn’t figured this out. “I don’t think it would be a good idea if Trish saw you dropping me off.”
“Oh. Well, one, you should’ve told me about your curfew, and two,” he says, giving me a sheepish look, “I get it. Though in my defence, I think she’s moved on. She has a prom date already, and it’s only December.”
“Yeah, I know. I just don’t want to make any waves. And anyway, if everything goes as planned, I’m going to sneak in and no one will be the wiser.”
“Okay, I’ll walk you from here.”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “That would be even worse. Trish seeing us walking down the street together…” Gawd.
“Then I’m getting a bit closer so I can watch until you’re in your house.”
I agree if only to end it, because the whole debate thing is making me even later.
He inches up a few more houses and stops. As I’m putting my gloves on, I notice a group of shadowy figures walking up my street. They’re tall. All of Trish’s friends are tall. Then I see a red hoodie. I lean toward the window, trying to see if WEST is printed across the front.
“Kill your lights,” I hiss.
My eyes follow the shadowy group until they stop in front of a house and go up the front walk. It’s the Cooper kids and their friends. They’re all in university, so no threat there. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yup,” I nod.
“Well, it was a fun night, huh?”
I smile. “It was.”
He leans over to kiss me, but a taxi turns the corner and its headlights shine right into our car. I cover my face with my hands and throw myself forward, like I’m trying to hide my identity. Why? I don’t know. But I feel his chin bump my ear on the way down.
The Goodbye Girls Page 11
