“But then I came and told you,” I say defensively. “I told you he asked me out.”
“Only because you had to. Because you were going to the banquet with all my friends.”
Neither of us say anything for a minute. Okay, maybe I didn’t go about things in the best possible way…. Then my anger kicks in again, but this time it’s directed at myself. Why am I feeling guilty? It should be her. She should be begging me for forgiveness.
“So because you think I stole your boyfriend, which I didn’t, by the way, you masterminded this”—I sweep my arms though the air—“whole plan to ruin my life?”
“Not your whole life.” She shrugs. “I just wanted to take that trip away from you. I’m so sick of you getting everything you want.”
“Wow, Trish.” My eyes fill with water, which makes me even madder at myself.
“What? You make it sound like I’m crazy and you don’t deserve it or something.”
“I don’t! I asked you if you were okay with me and Garret. More than once. All you had to do was say no!”
“I couldn’t do that,” she says tightly.
“Well then, that makes you an idiot.”
She gives me that look again, like she wants to rip my face off.
“Shit, Trish. How much time, money, and aggravation did it cost you to pull all this off?”
“I admit it,” she says. “It wasn’t easy. But nothing I did worked. All I needed was one person to lodge a formal complaint and force Mr. Scott into taking some action. Was that too much to ask?”
I don’t bother answering.
“I wanted him to make an announcement or something. Bring people in for questioning. Something that would scare the shit out of you and make you shut everything down. Something that would cut off your money supply.”
“You are one jealous, vindictive bitch.”
My name-calling has no effect. She slides an elastic off her wrist and puts her hair into a ponytail “But then you didn’t deliver the basket to Claire. Allan couldn’t be bothered to go to the principal—he was too busy being famous. And Olivia…Jesus! She said she was going to the principal, but she only talked to the guidance counsellor. She ended up joining Weight Watchers with her mom—said it was a wake-up call, and a good time to get healthy and lose some weight before prom.”
“Trish. These people are your friends.”
“These people are not my friends. Claire is a self-righteous little bitch. She wanted Bradley to switch when he got paired up with me. Told him I would probably try to steal him from her. As if. And Olivia’s a two-faced backstabber. She was texting Garret behind my back the whole time we were going out.”
“What about Allan? He wouldn’t hurt a flea.”
“Right. Allan,” she scoffs. “Remember when Mom used to babysit him after school?”
“Yeah.”
“One afternoon when I was at Brownies, he drew nipples and pubic hair on all my Barbies in permanent marker. Ruined! They were all ruined.” She closes her eyes. “It was too embarrassing to show Mom, so he got away with it.”
“Trish! That was like ten years ago!”
“Yeah. So?”
I shake my head sadly. “I can’t believe it. You’re right. You literally have no friends.”
“I play the role, though. That’s all you need in high school. Everyone’s so superficial. No one’s really friends with anyone. The sooner you learn that, the better.
I gawk at her. “What’s wrong with you?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me.” She pulls a makeup wipe from her drawer and drags it down her face. “In six months I’m outta here, and 99 percent of these people I’ll never have to see again.”
“It’s like you’re soulless,” I whisper.
She ignores my comment. “Like I said, nothing was working. You didn’t shut down your business, you just took a break for a while. And Mr. Scott was still oblivious. I had to do something drastic. Take matters into my own hands.”
“So you sent that basket to yourself.” I give her a slow clap. “Bravo on the Oscar-worthy performance.”
“Genius, huh?”
“And you’re all…okay with people thinking you’re pregnant?”
She shrugs. “I don’t care what people think about me.”
“Bullshit. That’s all you care about.”
“No.” She frowns as she studies all the black goo on the wipe. “See, you think you know me, but you don’t.”
“No kidding,” I say.
“I’m not stupid. I knew exactly what would happen. Tell a couple of blabbermouths about the basket I got, and the word would be out in a matter of minutes. Everyone would think I was the revenge baskets’ new target, that someone was out to get me, and they’d all rally around me, pour on their fake sympathy—poor little me—which is exactly what happened.”
I sit there, staring at her. She really wasn’t lying when she said I didn’t know her.
“I mean,” she continues. “Time will prove that obviously I’m not pregnant…but I guess they might assume I had an abortion. Whatever.” She shrugs.
I keep staring.
“I want you to know, though,” she says, tilting her head. “There was a moment when I did have a change of heart.”
I snort. You can’t have a change of heart without a heart.
“It’s true. It was the night you went to Garret’s banquet. You looked so nice. You were so excited. And when you got home you were so happy. You were like a little Cinderella.”
I feel my lip curling into a snarl. You’re such a liar.
“You thanked me again for helping you get ready,” she says. “I started to feel sort of bad. Started to feel that maybe what I was doing to you was kind of shitty. I know how long you’ve liked Garret. Since elementary. I get it. Maybe you were even mad when I snagged him. Not that you had any right to be. Anyway, by the time I had my epiphany, it was too late. I’d already cried to Mr. Scott and delivered the tip-off letter.” Her phone buzzes from inside her knapsack on the bed next to me. I dare her with my eyes to answer it. She doesn’t move.
“Yeah. The letter,” I say. “Why would you drag Willa into all this? You didn’t even know if she had anything to do with it.”
Her mouth hangs open. “Oh, come on! There’s no way you could have pulled this off on your own. Who else would be helping you? You don’t have any other friends.”
I set my jaw and breathe heavily through my nose. I feel like a bull getting ready to charge.
“Plus, I know she thinks I’m a waste of space,” she adds. “Taking her down with you was just a bonus.”
“Okay, just so I understand. Taking the trip away from me wasn’t enough. You had to screw over my best friend as well as make it so the entire school thinks that we’re money-grubbing scum. Because I’m sure part of your plan is to leak the fact that Mr. Scott got a letter naming me and Willa.” I fold my arms and wait for her to answer.
She doesn’t.
“You know, Trish. Like your ‘pregnancy.’ Eventually people are going to know that it wasn’t me and Willa. And that it wasn’t The Goodbye Girls.”
“Why? Because you say so? You can deny it all you want. Doesn’t mean they have to believe you. Plus, no one’s going to buy that I sent that basket to myself. It was pretty harsh.”
“I’ll make them,” I say.
“Good luck.” She balls up her makeup wipe and throws it in the wastebasket.
For what feels like the hundredth time, I can only stare at her and wonder, Where the hell did you come from? I slide down to the end of the bed so I’m closer to her. “Actually, you better hope that they don’t,” I say quietly. “Especially Mr. Scott. He’s hardcore serious. He’s getting the police involved.” At least he wants to.
At last I get a reaction. She blinks a few times as she digests
the information. Her cheeks don’t have much colour anymore. “The police?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “And if I can convince Mr. Scott that you’re the one behind this, it’ll go on your permanent record. You can kiss any chance of a scholarship goodbye.” I make little waving motions with my hand. “You know the school has zero tolerance for bullying.” I sound like Mr. Scott. “And they have less than zero tolerance for harassment.”
“Harassment?”
“That’s what Mr. Scott’s calling it. What would you call it?”
She doesn’t say anything, but I can hear her breathing. It’s different. Slower.
“I should give you the heads up,” I say. “I took a photo of Bradley’s sent folder. It has the date and time. It’s during your class together, you know, when you were project partners? Easy to check. And I’m sure I can get Bradley to tell Mr. Scott you were using his email account. Once I lay everything out for him, connect all the dots, tell him everything you just told me…”
Again I wait, but she still says nothing. I get up and go to the door. Touching the handle, I pause and turn. “How did you figure out The Goodbye Girls was me and Willa?”
“Girl Guide cookies,” she says flatly. “I took five bucks from your wallet. I saw the receipt for Love Actually. The anniversary edition. Thanks for the splurge, by the way.” She spits the last few words.
“I feel sorry for you, Trish. Because I’m going to prove to Mr. Scott that it’s you. There’s going to be no scholarship, and you’re going to be stuck here in Halifax, having to make nice with all your fake friends, if they’ll even speak to you after they find out what you’ve done, for god knows how long.”
Before I leave, I take a last look back. I see Trish staring straight ahead at nothing, her face like stone.
* * *
I don’t leave my room for the rest of the day. There’s no noise from down the hall, so I’m not sure Trish has left her room either. Though her reasons are probably different from mine. Me, I’ve been spending the hours trying to make sense of what just happened. I can’t. I can’t figure out how it went so wrong. We were both raised under the same roof, by the same mom, with the same values, rules, and beliefs. How could we have turned out so different?
All these injustices that Trish imagines have been committed against her, they’re just that—imagined. And the fact that her biggest beef is with me, that she’s actually jealous…of course, she didn’t use those exact words, but still. It’s insane. I’ve spent my entire life jealous of her. I thought she had it all going on. Apparently not. I could never have guessed in a million years how unhappy she truly was—is. It’s weird, though; I don’t think she even realizes she’s unhappy.
It’s almost dark. As I reach over to turn on my bedside lamp, there’s a knock on my door.
Mom sticks her head in. “Hey,” she says.
I make eye contact, but that’s all. Nothing much has changed as far as how our conversations go.
She sets down a mug on my dresser. “The house feels extra cold tonight. I made some hot chocolate. I put a glob of Nutella in just the way you like.” She gives me a hopeful look.
“Thanks,” I say and turn my attention to some random scribbler that happens to be lying on my bed.
I hear her move into the room and sit on my chair. “Lizzie. I hate that we’re fighting.”
I look up. Well, you know how to put an end to it, I say with my expression.
She pretends not to, but I know she hears me loud and clear. “I’m just not used to it,” she continues. “We never fight. I save all that special type of energy for Trish.” She gets up and brings the mug to me. “It makes me feel off…unsettled. Could we perhaps—”
“Mom.” I stop her. “Can we do this some other time?”
Her face fills with concern. “You’re awfully pale. Do you feel okay? I know Willa’s home with strep.”
And how do you know that? Oh, right, you’re dating my former best friend’s dad, who is still married to her mom. “I’m fine,” I say curtly. “I just have some stuff I have to figure out.”
“Anything I can help with?”
I chew on my lip for a second, tempted to tell her all about Trish and the havoc she’s wreaked on my life. But something stops me. I’m not sure what. Maybe it’s because I know if I do, there’s no going back. Any chance for some sort of relationship between me and Trish, however tenuous, would be irreparably damaged. But then again, why should I care? Or even feel that it’s important? Is there some law that says sisters have to be friends? We should, though—shouldn’t we?
“No,” I say.
“Okay. If you change your mind, I’m here.” She leaves, quietly closing the door behind her.
I skip supper; I’m not hungry. Taco night’s coming up soon, but I don’t expect to be invited. I crawl into bed, phone clutched in my hand, and pull the covers up over my head. Paranoid that my phone’s not working, or that maybe I didn’t hear it and missed a text from Willa, I tap the screen with my thumb. It lights up immediately. It’s working fine. I scroll through my messages. There’s been no text from Willa for ages. I want to tell her that I figured out the baskets and that I’m going to make everything okay. But I am so scared that she won’t text back. I keep it on our last conversation thread, tapping the screen every few minutes, just in case, until I fall asleep.
Chapter 29
The next morning I drag myself down to the kitchen, dreading the thought of going to school. I know Mom already left for work. I pray Trish is gone too.
No such luck. She’s sitting at the table, chewing on a bagel and working on the word jumble in the newspaper, like it’s any other ordinary day.
We don’t acknowledge each other.
I pour myself a glass of apple juice. I’m about to down it so I can get out of here when Trish, without looking up, shoves a Tupperware container across the table.
“These are for you,” she says, all bitchy.
Hey! Might wanna watch your attitude! I grab the container. A note is taped on the top that says, “Lizzie’s—no raisins.” I flip the lid off. There’s a half dozen homemade muffins inside.
She drops her pencil and looks up. “You know something? I’m not crazy about raisins either.”
Just like yesterday, my body stiffens, sensing another battle.
“You have no idea what it’s like living with you, do you?” she asks.
“Please, Trish,” I say, fake cheery. “Enlighten me.”
“Always Mom’s perfect little angel. So brilliant. So sweet and kind. I swear she thinks you’re a gift from above or something.”
What planet is she on? “That’s not true!”
“No kidding. I’m just as smart as you are. I got early acceptance to Mount A, with a pretty much guaranteed scholarship, but it’s like Mom didn’t even notice.”
“What are you talking about? We went to The Keg for dinner. What did you want? A parade?”
She sticks her nose in the air and doesn’t answer.
That is absolutely it. I’ve had enough. I grab a muffin and start wrapping it in a paper towel.
“You know something else?” she says.
I ignore her and keep wrapping my muffin.
“I’ve asked to go on the March break Europe trip every year,” she continues. “Mom never encouraged me to try any fundraising. Didn’t even entertain the thought. Not like she did with you. ‘Sure honey, can’t hurt to give it a shot. If anyone can do it, you can.’” She mimics Mom—badly.
I look at her like she’s crazy. “Mom never said that! Plus she probably knew you wouldn’t stick with any kind of fundraising. That’s why she never suggested it! Not to mention, she’s not paying for me. I came up with a way to get there myself. You could have too if you’d ever made an effort!”
Her left eye starts to twitch. She’s looking sort of scary.
/> “And how do you think I felt,” she says deathly quiet. “About you and Mom and your secret Greg club?”
“Greg club? Ha! Trust me. I never wanted to be a member of—wait. Why are you calling it a secret club? You said Mom told you.”
“No I didn’t. All I said was that I found out. Though I could see how you would think that. I mean, once you knew, of course it only makes sense that she would tell me too.” She twists up her mouth. “But no. She didn’t.”
I frown. “Then how did—”
“I overheard you guys fighting.”
Something dawns on me. “You were lying, then. You knew Willa didn’t know about Mom and Greg. You told her on purpose!”
She gives me a smug smile.
“You bitch!” I storm out of the kitchen, feeling the muffin squish in my fist. Scooping up my jacket from the hall bench, I slam the front door behind me as hard as I can.
The wintry air cools my flushed face. Once I’m out of sight of my house, I lean against the nearest tree to try to get my head together. I see my school bus rumble past, down the street to the bus stop. I inch my way around to the far side of the tree so the bus driver doesn’t see me. I know he’d be nice and wait.
After the bus pulls away I walk to school. I take my time. I don’t care that I’ll be late. That’s the least of my worries. Trish’s words fly around and get all jammed up inside my brain. I can’t even think straight. So I try to approach it like a homework assignment—put it in order and address one point at a time.
“I did not steal Garret from her,” I say out loud. But there’s a catch in my voice, just like when I denied it to Trish’s face. It is true that I didn’t steal him, I didn’t go chasing after him or anything, but maybe deep down I knew I probably shouldn’t have let anything happen between us. The fact that I’d had a crush on him for years, and now he had chosen me…well, I guess I let myself ignore the fact that it never did feel quite right.
She had a point when she said I knew how much she liked him. It was easy to let myself believe she was fine. I wanted so badly for it to be true; that way there’d be no guilt.
The Goodbye Girls Page 18
