Chasing Boys

by Karen Tayleur

  When Peggy leaves, Mom gives her a peck on the cheek and a hug, which squashes the cat a little.

  “Peggy’s a gem,” says Mom as she locks the door.

  “She reminds me of Grandma,” says Bella.

  Mom does her still-body thing. I’m holding my breath waiting for something to happen. Waiting to find out what the rules are here.

  Mom’s shoulders sag a little.

  “I miss her,” says Bella.

  Mom nods as tears spill down her cheeks.

  Somebody sobs and I realize it’s me.

  “I miss her too,” says Mom, and she holds out her arms.

  Somehow we end up in a group hug.

  It’s a safe place to be.

  61.

  That night, my bedside clock says it’s 11:37 when I creep out of bed and rustle around in my underwear drawer.

  “Whaddya doing?” complains Bella.

  “Shhh,” I reply.

  Bella turns on the bedside lamp and I find the paper I’m looking for. It’s Dylan’s sketch. I want to talk to him, to be near him, and this is the closest thing.

  “What is that?” demands Bella.

  So I explain. I tell her about Eric and Angie and Margot and Dylan. I tell her about Dylan’s kiss and the last curtains of sleep sweep away from her face.

  “Give me that,” she says. Bella holds the paper under the light and studies it carefully. “Wow.”

  “He says his dad wants him to be a plumber or something. But I think he should do this. Something to do with art.”

  “He has real talent. He’s really captured who you are, not just what you look like.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “This is you, El,” she says.

  “What? No . . .”

  Bella drags me up from the bed and sits me down in front of our mirror.

  “Look at the picture,” she says.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Now, look in the mirror.”

  I look in the mirror. Then I look at the sketch and touch the face.

  “But she’s beautiful,” I say.

  “Don’t get a big head,” says Bella. “Can we turn off the light now?”

  62.

  On Monday, I feel more like myself than I have for a really long time. The thing that gets me out of bed in the morning is not Eric Callahan. It’s not even Dylan Shepherd. The thing that gets me out is . . . well, me. I feel like I’ve been living underwater. I check the calendar and realize what’s looming but I still have to decide what to do about it.

  At school I start a petition for more court time for the girls’ basketball team. Mr. Nemo, our head gym teacher, argues that the boys are in the finals and the girls are not. I argue that the girls would be if they’d had more court time. We argue back and forth until Mr. Nemo agrees that he will take it up at the next staff meeting.

  If he thinks I’m going to forget about it, he has another thing coming.

  I see Eric in the hall a couple of times, but my heart has stopped doing its little melting thing. Just like that. I figure he’s going to be really pissed off when he finds out about my petition, but that’s just too bad. He’ll probably think it’s personal, and it is. I have to do what feels right and this feels right.

  Eric never called me after that kiss. Maybe he’d already figured it out.

  On Wednesday I try some new intro music to my broadcast on Radio SRN. I’m back to my accents. I throw in some jokes. Halfway through, I nearly read out an unstamped notice, but I fudge it and put the illegal paper to one side. At the end of my session I read the notice to myself carefully, then read it again.

  The words make me sad and happy and calm, all at the same time.

  I’m sorry, let’s talk, x Desi

  I fold it and put it in my pocket.

  After school, I make my way to Leonard’s. First, he apologizes for dating my mother and offers to find someone else for me to talk to.

  “That’s okay, Leonard,” I say. “Let’s just keep it as it is.”

  Then we sit there in silence and look out the window. The trees in the park are covered in a tiny fuzz of green buds. Leonard has put on some music. It takes me a while to figure out that it’s Scheme.

  “That’s my favorite band,” I say.

  “I know,” says Leonard.

  “Did my mom tell you?” I ask.

  Leonard just points to my schoolbag, which is totally covered in Scheme graffiti.

  “Oh,” I say.

  Then we sit and listen to the music until my session ends.

  “See you next week,” I say.

  When I get home, Bella says, “A guy called. He didn’t leave a message, but my hunch is it was Dylan.”

  “How could you know that?” I ask.

  “’Cause I said, ‘Dylan?’ and he said ‘Yes.’”

  I hit Bella and grab the phone.

  First I call Desi. The phone rings and rings and just when I’m about to hang up, she answers.

  “Hello?” she says.

  “Hello,” I say.

  “Omigod,” says Desi. Then she bursts into tears and there’s a lot of gulping and sniffling.

  She explains that she’s sorry that she told Angie about my crush on Eric, but she was just so sad. Sad about us not being friends anymore. And she thought that if Angie and I had a fight that I would come back to her and Margot and it would be just like old times again.

  It was Desi’s twisted logic and somehow it made sense.

  Then Desi says that her mother needs to get on the phone and can she call me back and I tell her that I need time to think and we will talk again another day.

  Then I call Dylan, who tells me that Angie has just broken up with Eric, so maybe I should give her a call.

  “I’ll do that,” I say. “What a loser.”

  “Huh?”

  “Eric. He thinks he’s so cool. Sorry, that’s your cousin I’m talking about.”

  “No problem,” says Dylan. “So Friday night basketball is out?”

  “I’m giving basketball a miss. Hey, why don’t we go to the movies instead?”

  “We?” he asks.

  “Yeah, you, me, and Angie. Some other people—whoever.”

  “Okay,” he says.

  “Are you still going to go to the basketball games sometimes?” I ask.

  “I dunno,” he says. “No point going if the cheer squad isn’t there.”

  We talk some more, then I ask whether he can do me a favor. Actually, two favors.

  “Maybe,” he says.

  “First, that sketch you gave me—I was wondering if you could do a family portrait for me. We need to update the one at home.”

  “I dunno, El.”

  “Come on. You’re great. Could you do it?”

  “What’s the second favor?” he asks.

  “I want you to tell me how you got that scar on your face.”

  “Let’s go back to the first favor,” he says.

  We sit on the phone talking nonsense for the next half hour. Then I call Angie but her phone goes straight to voice mail. I leave a message and promise to call again. Before I can use the phone again, Bella grabs it from me.

  “Other people live here, you know,” she says.

  “I’m finished,” I say as I walk away.

  “Are you coming with me tomorrow?” Bella calls out after me. “You know it’s Dad’s birthday.”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Yes, you know it’s Dad’s birthday?”

  “Yes, I’m coming,” I say.

  I don’t hang around to see her jaw hit the ground.

  Before I go to bed that night, I make one more phone call. I call the one person who knows me the best.

  “Hey,” I say, when the phone goes to voice mail. “It’s El. I just want to say I’m going to see Dad tomorrow. It’s his birthday. I’d really like it if you could meet me there. You know the address. I’ll be there at 9 a.m. sharp. Don’t be late.”

  63.

 
; There was a time when I was always late. It wasn’t something I did on purpose. It’s just that time didn’t seem to have anything to do with me. It ran away while I was doing more important things. Like reading. Or watching TV. Or hanging out in my room. Bella used to say I’d be late if they were handing out $100 bills at my front door.

  Then one day I just stopped being late.

  Things were already a bit tough at home. We’d downsized to the Big House. Mom and Dad were fighting. I guess they both had a lot on their minds. Mom had hinted that we might have to leave our private school, so I was trying to pretend it wasn’t happening. It was nearly Christmas and there was talk about no trips away and just little presents, because it was the thought that counted.

  And then Gran got sick. Gran had been feeling sick for a while, then suddenly she was feeling worse. Gran’s neighbor called Mom the Friday before Christmas to say that Gran wasn’t getting out of bed. But Gran didn’t want any fuss. This was what she always said.

  “Don’t make any fuss now.”

  But Mom had been worried and she’d taken Bella and driven the four hours to Gran’s house on the Friday night. Which left Dad in charge.

  I liked it when Dad was in charge. I could have anything I wanted for dinner, which meant I had take-out Chinese food and special chocolate ice cream with real chocolate chips and hot fudge the way only Dad could make it. Of course I felt sad that Gran was sick, but it was nice having the run of the house.

  We each got a DVD. I got a scary movie and Dad got an old movie from the weekly specials section. He insisted we watch his movie first.

  After half an hour I said, “Dad, this is strange. What’s it called?”

  “Meet Joe Black,” he said.

  “Who’s the old guy?” I asked.

  “Anthony Hopkins.”

  “Who’s he supposed to be?” I asked.

  “He’s a successful businessman.”

  “Like you.”

  “Like I used to be.”

  “Do you like your job, Dad?”

  “I love it. I have loved it.”

  “So?”

  “So, I just need to get back on track. I’ve got a few deals in the pipeline. Even with the way things are right now, there are still things I can do.”

  “This movie’s boring,” I said.

  So Dad put on Down in the Deep and that night I had a nightmare, which means it must have been a good movie.

  Before he left, Saturday morning was Dad’s time. That was what Dad called it, anyway. The one time in the week when he wasn’t working or traveling for work or thinking about work. On Saturday mornings he put on his golf gear, had a huge bowl of muesli, then spent a couple of hours hitting a little ball around a whole lot of green grass and trying to miss the sand and the water.

  Saturday mornings were also the start of my weekend. A time to sleep in. A time to watch TV in bed.

  I was enjoying a rerun of a rerun of a favorite cartoon that morning when I realized I had to buy a birthday present. It was Rosie O’Connell’s party that night.

  I was in the middle of thinking about getting dressed when Dad knocked on my door and popped his head in for a good-bye kiss. He was wearing his golf hat—the one that Mom had been trying to throw out for years.

  “Dad, that hat is embarrassing.”

  “See you, sleepyhead.”

  “No! No, wait! I need a ride.” I scrambled out of bed. “I’ll just be a second.”

  “I’m already late,” Dad warned as he left the room.

  First I had to find something to wear.

  Then I had to get dressed.

  Then I brushed my teeth.

  “Come on!” Dad yelled again from the bottom of the stairs. I heard the door slam behind him.

  “Coming!”

  Then I did my hair and looked for my wallet. While I was looking for my wallet under my bed, I found my lost necklace, which had a couple of knots in the chain. As I was undoing the knots, I heard the front door bang open.

  “Time’s up, missy. The umbrella’s in the stand near the door. If you want to get to the mall, you can walk.” Then the door slammed shut and I was left cursing the knotted necklace, which was now more knotted than it had been before.

  He never did kiss me good-bye.

  I heard the scream of tires about a minute later. Maybe it was ninety seconds. I can hold my breath for ninety seconds, and it felt a little longer than that. He hadn’t got very far. I heard the tires from the end of our street just as I got the last knot out of the chain. Then I heard the dull thud of a car as it slammed into something.

  I remember I tied my shoes carefully—I was worried about getting the new white laces dirty. Then I walked down the stairs. I grabbed the umbrella, but I didn’t bother to open it. Already the street was busy. People were running. Cars were stopping. There was a dog in the middle of the road, chasing its tail. It came over and sniffed my fingers as I walked carefully down the road, keeping my shoes out of the mud.

  I suppose I walked.

  The pavement was dark and wet and oily, like the skin of a wriggling eel and steam was rising from it—the kind of steam you get when the weather has been hot and everything is still warm to the touch. I knew I could use my umbrella, but the rain had stopped and in its place was a fine mist.

  Our street was in full swing for Christmas. Most of the neighbors had an unofficial competition to see who could have the most decorations. The front gardens were lined with candy-cane lights and miniature sleighs. There were some black boots, I suppose they were Santa’s, sticking out of number 10’s chimney, and a Nativity scene at number 14.

  As I got closer to our car, I noticed something strange in a nearby tree. Someone had strung a handful of Christmas lights around the top of the tree. Pretty Christmas lights of blue and gold and silver and red. Hanging from a low branch hung a flash of red. I thought it was another light. But then I realized what it was.

  It was Dad’s stupid golf hat.

  64.

  The sky is leaden with unshed rain on Dad’s birthday. There is a cool breeze and the newly covered spring branches shiver. I shove my hands in my pockets as Mom and Bella drop me off at the gate and go to find a parking spot. I wasn’t sure that Margot would show, but there she is, looking her normal Margot self.

  “Hi,” I say.

  Margot does her eyebrow lift and says, “Hi, yourself.”

  Thanks for coming.

  I don’t know how I’d face Dad without you.

  I’ve been a useless friend—worse than useless, I’ve been terrible. You couldn’t really call me a friend.

  Just because I like Angie, it doesn’t mean I like you less. You and I have history. We have fun. We like the same stuff.

  The Eric thing is such a mess. I had no right to judge you. I can see you were in a hard place. We both were.

  And by the way, I just think guys are not worth the angst.

  Of course I don’t say any of this. I will say it, and a whole lot more, but for now I have to focus on getting through this visit.

  “Thanks for coming,” I say.

  “I had a message on my cell phone to come here and hang out with you on your dad’s birthday. So we can do that. Or we could take the day off and catch a movie at the mall. Your choice. I’m Margot,” she says as she links arms with me.

  And somehow I just know we are going to be friends.

  “I’ll give it an hour, then we’ll see.” We begin walking through the cemetery. “Maybe we could say hi to Gran too?”

  “We’ve got all day,” says Margot.

  “Is your sister still going out with Rufus?” I ask.

  “We have so much to catch up on,” says Margot.

  Acknowledgments

  As always, thanks to Maryann Ballantyne and Andrew Kelly for having faith in Chasing Boys. To Andrew for his insightful comments and thorough reads. To Maryann for her enthusiastic phone calls the day she finished reading it.

  To Simon Lush for his help with the �
�ologist” scenes.

  To Susie, Bernie, and Caity for reading the unedited proof and passing on their comments.

  Thanks to Alison Arnold for her insistence on getting it as right as can be—including the acknowledgments. And last, but not least, Chandra Wohleber, who made sense of my English.

  Copyright © 2007 by Karen Tayleur

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  First published in Australia in 2007 by Black Dog Books

  First published in the United States of America in January 2009

  by Walker Publishing Company, Inc., a division of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.

  E-book edition published in July 2010

  www.bloomsburykids.com

  For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to

  Permissions, Walker BFYR, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010

  Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:

  Tayleur, Karen.

  Chasing boys / Karen Tayleur.

  p. cm.

  Summary: With her father gone and her family dealing with financial problems, El transfers to a new school, where she falls for one of the popular boys and then must decide whether to remain true to herself or become like the girls she scorns.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-8027-9830-5 • ISBN-10: 0-8027-9830-6 (hardcover)

  [1. Interpersonal relations-Fiction. 2. Self-confidence-Fiction. 3. High schools-Fiction. 4. Schools-Fiction. 5. Fathers-Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.T21149Ch 2009 [Fic]-dc22 2008023241

  ISBN 978-0-8027-2229-4 (e-book)