by Leigh Hutton
She killed the engine and hopped out, slamming the door behind her. Her truck was ‘ancient’ according to some of the kids at school. It was rusting around the wheel wells and made a whining noise from under the front end, but she loved it all the same. Getting out on the open highway, cranking the radio. The same as being on a motorcycle you were free. Her truck was the best thing her dad had ever bought for her, aside from her dirt bike. Even if the truck was just supposed to get her to and from school, and to the local motocross track for practice.
Across the sidewalk, a chilly wind whipped at Clover’s face. It made her think of her blotchy skin, void of any makeup. Of that pimple on her chin and purple shadows under her eyes. She shuddered, and whipped up the hood of her sweatshirt, pulling it close around her face.
She’d looked for some makeup before leaving home, but couldn’t find the kit Sera had bought her for her sixteenth. Jasmine, her little sister, had probably hidden it somewhere. Clover had worn makeup a few times, before race season had started and her mind had become consumed with beating Lasha and shutting her dad up. And how did that turn out for ya, genius?
Clover shook the thought from her mind, and decided to ask Sera to give her a makeup lesson. Clover probably never wore it because she looked like a clown when she put it on. Sera would take the piss out of her for asking, but she no longer cared. She needed help with her hair, too Sera always told her she needed to get it highlighted. It was long and flat and mousy brown. A ponytail was about all she could do. No way she could survive another day feeling so plain.
Sera’s mother was a motel manager in a neighbouring town, and was never home.
‘What the hell, dude?’ Sera said, as Clover pushed past into her tiny unit.
She plonked herself down on the lounge, resting her well-worn skate shoes on the coffee table. It really smells like hospital in here today. She smiled at Sera who had posed by the front door, one hand on her hip. Trendy, dark denim jeans that looked looser than they’d once been. Sera’s favourite T-shirt; black, with ‘Crazy Bitch’ scrawled across the chest in bright red, looked just as tight as ever, though. She was wearing her boyfriend’s football jacket open, to display her slogan.
‘You’re even later than usual,’ Sera said. ‘Is school optional today, Canuck?’
‘Sure is.’
Clover wanted to hide here forever, if she could manage it. Facing the girls at school could wait for another day.
Sera laughed in her easy, slightly evil way. ‘Don’t think Ernie would approve of that!’
‘Don’t give a shit what Ernie would approve of.’ Clover spotted the liquor cabinet.
Sera tapped across the linoleum entryway in her stilettos that she sported in the heat of summer and the snow of winter and flopped down next to Clover, letting an arm fall around her shoulders. She checked her phone. ‘Seriously, Clove, I’m gonna be late to meet Chris.’
‘Screw school,’ Clover said, her eyes still on the alcohol. Vodka. Schnapps. Tequila … ‘I’m over it.’
‘You have my attention!’ Sera said, slapping her on the back. ‘We’ve never actually skipped class before!’
‘Text Chris, okay? Tell him you’ll see him after school.’
Sera started typing. ‘Shit haven’t you got English today? Everyone says you can’t skip English.’
‘Not till last period.’
‘So, we have all day then!’
‘Pick us out a movie, will ya, Ser?’
Sera kicked off her heels and grinned. ‘Don’t know what’s gotten in to you, but whatever it is I like it!’
Clover eased back into the lounge. She could breathe, finally, after holding her breath for so long. The voices of her parents were already fading into the background of her mind: ‘Do well at school, get serious, get the grades!’ All summer it had been push, push, PUSH. ‘Make us proud, like your sister does! All you have to do is WIN.’ She glanced across at Sera. ‘Any parties this weekend?’
Sera’s perfectly shaped eyebrows arched, and she smiled. ‘Of course. Camp Shitty, Friday night. Don’t tell me you want to come?’
Clover winked, and grinned.
‘Holy shit!’ Sera yelped, jumping to her feet. She grabbed Clover by the hands and pulled her up. ‘Tell your dad you’re sleeping here. Mom will cover for us if he calls. This is awesome!’ Sera pulled Clover into a hug, and kissed her on the cheek. ‘What a special occasion this is. Skipping and planning your first ever partay. I’ll make some popcorn and a few drinks.’
‘Yeah, all right.’ Clover took a deep breath in, then let every bit of air expel from her chest. ‘Sounds perfect.’ She’d had a few drinks before, when she’d slept over at Sera’s and they’d stayed up late, watching TV and getting giggly. And once at one of her parents’ New Year’s Eve parties, they hadn’t cared what she was up to. She remembered having fun. All the cool kids did it.
‘So, whatever happened on the weekend really pissed you off, huh?’ Sera popped her head out from the pantry.
Clover nodded.
‘The race. Well, at least you won’t have to worry about that for a while. We can finally hang!’
Clover watched Sera retrieve two tall glasses, and fill them with ice cubes from the freezer. ‘Hey, Ser?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Can I borrow some clothes?’
Sera spun to face her. ‘How long have I been dying to dress you?!’
‘No need to gloat.’
THREE
Clover made it to English five minutes late. They’d laid off the booze about an hour earlier, so they wouldn’t be too drunk for class.
She had to concentrate hard to not topple off her chair, up the back of the classroom. The room was spinning. People were staring, too, which, she had to admit, felt kind of cool. For the first time she could remember, she was comfortable with the attention of her peers. Sera had shown her how to curl her hair and did her face with smooth foundation, pink lipstick and a splash of eye shadow, with thick mascara, to bring out her hazel eyes. She loved her outfit, too. She’d managed to wriggle her hips into tiny Sera’s largest jean mini skirt, and paired it with a black velour hoodie that tapered in at her waist and her white studded belt. Black tights and heeled, leather boots completed the look to kick-ass perfection.
She’d freaked at the sight of herself in Sera’s full-length mirror was it even her? But quickly fell in love with her new look, despite how tight and small the skirt was. She felt so powerful.
When Clover heard Mrs. Frost clear her throat, she was reminded of the commanding presence of the one teacher in the school who would call your parents if you were ‘unexplained absent’ from her class.
Clover did her best to sit still and keep her eyes on the chalkboard.
When the bell finally went, she was the first to rise from her seat. She wove a reasonably straight line down the centre aisle between the rows of desks, eyes on her feet, hands brushing each desktop as she went. Just a few more steps would deliver her to the safety of the crowded hallway. She didn’t even worry about running into any of the senior girls, the ones who would taunt her about her loss to Lasha. In the back of her mind, she kind of wanted to. The way she looked now, she felt more their equal. Like she could finally stand up for herself.
But no such luck.
A chubby arm jutted out in front of her, blocking the doorway.
Clover looked up.
For a large lady, Mrs. Frost was quick on her feet. It was Monday, so she was handing out her usual stack of homework sheets as if they were the final, soggy cocktail wieners on a hors d’oeuvres tray. Lifting a stapled pack off the top of the pile, she pushed it at Clover. When she spoke, her tone was hushed and motherly. ‘Clover, you know you can get expelled for being drunk at school, don’t you?’
Say what? Clover knew better than to look directly at her teacher the bloodshot eyes would be a complete giveaway. She held her breath, running her tongue over her dry lips, wincing at the tell tale taste of tequila.
Mrs
. Frost remained silent, forcing Clover to look at her. ‘I’d never do that,’ she said.
The teacher stared her square in the face, concern radiating in the lines around her eyes. She started to say something, but seemed to think better of it, settling for a disappointed-sounding, ‘You may go.’
Clover exhaled sharply, clutched her homework to her chest, ducked her head and stepped unsteadily into the crowded hall, doing her best to blend with the steady stream of students.
Her fuzzy brain laboured as she replayed her teacher’s comment . Was it really that obvious? She clutched her forehead as she neared the end of the hallway. Every noise from the home time crowd seemed to split her head in two. Shrill voices. Stamping feet. The beeping from the microwave sounded loud enough to demolish a wall, but the smell was enticing. Hot dough, probably a bagel from the vending machines. Chicken soup. Her stomach rumbled. Guess we forgot to have lunch.
Back when she’d first arrived at Silvertown High, Clover had been nervous walking into the canteen area, full of kids occupying the tables, turning and gawking at the new girl. Her family had moved from Alberta to Silvertown when she was fourteen years old. Into a small town where everyone knew each other, except for the new girl. Clover thought it was pretty much the dumbest time in her life her parents could have made her move; right at the beginning of high school. Her little sister, Jasmine who was four years younger was terribly upset about having to move away from Spruce Meadows, but got excited when Leslie told her about the great barn and trainer she’d found for her in Denver, and about their new ‘fairy-tale house’. Clover didn’t speak to her parents for two weeks after they made her go. She missed her friends from her Canadian country school.
Clover kept in touch with her old friends via Facebook for a while, but the correspondence quickly dried up. The girls were all starting new, bigger schools, making new friends. And although they all had the Rockies at their doorstep, Clover was a long way down the range.
Nearly three years on, and Clover was still being teased at her Silvertown school. Even though she’d finally found Sera, she was still different. And to top it all off, she was one of the only girls in her grade without a boyfriend. A big problem one she was hoping attending some parties would help her to solve.
The canteen was full of familiar, laughing faces, and the busy chatter of students making plans for their weekends.
As she walked past the rows of tables, she tried to ignore a wolf whistle from Travis Crowe, the blonde quarterback of the school’s football team.
‘You’re no tomboy now, Canuck!’ His lazy eyes wandered up and down her body. With the exception of that time in gym class when he’d yelled ‘Gotcha!’ after nailing her in the head with a dodge ball, Travis had never spoken to Clover before. The popular guys rarely did. ‘I hope to see you at the party on Friday!’
Clover’s face flushed red, and she walked a little faster, as she headed for the front doors and to her truck, which was still parked at Sera’s.
See you there, Travis, she thought, enjoying the fresh air on her face as she pushed the doors wide open, at my first ever party!
Surely, by now, she was sober enough to drive.
Clover was relieved to find Ernie was out when she made it home. Since losing his job, he’d started a business welding from home, but thankfully was getting more away work, so wouldn’t be there as much, telling her what to do. Her mom, Leslie’s, Suburban was parked in front of the house, which meant she and her little sister Jasmine were home, but they shouldn’t bother her.
Clover retreated to her room and, looking past her usual racing DVDs, selected Pearl Harbor to watch on her MacBook. Josh Hartnett was such a babe. Maybe she’d meet a guy like him at the party on Friday. She couldn’t wait.
Jasmine was on the phone in her bedroom opposite, giggling away, so Clover tiptoed into their bathroom to have a shower. Realising that she’d forgotten the curling iron Sera lent her, still in her room in her backpack, she returned to quickly retrieve it. She hid the iron in the bottom cupboard in the vanity, underneath a stack of towels. Jasmine shouldn’t find it there. Clover’s things were always disappearing. Like the one decent article of clothing Leslie had bought her, a pink cardigan, with bows stitched into the soft knit, and diamanté buttons. It was gorgeous, and she’d only worn it once before it never returned from the wash. She was devastated.
And then there was her makeup she didn’t even know Jasmine wore it. She was so angry about it being stolen, she could hardly think. At least Sera had been able to lend her some mascara, until she had the money to head to the pharmacy and buy some herself.
Back in her room, Clover pulled on her heart-patterned, flannel pyjamas and eased onto her creaky old bed, the same one she’d had since she was a little girl, when they lived in Canada. She missed her old friends, her cousins, and the big, family Christmases they’d had living there. Her bed and her My Little Pony blanket were her final pieces of Canada, of her childhood. She wouldn’t part with them at least until the springs of the mattress actually popped through the fabric to poke her in the butt.
Her family’s property had a pond in front of the two-storey house, with tall spruce, a few stands of green pine and many ghost-like aspen trees surrounding the water and stretching away to the white and slate grey tips of the Rocky Mountains, all around.
‘Just as good as Alberta!’ her overly enthusiastic mom, Leslie, had said over and over when they’d first moved in. Clover didn’t think so. She hated her mom for making them leave.
Leslie had spent nearly ten years travelling back and forth from Calgary to Denver, working her way up the corporate ladder in one of the largest horse-product wholesalers in North America. When the company finally offered her a senior management position at their American headquarters and sponsorship for a green card, Leslie and Ernie made the decision to relocate the whole family to the States. They found acreage, just west of Denver, on the outskirts of historic Silvertown. They arrived just a few weeks before Clover started her freshman year of high school. She was the new girl and Canadian in a country school with less than five hundred kids who’d known each other since birth, at least that’s how it felt to Clover. Like she didn’t stand a chance. Clover still didn’t see much of her mom. When Leslie wasn’t working, she and Jasmine were either at the barn with Jazz’s show jumpers or following the various horse show circuits. It wasn’t Clover’s fault she preferred Ernie’s passion of dirt bikes to the horse show world. But it was obvious to her that Leslie resented her for pulling their family in two. Why couldn’t Clover just do what she wanted? Be just like Jasmine, perfect at school and always winning? Clover hated to think about it, and avoided both of them like her life depended on it. Dealing with her mother and her sister made her angry as shit and dark inside.
She jumped at the sound of her phone beeping. Two messages. Both from Sera, but still, it was the start of something. A new social existence. She could feel it her life was changing. Well overdue.
From Sera:
Message 1: Hey Canuck can’t wait for Friday!
Message 2: So excited you’re coming! You can keep the black hoodie but we NEED to get to the mall to get you some new jeans and heels hit your mom up for cash!
Clover replied quickly: I’ll try. Maybe mall after school tomoz?
Sera : Yeah, bitch! Thought you’d never ask!
Clover tapped on her Facebook app, and noticed a new notification: ‘Lasha La-La Moore’ had tagged her in a photo.
OMGOD!
It was a horrible, sinking, sick feeling, having her bully follow her home. In her bedroom. Her only ‘safe’ place.
Thankfully, here, she could delete her.
She’d set her security settings so that no one could tag her in anything without her approval, and had blocked Dee and all of the other nasty girls from her school. But she hadn’t blocked Lasha, as she’d never tried to contact her online before.
Clover took a quick look at the photo: of her sitting on her bike, he
lmet off, face caked with mud, hair a tangled mess, and ‘LOSER BAHAHA’ written in red across her forehead. Stupid bitch, Clover thought, also cursing the photographer who’d taken such an unflattering shot.
Clover found her mother at the computer in her office. Leslie didn’t look up from the screen. Her phone was buzzing on the desk beside her and a stack of papers spilled out of a plastic tray. Clover sat down in the chair, set just behind Leslie’s. ‘Jasmine?’ Leslie asked.
‘It’s me, Mom,’ said Clover.
‘Sorry, honey you’ve got me at a really bad time.’ Leslie rubbed her temples. ‘I can’t believe people send urgent emails at this hour, it’s ridiculous.’
‘Sorry.’ Clover told herself to get up and rush away from a place that would just bring her pain, but the thought of her worn out jeans, her old shoes, and the best time of her life fast approaching, kept her glued in the chair.
Leslie answered her phone. ‘Yes! Bill, it’s coming to you now.’ She clicked the mouse.
Clover had to speak, or kiss any new cool status goodbye. Leslie finished her call, and started typing.
‘Mom … ’
‘Right. Sorry, what’s up?’
‘I was hoping to get some money, please, to go shopping. I really need some new clothes for school.’
Leslie sighed loudly when her phone started to buzz again, and typed a quick message. ‘Didn’t I take you a few weeks ago?’
‘Um, no.’ Clover bit her bottom lip, and cursed herself for feeling so upset. You don’t care! She yelled at herself. YOU DON’T CARE IF SHE HATES YOU! Problem was, she did. She’d hoped winning the championship would show her mother that what she did was legitimate, that she was working towards something great and was going to succeed. Maybe, then, Leslie would want to spend time with her, and love her. Like she loved Jasmine. ‘That must have been Jasmine.’
Leslie shook her head, clearly annoyed. ‘There’s twenty in my wallet, just there.’ She pointed to the filing cabinet beside the desk.
