The History of Hilary Hambrushina
Page 13
Lynn and I looked at each other, baffled. Was this supposed to be easy? Neither of us had any clue about the answer (which was Thomas Webb, in case you’re interested).
“I wouldn’t know because I never eat ice cream,” said Lynn.
“Not even Double Peanut Fudge Deluxe Supreme?”
I froze. Lynn got a hard look on her face. I grabbed a card and started to ask another question. But it was too late.
“Double Peanut Fudge Deluxe Supreme?” asked Lynn slowly.
“Yeah. It’s a new flavour they developed at this secret ice cream shop up north,” said Kallie, grinning. “It’s the best ice cream in the whole world. I bet you’d feel different about ice cream if you tried it.”
I put a hand to my head. I’d always wanted to know where Double Peanut Fudge Deluxe Supreme came from, but not right now!
“I’m sure I would,” said Lynn, in that same slow, hard voice.
Lynn and Kallie spent the rest of the evening sniping at each other, and every conversation I tried to start went about as far as a tricycle with a broken wheel. So I began to eat instead. Cold, bland shrimp drenched in sour red dip and cold, bland veggies drenched in salty white dip.
“Woah, there, Hil, you’re putting away a lot of shrimp,” Lynn said.
I looked down at the shrimp ring, which was over half gone, and blushed. I hadn’t realized I’d eaten so many.
Kallie looked right at Lynn and put down the card she was holding. “I heard you think that Hilary is fat,” she said accusingly.
“What?” snorted Lynn. She looked at me as if it was a joke. I lowered my head. “I don’t think she’s fat.”
“That’s not the way it sounded, from what she told me.”
“What did you say to her?” demanded Lynn.
I gulped. This was my worst fear, that I’d be caught in the middle. I was so nervous I didn’t know what I was saying. “Nothing. I just accidentally told Kallie about that comment you made about … I don’t know … something about baby fat.”
Fortunately this calmed Lynn down. “Well, baby fat and regular fat are two totally different things. If you’re going to talk about something I said, get it right, Hil.”
But Kallie wouldn’t give up. “If you don’t think she’s fat, why did you make that comment about the shrimp?”
“I was joking! Get over it already,” Lynn said.
“How about some music?” I asked.
This was an even worse idea. We put on one of Lynn’s new CDs. Ten seconds into the first song, Kallie said she’d never heard of the singer because she didn’t listen to music that much. Lynn replied that she’d never heard of anyone our age who wasn’t interested in music and asked whether Kallie really was our age. Kallie said that she certainly wasn’t any younger than Lynn and was probably older. They made other comments, too. I don’t remember them all. I don’t want to.
Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I made up an excuse and went down to the kitchen, where I tried to figure out a way to make them both leave. This was way worse than when I’d wanted to get out of hanging around with Kallie that first time. How could I have thought that was so bad? It was nothing compared to what was happening now. I wished a giant cow would burst through the roof and drown us all in Double Peanut Fudge Deluxe Supreme. Anything to make this horrible soiree end!
Dad came into the kitchen from the living room, carrying a bowl of popcorn whose beautiful buttery smell made the food upstairs even more disgusting.
“How’s everything going, Hilary?” Dad put a handful of kernels in his mouth and crunched them. I always thought it was funny how he ate the unpopped kernels, which everyone else threw away. But he insisted that they were his favourite part. “Smooth on the outside, crunchy on the inside. What more could you ask for?”
Whenever we watched a movie, Dad would wait until the slow, quiet scenes started and then crack the kernels as loudly as he could. Mom and I would shoot him dirty looks, and then, during the action sequences my dad loved, we’d slurp our drinks to drown out the car crashes and explosions. Once, a pillow fight had broken out as a result. Somehow, though, all that had stopped in the last year, and I couldn’t remember why.
“NASA control centre to Apollo 12. Can you read me?” Dad said.
I smiled. He always changed Apollo’s name depending on how old I was.
“Yes, I can read you. Just grabbing some sodas before I go back to the moon.” I took a couple of Cokes from the fridge and headed back upstairs. I had to face them sooner or later.
When I got to my room, Lynn and Kallie were both standing up. I glanced from one to the other. No sign of blood, bruises, or broken furniture. Yet.
Lynn was holding her magazines. “I really have to be going, Hilary. I called my dad while you were downstairs.”
“I should go too,” Kallie said quietly.
“What about the game?” I asked half-heartedly, trying to restrain the relief in my voice.
Lynn shrugged. “I don’t care. She won, anyway.”
“O.K., but please take some of the food.” I moved towards the table, hoping to salvage something of this evening. But even that was not to be. Neither of them wanted any food.
Downstairs, I managed to thank them for coming, and then watch while they acted all nice and polite in front of my parents. The whole time I felt the shrimps crawling their way back up my throat. I couldn’t stand the way Lynn was babbling about her trip to California or the way Kallie kept standing around, like she had to keep Lynn company until her dad got there. After a time that felt as long as Lynn’s trip, her dad arrived and they all left. My parents started to ask me something, but I faked a yawn and said I was too tired to talk. Then I scurried upstairs.
When I woke up the next morning, all I could think was that I had to call Kallie and Lynn and explain to them that last night had been some kind of terrible misunderstanding. I’d say that the planets were misaligned. And if that didn’t work, I’d say it was my fault.
I called Kallie first because I figured she’d be easier to convince.
“Please don’t blame yourself, Hil. You did everything you could to make the evening fun. It just didn’t work out, that’s all.”
I rolled my eyes. Kallie had dismissed my theory about the planets in five seconds, and now she refused to believe I’d done anything wrong. Why did she have to be so nice? Frustrated, I asked, “If it wasn’t me or the planets, then what?”
“Lynn and I are very different people,” she said. She sounded like she was walking across a field and wasn’t sure if she was going to step on a daisy or a land mine. “We have very different interests.”
“So you don’t like her?”
“No. I’m sorry, but I don’t.”
“You didn’t give her a chance. Just because she dresses differently than you —”
“It has nothing to do with how she dresses. I wouldn’t care if she wore nothing but a lifejacket, as long as she was a nice person. It’s just … I don’t like the way she acts.”
“What way she acts?”
“Like the comment she made about you eating too much shrimp. It was mean, and it wasn’t even true.”
“Look, Kallie, I know you think you were being nice by defending me, but you don’t understand. Lynn and I have been best friends since grade one. We tease each other all the time. She didn’t mean to hurt me.”
“But that doesn’t mean she didn’t hurt you,” Kallie said quietly.
I felt like someone had been jabbing me in the neck with a sharp pencil and had jabbed one too many times. “Well, you can hate her all you want but you better get used to her because we’re all going to the same school!” I exclaimed.
I didn’t have any more luck with Lynn.
“How is it your fault she’s a freak, Hilary? You didn’t give birth to her. Misaligned planets … more like her brain is misaligned.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Kallie’s brain, believe me. She just takes a while to get used to. I didn’t r
eally like her at first either, but once I got to know her, I realized she’s pretty cool.”
“Cool!” Lynn shrieked, as if I’d just shoved her into a vat of ice-cold water. “How can you use that word about her? She’s the opposite of cool. She dresses like a little kid. The most exciting thing she did all summer was see a gold sundial. Her idea of fun is probably dressing up stuffed animals.”
Good thing I didn’t tell her about Gorgolia, I thought. “But once you get to know her —”
“I don’t want to get to know her. And it’s not only because of the way she dresses. I’ve seen enough of the way she acts to know I don’t like her.”
“Let me guess. The shrimp.”
“Exactly! How dare she accuse me of thinking you’re fat? She knows nothing about our friendship. And even if I did think you’re fat, it’s none of her business. Who does she think she is?”
My friend, I thought. But I knew if I said this it would lead to another argument, so I said, “Well, you better get used to her because she’s going to Mackenzie, too.”
“Don’t remind me. She’ll probably be in all our classes.”
I felt like someone had tightened a tiny muscle in my stomach with a wrench. Then I said something that surprised even me.
“Look, Lynn, Kallie is my friend, and I’m not going to stop being friends with her just because you don’t like her.”
A pause. “So does this mean you’re going to hang around with her at school, too?”
“I guess.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Hil. What would Chanel think of you being friends with someone like Kallie?”
“She wouldn’t care,” I said, trying to sound confident.
“I’m not so sure about that.” When I didn’t respond, she said angrily, “Fine. Do what you want.”
“I will,” I huffed. We hung up on each other.
I put on my headphones to listen to one of Lynn’s CDs, which she’d forgotten here last night, and began pacing my bedroom. I thought that the lead singer’s glass-shattering rant about her ex-boyfriend might drown out my own thoughts, but no such luck. My soiree managed to penetrate even her piercing wails. What a disaster last night had been. I only made things worse. Kallie and Lynn hated each other. And where did that leave me? What was I supposed to do now?
Whatever it was, I’d have to figure it out soon. Junior high was starting in ten days.
-12-
A Mackenzie Girl
As the bored, dusty-looking man at the head of the classroom rambled on, I snuck glances at Chanel in her tight red sweater and black miniskirt. She was even more beautiful up close than at a distance of twenty metres. She was sitting two rows to my left, between two of her friends from the mall, Tiffany Chen, who had hair like strands of dark wheat, and Burgundy Townsend, who had rich chocolate-coloured hair. I wondered how the three of them got that fresh-off-a-shampoo-commercial look. It must be some special type of conditioner or mousse, I decided. Whatever it was, I’d have to find the magic elixir before I could hope to be friends with them.
After all, who knows what that friendship might lead to? I’d heard Chanel had money. Maybe she’d invite me somewhere fancy. I saw myself standing on the prow of a magnificent yacht at sunset off the Côte d’Azur (I didn’t know where this was, but I’d heard rich people lived there), my long silk gown floating behind me, my luscious locks billowing in the breeze like a curtain, Brett Filburn swaying towards me, a tiny smile on his lips as he held two glasses of champagne…
“No. I’m sorry. That’s not going to happen,” said the bored man.
I was so startled I said, “What?”
But my voice was drowned out by the whine of a short guy a few seats away.
“So we’re all going to be in the same classes? What if we don’t have any friends in this class?”
The class erupted in laughter. The bored man, who was my homeroom teacher, Mr. Benson, exhaled and said, “That would be a very unfortunate situation. You will, however, have the opportunity to be with your friends during your elective. So you can talk it over with your coterie and decide by Monday.”
Monday? What was this about Monday? I looked down at my timetable and wished I hadn’t spent the last few minutes daydreaming. It was the most complicated timetable I’d ever seen. I had eight subjects. That wasn’t so bad, but for almost every class, I had a different teacher and had to change classrooms. Then I noticed one class said “elective,” but it didn’t give a room number. I started to panic. Had they left something off my timetable? What should I do? I couldn’t put my hand up. I’d look like an idiot.
Luckily another girl raised her hand and said, “Sir, can you explain about the electives again?”
Mr. Benson sighed. “You have a choice between three electives: visual arts, home economics, and woodworking. You’ll need to go to the guidance office to select an elective by next Monday, and you’ll have your first class the next day. Choose carefully because you’ll be in that class for the rest of the year.”
Mr. Benson then answered a series of questions, from “Which course is the easiest?” to “How many electives can we choose again?” But I’d already chosen my elective, and I don’t have to tell you what it was. Kallie turned around and whispered, “Isn’t it great, Hil? A whole year of art class to look forward to.” I nodded.
I was hoping the art room would be nicer than my homeroom, which wasn’t exactly the way I’d pictured it. Sure, it had a squeaky clean whiteboard with new red markers whose pungent smell reached me several feet away. But the inside of my desk was rusty (I was afraid to think what had been put there to make it rusty) and the sea green plastic seat cracked. The room had only tiny, grime-streaked windows a few inches below the ceiling. Well, this would be my home away from home for the next five years, so I’d have to get used to it.
Today was the second day of school. Yesterday, everyone had gone to sit in the gym, where the principal called out the homerooms. I was in 7D, along with Kallie, Chanel, Burgundy, and Tiffany. Lynn was in another homeroom, and even worse, we found out our timetables were different and we’d only have lunch together on Wednesdays and Fridays. But at least we’d be in art together, I told myself.
Meanwhile I was taking every opportunity to watch Chanel during homeroom, so I could see how a cool person acted. I already had several little tricks that would let me secretly observe her. Like when we had to stand for the national anthem, I pretended to adjust my shirt, but really I was looking over at Chanel to see what she was wearing. I decided to start keeping a list of what she wore so that when I started buying cool clothes, I’d know what colours and styles to choose.
Then there was my uncanny ability to tune out all conversation except what Chanel was saying. Today she’d looked at her timetable and said, “Ugh. Social studies. That’ll be so boring.” I made a mental note to pretend I disliked social studies, if anyone asked.
Besides Tiffany and Burgundy, Chanel had another friend in our homeroom, Kyle. He had a small, square head and startling blue eyes, and I found him very cute. Chanel Winters and a cute, cool guy in my homeroom — I couldn’t believe my luck!
I wanted to talk to Chanel, Tiffany, or Burgundy, but I wasn’t sure how to approach them. I didn’t have anything important to say to them, and I could just picture what would happen if I made up some measly excuse. They’d stand there, eyebrows arched, mouths twisted in disdain, and say, “What do you want?” I couldn’t let that happen, so until I had a foolproof way to approach Chanel, I’d have to be content to watch her.
Today, our first class was math with Benson, where we were assigned a whole chapter of homework we’d be quizzed on that week. Next was gym, where I quickly decided our teacher was actually an escaped psychopathic criminal in disguise. She had the shortest hair I’d ever seen on a woman, all slicked back like a slimy reptile, and she made us run around the gym in circles. Kallie enjoyed the class, though, and she told me she was going to join the track and field team.
My heart thumped when she told us the class would involve writing stories. Ever since Kallie and I had made up Gorgolia, I’d begun to think maybe my creativity hadn’t dried up after all. I’d get to test that theory pretty soon. We were assigned to write a description of our bedroom.
After our final class, the bell rang and Kallie and I headed for our lockers, lugging several heavy textbooks and trying to duck out of the way of people who were dashing towards the cafeteria as if they hadn’t eaten in months. A six-foot guy crashed right into me and sailed on without a backward glance. As I rubbed my throbbing arm, I thought, Babyish little sixth graders. More like babyish little seventh graders.
By the time we reached the cafeteria, it was as packed as a flight to Fort Lauderdale on March break. I looked around for Lynn, but I couldn’t see anyone I recognized. Kallie and I managed to find an empty table squeezed against a back wall.
“I’m starving!” said Kallie, as she dug into her crisp pita sandwich. I opened my new black lunch bag to see what my mom had packed for me. A smushed peanut-butter sandwich stared at me mournfully with a red jelly eye, where the bread had torn. I sighed and took a soggy bite.
“Hey Hil!”
I looked up to see Lynn. I said a warm hello, and she sat down beside me, exchanging a cold greeting with Kallie. Lynn and I began giving each other the scoop about our teachers.
“Did you have Benson yet?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Yes. And I heard he’s your homeroom teacher. I’m so sorry.”
“I think he’s kind of funny,” Kallie said. “He’s the only other person I know besides my dad who uses the word ‘coterie.’ And it’s a good word.”
Lynn and I exchanged a look, but she didn’t say anything. Instead we started dishing the dirt on our classmates. Lynn was super jealous that I was in a homeroom with so many of the cool people, including Chanel. When I asked who was in her homeroom, she made a face.