The History of Hilary Hambrushina

by Marnie Lamb

  “Oh, it’s what they used to call French Canadians. It means ‘loser’ or something like that. All those names mean the same thing.”

  I looked down at my stir-fry.

  “My father came from England,” said my dad. “Then he married my mother out West. She’s Scottish, so you could divide my half in two, and draw Big Ben on one side, and a kilt on the other.”

  “Oh, that reminds me,” added my mom. “My mother’s side has some Irish on it, too. You can make my part three-quarters French and one quarter Irish.”

  I couldn’t keep up with all this. Laughing, I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and asked my parents to explain it again, more slowly.

  The next day in class, everyone was comparing shields. People had ancestors from all over the world. One girl was Aboriginal, and she had divided her shield in half, drawing different crests for her mother’s and father’s nations. Other shields had countries I’d never heard of. Tanzania? Where was that? Even the short whiny guy’s shield was interesting; he had a Mexican grandfather. I liked knowing these things about my classmates. I felt the ethnic shields somehow made us more equal, even though everyone’s shield was totally different.

  Several people complimented me on my shield, but Kallie was getting the most compliments. I knew hers would be good, but even I was surprised when I saw it. It was filled with dazzling colours and intricate shapes, and it was divided into more compartments than anyone else’s.

  During Kallie’s presentation, I learned all kinds of stuff about her. Her mom’s dad was French, and her mom’s mom was Swedish. And the crests she’d chosen for each country were unique. Instead of drawing the Eiffel Tower for France, like most people had, she’d drawn the Louvre, which she said was a famous museum in Paris. As part of her grandma’s quarter, she’d drawn a tiny pack of tarot cards.

  When Kallie finished her talk, Miss Stephanopoulos smiled and said, “Thank you for a lovely presentation, Kallie.” Everyone clapped, except Chanel and her friends, whose furrowed brows and raised upper lips said, “That is so lame.” Then Miss Stephanopoulos made a list on the board of all the countries from our shields. We each had to go and write our name under the appropriate ones.

  “Who knows?” she said. “You might find you have something in common with someone you least suspect.”

  I noticed Chanel’s name under England. I smiled inwardly, knowing I had something in common with her. Tiffany frowned when she went to write her name under China.

  After class, I was at my locker when I saw Chanel, Burgundy, and Tiffany approach Kallie. Quickly, I turned my face away and used the mirror I’d hung inside my locker to watch what was happening.

  Tiffany leaned against the locker next to Kallie’s. “We just want to thank you for a lovely presentation, Kallie,” she mimicked.

  “Yes, you had the most beautiful shield,” said Burgundy.

  But Kallie wasn’t fooled by their maple syrup-sweet words. She knew a snake was swimming in that syrup somewhere. It was Chanel who fished the snake out.

  “You know what having all those different cultures in you means, don’t you?” she said silkily. “It means you’re a mutt. And mutts are a danger to society. They get diseases. We’re purebred. I’m pure English, and so is Burgundy. And Tiffany is pure Chinese.”

  Kallie had waited for her opportunity, and she pounced on that snake like Rikki Tikki Tavi. “Yes, she is. Just like my friend Chu Hua.”

  Burgundy and Chanel tittered, and a pink patch spread across Tiffany’s face like a continent forming in water. “Yeah, well,” she huffed, “she’s a different kind of Chinese. My parents are from Beijing. Hers are from Guangzhou and Chengdu. They’re like the Newfoundland of China. Plus” — here she turned eager eyes on Chanel and Burgundy — “I heard she goes to Chinese school. That’s so retarded. I haven’t gone since grade two.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Burgundy, smiling, “we’re just teasing, Tif. You’re totally different than Chu Hua. But it’s appropriate she hangs out with her.”

  “Nerds of a feather,” said Tiffany.

  “That’s really original. I’ve never heard that before,” said Kallie sarcastically.

  Tiffany opened her mouth but Chanel spoke first. “Forget it. What can you expect from someone who has a gypsy for a grandmother?”

  “How dare you!” spit Kallie.

  Kallie wasn’t the only one upset. I spun around, ready to help her defend her grandma. But then I saw Chanel and her friends leaning over Kallie, and I remembered Kallie’s grandma, with her long black hair and clattery jewellery, and how she’d read my tarot cards. At the time, I was impressed, but now, tarot cards seemed silly and superstitious. Chanel was right. Kallie’s grandma was weird. I turned away.

  Tiffany and Kallie were still arguing, when Chanel grabbed Tiffany’s arm and said, “Come on, we’ve got to meet the guys in the caf. This isn’t worth it.”

  I waited until the click of their shoes had died out and then turned around. But by then, Kallie was gone, too.

  That night, I pedalled on the stationary bike for fifteen minutes, as if I could pedal my troubles away. Miss Stephanopoulos had handed back our stories that afternoon. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw the small red “C+” at the top of the last page. But that was nothing compared to the comments. I still have the story. I’ll go get it so I can tell you exactly what Miss Stephanopoulos wrote. Just a minute…

  Here it is:

  “Dear Hilary, Although this story is well-written and has some vivid descriptions, the plot is rather predictable, and the characters don’t seem genuine. Would everyone at school really love Diamond? Would Diamond really forgive Jasper and Lacey so quickly and easily? Your writing shows a great deal of potential, however, and I think that you can write a better story.”

  And the worst thing was she was right. I’d reread the story that night, and I could barely keep from gagging. Diamond and her designer clothes and her perfect hair and her A+ average and how she was so nice to everyone, even rotten Lacey… She was too perfect. And all that stuff about heart-shaped fireworks… Barf. Miss Stephanopoulos was right. The story was fake. I sighed. Maybe my creativity had dried up. Maybe I couldn’t write stories anymore.

  Suddenly that snarly voice I hadn’t heard in weeks spoke in my head. Forget it, it said. You’ve got bigger cheeseburgers to fry. The real question is, what are you going to do about Chanel and Kallie?

  What do you mean? I answered.

  You saw what happened today. They hate each other. Do you really think you can be friends with both of them?

  I didn’t respond. When Chanel had said that thing about Kallie’s grandma … it was disappointing. It was like finding out Chanel had warts on her feet. But it was only one little comment and really, I told myself, it was all Tiffany and Burgundy’s fault. They started the teasing, and Chanel was the one who pulled Tiffany away. So I wasn’t convinced Chanel hated Kallie or that she’d have a problem with me being friends with her. In fact she might not even notice. It’s not like I’d be hanging around with both of them at the same time.

  But the snarly voice overheard my thoughts.

  Oh really? it said. Think again. Chanel’s not stupid. If you keep hanging around with Kallie, it’ll only be a matter of time before she figures out you’re friends. Then all your nerdiness — how you sit with Marcia at lunch, how you spent your summer holidays playing Gorgolia, your loser fantasies about you and Brett Filburn — all will be exposed!

  A sick feeling crept up my throat. I can’t let that happen, I told the voice.

  Oh, it replied, so you’re going to dump Kallie? Kallie, who’s been your close — no, your best — friend for the last three months, who threw a sandball at a cute guy because he upset you, who gave you all those compliments at the mall? And after everything she told you in the park? You’re going to turn on her the way Sheila did? Nasty, nasty.

  So what are you saying? I asked angrily.

  I’m saying you have to make a decisio
n.

  What decision?

  But the voice was gone.

  I thought of the Lovers. Was this the decision I had to make, choosing between Chanel and Kallie? No, it couldn’t be. That wasn’t fair. I wanted to be friends with them both.

  Speaking of friendship, I thought suspiciously, I wonder what’s going on with Lynn. This past week, she’d been calling me every night to tell me the latest thing Amber said or give me a description of what Burgundy was wearing that day, as if I couldn’t see for myself in homeroom. But I was no closer to meeting any of them than I’d been at the beginning of the month. At the rate Lynn was going, I wouldn’t have a decision to make because I wouldn’t be Chanel’s friend.

  I called Lynn, but the line was busy so I left a message. Probably Lynn’s mom gossiping with a friend, I thought angrily. Why couldn’t she get off the phone? This was important.

  Finally, about an hour later, the phone rang and I raced into my parents’ room.

  “Hey, Hil,” said Lynn. “Got your message. Sorry I couldn’t take your call.”

  “Oh, no problem. I guess your mom was on the phone?”

  “No, I was on the phone with Amber.”

  I felt like someone had wrapped a frozen towel around my chest. Lynn had never told me she and Amber had exchanged phone numbers. “Really? What did she want?”

  “She was just telling me about this…” Her voice trailed off into laughter. “I’m sorry, it would take too long to explain. Just something this stupid guy in our homeroom did today. So why did you call?”

  But I could barely remember. So I made up some lame excuse and hung up.

  When I crawled into bed, I felt small and cold, like a toy forgotten outside in the snow. I curled into the shape of a crescent moon and wrapped the blankets around me tightly to stop the shaking.

  -14-

  The Pirate’s Booty

  It wasn’t until the middle of the next week that anything happened in my “friendship” with Chanel. That’s when Lynn dropped a sparkly bomb at lunch. “Hil, you’ll never guess what! I was talking with Amber today, and she said you and I could hang with her and Chanel at the dance!”

  My face froze so that I must’ve looked like a stunned mannequin.

  “Aren’t you excited?” she exclaimed. “This is what we’ve been waiting for!”

  But I’d waited so long for the popular group to notice me that now that it was happening, I couldn’t believe it. It was like being told someone super-famous had just died in a horrible accident. It seemed unreal.

  Once I had a minute to think about it, though, the shock was replaced by giddiness. I was actually going to be hanging — not just hanging around, but hanging — with Chanel at the dance! Which meant one thing. I needed a new outfit.

  Lynn and I agreed the occasion called for something from The Limit.

  “What are you going to buy?” I asked eagerly.

  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m going to buy The Dress.”

  “The Dress? Are you serious?” I said, as if she’d told me she was planning to show up in nothing but a red cobra skin.

  “Yeah, they still have a size two in stock at the mall. Morgan put it on hold for me. She has to work tomorrow after school, so I’m getting a drive with her. Want to come with me?”

  I nodded. “But … do you have enough money for The Dress?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve got tons saved from babysitting, and if I don’t have enough, Morgan’ll give me some. What about you? Are you going to get your dress?”

  I looked down. Of course I wanted The Dress more than anything, but what if it didn’t fit? Not to mention my mother’s reaction. “I’d really like to but … what about my mom? She’d be furious if I bought something from The Limit.”

  “Ah,” said Lynn, a lilt in her voice, “but I have a plan. See, we don’t have to tell our moms we’re wearing Limit dresses. In fact, we don’t even have to tell them we’re going to the dance.”

  I lifted my eyebrows. I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of this.

  “Here’s what we do. We buy the dresses and stash them in Morgan’s room. Then on Friday night, Morgan takes the car to drive her and her boyfriend to the dance and me and you to the movies.”

  “We’re going to the movies?”

  “No, Hil. We’re going to say we’re going to the movies, but we’re really going to the dance. Morgan’s picking up Jason, so we can change at his house.”

  “You mean we’re going to have to lie to our moms?”

  “Of course. That’s the point.”

  I drew breath. “O.K. I understand why we have to lie about the dresses, but why do we have to lie about the dance?”

  “Oh, come on. Do you really think your mom would let you go?”

  I hadn’t considered this problem, but of course Lynn was right. If Mom didn’t even let me have a phone, there was no way she’d let me go to a dance. I shook my head.

  “Well, then, this is the only way. I arranged everything with Morgan and she’s cool with it. So do you want her to keep a dress for you?”

  I frowned, staring down at my apple juice. “O.K. Sure.”

  But I was far from sure. Aside from the idea of lying to my mom, which made me teeth-chatteringly nervous, I didn’t think I could afford The Dress. I couldn’t ask for an advance on my allowance, it would look too suspicious. I thought of asking Lynn if she’d lend me the money, but I didn’t want her to think I was some pathetic loser who couldn’t afford one dress.

  Then something occurred to me. I could get the money from my bank account. I usually never touched my bank account money because I was saving it for something. Now that I thought about it, though, I wasn’t sure what that something was. And what better way to spend my cash than on a Limit dress?

  But when we passed a bank on our way to the mall the next day, I didn’t ask Morgan to stop. I’d wrestled with the dress dilemma the night before, and on second (and third and tenth) thought, I didn’t think I could go through with it. I just wasn’t used to disobeying my mom. I mean, O.K., I wasn’t going to tell her about the dance, but at least there, I could tell myself I wasn’t positive she’d disapprove. After all, we’d never talked about me going to a dance, so she hadn’t actually forbidden it. But I knew she’d disapprove of me wearing a Limit dress. And what was I supposed to do with The Dress when the dance was over? Leave it in Morgan’s closet? Lynn hadn’t considered that in her great plan.

  But when Morgan returned from the back of the store with our dresses and put mine in my arms, my heart dissolved into a big pile of goop, especially when I noticed that the price had been marked down to fifty dollars. Maybe wearing The Dress wouldn’t be so bad. It would be like putting on makeup at school. Not really lying, just … doing something my mom didn’t know about. I chewed my lip.

  Lynn was on her way to the cash, cradling a familiar-looking lavender dress, when she turned back. “What’s the matter, Hil? Is something wrong with The Dress?”

  “No … it’s just … I don’t know if I have the money. I mean, I do, but it’s in my bank account … and I’m not sure I should use it.”

  “Oh, come on.” She checked the price tag. “It’s fifty dollars! That’s nothing!”

  “I know, but I was saving the money in my account for something important.”

  “What’s more important than this?”

  I bit my lip. “I need another day to think about it.”

  Her eyes fluttered upwards. “All right, but Morgan can’t hold it forever. It’s from the summer. The store wants to get rid of it.”

  I returned my dress to Morgan and Lynn paid for hers. Then we headed to the bus stop.

  “What would your mom do if she caught you with a Limit dress?” I asked.

  She twisted her mouth. “Probably not much. She’s already been through it with Morgan. I’m not worried about what she’d do. I just don’t feel like having a big scene.”

  We pushed open one of the mall’s heavy doors and braced o
urselves against the late-September wind, which ran its cool fingers through our hair. “It’s just so exciting that we’re actually going to hang with Chanel at the dance,” I said. “I guess you and Amber are pretty good friends now?”

  She nodded. “Amber says I’m the only one she can stand in our homeroom. Well, me and Heather Banks.”

  I stopped short. The wind pulled my hair and slapped it back in my face. “Heather Banks?” I said, as if I’d just come across a piece of fat in an otherwise perfect steak. “She’s friends with them?”

  “Kind of. We all hang around in homeroom and sometimes we talk in home ec.”

  “How can you hang around with her after what she did to me?”

  Lynn looked puzzled. “What did she do?”

  I could barely get the words out. “That comment she made about my sweater, about letting pigs in the school, last year.”

  “Oh, that. Well, that wasn’t very nice, but Heather was a lot younger then. She’s really matured over the summer. I think you should just forgive and forget.”

  I made sputtering noises like I was on my last strokes of the 800 metre front crawl.

  “Look, Hil,” said Lynn, “you better at least pretend to like her because she’ll be hanging with us at the dance.”

  “Oh, great!” I yelled. “Well, I guess I can understand why you’d want to hang around with her. She’s a lot cooler than I am.”

  Of course I hoped Lynn would disagree with me, which made it even worse when she said, “Well, yeah, but that’ll change.” She saw my dismayed expression. “Hil, you’ll be fine. Just don’t do anything to screw up our relationship with Chanel.”

  “Like what?” I wailed.

  “Don’t admit to having any connections to geeks like Kallie. I’m sorry but it’s true. And don’t act puppyish.”

  “Puppyish?”

  “Yeah, pathetic and desperate. You know, like —” Here she made a series of panting noises worthy of Fortunado. “‘Please like me, please be my friend.’”

  I rolled my eyes. “I do have some brains, you know.”