by Don Aker
“Jeez, Seth,” Pete muttered. “Way to be crude, man.”
“We didn’t spend all of it,” said Allie, flashing Ethan a bright smile. “Ethan’s giving half the money away.”
Seth snorted his surprise. “Hey, charity begins at home, right?”
“It isn’t charity,” said Ethan. “I’m splitting it with the guy who bought the ticket. End of story.”
“Who bought it?” asked Seth.
Allie quickly told them about Boots, and Pete grinned. “The ticket tipper? That’s great, man!” he said, clapping Ethan on the back.
Seth, however, responded with air-kissing noises. “Sounds like a scene from one of those Hallmark movies, Palmer. I can see it all now.” He held his hands out, thumbs meeting in a camera-framing gesture, and he fake-panned the hallway, freezing on Ethan’s face. “Cue the violins.”
Ethan felt heat work its way up his neck. “Funny,” he said, his lips tight.
“No, I’m serious,” said Seth. “Okay, maybe not Hallmark—a guy probably has to give away a million or more to get a movie made about him. But you’re Live at Five material at least.”
Ethan rankled. He never watched the Halifax news show at home, but last week Moore-or-Less had shown their class some recorded segments in preparation for a video profile assignment. The clip about the woman lobbying for the right to raise chickens on her city property was especially ridiculous. People with an elevated sense of their own importance being interviewed by people who took themselves far too seriously, like they were saving the world one chicken at a time. The only thing missing was a caption crawling across the bottom of the screen proclaiming A person is invariably defined by his ability to meet his obligations.
“Right, Pete?” crowed Seth. “I’m thinking we’ll need multiple camera angles,” he continued, clearly oblivious to Ethan’s growing embarrassment. “And lots of voice-overs, right? Testimonials from friends, members of the community, stuff like that. Maybe we could even—”
“Cut it out,” Ethan hissed.
Seth blinked at him. “Hey, man. Just joking around, right?”
Allie made a sudden production of opening her backpack and pulling out her physics textbook. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve got stuff to do. Didn’t have much time for schoolwork last night, and something tells me Beaker’s got another quiz on tap.”
Pete and Ethan groaned simultaneously, and their unintentional chorus made all four of them laugh, putting the awkward moment behind them.
“See you guys in homeroom,” said Allie. She kissed Ethan goodbye and headed off to the physics lab.
“That’s cool about the money,” said Pete.
Ethan shrugged.
“Seriously, man,” continued Pete. “From what you said about that Boots guy, he can sure use the cash. I’d like to see his face when you give him his share.”
Christ! Ethan thought, suddenly embarrassed. Do you have to be so gay about it? What really pissed him off, though, were those last two words—his share. The guy spent a goddamn buck!
As if reading his mind, Seth said, “That’s a lot of coin to be throwing away, man.”
Ethan grimaced. “Don’t look at me. It was Allie’s idea.”
Pete nodded. “Sounds like Allie.”
“That money could really come in handy right now,” offered Seth.
“No shit,” said Ethan. “Money always comes in handy.”
“But especially now,” Seth said.
“Why?”
“I saw Filthy yesterday.”
Ethan held up his hand as if to stop traffic in the hallway. “I don’t need to hear about Filthy LaFarge cruising in—”
“He wasn’t.”
“Wasn’t what?”
“Cruising. He was parked outside that medical clinic on Quinpool.”
“Yeah? Maybe he’s finally seeing someone about his chronic B.O.”
Seth chuckled. “Nope. Seems he knocked up Shawna Oliver, and she’s planning on keeping it.”
Ethan shook his head. “Filthy’s never heard of condoms?” He jabbed Pete. “Now that guy’s Live at Five material.”
“Seth hasn’t told you the best part,” said Pete.
“What? You two assholes planning a baby shower?”
Seth looked at Pete, one eyebrow cocked. “I don’t think the philanthropist here is ready for the best part, do you?”
“You know, Seth,” Pete replied, “you could be right about that.” The two stared at Ethan, grins playing at the corners of both their mouths.
“Okay, okay, what’s the best part?”
Seth’s face split. “Filthy’s selling the Cobra. Wants to know if you’re still interested in buying it.”
Ethan ignored Moore-or-Less droning on about her damn video profile assignment, which she’d been yammering about non-stop for the last hour. Seth had explained that Filthy was desperate for cash and he wanted to unload the Mustang in the next few weeks. Filthy knew he couldn’t expect to make any money off it without putting some work into the car first, but he didn’t have the cash—or the time, either—so he was willing to sell the Cobra for the same price he’d paid Kyle. And he was willing to take a good-faith down payment from Ethan to hold the car for a few weeks. “Until the end of Shawna’s first trimester,” he’d told Pete. The fact that Filthy LaFarge even knew the word “trimester” might have come as a shock to Ethan if he hadn’t already been reeling with the news of the Cobra.
“What’s a good-faith down payment?” Ethan had asked Seth.
“A few hundred bucks and he’ll hold it for you ‘til Christmas,” Seth said. “If you don’t come up with the rest by then, he keeps the money and posts the car on Kijiji.” Ethan had sworn at that news. The car wouldn’t last an hour on that site.
“A few hundred?” he’d asked. “He get any more specific than that?”
“You know Filthy,” Seth had replied. “Guy still counts on his fingers. But five should probably do it.”
Ethan glanced across the aisle at Allie, who seemed mesmerized by the English teacher’s explanation of video transitions. That was the thing about Allie—she was always so accommodating, so aware of how others might be feeling that she couldn’t just turn herself off like everyone else did. He remembered going to her house one night and finding her watching a figure-skating championship through fingers spread in front of her eyes. Although she’d never skated herself, Allie loved watching it, loved the way the athletes used their bodies to translate music into movement. But each time a skater began gearing up for one of those difficult combinations, she put her hands in front of her eyes, blocking her view of the screen. When Ethan teased her about it, she’d explained that she couldn’t bear seeing the skaters fall. “It’s like I’m on those skates with them,” she told him. Watching her hands rise repeatedly to her face that evening, Ethan had found one more reason to fall in love with her.
Now, though, Ethan found that same empathy annoying. She’d never even met Boots, yet here she was forcing Ethan to give up a chunk of the cash he needed to get the very thing he’d been dreaming about for as long as he could remember.
Ethan suddenly became aware of silence, and he glanced around the room to see several faces turned in his direction, including Allie’s. She mouthed something to him that looked like praying nation, but what the hell did that have to do with anything? Standing at the front of the room, Moore-or-Less was staring at him, too, as though waiting for something. Well, let her wait, thought Ethan. He met her gaze and let the silence spool out until the students sitting around him began to grow restless, whispering to each other. The teacher blinked first. “So, Ethan,” she said finally, “I gather from your silence that it doesn’t much matter to you one way or the other. Am I right?”
Ethan had no idea what she was talking about, so he took the option she’d offered him. “Right.”
She smiled. “Okay, then, we’ll plan to have you present yours first.”
Ethan’s eyes widened.
> “I’m really glad it doesn’t matter to you, Ethan,” the teacher continued. “I was hoping there’d be people willing to share their work with the class.”
Now he knew the word Allie had been mouthing to him: presentation. Ethan felt his stomach clench. The only thing he disliked more than the crap Moore-or-Less got them to do was the ordeal of presenting that crap for everyone else to see. “Ms. Moore, I—”
“Thank you for volunteering, Ethan,” said the teacher, and he could see behind those ridiculous orange and green glasses a look that suggested she was enjoying herself. Really enjoying herself.
“It’s always a shame,” she continued, “when I’m the only person who gets to see the results of all that effort. I’d like to make presenting your profiles a requirement of the project but I want everyone to have enough time to do their best work, which is why it’s not due until just before the Christmas holidays. Since you’ll be working on other units at the same time, there aren’t enough class periods available for us to view everyone’s. However, I definitely want us to see a few, and I’m glad that Ethan has agreed to show us his first.”
“Look, I—”
“So, does anyone else want to present their profiles?” She scanned the class, and thirty pairs of eyes suddenly looked everywhere but at the front of the room. She nodded. “Okay, but if any of you change your mind, please let me know. This assignment is an opportunity to reveal as much about yourselves as about the people whose profiles you’ll be compiling. I think it would be a terrific learning experience for all of us to see at least two or three more.”
As if on cue, the bell rang and everyone began packing up and heading to their next class. Everyone except Ethan, who remained in his seat. He needed a few moments alone with Moore-or-Less.
“I tried to warn you,” murmured Allie as she stood up.
He shrugged. “No worries. I’ll see you in a bit.”
“Wait for you outside?” she asked.
“Nah, you go. Beaker’s probably handing out that quiz already. I won’t be long.”
She put her hand on his shoulder, squeezed it gently, then left.
Ethan pulled himself to his feet and walked to the front of the room, where the teacher was sorting the assignments she’d collected that period. Everyone else was gone now, and there was no sign of another class coming in. Good. “Ms. Moore?”
She didn’t look up. “Yes, Ethan?”
He wondered if she knew he’d be staying behind to talk to her. Probably. And this annoyed him as much as the way she’d tricked him into volunteering. “I’m not presenting my profile.”
She continued to sort papers, placing them into neat piles that, Ethan assumed, were arranged by last name. The teacher had a thing about alphabetical order. He could only imagine what her closets at home looked like.
“I said—”
“I heard you, Ethan.”
He watched as she finished sorting, then slid the assignments into her briefcase, a sleek blue rectangle with gleaming brass hardware. Ethan half expected it to have a Metropolitan Museum tag on it somewhere, but he didn’t see one. “So,” he said, “we clear on me not presenting?”
She lowered the lid of the briefcase and clicked it shut, then looked up at him. “How’s that assignment coming?”
For a moment he had no idea what she was talking about, but then he remembered: the Find-out-what’s-important assignment. “Oh,” he said, thinking of Filthy’s Cobra. His Cobra. “I got a handle on that one already.”
“I’m pleased to hear that,” she said, and her words sounded genuine. “Care to talk about it?”
“I’m kind of in a hurry,” he said. “I think Mr. Becker’s giving a quiz.”
She nodded. “Another time then.”
“Look, about that presentation. I didn’t volunteer.”
“A roomful of people heard otherwise. Or, more specifically, heard you say it didn’t matter to you one way or the other.”
He hated that she was playing him. She knew he hadn’t been paying attention. Did she just want him to admit it? “I didn’t hear what you said.”
“Really.” The word was more statement than question.
“Yeah, so I’m not sharing any profile. Just wanted you to know, okay?” He turned and headed toward the door.
“Ethan?”
He’d reached the hallway by the time he looked back. “Yeah?”
“The presentation is on a volunteer basis only. I’d never force anyone to share it.” She took off her glasses and laid them on her briefcase. “But why not try stepping outside your comfort zone for once in your life? Show us what you can really do. Stretch yourself.”
Ethan swallowed the urge to tell her what she could do, something he was pretty sure would involve some stretching on her part, too. “I don’t want to be late for physics,” he said.
“No,” she said, “you certainly wouldn’t want that.” But there was something in her voice that suggested otherwise.
Screw you, he thought, then left.
Chapter 18
“Got a minute?” asked Ethan.
Link Hornsby looked at him over the remains of his Spaghetti With Meatballs, his garlic toast untouched. Few customers ever ate the crusty bread, but it was included with the Number 7, and Ethan had gotten used to carting it back into the kitchen along with the dirty plates. Hornsby nodded. “Maybe even two minutes.”
Ethan wished there were more people in The Chow Down so their conversation would be covered by clatter, but Lil had taken her break and there was only Boots, sitting at his usual place. Ethan hadn’t expected to see the old guy for at least another week, but he’d told Ethan when he’d come in ten minutes earlier that he’d found a bag of bottles that had fallen off a garbage truck. Having cashed them in for a few bucks at an Enviro Depot, he was celebrating. With a Western Sandwich, no tomato.
Which made Ethan feel even guiltier about what he was doing now.
That afternoon before coming to work, he’d deposited the money he’d won in the bank, including the four hundred fifty bucks he promised Allie he’d share with the old man. He’d had every intention of following through on that promise. In fact, he was carrying in his wallet a cheque for that amount, which he’d made out to “McLaughlin,” leaving a space for the first name he didn’t know. But Link Hornsby had walked in at the beginning of Ethan’s shift, and thoughts of sharing his windfall had taken a back seat to an idea that he’d been mulling over.
Ethan glanced toward the little man. “Anything else you need, Boots?” he asked.
Boots shook his head. “I’m fine, Ethan. Don’t worry about me,” he said, biting into the second half of his sandwich.
Ethan thought of Allie, knew how she’d respond to what he was about to do if she found out, but shrugged it off. How could Boots miss something he’d never had? And besides, if things worked out, the old guy might get the money yet. Ethan turned to Hornsby and lowered his voice. “I still have some of that money left.” He paused. A few minutes ago, he’d planned out in his head what he was going to say, but suddenly it all seemed like lines from a bad sitcom.
Something like a grin played at Hornsby’s mouth. “You lookin’ for a gold star?”
Ethan flushed. “I was wondering if maybe you could, you know, tell me what I should do with it.”
Hornsby settled back in his chair and stared at Ethan for a few hard seconds before replying. “Buy low and sell high.”
Ethan blinked. “Seriously? That’s your advice?”
“I look like an investment broker to you?”
Ethan shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not talking about investing.”
Hornsby took a long swallow of his Coke, wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand, then set the glass on the table. “Why’re you askin’ me?”
Ethan hesitated. “You had a lot of”—he lowered his voice even further—”cash on you the other night.”
Hornsby pulled a toothpick out of his leather jacket,
wiped a piece of pocket fuzz off it, then stuck it in the corner of his mouth. “Tryin’ to quit smokin’,” he said, then nodded at Ethan, signalling for him to continue.
“Look,” said Ethan, “I don’t mean to offend you, but—”
“Never a good opening,” said Hornsby, bringing his hands up and locking his fingers behind his head. The movement pulled the sleeves of his leather jacket back, and the inked undersides of his arms seemed to writhe under the diner’s fluorescent lights.
Leaning back like that, his face lit by those glowing overhead tubes, Hornsby suddenly looked older than Ethan had previously thought. Maybe it was the long hair that had thrown him off before, but seeing him up close now, Ethan could tell the guy was closer to forty than thirty. His father’s age, which nearly made Ethan laugh aloud. Link Hornsby clearly didn’t spend his life obsessed with rules, like Ethan’s old man. Link Hornsby looked like the kind of guy who’d never met a rule he hadn’t broken, a thought that sent a sudden undercurrent of excitement through Ethan. “Like I said,” he began again, “I’m not disrespecting you, but you look like someone who knows how to make a quick buck.”
“I do, do I?” asked Hornsby, deadpan.
This was turning out to be even harder than Ethan anticipated. He glanced again at Boots, who seemed oblivious to both of them, then turned back to Hornsby. “Look,” he said, “if you can help me, great. If you can’t, sorry I wasted your time.” He took Hornsby’s plate and cutlery but left the half-empty glass of Coke. “You want anything else?”
The man reached for the glass again, drained it without removing the toothpick from his mouth, and passed the empty to Ethan. “Nah, I’m good,” he said.
Ethan waited a moment, but when Hornsby offered nothing more, he turned and carried the dishes back to the kitchen. When he returned with the check, Hornsby didn’t even glance at it. A twenty-dollar bill lay on the table in front of him. “I’ll get your change,” Ethan said.
Hornsby waved it away. “Keep it,” he said. Then, “How serious are you about makin’ some money?”
