“You’re gonna break a nail,” I say. I can’t help it. If the girl was any more uptight it’d be a medical condition.
Brianna doesn’t reply. She just keeps tearing at boxes like she’s on a mission. Meanwhile Burke’s yanking out anything remotely interesting, littering the floor with superheroes and racecars. It’s deep green chaos and I whistle as I back slowly out of the room. If this is what Saturday mornings are gonna be like from now on, I should sleep late.
six
Nina cooks this beef and rice thing on Sunday night. We eat in the dining room because the kitchen table’s too small for five. The next night Dad’s late but Nina already knows to expect that; she puts his dinner in a Tupperware container in the fridge. Afterwards Nina says that she realizes Dad and I haven’t been eating scheduled meals like they have and that she knows sometimes I’ll have my own plans.
“I’ll let you know if I’m not going to be around,” I tell her. “How does that sound?”
“Perfect,” she says. “You could let me know some things you like too—or things you don’t, for that matter.”
Yeah, maybe I could jot some helpful hints down on cue cards. Seriously, though, I know she’s only trying to be accommodating. It’s just bizarre to imagine Nina making food for me on a regular basis. I mean, I’m not the one she’s in love with; I’m just part of the package deal. “Tomatoes,” I offer. “Can’t stand them except on pizza.” Not a big issue really. I’m only saying it for the sake of saying something.
Later that night I go over to Yolanda’s to practice our movie review presentation. She makes her parents listen to us, and her mother laughs when we start into the bickering bit. I’m not in any hurry to get home so I hang out there awhile watching TV and listening to Y’s older brother (temporarily home from university) play drums in the background. I went through my own drumming phase a couple years ago, so I can hear that he’s good.
“Is your brother in a band?” I ask.
“Two. He’s trying to figure out which one he wants to stick with.” Yolanda stretches her legs out in front of her and stares at me thoughtfully. “So what’s with you and Kat lately? You two on the outs?”
“What makes you say that?” I run my fingers through my green-free hair (it’s true, baby oil works) as I peer back at her.
“Usually you guys talk all the time and lately I never see you together.”
“I didn’t know we were being monitored,” I say. Then, because there’s no reason to cop an attitude with Yolanda, I add, “Everything’s cool. Same as always.”
“If you say so.” Yolanda nods. “I’m not trying to get on your case.”
“I know, but is this something people are talking about now?” People talk like crazy at GS. Doesn’t matter if what they’re saying is true or not.
“I haven’t heard anything. It’s just something Zoe and I noticed while we were monitoring you.” She smiles at me and I smile back but I’m still a little concerned. Things are weird enough between Kat and me without everyone else noticing. For a second I consider telling Yolanda the truth, just to get it off my chest. I’m sure she’d keep it to herself (or at least between her and Z) but what if just saying it out loud changes things for the worse?
So I don’t say anything. I go home, pass Dad and Nina lounging on the living room couch and call out good night. They’re both drinking coffee and reading the paper and it’s such a cozy little domestic scene that for a second I feel like I must’ve walked through someone else’s front door.
“Good night, Mason,” they chime. They sound happy and I’m happy for them. From what I remember Dad was good at being with someone.
Yolanda and I wow everyone with our presentation the next morning. People aren’t used to seeing Yolanda act so outgoing, and you can tell they get a kick out of it. They’re leaning forward in their seats, grinning and nodding. Some of them have obviously seen Creep Forward, and it looks like most of them didn’t like it any better than we did. Ms. Courier has this class applause policy—you have to clap whether you enjoyed the person’s presentation or not—so the grinning and nodding is a much better indication of what people think of your presentation.
Ms. Courier stops the video camera as we return to our seats. She records all the presentations so we can watch ourselves and become more aware of our body language, voice, etc. I’m pretty in tune with my body language from my modeling days anyway; I don’t need to see the video. In fact, it took me a couple years to get over thinking about how I looked all the time. Where I’m at right now is a happy medium. I’m conscious of what I’m doing but I don’t obsess about things like the angle I’m holding my right arm at or whether my eyebrows are perfectly neat. Mostly I concentrate on getting the emotion right.
If I weren’t so good at that, Kat would already suspect how I’m feeling. Or maybe she does. I don’t know and there’s no one I can ask.
I’m starting to think about picking up the phone to call her sometime soon. Not to talk about it, just to get our friendship back into the groove. Tiptoeing around each other isn’t working.
Anyway, I’m thinking about it but I haven’t decided yet. Suddenly I’m all kinds of Hamlet. I can’t make up my fucking mind.
Take today. I could walk up to Kat in the cafeteria and make a joke. I could lean into the aisle in history and ask her if she’ll be home tonight. Then, at the end of the period, I could casually mention that I might give her a call later. It wouldn’t be hard.
Unless she goes white, stares down at her desk and stays quiet for so long that there’s no need to spell out that she doesn’t want to hear from me later. That could happen. Or something worse that I’m even less prepared for. Then what?
This is exactly the kind of thinking that keeps me where I am. At least until after history. I’m two steps behind her in the hall when I surprise myself by reaching out to touch her shoulder. She swings around and looks up at me with suspicious eyes. “You busy after school today?” I ask. “I was thinking we could hang out or something.”
Kat’s lips disappear inside her mouth as she thinks it over. “Are you okay?” she asks.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” The fact that she’s even asking gets me but I don’t want to spook her.
“The changes at home.” Kat scratches her nose. “I don’t know. I just wondered.”
“No, I’m fine,” I tell her. “It’s just that we haven’t hung out in a while, you know?”
“I know.” She looks tense, like I’m going to jump her right there in the hallway, nine steps from the guidance office.
I’m about to tell her that I wish she would relax around me, that everything would be cool if she’d let it, but Christopher Cipolla cuts between us at that exact moment and says, “Anyone want to ditch last period? I can’t deal with French today.” He grimaces for effect, instantly sucking up the anxious energy between Kat and me and converting us into an audience. “It’s McKenzie’s personal mission to crush me—the bitter old bitch.”
“You upstage her all the time,” I advise. “You can’t do that with McKenzie.”
“Listen to Dr. Phil here,” Kat retorts, her voice biting. She’s frowning in disapproval and I don’t know what I’ve done wrong but suddenly I’m just sick to death of this shit with her.
“I’m in,” I say, talking over her. “What do you want to do?”
“I’m due at JB at five,” Christopher says slowly. He gives us this bewildered look like he’s sensed something rotten in the air but isn’t sure what it is. “But I’m open to suggestions.” JB is The Java Bean, where he started working just last weekend. It’s in the middle of downtown Glenashton, surrounded by trendy restaurants with names like Paradoxe and II Mondo. “Kat, you coming too?”
“Actually”—Kat cocks her head in my direction—“I was just telling Mason that Sondra’s coming over after class to work on a physics assignment.”
“Of course,” I say sarcastically. “That’s exactly what you were going to tell me.” There
was never a remote possibility of us hanging out. She’s not even comfortable standing next to me.
Kat clenches her jaw as she looks away. I’m positive I could get her pretty crazy if I wanted to. I could crank up the attitude and make her scream at me right in front of Christopher and the guidance office. It’d be one way to get to her.
“Let’s go,” I tell Chris. “Before you run into McKenzie.”
Chris flashes Kat one last look. “Later, Kat.”
Kat nods goodbye to both of us and for a second I think I see something besides anger in her eyes. Regret, maybe. I don’t know. She’s an enigma. Maybe she’ll be an enigma from now on. Maybe we’re not even friends anymore. I don’t know a thing about it.
Christopher and I head downtown and shoot pool in The Windsor Arms. We eat fish-and-chips and then Chris flips through CDs at this jazz music store I’ve never been inside before. Round about then I remember that Nina will be expecting me home for dinner. I phone Brianna and tell her to let Nina know I’m skipping supper tonight.
“Anything else?” Brianna says wearily.
“Nope.”
“’Kay.” Brianna hangs up without a goodbye, and because I’m already in a mood I almost call her back and tell her to lighten up. Almost. But she’s not the one I’m mad at.
“I should get over to JB,” Christopher says, bounding towards me. “You coming for a coffee on the house?”
Sure I’m coming for coffee. I’m not in a frenzy to get home. I walk over to JB with Chris and let him fix me a cup of their coffee of the week: Cinnamania. It’s so sweet that two sips give me a colossal sugar rush and I sit at a booth on my own reading one of the house copies of the Toronto Star, my foot tapping in time to the Foo Fighters.
“Mason Rice,” a woman’s voice pronounces. “Looks like the name stuck after all.”
My gaze darts up and hangs on Colette standing across from me in a navy blazer and knee-length skirt, her thin fingers wound around a paper coffee cup. The clothes make her look like an official version of the woman I met at Nina’s shower. I liked her at the time but Kat’s sunk me into a weird mood I can’t climb out of. I just want to sit here, sipping my sugar in easy silence.
“Hey,” I say evenly. “How are you?”
“I’m fine.” She smiles like she’s pleased with herself. “How’re Nina and the kids settling in at the house?”
“Great.” I nod slowly, set down the newspaper and blink at her, searching for something to say. That’s not a problem I usually have, and the gap in conversation tips me further off balance.
“Are you all right?” Colette asks, concern in her eyes. “You seem a bit …” She makes a wavy motion with her hand. Seasick? “Is this a bad time?”
“No.” I shake my head and reach for my Cinnamania. “You know, you’re the second person that’s asked me that today.”
“Okay.” Colette nods. “That was nosy of me,” she says apologetically.
“No, no, it’s okay.” Somehow her sympathetic tone makes me feel better. At least I’m not in the wrong here. “So you work around here or something?”
“Four doors down. At the travel agency. It’s a temporary gig. I’m thinking about going back to school.” The fact that she refers to her job as a gig makes me smile. It sounds so laid-back, completely the opposite of how she looks.
“I thought you didn’t like school.” I smile harder, trusting that she remembers our last conversation.
“Just high school,” Colette clarifies. “The horror years.” She raises her cup like she’s toasting me and adds, “Well, I’m going to hit the road, Mason. Do you want a ride home?”
Do I want a ride? For sure. It’s the home part that I’m not big on. The house has seriously shrunk over the past few days. “Okay,” I reply reluctantly. “Thanks.” I stand up next to her, catch Christopher’s eye and tell him I’ll see him tomorrow.
“Ciao,” Chris sings, looking at the both of us.
Out on the street I gulp coffee and follow Colette’s lead. Her Toyota Echo’s parked in a lot around the corner and someone’s dented the passenger door pretty bad. Colette notices me eyeing it and says, “Condo parking lot scrape. Stupid SUV was hogging the ramp at my friend’s place.” She shakes her head wildly. “Don’t you hate those things? I can’t believe anyone’s still driving them—it’s like wearing a badge declaring yourself an asshole.”
It sounds like one of those questions that don’t need an answer and I climb into the car and snap on the seat belt. “You remember where the house is?” I ask.
“Sure. Right off Weston.”
“Yeah.” I nod, and somewhere in that four-second pause my mind leaps back to Kat shrinking away from me in the hall. I mean, how’s that supposed to make me feel? It’s not like I talked her into something. She was the one who asked if I had condoms. We’re supposed to be friends, and the way she’s acting, it’s as though she can barely stand me. “That’s right.”
Colette fixes her eyes on me, her lips stretching like she’s about to break into a smile, only she doesn’t. She sticks the key in the ignition and revs the engine. Then we’re pulling out of the parking lot and heading down Kennedy in silence. Don’t ask me why but I get the feeling we could keep going like that until we hit my house. I can see it. Not a word, not a sound, not even the radio, until she pulls into my driveway. I’ll say thanks and she’ll say no problem and that will be the end of it.
Only suddenly that’s not how I want this to go. “So what’re you going back to school for?” I ask, turning to look at her.
“Law. I’m trying to get some money together first. I have the apartment and car payments to keep up.” We stop at a red light and Colette looks over at me and adds, “Lately I’ve been insanely jealous of all those people that move back home to save money. Seems like everyone is doing that these days.”
“And you can’t?”
“My parents are big into the Christian thing.” Colette bends her fingertips around the word, inserting quotation marks. “It’s not my scene.”
“I get you.” I focus on Colette’s hands back on the steering wheel. I look at the dark sleeves of her blazer and follow them up to her shoulders. Her neck’s long and slender and she’s got a single freckle under her jawline. She has a pretty face with sharp, almost aristocratic-looking features, like a woman you’d see playing a young countess in a historical drama—the countess who is smarter, sexier and more intriguing than everyone else in the movie. I’d check out her legs again too but that’d be obvious.
“What about you?” she asks. “Have you figured out what you want to do after high school?”
“Maybe.” I smile coyly as I glance at her sideways. I’m all over the map today; I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. I mean, the girl is, like, twenty-five but she’s really something in this strange, delicate kind of way. It’s almost like I can’t help flirting.
“Holding out on me, huh?” Her dark eyes shine at me from the driver’s seat.
“Nah.” I shake my head, point my gaze out the window and try to stay cool. “I’m just not sure yet.” I scratch my ear and add, “I’ve been doing some acting at school.”
“That’s great,” Colette says enthusiastically. “I bet you’re good.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know. You seemed pretty comfortable with yourself that day at the party.”
That day at the party when she flirted back. I’m right about that much.
“I wish I could’ve been confident like that in high school,” Colette continues. “You’re so far ahead of the game if you’ve got it together at fifteen and don’t let the stupid things get you down.”
“Sixteen,” I correct, staring at her boldly. I swear I feel drunk on Cinnamania, like I don’t know what I’ll do or say next. Maybe it’s partly because of how Kat acted today but it’s not as simple as that. It’s also how long Colette’s legs looked in her high heels at Nina’s shower and how she keeps saying the right things to me.
Colette stops the car and then I notice we’re parked right in front of my house and that in a second I’ll have to say goodbye and get out.
“Sixteen,” Colette repeats slowly. “Right.” She stares steadily back, sizing me up, wondering if she’s misinterpreting my intentions.
“I guess it doesn’t make much difference.” Reality’s filtering through my sugar high and I’m beginning to lose my nerve. This is a full-grown woman I’m sitting next to. She’s probably been in high heels for as long as I’ve been in school. “So I’ll see you later, Colette.” Thing is, I’m still sitting there, waiting for something to happen, my breath vibrating in my throat.
“O-kay,” Colette says in a funny voice. “This is the part where you get out of the car, Mason.”
“Seriously?” I ask, disappointed. It’s stupid but somehow I can’t believe she’s going to make me get out of the car. Then again, how could I expect any different? “Yeah, sure,” I add swiftly, coming to my senses. “Thanks for the ride.”
Colette laughs at me, and I blush. “You’re so cute,” she says, and then, probably because I look embarrassed, she adds, “Don’t worry about it, Mason. We’re cool.” I crinkle up my eyes, wishing I could blend with the upholstery. “Don’t worry,” she repeats, and I’m sitting there shaking my head, not even trying to hide the fact that I feel like a loser.
In fact, she’s being so great about it that I’m almost sort of enjoying this in a weird way. “Okay,” I mumble finally. “Thanks.”
I turn partway to look at her, red creeping across my face like an allergic reaction, and she looks back at me and says, “Where were guys like you when I was in high school?” She sounds sincere, and we both laugh quietly at the sublime ridiculousness of the situation.
“All right, then,” she announces, smiling. “Be good.”
I’m still blushing uncontrollably but I smile too. “I don’t know about that.”
The Lighter Side of Life and Death Page 5
