7…
“Hey, Lily!” Emma chirps.
“Hey.”
13 …
“Did you get my message last night?”
“Nope.”
25 …
“Okay … Well, Todd Nelson’s parents are going away for the weekend and he’s having a party tomorrow night. Wanna go?”
“Not really.”
35 …
“Come on, Todd’s parties are always fun. He’s got a pool and everything.”
I turn to stare at her like she’s just spontaneously combusted in front of me. Do I really look like the pool party type to her? My backpack catapults onto the floor, just missing a collision with her pink pedicured toes by a measly centimetre. “Okay, Emma … what’s going on? Why are you being so nice to me?”
“W-what do you mean?” she says, her smile melting into a pout. “I’m always nice.”
I pull down on the lock and yank open my locker door. Emma jumps back just in time to avoid getting hit by the swinging metal. “What I mean is that we haven’t spoken one word since the day I attacked your Barbies. Don’t you remember?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“So, what gives?”
“Nothing. It’s just when I saw you on the first day of school, you looked like you needed a friend. And I … I guess I kind of did, too.”
Okay, now she’s officially making no sense. “What are you talking about?” I demand. “I am not looking for a friend. And can I remind you that you have one already. A BFF, even.”
Everyone at school knows that Emma Swartz and Sarah Rein have been inseparable since … well, since the day I attacked her Barbies.
She shakes her head. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was about to cry. “Something went down over the summer and she kind of stopped talking to me.” Her voice is so low, I can barely hear it over the din of the crowded hallway. I close my locker with a bang and wait for more.
“Okay, so what was it?”
“We sort of both had a crush on the same guy,” she explains, twirling a thin, red ringlet around her finger, “but he ended up liking me better. And Sarah didn’t appreciate that.”
Why am I not surprised? Such typical high school pettiness. I can’t understand why girls act so jealous and bitchy to each other. I mean, aren’t we all on the same team, here?
And on the heels of that thought, I feel so much of my irritation with Emma fade away to nothingness. We’re on the same team, after all.
Le sigh.
I try my best to insert a bit of friendliness into my voice. Believe you me, that’s not so easy for a person who’s made it her life’s mission to push people away. “Sounds like you’re better off without her, Emma.”
Her smile makes an instant recovery. “Yeah, anyway,” she continues, “you looked all broken up over your aunt and … well, I’ve never seen you turn your back on a friend.”
I let out a sarcastic snort. “Yeah, that’s because I never had any.” Come on, did I really need to spell it out for her?
And that makes her smile balloon into a grin. “Dude, you’re avoiding my question,” she says, poking me in the arm. “Are you coming to Todd’s or not? It’s probably going to be the last pool party of the year.”
“I don’t know.”
And I really don’t. Just between you and me, the whole idea of a party is kind of horrifying for an introvert like me. But there’s a little part of me that wants to go and see what it’s all about. I mean, it has to be better than staring at the ceiling and waiting to die. Right? And the way things are going, this will probably be the one and only pool party of my adolescence. How can I pass up the chance to at least check it out?
Just at that moment, Party-Boy Nelson walks past us. Emma reaches out and grabs his arm.
“Todd, wait! Help me convince Lily she should come to the party tomorrow night.”
Todd turns to look at me, his eyebrows stretching with surprise. I’ve been in school with Todd since we were both barely out of diapers. But in all these years, the only time we’ve ever really spoken was when we were partnered up for a seventh grade science project on volcanoes. Todd’s parents own Big Bend’s only landscape and garden centre and he works there every weekend and school holiday. Gardening must be good exercise, because Todd is like a wall of muscle — the kind of guy who looks like he was born to be an athlete. He’s big, broad, and blond. But he’s also the least co-ordinated person you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s always dropping his pen, tripping over his own feet, and bumping into walls. So instead of turning to hockey or football like most of the guys our age, Todd turned to books. He’s one of the smartest kids in our school. He won a big provincial science competition last June for his project on hybrid plants. Turns out he developed some kind of species of onion that doesn’t make your eyes tear up when you cut into it. That got him a lot of attention. He even got driven in a limo to Toronto to accept the award. If people were fonts, Todd would have to be Courier: smart, simple, and strong. The muscle-bound brainiac.
Guess that makes him kind of like an oxymoron too.
“Tell her she should come,” Emma urges, poking Todd with her pinky finger.
“Yeah, you should definitely come,” he says. There’s a big, awkward smile slowly spreading across his face. It almost makes me want to smile too.
Almost. But then I remember the day he publicly outed Aunt Su’s secret ganja plantation and the urge to smile fades away.
“So, are you coming?” Emma asks again.
“I don’t know, maybe,” I finally say. My voice has shrunk to a squeak because, out of the blue, my heart’s fluttering again.
“Maybe? What does that mean?” she demands. Todd’s green eyes are watching me with interest.
“It means what it means. Maybe I’ll see you there. I gotta go now.”
The fluttering is suddenly a thundering drum roll. Jeepers creepers, it feels like my chest is going to explode. Last thing I want to do is buy the farm here in the dingy halls of Big Bend High. I rush past Emma and Todd, out the front doors of the school, and down the street. This time, I’m not wasting my energy with that useless school nurse. Believe you me. This time, I’m heading straight to Dr. Vermin’s office for a real diagnosis.
(Okay, okay— really bad name for a doctor, I know. But he’s the only one in Big Bend so it’s not as if I have a choice).
By the time I get to his office, my heart’s galloping like a greyhound. I march right up to the receptionist and put on my best “emergency patient” face.
“Please. I have to see Dr. Vermin right now. It’s urgent.”
She doesn’t even look up from her computer screen.
“And what’s the nature of your problem?”
“I think I’m dying here, lady!” I yelp. A startled hush falls over the waiting room. Yeah, yelling in public is an epic breach of village etiquette. But this happens to be an emergency! The receptionist looks up from her screen, her eyes round as frying pans. She gives a slight nod.
“Okay, yes — you can go ahead inside, then.”
I stagger in through the open door and collapse onto the crinkly-papered examination table. Dr. V’s pen drops to the floor with a clatter.
“Goodness! What seems to be the problem, Lily?”
At first when I tell him about my heart, he looks mildly concerned. But then, after listening to my chest for a few seconds, he just shakes his head and gives me the same old “nothing to worry about” speech as the school nurse did.
“You’re perfectly fine, honey,” he says. “Heart palpitations are common enough.”
I slap a hand over my eyes and let out a frustrated groan. “No, you don’t understand! There’s nothing common about it. I think my heart’s giving out because I — I’m not sleeping.”
He sighs as he bends down to scoop up his dropped pen. “That’s nothing new, Lily. From what I remember, you’ve never been a great sleeper —”
“No!” I cut in. “I mean I’
m not sleeping at all. Seriously, not a wink in eighteen nights. I’m a nocturnal freak of nature.”
Right. So there it is. My huge secret revealed. I hold my breath and wait to hear what Dr. V’s going to do about it. Will he call my parents and break the bad news for me? Have me air-lifted to the Mayo Clinic for observation? Or, better yet, offer me a miracle cure to get my sleep back?
I hug my arms to my chest and wait.
“Eighteen days?”
I nod weakly. “Nights, actually. I looked it up on the Internet. It’s practically unprecedented.”
He brings a hand to cover his mouth. But it doesn’t work — the chuckle escapes through his fingers. He turns his back to the wall while he tries to compose himself. After a few seconds, he clears his throat and faces me again.
“I see you’ve inherited your aunt’s talent for storytelling,” he says, patting me on the shoulder like a pet poodle. “Let me assure you, your heart is not giving out. Now, with your mother’s permission, we can discuss the option of prescribing you a mild sleeping pill if you’re having a bit of trouble —”
A mild sleeping pill? General MacArthur’s permission?
Great, thanks for nothing.
Feeling more hopeless than ever, I hop down from the table and make for the door.
How could I have been dumb enough to put my trust in a guy named Vermin?
Maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear I can still hear him chuckling as I stomp out of the waiting room and into the street.
ELEVEN
September 14th
It doesn’t take me long to get ready. Since I have no idea what to wear to a pool party (aside from a bathing suit, which is not going to happen), I just throw on an old pair of comfy jeans and my favourite red sweatshirt. Once it’s good and dark out and I’ve checked to make sure General MacArthur is asleep, I slip on some running shoes and hop out my window.
It’s the most beautiful kind of September night. The air is fresh but not cold. And the moon is full and shining golden against the black sky. It looks so big, I feel like I can reach out and take it into my hands. “Hey, buddy,” I whisper, giving a little wave like it’s an old friend who’s come out to play.
I walk for a while down the main road toward Todd’s house. The strip is mostly deserted, except for a car full of kids that passes me at top speed, haemorrhaging music from every open window. Probably on their way to Todd’s too. The thought of being in the same place as them makes my stomach roll, but I keep going.
I was totally planning on heading straight to the party. Believe you me. I really was. Maybe it’s because I’m so nervous, but my feet seem to have other ideas, and the next thing I know, I’m standing in front of McCool Fries, staring down the silver speaker. It hisses at me like a cornered animal. And then for the freakiest of seconds, it really is a cornered animal — a hulking grey panther, bristling and snarling at me like it’s telling me to back off. A scream rises in my throat as every muscle in my body jumps to high alert. But a moment later, the panther’s a speaker again. Just like that. I swallow the scream and shake my head, trying to clear my racing thoughts. What was that? Man, my brain must be playing serious tricks on me. A panther? Where did that come from? What am I even doing here, anyway? Closing my eyes, I let my mind slide down the list of possible answers to that question:
Possibility #1 — Party procrastination.
Possibility #2 — Rude Dude confrontation.
Possibility #3 — Sudden adolescent hormonal urge to see the gorgeous jerk again.
Possibility #4 — Good old-fashioned case of the munchies.
That last possibility makes my stomach holler. My eyes flip back open. Yeah, come to think of it, a chocolate McCool’s ice cream bar would hit the spot about now. And Ben does owe me after that icky french fry situation from last time. Maybe I can wrangle an explanation about why he slapped away my help in Ms. Pinski’s class.
I walk over and peer through the window, ready to wake him up from his nap. But I almost stop breathing when I see him. And not just because of his looks this time. Ben is sitting straight up in his seat with his jacket on — like he’s been waiting for me to appear. The black leather jacket from before is gone. In its place is a thin, faded denim jacket that looks like it’s been through about a bazillion wash cycles. The room is neat as nerds and, unlike last time, there’s no iPod or half-read novel in sight. Before I have a chance to blink, he slides the window open a thin crack and holds up a finger.
“Wait there — don’t move.”
And then with a slam of the window, he’s gone.
What the …
Moments later, the red door swings open and Ben is standing beside me. He’s holding two McCool bars in his hand. “Let’s get out of here. I’m dying of claustrophobia.”
Is he serious? I glance back at the crappy little cubicle that suddenly looks so sad and empty without him. “But you can’t leave it unattended. What if there’s a customer?”
He presses a hand to my back and pushes me along. I almost trip over my feet trying to keep up with his long strides. “There are no customers, don’t you get it? That’s why I took this bogus shift. So I wouldn’t have to actually do anything.” He rips open the wrapper and hands me one of the ice cream bars. “Come on, let’s go.”
Chocolate. How did he know?
“Okay. Thanks.”
So we walk along the lakefront pier toward the end of the strip, licking our ice creams and listening to the waves slap up against the sand. The giant moon has lit up a squiggly path on the surface of the water. I have to hold back the urge to jump in the lake and see where it’ll lead me.
But to tell you the truth, it’s even harder to hold back the urge to attack Ben with a million questions. I want to ask him why he was so rude to me at school. I want to find out who the initials on that ring belong to. I want to ask him why he wouldn’t take my help. And why he works in a drive-thru but owns all kinds of expensive things. I want to ask him why he moved here from Toronto. With very few exceptions, people move away from Big Bend. They don’t move into it.
All of these questions are circling around in my head. But I chicken out and don’t ask him anything. I guess I’m too nervous. Let’s face it, silence is so much easier than a battle of words. Ben must be feeling the same because neither one of us says anything for a long stretch of time. Which is weird because usually most people feel the need to fill the awkward silence that inevitably goes along with my company. But Ben doesn’t seem to mind it. Maybe he’s kind of introverted too. I like that thought.
After a while, he turns to me and asks, “So, what time do you have to be home tonight?”
I can feel my cheeks get warm. Hopefully it’s too dark for him to notice. “No time. I’m, um, actually going to a party.” God, why do I feel so embarrassed admitting it?
His eyes amble over my outfit, but he doesn’t say anything. A twinge of nerves jabs at my insides. Are my clothes all wrong? Why do I even care?
“Want to come with me? It’s at Todd Nelson’s house. I hear he has a pool.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Holy crap! Did I really just ask Ben Matthews out on a date? Suddenly, my underarms start to feel all prickly and hot with nerves. Dear God, please don’t let me get sweat rings under my pits! Why did I do that? He’s going to say no. Of course, he’s going to say no.
And he does. But not before laughing first.
“No. Thanks, anyway.”
It feels like a punch in the stomach. But I do my best to cover up my disappointment. “Well, I kind of have to make an appearance,” I say, struggling to keep my voice casual. “I promised someone I’d be there. So …”
Ben stops walking and points at my arm. “You’re dripping.”
Oh God! My pits? Horrified, I look down at myself. I can’t tell you how relieved I am to see that it’s the ice cream bar melting and not me. Sending out a silent thank you to the universe, I lean over and lap up the long strings of chocolate before they c
an fall on my shoes. An utterly non-dainty and un-flowerlike slurp escapes my mouth. Great! Why can’t I eat ice cream with a bit of dignity, instead of coming off looking like a messy preschooler? Why can’t I ask a guy to a party without getting laughed at? Why is everything about me so wrong on so many levels?
When I’m done cleaning up the drips, I glance over at Ben. He’s finishing off his ice cream bar (neatly, of course) and smiling at me. Probably holding back another laugh. I want to pound him. But instead, I hurl the remainder of my ice cream bar in a nearby garbage container and do what I can to change the subject.
“So, you sure you’re not going to get in trouble for ditching McCool’s?”
He shrugs. “Trust me, they’ll never know I’m gone.” Then he smiles and points to a stretch of sand up ahead. “Let’s go sit on the beach for a bit.”
I look around and see that we’ve reached the Docks — the area of our village that got its name from the armada of sailboats anchored here during the tourist season. This part of the lakefront is like a national park around here — big open space, soft white sand, sun-bleached picnic tables, and a lake that might as well be an ocean for as far as it stretches toward the horizon. The Docks is the prettiest spot in all of Big Bend. And also the crowdiest. I practically lived on this beach when I was a little kid, playing in the sand and splashing in the water. Now that I’m older, I prefer to come here alone in the early hours of the morning to watch the boats bouncing on the waves and the fishermen bringing in the morning catch. From a distance, of course. As soon as the beach starts to get busy, I skedaddle.
And does it ever get busy around here in the summer. Pretty much every kid in my school works a summer job in the tourist trade. From manning Beachy Keen (our annoyingly adorably named beach shop), to lifeguarding, to day-camp counselling, to waitressing at the Spotted Dick. According to my mom, they all love it. And, according to my mom, I’m the only teenager within a hundred-kilometre radius to opt out of all the summertime fun. Plus, according to my mom (if you still care enough to listen to her ramblings at this point), the definition of summertime fun includes the following: parties, bonfires on the beach, suntanning, and easy, breezy no-strings-attached teenage flings.
Under the Moon Page 8
