by Alex van Tol
Viral
Alex Van Tol
orca soundings
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
Copyright © 2011 Alex Van Tol
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Van Tol, Alex
Viral [electronic resource] / Alex Van Tol.
(Orca soundings)
Type of computer file: Electronic monograph in PDF format.
Issued also in print format.
ISBN 978-1-55469-413-6
I. Title. II. Series: Orca soundings (Online)
PS8643.A63V57 2011A JC813’.6 C2010-908059-9
First published in the United States, 2011
Library of Congress Control Number: 2010942101
Summary: After his friend Lindsay is filmed in a compromising situation, Mike tries to save her from herself.
Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on paper certified by the Forest Stewardship Council.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Cover design by Teresa Bubela
Cover photography by Getty Images
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
PO BOX 5626, Stn. B PO BOX 468
Victoria, BC Canada Custer, WA USA
V8R 6S4 98240-0468
www.orcabook.com
Printed and bound in Canada.
14 13 12 11 • 4 3 2 1
To the universe: draw your swords
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter One
You only get one chance. Ever heard that saying?
It’s true. Especially with the important things in life. So when that one chance rolls around, you can’t afford to screw it up.
Except, somehow, I did.
Things had been going so well between Lindsay and me. After years of just being friends, something had shifted in the way I felt about her. I didn’t want to be just friends anymore. And I could kind of tell she didn’t either. You know, from the way she looked at me. The way she talked to me. The way we suddenly felt shy with each other when we hadn’t before. The way my heart kind of skipped a beat when her name came up on my phone.
It took me months, but I had finally worked up the courage to ask Lindsay out. I had it all planned: I was going to ask her at the year-end party at Sara’s place.
On the night of the party, I was nervous as hell. Which is stupid, really, because it’s what both of us wanted. But still, you want to do things right, you know?
So anyway, after a few beers everyone was down at the fire pit, and just Lindsay and I were left sitting on the back deck. It was a cool night in late June. Pink clouds. Still air. The universe had even arranged some lightning flashing on the horizon. Perfect.
Lindsay was lounging on a chaise. I was hanging out on the double swing. She shivered a little. My cue.
“Want my hoodie?”
She smiled and shook her head. “I’m okay.” But then she rubbed her arms. Cue number two.
I patted the seat beside me. “Come sit,” I said. I held up a corner of the blanket that was draped over the swing back. I could easily have tossed it to her. But that wasn’t the point. I wanted her close to me. I couldn’t exactly ask her out if she was, like, ten feet away.
Sharing a swing with my best friend was something I would’ve done without thinking twice just a few months ago. We would have sat together under the blanket and listened to the sounds of laughter drifting up from the fire pit below. Laughed at how drunk other people were. Made fun of teachers we didn’t like.
But when it actually means something… it’s different.
She shrugged. “Sure,” she said. “It is getting chilly.” She stood up. Stretched. God, how had I spent all these years not wanting her? She moved toward the swing. “Shove your butt over, Mikey.” I grinned and she sat down beside me. Kicked off her sandals and brought her legs up under her—those long gymnastics-ripped legs of hers. I handed her some blanket and she tucked her feet underneath. She leaned into me. “This okay?”
My stomach did a flip-flop. “Yep.” Definitely okay. I took a deep breath. “So,” I began. But then I didn’t know what else to say. My mind was blank.
Lindsay looked up at me. “Yeah?” The lightning forked a little bit closer. The storm was still too far away for us to hear any thunder. “So?”
“Yeah. That’s, uh, that’s some pretty great lightning, you know?” I sounded like an idiot.
She put her head on my shoulder. “It’s totally great lightning, Mike,” she agreed. I heard the smile in her voice.
I got a grip on myself and tried again. I was going to do this. “Yeah, so, um, I wanted to ask you something,” I said. I lifted a strand of her hair and wrapped it around my fingers. So soft.
“Mm-hmm?” she asked. “What’s that?” Her arm drifted across my stomach and rested there. She never used to do that. She hooked her thumb in one of my belt loops. I took another deep breath and let it out slow. Real slow.
“Yeah, so, I was wondering…” Another deep breath. A flash of lightning lit up the horizon. Another followed right on its heels. A puff of wind flipped up the corner of the blanket, exposing Lindsay’s legs. Her amazing endless legs. She reached down absently and flicked it back into place. Snugged up tighter to me.
“You were wondering…?”
And suddenly I just…chickened out. “Yeah, I was wondering…do you, uh, do you want…another beer?” I finished lamely. As soon as the words left my mouth, I was furious with myself.
“No,” I said, backpedaling. “I mean, never mind. Never mind the beer.” I sucked in another breath. “I actually meant to ask you if—”
Right then, Aaron and Morgan crashed through the back door. Lindsay shifted, sitting up and edging over to the other end of the swing.
Morgan had a shaggy beard strapped to his head. He danced over to us in tight yellow Speedos and huge sunglasses, singing “Bohemian Rhapsody.”
Normally I would laugh—who wouldn’t? The guy’s an idiot. But Morgan’s screwing around was the last thing I needed right now.
Aaron’s eyes lit up when he saw me. “Hey! Whassup, Mikey!!” he shouted. He raised his beer. “You too cool for the rest of us down at the fire pit?”
Just then he noticed Lindsay bunched up at the other end of the swing. He looked from me to her, then back at me. Raised his eyebrows.
I rolled my eyes: Duh! Aaron’s eyes widened in sudden understanding.
He started to back away. “Du-u-ude,” he said. “It’s cool. We’re leaving now.” He punched Morgan on the arm and nodded toward us.
Morgan opened his mouth to speak.
“Shut it,” said Aaron. “We’re leaving.” They turned to go.
But it was too late. The door opene
d again and a group of girls giggled out onto the porch. More people followed.
And my chance was lost.
Chapter Two
Lindsay hopped down from the swing. Weaved her way through the group and went into the house. I waited, thinking she had just gone to get another beer.
After about ten minutes, I wondered if she had left. Some people had been talking about going over to Angad’s place. Maybe she had gone along?
I didn’t go after her. I was too pissed off with myself. Embarrassed too.
I stayed in the semidarkness of the swing, avoiding everyone. Eventually, they drifted across the yard. Back to the fire pit.
Except for Scarlett. She came back after everyone else left.
Everyone at our school knows Scarlett. And every school has one. She’s the flirty knockout with a rep for being easy. People call her Skanky Scarlett. I’ve heard she’ll hook up with anyone. Not exactly my type.
She sat down where Lindsay had been only minutes before. She pressed her skinny body against mine, chattering away. Stuff I couldn’t care less about. How her skirt shrank in the dryer. How she painted daisies on her nails last night. How she liked to watch my lacrosse games.
I responded just enough to be polite. I was still stewing over fumbling the ball with Lindsay. How could I have choked so badly?
Listening to Scarlett’s yapping kind of brought it home. I had to try again. I couldn’t let this day end without doing what I’d spent the last five months working up to.
I decided to go after Lindsay. Wherever she was—here or at Angad’s place—I wanted to see this thing through.
Lightning flashed. Still no rain, but I could hear the thunder now. The wind was picking up.
“God, it’s really cold, eh?” Scarlett was saying. “I’ll bet you can warm me up, Mike.” She shivered prettily and climbed up on my lap. Uh, no. I put my hands on her hips to shove her off. She grabbed my hemp necklace.
“Oh, this is so cool, Mike!” Scarlett squealed. “Can I wear it?” She pulled me closer. I could smell booze on her breath.
Gross.
“I don’t think so,” I said. I started to push her off.
Then—still holding tight to my necklace—she kissed me.
Right then, Lindsay banged through the back door. “Holy smokes, Mike, you should have seen the lightning from up on the roof—”
She stopped short when she caught sight of me. A beer beside me, Scarlett in my lap, my hands on her hips.
Lindsay’s eyes widened. Her lips parted and I heard the breath leave her body like she’d been kicked.
I threw Scarlett off my lap and stood up.
“No. Linds,” I said. I spread my hands. Shook my head. “No. This isn’t…it’s not…I didn’t—”
But she didn’t stay to listen.
She turned and yanked open the door, one hand covering her mouth.
And then she was gone.
“Lindsay!” I shouted. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Scarlett slink away.
There was no way I’d ever be able to explain this.
Chapter Three
Lindsay and I were supposed to have spent the summer together. Watching movies and going on walks. Sitting by the lake late into the night. You know. Parking.
But after that night, she was as good as gone. She didn’t give me a chance to explain. I tried texting her from the party to explain. I wrote it and erased it three times. The words wouldn’t work. It just sounded like I was trying to cover something up. So I called, but she didn’t answer.
I called a couple of more times that night. Straight to voicemail.
I had to admit, the optics were pretty crappy. I wasn’t sure whether I could make her believe me.
After that night, she packed up and took off to her grandparents’ resort on Chilver Lake. She’d spent summer vacations there before, helping out around the marina. Usually she went for a couple of weeks.
This time, she was gone for the entire summer.
I called a few times during those first days after the train wreck. I didn’t want to try to explain anything in an email.
She didn’t answer. I was hoping she’d come around and maybe call me, or ask me to come down and help out on the long weekend like I had in other years. But she never did.
My summer sucked. I spent my days slinging bundles of newspapers in the hot warehouse. Loading up the delivery vans. I didn’t want to see anyone from school. I missed hanging out with Lindsay. And I felt terrible for hurting her. But I figured we’d work it out when school started up in September.
All I had to do was to get her alone. And explain.
But now that school’s back in, talking to Lindsay seems more impossible than ever.
I hardly know who she is now. When she walked into homeroom at the start of the year, I barely recognized her. Last spring, she was this kick-ass athlete with a super soft side. She cried once when she forgot her grandpa’s birthday. Another time it was because a dragonfly hit the windshield.
Now that she’s back…I don’t know. She’s gone from lululemon and flipflops to short skirts and monster heels that could spear you with one kick. She’s thinner and blonder. Wearing tiny clothes. Showing a lot of skin. She’s smoking too. Hanging around with the popular girls outside at lunchtime.
Her new BFFs. Although you can hardly call them friends. It’s a constant battle between them to see who’s got the best labels, who’s got the coolest nails, who ate the tiniest amount at their last meal. It’s stupid. But ever since the start of school, Lindsay has been hanging with that group. She must see something in them. I don’t know what though.
It’s hard to imagine approaching this new version of Lindsay. I don’t feel like trying to wade into her little group of frenemies. How intimidating is that?
It’s weird that so much can change between two people so quickly. I mean, until a few months ago, Lindsay and I were pretty much inseparable. We spent countless Friday nights eating popcorn and watching movies. Talking about stuff. The guys she liked. The girls I dated. She used to tease me that I went through girls faster than a Super G racer through the slalom gates.
That was before I realized the only one I wanted was her.
We texted constantly. Nowadays, my mom is the person I text the most. It’s depressing.
Lacrosse is back in full swing now too. Sometimes I see Scarlett sitting on the sidelines with a group of her friends. Watching. She’s probably got her sleaze radar set on some other guy. Maybe I should make her explain to Lindsay what happened.
I consider this as Ms. Weston drones on about molarity. I hate chemistry. I hate pretty much everything these days.
Ms. Weston’s back is turned and she’s writing on the board. She’s sporting one of her famous wedgies, her pants riding up between her big square bum cheeks. The Weston Wedgie, we call it. As if he can read my mind, Morgan nudges my foot with his sneaker. He nods toward Ms. Weston’s butt. He winks and runs his tongue along his lips. I crack up.
“Somebody have something to share?” says Ms. Weston without turning around.
No one answers. The Wedgie goes on writing. “Get this all down in your books, folks,” she says. We dutifully copy formulas. Out of habit, I glance over to where Lindsay is sitting, two rows away. She’s actually here today, which is rare. She’s been blowing off classes lately. Probably smoking out by the dumpsters. Or maybe shopping.
My heart stops for a second. She’s looking right at me. Before I can figure out whether I should smile, she looks away. Tosses her blond hair. Mad that I caught her expression.
But I caught it, all right. That was the old Lindsay looking at me. One side of her mouth turned up in the hint of a smile. She knew why I was laughing.
I look back at the board and sigh, picking up my pen. What the hell? That’s not the first time I’ve caught Lindsay looking at me. I mean, I stare at her all the time, but that’s because she’s, like, the center of my universe. She’s always frosty to me now, but I can’t j
ust erase seven years of liking someone. And one year of being in love with them.
I wonder whether she really hates me. When I catch her looking at me like that, it sure doesn’t look like she hates me. But then when she sees me looking at her, she goes all Ice Queen again. Sometimes she’ll turn and say something to her friends and they’ll laugh. It bothers me. But I’d have to be an idiot to show it.
I decide to talk to her today. I don’t care how scary it’s going to be to break in on her little gaggle of girlfriends. I need to explain to her what happened.
Chapter Four
By lunchtime, I’m nervous again at the thought of barging in and stealing Lindsay away from the Perfect Girls. It’s a warm September day, and they’re all sitting on the grass outside. I pull my phone out of my pocket. Toss my sub wrapper into a garbage can near the window where I’m spying on them.
Morgan strolls by, singing. He’s wearing a girl’s field-hockey skirt. A blue bra stretches across his T-shirt. He must have lost a bet or something. Then again, this is Morgan we’re talking about.
He pulls his earbuds out and comes to stand at the window. He looks out at the group of girls sprawled on the lawn. “Buncha hotties right there,” he says.
“Yeah.”
“Lindsay’s smokin’ now, eh?” he says. “She’s turned into a real goodtime girl. Totally different than she was last year.”
I clear my throat and look down at my phone. “Yep.” I don’t feel like talking about this with Morgan. What does he know about Lindsay? I start punching in my message.
“So did you guys ever, uh…you know?” Morgan wiggles his eyebrows at me and nods his head in Lindsay’s direction. “Last summer?”
I jerk my head up and look at him. “What’s it to you?” It comes out harder than I mean it to.
Morgan raises his palms to me in mock surrender. “Hey, homes, I’m just asking.” He glances out the window and lowers his voice. “I hear she’s good.”
I stare at him. This conversation, like his outfit, has just turned surreal. Is he saying Lindsay has a rep? As far as I know, Lindsay has never been with a guy in her life.
