Ms. Zephyr's Notebook

by kc dyer

  “I might just have to kiss that little weirdie sometime,” he said out loud, and then laughed at the sound of his own voice. But first he needed to find her.

  Logan jumped out of the sleek, red machine and lifted the garage door up on its hinges. He didn’t give a thought to flipping up the convertible top. He just hopped in and roared down the block toward the lake. Almost right away he caught a glimpse of her sweater, like a drop of blood against the falling snow. She was loping slowly along the shore beside the black water.

  At the sight of her so close to the ice, Logan actually forgot about the car. All the fears he’d had for her came rushing back into his throat, making it hard to breathe. He careened off the road and down a boat launch ramp, screeching to a stop only as the tires hit the edge of the ice.

  She looked over her shoulder and started running. Logan didn’t stop to think. He jumped over the door of the car and bolted after her. He saw her glance over her shoulder again. She couldn’t run very fast and he was gaining on her, his legs windmilling like a cartoon character on the slippery surface of rock and ice. She finally skidded to a stop and without a second glance at him, flung something high over the line of ice and dark water.

  “What are you doing?” he yelled, trying to grab her to slow himself down.

  “What are you doing?” she yelled back as he slid by. She reached out for him but her red mittens slipped uselessly across the back of his coat as his momentum carried him past her. His feet scrabbling for purchase and, totally out of control, he slid on.

  At least it’s me and not Cleo, he thought. Gravity finally won the fight and he fell to his knees in the slush, within an arm’s reach of where the ice grew black and wet and became lake again. Right beside him was Cleo’s missile.

  It was wrapped in plastic. The corner was torn, and Logan didn’t need to look inside to see the familiar cover. He scooped it up and inched backwards while the ice crackled ominously beneath him. One knee back… one hand… the other knee. And somehow the ice held.

  After what seemed forever he scrambled back onto the rocky shore up to where she waited, shoulders drooping.

  “Great throw,” he said, panting. “You should consider pitching as a career.”

  Cleo sat on the rocky beach, hugging her knees to her scarlet sweater. She shrugged as he handed her the package and absently brushed some of the slush off it with her sleeve, dropping it beside her on the ground with a sigh.

  “Typical. I couldn’t even do this right.”

  “You maybe want to tell me what this is all about?” He sat down beside her on the beach, still panting a little. It was a pebbly, uncomfortable surface that didn’t lend itself to prolonged sitting, in his estimation. Nevertheless, he stretched out his legs. He gingerly tried to lift some of the wet fabric away from his skin but his jeans were glued to his knees. He gave up. “I don’t get it, Cleo.”

  She pulled her woollen hat a little lower and didn’t meet his eyes.

  “It’s just got so many awful things in it. Getting caught barfing. Putting dog poop in the toilets. All the stupid stuff I did. Every failure. Good marks mean nothing when you’re vomiting your life away and somebody’s documenting your every mistake.”

  She picked up a rock and threw it onto the icy surface of the lake where it skittered a remarkably long way before coming to a rest.

  “When I left the hospital, I was going to see Nona. But on the way here I decided I would never go back. Nobody would miss me — my mom is busy with my sister and her acting and my dad has his work at the college. I didn’t know exactly what I was going to do, just that I had to get away from all of it. Then you showed up and everything changed. But when I heard my mom’s voice on the answering machine, I just panicked. I had to get rid of the evidence; this notebook is like proof of all my mistakes.”

  Logan had to smile.

  “You know it’s all on computer, don’t you? Abbie has an electronic file of all this stuff and so does the hospital. Throwing Abbie’s notebook into the lake changes nothing. No matter how far you run, your records follow you forever.”

  She looked at him, incredulous. “But why would Abbie keep this, then? I mean, I’ve seen her working on the computer, but I just thought she was surfing the internet or something.”

  Logan shrugged and rubbed absently at the rime of frost that was creeping across the wet parts of his black gloves. It was cold… and getting colder. “She’s old fashioned, maybe. Teachers love notebooks and journals. Who knows what makes them do the things they do? And who cares, anyway? I don’t. There’s loads of crap in there about me, too, you know. All the stuff I wrote about how rugby is my future and what a hotshot lawyer my dad is.” He shook his head. “None of it’s true. My dad hasn’t got the time of day for me. It’s all crap.”

  She punched him gently on the arm. “It isn’t, you know. So maybe you don’t become a rugby star. You still get to make it a part of your life — you told me so yourself. And my mom said your dad was with her. Maybe he’s actually come back here to make things right between you.”

  “He’s always been too busy to notice that things aren’t right, Cleo. Why would that change now?” Logan grabbed at the stump of a broken tree and hauled himself to his feet with a grimace.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. But he’s here, not in Denver. That’s got to count for something, even if it’s only a start.” She tossed another rock away and sighed. “I guess since they are the only parents we’ve got, we’d better start figuring out how to deal with them.” She swiped a mitten across her nose. “I’m sorry you had to run out on the ice like that. It was a stupid thing for me to do.”

  Logan reached down to help her up.

  “I was mostly worried about you,” he said. “And I promised myself I’d give Abbie her notebook back, so I couldn’t let it go into the lake without a fight. But the reason I came here was to make sure you were all right, and instead you’re the one giving me advice.”

  Cleo scrambled to her feet and looked up at him, surprised. “I guess it’s kinda nice to think about someone besides myself,” she admitted.

  He brushed a tendril of hair away from the corner of her mouth and kissed her gently where the crease of her lip curved into her cheek.

  She put her mittened hand up to the place he had kissed her. “Where did that come from?” she said slowly.

  “I’m not sure,” he said, and grinned a little. “It just felt like the right thing to do under the circumstances.”

  She grinned back at him. “Your gut hurting?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Yours?”

  She shrugged. “Not really. I’m pretty cold, though.”

  “What else is new? How many sweaters are you wearing today? Ten?”

  “Hey, my record is only seven. But I’m not doing that anymore. Giving it up — just like the barfing. I’m only wearing two today. But right now I kinda wish it was more.”

  “Well,” he said. “You might be cold, but I’m cold and wet.”

  “Yeah, well you might be cold and wet, but I’m cold and wet and…,” she looked straight at him this time, “… I’m maybe a little hungry.”

  He grinned. “That Nona. She must’ve had some pretty powerful things to say to you before she died.”

  Cleo shrugged. “She didn’t say much, but just seeing her again made me think. I guess I haven’t done any real thinking in a while.” She walked along beside him, quiet apart from the snow squeaking under her boots. “I can’t eat a lot yet, you know. Like, I’m not ready for hamburgers with the works just yet.”

  “That’s okay. I can’t really eat ’em either, anymore. Sure do miss those bacon burgers with mayo, though.”

  She turned to make a face at him and slid a little on the ice.

  He took one of her red-mittened hands to steady her. “I know a good coffee place in town. Will you settle for tea and toast before we head back to Evergreen?”

  Cleo nodded. “One condition,” she said, and reached into his poc
ket for the key. “You drive.”

  Epilogue

  To:RugbyRox@yowza.com;

  cleo_jones@coldlist.com

  From: KipperKK@childsafe.com

  Hi Logan and Cleo,

  I’m using Abbie’s laptop to send this e-mail. She says hi! My new kidney is so good, I get to go home this week, just in time to put up the Christmas tree. Keep your fingers crossed for me. Life is always full of surprises, right?

  Abbie says you will be coaching rugby at my school next year, Logan. Cool. I don’t know how to play, but I can be the best cheerleader ever. You’ll see.

  I like your new e-mail address, Cleo. It’s easier to spell. Things are pretty boring here without you guys. There’s this new little kid. Her name is Rachel and now that her tonsils are gone she’s supposed to go home tomorrow. She keeps following me around and driving me crazy. If you guys have any ideas to help me I sure would appreciate hearing them.

  Kip — the New Kidney Kid

  Acknowledgements

  My thanks, as always, go out to those members of my friends and family who variously tolerate and abet my endeavours, thus allowing me to indulge in the egregious pastime of lying for my living. This book would not have been possible without teachers Kate Coombs and Elizabeth Raikhy for sharing their experiences and giving form to Abbie Zephyr. Thanks also to Doctor Jenny Druker and Doctor Linda Horspool for sharing their expertise of all things medical; to Spencer Corlett for the straight goods on decent cars and to Michael Hiebert for celestial inspiration and feedback on all things Sagan. Finally, thanks to my editor Barry Jowett for taking in his stride the concept of a novel named for a character who never actually appears, and to designers Alison Carr and Erin Mallory for realizing the shape of my ideas into two-dimensional form. Any errors that have occurred in the course of manoeuvring this story from out of my brain onto the page are my own.

  This book goes out to anyone who, at one time or another in their lives, finds themselves somewhere outside the range of normal. Who says normal is so desirable, anyway?