Out of Order

by Robin Stevenson

  Maisie sees me and waves. “Hey! Sophie! Cool that you’re here,” she says. “Want some punch?”

  I accept a glass and move into their circle gratefully.

  “Having a good time?” Maisie asks.

  I nod. “Uh-huh.” The punch tastes terrible, and I down half the glass as quickly as I can. For some reason, I wonder what Mom and Patrick are doing and if their meeting is really a date.

  “Where’s your sidekick, Sophie?” one of the other girls asks.

  I think her name is Mel, and I am surprised that she knows who I am.

  “Zelia? I don’t know.” I don’t think Zelia would appreciate being referred to as my sidekick, and the thought makes me smile. “She sort of disappeared.”

  Maisie is organizing some kind of drinking game, and I find myself drawn into a circle on the living room floor. My glass keeps being refilled, and everyone is really friendly. I let myself join the laughter as I relax into the warmth of the group.

  Someone hands me a pair of dice and tells me to roll them. I don’t understand the game at all, but I go along.

  “Snake eyes!” someone yells.

  “Huh?”

  “Double ones,” says the guy across from me, taking the dice.

  I don’t care enough to try to figure it out. I just keep drink­ing punch, laughing, smiling. Being part of the group.

  Someone is passing around a plate of pizza slices. When it is handed to me, I freeze for a second. Then, almost with­out thinking about it, I grab a slice and start eating. It looks and smells great, but I barely taste it. Even as I stuff it into my mouth, panic is rising like a tide inside me.

  “Excuse me,” I mutter. I back away from the circle. No one even looks up.

  In the bathroom, I bend over the toilet and cram my fingers down my throat. This is the first time I have ever done this. I feel like I should be alarmed by my behavior, but part of me stands separate, observing, and I know that somewhere inside I am still in control. I could stop if I wanted to.

  Still, it is harder than I thought it would be. I have to reach my fingers way back, and each painful retch tears at my chest. I don’t think I manage to get rid of it all, but I am sore, dizzy and exhausted when I stop. I look at my pale blotchy face in the mirror and start to cry. I want to go home. I need to find Zelia.

  I cup my hands under running water, splash cold water on my eyes and rinse out my mouth. There is some toothpaste on the counter. I squeeze a glob onto my finger and rub it across my teeth.

  I look in the mirror again. “You look terrible,” I tell my reflection. My voice sounds tinny. I have to find Zelia.

  I head down the hall, back to where Maisie was, but she isn’t there anymore. Zelia isn’t there either. She isn’t out on the porch, smoking, and she isn’t in the kitchen or the living room.

  I go upstairs, pushing past the people sitting on the stair­case. A houseplant on the upstairs landing has been knocked over, and I stop to pick it up. Dirt spills onto the pale gray carpet, and I try to scrape it back into the pot.

  I hear laughter echoing down the hall. Zelia’s laugh. I follow the sound and push open a bedroom door. It is pitch- dark in the room.

  “Zelia?” I say, suddenly uncertain.

  “Shit,” says a male voice. Dark shapes move and shift and there is a crash. The bedside light suddenly illuminates the room.

  Zelia and Josh are tangled together on the bed. Josh yanks the covers up to his waist and rubs his hands over his face.

  “Shit,” he says again. “What’d you turn the light on for?”

  Zelia takes her hand off the light switch and sits up. Her boots and most of her clothes are in a heap on the floor. She is wearing black leggings but nothing else. The blue stone against her belly makes her look even more naked. She’s look­ing right at me with a strange, twisted half smile. I stare back at her and feel numb.

  “Sophie,” she says, “this isn’t really a good time. You’re kind of interrupting something here.”

  “I want to go home,” I say. “I want to go home.”

  She shrugs. “So. Go then.”

  Hot tears are prickling my eyelids. “Please come with me,” I say. “Please.”

  “What the hell is wrong with her?” Josh mutters under his breath, loud enough for me to hear, even though he isn’t talk­ing to me.

  Zelia looks at him and laughs. She has this clear laugh that I always thought sounded like water. Tonight it sounds like a thousand shards of glass.

  “Sophie, you can go if you want. I’m staying.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but no words come.

  “Go,” Zelia says. She reaches out and turns off the light.

  I just stand there for a moment, staring into the inky dark­ness. Then I turn and walk away.

  Fourteen

  I STUMBLE DOWN the hall. I can’t hold back the tears now. I don’t care who sees. I sink to the floor, wrap my arms around my knees and cry.

  I don’t know how much time has passed when a hand tentatively touches mine.

  “Sophie? Is that you?”

  I look up. It is Max. Her spiky hair is wet, and her eyes are wide and worried.

  “Are you okay? No, scratch that. Stupid question.” She shakes her head apologetically. “You’re not okay. What is it? What’s wrong?” Max drops to her knees beside me. “Talk to me, Sophie.”

  I can’t get any words out that make sense. “Zelia,” I say. Then, “Gonna be sick.”

  Max yanks me to my feet and steers me into the washroom. “If you’re going to be sick, do it in the toilet, okay?” She turns on the taps and holds a washcloth in the running water. “Been drinking, huh?”

  I nod miserably. “Never again.”

  Max laughs. “Yeah, well, I’ve heard that one before.” She hands me the washcloth. “Here. Wash your face. You’ll feel better.”

  I hold the rough wet fabric against my face and close my eyes. The coolness is kind of soothing. When I was a little kid, I used to get carsick all the time, and Mom always kept wet wipes in the glove box. She’d hand them to me while she drove, folded lengthwise for me to press across my forehead.

  “I just want to go home,” I say.

  She nods. “Okay. I’ll drive you.”

  The cold damp air outside clears my head and settles my uneasy stomach.

  “Where were you, anyway?” I ask. “Did you just get here?”

  Max makes a face.“Been driving around all night.With my ex. We just broke up.”

  “Really? I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend.”

  She hesitates. “My ex goes to another school, so you wouldn’t know.”

  I feel a little hurt that I didn’t know this. “Well, I’m sorry you broke up, anyway.”

  Max shrugs. “No, it’s okay. I ended it.” She pulls her keys out of her jacket pocket. “It was hard though.”

  “So why did you break up then?”

  She looks away. “It’s kind of complicated.”

  We are at her car, a small white Honda Civic. She opens the passenger door. “Hop in, Sophie.”

  Doing up my seat belt, I feel like a little kid. Too complicated for me to understand—that’s what she means. Maybe she’s right.

  Everything seems too complicated for me lately. I just want to go home and crawl into my own bed.

  Then I realize—I can’t. Mom would flip out if I came home now, like this. I stare at my hands and start chipping black polish off my thumbnail. “I can’t go home,” I tell Max.

  “What?” Max slips into the driver’s seat.

  “I’m supposed to be sleeping at Zelia’s tonight. Mom doesn’t even know about the party.”

  “Oh.” Max looks confused. “So where’s Zelia?”

  I start to cry again. “In bed with Josh,” I say. “Back at the party.” I know I shouldn’t be telling her this, but I feel hurt and angry. “She didn’t want to leave with me.”

  Max starts the car and turns on the heat. “You’re shiver­ing,” she says.r />
  There is a silence; then she bangs the palms of her hands against the steering wheel. “I hate that,” she says. “It’s so lame, the way girls ditch their friends whenever some guy comes along.”

  “You think she’s ditching me?”

  Max looks at me seriously. “No,” she says, “I didn’t mean that. Just, you know, tonight. Leaving you when you’re supposed to be going to her place.”

  I can’t stop crying, and my voice comes out in a wail, thick with tears and snot. “What am I going to do?”

  Max grabs my hand and squeezes it.

  “You’re coming to my place,” she says.

  We drive through the dark deserted streets to Max’s house. She presses her finger against her lips as she slips her key into the front-door lock. I tiptoe up the stairs behind her and follow her down the dark hallway to her room.

  She pulls the bedroom door closed behind us. “The twins,” she whispers. “Mom doesn’t mind me being out late, and she won’t mind you being here, but if we wake the twins there’ll be hell to pay.”

  I look at her. “Thanks. For letting me come here. Driving and everything.”

  Max looks surprised. “No, it’s fine. You can come here anytime.”

  She opens her closet, drags a roll of thin foam out from under a pile of clothes and attempts to flatten it on the floor beside her bed. “Will that be okay for you?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine.”

  Max rummages in her closet some more and tosses me a sleeping bag. Then she opens a dresser drawer and holds up two pairs of flannel pajamas. “Pink or green?” she asks. “Or you can just sleep in your own clothes, if you’d rather.”

  I take the pink ones. “Thanks.”

  We change quickly, not looking at each other, and scramble into our beds. Max pulls up her blankets; then she laughs.

  “Forgot to turn out the light.” She pads barefoot across the room, flicks the switch and plunges the room into velvety dark­ness. Her foot brushes my sleeping bag as she steps on the end of my mattress and climbs back into her own bed.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Sophie,” she whispers. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

  The darkness makes me brave, and I ask her, “So how come you never called me? You know, when you said you were going to invite me over?”

  Max’s reply comes quickly. “I know. I know. I’m sorry.” She hesitates before she continues. “You and Zelia just seemed... I don’t know. Like you didn’t need anyone else. I started think­ing, maybe you were just being polite, you know? Like you didn’t really want to be friends.”

  I can feel the blankets shift as she rolls over to face me.

  “I wanted you to call,” I say. “It’s just...it’s complicated sometimes. With Zelia.”

  “Just me being insecure,” Max says.

  “You never seem insecure,” I blurt out.

  Max gives a sleepy laugh. “Everyone’s insecure,” she says. “Everyone.”

  There is a long silence.

  “Max?”I whisper. “You know how I used to live in Ontario? In Georgetown?” My heart is pounding.

  I can hear Max’s steady breathing.

  “Are you awake?” I ask.

  Silence.

  I wait a moment, and then I whisper my secret into the darkness. “I was kind of a loser,” I say. “I used to get bullied. Called names. stupid like that.”

  I listen to her breath. In. Out. In. Out.

  I match my breathing to hers and slip into an exhausted sleep.

  Fifteen

  IT IS STILL dark outside when we are woken by the high- pitched shouts and squeals of Max’s half-brothers. Light streams in from the brightly lit hall, and I crack my eyes open to see two identical toddlers clad in matching red sleepers. They are bouncing around Max’s room, wreaking havoc. One is system­atically pulling all the books off the shelves. The other is trying to put my boots onto his tiny feet.

  Max pulls a pillow over her head and gives a muffled groan.

  I rub my eyes. “Do they do this every morning?”

  “Every morning,” she says. “It was okay when they were in their crib—I had earplugs—but they learned how to climb out. So now they have regular beds, and they come in here to torture me when they wake up.”

  “I’d get a lock on my door,” I say.

  From under her pillow, Max makes a sound that is half laugh, half groan. “Yeah. Somehow I don’t think my mother would go for that.”

  I watch them for a minute. “They are pretty cute, I guess.”

  “Yeah. Lucky for them,” Max says.

  I look at my watch. It is six o’clock. Middle of the night. I close my eyes. “How do you do this every day?” I groan.

  Max laughs and pulls her head out from under her pillow. “Hungover?”

  “Not too bad. Feel a bit sick. If I could just stay in bed...”

  She laughs again. “Not a chance, chickie. Come on. You’re going to help me feed the little monsters.”

  “What? Doesn’t their mom—I mean your mom—do that?”

  “Today’s Saturday. My turn to get up early so my mom and Jim can sleep in.”

  She is grinning.

  “You don’t mind?” I ask.

  “Nah.” She laughs. “Well, okay. Sometimes I mind. But not too much.”

  “O-kay,” I say as I sit up. “Ugh.”

  Max is already up and pulling a sweater over her pj’s. Toddler Number Two has succeeded in putting on my boots and is trying to shuffle around the room.

  “What are their names?” I ask.

  “Caleb and Conor.” Max throws me a sweatshirt and a pair of socks. “Catching them is the first challenge. And changing their diapers.”

  “Oh no,” I say firmly. “Oh no. I am not doing that.”

  Max’s brown hair is sticking out in all directions, and she is grinning widely. Her teeth are small, white and very even. “I’ll let you off this time,” she says, winking. She manages to grab one twin under each arm and hoists them onto her hips.

  “Meet me downstairs,” she says.

  I flop back in the bed. “Sure. Sure.”

  Zelia pops into my head, but I don’t feel as upset as I thought I would. Last night seems a bit unreal.

  THE KITCHEN IS painted bright yellow, garish but cheerful. A black and white border collie is bouncing off the walls, chasing the twins, who are squealing with excitement.

  Somehow, Max gets the dog fed, both boys strapped firmly into matching high chairs and a pot of coffee brewing. I try to stay out of the way. It isn’t until the twins are shoveling Cheerios into their mouths that the chaos subsides enough for Max and me to talk.

  “So,” Max says. She hands me a steaming mug.

  I curl my hands around the warm surface. “So.”

  “Are you going to call Zelia and find out what happened?” Max asks.

  I make a face. “I don’t know. Don’t really want to know the details.”

  Max deftly catches a little plastic cup that one of the twins has tossed from his high chair. “Mmm. No. But she must be wondering where you are. I mean, since you were supposed to go to her place.”

  I remember the fight Zelia had with her mom the night before. “I don’t even know if she went home. Anyway, I don’t care. If she wants to talk to me, she can call.” I push away the mug of coffee. “Can we talk about something else?”

  “Sorry,” Max says.

  There is a moment of awkward silence; then Caleb, or maybe Conor, empties his bowl of Cheerios on the floor.

  “More Cheerios,” he says happily.

  Max shakes her head at him. “Not if you’re just going to dump them on the floor,” she says.

  “More Cheerios,” he repeats patiently.

  Max sighs. “You won’t throw them?”

  Caleb or Conor, whichever it is, smiles angelically. “No throw Cheerios.”

  Max dumps a small handful of Cheerios into his bowl. “Okay, Caleb.”

  Caleb picks
up his bowl, looks at us and immediately turns his bowl upside down. Cheerios scatter and bounce across the floor, and the border collie dashes madly around the kitchen, nails skidding on the ceramic tiles as she chases down every last little piece of cereal.

  Max looks at me ruefully. “My cleanup crew,” she says.

  I laugh.

  “So.”Max puts down her mug and leans forward.“I’m going out to the barn today. Do you want to ride with me?”

  I hesitate.

  Max looks right at me and reads my mind. “She’ll call,” she says softly. “But you can’t just wait around.”

  I nod. “Okay. I’ll come with you.”

  I call my mom and tell her I’m going to the barn with Max. I don’t mention that I spent the night at Max’s instead of Zelia’s, and she doesn’t ask too many questions. My mom is kind of strict, but she isn’t nosy. I am thinking about Zelia and Lee when Max’s mother bounces into the kitchen.

  She looks so much like the twins that I almost laugh out loud: white blond hair forming a static halo around her head, a broad grin and a chubby body wrapped in an ancient house­coat the exact same shade of red as the twins’ sleepers. I like her instantly.

  “Morning, girls,” she says, giving Max a kiss on the top of her head. “And boys,” she adds, ruffling the twins’ hair. “Max, thanks for the sleep-in.”

  Max looks at her watch. “It’s not even seven. Go back to bed, if you want.”

  Her mom winks. “Jim’s snoring loud enough to wake the dead. So I’m up, and you two are officially off duty.”

  She looks at me for the first time. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Georgie.”

  “Sophie. Hi,” I say, feeling a little shy.

  “Sophie. Of course. The good rider. Max has talked about you.”

  I look at Max, surprised, but her face is turned away as she lifts the boys from their high chairs.

  “Well,” Georgie says, “I’ll take these two and let you girls get going. You’re heading out to the barn, I take it?”

  Max nods. “If we can borrow the car.”

  “No worries. Pick up milk on your way home. Oh, and lettuce. And bananas for the boys.”