September

Wednesday, September 1st

Got hold of Sasha on her cell. She’s just moved into an apartment with her dad. We’re meeting up tomorrow so I can give her the backpack. We can’t hang out long because tomorrow Mom’s taking Paige and me back-to-school shopping.

Thursday, September 2nd

Sasha and I picked a park midway between my house and her new place as our meeting spot. When I arrived on my bike, the park was deserted except for a little girl twisting on the kiddie swing set. She was hanging her head so that her long, straight hair fell in a curtain over her face. Her hair shifted and swayed as she moved on the swing. I was wondering where her guardian was—little kids are never allowed out by themselves like that, at least not around here—when she flipped up her head and looked straight at me. It was Sasha, her legs bent up underneath her. It jolted me, as if she had just snuck up behind me and said, “Boo!” I managed to wave. I pedaled across the bumpy field, set the pack on the grass, and crammed my body into the neighboring swing.

She didn’t look at me or the pack. I asked her how she liked her dad’s new place and she shrugged. I fingered the swing’s chains and waited for her to speak. She sat there in silence.

Finally, I gave her an opening. “You know the dress?” I nudged the bag. She winced. “Monique and I, uh …”

When I hesitated, Sasha jerked her head in alarm. “You what?”

“We, uh … got rid of it.” It sounded like we’d dumped a body in the river. I laughed nervously.

Her face relaxed for a second, then she frowned and hung her head. “Good.” She pushed the swing back as far as she could, kicked up her legs, and yanked on the chains. Her back tipped so that she faced the sky. On the return pass, she tucked her legs out of the way and just cleared the ground. She pumped hard till she reached maximum height. The whole set vibrated. But the swing hung so low that the instant she loosened the tuck, her knees scraped the ground. “Oww!” She howled and projected her legs, rocking back and forth in an L-shape until the momentum died down. “Fucking kiddie swing.” She inspected her knees. Dirty abrasions welled with blood.

“You should clean those up.”

She eyed her scrapes: raw red patches and tiny curls of white skin, smudged with dirt.

“Don’t they sting?”

She shrugged again. “So what?”

More silence.

Finally, I spilled. “I saw you running down the street that day with a pair of jeans flapping behind you. Then later we heard that your dad came and got you. You got caught, didn’t you?”

“So?”

I wasn’t expecting that. It took me a second to come up with something else to say. “So … I bet your dad was pissed off.”

She tsked. “He treats me like a fucking criminal!” She spat on the ground and rifled in the pocket of her windbreaker. She pulled out a package of cigarettes and a clear plastic lighter.

I couldn’t hold back. “I guess bad habits run in families, huh?”

She flicked the lighter and scowled at me over the flame. “What’s it to you?”

I shook my head and waved the smoke away.

She inhaled and exhaled a couple of times. “You really saw me that day?” She sounded kind of proud.

“Yeah. What happened after that?”

The corners of her mouth twitched, and she took another drag. “The store called the cops, and the cops are just crawling through that neighborhood, right? I was running and that caught their attention. If I’d been smarter I would have, like, changed my appearance right away—pulled my hair down out of the ponytail, taken my jacket off, put my sunglasses on—anything so that I didn’t match the description they sent out. But at the time all I thought about was running. When I saw the first cop car, I just panicked. I dropped the jeans and took off. If I’d known the neighborhood better, I would have made it for sure. But they must have called another cruiser. I was just coming around a corner when a cop stepped out. He blocked my way and grabbed me in, like, a big bear hug, but he wasn’t hugging me, he was busting me. It was all downhill from there.” Sasha had perked up during the story, but now she slumped in the swing again. “I gave them a fake name at first—Daisy Miller popped into my head for some reason—but they somehow knew it was fake.”

“That’s the title of a book. My mom has it. Didn’t you get roped into watching the video with us one night?”

Sasha smirked. “Yeah, probably. That figures. I totally should have had my alias ready. They convinced me they would find out my real name sooner or later and that it would all go much better for me if I just told them. So I did, and then of course they called Dad. Pigs! They took me back to the park to get the jeans and then back to the store. They made me apologize to those bitchy clerks! I could have slapped them. All of them!” She lifted one leg and slammed her heel into the dirt over and over. Chunks of dry, pale earth scattered and flew. An underlying strip emerged, dark and moist. Ash built up on the end of her cigarette; she seemed to forget to smoke.

“Do you have to go to court, or what?”

She expelled her breath. “No, the store supposedly has a policy where they don’t press charges if it’s a first-time offense and you’re under eighteen. But they make you pay for the shit even if you don’t want it. I left the jeans there. They were in perfectly good condition, and there’s no way I was going to pay for them. But they made Dad give them his credit card number and now I have to pay him back. It’s so fucked up.”

I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing. I don’t know if Sasha has changed a lot in the past few months, or if I never really knew her as well as I thought.

Pretty soon after that I had to leave. To go clothes shopping, how ironic. All afternoon, I noticed Shoplifters Will be Prosecuted signs, surveillance cameras, security tags, posters with mug shots. All the people in the “wanted” posters were men. Anytime a girl’s photo was taped to a lamppost or a window or stuck on a bulletin board, the heading read: Missing.

I suppose I should be glad Sasha’s a shoplifter, not a runaway: better to be “Wanted” than “Missing.” After all, she was trying to run away when I found her on the ferry that day. Maybe I saved her once. But now what?

Tuesday, September 7th—first day of school

Sasha showed up at school during morning assembly. From our old spot in the bleachers, I saw her slip into the auditorium and take a seat on the floor. She wore a black T-shirt, black jeans, and a choker. During the announcements, she bent forward and picked at her nail polish.

The new principal—a middle-aged transplant from Langford—introduced herself with a pep talk. Otherwise, the assembly echoed a million assemblies past, right down to the way they called out students’ names in closing. But unlike the award winners in June, these students had to report to the office. I tensed when I heard Sasha Varkosky and found her again in the crowd. She must have been searching for me, too, because our eyes met.

I mouthed, “Wait,” and pointed to myself, then to her.

I jostled my way to where she was leaning against the auditorium wall, her arms crossed. “I’m not going to the fucking office.”

“Nice to see you too.”

She simpered.

“Come on, I’ll go with you. They’ll find you sooner or later.”

Ms. Pucker-Face from the June ceremony, still second-in-command in the principal’s office, was sorting students into lines. Her reading glasses hung around her neck. “Hello, Natalie,” she said. The power of her memory was truly alarming. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“I’m here with my friend, Sasha.”

“I would think Sasha is quite old enough to look after herself.”

Sasha sucked air through her teeth. “Actually, Nat is the only thing standing between you and a black eye,” she muttered.

“Take it easy.” I touched her elbow. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Ms. Pucker-Face herded us into the line for students whose registrations showed some “irregularity.” We waited our turn. Some kids bit their nails; others stared at the floor. Sasha crossed her arms and tapped her foot.

When we finally reached the desk, the office secretary, a soft-spoken young man, typed in Sasha’s name. “The records show that you phoned in an address change last week.”

“So?”

I raised my eyebrows at Sasha. Sure, she was living with her dad, but it wasn’t like her to volunteer personal information to the authorities. Besides, their arrangement could change.

She registered my surprise. “What? I want her out of my life.”

At Sasha’s tone of voice, Ms. P-F drifted over. She hovered beside the young man, raised her eyeglasses, and read the computer screen. “Is there a problem?”

I tried to help. “Sasha’s family has two households.”

Ms. P-F spouted the rules: Sasha was entitled to attend Oakridge only if she was living at least part-time with a parent or guardian in the school district. Nobody from outside the catchment area could be accommodated this year.

“Should we call the parent in the school district?” Judging by the mildness of the secretary’s voice, he meant well.

“No!” Sasha shouted.

“Excellent idea,” Ms. P-F said. She must have heard Sasha threatening to give her a black eye. She fixed a vengeful gaze on her and dialed, putting the call on speaker phone. I glanced around at the other students still waiting to have their registration problems sorted out.

“Could we please have some privacy?” I said.

No one paid me any attention.

Sasha’s mom picked up on the third ring.

“Mrs. Varkosky, this is Ms. Butterwell from the principal’s office at Oakridge High.”

“What do you want?”

Ms. Pucker-Face/Butterwell half-laughed, half-coughed. Like mother, like daughter, she must have thought. “Mrs. Varkosky, we’re trying to determine the residence of your daughter, Sasha.”

It was Mrs. V’s turn to snort. “I haven’t laid eyes on her in two weeks. Why? Is she in trouble again?”

“Not exactly.” The principal’s assistant bared her teeth at Sasha.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Sasha said.

“Sasha? Is that you?” Mrs. V.’s voice trembled up from the speaker.

“For God’s sake, stop this!” I gestured behind me to the waiting students. Some of them were enjoying the diversion; others looked worried that theirs might be the next family drama to be broadcast. “This is a private matter.”

Ms. Butterwell spoke again. “Mrs. Varkosky, we just need to know. Will Sasha be living at your residence during the coming school year?”

“You’d better ask her that. I’ve told her she’s welcome—”

“Welcome? Welcome to be ragged on nightly by a drunk?”

“Sasha.” I whispered and squeezed her arm. “Not here.”

“—but she informs me she’s living full-time with her father.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Varkosky. That’s all we need to know.” Ms. Butterwell terminated the call before Mrs. V. could reply and turned to Sasha. “I’m referring you to Victoria High.”

“You can’t do this!”

“I have to do this. This school is full. Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a line of students waiting behind you.”

Sasha scowled and flushed red. I offered to walk home with her.

“No. I’ll get a ride.”

She took off before I could say anything more. I checked my timetable and then the hall clock. First period was almost over, so I used the washroom and then snuck outside to wait for the buzzer. In the pick-up and drop-off zone across the field, Sasha approached a car I didn’t recognize, yanked open the passenger door, and got in. The mystery car pulled out and sped away.

Wednesday, September 8th

The PE teacher took us outside for the first class. Somehow, it felt cruel. The sunshine made it that much harder to accept being imprisoned in school. Hobbled horses must feel like this: surrounded by green pastures but unable to run free.

Last spring, Sasha and I planned our schedules together. In almost every class this week, I’ve had to listen to the teacher call her name. The first time, I turned my head to the right where Sasha used to sit. The teacher called her name a second time, louder. When I said, “Sasha doesn’t go here anymore,” the pit of my stomach ached. But as much as I miss her, I don’t know if I can hang out with her anymore. She’s so angry, and I’m worried she’ll keep getting into trouble. My stomach aches worse to think of it.

A pair of hands clamped over my eyes from behind.

“Sasha?”

“No. Guess again.” The voice was disguised in a falsetto.

“I give up.”

The hands released me and I spun around. “Claire!”

She seemed even taller than usual—she must have shot up another inch over the past couple of months. Her long, lean arms and legs looked ready for anything. She played volleyball at the beach all summer, when she wasn’t scooping ice cream. And it shows: she’s still tanned and her hair has bleached blonde in the sun.

“Want to be partners?”

“Huh?”

Claire laughed. “Didn’t you hear anything the teacher just said?”

All around us, kids were turning to each other and talking. The teacher was hauling out grass hockey equipment and soccer balls. “What’s going on?”

Claire explained that the PE teachers are trying something new. They want students with training in various sports to lead an introductory class session in it. It’s especially encouraged if you have a friend from your team or club in your PE class, so you can co-teach. Kids who don’t teach a class have to write an essay on a physical activity that interests them.

“Are you going to teach volleyball?” I said.

“I just asked. The teacher would rather I didn’t, because everyone already learned it in Grade Nine.” Claire cracked a smile. “That’s where you come in.”

“Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes! Let’s co-teach a dance class.”

Someone came up behind Claire. “What’s up, defects?”

Claire whirled around. “I beg your pardon? Oh. Jamie. Hi.”

Jamie held her hips, elbows wide. “Defects, as in, you defected from Dance-Is. Rhymes with rejects.”

Claire and I spun to face each other. “You quit?” we said at the same time.

“You first,” I said.

“I’m trying out for the volleyball team,” she said. “I can always go back to dance later. But you—you love dance!”

“I know. I’m going to Eastside this year for modern.”

“Like I said,” Jamie drawled, “rhymes with rejects.”

“You should team up with Claire to teach dance,” I said to Jamie.

Claire’s mouth dropped open and her eyes flashed at me.

Jamie held up both palms and nodded with false modesty. “Thanks, but I’m taken. I’m doing weight lifting with Nick. The teacher’s all over our coed approach. You know, Nick’s a guy—”

“—and you’re a girl.” Claire nodded and smiled with relief.

“But, hey,” Jamie pointed back and forth from me to Claire, “you two should teach dance.”

Claire spread her arms and looked at me. “See? That’s what I think.”

“Because I could probably get out of that class,” Jamie continued. “I mean, how boring would that be for me?”

Claire narrowed her eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Jamie.”

The idea of teaching makes me too tense to move. I can’t exactly teach dance when I’m paralyzed, can I? Writing a paper would be a thousand times easier. Claire must be out of her mind.

Thursday, September 9th

A small, beat-up brown car like the one Sasha drove off in the other day was parked at the curb when school got out. A throng of kids was heading down the path to the road, so I snuck in behind them. I had to cross the street to stay hidden, but I glimpsed the driver’s curly black hair and muscled shoulder. Kevin, I think.

My heart pounded hard and my legs shook—be still, my beating heart. But it beat so fast, I thought I might die. I turned and ran in the other direction, taking the fastest, longest strides of my life. My lungs burned. I sprinted well out of range, then bent double and wheezed.

Friday, September 10th

The brown car was waiting by the curb again today. This time, I walked right up to it. Don’t ask me how I had the nerve. I just did. The passenger window was rolled down, and I leaned into it on my elbow. “Looking for Sasha?” I said.

Kevin did a double take. He didn’t move, but his eyes bugged, and then he laughed. It sounded more like a bark. “Natalie! What’s up?”

“Not much. You know, back to school, rah rah rah.”

“Hop in.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Last I heard, you had your license suspended.”

For a second, he winced, like I’d slapped him. Then he sneered. “Sasha said you turned into a suck—I guess she was right.”

“Just ’cuz I’m not a shoplifter or a drunk driver, suddenly I’m a suck? Try again.”

He blew out a puff of air, felt his pockets, and found a pack of cigarettes. He flicked it open. It was empty, and he tossed it on the floor. I was getting a cramp in my lower back from leaning forward, and besides, I felt self-conscious with my butt sticking out as kids streamed past. I stood up and noticed a dent on the roof of the car.

“Nat!”

“What?”

He mumbled something too low to hear. I was torn between wanting to run like I did yesterday, and wanting to get into the car where I could hear him. As I stood there trying to decide, he called my name again. This time his voice sounded gentle. I looked both ways, pulled the door open, and slid into the passenger seat.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said. “I don’t want people looking at us.”

He started up the car.

“Let’s just go to Cattle Point,” I said.

We drove in silence and parked overlooking the ocean. We watched the gulls and the waves. Finally he said, “That didn’t go as well as I hoped.”

“What do you mean? Were you looking for me?”

He twisted his hands on the steering wheel. “Not exactly. I mean, I thought we would run into each other eventually.” He glanced at me. “I’ve thought about it quite a bit.”

I squirmed in my seat. “So what’s up with you? Whose car is this?”

“It’s my buddy’s. We sort of share it.”

“Does he know you don’t have a license?”

Kevin sighed. “He’s okay with it.”

“What if you got pulled over?”

“I’m not going to get pulled over.” He unrolled his window.

“Even my mom gets pulled over sometimes! She spaces out and doesn’t notice she’s going through a school zone. If that happens, you’re going to get your friend into a lot of trouble. You’ll be up the creek too, of course.”

Maybe I was starting to sound like a mouthpiece for the Law-Abiding Citizens’ Association. The truth was, Kevin made me feel defenseless: I craved his touch, his kiss, his skin. If I acted bitchy, he couldn’t tell how weak I was. “What happened to riding your bike?”

“It got stolen.”

“Then you should walk or take the bus.” I couldn’t quit. “What are you doing with yourself, anyway?”

“I’m getting by. I’m helping a friend with his business.” He patted the dashboard. “That’s why we share the car.”

Kevin didn’t seem like the type to have entrepreneur friends. I couldn’t really see him palling around with software designers or restaurant managers and applying for grants from the Ministry of Small Businesses. His black curls were looking a bit matted, he hadn’t shaved in a while, and he wore a hemp necklace. In the next breath, I smelled a familiar aroma: weed.

“It’s not legal. Sharing the car, I mean.”

Kevin shook his head. “You seem to think the law is some ultimate authority on right and wrong. But it’s not! The law is just something made up by some fat middle-aged guys in suits. Ever seen the Parliament channel on cable? They’re like a bunch of overgrown kids picking on each other on the playground. And the worst part is that the laws don’t benefit people. They benefit corporations.”

Kevin must have made some new counter-culture friends. I wasn’t up to an argument about the legal system. But I did have another burning question. “The last time we talked on the phone, you said you wanted to see me.”

Kevin glanced at me. “Yeah?”

“When I was in Vancouver.”

“I remember.”

I looked away. I couldn’t bring myself to ask, What for?

He opened the car door. “Let’s get out.”

Breathing fresh air and scrambling over rocks sounded good. I hauled my backpack with me so I wouldn’t have to return to the car.

We found a bench at the top of the outcropping. He sat down and stretched his arms across the seat back. I had to choose a spot at the far end of the bench so that his arm wouldn’t drape behind my shoulders. The wind buffeted us.

“This has been hard,” he said, staring at the water.

“What do you mean?”

“We had an intense week in July.” His forehead wrinkled. He hesitated, then said, “You’ve got something, Nat. You’ve got some ... some drive or sense of purpose or something. You’ve got this strength and … and this sort of calmness to you. You’re the calm in the eye of the storm.” He looked at me. The wind swirled and eddied as if on cue. “I need to be around that sometimes. My life is just the opposite; it’s one storm after another. You know?”

I can’t believe he sees me that way. It’s like he looks up to me, even though I’m so much younger.

“Does this mean you weren’t just using me in the summer? Remember, you said, ‘Older guys are only after one thing’?”

“Nat, that’s what I mean: I don’t really feel any older than you.”

Monique said the same thing, and she’s twenty-two, so maybe he’s telling the truth.

We sat there for a little while longer, then I said I had to go.

“Can I give you a ride?”

I stood and hoisted my heavy pack onto my back. “No, thanks. I could use the walk.”

He looked up at me from the bench. “Can I call you?”

His eyes pleaded, and I felt a surge of tenderness. “Okay.”

As I plodded home, I thought about what he’d said. His feelings for me seemed genuine. And he’d made an effort to find me. I mean, he must have known Sasha was at Vic High. If he wasn’t looking for me, why else would he park outside my school?

Saturday, September 11th

The owner of the corner store bagged the vanilla yogurt I’d biked down for at Mom’s request—it would top the fruit salad she was making for lunch. He was handing me change when Sasha sauntered in, wearing flip-flops, cutoffs, and a scoop-necked T-shirt that drew attention to her breasts. Her makeup looked heavy enough for the stage. I was starting to speak when her eyes slid off me. She pretended not to know who I was.

“A pack of DuMauriers, please.” Her voice had dropped half an octave into an “I-could-care-less” kind of drawl.

The proprietor jerked his thumb towards a sign next to the cash register: It is illegal to sell tobacco to anyone under nineteen years of age. “Need to see your ID.”

“Come on, I buy cigarettes here all the time. It’s usually your daughter who works Saturdays, right?”

The man tensed his jaw. “It’s against the law to sell tobacco to minors. All cashiers working here know this. If not, who do you think gets fined?” He poked himself in the middle of his chest with his index finger. “I get fined. No ID, no cigarettes.”

I edged towards the door. “Let’s go, Sasha.”

She slapped out of the store, and I followed her. She flipped her middle finger behind her head as we crossed the threshold. “I came all the way here because his daughter sold me a pack last week.”

“You probably got her in trouble just now.”

She snorted. “Not my problem.” She blew air out her bottom lip to lift her bangs off her forehead. “That was my last chance. Now I’ll have to break down and ask my brother for smokes.”

“Or you could quit.”

She singed me with her glare.

I looped the plastic grocery bag onto my handlebars. I wanted to get away, but I wanted to hear her say more about Kevin. “So what’s new?”

“I have to stay at Vic High.”

“Shitty,” I said. “For the whole year?”

“For the fall, anyway,” she said. “It’s okay, though. The classes are a joke and the kids aren’t as snotty. You know the rich kids at Oakridge, the ones who call themselves the Beautiful People? I found out they’re only there because they were too dumb to pass the entrance exams at the private schools—all their daddies’ cash couldn’t make up for the fact that they’re, like, brain-dead. No one would fall for their bullshit at Vic High.”

A car pulled into a spot right beside the bike rack and we moved away from the exhaust. “Do you want to push our bikes for a ways?”

She checked her watch. “Okay, for a little ways.”

We headed for the crosswalk. “How’s it going with your family?” I said.

“Don’t ask.”

“Still not talking to your mom?”

“I want nothing to do with her.”

I pressed the button to change the light.

“What about your dad?”

“He’s putting a roof over my head. That’s it. And I’d ‘better be grateful I’m not in juvie.’”

“Sounds tense.”

“Yeah.” She used a high, strangled voice to underline the point. “He pretty much wishes me and my brother were never born.”

At the mention of Kevin, my stomach jumped. Should I tell her I’d hung out with him the day before? I dreaded her anger, but keeping secrets again felt worse. The light changed and the two-tone walk signal chimed. “I saw Kevin yesterday.”

“What? Where?”

I rolled my bike off the curb.“He was parked outside the school, so I went and talked to him.” Oncoming pedestrians forced us to walk single file. I imagined her glowering at my back. On the opposite sidewalk, we fell in line again, shoulder-to-shoulder. “I guess he’s driving without a license.”

She stopped walking. “So? What’s it to you?”

I didn’t really have an answer to that. “I was just surprised he would take that kind of risk.”

“You’re such a suck. Why don’t you just mind your own business?”

I hung my head and didn’t reply.

Her voice changed as she realized the truth. “You’re still obsessed with him, aren’t you? That’s what this is about. I can’t fuckin’ believe it. Trust me, you’re not going to get anywhere with him.”

The day before at Cattle Point, Kevin showed real emotion. The feelings between us weren’t one-sided. I was sure of it. “How do you know?”

Sasha laughed. “Believe me, I know. I’ve been fielding phone calls from his exes for years. Some of them were really nice girls, Nat. And pretty too.” She swung her leg over her bike. “He made them all feel special.” She tilted her head. “I’m going this way.” She swooped into the road and did a donut. When she passed me again, she paused, her toe touching the curb. “You know what?”

I was adjusting my helmet. “What?”

“When you started this thing with Kevin, you obviously didn’t care how I felt. So it’s karma.”

“What do you mean?”

“Getting hurt by Kevin. That’s your karma.”

She wheeled again and took off up the hill.

Sunday, September 12th

Dad called tonight to drop the bomb: he and Vi are getting married.

I didn’t say congratulations. I said, “Does this mean you’re staying in Ontario forever?”

From the upstairs phone, Paige asked, “Will you have babies?”

Dad hedged. I thought he was just too embarrassed to explain his vasectomy to Paige, so I said, “Dad had an operation so he can’t have any more children.” I expected Dad to back me up, but he didn’t. “Right, Dad?”

He cleared his throat. “Um, well, uh …” Usually, he’s straight and to the point, very “business communications.” So I knew something was up.

“The operation might actually be reversible.”

“What?”

“I’m not saying we’re going to have any children, but, well, Vi has asked me to consider reversing my operation.”

“And you’re going to?” I was practically shouting.

“I’m going to consider it, yes.”

“Does that mean I’m going to have a little baby sister or brother?” Paige said from the bedroom. “Sweet! I’ve always wanted one.”

She thinks it’s like getting a goldfish or something. But I have a younger sibling. I know what it means. I’ll feel responsible for those kids, my half-brothers or sisters, the way I do for Paige. What if something happens to Dad and Vi? There I’ll be, the old-enough-to-be-their-mother half-sister. They’ll rely on me. And Dad’s acting like this has nothing to do with me!

My hands were shaking as I hung up, and my body temperature plummeted. I boiled water for tea, my teeth chattering.

Mom actually sounded excited. “Getting married!” Or maybe it was only surprise. She has a perma-flush these days, so I couldn’t tell whether she was glowing in reaction to the news or not. How long does infatuation usually last? It’ll be nice to have my mother back once she recovers.

Paige skipped downstairs and sprang into the kitchen. “I can’t wait to be a bridesmaid!”

I pulled the afghan off the couch and drew it around me like a shawl. “The bride usually asks her friends, or her sisters, not the groom’s daughters.”

“You never know.” Mom frowned at me and turned to Paige. “It’s very possible that you two will be in the wedding party. And even if you’re not, you’ll be guests of honor.”

I was still shivering, and my stomach felt hollow. Mom was making me feel like Natalie-the-Selfish-Grouch, who ruins everything for Paige. So I didn’t say, “I don’t want to go to the wedding.” Instead, I sipped my tea and burnt my tongue.

I really hope the doctors can’t reverse the vasectomy, or that Vi can’t get pregnant. I know: I’ll research infertility hexes. A wedding must be the perfect place to cast one.

Monday, September 13th

It was impossible to concentrate at school today. Burning sensations erupted in my chest every time I thought of Dad and Vi. During a Math quiz, I fell back into an old habit. I flipped my quiz over and wrote:

Dear Dad,

How can you even THINK of starting another family? You have no right! You’re totally absent from my life! If they made you take a parenting exam, you’d FAIL. It should be ILLEGAL for you to bring any more children into the world.

I didn’t notice the teacher patrolling the rows. My rapid writing must have caught his attention because he leaned over my desk. I flipped the paper, but not before he read part of it. How embarrassing. I erased the note once he moved on but left most of the quiz blank.

Even though Math isn’t my strong suit, it’s not like me to fail a test. After everyone left, I approached the front of the room. The teacher was stuffing the quizzes into his briefcase. He’s kind of gruff, and I didn’t know what to expect.

“Mr. Lee …”

He paused to look at me. His round, silver-rimmed glasses were slipping down the low bridge of his nose. “Yes?”

“I was wondering if I could rewrite the quiz. I—I couldn’t concentrate today.”

He smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t hold one off-day against you.”

Tuesday, September 14th

Off-Day #2. Crushing sadness. If I had a choice, I would pick anger: at least it gives me energy. Today, I slumped at my desk, shoulders rounded and chest caved in. My eyes kept filling with tears as I pretended to take notes.

Dear Dad,

I’ve tried so hard not to miss you. I’ve tried so hard not to care. I’m tired of hoping and waiting. You don’t love me. You never will.

From the board, the Bio teacher took in my glassy stare; he probably thought I’d smoked weed at lunch. But I was low, not high. After class, I dragged myself down the hall like there were ten-pound weights in my shoes.

Wednesday, September 15th

School’s not the same without Sasha.

Quitting Dance-Is has left a big hole in my life.

Kevin has vanished.

Mom has changed.

And now Dad is leaving us behind—again.

After dinner, I went to my room and pulled out a pad of paper. I needed to get it all out once and for all.

Dear Dad,

Weddings are supposed to be joyful, and I wish I felt happy for you and Vi. But I don’t.

There are things I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time, and I can’t hold them back anymore. Here goes. I wish you didn’t live so far away and that I got to see more of you. I wish I didn’t always have to be the one to phone. It makes me feel like I don’t matter to you. Even when I visit you, I feel much less important to you than your work. You haven’t been around to see me grow up and it makes me very sad. I miss you.

Now that you’re marrying Vi, I’m scared I’ll see you even less. I’m scared you’ll have other kids and give them the love and attention I should have received. You’ll never leave Ontario and you’ll forget about Paige and me.

I want the disappointment to end and the pain to stop.

I quit writing when a teardrop rolled off my cheek and landed splat on the page. It was so long since I’d written to Dad. I gave up trying to reach him years ago. As I re-read the letter, I cried harder, knowing I would never send it. It was hopeless trying to speak to him from the heart.

Mom knocked. “Nat? Are you all right?”

I blew my nose in response.

“Can I come in?”

“If you want.” I must have sounded pathetic.

I let her read the letter, and she hugged me. “I’m sorry for all of this hurt.” She rocked me in her arms. “But, Nat, one thing is for sure: your father loves you and Paige very much.” It felt as if she’d hugged me again when she said that. I tried to ignore the voice inside that grumbled: cliché, bullshit.

It would have been better if Mom stopped there, but she continued. “When he doesn’t call you or spend time with you, I know it’s hard, but you have to try not to take it personally. He’s a workaholic and, unfortunately, he doesn’t properly appreciate the value of human relationships.”

Anger flared up again and I pulled away. “But that’s my point! How can he think of bringing more children into the world when he doesn’t value the ones he already has?”

She shook her head and stared at the carpet, then lifted her chin. “All I can think is that making a commitment to Vi has changed him. That they’re moving from a dating phase into more of a family phase.” She reached to tuck my hair behind my ear, something she hasn’t done since I was a kid. “You and Paige might actually benefit from it, you know. They dropped everything to come and see you dance in Vancouver, didn’t they?”

“Uh-huh.” I wasn’t convinced, but I’d moped enough for one night.

“Why don’t we make a batch of brownies?” Mom said.

“Did I hear someone say brownies?” Paige popped her head into my room. She has a sixth sense when it comes to chocolate. “I want to help!”

I closed the pad of paper and set it on my desk. “When you say, ‘help,’ you mean, ‘lick the bowl,’ right?” I tousled Paige’s hair and she ducked out from under my hand.

By the time I brought a plate of brownies and a glass of milk back to my room, my letter-writing mood had passed. I tucked the pad away in my bottom drawer.

Thursday, September 16th

Every time I leave school, I scan the cars at the curb. If there’s a brown one, my heart palpitates. I don’t particularly want Kevin hunting me down after school. That’s why I told him to call me. But I don’t enjoy having a minor panic attack every time the phone rings either. I never know where he’s staying or how to reach him. There’s nothing to do but wait.

Friday, September 17th

The girls played grass hockey in PE today. We had to run up and down a muddy field with big wooden sticks, chasing a ball and blocking each other. I don’t mind the idea of hitting balls—golf, tennis, ping pong, croquet—these are all civilized games. But why divide a class into enemy camps and make them charge at each other?

The teacher assigned us to teams and positions. Jamie played offensive forward on my side. Claire, a fullback, opposed us. My position—left wing—no doubt had to do with my size (small) and ability (poor). I faced off against Sara, a red-haired girl about my height and weight. When the ball finally came our way, I accidentally whacked her on the shins, really hard. There weren’t enough shin pads to go around, and she wasn’t wearing any. She yelped and my stomach turned. The teacher ran up, followed by Jamie and other attackers.

“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” I said.

Sara was hopping on one leg, her face drawn in pain.

The teacher said, “Don’t apologize. It’s part of the game.”

Jamie thumped her stick on the ground. “It’s our team you have to worry about, not the other guys.”

The teacher blew the whistle and everyone swarmed off before I could respond. Even Sara limped away.

I cannot believe I am being taught to physically harm people and not feel bad about it. Did I accidentally sign up for military school? Are we in training for the battlefield? Whack someone on the other team today; kill someone from the Middle East tomorrow?

At the end of class, the teacher reminded us that we needed to either sign up to teach a class or choose a paper topic by the end of next week. Claire eyed me from the other side of the field, but I pretended not to see.

She caught up to me as I was ducking out of the change room. I was still shaken up, and as we left the school I told her what had happened. “I was forced to be violent! It goes against my beliefs. Maybe I can launch a protest. I conscientiously object to grass hockey!”

Claire’s cheeks quivered. It looked like she was suppressing a smile.

“I should have known you wouldn’t understand!” I scissored my legs to outstrip her. “You probably like spiking the volleyball into people’s faces. It probably gives you a thrill.”

Claire sped up and grabbed my arm. “Slow down a sec.”

I looked back at the school. The grass hockey field was receding into the distance. I relaxed my pace.

“You’re making a good point,” she said, “but I’m the only one hearing it. Don’t you think some of the other kids in the class might be feeling the same way? What about the girl you hit?”

“Sara.” I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. “She’s going to have a massive bruise.”

“Right. Sara is probably thinking she hates sports too. But, unlike you, she might be thinking that she hates being active altogether because team sports are all she’s ever been exposed to.” Claire twisted her upper body to face me as we walked, her arms raised and her hands splayed. “Don’t you think people like Sara deserve to know about other types of physical activity? Don’t you think Sara deserves a dance lesson?” As we reached an intersection, kids waiting to cross the street turned their heads at her raised voice.

It was my turn to choke back a laugh. “Since when did you hire a speech writer?”

Claire dropped her arms and slapped the sides of her legs. “How’d I do?”

The light changed, and we crossed. “Pretty good. But I don’t feel ready to teach. I’m not confident enough in myself to encourage other people.”

“I can see the obituary now.” She spread her hands in the air as if framing a billboard: “After an unfortunate incident in her Grade 10 PE class, Sara chose a life of inactivity. This led to her untimely death. If only she had stayed active, she might still be alive today. Instead of flowers, please send donations to the Y.”

I laughed. Claire must have been born confident. My insecurities carried no weight with her. “You really are playing dirty, my friend.”

“Besides, Nat, you don’t have to face the class alone. We’ll do it together—that’s the whole idea.”

I agreed to think about it on one condition: she had to consider taking classes with me at Eastside. We shook hands on it.

Lance starts teaching next week. Maybe he will inspire me.

Wednesday, September 22nd

Kevin finally called. “Are you free on Friday night?” He might have been a skydiving instructor shouting Jump! while I huddled inside a plane. The receiver slipped in my hand. My heart pounded. I swallowed and said, “Yes.”

After I hung up, the adrenaline wore off and crabbiness set in. At dinner, Mom asked if I would babysit on Friday.

“I have plans.”

She looked super disappointed. Apparently, Marine has a piece of art in a group show that opens in Nanaimo this weekend. “I promised to be there.”

I gripped my fork and knife. “You should have checked with me before you made promises.”

Paige spoke up. “You don’t need to worry. I have plans too.”

Guilt tugged at me for acting like Paige was a burden. Mom’s face mirrored how I felt.

“I’m having a sleepover at Jessica’s.”

“That’s great, honey!” Mom squeezed Paige’s shoulder. “That’ll give you a chance to use your new overnight suitcase, the one that Vi bought for you.”

I wish she’d left Vi out of it. The mention of her name soured my mood even more. I pushed my chair back from the table.

“Aren’t you going to finish your lasagna?” Mom said.

“I’m not hungry.”

From the kitchen, I overheard Mom filling Paige in about teenagers, hormones, and moodiness. Ha. If she only knew.

Thursday, September 23rd

Today was my first day of modern class.

Lance faced us at the front of the studio. A short, sixty-year-old man in forest green sweat pants and bare feet, he pressed his shoulders back like a matador’s, lengthened his spine, and held his head high.

He told us how to carry ourselves. “Imagine your line of vision as a searchlight that pierces the dark and reaches all the way to the horizon.” Like a superhero with X-ray eyes, he swiveled his head at a slow, even pace.

In between exercises, he told stories. The life lessons went right over the head of some of the girls, but I ate them up. “Everyone has passion when they’re young, but so many people get red lights, whether from teachers or parents or even from other kids. The spirit is tender and easily crushed by ridicule and rejection. People say, ‘You have to develop a thick skin,’ like it’s a necessary life skill. But what happens to sensitivity when you thicken your skin? What happens to passion? They get buried. You see so many people on the bus, behind the counter at the store, and they’re just going through the motions. They’re dead behind the eyes, they’ve stopped truly living years before. And you wonder, who could that person be if they’d been given green lights instead of red?”

Lance teaches in order to shine a green light—the opposite of Ms. Kelly. All those years of her bootcamp-style instruction didn’t strengthen me; they just built up my defenses. Now, my confidence is slowly growing from the inside out. Lance still corrects us—he believes in precision—but I don’t leave his class doubting my self-worth, the way I often used to do. In his class, we dance to celebrate movement. We’ve been given beautiful instruments—our bodies—and now we are learning to play.

When I got home from Lance’s class tonight, Claire called to find out my decision about teaching, since tomorrow’s the deadline. “Okay,” I said. “I give in. But you better do most of the talking!”

Friday, September 24th, night, pre-date

Mom approached me after school today when I was fixing my afternoon snack. Paige was packing her overnight bag upstairs. Mom asked how I would feel if she stayed overnight in Nanaimo tonight.

My guts seized up.

“It’s only because Paige is going to be at a sleepover, otherwise I wouldn’t ask.” She looked worried. “I really don’t like crossing the Malahat in the dark. I was going to do it anyway, but they’re predicting rain. That means there’ll be a terrible glare on the road. I would feel so much safer getting a motel room.”

I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to drive at night over the mountain north of Victoria: The highway is narrow, winding, and unlit. But her plan stressed me out. “Can’t you get a ride with Marine?”

“She’s staying over too.” Mom blushed and added, “The curator is putting her up.”

I didn’t want to have the house to myself. Not on a night when I was going out with Kevin for the first time in six weeks. I didn’t want the responsibility. Parents are supposed to be there as a buffer so you don’t have to face situations you’re not ready to handle. My God! Didn’t she learn that the last time?

She was looking at me with such a hopeful expression, like I was the parent and she was asking permission.

“Let me think about it.”

She backed up a few steps and bumped into the table. “Sure. Take your time.” She crossed the room, moved a mug from the dish rack to the cupboard, turned in a circle, and fell to sorting the mail.

I considered my options as I chopped celery and sliced cheddar cheese:

1) Say No, I’m not comfortable staying on my own, and have Mom miss the art show and mope around, lovesick and frustrated. Or, worse, have her drive late at night over the Malahat, hit a deer, and total Kermit.

2) Say Yes, have the house to myself, and be taken advantage of by Kevin.

I forgot what I was doing and sliced almost the whole block of cheese. Considering Option 2 made me break out in a nervous sweat. Should I cancel my date and stay home alone? That didn’t seem fair either. I packaged up the extra cheese and replaced it. The fridge door smacked and I spun around, inspired:

3) Say Yes, and not let Kevin know that I have the house to myself.

Ah yes. The Third Way!

“Okay, Mom.”

She dropped a stack of envelopes on the floor just as Paige wheeled her new bag into the kitchen. Mom bent over to pick up the mail and when she straightened, the blood had rushed to her head. “Honey, I’m going to stay over in Nanaimo tonight.” She sounded a little out of breath.

Paige searched my face. “So Nat will be here all by herself!”

A sob caught in my throat. How could Mom be so oblivious when Paige empathized right away?

“That’s not very fun,” Paige continued. “Too bad you’re not having a sleepover, Nat.”

I tried to reassure them. But why have we gone our separate ways again so soon? What happened to family night on Friday, with pizza and a video? Would it be any different if Paige and I were living with Dad and Vi, a normal couple, rather than with a woman going through her second adolescence at forty-two?

2:00 a.m.

I can’t fucking believe it. Going to shower.

Saturday, September 25th, morning, Con Brio

Biked here at 7:30 a.m. It didn’t open till 8 a.m. Manager eyed me suspiciously when he opened up. Probably thought I was a street kid who’d been loitering there all night.

Sipping latte. Warm. Medicinal.

Where to start?

Does it matter? Is there any point reflecting on all this stuff? I thought I was changing, I thought I was gaining control of my life. Then I repeat the same damn mistakes. Well, not exactly the same.

The evening started okay. Bussed to meet Kevin at the house where he’s staying. He came to the door and asked me if I wanted to go for a walk. “My roommate’s home.” I couldn’t tell whether we were giving the roommate his privacy, or seeking our own. We cut across the street to a small neighborhood park. Kevin led the way to the playground. He gestured like a butler to the equipment: “See-saw, madam?”

We teetered back and forth for a while, and then he planted his butt on the ground and trapped me up high. Because he’s so much heavier, I couldn’t get down. He smirked and chewed grass. When I demanded that he let me down, he faked a move to get up all at once, which would have made me crash to the ground. My stomach curled in fear. That was it.

I twisted my head, gauged the five-foot drop, gripped the seat with my hands, and flung myself backwards. I landed on my feet and staggered only a bit before I stormed to the water fountain. Kevin ran after me. “Sorry, Nat! It was only a joke.”

I leaned over the drinking fountain, cranked the handle, filled my mouth with water, and spat at him.

“Hey!” He jumped backwards and pulled his spattered T-shirt away from his body. He looked stunned, but shook himself out of it. “Are we even now?”

I pursed my mouth. “We’ll see.”

Back at the house, his roommate (and boss?), the owner of the little brown car, was sunk in an armchair watching Japanese cartoons. I asked if he understood Japanese, and he shook his head, then a grin split his face. “Doesn’t matter.” He had a couple of dead teeth.

He asked if we wanted to smoke a bowl. I shook my head but Kevin said sure, then offered me a beer. I didn’t want to be called a “suck” again, so I accepted a bottle. We watched the cartoon until I started to zone out, maybe from the secondhand smoke.

“What do you think, Nat, want to go clubbing?”

I raised my eyebrows at him. I’m fifteen, remember?

“You can see how the nightlife here compares to Vancouver.”

“When I was in Vancouver, I borrowed someone’s ID.”

“Don’t worry, we have a VIP pass, we’ll get you in.”

I hadn’t dressed for a night on the town, but in the bathroom, I reapplied lipstick, knotted my shirt at the waist to show a little belly, and teased my hair. My mind raced. Hadn’t I made some vow to myself? Right: no driving with Kevin since he doesn’t have a license. I sipped my beer. That was illegal, too, at my age. I didn’t much like the taste, but to call it “criminal” did seem harsh. As for going to a bar … I’d done it in Vancouver. It didn’t seem too dangerous, as long as I went with people I knew. I communed with my mirror image: Okay. You can have a drink or two, and you can go to a bar. But I draw the line at getting into a car with an unlicensed driver.

I squared off my shoulders and took a deep breath. I had to tell Kevin I wouldn’t go with him. I opened the bathroom door and walked down the hall to the living room.

Kevin was slouching against the doorjamb. He checked out my belly and smiled. “Ready to go?”

“Look—” I began.

Kevin’s roommate brushed past him into the front hall. He pushed his bare feet into a pair of flip-flops.

“Jeremy’s going to drive us,” Kevin said.

The roommate pulled a key chain off a hook by the front door and shook it, like a bell, beside his face. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve got a license.”

It was a short drive downtown. Jeremy pulled into the taxi zone right outside the club. “Have fun, kids.” He and Kevin shook hands in a loose, arm-wrestling hold. When I stepped out of the car, people standing in line turned to look. Twenty-something girls flung ironed-straight hair over their bare shoulders. Guys scuffed the ground and spat as we passed. Kevin headed straight for the entrance. The bouncer nodded at the VIP pass, flicked his eyes over my face, and didn’t ask for ID. Inside, darkness and a steady beat engulfed us.

Kevin bought me a piña colada. Its creamy pineapple and coconut taste disguised the alcohol, and I downed it fast. He chuckled and bought me another. Every so often, someone approached him and shook hands. They would dip their hands into their pockets and shake again. Either he had touchy-feely friends, or it was some kind of ritual. I didn’t have long to ponder it. With the heat of the liquor in me, the old feelings welled up, and I wanted him to myself. I pulled him onto the dance floor on a slow song. We held each other close and kissed. After the song ended, we found a dark corner and made out some more. We surfaced from a kiss at one point, and he said, “What time are you supposed to be home?”

I gave him a blank look, then remembered: he didn’t know Mom wasn’t home. “Midnight or so.”

He checked his watch. “Bad news, we’re going to have to get going. Just as well, ’cause I was about to drink our cab fare.”

I’d never taken a cab before. It was weird to have a stranger chauffeur us around. The wide back seat, upholstered in red velvet, bounced underneath us as we drove. Kevin’s hand rested on my thigh. As we pulled to the curb in front of my house, he said, “Looks like your mom’s out.”

Damn the carport. If we had a covered garage, he would never have known her car wasn’t there. Before I knew what was happening, Kevin pulled a wad of bills out of his jeans pocket, unfolded a couple, and paid the driver. I was wondering why he carried so much loose cash in his pockets when it occurred to me: the strange handshakes in the nightclub weren’t greetings. They were sales transactions. He was dealing!

The yellow taxi streaked off in a trail of exhaust fumes.

“Is your sister in there with a babysitter, or what?”

I wanted to be strong, but he nuzzled my neck. His mouth and the alcohol crushed my resolve. I spilled the truth and soon we were back where we left off a month ago, only this time in my bed, not in Mom’s.

Fooling around felt good, but when things reached the crucial point I said, “Stop. No, we can’t do this without a condom. Not again.”

He rolled onto his back and expelled his breath at the ceiling. “I don’t have one! I totally didn’t expect this to happen tonight.”

“Then we can’t!”

“Come on, Nat, I’ll be careful.”

“What does that mean?”

He slid back on top of me. “I’ll pull out.”

“No.”

He traced his finger down my belly. “But isn’t this bliss?”

Bad choice of words! Bliss made me think of my dad and his hero quest, and that broke the spell. Kevin was using his hand to guide himself into me. I remembered the teeter-totter. I planted my palms on the mattress and shoved back off the bed. I stood and he knelt. We eyed each other. He had a burning, needy look that scared me. “Why are you being such a tease? We did this before.”

The shock hit me first in the gut, then outlined my limbs, cold and separate. We did this before. I stared across the bed at this stranger. We made a mistake before, which I handled on my own. The worry, the nearly too-late trip to the drugstore, the long days of waiting for my period to come, the nasty tests at the clinic. I told him all this on the phone that night from Vancouver. He must have ignored what I said. He didn’t care what the consequences were for me. My feelings meant nothing to him.

“It’s no big deal after the first time, Natalie. It just gets better. Come on …”

He didn’t learn from mistakes, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t.

I started to dress. He scooted across the bed and reached for my breast. I slapped his hand away. I was so turned off, nothing he could do would tempt me.

“I don’t know why you’re acting so frigid. It’s not like we haven’t done this before.”

“Would you shut up? Would you just shut up and leave?”

By the time I was fully dressed, he saw that I meant it and switched tactics. “I’ll stop bugging you, let’s just lie down and go to sleep. Your mom’s not coming back till tomorrow, and it’s late.”

I went to the kitchen, pulled out the phone book, found the number for a taxi, and dialed. He heard me on the phone and stumbled out of the bedroom. “Whoa, whoa, don’t do that, you psycho bitch. Look at me, I’m up, I’m getting dressed. I don’t have money for a cab.”

I held the receiver to my chest. “What about all that money from your customers?”

“Jeremy fronted me that—ugh!” Kevin cut himself off. He swore as he buttoned his jeans.

The dispatcher was saying something. I put the phone to my ear. “Do you want to cancel the cab, ma’am?”

“I guess so. Thanks anyway.”

Kevin shoved his feet into his shoes in the front hall.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this, Nat. But I know one thing for sure.” He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “You’re going to regret it.” He swung the door open and slammed it behind him.

I shuddered. What did he mean by that? Was he going to come back and set fire to the house? Round up his friends and gang rape me? Or what? Maybe he just meant, “One day when I’m rich and famous, you’ll be sorry you let me slip through your fingers.” The fact is, I don’t know him well enough to interpret his tone, and that’s a sad thing to have to admit about your first lover.

I lay in bed, rigid, and waited for daylight. I left the house as soon as I could. Now I’m wired on latte.

At least I don’t have to make another trip to the drugstore.

I need more water. And I’m going to need sleep.

Later

The house was still standing when I returned, so I guess whatever else Kevin is, he’s not an arsonist. Inside, the silence surprised me. The day had no right to be so young. I wanted to nap, but not in my bed, the scene of Kevin’s and my final standoff.

In the living room, the couch sagged underneath me. Saturday morning cartoons reminded me of the previous night’s cartoon-and-bong show, and I shut them off. An afghan, crocheted by my grandma, lay at my feet. I hitched it up to my shoulders and hugged myself. Kevin had probably only called me in the first place because he needed a date for camouflage at the club. And, when I saw him waiting at the school—he wasn’t looking for me; he was dealing there, too! I was such an idiot.

Outside the window stood a cedar hedge, heavy with rainwater. Each time a drop fell from one branch to the next, green fronds shook with the weight. Drip, quiver … drip, quiver … drip …

I must have drifted off, because the ringing of the phone woke me up.

I was so tired, my stomach forgot to clench with the usual fear that it might be Kevin.

“G’morning, g’Nat.”

“Hi.” Was I hallucinating? “Dad?”

“How are you?” he said.

“I’ve been better. But I’ve also been worse.”

Dead air. I’d forgotten to echo Dad’s “How are you?” Who made up these stupid rules for conversation, anyway?

“I—I got your letter.”

“What? What letter? What do you mean?”

“You haven’t written me that many letters in the past while. In fact, I can’t remember when I got the last one. So it’s, you know, the only letter you’ve written in recent memory.”

I sat up. The afghan tangled itself around my legs. I balled it up and threw it to the floor. “I didn’t mail that letter!”

More dead air.

“So this is Denise’s doing, is it?”

“I’ll kill her!”

“Take a few deep breaths.”

“Dad, stay on the line for a minute.” I dropped the phone on the sofa, ran to my room, and yanked open my bottom desk drawer. The pad of paper was sitting right where I’d left it. Dad had to be mistaken. I lifted the cover. The top sheet was blank. I bent down and made out faint indentations: Dear Dad …

I zombie-walked back to the living room and picked up the receiver. “I’m back.” I stared out the window at the cedar hedge.

“I did think it was strange that you didn’t sign it,” he said.

“I don’t even remember what I wrote.”

Trust Dad to call when I was raw and defenseless from lack of sleep and the whole Kevin thing. “This is really taking me by surprise.”

Dad’s voice got quieter. “I can see that. I had no idea you didn’t mail it yourself.”

I was about to say, “Let’s just forget this ever happened.” But something exploded, and I let it rip. “No, Dad, I stopped mailing you letters because you never fucking wrote back.”

He cleared his throat. “Right, that’s in line with what you say here, in the letter. Look, Natalie, I’m glad this letter got to me, however it happened, because it seems to me you’ve been really honest here.”

“You’re right. So you know what I think. What have you got to say?”

I heard a murmur in the background. “Did Vi read the letter?”

“I’ve shared it with her, yes, because of course it affects her.”

“How can you think of having more kids when you don’t parent the ones you have? Huh? What’s your answer to that?”

“Natalie, it’s a fair question. That’s my answer.”

“You talk like every sentence is getting checked over by your lawyer first. Why can’t you just speak from the heart? Do you have one?”

“Everything you’re saying is—you’re—you’re not the only one to point these things out, Nat. Your mother, of course, but your mother and I weren’t—I mean, my work—my workaholism wasn’t the only problem between your mother and me.”

“I’m not talking about that anymore, Dad, I mean, give me some credit, I’m not saying, Boo-hoo, I want Mommy and Daddy back together again. I’m not living in Never Never Land here. I’m just talking about, like, have you heard about the Deadbeat Dad laws?”

He bristled. “I have always sent my support payments, religiously; your mother—”

“I’m not talking about money, Dad, for God’s sake, money is what you do give. I’m talking about time, attention, energy …” Damn it, I wouldn’t censor myself this time. “I’m talking about love, Dad.”

“Natalie, I do love you.”

It was the first time Dad had said that to me. I breathed in: a tiny candle lit up inside my ribcage. I breathed out: anger flooded my chest cavity and doused the flame. “Well, it’s pretty hard to tell sometimes.”

He cleared his throat. “I can see what you mean, Nat, and that’s why I wanted to tell you what we’ve been talking about since your letter came.”

That shut me up. I’d written the letter to vent. I’d never planned to send it, so I hadn’t even considered potential consequences. Now what?

“We see your point, we really do. Vi, especially, she said, if we try to start over without undoing past mistakes, we’ll just repeat them all over again.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, if she and I have a child, that child is probably going to grow up resenting me just as much as you do.”

“Uh-huh.” I still didn’t see where this was going. “So?”

“So, we’re thinking seriously about relocating. I can’t give you an exact date, but we feel fairly certain that by late spring we’ll be on the West Coast. Probably in Vancouver. You’re right about everything. I’ve missed too much of your and Paige’s childhoods already.”

“I’m no longer a child, period.”

“There you go.” He hesitated. “The timing is good, now, with your mother and I both moving on in our lives.”

“You know about Mom moving on? You and Mom really are opening up to each other these days. She hasn’t even officially told me yet.”

“She hasn’t said anything, no. It was just an impression I got when we all spent time together in Vancouver.”

I kept quiet for a few seconds. I was letting it all sink in.

“Are you saying you’re going to move out here just because of my letter?”

“It’s crossed our minds before, of course. I’m at a point where I’m ready for a change at work. And Vi really loves Vancouver. The visit last month just confirmed that.” He paused. “But, yes, your letter kind of pushed us past the ‘thinking about it’ stage and into the planning stage.”

Vi said something I couldn’t make out.

“What did she say?”

“She said, ‘into the Let’s do it!’ stage. And, there’s something else you deserve credit for.”

“Yeah?”

“The picnic at Stanley Park really made it concrete. It showed that we could all get along as a kind of extended family. So, thank you, Nat.”

“You’re welcome, I guess.”

I hung up and flopped on the couch. Hand over hand, I pulled the afghan off the floor and tucked it around me.

The next thing I knew, Mom was calling out, “Hellooo! Anybody home?” Fresh air gusted from the open door.

“Morning,” I croaked.

I restrained myself from confronting her about the letter. I wanted to hoard Dad’s news, at least until I got some sleep and could think straight.

“I thought I would whip up some crepes and make a couple of fondues, one cheese and one chocolate, to dip fruit in. It can be a special brunch for when Paige gets home. Want to help?”

Spare me. “Maybe later.”

“How was your date?”

I struggled to my feet and pulled the afghan around me. “Fine, thanks.”

In the bathroom, I filled the tub with hot water and lowered myself in. The room steamed up. I was hiding inside a cloud.

Sunday, September 26th

Sun streamed into the kitchen this morning. In the yellow light, Paige washed the breakfast dishes. Mom had gone to the store. Even after thirteen hours’ sleep, I was upset with Mom for mailing my letter. I was figuring out what to say to her as I dried the dishes and put them away.

“Earth to Natalie!” Paige said.

“What?”

“I just asked you a question.”

“Oh. Sorry.” I squeezed my fingers together, trying to reach into a drinking glass. The mouth was too narrow, so I poked the towel inside with the handle of a wooden spoon and swished it around. “What’s the question?”

“I said, ‘When do you want to phone Dad today?’”

“Ah, yes. It’s ‘Phone-Dad’ day.”

She passed me another glass, and I tried again to dry the inside. This time I managed to push my fingers in. The glass fit tight around the base of my hand.

“You can call him by yourself today.”

Paige sharpened her voice. “Why?”

“Because …” I didn’t know how much to tell her. The glass clamped my hand, like a cast. “I talked to him yesterday.”

“When?”

“He called in the morning, before you got home.”

Paige turned on the tap to rinse suds off a plate. “What did he say?”

A surge of excitement made me blurt it out. “They’re thinking of moving to Vancouver!”

Paige dropped the plate back into the water and grabbed my arm with sudsy hands. “Really? Then I’m so glad I sent him your letter.”

“You sent it? You sent it? How could you?”

Her face fell, and she backed away until the counter divided us.

I struggled to free my hand from the glass. “I thought it must have been Mom. I was about to let her have it! Why did you do that?”

“I heard you crying that day, and I just thought Dad should know what you were feeling. He was always asking about you in the summer, you know. He really cares about you, and he felt sad that you were growing apart.”

“He said that?”

“No, of course not. You know Dad. But I could tell.” She let go of the counter and twirled. The varnished kitchen floor makes for killer pirouettes. “I’m so excited they’re going to move out here! Aren’t you?”

I finally pulled off the glass and flexed my fingers. “It might not even happen. And even if they do move, things might not change much.” I faced the sink.

From behind me, Paige said, “What makes you so sad?”

Her question pierced me. I would have called myself a grouch, but she’d rooted out the source.

I pivoted and crossed my arms. “We’ve just missed out on so much. We can never get back those years with Dad. It’s too late.” I sighed. “At least, it’s too late for me. My childhood is over.”

Paige marched to the sink. “Just because we can’t go back doesn’t mean things can’t get better!” She seized the plate she’d dropped, rinsed it, and passed it to me. “Things are getting better, I know they are.” She washed on. Bowls, forks, saucers, and knives piled up in the rack. I worked hard to keep up. The sun shone so brightly, it seemed to help me dry.

Paige’s determination won me over. Who was I to crush her hope? “You’re right. It could work out really great.” I clenched my jaw for dramatic effect. “So just this once I won’t KILL you for taking my letter! You do realize that was a terrible invasion of my privacy, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

She hummed as she finished the dishes. Faces can’t keep secrets in the morning light, and hers didn’t look very regretful. When I caught my reflection in the window pane, I looked pretty pleased myself.

Monday, September 27th

When I left school today, something was missing. It took me a minute to figure out what. I walked past the line of cars in the pick-up and drop-off zone and felt—nothing. My heart didn’t pound. My stomach wasn’t churning. My palms weren’t sweating, and my knees didn’t shake. I didn’t have to check for the brown Toyota. I knew Kevin wouldn’t be back.

I took deep breaths of good-smelling, outdoor air. My lungs swelled. I spread my arms. I owned myself again. Freedom! How sweet it felt.