Best friends can tell when something isn’t right. I began to get a bad feeling about Ambie that Friday when we walked to her house after school. It wasn’t anything she said exactly. It was more what she didn’t say. Ambie listened to me gripe about Pete and the absence of e-mails or phone calls for a few blocks and never said a word. As we started up her driveway, I turned my head to see if she was even paying attention. She had such a closed-off look on her face that I broke off what I was saying and asked, “Anything wrong, Ambie?”
She bit her lip and wrapped her arms more tightly around the books she was carrying. “What makes you think something is wrong?”
“I don’t know. You just seem . . . preoccupied.”
“I just have a lot of homework to do.” She started walking faster. She tossed over her shoulder, “Mom is talking about getting a part-time job. Erica’s Bakery has offered her three days a week, from Thursday to Saturday, starting next week.”
I increased my pace. “Wow. Your mom working outside the house. I thought she said she’d never even consider it while you were still home.”
“I know, but Mom seems restless lately. Dad’s encouraging her to accept.” Ambie started walking up her driveway. “It’ll be weird, but I think she should do it too. Besides, I won’t be home all that much longer. Hey, Madonna,” she called, spotting her cat stretched out on the sidewalk. Ambie leaped across the short distance and dropped to her knees to stroke Madonna’s fur. The cat promptly rolled onto her back and writhed happily on the pavement, her paws wrapping around Ambie’s arm.
I caught up and stood behind Ambie. “Is this Madonna’s idea of a workout? A little roll in the dirt?”
She laughed. “Did you hear that, Madonna?” she asked. “Jennifer’s giving you a backhanded insult.” Ambie rubbed her hand along Madonna’s neck. “Jen thinks you’re letting yourself go.”
Madonna responded by flipping onto her feet and sauntering towards a sunny spot on the grass near Mrs. Guido’s chrysanthemum garden, where she promptly dropped onto her side and closed her eyes.
I followed Ambie up the front steps. “I’ve never seen a cat with a beer belly before,” I said. “That cat gives lazy a bad name.”
“As if Madonna Guido isn’t a bad enough name all on its own,” Ambie said.
“So how’s Mr. Stoyko?” Ambie asked, reaching for another chocolate chip cookie. She was sitting with her legs over the arm of her computer chair, facing where I lay on my stomach on her bed.
“Better. He’s supposed to be coming home next week.”
“That’s great,” Ambie said, her eyes darting back to the empty computer screen.
“Why don’t you turn it on, if you want?” I asked. “I don’t mind if you’re waiting for an e-mail or something.”
Ambie swatted in the air like she was trying to shoo away a mosquito. “No, that’s okay. I’m really not expecting anything.” She giggled, and a dull red crept up her cheeks.
I felt my own interest level climb several notches. Could Ambie have a secret admirer she wasn’t telling me about?
“When’s your cross-country race?” she asked, almost as if she was trying to change the subject.
“Tuesday. We’ll be bussing to Sir John A. McDonald School at nine o’clock. My race starts at eleven.”
“Are you nervous?”
“Maybe a little. I’ve never tested myself against anyone before. I hope I don’t twist an ankle or something.”
“You’ll be fine, Jen. Just exposing your underbelly to Mr. Jacks, and not caring that all the cool kids think track is sissy should be enough to win you a medal.”
“Thanks, Ambie,” I said. “You’ve given voice to all my innermost fears. I’m going to be labelled the school dork, and Mr. Jacks is going to have ‘I told you so’ tattooed to my forehead when I fail to finish in the top twenty.”
“You gotta love high school,” Ambie grinned.
“Or not,” I grumbled.
I slept in Saturday and spent the day hanging around the house in my pajamas. By mid-afternoon on Sunday, I was getting tired of doing nothing, so I dressed in warm clothes and set out for my last run before the big race on Tuesday. I made my way to the bike path and jogged south for a few kilometres. I didn’t usually come this way and suddenly remembered that if I cut off the path near the mall and kept going down Cooper Road, I’d eventually end up in Evan’s new subdivision. I wasn’t tired and didn’t have anything else to do, so before long, I found myself at the intersection of Cooper and Oakdale. He’d said their house was smaller than the others, but as I jogged up the street, I could see that none of the houses was what I would call particularly small. They all had three or four car garages, turrets and high fences. Some had freshly rolled-out lawns, while others had muddy yards that could do with some landscaping. Some even had gates across the driveway and intercoms. Nobody was visible either in the yards or on the street. How had I missed all these big, new houses going up? Boy, blink your eyes, and houses popped up like mushrooms after a week of rain. I took a close look around me. The entire subdivision had the feeling of wealth and . . . well, blandness. Dad’s house might be small, but at least it had character. I thought about running up somebody’s driveway to see if they knew where Evan lived, but something told me these people wouldn’t know the names of their neighbours.
I turned and started jogging lightly down the sidewalk the way I had come, still looking around in case I caught sight of Evan or his sister. I was just about at the intersection with Cooper Road when the hum of an approaching car’s engine made me lift my head. I turned to my left just as a long black limousine swung around the corner and into view. I jogged in place on the sidewalk as I waited for the car to pass by. A man dressed in a dark chauffeur’s uniform with a peaked cap was visible through the front windshield, but the other windows were tinted, and I couldn’t see inside. Maybe someone had rented the limo for a special event. Nobody in Springhills owned one, as far as I knew. Of course, this whole subdivision was news to me, so it was possible that a limo or two could have slipped into town under my radar. I watched the car turn onto Oakdale and climb the street before it turned slowly into one of the gated driveways. It stopped and idled for a few seconds before the gates swung open. Then it slowly disappeared inside, and the gates closed behind it.
Was Springhills hiding some royalty the town gossip lines had missed? Did Evan really live in this ritzy neighbourhood, or had he made the whole thing up? I could have sworn he didn’t have much money, and it made me sad to think that he’d felt the need to fabricate a lifestyle just to impress us.
I had lots to think about as I ran home, and time and distance flew by unnoticed. Before I knew it, I was jogging up Sunnydale, and I could see our house with the black shutters and the peeling grey paint in the middle of the block. Our house was a sight for sore eyes all right, and mine were happy I lived here and not in Evan’s subdivision. I quickened my pace for the sprint home as my thoughts turned happily to a hot shower and a visit with Dad, whose car I’d spotted in the driveway.