CHAPTER 12

I cup my hands and drink from the bathroom sink. My energy is all over the place. I’m tired but also worried. I take out my phone. It’s 11:04.

I text Ruby for the third time and call her again. Still no answer. I leave another message. I wish I had data. If I had data, I could ask my phone how to get to Saanich College. And it would tell me to take bus Number …

What did Ruby say? I try to remember. I hear her voice.

Take bus Number … 42?

Nope.

Bus Number 3½. Bus Number 17A. Bus Number 5987.

Nope. Nope. Nope.

Blugh!

And speaking of blugh, my stomach is not happy indoors with the ferry going up and down and up. I head back outside and take a few deep breaths.

Hwooo. Haaaa.

I feel less seasick on deck. More like myself. Which is an odd idea, isn’t it? I mean, who else am I going to feel like? The Dalai Lama? Joan of Arc? I’m feeling better, is what I mean. Better than I did inside. Maybe a little dreamy and woozy, though.

There’s that sailboat again. It cuts in front of the ferry, its huge triangular sail bellying out like a fat man tucking in his shirt. The Canadian flag flaps at me, rolling in and snapping out. It does it again and again. And again.

Flap. Flap.

Flap.

And then something happens that seems both odd and normal, like Uncle Bill pulling yet another coin from your cousin’s nose, like that dream where you spread your arms and lift off the ground.

What happens is this.

What happens is that the red maple leaf slides off the Canadian flag at the back of the sailboat, leaving a blank white stripe in the middle of two red ones. The wind catches the leaf and blows it right at the ferry.

When the leaf is a few metres away from where I’m standing, it hovers. Freaky, am I right? A giant hovering maple leaf? Either it’s real, or I’m doing that thing where you see stuff that isn’t there. Both ideas are scary. But for some reason, I’m calm. I nod to myself, like, sure, perfectly normal. Like that flying dream.

Here comes Noodle. She heads straight for the rail, stops, and growls, long and continuously. Niall comes up and puts his hands on his hips.

“What’s wrong, girl? What do you see out there? Is it the wind?”

He doesn’t think there’s a dinner-plate-sized maple leaf hovering in mid-air. But Noodle sure does. If I’m doing that thing where you see things that aren’t there, Noodle is doing it too.

The water lies around us, rippling, shimmering. We’re like actors on stage. The water is our audience. We hold the pose for a moment, then, without warning, Noodle leaps at the leaf. Silly dog. She misses of course, landing awkwardly on the thin railing. She scrabbles for footing, slipping, skidding, her weight shifting outwards.

She loses her balance.

I rush to the railing and lean out to grab her. I don’t think about it — I just do it. Very dreamlike. And it gets even dreamier. The dog struggles. I lean even farther. My centre of gravity shifts. And, with the dog in my arms, I fall.

It happens in slow motion. Leaning out, clutching Noodle, overbalancing, toppling off the boat deck, turning a full somersault, falling headfirst toward the choppy waters of the Georgia Strait. I pay attention to the whole sequence. On my way down, I notice that the Canadian flag has its maple leaf back. And that I’m not holding Noodle anymore. The bundle in my arms is my familiar little black dog.