Twenty-Two
“YOU THINK I was rude,” Jackson said as they sat on the bench, waiting for the bus.
“Hmm?” Tess had been lost in thoughts of her own—namely, that she needed to call Billy for a check-in and buy postcards in Montreal.
“With those hippies. You think the woman was right. That I was getting defensive.”
“I think you can be defensive,” she said. “But not in the van. Yes, they weren’t intentionally insulting you. They thought they were being respectful. They were just ignorant…and maybe kind of insulting. It’s like when people in our town found out I grew up in the orphanage. They acted like I was Little Orphan Annie and made all these weird assumptions about how I lived. I’d tell them it was like boarding school, except I didn’t go home for the holidays. They never believed me. They were sure I was scrubbing floors all day and sleeping in a lice-infested room with twenty other girls.”
He nodded slowly. “You’re right. It’s like that, and I didn’t mean to…” He trailed off and rubbed a hand over his face. “I was upset about the pot and about us not getting a better ride and knowing it was my fault, that if you’d been alone, you wouldn’t have had to go through that.”
“No, I just get picked up by random perverts.”
A wan smile. “True. And honestly, I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t have acted that way otherwise. My parents taught me to be more polite. To accept that most people don’t mean to be insulting, and to use that as a teaching opportunity. To gently relieve them of their misconceptions. It’s just…it really bothers me, and unless I’m in a good mood, I get snippy.”
“I don’t blame you.” She watched a couple of cars pass, then said, “Does that happen a lot? I guess it must, living in the suburbs and going to a private school.” She realized how that sounded and hurried on. “I don’t mean that Métis kids don’t normally do that, just that they’re a minority, and any minority—”
“You don’t need to explain, Tess. I’m not going to jump down your throat.” He raked his hair back. “And I guess I have jumped down your throat a few times, so I can’t blame you. But you’re right. It wouldn’t matter what kind of minority you are, suburbs and private schools are mostly white kids. I’ve lived in the same neighborhood all my life. Went to the same school all my life. If anything, I’m sheltered there. Then I get out in the real world, and it’s like with the boulanger—I don’t know if he’s being a jerk because I’m a teenage boy or a stranger or Métis. I’ve gotten more sensitive in the last year because…” He shrugged and went quiet.
Tess thought that was the end of the conversation, but then he cleared his throat and said, “I need to tell you something before we get to Montreal.”
“All right.”
“Earlier, I was getting on your case about being honest, and this is going to sound like something I should have mentioned sooner, but we were caught up in the journal, and I figured I’d tell you on the way and then…”
“You got caught up in the journal again.”
“Yeah. Well, remember you asked about school? Whether I graduated?”
She nodded.
“I did. A year ago. I’m heading into my second year at McGill.”
“Oh.”
He shifted on the bench. “I wasn’t being dishonest, but I wasn’t rushing to tell you the truth either.”
“You said you’re almost eighteen. When’s your birthday?”
“December.”
She gave him a look. “It’s June now. When I say I’m almost seventeen, I mean my birthday is next month. You’re only six months older than me.”
“Seven.”
Another hard look. He sighed and shifted again. “All right. I didn’t lie, but I may have misrepresented the truth. I skipped a year. I don’t go around announcing it. People act weird when they know you’re smart.”
“I think as soon as you open your mouth people know you’re smart.”
More fidgeting. “Anyway, my point was that if I’m sensitive about the minority thing, it’s been…different this year. Being at university. Out of my usual environment.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m blathering. Sorry. Kind of tired. I’ll stop talking now.”
“I like it when you talk.”
As soon as she said the words, her cheeks flamed red hot. She struggled for a way to fix it, to keep him from pulling back, withdrawing. But he gave her that wry smile again and said, “I think you’re the first person who’s ever said that.”
“You have interesting things to say.”
A sheepish nod. “Thanks.”
“About McGill,” she hurried on, feeling an awkward silence threatening. “What’s it like? Being in university?”
He relaxed at that, and they talked about school until the bus came and continued talking as they boarded.
Back to Montreal. Her first time through, Tess had felt overwhelmed—by the visions, the journey, the city—and it had been like ducking her head to run through a thunderstorm. She’d noticed little of her surroundings. Now, having made progress and feeling confident, with someone at her side to help her through the rough patches, she was in the mood to enjoy all the city had to offer. Unfortunately, Jackson wasn’t.
They’d spent most of the bus trip chatting, and now he seemed talked out, in no mood to play tourist, let alone tour guide. She didn’t even get to enjoy the sights from the window of an electric bus. At the bus station, he insisted on paying for a cab and directed the driver to take them straight to McGill.
At least the university was pretty. The campus was downtown, with exactly the sort of sprawling old buildings Tess had imagined a university should have. Green lawns rolled out in front like welcome mats. Summer students played Frisbee and read under massive old trees. Mount Royal—the mountain the city took its name from—loomed behind the campus.
Tess’s feelings about university had always been mixed. She’d seen the allure of a higher education, but the allure of the greater world had pulled harder. Now, seeing the campus and the students, for perhaps the first time in her life she could imagine herself there. That set her stomach twisting a little. She’d always known exactly what she wanted: to get away from Hope, to explore and travel. Only two days out, though, and the world seemed to have shifted on its axis, throwing her off balance. There were choices. So many choices. Perhaps she’d been so intent on escape that she hadn’t really considered them. It was an unsettling thought for a girl who prided herself on knowing what she wanted from life.
“What are we doing first?” Tess asked as the taxi dodged through traffic.
“Getting a room.”
The driver understood enough English to look sharply at them through the rearview mirror.
“Getting separate dorm rooms for the night,” Jackson clarified. “There are ones we can rent for a few days.”
“It’s only four o’clock,” she said, then quickly added, “You’re tired.”
He made a noise in his throat that bordered on agreement. “It’s summer term too. By the time we get settled, it’ll be too late to find anyone in the psychology or psychiatry department. Also, the library closes soon.”
“That’s it then? We’re in for the night?”
He nodded, then added a conciliatory, “We’ll get an early start in the morning.”
Tess tried not to show her disappointment. Everything he said might have been true, but she couldn’t help feeling he was simply done for the day. Done talking. Done being companionable. Done with her. Which stung, but she could hardly blame him, given that he’d been woken last night by her screams and gotten little rest since. If she was being honest, she was exhausted too. The dorm promised a shower and hot food, and she was close enough to downtown to buy postcards and call Billy. A full evening.
“I’ll keep reading the journal,” he said. “I’ll tell you what I find over breakfast.”