Everyone is losing their minds over the wrestlers. The St. Felix Helixes took gold in the regionals and the school will host the provincial tournament. Mr. Percy has sent three notices home so far: Please support the visiting athletes by offering to billet one.
Nan says if the school really wanted people to allow a bunch of strange boys into their homes, they’d pay them. Who knows who these boys are, who knows how dirty. Someone could bring bedbugs into your house. Or rob you blind. But on Wednesday, she announces Imogene will be sleeping on the couch and the billet will take her room. No one’s going to say Agnes Tubbs isn’t charitable.
At first, Rita and her friends complain because volleyball practice is on hold due to preparations for the wrestling tournament. But when they realize there will be up to sixty guys ages 15 - 18 competing in singlets, they join the excitement. Wish Benoit brags about his training routine: before matches, he runs in layers of sweaters topped with garbage bags. “Sweating off a few pounds helps if you want to drop into the top of the weight class beneath you,” he says. “I eat lots of garlic and onions before every match. When we start, I breathe right in my opponent’s face. Right when we shake hands. Hhhhiiii.”
Imogene is not looking forward to a weekend with some strange guy around. How embarrassing it will all be. Imogene’s little house, like a large shoebox, no basement, no second floor. Hard to imagine at one point Nan, Pop, Uncle Kenneth, and Uncle Eli all lived here. The boys were almost grown when Maggie was born, so Nan never felt the push to expand. And when Pop died, there was less incentive and money. Imogene feels like her and Nan are always on top of each other. A stranger in the house will be two days of inescapable discomfort.
Corey Mercer says if Dwight Talbot is with the Gander wrestling team, he’s getting a pounding. When Gander lost the finals last year, Dwight and a couple of others keyed up the buses of the rival schools. They wrote faggots and fuck you on the St. Felix bus. The other ones don’t wrestle, but that fucker Dwight does. Corey’s claims get equal amounts of steely approval and eye rolling. Natalie says Corey’s all talk and when Nick threatened to jump in for Randy Lundrigan that time Corey and Randy got into it, Corey backed right off.
“There could be other reasons for that though,” Crystal says. “Corey had no problems with Nick.”
“Yeah, but the number one reason is Corey knew he’d get his ass kicked.” And Natalie’s cousin Georgette goes to school with Dwight Talbot and she says he is way bigger than Corey.
On Friday, Nan goes to pick up the billet. Imogene clears out the top drawer of her dresser where she keeps her underwear so it will be empty for the billet to use and he won’t get a chance to peek at her panties. “Maybe he’ll be cute,” Rita said on the bus. “Call me after and tell me what he looks like.”
Rita hopes to get Ashley King as a billet. He went out with Teresa Loder a couple of years ago and if she and him hang out, it might make Nick jealous. Nick and Teresa have been going out for over eight months now and it remains Rita’s main disdain. “What does he see in her?” Rita says. “She’s a little bitch. She has the worst home perm. She never closes her mouth when she chews her gum.” “Like a cow and its cud,” Imogene says. Rita delights in this image and whenever Teresa leaves a room or passes them in the hallway, she mimics her slack, churning mouth.
Nan returns a bit after four. She opens the door and a dark-haired boy with a duffle bag enters. He is tall, stick-thin, but sweet faced, big clear eyes and smiley. He looks around. “Cool,” he says. He sees Imogene.
“I’m Jamie.”
“I’m Imogene.”
“I know. This house is wicked.”
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s like a Christmas card.”
“Here, you can put that in my room.”
Imogene reaches for his duffle bag, but he takes it himself. She points to her bedroom door and he opens it.
“This your room?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool, not what I expected.”
Imogene glances around. The room still has the pastel forget-me-not wallpaper Maggie liked in junior high. Imogene has enough stuff up so the dainty flowers act like frames around images. The Depeche Mode poster Violet gave her, pictures of INXS and Billy Idol, movie posters from the Kwik Stop’s video rentals: The Return of the Jedi, Dirty Dancing. A framed photo on her dresser of her and Rita dressed up as Bert and Ernie for Halloween. Her old bunny, Teeny, propped up on her pillow. An ancient bulletin board with song lyrics clipped from The Newfoundland Herald. Some of her lists hang there too. Shit, she should have put those things away.
“What did you expect?” she says.
“I dunno, girl’s room. Unicorns and pink things. I don’t have any sisters.”
“Well, I didn’t get the canopy bed I asked Santa for, so this is it.”
“Ha. You’re a hard case.”
He pulls a Kodak Instamatic out of the top of his duffle bag. It looks like a slim black brick. He points it at her and clicks.
“Hey, let me know first,” she says.
“That wouldn’t be fun though.”
“So, you’re from St. John’s?”
“Hardly. I’m from Mount Pearl.”
“Sounds mountainous.”
“It is. Lots of mountains. And the mountains are round, like pearls.”
“You do much skiing?”
“Oh yeah, all the time. Is it just you and your grandmother here?”
“Yup.”
“No brothers or sisters?”
“No.” She almost says as far as I know, but doesn’t.
“Nice. I got three older brothers. They’re assholes. And they stink.”
“At least it’s not quiet all the time.”
Nan calls them out to the kitchen. She’s made tea and arranged jam-jams and lemon cream crackers on a plate, like when she has the Women’s Institute crowd over. “Cool,” Jamie says, “I love tea,” and he eats a jam-jam in two bites. He asks Nan question after question: “How many children do you have? Grandchildren? How old is this house? Have you always lived out here? What was it like then?” Nan practically purrs at him. She refills his cup three times and asks if he wants anything in particular for breakfast or snacks, she can run out and get whatever, it’s no bother.
Jamie says he’d like to take a walk around and take photos if it’s okay and Nan says of course. “Go with him, Imogene,” she says. “Imogene can show you some spots. She’s always hiking around. Sometimes she comes back smelling like cigarettes though. You don’t smoke, do you, Jamie?”
It’s the first time Nan has acknowledged Imogene smokes. “No, I don’t smoke,” Jamie says. “That stuff will stunt your growth.” He winks at Imogene behind Nan.
They tramp down the path to the brook. Jamie takes a second camera with him. He says it’s a 35 millimetre Minolta, and Imogene nods even though she doesn’t know what that means. He stops to take pictures of all kinds of things: a rusty tire by the path, droplets of water on tree buds, a dead bird. He has his own smokes and balances one in his mouth while he frigs around with his fancy camera. “This place is gorgeous,” he says. “You can just walk down to the ocean, anytime? Wicked. Do you and your nan own all this land? Wicked. I bet some pile of magic mushrooms grow around here.”
“Do you have an art project you’re working on or something?” Imogene says. “It’s too bad it’s all spring muck and dirty grass right now.”
“No, I just like taking photos,” Jamie says. “If I lived around here, I’d watch the sun set all the time. And the sun rise. I’d have to balance that out. What deadly pictures I’d have. I bet I could sell them.”
Imogene takes him to the shore and he uses up a roll of film on waves and clumps of seaweed and Aubrey Murphy’s worn-out lobster pots. On the way back, they meet Rita and Cherry. Jamie tells them to pose and they strut around on the road, striking cheesy poses in their track jackets. Cherry tells Jamie he has a townie accent and he pretends to not understand her. Rita mouths, “He’s cute,” at Imogene and she shrugs back at her. But yes, Jamie is very cute.
Cherry says they have to get back to help her mom. “Immy, can I get a ride with you to the dance tonight?” Rita says. Which is surprising since she usually gets a ride with Steve. Imogene says sure.
She and Jamie walk the pavement and he takes pictures of patterns in pavement cracks. Quincy MacIssac and Teddy Campbell appear on their BMX bikes. They stop and Quincy asks Jamie a bunch of questions about wrestling and what weight class he’s in and then runs through a list of who he’ll probably be matched up against. He asks Jamie how long he’s been wrestling and Jamie says he’s been on the team for two years. But he’s got three older brothers, so really, he’s been wrestling his whole life. Teddy does pop-a-wheelies back and forth on the road and says, “Hey, you should wrestle Cec here for practice. She’s a savage.”
“Fuck off, Teddy.”
“Why do you call her Cec?” Jamie says. Imogene’s guts clatter down a flight of stairs.
“Everyone calls her that,” Teddy says.
“Why?” Jamie says.
Teddy’s lips buckle with consideration. “Cause her and Cec both have red hair, I guess,” he says. “Watch this, I bet I can catwalk all the way to that tree.”
Nan drops them off at 9:30 for the dance, even though Imogene tells her no one shows up until at least 10:30. Dwayne Abbott and Rosarie Coish are doing the music, and their heads are visible behind the speakers and stacks of tapes at the back of the Rec Centre. Tables and chairs are shoved against the walls. A few dark shapes sit at them. The visiting teams stand around in self-protective clusters. The gym floor is deserted. Dances never get going until the older students arrive and most of them drink in the woods behind the building until later. Mr. Percy tries to enforce staying in once your hand is stamped, but you can’t really make anyone stay in one place if they don’t want to.
Everyone has their coats on. “The place is an ice box,” Rita says. “You’d think they’d turn the heat up a couple of hours before the dance starts so it isn’t freezing. Let’s go see who’s outside.”
Imogene and Jamie follow Rita along the path by the Rec Centre walls. There are a few empty parking spots at the back before the ball field and they head towards the trees behind the bleachers. Imogene recognizes the head and shoulders and neon yellow ball cap of Wish Benoit. Nick, Teresa, Cherry, and a couple of visiting wrestlers stand with them.
“Hi,” Cherry says. Wish tips his beer bottle at them. When Teresa sees Rita, she turns to face Nick and coils her hands around his waist inside his jacket.
“Wish, you better watch out for Percy,” Rita says.
“He’s too busy babysitting inside,” Wish says. “All this ‘you people are ambassadors’ shit is to make sure nobody fights. He’s not going to care about a couple of beer.”
“I’m froze,” Rita says. She turns to Jamie and lays her fingers on his cheek. “Are you cold?”
“You’re like ice,” he says. “You want my coat? He shucks off his Mount Pearl school jacket and hangs it around her shoulders. Rita smiles at him in thanks and it bites Imogene somewhere deep under her lungs.
“What a gentleman,” Cherry says.
“We should get coats like those,” Wish says. “Percy says if we win, we’ll get championship tracksuits. Coats would be more useful though.”
“You can’t believe anything out of that guy’s mouth,” Nick says. “He promised the softball team hats and T-shirts last year and nothing happened.”
Headlights appear around the edge of the Rec Centre.
“Who’s that now,” Wish says. “Probably Mark.”
A voice from the front of the building reaches them: “Cops cops cops.” Overhead lights flash on the car in a blue-red swirl. “Shit,” Wish says. He lurches into the woods. Nick grabs the case of beer from the ground and follows. “Go a different way,” Wish yells. Their backs retreat into swaying evergreen branches, Wish’s neon ball cap like a bouncing signal. “Hat,” Jamie calls. “Take off your hat.” Wish yanks it off and they disappear into the dark.
“Should we run too?” Jamie says.
“We’re not doing anything wrong,” Imogene says.
The cop car pulls up side-on to them. “What are you doing out here in the dark?”
“Getting some fresh air,” Rita says.
“This area is off limits after seven p.m.”
“Oh, we didn’t know.”
“It says so on the sign.”
“Sorry, we didn’t see that.”
“You didn’t see that sign on the fence?”
“Sorry, officer,” Jamie says. “I’m from Mount Pearl. We didn’t know where to go.”
“Go into the dance now.”
“Okay. Thanks, officer.”
The appearance of the cops makes people mill inside. Rosarie and Dwayne start playing faster stuff and favourites: AC/DC and “The Babylon Mall.” Rita disappears into the bathroom with Natalie Sampson. Jamie takes Imogene by the hand and they’re off. They fast dance to three songs in a row and his three teammates appear beside them. Jamie introduces all of them to Imogene and one of them, a tall guy with his head shaved on the sides, twirls Imogene around a bunch of times all corny old school, but funny. When the song ends, she catches Crystal Seymour staring at her with something like confusion.
Corey Mercer shows up after eleven. Sister Bernadette leans way in to stamp his hand and get a whiff of his breath. Mr. Percy has said if you show up at a dance with any sign of intoxication, you’ll be expulsed from the building and face suspension. Imogene doesn’t see the point of throwing someone out. What will they do then? Hang out in the parking lot? What if it’s below zero outside and you get hypothermia? It’s not like they can ever prove someone’s been drinking. Rita once said Crystal Seymour will have a sip of beer, just to get the smell on her, then act drunk all night and none of the chaperones do anything. “That’s ’cause she’s a shitty actress,” Imogene said.
Dwight Talbot stands by the canteen, surrounded by the Gander team. They all make a point of laughing loudly at each other’s jokes. Corey and Donny pass them and they all exchange slinky-eyed glances.
“Corey’s here,” Imogene says. “I wonder if there will be a racket.”
“Is there going to be a fight?” Jamie says. “Excellent. Big ol’ tiff.”
“What do people do in Mount Pearl when they fight?” Imogene says. “Have a ski-off?”
“We hurl pearls at each other.”
“Sounds expensive.”
“We can afford it.”
When “We Will Rock You” comes on, the Gander team takes the dance floor and start headbanging in a circle. It causes a ricochet effect; the rest of the teams congregate, bouncing and screeching the lyrics. Jamie slides his slim Instamatic camera out of his pocket and aims it at the dance floor. One of them sees the camera and hauls down the edge of his track pants to expose a moment of butt cheek. Jamie laughs. Click-wind-click goes the camera.
Corey and Donny have collected recruits: Liam, Randy, and Quincy, of all people. They inch closer to the bopping bunch of Gander guys. When Dwight headbangs his way to the outer rim of the circle, Corey bolts forward and shoves him hard. Dwight staggers and Corey punches him in the stomach. The Gander guys rush in and then Donny, Liam, Randy, and Quincy. “Fight fight fight.” The Rec Centre lights open all at once, screaming fluorescent on the wiggling heap of polyester and cotton, track jackets hiked up on grappling bodies, expanses of white cotton briefs against bare backs. Booing and jeers from students as they follow the boys being dragged to the main doors. Imogene catches a glimpse of Rita’s brown hair and Nick’s face separating behind a stack of chairs in the corner.
Mr. Percy drags Corey and Dwight by their collars. Sister Bernadette pops open the double door for more room. “Let ’em fight outside,” Wish yells. “Let ’em work it out.” Imogene hears a snuffling sound. Jamie stands beside her, shaking in laughter. He holds his camera at collarbone level and winds and presses, winds and presses. Click, wind, click.
The next morning, Mr. Percy and the Gander coach announce that all members of the St. Felix’s and Gander teams involved in last night’s fight are disqualified from participating in the tournament. They are deeply disappointed that a few people have to leave such a negative taint on an event like this, an event everyone has worked so hard to organize. Corey, Liam, Randy, Donny, and Quincy are not allowed in the Rec Centre to watch the tournament, but Imogene, Rita, and Jamie spy them in the distance. They perch on swings in the community playground, smoking and calling out obscure, warbled exclamations, the occasional swear word.
As they watch from the parking lot, a passing car slows. The window lowers, a can of 7UP flies out and hits Rita square in the back. “Ow!” The car pulls away with a hand out the window, middle finger extended.
“Who was that?”
“Teresa,” Rita says. She straightens her coat. “Fucking soaked now.”
“You crowd are all cracked,” Jamie says. He crouches and takes a photo of the 7UP can, sputtering on the gravel.
Mr. Percy has arranged volunteers to carpool the wrestlers out to the bus station. Jamie gets Imogene and Nan to pose in the living room. They smile on the sofa with their lips and knees shut. “I’ll mail you a copy,” Jamie says. Nan insists on taking a photo of him wearing his silver medal. “You’ll want to remember,” she says. “It’s good to be proud sometimes.”
Nan says she’s going to make Jamie a sandwich for the bus. Jamie props up his camera on Imogene’s dresser with a couple of books. “Wish I had a tripod,” he says. He sets the timer three times and after each one, he hops back to sit next to Imogene on her bed with his arm around her shoulders. She lets hers slip around his waist, the skin between the edge of his jeans and his T-shirt on the inside of her arm is right there. There is a blue spot on the side of his forehead, by his hairline. She presses her fingertip to it. “You have a pen mark right there,” she says.
“It’s a scar,” he says. “That’s what happens when you get stabbed in the head with a pencil.”
“Who did that?”
“My brother Eric. He’s an arsehole.”
“Why’d he do that?”
“Like I said, big arsehole.” Jamie’s fingers brush her shoulder, inside the sleeve of her T-shirt. “I think it was for something I said, like the Habs are better than the Leafs. He looks for any reason to call you a homo and pound you.”
“It looks like a blue freckle.”
“I tell people it’s a tattoo. I’m going to build onto it someday, make it into a third eye.
After the third photo, he turns his face to hers and they kiss soft, then with rhythm and tongues. “You’re a good kisser,” he says. “I could kiss you all day.” Imogene wants to close the bedroom door, which is slightly ajar, but Nan would be over like an alarm. So they kiss and check for Nan and kiss and check. Nan calls from the kitchen about the sandwiches being all done. Imogene hops up. “You go on out,” Jamie says. “I need a minute.”
She waves when he gets in the car and calls Rita to tell her about the kissing. Rita is happy about it, but happier Nick and Teresa are broken up now. “He hasn’t called me yet, though,” she says.
Two weeks later, a thank-you note from Jamie Clark arrives in the mail with the photo of Imogene and Nan on the couch. There is a separate envelope for Imogene, which she snatches out of Nan’s hand and takes to her bedroom. A photo of her and Jamie on her bed. Written on the back: Some cute. Look me up if you’re ever on the Avalon. xo.