The first thing I notice when we walk into Lajoie High School is the smell. It’s a mix of citrus and vanilla, with a hint of—what is that smell? Fresh laundry. It’s definitely fresh laundry. If a guy could get drunk off smells, I’d be out cold on the floor.
Rory punches my arm. “I think we’re gonna like it here. A lot,” he says. At first I think Rory has noticed the smell too. But then I realize he is eyeing a tall girl with wavy blond hair.
At the top of the stairs is an oil painting of a woman with a serious face and dark hair pulled back in a bun. Next to her is a poster with a floor map of the school.
Phil studies the map. “The gym is that way,” he says, pointing left.
From kindergarten through grade six, Rory, Phil and I went to O’Donovan Academy, an all-boys school. The corridors there smelled of armpits and unwashed gym socks.
“Good morning, gentlemen.” It is Mr. Germinato, the principal. We met him at the open house last year.
“Good morning, sir,” the three of us say at the same time.
Germinato smiles without showing his teeth. He is standing outside his office. Because the door is half-open, I notice a wall full of baseball caps.
I have heard of people who collect rare stamps and coins. But a baseball cap collection? That’s a new one.
“That’s quite a collection of baseball caps you’ve got in there,” I say.
Germinato swallows his smile. “I don’t collect baseball caps,” he says. “I confiscate them.”
“I, uh, I see,” I tell him. “Well, have a nice day…sir.”
The three of us make a sharp left, and I nearly crash into the most gorgeous girl I have ever seen. She has pale skin and shiny black hair, and she smells like grapefruit, only sweeter. She is walking with another girl, a redhead with freckles over her nose and cheeks. Their arms are looped together.
I mean to say, Excuse me, but what comes out is, “Wow!”
The two girls sail past us, giggling. Rory and I whip our heads around for another look.
The two girls spin around. They must have known we were checking them out.
I feel my cheeks heat up.
“Eric? You’re Eric, aren’t you?” the gorgeous girl asks.
I look left, then right. She must be talking to some other Eric. One who is taller and smoother with girls than I am. And yet, there is something familiar about her voice. Something angelic.
Rory answers for me. “Yeah, his name’s Eric.” Then he puffs out his chest. Rory started weight lifting over the summer, and he is always looking for opportunities to show off his pecs. “I’m Rory, and this is Phil. What are your na—”
But the girls turn away before Rory can finish his sentence. They have joined up with another pair of girls, and they are all hugging and making squealing sounds.
“How do you know her?” Rory asks me.
“I, uh, I’m not sure.”
Rory sighs. “How could you forget a girl who looks like that?”
“There’s more to life than girls,” Phil tells him.
“Yeah, like what?” Rory asks.
I can’t think of anything else myself, but Phil can. “There’s education,” he says. “Friendship. Artistic endeavors.”
Rory rolls his eyes. “I’ve got one friend who can’t remember a gorgeous girl. And another one who uses words like artistic endeavors. I hate to break it to you losers, but I may need to widen my social circle.”
When Rory says the word circle, it comes to me.
When I was in third grade, my mom was concerned I wasn’t reading at the right level. So she signed me up for Reading Circle at the neighborhood library. At first I put up a fight, but then I got into it. Not only because of the books, which were cool, but because of the other kids in the circle. One was this girl named Daisy. She and her family had just moved to Montreal from China. Daisy loved to draw. And there was something angelic about her voice.
That gorgeous girl with the pale skin and shiny black hair?
It’s got to be Daisy.