Grows That Way (15 page)

chapter
twenty-eight

I never thought I'd say this, but by Wednesday morning I'm missing my mom and dad.

Grandpa and Isobel are really nice, and maybe that's the problem, maybe they're too nice instead of being family. Being with them all the time is like eating too much chocolate.

It's great to tell them about my jumping lesson, but it's as though they get excited for me without really appreciating how significant it was. They would have acted just as excited if I said I'd jumped a one-foot cross-pole. My parents would have known how big a deal it really was for me. Of course they might not have liked it very much, being even bigger safety-freaks than Kansas. Still, I would have liked to be able to tell them.

Something else I thought I'd never say is that I found a riding instructor I like better than Kansas. I had so much fun riding with Declan, and I can't see that happening again. My parents would never go for it, he's not certified, probably doesn't carry any insurance, and worse still I couldn't betray Kansas this way.

I struggle with myself all morning, trying not to feel sad, though I probably don't do a great job of it because Logan tells me even more jokes than usual and I have to make myself laugh at them so his feelings don't get hurt.

Then something deeply disturbing happens at school.

I'm taking my usual route to math class, avoiding the main hallway where it's too easy for me to get trampled, and in the stairwell outside the furnace room, I come upon Franco necking with Amber. Amber has her back to me, but I know right away it's her because her signature black bra straps show outside the edges of her sleeveless blouse. Franco looks up mid-pucker and sees me. He isn't embarrassed. He considers me calmly. I feel like it's the first time he's seen me as a real person. It's as though he's acknowledging me, as though he and I have an understanding, as though he knows me and can count on me to not rat him out to Taylor. I feel strangely flattered and important and at the same time I am completely disgusted with myself.

This all happens over no more than five seconds, then Franco returns to where he left off and I scurry away before Amber notices.

I'm all churned up and can't concentrate during math class so of course Mr. Brumby yells at me and probably would have given me a detention if Logan hadn't drawn his fire by putting up his hand and asking a question. Logan has no problems with math, he doesn't need to ask questions. I know he did this to rescue me. He's so kind and good, it's hard to understand how he could be related to Franco, unless maybe Franco was adopted…or the product of an unfortunate relationship when Mrs. Losino was young and before she met Mr. Losino. Young and foolish like Taylor, who picked the completely wrong boyfriend for herself. I've known this all along in my bones, but didn't have the hard evidence until today. Now I don't know what to do about it. If I tell Taylor, she'll be hurt, and Franco will hate me. If I don't tell her, bad-boy Franco will respect me, but Taylor won't know that Franco is a cheat, and she might go back to him.

On the other hand, maybe it was a set-up and Franco
wants
me to tell Taylor, to make her jealous and take him back. In which case I shouldn't tell her.

Tell. Don't tell. When in doubt, forward. When in doubt, don't.

What a mess.

One thing I do know: Amber and Franco are made for each other.

I feel like an orphan with no one to talk to. Taylor is still hiding behind her migraine. I can't talk to Logan, because Franco is his brother. My mom and dad are away on vacation. Kansas is AWOL. And everything seems much too complicated to explain to Isobel and Grandpa.

At the barn Wednesday afternoon, I can't bring myself to ride. I'm afraid of what emotions I might accidentally communicate to Brooklyn. I hang out with him in his paddock, pick the tangles out of his tail with my fingers, and give him three whole apples from the feed room even though Kansas says I'm never to give him more than two because of the risk of him developing insulin resistance. He nuzzles me when he's finished, and since his lips are covered with applesauce, pretty soon I'm covered with applesauce too, and I don't know why, but this makes me laugh. I let him lick my fingers, and he's very careful and I never feel a tooth, so I know he'd never bite me. He's my best friend. And I don't have to tell him a thing.

Which is different from my situation with Taylor.

Tell. Don't tell. Go forward. Don't.

That evening, Taylor comes out of seclusion and phones me. I've been getting updates on her condition from Grandpa and Isobel, who visit her every day and report back to me over dinner. They're worried because Taylor is still saying she has a migraine.

“I sent away my saliva samples,” she says. “How long do you think they will take to get back to me?”

“How should I know?” I say.

“The package went overnight express,” she says.

“Maybe tomorrow then,” I say.

“I miss Franco,” says Taylor.

Great. Next she's going to ask me if I've seen him, and I don't know if I can convince her with a lie. For some reason, I remember Declan telling me not to be a passenger. I can do something. I can offer some guidance. “Everyone's worried about you,” I say. “Grandpa and Isobel think you have a brain tumor.”

“Hmmph,” says Taylor.

“It's not fair to worry your family. You can't stay home forever.”

She hangs up on me.

I guess I should have said something else. Maybe I should have sung to her.

chapter
twenty-nine

I'm not very good at waiting, but it seems that's all I can do. Wait for my parents to come home on Saturday. Wait for Taylor's test results. Wait for Kansas to feel better. Wait for Mr. Losino to interview me about my sasquatch sightings.

Thursday is pretty uneventful, except for lunchtime. I'm sitting at a table, by myself because Logan has chess club, and Franco saunters by. He stops, looks at me, and winks.

He is so sure I'm on his side it makes me sick.

What makes it worse is that, as he turns to leave, I catch a whiff of liniment. He's still using the stuff. He doesn't care about anyone but himself.

Mr. Losino picks up Logan from school because they have to do some shopping in town so I have to walk by myself. At least I hope I'll be by myself, and that I won't be joined by my tormentors. I wait an extra fifteen minutes inside the school building to give Amber and Topaz time to clear out, then I take an indirect route through the neighbourhood to make sure I avoid them. Eventually I retrieve Pinky from the Losinos' shed, but by then it's pouring with rain so there's no point in going to the barn. After dinner, Grandpa and Isobel make me play Scrabble with them and given my difficulties with spelling, this is no fun at all.

To bring my spirits up, that night I try to dream about Brooklyn. I do manage to ride him, but I'm sitting on his back and I'm holding a Scrabble board on my lap. Every time Brooklyn takes a step, the tiles slide all over the place. Someone is telling me to read the words. Read the words! Read the words! Okay, okay, I'm trying! Eventually the tiles line up, but it's only four letters, and I'm thinking they won't be worth much even on a double word square, but then I see what they spell: T-E-L-L.

This doesn't do anything to raise my spirits. In fact it has the opposite effect, so when I wake up Friday morning all I can think about is that this is the day I will ruin Taylor's life. Again.

It doesn't help that Logan is weirdly happy on the walk to school. I don't want to ruin his mood, but also don't want to fake that everything's okay, because I wouldn't want him to fake it with me if the situation was reversed. I tell him I'm not happy at all, and that I have to give Taylor some bad news.

Logan squeezes my hand. “You're a good friend,” he says. “You'll do the right thing. Who knows, maybe something will happen today to cheer you up.”

I'm surprised that he doesn't ask me what the bad news is, and I'm trying to deal with that when he giggles, which strikes me as totally inappropriate and stuns me into silence. We walk half a block and I still can't figure out what to say. Logan starts humming, and I decide to let it go. I have enough to deal with without adding more drama. I hum along with him to show there's no bad feelings, which there aren't really. It's just my usual confusion.

The school day drags on and on, even though I'm dreading the end of the day when I have to tell Taylor what Franco's been up to. Maybe I'll phone her after dinner. Or maybe I could send her an email—that would be the easiest thing for me, and the best thing for Taylor because it would give her the privacy to digest the news. I think about how upset she will be, on top of how upset she already is about the man hair she's growing. Maybe it isn't fair. Maybe she doesn't need to know, and I should let things sort out on their own. Why add to her troubles just because I had a dream?

So I change my mind. I won't tell her. I'll get on with my own business. I'll meet Logan after school, walk to his place, grab Pinky, and then go see Brooklyn. Maybe I'll even take Brooklyn on a trail ride. Maybe I'll go sasquatch hunting. I have a plan and I'll stick to it.

It's like I'm counting my strides to my take-off point, but life isn't going to let me get there.

First, there's a problem with Logan. He's goofing around during afternoon phys ed class, running backwards and dribbling the basketball, trying to make me laugh again. He trips, falls and hurts his wrist. He insists it's fine, but Mr. Rouncy says his scaphoid bone could be cracked, which would be very serious apparently, so Mrs. Losino has to pick up Logan and take him to Emergency for an x-ray. Logan turns to look at me as he's led out of the gymnasium, and his wrist must hurt more than he was letting on, because his face is agonized.

I have to walk to his house to collect Pinky on my own. Okay, I've done this before, I can do it again. Today I'm not wasting time like I did yesterday. I slip out a side door and take the direct route, mostly at a run.

I'm breathing heavily by the time I reach the Losinos' garden shed, and that's when I get the shock of my life.

I slide open the door and see that Pinky has been transformed.

My bike now looks like something exotic that Avril Lavigne would ride.

The handgrips are black, the seat is black, so are the pedals. There are two new black fenders and a black rear carrier rack. Four black neoprene skins have been fitted over the frame. The dreadful expanse of pink has been reduced considerably. Over the handlebar is draped the coolest pair of curved black-rimmed protective eyeglasses. I pick them up. The arms are flexible. I can adjust them so the glasses sit perfectly in front of my eyes despite my ears being lower than most normal people's.

Now this is a bike I could take to school, except that now it's so cool looking I don't know how long before it would be stolen, despite the new black cable and padlock with keys.

Plus there's a bigger problem.

Franco was the one who suggested I get rid of the white seat and handgrips. Franco is responsible. Obviously he is trying to buy my silence.

I am so deeply offended that I can hardly breathe. I feel like there's a brick on my chest, and I know it's not going to go away until I do the right thing.

So instead of biking to the barn, I turn in the direction of Taylor's house. This is an hour ride, but some things have to be done immediately, face-to-face, not by e-mail or phone. I'm so determined it's as though I'm full of jet fuel, and my legs pump the pedals with an energy I've never felt before.

Any time my legs weaken in the slightest, I think about how Franco has betrayed by dear cousin. I recall his face when I caught him with Amber, full of smug confidence. I think about him winking at me in the cafeteria. I am ashamed and disgusted at how close I came to selling out. I have seen a dark side of myself that I didn't know existed.

I also find myself locked in a hopeless battle over whether I love or hate my transformed Pinky.

I arrive at Taylor's house physically and emotionally exhausted. Auntie Sally isn't home, and no one is answering the front door. I check the handle, but it's locked.

I know Taylor's in there.

Bunga is in the backyard barking his head off as usual. I unlatch the side gate and shove Bunga away when he launches himself at my knee. I try the kitchen door, and it's locked too. I can see the glow of the computer screen through Taylor's window. I have to talk to her.

Bunga disappears between my legs through the dog door. He stands in the kitchen and barks at me some more. Such an annoying little dog, not at all intelligent or respectable like Bernadette.

Then out of nowhere I understand what he's trying to tell me, as though I am a hearing-impaired animal communicator, a little slow to pick up on the psychic message. I push at the dog door with my hand so it flaps in, then out, and slaps shut again. The door was installed by a previous resident, for a larger dog than Bunga. I kneel in front of it. A normal human being couldn't manage, but it seems there are at times advantages to being a pygmy. I have to turn my shoulders sideways, but at least I don't have any wide hips to worry about, and in seconds I'm lying inside on the kitchen floor, trying to stop Bunga from sticking his tongue in my ear.

I knock at Taylor's door. She doesn't answer, and I walk in anyway, closing the door behind me so Bunga doesn't bug us.

Taylor looks awful. She hasn't combed her hair. She's still wearing her pajamas, powder blue cotton flannel with puffy white clouds and angels and golden falling stars, buttoned snugly to the neck. She's resting her head on one hand propped by its elbow on the arm of her chair.

Wordlessly she points to the screen of the computer, then swivels her chair and slouches off to sit on her bed.

I check the screen. Taylor has received her test results via e-mail. It's a disaster.