It's an Aardvark-Eat-Turtle World (8 page)

He puts
I REALLY LIKE
above my name and then turns me around, putting his arms around my neck. He says, “Don't let Phoebe get you down. Mom thinks
she's going through a really tough time because of her mother's remarriage.”

Jason's just said that he likes me and he's got his arms around my neck.

Be still my heart.

I try to be calm and continue the conversation.

“Her father and my mother getting together has also made her a little bonkers.”

He nods.

We just look at each other.

There's no more talk about Phoebe.

Someone walks in and asks for popcorn.

“Make it yourself,” Jason tells him.

We just keep staring at each other.

Aviva comes into the kitchen. “The Rolling Stones video is on. Dance time.”

“Want to?” Jason asks.

I nod yes, figuring that he's asking me to dance but ready for more hand-holding if that's what he means.

We go into the other room and dance.

He's a good dancer. I like the way he moves his body.

Uh-oh . . . I'm not sure I should be thinking about that.

The dancing goes on until the end of the video and then people sit down to watch
Reds
.

At 6:00
A.M
., when the films end and people go home, Jason and I kiss goodnight . . . and then good morning. And then he asks me to spend the day with him.

“Yes,” I say.

We each head to our own rooms for a nap, planning to meet in a couple of hours.

When I get into bed, I think about how I've finally met a boy who I really like who likes me.

I also think about how nice it was to kiss him.

I hope that he feels the same way.

Maybe I'm not the best kisser in the world, but I have a feeling that I could get better with practice.

I'm so excited that I think I'll never fall asleep but I must, because the next thing I hear as I wake up is Phoebe saying “Rosie, are you awake?”

“Now I am.” I yawn.

“I want to talk to you.” Phoebe is sitting up on her bed.

It's probably one of the first times that she's gotten up before me.

Sitting up, I say, “Okay.”

She's holding on tight to her pillow, which I hope is not going to turn into a weapon.

“Rosie, I thought you were here to be with me,” she says.

“I am with you.” I look at her. “Can't I talk to other people?”

“You've spent a lot of time with other people. First with Aviva and then with Jason. I felt all alone.”

“I don't understand. In Woodstock, we're not together all the time. You're with Dave a lot. You're with other friends. There were a lot of kids to talk to last night.” I try to reason with her.

Phoebe looks sad. “You make friends easier than I do. My friends in Woodstock are the ones you introduced me to when I moved there.”

I never realized that Phoebe felt that way.

She continues, “It's also easier for me to deal with my mother and Duane with you here.”

“But you got along well with your mother yesterday . . . and aren't you supposed to spend the day shopping with her today?”

Phoebe nods. “Yes, it's not as bad as I thought it would be, but it helps to know you're there in case it goes badly.”

I think about my date today with Jason and know
that there's going to be trouble when Phoebe finds out.

“Look,” I say. “It's good for you to be with your mother and work things out . . . .Also, I would like to spend the day with Jason . . . .He asked me out.”

“You're going out with him?”

I nod.

“But you're supposed to be with me.” She pouts.

It's so confusing. She's right. I was brought here to be with her, but I've also met Jason and want to spend some time with him. It really is the first time ever that I've met a boy like him.

I don't understand Phoebe anymore. She used to be different. She was my very best friend, and now sometimes I'm not even sure that she cares about me for
me
.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask. “Pay you back for the airplane flight? Go home now?” I stare at her. “Spend every second with you? Ask permission to go to the bathroom by myself?”

“I'm not that bad,” Phoebe says.

“You are.” I glare. “You're driving me nuts. I want to say stuff to you like ‘You know, Lincoln supposedly freed the slaves.'”

She gasps. “Oh, Rosie . . . .That's awful.”

I nod.

She sits quietly.

Finally she says, “I'm so confused. Everything's different.”

“You mean like some boy likes me and I'm not the one alone for once?” I'm really fed up.

She puts the pillow down on the bed. “I mean, like all of a sudden there's so much change in my life that I don't know how to act anymore.”

“You act as if no one else in the world is going through anything but you. Lots of kids have to deal with divorces and repairings. I have to learn to act differently, too, but I'm willing to try. Why can't you?”

Phoebe shakes her head. “It's easier for you.”

I shake my head. It makes me angry that when she has to go through something she thinks it's so hard. When I do it, it's supposed to be a breeze . . . .Wrong. Growing up's not easy for anyone.

Finally Phoebe says, “I'll try to work this out . . .   somehow . . . .Don't worry about me.”

I nod.

As we get up and dress, I think about how Phoebe's managed to make me unhappy when things should
be so good. I know that I'll worry about her even though I say I won't. I'm also very angry.

A person should never have to choose between a best friend and a boy.

A person should never have to choose between a best friend and her own mother.

Phoebe's been trying to have me make a lot of unnecessary choices.

I'm trying to be reasonable, but it's getting very hard lately.

W
hen I was little, I always wanted a Prince Charming to show up at my door and whisk me away to his castle.

My wanting the Prince and the castle come from watching all of those old Walt Disney movies. One of my favorites was the one where the birds dressed Cinderella. I'd always wanted that—until Mindy reminded me that the birds would probably leave droppings on the dress and on me.

Still there's something about a prince and castle that sounds very exciting.

Last night I told Jason about my fantasy and he said that he'd plan our date around it.

So here we are riding in his car on the way to somewhere.

I only hope it's not a bird store.

We pull up to a castle. Five minutes from Jason's house, there's a stone castle with towers and turrets.

Jason pulls into the driveway past the stone wall and into the parking lot.

“Amazing. I can't believe it.”

He parks the car, then turns to me and says, “Casa Loma—the house on the hill.”

He's so proud of himself.

He's also so cute . . . all six feet of him . . . his broad shoulders . . . the freckles on his pale face . . . the way he laces his shoes starting in the middle going to the bottom and then letting the laces hang . . . .

I don't think it's a good idea to keep staring at him . . . even though he keeps looking at me.

I start to open the door and jump out of the car to get a better look at the castle.

The safety belt is still locked. How embarrassing.

Jason unlocks it and we get out of the car.

He puts his arm around my shoulder.

I look up at him. “What's a castle doing in the middle of Toronto?”

Jason explains. “This guy Pellatt made a lot of money putting up streetlights in Toronto and investing in stuff. He had a thing about castles and decided to build one here.”

“It must have cost a fortune.” I look around at the wall, the stable across the street, and then back at the building.

“They started building it in 1905. By the time it was finished it cost three and a half million dollars.”

With that kind of money, Mindy could quit waitressing and write full-time. Jim wouldn't have to worry about finances either.

“Incredible.” I shake my head. “Pellatt must really have felt like a king.”

“He went bankrupt in 1923 and had to leave the castle,” Jason tells me.

“Wow. My mother's always telling me to put some money away for a rainy day. Pellatt could have prepared for a flood with what this place cost.”

“For a long time this place was empty, and then in
1936 the Kiwanis Club took over and now it's a tourist attraction. The money they make goes to helping people,” Jason says. “Want to see the inside of the place?”

“I'd love to.”

Walking toward the castle with his arm around me, I try to relax and not trip. It's not so easy to walk with a tall person attached.

Jason pays the entrance fee and we're handed a map and information sheet.

As we walk inside, he says, “Let's pretend it's our castle.”

“A great idea,” I say.

The castle has ninety-eight rooms. The plan called for three bowling alleys, twenty-five fireplaces, an indoor swimming pool, and thirty bathrooms.

Thirty bathrooms—all I want in Woodstock is two.

Jason and I are holding hands as we walk through Casa Loma.

A lot of my attention is on our hands and the fact that we are touching.

We go through the billiard room. The information sheet says it was used by males only for smoking and games.

“That's sexist,” I say. “If this is our castle, we should get rid of the smoke but let everyone play the games.”

“Billiards.” Jason laughs.

I shrug. “We'll put in video games.”

We go through the rest of the castle—a library with room for ten thousand books, museum rooms, secret entrances, a wine cellar with room for seventeen hundred bottles, and my favorite room, the conservatory.

As we walk up the steps, we are very close to each other. The sides of our legs are almost touching.

Turning left, we are in the Norman tower with an incredible view of Toronto. We can also see the stables.

There's no one else up here but us.

I forget to look at Toronto and stare instead at him.

We keep looking at each other.

He leans forward and gives me a tiny kiss, sort of like he's trying to catch my lips in his.

Again he kisses me, this time for a little longer.

We separate, looking at each other again.

I love his brown eyes.

I love his smile.

I kiss him this time.

We hug each other tightly.

He kisses me on the top of my head.

I kiss him on his neck.

Tourists arrive at our tower.

We separate from each other.

I hate tourists.

From the tower we go to the gift shop so that I can get some postcards to send to friends.

There are some incredible things for sale. Jason and I keep holding things up that are hysterical.

There are some things that I have to take home. For Mindy I buy this ugly ceramic chicken. In the front on a little tray is a place for rings. Coming out of the chicken's rear end are measuring spoons. “Spooning for you at Casa Loma” is written on the chicken. Mindy's going to die when she sees it. She's really into tacky to make her laugh.

I buy Jim a large pink pencil with a globe of the world on it. That's because he's always saying that it's hard to get the point of world politics.

Jason buys me a snow scene of Casa Loma, “So you'll always remember our day here.”

As if I could ever forget this.

I buy Jason a ruler with scenes of Casa Loma on it. “Whenever you use this, you'll know that you're a real prince—a true ruler.”

He laughs.

As we walk out to the car, I say, “I love our castle.”

“And your prince?” he asks, taking my hand.

“And my prince.” I nod, feeling a little shy.

He stops by the car. “What if you kiss the prince . . .   and he turns into a frog?”

“Not a chance. I've already kissed you and you're not a frog.” I look at his face.

“Are you sure?” He puts his hands on my shoulders. “Maybe you better check to make sure.”

We check.

He doesn't turn into a frog.

I hope this day goes on forever.

“H
arbourfront is one of my favorite places,” Jason says as we walk near Lake Ontario.

“The stores. The restaurants. The theaters. I love it.” I take out a pair of 1950s sunglasses that I found at a flea market and put them on to keep the sun out of my eyes.

As we look out at the water, Jason puts his hands on my shoulders. “Rosie Wilson, I'm so glad you came to Canada.”

“Me too.” My mouth feels like it's going to break from how wide my smile is.

While we look at each other, some guy comes up and says with hate, “Why don't you stick to your own kind?”

I can't believe it.

He repeats what he's just said.

Jason turns to him. “We are the same kind—human. You're the one who isn't our kind. You're scum.”

The guy says something disgusting.

I want to throw up.

Jason moves toward him.

I grab Jason's arm and say, “Please, don't.”

The woman who is with the creep says, “Harold, let's go. Don't start anything again. They're just kids.”

Jason puts his arm around me, differently this time, like he wants to protect me.

“Let's go,” I whisper. “Please.”

Jason turns me around and we head to a restaurant.

The slug slime yells some bad names at us but he doesn't follow.

I'm so embarrassed. This is one of the worst moments in my life.

I'm glad I'm wearing sunglasses. Maybe Jason won't see the tears coming out of my eyes.