Leap (20 page)

“No. Guess again.” The voice was disguised in a falsetto.

“I give up.”

The hands released me and I spun around. “Claire!”

She seemed even taller than usual—she must have shot up another inch over the past couple of months. Her long, lean arms and legs looked ready for anything. She played volleyball at the beach all summer, when she wasn't scooping ice cream. And it shows: she's still tanned and her hair has bleached blonde in the sun.

“Want to be partners?”

“Huh?”

Claire laughed. “Didn't you hear anything the teacher just said?”

All around us, kids were turning to each other and talking. The teacher was hauling out grass hockey equipment and soccer balls. “What's going on?”

Claire explained that the PE teachers are trying something new. They want students with training in various sports to lead an introductory class session in it. It's especially encouraged if you have a friend from your team or club in your PE class, so you can co-teach. Kids who don't teach a class have to write an essay on a physical activity that interests them.

“Are you going to teach volleyball?” I said.

“I just asked. The teacher would rather I didn't, because everyone already learned it in Grade Nine.” Claire cracked a smile. “That's where you come in.”

“Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes! Let's co-teach a dance class.”

Someone came up behind Claire. “What's up, defects?”

Claire whirled around. “I beg your pardon? Oh. Jamie. Hi.”

Jamie held her hips, elbows wide. “Defects, as in, you
defected
from Dance-Is. Rhymes with rejects.”

Claire and I spun to face each other. “You quit?” we said at the same time.

“You first,” I said.

“I'm trying out for the volleyball team,” she said. “I can always go back to dance later. But
you
—you love dance!”

“I know. I'm going to Eastside this year for modern.”

“Like I said,” Jamie drawled, “rhymes with rejects.”

“You should team up with Claire to teach dance,” I said to Jamie.

Claire's mouth dropped open and her eyes flashed at me.

Jamie held up both palms and nodded with false modesty. “Thanks, but I'm taken. I'm doing weight lifting with Nick. The teacher's all over our coed approach. You know, Nick's a guy—”

“—and you're a girl.” Claire nodded and smiled with relief.

“But, hey,” Jamie pointed back and forth from me to Claire, “you two should teach dance.”

Claire spread her arms and looked at me. “See? That's what I think.”

“Because I could probably get out of that class,” Jamie continued. “I mean, how boring would that be for
me
?”

Claire narrowed her eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Jamie.”

The idea of teaching makes me too tense to move. I can't exactly teach dance when I'm paralyzed, can I? Writing a paper would be a thousand times easier. Claire must be out of her mind.

Thursday, September 9th

A small, beat-up brown car like the one Sasha drove off in the other day was parked at the curb when school got out. A throng of kids was heading down the path to the road, so I snuck in behind them. I had to cross the street to stay hidden, but I glimpsed the driver's curly black hair and muscled shoulder. Kevin, I think.

My heart pounded hard and my legs shook—
be still, my beating heart.
But it beat so fast, I thought I might die. I turned and ran in the other direction, taking the fastest, longest strides of my life. My lungs burned. I sprinted well out of range, then bent double and wheezed.

Friday, September 10th

The brown car was waiting by the curb again today. This time, I walked right up to it. Don't ask me how I had the nerve. I just did. The passenger window was rolled down, and I leaned into it on my elbow. “Looking for Sasha?” I said.

Kevin did a double take. He didn't move, but his eyes bugged, and then he laughed. It sounded more like a bark. “Natalie! What's up?”

“Not much. You know, back to school, rah rah rah.”

“Hop in.”

“I don't think so.”

“Why not?”

“Last I heard, you had your license suspended.”

For a second, he winced, like I'd slapped him. Then he sneered. “Sasha said you turned into a suck—I guess she was right.”

“Just 'cuz I'm not a shoplifter or a drunk driver, suddenly I'm a suck? Try again.”

He blew out a puff of air, felt his pockets, and found a pack of cigarettes. He flicked it open. It was empty, and he tossed it on the floor. I was getting a cramp in my lower back from leaning forward, and besides, I felt self-conscious with my butt sticking out as kids streamed past. I stood up and noticed a dent on the roof of the car.

“Nat!”

“What?”

He mumbled something too low to hear. I was torn between wanting to run like I did yesterday, and wanting to get into the car where I could hear him. As I stood there trying to decide, he called my name again. This time his voice sounded gentle. I looked both ways, pulled the door open, and slid into the passenger seat.

“Let's get out of here,” I said. “I don't want people looking at us.”

He started up the car.

“Let's just go to Cattle Point,” I said.

We drove in silence and parked overlooking the ocean. We watched the gulls and the waves. Finally he said, “That didn't go as well as I hoped.”

“What do you mean? Were you looking for me?”

He twisted his hands on the steering wheel. “Not exactly. I mean, I thought we would run into each other eventually.” He glanced at me. “I've thought about it quite a bit.”

I squirmed in my seat. “So what's up with you? Whose car is this?”

“It's my buddy's. We sort of share it.”

“Does he know you don't have a license?”

Kevin sighed. “He's okay with it.”

“What if you got pulled over?”

“I'm not going to get pulled over.” He unrolled his window.

“Even my mom gets pulled over sometimes! She spaces out and doesn't notice she's going through a school zone. If that happens, you're going to get your friend into a lot of trouble. You'll be up the creek too, of course.”

Maybe I
was
starting to sound like a mouthpiece for the Law-Abiding Citizens' Association. The truth was, Kevin made me feel defenseless: I craved his touch, his kiss, his skin. If I acted bitchy, he couldn't tell how weak I was. “What happened to riding your bike?”

“It got stolen.”

“Then you should walk or take the bus.” I couldn't quit. “What are you
doing
with yourself, anyway?”

“I'm getting by. I'm helping a friend with his business.” He patted the dashboard. “That's why we share the car.”

Kevin didn't seem like the type to have entrepreneur friends. I couldn't really see him palling around with software designers or restaurant managers and applying for grants from the Ministry of Small Businesses. His black curls were looking a bit matted, he hadn't shaved in a while, and he wore a hemp necklace. In the next breath, I smelled a familiar aroma: weed.

“It's not legal. Sharing the car, I mean.”

Kevin shook his head. “You seem to think the law is some ultimate authority on right and wrong. But it's not! The law is just something made up by some fat middle-aged guys in suits. Ever seen the Parliament channel on cable? They're like a bunch of overgrown kids picking on each other on the playground. And the worst part is that the laws don't benefit people. They benefit corporations.”

Kevin must have made some new counter-culture friends. I wasn't up to an argument about the legal system. But I did have another burning question. “The last time we talked on the phone, you said you wanted to see me.”

Kevin glanced at me. “Yeah?”

“When I was in Vancouver.”

“I remember.”

I looked away. I couldn't bring myself to ask,
What for?

He opened the car door. “Let's get out.”

Breathing fresh air and scrambling over rocks sounded good. I hauled my backpack with me so I wouldn't have to return to the car.

We found a bench at the top of the outcropping. He sat down and stretched his arms across the seat back. I had to choose a spot at the far end of the bench so that his arm wouldn't drape behind my shoulders. The wind buffeted us.

“This has been hard,” he said, staring at the water.

“What do you mean?”

“We had an intense week in July.” His forehead wrinkled. He hesitated, then said, “You've got something, Nat. You've got some ... some drive or sense of purpose or something. You've got this strength and … and this sort of calmness to you. You're the calm in the eye of the storm.” He looked at me. The wind swirled and eddied as if on cue. “I need to be around that sometimes. My life is just the opposite; it's one storm after another. You know?”

I can't believe he sees me that way. It's like he looks up to me, even though I'm so much younger.

“Does this mean you weren't just using me in the summer? Remember, you said, ‘Older guys are only after one thing'?”

“Nat, that's what I mean: I don't really
feel
any older than you.”

Monique said the same thing, and she's twenty-two, so maybe he's telling the truth.

We sat there for a little while longer, then I said I had to go.

“Can I give you a ride?”

I stood and hoisted my heavy pack onto my back. “No, thanks. I could use the walk.”

He looked up at me from the bench. “Can I call you?”

His eyes pleaded, and I felt a surge of tenderness. “Okay.”

As I plodded home, I thought about what he'd said. His feelings for me seemed genuine. And he'd made an effort to find me. I mean, he must have known Sasha was at Vic High. If he wasn't looking for me, why else would he park outside my school?

Saturday, September 11th

The owner of the corner store bagged the vanilla yogurt I'd biked down for at Mom's request—it would top the fruit salad she was making for lunch. He was handing me change when Sasha sauntered in, wearing flip-flops, cutoffs, and a scoop-necked T-shirt that drew attention to her breasts. Her makeup looked heavy enough for the stage. I was starting to speak when her eyes slid off me. She pretended not to know who I was.

“A pack of DuMauriers, please.” Her voice had dropped half an octave into an “I-could-care-less” kind of drawl.

The proprietor jerked his thumb towards a sign next to the cash register:
It is illegal to sell tobacco to anyone under nineteen years of age.
“Need to see your ID.”

“Come on, I buy cigarettes here all the time. It's usually your daughter who works Saturdays, right?”

The man tensed his jaw. “It's against the law to sell tobacco to minors. All cashiers working here know this. If not, who do you think gets fined?” He poked himself in the middle of his chest with his index finger. “I get fined. No ID, no cigarettes.”

I edged towards the door. “Let's go, Sasha.”

She slapped out of the store, and I followed her. She flipped her middle finger behind her head as we crossed the threshold. “I came all the way here because his daughter sold me a pack last week.”

“You probably got her in trouble just now.”

She snorted. “Not my problem.” She blew air out her bottom lip to lift her bangs off her forehead. “That was my last chance. Now I'll have to break down and ask my brother for smokes.”

“Or you could quit.”

She singed me with her glare.

I looped the plastic grocery bag onto my handlebars. I wanted to get away, but I wanted to hear her say more about Kevin. “So what's new?”

“I have to stay at Vic High.”

“Shitty,” I said. “For the whole year?”

“For the fall, anyway,” she said. “It's okay, though. The classes are a joke and the kids aren't as snotty. You know the rich kids at Oakridge, the ones who call themselves the Beautiful People? I found out they're only there because they were too dumb to pass the entrance exams at the private schools—all their daddies' cash couldn't make up for the fact that they're, like, brain-dead. No one would fall for their bullshit at Vic High.”

A car pulled into a spot right beside the bike rack and we moved away from the exhaust. “Do you want to push our bikes for a ways?”