Something Girl (2 page)

This was too much, and I started to laugh.
“In Edmonton?” I said. “This is one of your crazies, right?”

Jujube sucked in her lips, then decided to ignore me. “The way I figure it,” she said, “the aliens will show up in Edmonton about a month from now — summer vacation.”

I wasn’t looking forward to July. My dad would be home on vacation from his real estate office for a whole month.

“Do they take people with them?” I asked, half serious.

“Only one-way tickets,” Jujube grinned.

I gave a long sigh. To be able to lift up and float away from all my problems …If only life was like that — aliens dropping by to rescue the nothing girl. If only.

Chapter Three

Jujube waited while I finished the bag of chips. Then we crawled out of the fort and headed over to her house. She wanted to show me something she’d found in her science books about aliens. It was more of her crazies, but I was still hungry and hoping for some lunch. I could listen to anything as long as I was eating.

I doubled Jujube on my bike, but we got off and walked when we got to her street. Her
mom didn’t like me giving Jujube rides on my bike. She said it wasn’t safe. My mom never said anything about it. Too busy staring out windows, I guess.

When we got to Jujube’s block, I pulled down my T-shirt sleeve to cover the bruise on my arm. If Jujube’s mom saw it, there would be trouble. She always asked about the littlest things — bruises, a bump on my head, even why I looked tired. She noticed way too much.

“Did you tell your mom anything about that bump I had on my head?” I asked Jujube.

Jujube started staring at the ground, as if she thought aliens were going to crawl out of the grass. I tried to get a good look at her eyes. When Jujube was nervous, the green eye got greener.

The green eye looked very green.

“Jujube,” I hissed. “You promised you wouldn’t tell.”

Jujube didn’t look at me. Instead she took off, running down the sidewalk toward her
house. This meant trouble — big trouble. My head started pounding like crazy.

“What did you tell her?” I shouted.

“Nothing,” Jujube called back at me. “I didn’t tell her anything.”

“How come you won’t look at me then?” I yelled. What if Jujube’s mom noticed the new bruise on my arm? She would ask questions for sure. Then another social worker would come to my house. After he left, my dad would beat me up worse than last time. He told me it was my fault social workers kept showing up and making him look bad with the neighbors. And he said it was my job to make sure no one asked any more questions.

I dropped my bike and took off after Jujube. When I caught up to her, I grabbed her arm.

Jujube tried to pull away. “She kept asking, Froggy,” she said. “That was an awesome bump you had.”

“You didn’t have to tell her!” I shook her a little. My heart was pounding so hard I could barely think.

“I didn’t tell her that much.” Jujube started to cry. This made me feel bad, so I dropped her arm. “I told her you fell, just like you wanted me to,” she said.

I wasn’t sure I believed her, but I let it go. What could I do? I would just have to be extra careful and make sure I covered the bruise on my arm. And I would have to make sure no one could tell how bad my head hurt. It sure was pounding. With a groan, I locked my bike to a street sign and followed Jujube into her front yard.

Just then Jujube’s neighbor, Rick, came around the side of his house. He was sixteen and in the drama club at my high school, Scona High. Lots of girls liked him.

“Hi, Jujube,” he called. “Hi, Sophie.”

I could feel myself going red, so I stared at the ground. Jujube waved back and called, “Hi, Rick.” She was in her first year at McKernan Junior High, and she wasn’t into guys yet. She was into aliens.

“Hey, Sophie, you going to the end-of-the-year
school dance?” Rick started walking toward us.

“Maybe.” I kept looking at the ground. I was getting redder — I could feel it. I hated it when I did that. Most girls didn’t go radioactive just because a guy talked to them. Why couldn’t I be normal?
Stupid, no good, nothing girl
.

Rick stopped on the other side of the fence and smiled at me. All I could do was stare at my feet. I wished he would go away. If he stuck around, he would find out how dumb and stupid I was — just like Larry had. Thinking about this made my head pound even harder.

“Maybe I’ll see you there,” Rick said.

“Maybe.” I tried to think of something else to say, but my head hurt too much. Fortunately, Jujube started going into her house. As I turned to follow, my right foot stepped on my left and I almost tripped.
Stupid, no good, nothing girl
. My dad was right — I couldn’t even walk properly.

As soon as we got inside, Jujube went into the kitchen and took out some bread, peanut butter and jam. Then she went off to find her spaced-out science books, while I sat at the table making sandwiches. When she came back, my mouth was full of peanut butter. I was halfway through my second sandwich.

Jujube opened her books and started pointing at pictures. “Here they are — the triangles. They’re on the side of this hill. Can you see them?”

I couldn’t see any triangles, but maybe the peanut butter had glued my brain shut. “Nope,” I said.

Jujube frowned and flipped to another page. “How about here — can you see the triangles in the pyramids?”

“But the pyramids are triangles,” I said. I didn’t think that proved anything, but Jujube looked happy.

“Now look here,” she said, “in this picture of these old rocks. There are triangles in them, see?”

There were some weird lines in the rocks, but I thought they might be from snakes or fossils. I was about to tell Jujube this, but then her mom walked into the room. Right away some peanut butter got stuck in my throat.

“Hello, Froggy,” she smiled.

I grabbed one of Jujube’s books and started staring at it. Jujube’s mom sat down beside me. “How’s your head?” she asked.

I nodded and kept staring at the book. Maybe she would think I was reading it. I turned a page and tried to look interested.

Jujube’s mom sighed. “Jujube said you fell,” she said.

Jujube poked me and grinned. “She’s all better now, Mom,” she said.

Jujube’s mom’s eyes are both green. They can zero in on you like two lasers. “Did you really fall, Froggy?” she asked.

I stared at Jujube’s book. If only it could tell me something about how to make my dad love me. Or how I could make myself good enough so he
could
love me.

No questions
, that was what he’d said. “Yeah,” I told Jujube’s mom. “I fell.”

“Does Rose know about your head?” she asked.

Rose was my mom. When Jujube’s mom said that, I knew I had to get out of there. She was definitely asking too many questions, and it was my job to make sure she didn’t. But as I stood up, Jujube’s mom grabbed my hand and held it. Quick as anything, I covered the bruise on my arm with my other hand.

Jujube’s mom didn’t notice. Instead she said, “Froggy, if you ever want to talk about anything, remember that I’m here. I’ll listen to whatever you want to talk about.”

I looked at her face. She was worried about me, I could tell. But what could she do? If I told her about my dad, she would try to talk to him. And he would kill me after she went home. Besides, I was the real problem in my family, not my dad. I was the one he couldn’t love. No one would ever be able
to love someone like me —
stupid, no good, nothing girl
.

“Let’s go,” I said to Jujube and pulled my hand out of her mom’s. We went outside and I unlocked my bike. Rick had gone inside, so no one else was around.

“Jujube,” I said, “you
have
to listen to me.” I knew I had to get her to understand so she wouldn’t blab anymore to her mom. So I talked slowly and quietly, but like I meant it. “If your mom finds out how I got that bump on my head and the bruises and stuff, she’ll tell a social worker,” I said. “If a social worker comes to my house, my dad will really come after me. I can’t stop him, Jujube. I’ll get hurt bad.”

Jujube just stared at me, her face blank. She wasn’t getting it.

I tried to scare her some more, to
make
her not tell. “They’ll send me to a group home,” I said, “away from my own house and my mom and dad. Weirdos and freaks live in group homes. I’m not a weirdo and I don’t
want to live in a group home. Not now and not ever. Do you get it?”

Then I got onto my bike and took off out of there.

Chapter Four

It was Monday morning, 8:50 AM. “O Canada” had just finished blasting out of the PA, and my homeroom class finally got to sit down. Then someone came on the PA and talked about the end-of-the-year dance. It made me think about Larry, and I felt kind of sick. I wasn’t looking forward to bumping into him in the halls.

“Could I talk to you for a minute, Sophie?” It was my homeroom teacher, Mr. Taylor. A
lot of kids liked him because he really paid attention to what you said. But I thought it was too much attention. He was like Jujube’s mom, noticing the littlest things.

I walked up to his desk and tried to smile. “Good morning, Mr. Taylor. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Sophie,” he said, smiling back at me. “And how are you? How was your weekend?”

I knew it — more questions. My heart started to pound so hard it hurt. I wasn’t supposed to let questions happen. My dad had said no questions — that was my job.

“I’m fine, Mr. Taylor,” I said, looking at my feet. “Everything’s awesome.”

“That’s quite a dark bruise you’ve got on your arm,” he said.

Quickly I looked at my arm. When I’d put on my T-shirt this morning, the sleeves had covered the bruise. But by the time I’d gotten to school, the bottom of the sleeves had ridden up. Now you could see the bruise,
and it was even darker than it had been on Saturday. There were my dad’s fingermarks, clear as anything.

Before I could answer, Mr. Taylor said, “Are you sure everything is fine, Sophie? You also had that bump on your forehead a few weeks ago.”

I started counting inside my head, really slowly. It was a trick I used to slow down my thoughts when I got worried. Sometimes it helped me think straight.

“Skateboarding, Mr. Taylor,” I said. Inside my head the numbers kept counting, slow and quiet. Now I could look straight at Mr. Taylor, almost in the eye. My voice wasn’t even wobbly. My dad would have been proud of me, really proud. “I went off the curb and did a major flip-out,” I said, as if it had actually happened.

Mr. Taylor looked at me for what felt like forever. I tried to keep looking back, but it was hard. He looked as if he really wanted me to talk to him, but how would that help?
If I talked to him, he would phone a social worker. The social worker would come to our house and talk to my dad. And after the social worker left, my dad would kill me.

For a second, just a second, I wondered what it would be like if Mr. Taylor was my dad. But then I realized it would probably be just the same. All dads hit their kids, didn’t they? Every kid needed it sometimes, when something went wrong in their head. And I needed it more than most kids. Things were always going wrong in my head. If I could just figure out how to straighten out my head, things would be fine.

“I’m working hard and getting my homework done,” I told Mr. Taylor. “And I haven’t been late for school in a couple of weeks.”

“Yes.” Mr. Taylor sounded tired. “Yes, that’s true, Sophie.”

The bell rang and kids started getting out of their desks.

“Can I go now?” I asked. “I don’t want to be late for math.”

“Okay, Sophie, you can go.” Mr. Taylor leaned back in his chair and watched me go. I tried to walk slowly so I didn’t look nervous. But once I was through the door, I took off. That had been close, really close. I was sure Mr. Taylor was about to send me to the counseling office.

When I got to my math class, I stood in the hall and tried to calm down. Nervous shakes were running through my whole body.
No questions
, I kept thinking.
I can’t let any more questions happen
.

Slowly the shakes stopped and I looked up. That was when I saw Larry coming down the hall with Wendy. They were holding hands and laughing. Wendy pointed at me and said, “Hey, Larry, there’s your ex.” Larry looked at me and grinned.

I just turned and went into my math class. My heart was pounding, and I think I bumped into the doorframe. But I didn’t start crying. I didn’t let anyone see how much it hurt. Instead I kept thinking,
Don’t let things get to
you. You’ve got to be tough, got to be tough
. My dad said this a lot. He would have been proud of the way I walked away from Larry, really proud.

But when I sat down, I didn’t feel so tough. I couldn’t get Larry out of my head. If only I could be smart and funny and pretty so guys would like me. If only I could giggle and say the kinds of things they liked to hear, like Wendy did. In all the time Larry and I had gone out, he’d never held my hand. We’d kissed sometimes when we were by ourselves and no one could see us. But Larry had never ever held my hand.

I spent the rest of the day trying not to run into Larry again. After school I had a math detention because I hadn’t done my homework. When I went out to the bike rack, I saw Jujube sitting by my bike. She must have called my house, then come looking for me at Scona High.

“Hey, Froggy,” she called.

I looked around, but it was so late most
kids had gone home. I was relieved — the last thing I needed was for someone at school to learn my nickname.

“C’mon,” I said. “I’m late for an appointment with my probation officer.”

“I wanted to tell you,” Jujube said, getting to her feet. “I hooked up my bedroom lamp so I can shine it out my window. I’m reading a book about the Morse code and I’m testing it out with my lamp.”

“Let me guess,” I groaned as I unlocked my bike. “You’re sending messages to aliens.”

“They’re more advanced than us,” said Jujube, getting on behind me. “So they should understand the Morse code.”