Greta continued. “And even though I think you’re the worst kind of person, I hope it never happens to you—any of what you and your friends put me through. Shame on you, Rachel. Not me. You.” She’d hoisted it back on Rachel. She wouldn’t carry it for her anymore.
Then Greta backed away, pulling Alice with her. Her heart swelled her whole body to twice its normal size, hardened her core.
“Greta,” Rachel called out, her voice somewhere between a yelp and a swallow. Greta looked back over her shoulder.
Rachel’s face glowed bright red. She looked small, for the first time ever. All ninety pounds and five feet, two inches of her. “I’m sorry.”
Greta nodded. “I’ll take that into consideration.”
“Greta”—Priya raised a finger for her to wait—“I’m on the grad committee, and we’re planning a mock casino for our grad party. All the money we raise is going to charities that support victims of sexual assault. I thought you might like to know.” She looked at Rachel and Sam before speaking again. “I considered telling people that Dylan was responsible for every case of herpes in this school, but then I remembered how it felt to have lies spread about me.” Her eyes rested on Rachel, whose face turned a deeper red. “I didn’t want to sink to that level.”
“Thanks for that, Priya,” Greta said, smiling, and steered Alice away.
This time Alice fell behind, jogging to catch up. “Okay, I’m starting to understand.”
Greta looked straight ahead. She couldn’t stop now, not to talk, dissect, explain. She had to move while her core held firm.
“Where are we going now?” Alice asked.
“To the gym.”
Alice matched Greta’s pace, and they jostled students out of their way—those who didn’t move quickly enough.
“I’m liking this new Greta,” Alice said as a muscly guy flattened himself against his locker to avoid them. “Are you sure about the spray paint?”
Greta ignored her and kept walking, her legs knowing the way. Her feet a blur down the stairs. Traffic thinned toward the gym. She strode forward until she heard the smack of balls against the floor, the echoing shouts. Greta stopped, Alice plowing into her.
“What? Why have you stopped?” Alice asked.
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“No you’re not.”
“No, really.” Saliva pooled at the back of her mouth, her belly a heavy sponge. She swallowed hard and bent forward, her hands on her knees. Sweat out of nowhere.
“You’re going to finish this. I can’t wait!” Alice beamed.
Maybe Ash would’ve been better, Greta thought, broken limbs or not. She drew a few breaths to steady her stomach and pulled herself upright, using Alice’s shoulder as a crutch. But she didn’t let go. She reached for Alice’s hand, squeezing her palm tightly. Hand in hand, they walked through the gym doors.
Practice hadn’t started yet. The coach talk-shouted into a cell phone by the bleachers. Half the basketball team milled around the court, haphazardly taking shots at the same time, their balls ricocheting off the rim of the hoop. A guy built like a bull moose did an under-the-leg-and-over-the-shoulder trick with his ball.
Greta knew the moment they saw her by the silence that fell on them, one by one, balls dribbling to a stop or held in hands. She didn’t know what they knew or what they’d been told, but they definitely recognized her as Ash’s sister. Dylan, near the center of the gym, chucked his ball into the bleachers and walked toward her. A greenish-purple bruise distorted one cheekbone, and his lower lip was split and swollen. She saw him now—a trinket, plastic painted gold. Greta laced her fingers through Alice’s, squeezing all the blood from them.
As Dylan approached, he eyed her hand in Alice’s and smirked. “Well, that explains a lot.” Around him, his teammates hooted. Alice didn’t even blink.
Greta’s face warmed. She tried to absorb Alice’s energy, her courage. Dylan had taken the upper hand. She knew it. There would be no red-faced apology from this one.
“Dylan.” Her voice came out quiet, reasonable, like she had loaned him twenty bucks and needed it back. While being circled by twenty great white sharks. He cocked his head, amused. “Dylan, if someone isn’t in a state to say yes or no”—her voice quavered—“the answer—”
“Greta,” Dylan said, bored, “it wasn’t even that good. Don’t flatter yourself.” His teammates snorted, some looking at the floor and some straight in her face, wanting to see her crumble and fall.
Alice turned and whispered in Greta’s ear, “Permission to speak?”
Greta nodded, swallowing against the lump rising in her throat.
“Hey, dipshit!” Alice shook off Greta’s hand and stepped forward, shoving Dylan’s shoulders. He stumbled back, caught off guard by the angry-princess look-alike. “Did you hear what she said?” She stepped close to his face, every muscle in her neck strained. “We’ll make it simple so even you can understand. If a person can’t say yes or no, the answer’s always no!”
She tried to shove him again, but he caught her wrists, repelling her. “Get your hands off me!” His fists twitched in her direction, like he wanted to deck her but couldn’t.
“That’s probably what every girl you’ve slept with was thinking too,” Alice said.
The guy who had done the ball tricks started to laugh and then swallowed it. “Oh, burn,” he muttered.
Greta guessed he wasn’t Dylan’s biggest fan.
“Get out of here!” Dylan shouted at them. The coach looked up from his phone call, frowning.
“Can’t wait,” Alice drawled. “The smell’s getting to me. Close the deal, Greta.”
Greta cleared her throat and stepped forward, her hands trembling but legs planted firmly on the ground. The earth held her up. She didn’t need Alice anymore. She deserved to stand there, deserved to be heard. The faces around them blurred until only Dylan’s sneer remained. “Shame on you, Dylan.” No more timid schoolgirl. She’d carried it for him too long. “Not on me. On you.” Not hers anymore.
She turned as his face changed color, shape—a chemical reaction—but didn’t wait to see where it would end. A villain who shifted from human to monster. Alice reached for her hand again, and Greta grasped it. They swung arms as shouting erupted behind them. Greta blocked out the words—they weren’t hers, and she refused them. The noise clipped as the heavy gym doors swung closed. No more balls against the floor. More like a bar brawl.
Their legs moved in sync down the hallway. Greta waited for demons in basketball uniforms to swirl around her, spit in her face, but they didn’t. Maybe they carried the shame now. Maybe he did.
They pushed through the front doors, Greta’s legs moving forward until Alice pulled her to a stop. She turned Greta’s shoulders to face her, looking at her eye to eye. “That was brave, Greta. You were brave.”
Alice pulled Greta close and held her until her bones stopped rattling, until the blood slowed in her veins. Her body throbbed, from her heart to the bottom of her gut. Free from shame but ripped wide open. When Greta could breathe again, Alice held her at arm’s length and said, “Now you move forward.”
Greta nodded. Forward.
They joined hands and walked to the bus stop, West Edmonton High a dumpster fire burning behind them.
NINETEEN
On the bus, adrenaline leaked from Greta’s body, leaving it a deflated bike tire. She slumped against Alice’s shoulder, neither of them speaking. A tentative peace settled over her. Greta knew it would vanish the minute they stepped off the bus and attempted this “forward,” but for now she let it cradle her. Alice squeezed her hand and let go, lost in her own thoughts.
From the bus stop they walked home in silence, the slushy edges of piled snow starting to harden as the temperature dropped in the late afternoon. Before they reached Elgin’s house, Greta said, “Thank you, Alice. It made a huge difference, having you there.”
“Pfft. You would’ve done fine on your own, believe me. But you
’re welcome.” She looked sideways at Greta and smiled. “You impressed me, you know? Maybe I should’ve done more of that myself.” The smiled dropped from her face. Greta figured she was probably remembering her own lineup of people to tell off. “If you ever want to talk, Greta, about…” Her head swayed, searching for the right word. “You know, just let me know.”
“Thanks.” Greta looked straight ahead and stepped onto Elgin’s front path. She didn’t know when she’d want to talk about it again, but if she did, Alice would be top of the list. And she probably owed Priya a bouquet of flowers.
Before they reached the door, Alice held her back again. “A friend of mine used to see someone at the Sexual Assault Center.” She pulled out her phone and googled it. “They have a twenty-four-hour crisis line and counseling. I’ll text you the info.”
Greta looked at the website and nodded. She didn’t know yet if she was interested. But after today, people—Ash, Priya, Alice, maybe someone from this center—stood in her corner. People to say, I believe you. “Thank you, Alice. I’ll remember that.”
In the house, Nate leaned over Ash’s shoulder, both of them gazing at the screen of Nate’s laptop on Elgin’s kitchen table. Ash gave Greta a cranky-grandpa look as she slid off her boots.
“A note, Greta. That’s all I ask.” He managed a smile at Alice before turning back to the screen. “Now look.” He pointed for Nate. “It won’t remember my username.”
“Ash.” Greta stood beside him. “Enjoy the computer games now, because you and I are going to summer school.”
“Say what?”
“I saw Mr. Abbott today, and he registered us in math and social studies at Masters Continuing Education in July and August. They don’t offer languages then, so we’ll have to do French online.”
“But I don’t even need French!”
“I couldn’t convince him otherwise, not after your inspiring ‘I need to be a French teacher’ speech.”
Ash sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Fine.”
“You’re welcome.”
He smiled. “Thank you, Greta.” They would finish two months late, without the stupid ceremony, but they would graduate.
Then the last of her energy evaporated. She slipped away, needing a quiet space. While her muscles felt spent, weak, her frame held tall, strong. She’d lifted a car over her head and flung the whole thing into a gully. Collapsing on Ash’s bed, Greta closed her eyes. Rachel’s and Dylan’s red faces, their sputtering, their anger and shame—no longer her own. She should start wearing a cape.
Alice ended up staying for supper, Elgin pleased to find her there when he came out of his room. He rushed (Elgin-style, so more like a fast shuffle) through his plant care to be ready to sit and eat with them. Nate made taco soup, half of the ingredients pilfered from his own kitchen. “I’ll keep a bowl for my dad,” he said, glancing guiltily in the direction of his house.
By nine o’clock Greta’s eyelids only opened halfway. “I’m going to bed,” she told the others, who were playing cards at the kitchen table. Nate looked up and smiled—“Good night, Greta!”—while the rest of them mumbled into their cards.
She fell asleep the second she closed her eyes, not even stopping to top up her air mattress. The floor against her hip was not a deterrent at all. A dead, dreamless sleep, not touched by the occasional shout from the kitchen. Then awake. She blinked into the dark. Had she just closed her eyes? She reached up to the bed and felt Ash’s leg. He’d come in without waking her. In the kitchen, silence, and darkness from the crack under the door. Was it morning? The heaviness in her body said no. She’d been woken by something—a noise. The light flashed on the phone beside her pillow. Annoyed that she’d forgotten to turn off the sound, she reached for it and saw the text notification. Wide awake. Who was texting her at—she checked the time—12:30 AM? She clicked on the message icon.
I’m downstairs.
A jolt of fear. From? Dad. A second jolt—something she couldn’t even name. Another message opened as she held the phone. Can you come down and talk to me? She stared at the words. Some kind of trap? But this was her dad…possibly with Patty. She could handle seeing Roger. Greta knew with 100 percent certainty that she never again wanted to lay eyes on Patty. Never breathe the same air. Never stand within the same four walls. No compromise, no promise of change, would move her. Never again. Something had shifted after today. Roger? Still murky. Greta reached to shake Ash’s leg but jerked her hand back before it touched him. If she woke him, she’d never know why Roger was texting her from their basement. She wanted to know, she realized, and see his face again.
Be right there, she texted back, then switched the phone to silent in case he responded. She couldn’t risk this being the one time that Ash, who slept like he’d been euthanized, woke up and followed her. She padded out the door and through the kitchen, still wearing her clothes from earlier that day. When her hand touched the door handle to the basement staircase, her chest exploded, catching her breath in her throat. Her dad was at the bottom of those stairs. Her bare feet registered the shift in temperature with each dropping step, dread now mixed with the cocktail of fear, excitement and adrenaline pumping through her blood.
Roger. He sat on the sofa with a blanket across his lap, wearing a baseball cap and a winter jacket. Only Roger. Silver in his unshaven whiskers, joy on his face. She loved it. Hated it. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, she checked him over. He stood up, the blanket dropping to the floor, wearing a pair of jeans that looked like they could walk to the laundry on their own. He was shorter than she remembered, thinner. Older. One of those rubbery sponge toys that grows in water but shrivels outside it. Could a person shrink in two months?
“Greta!” Roger burst toward her, his feet getting tangled in the blanket. Then he stopped, either because of the blanket or because she didn’t budge.
“Dad.” She nodded in response. Cool. Formal. She would give him nothing.
“You’re looking well.” He grinned, his Adam’s apple working against the emotion in his throat.
No thanks to you. She stepped forward into the living room, the furniture around them just a dusty set from a play they’d seen long ago. She held every emotion in tight, all her defences up. And still fought the impulse to touch him. Like a piece of her own flesh returned to her body again. Greta wanted to feel his breath, his warmth. That groove between his eyebrows so much like Ash’s. Roger, back from the dead.
“How are you?” Roger stammered. “How’s—”
“You left us. You chose her.” A robot speaking.
Roger swallowed, his tears so immediate that Greta wondered if somehow the body heard the words before they reached his ears. “Yes,” he croaked. “I did.”
She observed him, his mouth twisting and hands trembling. Greta knew the next question should be why, but she didn’t want to provide the platform for his remorse. He’d have to do the work all by himself. She’d provide no stepping stone for his sad story.
“It was a mistake. I’m so sorry.” He barely got the words out.
Greta stepped closer and laid her fingers on his hand, just to see if she could still the trembling. Curious. No. Roger took it as a sign of affection and grasped her hand tightly. She recoiled. He flinched.
“What do you want, Dad?” she asked.
“I just wanted…I wanted…” As though her question caught him off guard. “Well, Patty and I are done. That’s over.”
That woke Greta up a bit. “So you thought you could come back to me and Ash now that your first choice fell through?”
“No!” His eyes burned fiercely. “It’s not like that. Patty and I were only together for a month after I saw you in Whitecourt. I told her it was over.” He looked away and struggled for composure before speaking again. “Hated myself.”
A spark lit in Greta. “Wait, you left her a month ago and just show up now?”
Roger nodded. “I didn’t feel I could come back again until I had something to offer you. No
t after leaving like that.”
“You could’ve called!”
“And said what?”
“I don’t know!” Ding dong the witch is dead? “ ‘I’m alive’? ‘I still love you’?”
“I wanted to have something to show you I’m committed to us as a family.”
Greta shook her head. “And what is this big plan?” At this point, he could’ve produced a diamond-studded tiara and she would’ve spat on it.
“Well,” Roger began, “you know how we’ve been saving for a house?”
Greta stared at him without responding.
“I still don’t have quite enough for the down payment, but I’ve found a good place for us. The owner agreed to let us rent for six months until I’ve saved enough, and then we can buy it. We’ll have our own home again, just the three of us.”
His face opened—bright, hopeful. She let it sit like that for a minute before answering. “You know what kind of home I’d like, Dad? One where a father stands up for his kids, instead of offering them as a sacrifice to some lunatic. One where a father doesn’t take off”—her inhuman calm shattered—“IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, leaving his kids to fend for themselves!” She felt her face distort, a fleck of spittle fly. A deranged person. Roger cowered, crushed. She stepped away to keep from slapping his face.
She backed out of the living room and turned at the bottom of the stairs. Now she had to say it, couldn’t help herself. “Why, Dad? Why? You put us in harm’s way for seven years and then left us. I’ll never understand.”
Roger shook his head and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I guess…I guess I didn’t think I could handle losing another wife.”
“Do you realize the price you paid? The price Ash and I paid?”
He nodded, his eyes manic. “I’m so sorry, Greta. I’ll do whatever you ask to prove I won’t let you down again.”
Greta continued, ignoring his apology. “First you lost wife number one. Then, in trying to keep wife number two happy, you lost your two children. Then you left your horror of a second wife anyway. Congratulations, Dad. You managed to lose everyone.” She turned and ran up the stairs before he could respond.
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