I always wake up hating myself.
To make amends for the nastiness dished up nightly by my subconscious, I religiously read the paper every day, hoping and praying that no other children have gone missing. I tell myself I’m doing what I can.
But you don’t need to be Sigmund Freud to realise that I’m going to have to crank up my game a few notches – and soon.
Finn calls untime quite a few times, so I assume he must be sorting out the mess he’s made. But he keeps it short, and limits it to when I’m safely at home and near my stuff (his way of being considerate).
When we pass each other every now and then in the house, I don’t even look at him.
I’m not sure why I feel so betrayed. All I know is that there was a time when Finn did important things with his life. When he wasn’t just another gun for hire.
But those days are over, I guess.
* * *
School is okay, you know, for school. So far grade 12 is not as big a nightmare as I expected it to be, but it’s still pretty bad. Seriously, sometimes I feel like I spend my entire life studying or doing homework, and usually I don’t even get it done properly. Yes, I’m a hopeless nerd, I know. But it’s not my fault.
Truth is that I would love to be one of those people who does everything so easily. You know, those girls who play sports, and party all the time, and go mad over weekends, and have boyfriends, and an amazing social life, and still manage to get good marks at school. I would really, really love to be like that.
But I’m not. Sadly.
The miserable truth is that if I want to do well I have to study pretty hard. [13] And the funny thing is that I do want to do well, and I’m not even sure why.
Now Mandi, for example, works really hard because she wants to be a doctor, and you have to have excellent marks to get into any medical programme. Everybody understands and respects that. But I have no idea what I want to do one day. Not a cooking clue.
I only know that it’s important for me to see myself as intelligent. Competent.
Good at something apart from being Finn’s sidekick.
Maybe it’s because Mom has always taught me that life can be hard for women, and that if you don’t want to end up as some man’s slave you have to make sure that you’re strong and independent and capable and informed.
Or maybe it’s because of this rather embarrassing fantasy I had when I was small, where one day my birth parents would find me and, you know, they’d think I was so clever and so beautiful and so perfect and everything. They’d think to themselves, why did we ever leave a child as special as that? We must have been mad! (I was really young, okay?)
Or maybe it’s just a normal self-esteem thing, and I shouldn’t analyse it too much. Whatever.
Point is that it’s important for me to do well at school, and if I want to do well I have to work quite hard.
It sucks being me.
And that’s without even mentioning my social life.
See, because I was only going to be at this school for a year, I decided from the start that I wasn’t going to be too fussed about making friends or being cool or anything. (Just figuring out the whole social hierarchy seems like a waste of time at this stage, you know?) So, even before term started I worked out my strategy, the basic aim of which was to keep a low profile and get through this stupid year in one piece. (If, in the process, I did meet a nice person or two, that would of course be a bonus.)
The Katie Holmes strategy for surviving a new school:
1. I will be friendly to everybody, in a vague kind of way.
2. I will not get involved in any fights.
3. I will mind my own business.
4. I will not break any fingers, set any fires, pick any locks, steal any donkeys or shoot anybody.
5. I will UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES get drunk or do drugs (see previous point).
Now you’d think a solid strategy like this would work, but no. Turns out it only had the effect of making people think I’m a “stuck-up bitch who thinks she’s too good for everyone else”. And I’m quoting here.
“But who said it?” I ask Lelicia, horrified, while we’re walking to history.
“Oh, you know.” She shrugs. “People.”
“But … I mean … did they actually use those words?”
“Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.” Duh.
I shake my head, more upset than I want her to see. (I don’t mind being called a bitch – Mom believes it’s a term of honour given to strong women. But a snob? Stuck-up? Too good for people? I never thought I’d win any awards for popularity, but do people really think I’m so awful???)
Lelicia just gives another shrug. “I told you, you should’ve come to the Valentine’s ball.”
“But I can’t dance! And nobody asked me anyway.”
“You haven’t even been to one sports day.”
“I’m not an athlete, Lelicia, you know that.”
“I meant as a supporter, Katie.”
“But it’s so boring!”
She shrugs, as if I’ve made some kind of point for her. “You didn’t come to the fundraiser last Saturday either.”
“Yes, okay, okay. So I don’t like going to school stuff in my free time. I mean, can you blame me? I’m new here.” I bristle at the unfairness of it all. “Everyone else knows one another, and they love doing stuff together, and they know where they fit in, and they’ve got lots to talk about because they’ve known one another for ages …” I give up trying to explain.
Lelicia doesn’t look at me, but she keeps on talking. “That’s another thing. You don’t talk to people. You don’t even try to make friends.”
“I do talk to people!”
“Only cool people like Daniel, or super clever ones like Asanda …”
“They’re the only ones who talk to me!”
Lelicia shrugs.
“I talk to you, don’t I?”
She gives a funny kind of smile in response. “You don’t talk to me, Katie. You listen to me. With an expression of boredom in your eyes.”
I feel my ears going red as I recognise the uncomfortable truth.
She comes to a sudden halt. “And actually, you know, I’ve had enough.” Now she does look me in the eyes, and I can see she’s really angry. “Maybe my life isn’t as interesting as yours. Maybe you find me childish –”
“I don’t!”
“Don’t patronise me, Katie.”
I can feel tears at the back of my throat. Where did this come from so suddenly?
“When you came to this school I was willing to look past everything …” She looks me up and down, as if I’ve got rabies. “I was willing to believe that you were more than just another shallow, beautiful girl who’s had everything too easy her whole life. And I didn’t care about all the stories people told about you. I was sure it was only gossip.”
“Lelicia. Please. Don’t …”
“I gave you a chance, the chance that nobody gave me when I came to this school –”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –”
“No.” There are tears glistening in her eyes, and I can see she’s hurt as well as angry. “Let me finish.”
I nod. I feel just awful.
“I felt it from the start, but the past week it’s been worse than ever before. You’re treating me like a … a pet or something. I’ve had enough.”
“I’m sorry. Really. My life is just so complicated …”
“No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry my life isn’t complicated. I’m sorry my father isn’t a billionaire like your precious Mandi’s. I’m sorry that I’m not part of a glamorous mixed-race family, or that I’m not as beautiful as you, or living with Finn O’Reilly. I’m just me. And if that’s so boring –”
“It’s not, really, Lelicia …”
“Leave it, Katie, okay? Just leave it.” She turns and walks away.
And I can’t even follow her – my next class is starting and Miss Hoffman is givi
ng me the evil eye.
* * *
I spend the whole day brooding. I mean, I know my life is different, but have I perhaps started thinking that I’m better than other people? More interesting? Should I have made more of an effort to make friends at my new school? Did I judge Lelicia too harshly? Do I find people my age childish?
“Mandi?” I ask that evening, while the two of us are studying in my room.
“Uh huh.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Well you jumped the gun there, didn’t you?”
I roll my eyes at her. “Am I a stuck-up bitch who thinks I’m better than everybody else?”
“Nope.” She doesn’t even look up from her textbook.
“Are you sure?”
“Uh huh.”
“Sure sure?”
Mandi gives a theatrical sigh as she closes her book. “Okay.” She makes herself comfortable, leaning back on the bed. “Spit it out. What’s this about?”
While I tell her about this morning’s argument with Lelicia, Mandi stares at the ceiling. When I’m finished she gives another sigh, this time a real one.
I don’t like the sound of it. “What?”
She shakes her head from side to side, slowly. “Katie, Katie, Katie.”
“That’s my name …”
“Girlfriend. You know I love you.”
Now I’m getting worried. “What? Tell me. What?”
“It’s just that … you don’t exactly have the best social skills in the world.”
I frown at her. “I know. But does that make me a stuck-up bitch? Does that mean I think I’m better than everybody else?”
“I told you, you should have invited Lelicia to come out with us. I would like to meet her, actually.”
I snort. “You two would never get along in a million years.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Ja, right.”
“You don’t!”
“Okay,” I raise my hand, “ask me what her favourite joke is. Honestly, just ask me.”
Mandi sighs, but plays along reluctantly. “Katie, what is Lelicia’s favourite joke?”
“This,” I answer. “Question: How do you wake up Lady Gaga? Answer: You p-p-p-p-poke her face.”
Mandi just stares at me. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“You think we should join the debating team?”
She giggles, but then gets serious again. “What I think is that this is not about Lelicia. This is about you.”
“I know.” I actually feel like crying. “Honestly, Mandi, why do people always hate me?”
Mandi shrugs. “I don’t hate you.”
“Thanks.”
“But I’ve known you almost your whole life.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She pulls a face. “Look. How can I put this … I know you’re shy. And a bit of a space cadet.”
“Thanks a bunch.”
“Any time.” She gives me a lofty smile. “Anyway, I know that. And you know that.”
“So?”
“Other people don’t. That’s the point.”
“You’ve got a point?”
Mandi throws one of her braids over her shoulder. “Hello. You’re not the awkward little girl with the thick glasses and the braces that nobody wants to talk to any more. You know what you look like.” She waves a hand at me.
I look down at myself. I’m wearing the same thing I basically always wear in summer – a pair of cut-offs and a T-shirt.
“I’m not getting it.”
Mandi ignores me. “And then, you know, you live with Finn. I mean, he’s like so rich and mysterious and everything. I guess that level of kick-ass glamour kind of … rubs off on you a bit.”
“Oh phul-leeze.”
“Seriously. People are interested in you, and it’s partly because you live with the best looking guy in the entire country.”
“I thought you were over that little crush?” I can’t help smiling.
She returns my grin. “That man is too hot to live, I swear, he’s off the chain. I don’t know how you stand staying in the same house with him. I would’ve jumped his pretty Irish bones long ago. It’s like he’s getting younger and hotter every year. Like Brad Pitt in that Benjamin Button movie, only sexier.”
“Nobody’s sexier than Brad Pitt.” I’m lying, of course.
“Finn makes Brad look like he’s been hit with the ugly stick,” Mandi laughs.
Damn right he does, but I’m done with wearing my heart on my sleeve. A girl has her pride. “Don’t start with Brad now. You know I love him.”
“Shame on you! He’s old enough to be your father. Your grandfather. And he’s got like a thousand kids too.”
“Why are we talking about Brad Pitt?”
“You started it.”
“No, you started it, going on about Finn.”
Mandi gives a dreamy smile. “Oh yes. Finn.” Then she visibly pulls herself together. “Anyway … what were we talking about?”
“Honestly, I don’t get why people think you’re such a genius. Say two words about any member of the male species and every sensible thought just flies out that little head of yours.”
She sticks her tongue out at me.
“We were talking about me, remember?”
“Oh yes.” Mandi pauses for a second, and her eyes get a kind of faraway look. “You remember the first time we met, when was it, grade 4? You had just gotten your glasses and your mother took you to see Mona because you were such a loser?”
“I wasn’t!”
“We both were. I think that’s part of the problem.”
“What?”
It’s her turn to roll her eyes at me. “In your heart you’re still that sad little girl. But that’s not what other people see when they look at you. They think you’re, you know …”
“A stuck-up bitch who thinks she’s better than everybody?”
Mandi raises a hand, dramatically. Case closed.
For a while I just sit there, trying to absorb what she’s said.
“But, I mean … Okay. Say that’s true … What am I supposed to do about it?”
She shrugs. “Try talking to people. Go to a party or two – it won’t kill you. Invite people to your house …”
“I invite you to my house.”
“I’m not the problem here, Katie.”
Now it’s my turn to sigh. “No, you’re not. None of this is your fault. I get it.” Because I do.
I know exactly whose fault it is.
It’s his. That jerk.
Finn O’Reilly.
Chapter 8
Look, no matter what those cretins at school believe, I’m not in fact a heartless bitch from hell, okay? And I’ve quite often felt sorry for Finn.
Very sorry, actually.
I bet you’re going, what the hell? Why feel sorry for a rich, insanely hot guy with superpowers? Right?
Yes. Well.
Let’s just say the ability to stop time is a pretty sucky superpower to have. Especially if you’re Finn O’Reilly.
See, Finn is strong, but just in the way (genetically blessed) guys who work out and look after themselves are strong. He’s not, like, The Incredible Hulk or anything. He studied all kinds of martial arts with Simon and he’s become very good at it, but he’s not exactly Bruce Lee, you know? (Not to even mention Bruce Wayne.) He can’t fly, he can’t freeze lakes with his breath, he can’t move objects with his mind, he doesn’t have metal claws popping out of his hands, and he can get hurt like anyone else.
So there.
Apart from his freaky ability to mess around with time, Finn is actually just a normal, regular guy. (With far too much money, absolutely no common sense and the kind of awesome good looks that make grown women cry – but that’s neither here nor there.)
Even the whole “master-of-time” thing that he’s got going isn�
��t exactly a real superpower. It’s a wicked enough trick, sure, but it’s also kind of limiting because Finn is forever restricted to working with just one moment.
Now. This moment.
All right, I admit, being able to do all that could be seriously cool. If you were a really shallow or really evil person, you know, someone who just cares about ruling the world (cue evil laughter: ha ha ha ha!) and you were able to move around while everyone else was frozen on the spot … Yes, okay, it could be pretty sick. You could rob people blind, mess them around, and have just about all the power you wanted.
Maybe Finn was like that, once, when he was much younger and full of testosterone and stupid. But he changed, especially after Simon started teaching him about compassion and acceptance and responsibility and all that.
What I’m trying to say, I guess, is that Finn suffers from a saviour complex. You know, a bit like Peter Parker (only without the Spidey senses). For Finn, his ability is some kind of hectic responsibility rather than just fun and games. And let me tell you, when you’re that type, well, this kind of superpower can break your heart.
That’s the problem.
Let me give you one little example: September 11, 2001.
Now at that time, Finn was still listening to the news dutifully every day, trying to find trouble spots. The problem, unfortunately, is that the news only tells you what’s happened after it’s happened, when it’s mostly too late to do anything about it.
What happened on September 11, 2001 was a bit different though.
We were all watching as that second plane suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
I was just a kid then, but I still remember everything quite well. (It’s kind of burned into my memory, to tell you the honest truth.) What happened was that we were watching CNN, looking at the World Trade Center burning, horrified by what we thought was a terrible accident. Finn had called Mom and Simon to the TV, and because I was at home with a cold, I came too.
It was awful to watch, of course, but also kind of fascinating, like a movie. Remember I was still very young, and I didn’t get the fact that those buildings were full of real live people. I was mostly just excited to see something so major happening right in front of my eyes, and I kind of went, you know … Cool. An explosion. Wow.
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