Unity Club

by Karen Spafford-Fitz

  Amira glances back my way as everyone is leaving the gym. I start to smile at her, thinking she might wait up for me. But she looks away and continues out into the hall. I swallow a lump in my throat. My job as president of the Unity Club just became more complicated. And not nearly as much fun.

  Chapter Ten

  Jude isn’t in the drama room after school. I delay starting the meeting for as long as I can. I keep hoping he’ll show up. I pretend to be busy shuffling through some supplies at the back of the room. Amira is doing her best to avoid looking at me the entire time.

  “Is this meeting ever gonna happen?” Georgia says.

  My stomach twists into a knot. I go and join the group. “I guess we’d better get started,” I say. “First of all, we had a really good turnout for Mini Gym Kids last night. But we could still use more volunteers, especially now that the grade-one students are participating too.”

  I know I need to mention the damaged bench, but I can’t do it yet.

  “Fairview Court is still shut down because of the f lu outbreak,” I say instead. “But they have probably given the blankets to the new senior citizens who live there by now.”

  “They have for sure,” Kaden says.

  Given how rarely Kaden says anything, everyone turns and stares.

  “My grandmother moved there six weeks ago,” Kaden explains. “She loves her new blanket. She couldn’t believe at first that it was hers to keep.”

  “That’s so sweet,” Amira says.

  Kaden nods. “One of the residents had a stroke a while back. Since then he hasn’t been able to use the left side of his body very much. But Gran said he kept smiling and touching the blanket—with his left hand.”

  I’m staring at Kaden. I can hardly believe he just shared that with the group. Is this really the same guy who has been surly and difficult the past few months? For a moment, I get a glimpse of what a good Unity Club president he might have made.

  “That’s amazing, Kaden,” I say.

  “Yeah, thanks for telling us.” Amira’s eyes are filled with tears.

  I’m about to smile at Amira, but I stop myself. Are we still friends or not? She turns away, so I guess we aren’t.

  “And the last thing,” I try to keep my voice steady, “is the scarves we knit for the group-home kids. I sent them over there with Jude. I’m sure they appreciate them.”

  “They’d better,” Georgia mutters.

  “Yeah,” Suresh says. “After what they did to our bench.”

  My face burns. Many of the students are nodding. It’s time for me to address this.

  I take a deep breath. “We need to talk about the bench,” I say. “I get that everyone is upset. I’m really sad too for our friends at the seniors’ home. Maybe we can talk about launching another fundraiser for a new—”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” Tassie interrupts. “I don’t have the heart to do more bake sales and bottle drives.”

  “Me either,” Eliza says. “And I don’t care what Ms. Chen said at the assembly. I think we all know who wrecked our bench.”

  “Absolutely,” Suresh says. “None of this stuff was happening until the group home went in.”

  It suddenly feels like someone cranked up the heat in the room. I’m fighting to keep my voice even.

  “Look,” I say. “We don’t have to decide right now about fundraising for another bench. We can talk about it again after the shock has worn off. When we can look at it more objectively.”

  “Objectively?” Georgia’s hands wave through the air as she speaks. “There’s nothing to be objective about.”

  “Exactly,” Suresh says. “The bench that we worked so hard for was ruined.”

  “It was stupid and senseless,” Eliza says. “The seniors need that bench.”

  “I agree. I’m just saying—”

  “I think what you’re saying,” Suresh says, “is that you’re too busy welcoming the group-home kids to our school to notice the obvious problem.”

  I try to stay calm. “Like I said, I think it’s best if we wait and talk about the bench after everyone has cooled down.”

  Whenever I look at anyone, they immediately look away. It’s clear they don’t want to listen to what I have to say. And it’s clear that everyone is questioning my leadership of the Unity Club.

  But then I notice there is one person who doesn’t look away when my eyes land on him. Surprisingly, that person is Kaden.

  Since no one is talking, I speak up again. “I guess we’ll wrap up the meeting early today. And I think we need to remember what Ms. Chen said about not pointing fingers at anyone.” I take another deep breath. “Let’s remember too that the Unity Club made an official decision to welcome the new students from the group home. It’s still up to us to set an example for everyone else.”

  I stand up to indicate the meeting has ended. I usually hang around after the meetings in case anyone wants to chat. But today I’m the first to leave.

  I’m almost out the door when Justine speaks up. “That official decision she’s talking about? I think it has more to do with a certain guy she likes than anything else.”

  “Yeah,” Suresh says. “Our president definitely has a crush on Jude.”

  I realize there’s some truth to this. I do like Jude. He’s fun and he’s cute. But the club decided to support the group home before I’d even met Jude. So those comments are unfair too.

  Suddenly I can’t get out of the school fast enough.

  Chapter Eleven

  The kitchen smells like chimichurri sauce when I get home from school. We ate it in our chicken-and-rice concoction the past two nights. Sure enough, the saucepan with the bright-green sauce is still soaking in the sink. Neither Papa nor I had time to wash it last night.

  I’m starting to chop our usual veggies and chicken when I realize I can’t do it. I can’t eat another one of those dinners.

  I rummage through the fridge. I pull out the eggs and milk, and I check the crisper for vegetables. Red peppers, onions and some tired-looking spinach from the salad we never got around to making. I find a frozen pie shell at the back of the freezer. Maman would have no problem turning this into something fantastic. Probably one of her amazing quiches. Tonight, I decide, I’m going to do the same. Or at least I’m going to try.

  I search online for recipes. Some of them have ingredients similar to what we have on hand. I choose one and start prepping. I add extra red peppers and spinach to make up for the asparagus it calls for. I grate cheddar cheese because we don’t have any Swiss.

  It takes me forever because I have to keep checking the recipe on my phone. That makes it harder to avoid my mom’s texts. Since Maman has quiche down to a fine art, I could just ask her how to do this. But there’s no way I’m letting her know that I need her or her help.

  I fish the last of the eggshells out of the bowl. Then I beat the eggs and pour them into the pie shell. I pop the whole jiggly mess into the oven and cross my fingers. I’ve just finished cleaning up when Papa comes in.

  “Bonjour, chérie,” he says. “Something smells good!”

  “Bonjour, Papa. I didn’t hear you pull up.”

  “I’m not surprised,” he says, peering into the oven. “Because you’ve been busy cooking—”

  “Quiche,” I say. “At least, I hope it’s going to be quiche. I thought it was time for a change.”

  “I see,” Papa says with a smile. “Did you phone your mom for the recipe?” He sounds hopeful.

  “Non! I pulled up a recipe on the Internet.”

  My phone vibrates on the counter just as the oven timer goes off. My dad can see it’s a text from Maman.

  “Aren’t you going to answer that?” he asks.

  “Pas maintenant,” I say. Not now.

  Papa sighs and runs his hand across his face.

  “Long day?” I ask.

  “Oui. And I have to go back to the office again tonight. I just came home to see you and to eat a quick dinner. Sorry, chérie.”


  “That’s okay,” I say. “I have lots of homework tonight anyway.”

  Papa plops down onto one of the kitchen chairs. I put the quiche on the table and slice into it. It seems kind of rubbery, but it smells fantastic. I load up our plates.

  “So, tell me what you’ve been up to,” Papa says.

  I take a few bites. Then I tell him everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.

  “And now,” I finish, “everyone in the Unity Club thinks they know who’s responsible for the bench and for the other damage around the neighborhood. They think it’s the people living in the group home. Even though they don’t have any proof.”

  We both are quiet for a bit.

  “What about you?” I ask. “Have you heard anything?”

  “Oui,” Papa says. “I’m hearing the same. Many people think the kids from the group home are causing the problems.”

  I slam my fork down onto the table. “Everyone is so quick to blame them,” I say. “But nobody knows for sure.”

  Papa keeps eating his quiche, not saying anything.

  “I mean, I know it looks bad,” I say. “Many of the problems started after the group home went in. But even the people who supported the group home in the beginning are turning on them.”

  I don’t mention that even my best friends—actually, my former best friends—are doing that. Papa still doesn’t say anything.

  “These are people who would normally be in favor of a group home for teenagers,” I say. “As long as—”

  “As long as it was not right in their backyard.” Papa runs his hand through his hair so many times that it sticks up. “There are no easy answers, Brett. Those teenagers need to live somewhere. I just hope this is the right place for them.”

  “What do you mean?” After what happened with the Unity Club members, Papa’s words have me bristling with anger. “Why wouldn’t it be the right place for them?”

  “I don’t know how the group home is being run,” Papa says. “Or whether the teens living there are the ones who are best suited to it. Je ne sais pas.”

  “I don’t know either,” I say. “But I think people need to be kinder and more open-minded.”

  Papa nods and finishes his dinner. “Brett, that was delicious. Merci.” He puts his plate and cutlery into the dishwasher. “It was at least as good as your mom’s.”

  “That’s maybe pushing it,” I say. “But yeah, it was pretty good.”

  Papa smiles and plants a kiss on the top of my head. “Are you okay if I head back to the office now? I’ll try not to be too late.”

  “Okay, Papa.”

  While I finish my last few bites, I scroll through the texts from my mom. Her new job, her new co-workers, her plans for the weekend with Zoltan. Nothing I want to hear about.

  I pull out my homework and sigh. After the day I’ve had, I don’t really want to talk to anyone. But I also don’t want to be alone.

  I pack up my things, layer up and hurry outside into the cold.

  Chapter Twelve

  I’ve got my homework spread across a table at Beans Bistro, and I’m sipping my hot chocolate. The conversation between two women at the next table is making me wish I’d stayed at home.

  “All this vandalism around town—it wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for that group home.”

  “They should just shut it down, if you ask me.”

  Except that nobody asked you. Jeez, can’t people find something else to talk about? I’m relieved when the women finish their coffee and leave.

  I turn back to the lab report I have to finish. I’m nearly done when Jude walks in. He’s with the same guy I saw him with here last time.

  Jude waves as he walks by. I notice he’s wearing the cable scarf again. I think back to how mean everyone was at the last meeting and their comments about Jude. I’m sure glad I didn’t tell anyone about the special scarf I added to the box.

  I’m closing my binder when the older boy walks out of the coffee shop. Instead of leaving with him, Jude comes over to my table.

  “Don’t tell me,” he says. “You’re doing your science, right?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Did you get yours done?”

  “Not yet,” he says. “But I don’t have that class tomorrow. I still have time.”

  He stands there shuffling his feet.

  “Do you want to sit down?”

  “Sure.” Jude swings into the chair across from me. “This is a good place,” he says. “I like it here.”

  “Me too,” I say. “We’re lucky to have this coffee shop right in the neighborhood.”

  “So have you always lived in Edmonton?” he asks.

  “Yes. And I remember you saying you were born in Haiti. What was it like there?”

  “I don’t remember much about it,” he replies. “I was pretty young when we moved to Canada. My parents loved Haiti. But natural disasters kept happening. Massive earthquakes. Flooding. My folks finally decided we had to leave.”

  “That must have been really hard for them,” I say.

  Jude doesn’t say anything. It starts to feel a little too quiet at our table, so I start telling Jude about my family.

  “It’s just me and my dad at my place,” I say. “I’m an only child, and my parents got divorced a few years ago. My mom moved to Winnipeg a while back. She wanted to be closer to her new boyfriend.”

  I don’t realize there’s an edge in my voice until Jude speaks up. “So I’m guessing you don’t like him very much.”

  “I’ve never met the guy,” I say. “But—”

  Jude’s phone vibrates. He looks at it, then jumps up from the table.

  “Sorry,” he says. “I need to go.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  But he dashes from the coffee shop without another word. I don’t think he even heard me.

  I pack up my homework and pull on my coat. I think about our conversation as I head back out into the cold. I probably shouldn’t have complained to Jude about my mom. His situation is probably way worse than mine. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be living in a group home. Still, he was easy to talk to. And he seemed to really listen to me. At least until that text came through.

  An ambulance zips by, its siren blaring.

  “Oh no!” I cry as I see it stop in front of the seniors’ home.

  I start running.

  A few of the residents from the seniors’ home braved the cold to get out for an evening walk. They are hovering between the sidewalk and the entrance. I weave through them to try to find out what is happening.

  As I get closer, I see someone lying crumpled on the ground. I watch the ambulance attendants lift the person onto a stretcher. I can see in the light from the streetlamp that it’s an elderly woman. A third paramedic is talking to an aide from the seniors’ home.

  “My shift was over, and I was just leaving.” The aide wipes away tears. “When I came outside, there she was, lying on the ground.”

  “Was anyone here with her?” the attendant asks.

  “I don’t think so.” She shakes her head. “Some teenagers were across the street, but I didn’t really pay any attention to them. I was too worried about getting her in out of the cold.” The aide wrings her hands. “But I was afraid to move her in case she’d broken something. I phoned the ambulance right away.”

  As the other two attendants lift the stretcher into the back of the ambulance, I get a glimpse of the woman’s face. It’s Mrs. Rashid! Her eyes are closed, and her features are pinched.

  Oh no, oh no, oh no! Mrs. Rashid was already weak from the flu. And now this?

  As the ambulance pulls away, people start to leave. But I can’t move. I don’t know how long I stand there before I realize I’m shivering. The chill starts somewhere in my boots and works its way up. I can’t stop my teeth from chattering.

  I cross my arms against my chest and start walking home. I’m at the far end of the seniors’ home when something in the snow catches my eye.


  As I get closer, I see a scarf—with a cable pattern running through it. My blood runs even colder. Why is Jude’s scarf here?

  I snap it up and hurry home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I hardly sleep that night. I keep thinking about Mrs. Rashid. I feel sick when I picture how frail and broken she looked.

  In the morning, I haul myself out of bed and check my phone. There’s still nothing from Amira. But, of course, my mom has sent me a bunch of texts. About Zoltan’s kids not accepting her and being difficult when she’s around. How she’s thinking about getting her own apartment in Winnipeg.

  If she expects any sympathy from me, she can forget it. Plus, I have other things on my mind. Like, how my dad learned from a friend in the neighborhood last night that Mrs. Rashid broke her hip. She’s going to need surgery. What if—

  No, I can’t even finish that thought. I hurry to get ready, then head off for school. Soon that feels like a mistake. The moment I step inside the school, I can tell word has gotten around about Mrs. Rashid’s fall. I look for Jude, but there’s no sign of him today. Or any of the other kids from the group home. After what happened last night, their absence doesn’t look good at all.

  Wow. I realize I’m starting to think like everybody else. Maybe there’s a perfectly good reason why they’re not here. Maybe they decided there was no point coming to school, since everyone thinks they’re guilty anyway. I would have trouble showing up if it were me.

  I’m trying not to jump to conclusions, but I’m furious at all of them. At Jude especially. Until now I never doubted myself when I said the Unity Club needed to welcome the teens from the group home. But after what happened to Mrs. Rashid, I wonder if maybe I was wrong. Maybe the scarf stuffed into the bottom of my backpack is proof. All I know is, I need some answers.

  By the end of the day, I’m so stressed that I can’t wait to leave school. I just need to get away from it all. Then I remember that the Unity Club has a meeting. Amira still isn’t talking to me or I’d send her a message saying I can’t make it. That I have an appointment or something. But since that’s not an option, I head to the drama room to deliver the message myself.