Exit, Pursued by a Bear

by E. K. Johnston

  “You’ve been off the internet for about a month now, right?” Polly says.

  “Two months, counting camp, actually,” I correct her. “Why?”

  “Well, if you were on Facebook, Amy would have added you, and you would have seen all the conversations we’ve been having since camp.”

  “Polly, use your damn words,” I say. “You are so much better at being straightforward than this!”

  “We’re dating,” she blurts. “We’ve been doing the long-distance thing since camp, mostly, though I went to see her over Thanksgiving. She lives close to Nana, so I just ditched kitchen cleanup after dinner. And I didn’t want you to feel like you’re being passed over as a best friend, because you ARE my best friend. Amy’s just . . .”

  She trails off, but I’m not listening. I can only think of two things. The first is that my best friend is a lesbian and I was too self-involved to notice. The second is how I have let her touch me, all this time, when she has been keeping secrets. It’s selfish. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done in my whole life, but I can’t help it. I leave her there, standing in my room, and run into the bathroom and lock the door. And then, even though I promised myself I wouldn’t, I vomit all over the floor.

  CHAPTER 21

  POLLY PRETTY MUCH ALWAYS HAS a hairpin, so she gets the door open in no time and finds me already cleaning up the floor.

  “So, I’m good at keeping secrets, then?” she says, sitting down on the edge of the tub.

  “You are,” I say. “And please understand that all this isn’t a reaction to you dating a girl. It’s a reaction to me being kind of crazy sometimes. I have a therapist and everything.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” she says. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re not my type.”

  “You have a type?” I ask, without really thinking about it.

  “What, and you don’t?” She laughs, and I feel like the world is spinning at the right speed again.

  “I thought Leo was my type,” I tell her. “Look how well that turned out.”

  “You and Leo always seemed . . . I don’t know, arranged.”

  I snort at that, and she smiles. It’s nice to know we can talk like this and I don’t have to fly apart.

  “All the pieces seemed to fit,” I admit. “I thought we’d at least make it to the end of high school.”

  “Leo thought it was going to be you and him forever,” Polly points out, “which was a large part of your problem.”

  I nod, and lean my head against her knee. We’re quiet for a while and it’s good.

  “When did you know you were into boys?” Polly finally asks. I don’t answer. Mostly because I’m still not sure. “I just assumed all the boys I knew were idiots,” she tells me. “Then I met Amy.”

  “Have you told your parents?” I ask. This is important because my mother will have heard the ruckus I just caused, and will ask questions over dinner, and will probably call Polly’s mother to congratulate her on raising a liberal, healthy, and well-adjusted daughter as soon as Polly is out the door.

  “No,” she says. “If I tell them before Amy comes to visit, they’ll be really awkward, and I don’t want that.”

  “Plus,” I add, feeling like my old gossipy self for the first time in a while, “if you tell them, they won’t let you share a room!”

  Polly starts to giggle hysterically, gripping the side of the tub, and if it weren’t for the smell of vomit, it would be like old times; the two of us hanging out, painting toenails or trying new hairstyles. There’s a polite knock on the door.

  “You two okay in there?” says my dad. I wonder whether he and Mum did paper, scissors, rock, or if he was just closer.

  “I’m fine, thanks, Mr. Winters,” Polly says. “Just a weird reaction to what Officer Plummer said.”

  “Will you be okay for dinner?” he asks.

  “Oh yeah,” Polly says. “I’m fine now. We’re all fine. How are you?”

  “Really?” I whisper.

  “Hey, he had bad news too!” she whispers back. Dad can clearly hear us both, though, because he’s laughing.

  “We’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes,” he says. “I’ll give a yell.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I reply. I dispose of the paper towels and wash my hands, splashing water on my face and gargling for good measure.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Polly says as we head back to my room. “The right moment never came up, and I didn’t want to throw something else at you when you needed me.”

  “This is part of you. And I’m not annoyed or anything that you didn’t tell me. I’ve been a pretty lousy friend lately, in terms of reciprocation.”

  “We’re fine,” Polly says as she sits down on the edge of my bed. “I just . . . I was afraid you’d be afraid of me. I know you’re not afraid of the boys, not really, but you’re cautious. It would kill me if you were cautious.”

  “I promise you can still sleep in my bed when we have sleepovers,” I say, running a hand over the old comforter. “If you like, I’ll even tell Amy that you don’t hog the covers. Put in a good word and all that.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Polly says, turning bright red. “I haven’t decided what we’re doing about sleeping arrangements yet. I just don’t want Mum and Dad to step in.”

  “I totally get that.” Leo and I hadn’t done much in the way of fooling around, but I was still annoyed at the shift in my parents’ behaviour towards him when he went from being teammate to boyfriend. It’s not like I had changed on some fundamental level. “But tell me how it goes.”

  Polly turns red again. I start to laugh, but I remember.

  “Don’t you dare,” she says, perceptive as ever. “It’s not the same and it doesn’t count as your first time. You have to at least be conscious for it to count.”

  “There are rules?” I ask.

  “Of course.” She looks away, fiddling with one of the throw pillows on my bed. “I, um, may have looked some of them up when I was wondering if having sex with another girl would mean I wasn’t a virgin anymore.”

  “There is nobody else like you.” And thank goodness. I’m not sure I could deal with it.

  We’re both ensconced on the bed now, leaning back against the pillows. It’s a good feeling—close and familiar. I’m kind of glad that someone in my life has made a profound discovery about herself that doesn’t relate to me. That’s also a good feeling after so much of the other.

  “So how close are you planning to keep this?” I ask. Polly is pretty much made of Teflon popularity-wise, and I’m pretty sure no one on the team would care.

  “I don’t want the team to think I lied to them or something stupid like that,” Polly says. My head is on her shoulder so I can’t see her face. “I mean, everyone is fine with Clarence, but he’s been out forever.”

  “Well, you know I’ll take it to my grave if you like,” I offer.

  “Thanks,” she says. “I’d like to keep it quiet to see how this thing with Amy goes. Then move on from there.”

  “Great,” I say. “I like having a plan.”

  Dad hollers up from downstairs, and we go down for dinner. Polly spins the story of how she was sick with anger, and neither of my parents doubts her. My aunt calls during dinner to report that the news said the OPP were out of leads, and my mother confirms it without too many details. My aunt has been very good about watching and reading the news so we don’t have to. They’ve kept the fact that it was fetal DNA out of the news, so even she doesn’t know what the secondary sample is; only that it failed.

  Mum hangs up while Polly and I clear the table. There will be more whispers at school, but after that everything will probably dry up again, unless I make a breakthrough that leads to hard evidence.

  “Shit,” I say, remembering my promise to Dr. Hutt. I check on my parents, who are migrat
ing towards the living room, and then lean over to Polly. Being close to her has always been the easiest part of my life. “So, I kind of promised my psychiatrist I would tell him the truth, which means theoretically I have to tell him about you. But he’s really good at the confidentiality thing. Except for the time he offered to profile Mrs. Abernathy for me, but that was mostly because he was annoyed.”

  “It’s okay,” Polly says. There is nothing insincere about her. This is the Polly I like best. “I trust your psychiatrist. I’m not sure it’s relevant, but whatever.”

  “Well, I’m supposed to tell him if Leo starts dating again.” It’s not easy to talk about Leo like he doesn’t mean anything, but I don’t feel quite so bad when I do it anymore. “So I think it would make sense for me to tell him that my best friend is interested in girls, and is dating the girl who blames herself for not staying close to me at the dance where I was raped.”

  “Okay, when you put it like that, yes,” Polly says. “Part of Amy’s thing afterwards was that she had been watching me dance, but we’ve worked on that, and I think she’s okay. If you’re okay.”

  “As you are so fond of telling me, it was nobody’s fault but the bastard who raped me,” I remind her.

  “I am very smart like that,” she says, and starts to fill the sink with hot water.

  —

  When I tell Dr. Hutt, he laughs for about fifteen minutes straight, tears and everything. It’s kind of annoying.

  “What, did you profile that too?” I ask.

  “Of course not,” he says. “Teenage girls are almost impossible to pin down like that, especially when they are friends like you and Miss Olivier. I’m just laughing because it’s so wonderfully real life, and I only ever get the soap opera.”

  “I’ll do better to keep you entertained,” I say. “And speaking of, we need to talk about ways for me to get my memories back.”

  “Because the DNA test didn’t work?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say. “And I thought you weren’t going to ask silly questions.”

  “It’s not a silly question,” he says. “For all I know, you had suddenly been overwhelmed with some kind of morbid curiosity.”

  “Not exactly,” I say. “And I’m not being pressured by the OPP either. Officer Plummer wants me to do it so she can catch the guy, but she’s not pushing me.”

  “That’s good to hear,” he says. He settles in his chair like he’s expecting to be filmed for a documentary about how annoying kids are these days. “I’ll tell you something, though. I’m not a huge fan of recovering memories. Many of my colleagues swear by hypnotherapy and cognitive interviews, but I feel there is too much room for leading the patient to answers in that. If you like, I can refer you to someone, but I think I’d prefer to keep treating you, and see if we can come up with a way to get your memories back without resulting to charlatanism.”

  “It always works on TV,” I say, as carelessly as I possibly can. I am going to find out what irritates this man if it kills me.

  “Exactly,” he says. “Look, you’re already starting to identify your triggers. You mentioned the scent of pine from when you were running. If you can follow that, naturally and at your own pace, I think it will be better in the long run. The case is time sensitive, of course, so if you haven’t recovered anything by, say, June, we’ll look at other methods, but I really think this way is better.”

  I nod. “I’m not exactly in a rush either. Knowing has its benefits, obviously, but not knowing is also . . . good. At least for now. It’s what I’ve learned to cope with, and I think I’m doing okay, so I don’t want to change everything up.”

  “Works for me,” he says. “And hey, you’re getting an A- in calculus. Is there anything else?”

  “Amy’s coming this weekend,” I say. “For the Halloween dance on Friday, and then to hang out until Sunday.”

  “Are you worried about being a third wheel?” Dr. Hutt asks. “Like you were at the Manitouwabing dance?”

  “Not like the dance, no,” I say. “That doesn’t really count as third wheeling. They were only just getting started. But maybe now, yes. I have no idea.”

  “Well, let me know how it goes,” he says. “What’s your costume?”

  “Crap,” I say, and he laughs again. I knew I had forgotten something.

  CHAPTER 22

  I DRESS UP AS A zombie. Polly is mortified, not because my costume is particularly scary but because I’ve picked the ugliest costume available. I think she’s mostly annoyed that she doesn’t get to do my hair.

  “Seriously,” she says, holding her nose while Amy sprays my wildly teased and deliberately messy hair. “Is this some weird sort of defense mechanism?”

  Amy is getting used to how upfront Polly is. It’s nice to see. She doesn’t flinch at all, just keeps spraying. I’ll probably have to avoid open flames for the next two weeks.

  “No,” I say. “It’s what I had handy.”

  “At least she’s not a zombie cheerleader,” Amy offers.

  “Thanks,” I say. If there’s a hierarchy to zombie costumes, I’m probably at the bottom of it. The clever and creative people go as zombie pirates or zombie nurses. I’m just a mess. It’s possible that someone will think I am dressed as a homeless person.

  “Are we fashionably late enough yet?” Amy asks. I think she’s nervous. Her costume doesn’t involve a mask, so the other cheerleaders will probably recognize her.

  “We will be once I finish my makeup,” I tell her.

  I break out the greens and browns, and set to discolouring my face.

  “Maybe you should have gone as Medusa,” Polly says. “That’s a hairstyle I could rock.”

  “Imagine how different your life would be if you could see the back of your own head,” I say.

  “I’ve given it some thought,” she replies. She’s dressed as the Queen of Hearts, not a princess, with an enormous crown and a ball gown recycled from some formal event her mother attended. She’s added an enormous starched collar to it, and a crinoline for volume. She’s striking, and every time Amy looks at her, she blushes. Fortunately the dance will be dark. And Polly will have a croquet mallet.

  Amy sits patiently on the bed. Polly had nixed the cat costume she’d brought from Mississauga, and instead Amy is dressed as a vampire, the traditional sort that’s all cape and fangs, not the sparkly sort that would require too much body glitter. Her hair curls much better than mine does, which mollified Polly a little bit, and is done up in a sweeping style that I fear will not survive shaking it like any kind of picture.

  “Are you sure about this?” Amy asks. “I mean, you’re really good under pressure, but I’m really not. What if someone finds out and it’s my fault? I’m totally fine with staying in, if you’d rather.”

  I feel very, very intrusive, but Polly sits down beside Amy and takes her hand like they’re the only two people in the room.

  “I am not afraid of them,” she says. It is absolutely the sweetest thing I have ever seen in my life that does not involve a puppy. “And I really want to go dancing.”

  “And, Hermione?” Amy says, looking up at me. “Are you okay?”

  “Totally,” I say. “I kind of miss dancing too, and if I do freak out, I want people I trust with me. That’s Polly and you.”

  “Thanks,” she says.

  “And if someone does figure it out and starts a rumour, we’ll just deal with it,” Polly says. “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger, and all that crap.”

  “Do you ever dream of the day when your life can no longer be adequately summarized by Kelly Clarkson songs?” I ask.

  “All the time,” Polly says. “Let’s go. We’re late enough to have missed the awkward openings. Hopefully there will be enough people now that it won’t feel completely ridiculous.”

  It’s pretty ridiculous. They have dances in the gym
, because the cafeteria ceiling isn’t high enough for the music rental place to hang its spotlights. The gym is way too big, both to decorate effectively and for the number of kids who show up. They do turn off the lights and let the rental company take care of everything, so at least it’s not lit like a grocery store. Still, it’s pretty hard to ignore the basketball nets and the tape on the floor from where Caledon has marked out our cheer routines.

  In spite of that, though, we have fun. The Halloween dance usually has a pretty good turnout, because kids our age don’t get too many chances to dress up otherwise. The front foyer is covered in black and orange crepe paper, and there are jack-o’-lanterns placed around the gym doors, because Mallory’s dad is always happy to donate stuff like that to the school. Mallory is waiting for us in the foyer, along with Karen and Brenda. Chelsea is at her dad’s for the weekend, or she’d be here too. When they see Amy, they practically mob her, shrieking hello at a pitch that has probably attracted the attention of any dog within ten kilometres, and hugging her all at the same time.

  “Hey!” says Polly. “Watch the hair!”

  “It’s fine, it’s fine,” says Karen. “I didn’t get this far in life not knowing how to hug someone with an updo.”

  Brenda links arms with me, which makes it look totally natural when Polly links arms with Amy, and we all go into the dance together. There’s the typical crowd of grade tens jumping up and down in the middle of the room, and a bunch of guys hanging out around the edge of the gym, leaning against the bleachers. Caledon and a couple of other teachers patrol the floor, though I’m pretty sure Caledon is less concerned with how close people are dancing than she is with people messing up her tape marks.

  Mallory totally tries to make a break for the edge, where she can watch and pretend she’s counting who’s here or something like that for the students’ council, but Polly is ready for that, and grabs her arm.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” she says, shouting because of the bass.

  Mallory grins, in spite of herself, and I relax completely. I’d been nervous, but this is how my life used to be, and I miss it. It’s nice to be back. I let Brenda pull me out onto the floor, and the six of us dance like no one is watching.