“Keep your eyes closed,” Dr. Hutt says. Well, he nearly has to shout it.
Even over the music, I can hear the chesterfield creak. He’s standing up. The urge to open my eyes is overwhelming, but I keep them shut. I feel the floorboard shift a bit under my feet, and I know that he’s walking across the room to where he left his bag when he came into the living room. I can’t hear what he’s doing though—
I’m moving before I even think about it, backwards, over the back of the chair. Mercifully, it’s heavy, so I don’t tip it over. My eyes are open by the time my feet hit the floor, and I see that Dr. Hutt has a bottle of what I assume must be pine-scented furniture cleaner, though God only knows where he found it. My breath comes fast and my heart is pounding and I don’t have an escape route from this room because this room is supposed to be safe, and Dr. Hutt just stands there, looking at me.
“Turn it off,” I shout. I don’t know if I mean the music, which is possible, or the smell, which is not. “Turn it off!”
He does, thank goodness, and once the sound is gone the smell doesn’t seem so bad.
“Well?” he says, absurdly calm as he sits back down. “Anything that time?”
I come around the chair and sit down again, putting my head between my knees until my heart rate goes down.
“I think I hate you,” I say.
“Even after all the calculus help I’ve given you?” he asks. His tone is mild and neutral, but I’m pretty sure if I tried to punch him in the face, he’d be able to stop me.
“Shut up,” I say. “And no, I didn’t remember anything.”
“That was a pretty big reaction for someone who doesn’t remember anything,” he points out.
I wish I could open a window and get out of the smell, but since it has decided to be winter, I can’t. “I didn’t remember anything useful. Just a feeling.”
“Tell me,” he says. “I’ll decide if it’s useful.”
“It’s the same feeling I had at the dance,” I explain. “I remember that that was the song that was playing. I remember that the air smelled like pine trees. I just don’t remember anything about who I was with.”
“So you’re not remembering what happened, but you’re starting to remember that it happened at all?” he offers, and I realize that this is exactly what I am doing.
“That’s a step, right?” I say. “I mean, it’s a good step.”
“Yes,” he says. “Assuming you wanted to remember.”
“I don’t, really,” I say. “I mean, I can live without knowing the details, but at least this might help me with the whole afraid-of-lost-time-and-waking-up thing.”
“I imagine it will,” he says. “Do you want to try again?”
“No,” I say. “I think that’s enough for today.”
“We’ll just keep it for later, then,” he says. Then he looks at me rather directly. “So, aside from the near flashback, how was the dance?”
“Amy and Polly seem to be working it out,” I say. “Which is excellent. And Mallory took one for the team and danced with Leo so we wouldn’t both end up at the punch bowl at the same time.”
“Did you dance with anyone?” he asks.
“No,” I say. “Well, not slow dancing. There was group dancing until the song that triggered my memory. We left after that.”
“But it was fun?” he asks. “Not awkward or anything?”
“Sheesh,” I say, “I didn’t even get this degree of questioning from my mother.”
“Your mother doesn’t have extensive training in which questions to ask,” Dr. Hutt points out. “Look, I realize this sounds like it’s about to turn into dating advice, but the fact that you can continue to have close friendships without completely redefining them in light of what happened is a very good thing. I want to make sure you keep on this track.”
“That makes two of us,” I admit.
“Good,” he says. “So tell me what else happened at the dance.”
Dammit, how does he always know?
“When I freaked out,” I say, and he grimaces, so I correct myself, “when I started to have my panic attack, one of the guys on the team, Dion, he came over to where I was. There was kind of a crowd and I couldn’t get free of it, and I’d spilled my punch everywhere, and he just picked me up and carried me over to the bleachers.”
“And that made you panic even more?” he asks. “Being manhandled.”
“No,” I say. “The opposite. It was, and I realize this sounds stupid, but it was nice. Not scary. Not exciting. Just . . . nice.”
“People don’t touch you very much anymore, do they? Outside of your little pep squad practices, I mean.”
Two check marks. He’s probably making up for the fact that he’ll lose some opportunities to insult me over Christmas break.
“No,” I say. I’ve noticed it before now, but it’s the first time I’ve heard the thought put to words. Before I was raped, there were hands on shoulders and impromptu hugs. There was polite hassling in the hallways. Now it’s only during practice, always professional, except at the dance, and look how that had ended. “I mean, Polly does, and my mum and dad have started hugging me regularly again, but not like before.”
“It’s likely that you miss it,” Dr. Hutt says. “Even though you fear it. Both are natural. When Dion picked you up, you just had an internal fight with yourself and reason won. That is excellent news, when you think about it.”
I am thinking about it, even more than I was after the dance, when I promised myself I wouldn’t. Dr. Hutt is being a lot more clinical than I had been, which is both good and bad. I mean, I want my feelings to be real, but I also don’t really want to have those feelings in the first place.
“Do you think I should?” I ask.
“Think about it?” he asks. “Touch people? Date again? Be more specific.”
“I . . . ,” I start, but then falter. I don’t know.
“Look, Hermione,” he says, after a sigh, “I’m really not a dating advisor. You have to make that call yourself, and then I help you with whatever fallout comes your way. I also can’t tell other people how to act around you. But clearly you should think about it, because you already are. Just let me know what you decide, because I’ll be able to add it to your profile.”
“Are you going to write a book about me someday?” I ask suspiciously.
“Heck no,” he says. “When you and I are finished, I am going fishing in the Muskokas and I am probably never coming back.”
“Thanks,” I say. He laughs, and I feel the need to explain. “No, really. I mean it. I’m glad that I’m not that special case that’s going to make your career. I’m really sick of that.”
“I know, Hermione,” he says. “That’s one of the reasons my rates for this job are so low.”
“Any plans for Christmas?” I ask.
“Not really,” he says. “Family stuff. You?”
“Cheerleading,” I say. “It never stops.”
“If you say so,” he says. “But in any case, I’ll be back in January, and you’ll be able to pass your calculus finals with flying colours. Of course, that means we’ll have to come up with something to talk about during your second semester.”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m taking drama. You can help me run lines or something.”
For the first time, I think I’ve managed to unsettle him. It’s totally worth it.
CHAPTER 25
IT’S FEBRUARY BEFORE I KNOW it, thanks to Christmas and final exams, both of which are so busy that everyone forgets to treat me like I am special or different or new. There’s a brief moment of awkwardness at the alumni game just before New Year’s when I overhear one of the former basketball players ask which one of the cheerleaders is “that raped girl.” Mallory happens to be standing close enough by, and her facial expression gives me away. People st
are at me for the rest of the game, but aside from that, everything is fine. We’re practicing for the school tours now, and then it will be time to rev up for provincials and, if everything goes to plan, nationals.
I start to talk to my parents more, especially after I catch my dad researching e-learning programs on his laptop one evening.
“You want me to get a university degree in my bedroom?” I snap and immediately regret my tone. I’ve given remarkably little thought to what my parents’ ten-hour flight home from Europe must have been like, but I get an idea from my father’s guilty, pained expression.
So we talk about university applications, and I explain that my goals and dreams haven’t changed. We weigh distance and reputation, and pick the schools with the three best programs. I do my best to explain why I’m not a basket case. I know they appreciate it, because Dad starts being available for church on more Sundays, and Mum stops affecting a cheerfully bright smile every time she asks how my day at school was. Dad has something optimistic to pray for again, and Mum knows that I’m not just putting up a front. They didn’t ask for this new daughter any more than I asked to be new, but we’re making it work, and in the process we’re finding out that none of the important things have changed despite all the brokenness.
I start to spend more time with Mallory and the other grade twelve cheerleaders and less time specifically with Polly. I think it’s good for both of us. I know she’s always going to be my best friend, and I hers, but we’re going to different universities for sure, so her relationship with Amy is almost like practice for when we don’t live in the same area code anymore. Amy is scrupulous about including me when she comes to town, and I’ve never felt awkward or like a third wheel. But I’m not there when Polly comes out to her parents. That hurts a bit, but I know what it’s like to have to do something alone, so I can’t really hold a grudge. She still calls me almost every night before we go to bed, and she’s still the first person to rise to my defense when I need it. We’re just learning how to be ourselves in the meantime. I knew before I was raped that this year would be the end of something. I just thought I’d be able to control the ending.
I have no idea what to do about Dion. I can’t avoid him because he is on the team. During practice, he is completely professional. He does the lifts and holds, and he doesn’t linger. But outside of practice, I have noticed a change. He is always there, somehow, smiling and never coming close enough to touch me, but always there. I think I could deal with it if he asked me to the movies, or something. If he put his arm around my shoulder in the cafeteria. I imagine what everyone else would do. Polly might kill him on the spot. Leo would glare, but Leo always does now, whenever anyone is nice to me. Tig would laugh and say something inappropriately suggestive about cradle snatching, and Mallory would do her best to pretend like nothing was happening.
The week before the winter formal, I am putting away the mats after morning practice. I do this by myself now, because I have a spare first thing in the morning. I can shower last, even wait for the hot water to come back on, and it won’t make a difference. When Dion comes over to help me, I know exactly where it’s going to go, except I have no idea what I am going to do when we get there. I need to get used to that feeling now, I guess.
“Hey, Hermione,” he says. At least he’s calm. If he were nervous, I’d probably run away. I can handle this as long as one of us stays levelheaded about it.
“Hi, Dion.” My voice doesn’t crack. Excellent.
I can see him thinking, considering his options. Do we talk about hockey or the routine we just practiced? The weather? His face shifts, and I know he’s decided to dispense with all of that, and just go for it.
“Winter formal is next week. Would you like to go with me?” He says it gently, to take the edge off in case I am surprised, but I am not surprised. I still have no idea what I am going to say, though, so I pretend to be struggling with the mats. This backfires hugely, of course, because Dion is a gentleman and comes over to help.
“I’d love to,” I say. I brace for the wave of panic, the lack of surety, but it doesn’t come. I do want to go to the dance, after all. I have a dress and everything.
“Awesome,” he says, and smiles. I see some nerves around the edges of his smile, but he’s happy. I haven’t just smoothed over awkwardness or avoided a scene; I have made him truly happy. I don’t know the last time I’ve done that. “What colour is your dress?”
“Dark purple,” I say quickly, thinking this will make my mother happy too. “But not quite eggplant.”
He nods. He means to do this all the way. He will pick me up, and probably there will be flowers and pictures.
He still hasn’t touched me. He’s done all this, and he’s not even sure I’ll dance with him. I didn’t dance with anyone at Halloween, after all, and outside of cheerleading, I haven’t danced with anyone since camp.
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll get the tickets. Can I pick you up at eight?”
The dance starts at eight. We’ll be late, and therefore not make an entrance. I’m okay with that. I let out a breath I didn’t even know I had been holding and turn back to the mats. I make him happy. And he hasn’t broken me. This is going to work.
Which is exactly when I know it won’t. Or, at least it won’t work nicely. I drop the last mat on the pile, and turn to face him.
“Dion, wait,” I say.
He meets my eyes around, and I can tell he already knows. This has probably been the shortest relationship of all time. I am an awful person.
“I can’t,” I tell him. “I mean, I can. And I want to. But it’s for all the wrong reasons. I don’t want a boyfriend, and I am certainly not in a place where I can be anyone’s girlfriend right now. I just—I just want—”
“You wanted to see if you can still go into a dark room with a boy,” he says. “I get that. I think it’s normal. Or, at least healthy.”
“I don’t want to use you,” I say. “It wouldn’t be fair.”
“Thanks,” he says. “For being upfront. I’m glad to know I don’t scare you. That would suck.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. I am probably going to say it a million times.
“It’s fine,” he says again. “Will you dance with me, though?”
“I dance with you all the time,” I joke, but it falls flat because we both know what I mean.
He is standing very close. Very close. I can feel his breath in my hair, against my ear. I am not having a panic attack. That’s good. Of course, it’s also exactly why I had to say no. I can’t be this clinical. It’s not fair. But he’s not moving away.
“Just once,” he whispers, and somehow it’s a question. A choice I get to make. I love him, just a little bit, for giving me a choice. And that’s when I realize what I’m afraid of. I’m not afraid I’ll use him. I’m afraid I’ll fall in love with the first person who is nice to me, just because they’re nice. Thank goodness I’m not Polly’s type. “Just once.”
“Yes, please,” I whisper back. I’m shaking. I don’t want to spook him, but I can’t stop. I think he’s shaking too, though, because he doesn’t notice.
He kisses me. Not like I’ll break, but not forcefully either. His mouth is warm, and he has kissed someone else before, because he’s not completely hopeless. One hand is on my hip and the other is on my neck, tangling in my ponytail. He is showered, and I still smell like practice, but apparently he doesn’t care. He doesn’t kiss me like I’m the girl he’s trying not to scare or the girl he’s trying to impress. It’s just honest. Simple. Lacking in flash. Goddamn it, why must this be so nice?
When he pulls back, I’m breathing a bit harder than I should be. There wasn’t a lot of heat in the kiss, and I’m not panicking, but I can feel the surge coming up behind me.
“I need you to understand,” I say, holding steady. “That what is about to happen has nothing to do with you.”
I really, really need him to understand. Because someday I might want him to kiss me like that again.
“I get it,” he says. “Normal and healthy, remember?”
“Great,” I say.
Then I turn and run into the girls’ change room. Everyone else is gone, because the bell is about to ring. I get into the shower and stay there, long past the five minutes we’re supposed to aim for when using the school showers. The water gets colder and colder, and I don’t get out. I’m not numb. I can feel every drop of it, every icicle coming down into my hair and onto my skin. It takes away the sweat of practice, the dust from the mats, and the ache from having Polly stand on my shoulder while we practiced holds. It’s not taking memories or feelings or thoughts. I am standing in the shower, and the only thing going down the drain is water.
He’d kissed me. I just stood there, but I let him kiss me. And I’m not broken. I’m not freaking out, much. I’m not crying or throwing up or using the emergency number Dr. Hutt gave me in case I have a flashback.
He’d kissed me, and I can feel the water. I feel like I am alive.
CHAPTER 26
SO, HERMIONE,” ASKS THE NEWSPAPER reporter. “What has been the best thing about cheerleading at Palermo Heights?”
“My team, for sure,” I say, nodding sagely like I know what I’m talking about. Every year, right before the provincial finals, there’s a profile in our local newspaper about the cheerleaders, and as co-captain, I am being interviewed for it. It’s a sort of bookend for the speech at the campfire, only less sincere, because the reporter has already decided what kind of story she is going to write. If we want a different one, we’re going to have to work for it, and Polly and I had decided it wasn’t really worth the effort. Instead, we give exactly the answers we’re expected to. “A lot of cheerleading is about teamwork, literally trusting someone to be there to catch you when you’re falling, and I couldn’t ask for a better team than the one we’ve got.”
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