“But we always talk,” I said. “We’re talking right now.”
“This is different. We have to talk in private.”
“Well, this is private. Unless your mother’s listening in again. Hello, Mrs. Kincaid, isn’t it a lovely day out? Why, I’d say it’s just about perfect.”
“Cut it out, Leslie. I’m serious. We really have to talk. In person.”
My heart started thumping because Katie was sounding so weird. I imagined maybe she had some kind of terrible disease or her parents had been killed in a car crash. We decided to meet at two o’clock at my place, because my mom would be out doing groceries. After we hung up, I just sat there shaking, thinking of how I’d have to act brave and comfort her.
But when Katie arrived she didn’t look sick or anything. Just sort of fidgety. And she smiled a lot, really fake, and said, no, she was fine and her parents were fine and wasn’t spring break great and they should give a prize to whoever invented it.
“Cut the crap, Katie,” I said. “I’ve been worried sick all day. What’s the deal with this Having to Talk? In Person. In Private.”
“Well ...” She took a deep breath and started scrunching her knees and staring at the coffee table. “My mom ...”
“Yeah? Your mom what?”
“My mom thinks we shouldn’t spend so much time together.”
My stomach went hollow. “Why? Is she afraid we’re turning into lesbians or something?”
“No.”
“Well, so what if we were? Your mom is a bigot.”
“No, she isn’t.”
“Yes, she is.” I gulped for air. “She hates me.”
“She says we should expand our circle of friends.”
“Yeah, right. That’s just a nice way of saying, ‘I think you should stop seeing Leslie.’”
“It is not.”
“Besides, I don’t want to ‘expand my circle of friends.’ I want things the way they are.”
Katie started flapping her hands and looking at me all helpless like she always does when her mom means business.
“It’s not fair. First Dad runs out on me. And now you.”
“I’m not running out on you.”
“You are so.”
Suddenly I couldn’t take it anymore and started to sob. Without even thinking, Katie gave me a big hug and I hugged her back and we didn’t let go. When I settled down, she took my head in both hands and stared deep into my eyes. “Leslie,” she said, “you’re my best friend in the whole world. And you’ll always be my best friend. Cross my heart.”
Katie looked so serious and sweet I wanted to cry all over again. But instead I started to giggle. And then she started to giggle too. Before we knew it, we were both rolling around laughing and everything seemed okay again.
But Mrs. Kincaid meant business: Never trust a mother who smells like hair spray. Our first day back after the spring break, she had Katie hand out invitations to a sleepover. Naturally I got one too—Mrs. Kincaid was too smart to make Katie take me off the list. But it was all part of her master plan. Because instead of Katie and me doing something fun on our own, we’d be with a bunch of other girls. Other girls who hate me and make me feel left out.
Head of the Leaving-Me-Out Department is Ashley Walker. She goes to Katie’s church, and ever since that first sleepover she’s butted into our friendship. She makes Katie feel guilty if she doesn’t participate in their stupid youth group activities. So instead of doing stuff with me on the weekend, half the time Katie ends up being Ashley’s buddy at some charity car wash or geeky youth wiener roast.
Katie even made me come and hear her and Ashley the first time they performed in the church’s junior choir. I almost puked watching Ashley flounce around in her polyester choir robe, like she was a big deal or something.
Last summer was worst of all. Ashley got Katie to go with her to the church youth leadership training camp, so for two whole weeks I was stuck on my own. “You could’ve come,” Katie said. “The youth group’s always looking for new members.”
Yeah, right. New members who are nice and lovely and just about perfect.
God, I hate Ashley. I told Katie, but she said I shouldn’t be mean because Ashley has problems too.
“Like what?”
“Dermatitis.”
“Dermatitis?” I laughed. “You mean she’s all scaly.”
“Leslie, don’t make me choose sides.”
“Is that a warning?”
“Just don’t.” Katie turned on her heel and walked off. I felt lost. She never used to get mad at me. What happened?
Life doesn’t make sense. It’s against the law for somebody to steal your bike, but apparently it doesn’t matter if somebody tries to steal your best friend. Well, you can always get a new bike. But how do you replace a best friend?
Four
Today is Friday. At lunch I go into the cafeteria, and see Katie and Ashley A-hole with a bunch of other girls clumped by the window. Katie and I used to have lunch alone, only now her table’s turned into Girl Central. They’re always in a group, pointing and whispering and generally being embarrassing. Right now, they’re staring at the track.
“What’s the big deal?” I say.
“Leslie, look. By the goalposts,” squeals Katie. “He’s just transferred and his name is Jason McCready and he’s a senior and he has a motorcycle and ohmigod!” She sighs and does this fake fainting routine like I’m supposed to be impressed she’s got hormones.
When I look out, I see it’s him, the guy from the office. And come to think of it, he is pretty cute, slouched all alone against the goalpost, one knee slightly bent, hands in his back pockets, head back to catch some rays. He looks like an underwear model with clothes on.
“Oh, him,” I say casually, as I stuff my face with the last bit of my tuna sandwich. “We’ve already met.”
“No way.”
“Not my type,” I yawn, and I turn away like he’s the last thing on my mind.
“Liar,” Ashley sneers. “I’ll bet you’ve never even seen him before.”
“Oh, no? Well, I’ve not only seen him before, I’ve given him the finger.”
Katie gasps. “What did he do?” Her eyes are like pies.
“Nothing. He just smiled.”
Katie is in awe. “Smiled? You mean he likes you?”
The idea hadn’t crossed my mind, but I’m not going to say no and look stupid in front of Ashley. So instead, I check my nails. “Some of us have what it takes.”
“Liar,” Ashley sneers. “If you and Jason are such good friends, let’s see you go out and talk to him. He’ll tell you to get lost.”
I’m trapped. But I’m not going to let Ashley show me up.
“Candy from a baby,” I laugh, and I head out to the track, praying by the time I get there he’ll be gone.
He isn’t. When I get within range, I slow down. Stop. I can tell he knows someone’s there, but he keeps his eyes closed and lets the breeze play through his curly brown hair. His shirt’s hanging out and open, and under it he’s got on this incredibly tight T-shirt. Can I breathe?
I can feel the girls stare at me. There’s no turning back. “Hi. You must be Jason.”
A pause. “If you say so.” His eyes are still closed.
“We, uh, we met in the office.”
He opens his eyes. They are sooo blue. “Then you must be the principal.”
For a second, I don’t get it. “Uh ...” I want to run. But I’m frozen.
“Are those your friends?” He nods towards the caf.
The girls have their faces squashed against the window like they’re in kindergarten. They look demento, especially Katie, who’s waving her hand so fast I’m surprised it doesn’t fall off.
“Friends? I’ve never seen them before.”
He smiles. His teeth are whiter than white. “Come here.”
I take two baby steps, then toss my head and walk right up. Without warning, he puts his arm around me and gives me a kiss. And not just a
ny kiss. He actually slips me the tongue!
He smiles again. “Gotta go,” he says.
“Okay.” I feel sort of absentminded, like an amnesia patient in some Movie of the Week. My knees are wobbly. I try not to fall down.
“By the way, my name is Leslie,” I call after him.
“Right,” he says. He waves, real casual and slow, and keeps on walking. I turn to the cafeteria window and curtsy. Katie’s eyes are right out of their sockets. Ashley looks like she’s just had a heart attack.
And me? I’m in love!
Five
After school on Friday, I found his locker. On the first floor in the south wing. Number 1124. Just my luck. It’s miles away.
Spying on a guy’s locker is tricky, because if he finds out, for sure he’ll never want to see you again. But this morning I couldn’t help myself. All weekend I kept thinking if I wasn’t there when Jason arrived, he’d meet some other girl and it’d be all over.
I tried to blend into the walls, walking slowly up and down the corridor, pretending to read To Kill a Mocking-bird, then stopping for some water at the drinking fountain. Dumb or what? I looked like a browner and I had to pee all morning.
To make matters worse, Jason didn’t show. He’s not even here today. Maybe he’s had an accident. Maybe he’s switched schools. Or maybe I’m being stupid, which is probably more like it. I bet he’s just skipping, which is what I’d be doing if I wasn’t trying so hard to see him.
Jason, Jason, Jason. Love is a killer, especially if you can’t talk to anyone about it. Like, if I tell Katie how I feel, she’ll tell Ashley and Ashley’ll tell the world. As for Mom? Get real. When I’m suicidal she laughs it off as a “phase,” and when I’m happy she gets suspicious.
I’m extra obsessed on account of I wanted to see Jason after my shitty weekend. It was Dad’s turn to have me, only he was busy Saturday. Fine. He’s always busy Saturday, working overtime, he says, since Mom is out to nail him in the divorce. (Which she says is a lie, but that’s another story.)
To cut it short, Dad picks me up Sunday about two o’clock and tells me today is going to be special—there’s a surprise at his apartment. As we drive out to Oakville, I’m thinking, Great, he’s finally fixed his old DVD player so we can watch movies instead of being stuck staring at each other over buckets of cold Chinese takeout.
Well, the DVD player isn’t the surprise. When he opens the door, I see a couple of empty packing boxes in the hallway, and there’s this strange smell of air freshener. Then Dad calls out, “We’re home,” and all of a sudden she bounces in from the bedroom looking like a Colgate commercial.
Her name is Brenda. I know that without anyone saying, because Mom and Dad used to fight about her all the time before they split up. And now I get to see her, all cute and perky, this overgrown cheerleader out to make a good impression. “Hi,” she says, and out comes her hand like she actually expects me to shake it.
“This is the surprise?” I glare at Dad.
Brenda ignores what I think is a pretty obvious signal. “You must be Leslie,” she beams.
“And you must be the Bitch,” I reply.
Brenda looks like someone just slapped her—if only!—and Dad’s ears go red. As per usual, he knows he should say something but can’t figure out what, so he just sputters, “Leslie ...”
“No, Dave, it’s all right.” Brenda pats his arm. “I understand.”
Dad settles down and tries his fatherly bit. “Leslie, Brenda’s accepted my invitation to move in.”
I look at the boxes. I sniff the air. “No kidding.”
Now Dad puts his arm around her. My stomach’s dissolving.
As for Brenda, she’s from another planet. “I’d like to be your friend,” she bubbles.
I want to explode, but I don’t. Instead, I pin her with my eyes, smile and say in a sweet little voice: “Is that so? Well, if you’d like to be my friend, perhaps you could tell me why you broke up my family and ruined my life?”
“Leslie! You will apologize!” Dad shouts.
“Eat shit!”
Dad looks at Brenda like a deer caught in the headlights. “I’m sorry. I should have told her in the car.” The car? He should have told me in the car? Is this my father?
“Take me home! Now!”
I look out the window the whole way back. I don’t say a word. All those Saturdays he was so busy with “overtime.” What a joke.
Dad stops outside my apartment building. As I open the car door, he clears his throat. Here it comes.
“I’m very disappointed in you, Leslie.”
“Is that a fact.”
“You embarrassed me. And you embarrassed yourself.”
“Whatever.” I get out and head up the walk.
“Come back here, young lady! I’m not finished!”
“Oh yes, you are,” I think, and I run as fast as I can. I get to the elevator, shoot upstairs. No way he’ll follow me. He doesn’t have the guts.
“Back so early?” Mom asks. She tries to act casual, but I know she’s happy. She’s always happy when I come back early. It means I’m mad at Dad. Well, I’m mad at her too. I slam my door, hurl myself on the bed and sob.
There’s a little knock. “Honey?”
“Go away.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“That crying doesn’t sound like nothing.”
“Just leave me alone.”
Leave me alone. That’s not asking too much, is it? But does she? No! She opens the door! She starts to come in!
“Honey—”
“I ... SAID ... LEAVE ... ME ... ALONE!!!” And I throw my hairbrush at her. Why does she have to make everything so hard?
I hate this life.
And then I think of Jason. Beautiful, beautiful Jason with his deep blue eyes and curly brown hair. I picture us gunning down some deserted highway on his motorcycle, me holding on tight around his waist.
Who am I kidding? I’m in love with some guy who probably doesn’t even remember I exist.
Six
It’s only been a week since we started doing journals, but already a lot of the class have stopped writing. They say they wrote down everything about their life on day one. “But every day is a new adventure!” Ms. Graham exclaimed. Hello? Has she checked the mirror lately?
Anyway, for people with no ideas, she’s agreed to post a daily “Topic for Reflection.” Today’s topic is “What Makes Dreams Come True?” General groan, cuz guess what? They don’t. And when they do, you wish they hadn’t. Take Ms. Graham. If she ever dreamed of being a teacher, I’ll bet she’s been kicking herself all the way to her shrink’s ever since. And if she dreamed of being anything else, well, I rest my case.
All the same, lame or not, I’m going to write about it, just to stop thinking about You-Know-Who for two seconds. I mean my whole life is thinking about him, which is totally stupid and driving me crazy, but I can’t help it. I pretend he’s moved to Australia, only right away I imagine him in tight shorts and a cowboy hat hopping around on a kangaroo. Or I pretend he’s dead, only I imagine him in his coffin, all beautiful like he’s sleeping, and smelling of lilies. I picture myself kissing a rose and putting it over his heart, so that a little part of me will be with him forever. Sick or what?
Back to the topic. I only know three people who believe in dreams coming true: Mom, Katie and Walt Disney.
Mom says dreams have a catch, though. She says they only come true if you plan ahead and work hard to make them happen. This is why I’m supposed to buckle down and study, so that later on, when “opportunity knocks,” I’ll be able to answer the door. Not that planning ahead and working hard has done anything for her, other than getting her a divorce, a lousy apartment and temp work.
When I remind her of this, she tells me to stop being negative. She says I’m too young to be cynical. I say she’s too old not to be.
“But, honey, these are the best years of your life.”
; “Then shoot me.”
This gets her all teary. “Leslie, when you say things like that, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”
So now I’m supposed to feel guilty? No way. “If you’re thinking of crying, don’t.”
Mom apparently believes in the Magical Land of Happy Teenagers where nobody worries about pregnancy, AIDS, gangs or the future, and the most serious thing is a zit before the prom. In the Magical Land of Happy Teenagers there’s no STDs or overdoses, and everyone’s polite and helpful and smiles like an idiot.
Mom should be committed.
Katie also believes in dreams coming true. According to her, you don’t have to work for your dreams, you just have to pray for them. According to her, God answers her prayers all the time.
“Oh yeah?” I say. “Well, He didn’t give you that A you wanted in geography.”
“Only because I didn’t pray hard enough. But He gave me a C, and if I hadn’t prayed at all I would have failed.”
Katie also believes in God answering prayers because of her teeth. Since forever, she’d been praying for Him to fix her overbite. Finally, at the end of grade eight, her parents took her to an orthodontist, who gave her braces. She showed me this miracle the next morning before school.
“Katie,” I said, “are you trying to tell me God is a dentist?”
That made her really mad. She said if God was going to answer her prayers, it was mean for me to get picky about how He did it. In fact, it was a sin. I went to say something smart, but she put her hands over her ears and started to hum some hymn.
“Look, Katie, I believe in God,” I yelled, since it was the only thing I figured would shut her up. “I just think He’s got more on His mind than your stupid braces. Making sure the planets don’t collide, for one thing.”
And suddenly, there in my grade school playground, I had a flash of God as this Cosmic Juggler, and us as billions and trillions of balls He’s got in the air. Some of us stay up and some of us fall down. And who stays up and who falls down—well, it all depends on whether He loses His concentration.
Katie liked my theory, except she said God never loses His concentration because He’s perfect. She says everything has a reason, and God has a Divine Plan for each and every ball. If a ball falls, either it didn’t go where it was supposed to go or God planned for it to fall all along.
Leslie's Journal Page 2