I can’t pinpoint what I expected, exactly, but this piece of junk doesn’t look like much, abandoned and with tall weeds growing up around it.
“Who does it belong to?” I ask.
“I have no idea. I’ve been coming here since we moved to Gran’s a few months ago, and I’ve never seen any sign of life or anything.”
“What do you do out here?”
She takes a swipe at the grass with her stick. “Hang out. Read. Write in my journal. Get away from my mom.”
Obviously, she needs to get things off her chest. But why would I want to deal with someone else’s issues when I can’t even handle my own? Tarin drops the stick, steps closer and whispers, although there’s no one to hear but the birds and squirrels. “I’ve even spent the night here a few times.”
“By yourself?” I ask.
“No, with a male stripper.”
I laugh. “Can I have a tour?”
“Absolutely, darling.” Planting her feet firmly on the ground, she grabs the door handle and yanks it hard. It pops open, and she takes a step up to climb into the dark cave of the camper. I follow her and am hit with a disgusting smell that makes me gag.
“God, what died in here?”
“It’s not that bad. You’ll get used to it. Now let me open up the curtains a little.” A soft light fills the room. There’s a table with benches on either side. The benches are covered in hideous green upholstery spotted with holes, and by the door is a two-burner stove.
“Where do you sleep?” I ask.
She sits on one of the benches and leans on the table. I’m not getting used to the smell. “Up there.” She points to an area above the table, where there’s a camouflage sleeping bag lying on a dingy foam mattress. She observes me for a few seconds like she wants me to say something, maybe “how cozy” or “this is awesome,” but no polite blah-blah comes out of my mouth. She gives up and gestures for me to sit down.
“Make yourself at home.” The table is smeared with something red.
“It’s only ketchup,” she says, reading my mind. “I made a fire and roasted a hot dog last time, and I didn’t have anything to wipe up the mess.” She gazes around, her face softening with affection. “I love this little getaway. Sometimes I can’t take my life for another millisecond.”
She is my new friend, and I should be more supportive, but all I can think is: Shit, here it comes.
“I know your problems are bigger than mine,” she says, “but really, Mom and I can’t stand each other anymore. I can’t stand her for marrying Fraser, and she can’t stand me at all. At least here, out in the boonies, I can get away from her a little. When Gran’s better and we go back home to our tiny apartment with Mr. Jerkface, there’s nowhere to hide. I don’t think I can do it again.”
I nod and try not to look at the ketchup smears, because they are really bothering me. “That sucks” are the only words of wisdom I can come up with.
“Can you keep a secret?” she asks.
I don’t know if I want to know the secret, exactly, but I know that keeping it to myself will not be a problem. I don’t have any real friends to tell. I nod.
“I have a plan,” she says. “To take off. For good.”
“What?” I say. “Like running away?”
She nods, a flash of determination in her eyes. “Yeah. I’m going to get away from all that crap. Take off and start over. I’ve been thinking about it for ages, but I think I’m finally ready.”
“Wow,” I say. “Where will you go?”
“I’ll come here first for a few days, then wherever. Doesn’t matter. As long as no one knows me and I never have to see my stepdad again.” She sits up straight and locks me into one of those searing stares of hers.
“I’ll send you a signal, when I finally do it. You could come with me.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say, and suddenly the weight of this whole scene—the depressing camper, her desperation to get away—is too much. My fragile psyche is not in any condition to handle more strife; it’s reached its maximum quota for the next few decades at least.
I stand up. “I need to get back,” I say. “My mother’s probably worried.”
Tarin frowns, and I think maybe she’s going to make some smart-ass comment about me being a goody-goody, but instead she gets up too. “Sorry to lay that on you. I guess”—she sighs—“I guess I trust you.”
I wish I could say the same, but I’m hesitant. I don’t even trust myself these days. She clears her throat and pushes the door open. “Let’s get you back home.”
We walk in silence until we reach my front door. I ask her if she wants to come in for a cookie or something, but she shakes her head. “Homework to do.”
She’s already on her bike in the driveway when dread suddenly washes over me. She may be complicated, but she’s the only friend I’ve got. I call after her, “Hey, Tarin!”
She pauses, waiting for me to speak.
“Ever been to a pit party?”
She wrinkles her brow for a second, then lets out a loud laugh. “No, but it’s been a lifelong dream.”
Enchanted Forest
I spend the afternoon before the pit party reading the rest of the flowered journal from the shoebox. There are only about ten entries after the eulogy: the Girl writes about her dreams for the future (true love, big house, blah, blah, blah), the politics on a school dance committee, and her fights with Mother. Nothing earth-shattering. But the last entry, from early April, gets my attention.
Today at school, I wanted to die. Megan was going around making a list of Most Likely suggestions for the year-book. Most Likely to End Up in Prison, Most Likely to Marry a Billionaire, that kind of stuff. They were all funny, and we were all laughing. But then, when it came to me, Harrison said: Most Likely to Be Wearing Old-Lady Underwear. The whole room cracked up. I laughed too, but then I had to hide in a bathroom stall and cry during Chemistry. I told Megan I was having an allergic reaction to someone’s perfume. Maybe she knew the truth, but she didn’t push it. It was humiliating. The worst part is, he’s right. I am boring. I hate being boring. I hate being myself. Maybe one day I’ll work up the guts to do something crazy, to show everyone that there’s more to me than meets the eye. But I’m not even sure there is.
I read it again, letting it sink in. So the Girl knew she was boring, and it bothered her. And then my mind goes even further, makes a leap I have no way of testing: maybe the Girl was so miserable in this mundane little life of hers that it pushed her to do something totally off the deep end. Like climbing into a bison pen. Maybe, as much as I don’t want to consider it, the Girl had a death wish.
These are heavy thoughts, and I push them to the back of my mind. I have to deal with something more pressing: choosing my outfit for my first pit party. I end up going with jeans and a nice black sweater.
Deceiving my mother is the next step, and it’s surprisingly easy. She would probably let me go if I said I was going to a party with Megan and the Pink Posse. But Tarin? It’s easier to tell her that Tarin has invited me over to watch a few movies. Only Tarin’s mom is going to be out at bingo, and Tarin has convinced her granny to let her use her Oldsmobile. Never mind that Tarin only has her learner’s license—there are no cops for miles around, and the route to the party is on side roads.
When Mother drops me off, Tarin is decked out in a long black dress with an oversized leather jacket and wears dark-purple lipstick. Not my look exactly—don’t know what that is yet–but somehow she pulls it off.
“Let’s rock and roll.” Keys dangle at the end of her fingertips. “Thanks, Gran,” she calls to the living room. “Don’t wait up. We’re going for ice cream and might stop in at Jessica’s friend’s place.”
A soft “Okay, dear” carries over the sound of the TV, and we head out to the car. It’s huge and dusty, and when I slide into the passenger side I come face to face with a Hello Kitty air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. The cord is wrapped around her neck.
Tarin clicks on the radio, and loud static blasts out. She pushes buttons until a voice sings, I’m radioactive, radioactive!
“You all right?” Tarin asks. “You’re as white as a virgin on her wedding night.”
I nod. “I think so.”
She glances at me as she slides past a yield sign. “All you need is an adventure to put some color in your cheeks,” she says. “Have no fear, Tarin is here.”
I laugh and crank the music up louder, and we sing along at the top of our lungs. “Welcome to the new age, to the new age!”
The pit is about a twenty-minute drive away, past a little homemade-looking golf course. The field next to the pit is full of cars and pickups. Tarin parks beside an old green truck and shuts off the car.
Someone’s made a bonfire, and there’s a card table set up with speakers on it. Clusters of kids stand around in circles. It’s nuts that I’m even here.
“Come on,” Tarin says, shaking my shoulder. “Let’s rock this thing.” We open our doors and step out, and I swear I can feel my heart pounding in my ears.
“Jessie?” A voice comes from behind, and when I turn I am face to face with Megan. She looks shocked, like someone has slapped her in the face.
The plan comes to me suddenly. “Surprise!” I say weakly. “I was going to call you but thought it’d be more fun to just show up.”
“Okay,” she says. She’s not buying it, but she smiles politely anyway. She glances toward Tarin, who is sitting on the hood of the car. Tarin cracks her knuckles, and I see her through Megan’s eyes: she’s crude, weird, even a bit freaky.
“This is Tarin,” I say. “My neighbor. She said I could catch a ride.”
Tarin’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t rat me out. “Hey,” she says.
Megan smiles, but it’s not her usual megawatt grin. “Nice to meet you.” She stands there looking at me, and I have to remind myself that she’s the one who let me down, defending that shithead Harrison.
“Gotta go check my lip gloss,” I say. “Meet you over there.” Megan nods and walks off.
“Man,” Tarin says, “we’ve got to get you out of her spell. Before you turn all princessy too.”
I start to defend Megan. “Hey, she’s—” but before I can even finish, Tarin has shoved a cold bottle into my hand. I hold it up, read the label.
“Beer?” I say. “Where’d you get this? And is this a good idea?”
She shrugs it off. “My uncle leaves a stash under the stairs in the basement, to make his visits more tolerable. And I can tell from your questions that you know even less than I do about pit parties. Why do you think it’s out here in the middle of nowhere? Do you think everyone came out here to play leapfrog?” She twists the cap off her beer and it lets out a hiss, and then she chugs back half of the bottle in one long swig.
She wipes her mouth and burps. “Go on. Trust me, it’s the only way you’ll get through this.”
I lift the bottle to my mouth. The beer is cold and bitter, but I do what Tarin did—I chug down half of it.
“See?” she says. “That wasn’t so hard.”
I feel fine, so I do the same with the rest of the bottle, and so does Tarin. Then she grabs my arm and we walk around the cars and over to the action. Loud music blasts out of the speakers. Megan and the Posse are talking to some guys and don’t notice me walk up, but a few random people glance over my way. This is all right, I tell myself. I can be normal.
More people arrive with cases of beer. Tarin and I stand to the side, watching the scene. I’m a little light-headed, but it’s a nice feeling, so I go back with Tarin to the car and chug another beer.
A few girls come up to me and say hello, and some even fill me in on how we used to know each other: year-book committee, French class, Girl Guides. I’m a little embarrassed that I don’t remember them, but I find myself making jokes—and they laugh. I feel looser, more relaxed, than I can remember ever feeling. I think I might actually be having fun.
Tarin goes to the car while I am chatting and brings me another beer. I’m already floating, my feet barely touching the sandy earth, so I sip that one. Warmth travels from my head to the tips of my toes.
“Whoa,” she says. “Your aura is amazing right now. Green, pink, purple, all swirling together.”
I laugh. “And you, in case I’ve never told you, are one cool chick!”
We high-five each other, and then Tarin points to a short guy wearing a tuque over his long hair. “I know that dude,” she says. “Be right back.”
“Hey.” A voice comes from behind, and when I turn around, Harrison is standing there, smiling at me. Heat rises in my cheeks.
“Hey to you,” I say. We look at each other, and those damn dimples of his make it hard for me to slap him.
“Didn’t see you at school again,” he says.
“Nope,” I answer. And when I look at him and that cocky smile, I know he thinks I have a thing for him. Who knows how many years I followed him around, drooling over him, feeding his ego?
I can’t tell if it’s the beer or if I’m truly not mad anymore, but I suddenly don’t like him or hate him. I don’t even care. My head is buzzing a little. “See you around,” I say. He looks surprised as I push past him and make my way toward Megan and her circle.
“Jessie!” Kerry yells. “Finally coming to say hi to your old gang.” She hooks arms with me and winks. Megan is watching me closely, and I know she knows I am tipsy.
I nod and smile, smile and nod.
“You okay?” she asks.
Nod and smile. “Smurfy.” My bladder is suddenly on the verge of exploding. “Where’s the ladies’ room?”
Cybil points to the trees on the edge of the pit. “I’ll come with you,” she says, but I wave her off.
“Thanks, Mom. I can handle it.”
I imagine I am in rehab again and concentrate on taking straight, careful steps toward the bushes. Once there I find a spot behind a big spruce and lower my pants. Instant relief. I zip up, straighten out my sweater and lean against a tree. Taking deep breaths, I mentally prepare myself for acting “normal,” then walk toward the edge of the woods to make my way back.
“Well, hello.”
The voice comes from my left, ground level. Sitting cross-legged in the leaves, back against a tree trunk, is a guy with strawberry-blond hair and a red-and-black-checkered lumberjack shirt. “Where’d you come from? You some kind of forest pixie or something?” he says.
“Yeah, and you must be an ogre?”
His chuckle is low and soft. “You wouldn’t be the first to call me that.”
Without even thinking about it, I plunk myself down right beside him. We sit in silence for a few minutes, and I have to close my eyes to stop the spinning in my head.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
I look at him through barely open eyelids, trying to gauge if he’s only keeping up the game. Everyone in Winding Creek knows everyone. Except the one, me, who has forgotten everyone else, that is. He’s not smiling. “Jessie,” I answer. “Do we know each other?”
“Don’t think I’ve had the pleasure, Jessie. I’m Dan. Jeffrey Hill’s cousin. Just here for the weekend.”
“Okay,” I say. My mouth feels dry and chalky, and I see he’s got a Coke bottle beside him. I know I’m totally winning him over with my wit and charm so far, so I reach for it and take a swig. It’s not plain Coke—it burns like fire going down—but somehow I don’t choke.
He laughs that soft chuckle again. “Whoa,” he says. “I’d take it easy on that. Jeff mixed it up for me, said he wanted to put hair on my chest. I was going to dump it out here in the woods.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I got thirsty all of a sudden.”
“No apology necessary,” he says. “Me casa es su casa.”
Whatever was in that bottle is making the fuzziness of the beer turn to a feeling of peace and love and harmony. I take another swig, then another.
“You sure you want to do that, little pixie?” he says. “It’s not Kool-Aid.” But the way he says it is gentle and teasing, and when I lean closer I see that he has total puppy-dog eyes.
“What are you doing out here, away from the action?” I ask. My words feel slippery and loose, but I can’t tell if that’s only in my mind.
“Beats me, really,” he answers. “I guess I’m not in the mood for all the blah-blah yada yada. Maybe I’m weird.”
“No, no,” I say and find myself falling closer toward him. “Sounds normal to me. It’s serene, hanging out with the trees.”
“For sure,” he says. “You guys don’t know how good you have it, living here. You can step out into the wild anytime you like.”
His voice is soothing. My head spins, and I have to reach out and prop my arm on the ground to keep from toppling over.
“You all right?” he asks. I tilt my head, and it’s crazy, because the only thoughts I’ve had about kissing a guy were to wonder if I ever had, but my body wants to touch him in some way, and the mouth seems the most logical. I hone in on him in what feels like slow motion. He’s looking at me with this odd expression, like he’s not sure if he should or not but maybe wants to, when suddenly my stomach lurches.
I struggle to my feet, but my head is heavy and I stumble. The ogre leaps up to steady me. His arms go around my shoulders, and this overwhelming feeling of being alive washes over me. Tears start to pool in my eyes. Ramses did not kill me. I am here now, and it’s beautiful. My shoulders heave as I sob and fall to my knees. Then I lean forward and empty the contents of my stomach into the leaves. Dan holds me and mutters kind words like, “No big deal, little pixie. It’s all right. You’ll be fine.”
Suddenly Megan is there, and Kerry, and they are going on and on about looking for me everywhere and where the hell is that friend of mine with the nose rings. Then Tarin is there too, announcing loudly that everyone should take a chill pill, that everything is under control. The next thing I know, I am in the back of a car, stretched out across the seat, my eyes heavy.
Blank Page 15