by Deb Loughead
That means I’m not breaking any rules when I use my phone later that evening to make a phone call. Or to attempt to make a phone call. I really want to talk to Jake, to apologize for giving him a hard time about Spencer. And ask him to the Sadie Hawkins dance, which is next Saturday.
He probably already has a date, which wouldn’t be the worst thing. I mean, would we even be able to talk like we used to? Our lives are so different now.
I hit his number at least five times, but I cancel each call before it rings, so my name won’t show up. How lame. Did I really think I’d magically morph into someone daring enough to ask out the hottest guy in grade ten?
Oh well, there’s always tomorrow. And what a relief it is going to bed without my phone right beside me. Instead, I open a fantasy novel, one I’ve been meaning to read for a long time. And I actually read a whole chapter before my eyes slam shut.
5
“What is your problem, Clementine? I tried to reach you all afternoon yesterday? Didn’t you get my texts or phone messages?”
That’s the very first thing my “friend” Ellie says to me at my locker on Monday morning. And I cannot wait to break the news to her.
“I never even got your messages until this morning. But I didn’t reply because I knew I’d see you first thing at school. My phone was off almost all day yesterday.”
Ellie gapes at me as if she thinks I’ve totally lost my mind.
“What are you, nuts?”
I shrug. “New family rules. Our folks decided we all have to start limiting our online time. That means shutting off our phones way more often, and not randomly surfing the net, or checking for messages and posts every few minutes.”
“Huh? And you’re okay with that? You’re not freaking out? It’s practically prehistoric!”
“Don’t have much choice. We’re all doing it. We kind of made a family pact.”
“That’s the weirdest thing I ever heard,” she says, frowning. “What do you even find to do at home, anyway?”
“You’d be surprised. Yesterday we played a board game then watched a movie together. It was fun. Honest. And in the evenings we have to do stuff like that for at least an hour.”
Ellie’s face sags. “Wow. So whose dumbass idea was that anyway? Your mom’s or your dad’s?”
Mine, I want to holler. “Can’t even remember now.”
Ellie’s dark eyes look suspicious. She shifts her backpack from one shoulder to the other, then glances around as if she’s looking for someone to share my crazy story with. But, of course, it’s hard to get anyone’s attention in the halls because of where everyone’s eyes are always focused. It’s a wonder we don’t all have some sort of permanent neck injuries from non-stop texting. A few seconds later the bell rings, and as I turn to head for my first class of the day, Ellie grabs my sleeve.
“Wait a sec, Clems. I really need to talk to you about next weekend. Something major is happening with me and Mac, and I need your help remember? Meet me here after first period. It’s really important.”
I yank my arm loose. “Later, Ellie. Gotta get all the way across the school to science lab. Dissecting worms today!” Then I bolt before she can try to stop me.
Somehow or other I find a way to avoid Ellie for the rest of the morning, but that doesn’t stop her from texting me every hour.
Clems where r u? Why didn’t you meet me? I need u.
Clementine why r u avoiding me?
Hey Clem is something wrong?
Answer me, willya, OMG what is up with u?
And every time I give her the same reply: Sorry, major busy right now.
I make myself scarce at lunchtime by ducking into study hall to work on an English essay. How pathetic to hide from one of my oldest friends because I’m afraid of what she might ask me to do next. I so do not want a replay of her mom showing up at our door, totally pissed off. I’m sick having to lie for her over and over again, all because of the secret she’s holding against me.
Before last period, I stop by my locker to grab my coat and stuff. As soon as the bell rings, I bolt out the front doors into the crisp October air, feeling smug. With careful planning, I’ve managed to avoid running into Ellie for the entire day. Only a few kids have spilled out of the school before me. I set off walking, trying to keep the hunger rumbles at bay as I head for the plaza to buy a bag of chips.
Suddenly I hear a different kind of rumble from behind me: skateboard wheels on the road.
When I turn around, Jake is zooming up, both hands texting on his phone, earbuds plugged into his head. He’s multi-tasking big time and completely oblivious to the busy intersection he’s approaching, where I’m also headed to cross the street. This is a four-way, so cars have to stop in every direction before proceeding on through. I can already tell that Jake is definitely not stopping, because he doesn’t have a clue where he is. Which is why I do what I need to do.
I whip my backpack off my shoulder and fling it straight at him. I hear the oomph when it hits him in the belly and knocks him off his skateboard. He drops his phone as he lands hard on the boulevard a metre away from me. His empty skateboard rolls on through the intersection and instantly gets struck by a passing car. Another car pulls up to the curb to make sure he’s okay, but I wave the driver on.
Jake sits on the grass looking totally dazed. One earbud dangles now, the other still jammed in his ear.
“What the hell just happened?” He reaches for his phone, which is protected with a heavy-duty rubber case, probably in case of dumb wipeouts like this one. Then he scrambles to his feet and shakes his head a couple of times like he’s trying to reboot his brain.
“I think I just saved your life,” I tell him. “Didn’t mean to hit you so hard, but I have a ton of homework tonight. Sorry about that. You should really watch where you’re going.”
Then I scoop up my fully loaded backpack and walk away. My entire body is vibrating like mad. I think my teeth may even be chattering.
“Hey, hang on for a sec, would ya, Clem?” he calls behind me. “Let me grab my skateboard, okay.”
There’s a huge crack right down the middle, but the wheels, I figure, are probably worth salvaging, from what little I know of these things. Jake walks up to me shaking his head again like he still can’t quite understand what just happened.
“Can you believe it? I just bought this deck, like, a week ago.”
“You should be happy you didn’t crack your head, shouldn’t you? I’m thinking helmet.” I totally exaggerate an eye roll. “Boys and their toys.”
Jake’s face drops, then he grins. “Hmm, you got a point, even though you sound like my mom. Seriously, thanks, Clem. I owe you one for this. I had no clue what hit me.”
“That could have turned out way worse.” I frown because he doesn’t seem nearly as shocked about this as I am. Then again, he’s probably used to this stuff.
“Yep, you’re right. Extremely dumb. My parents warn me every time someone gets hit by a car while they’re walking and texting at the same time. Hey, looks like we’re heading in the same direction.”
He starts loping along in step beside me, and my heart threatens to launch right out of my mouth. Looks like now’s my chance. But I can’t get past what happened on Saturday morning, when he was pissed at me after we talked about Spencer. Maybe he’s over it since I just saved his life. But that almost makes it worse. If I ask him to the dance now, he’ll have to say yes because he’ll figure he owes me. Suddenly, I want to kick something hard — I’m that mad.
“Look, Jake,” I say, since neither of us have said anything for a couple of seconds. “I’m sorry about that stuff I said on Saturday. I guess everything about Kit is still really bugging me, so I spoke up about Spencer.”
Jake stops dead. For a second I’m afraid he’s about to take off again. Then he looks me straight in the eye.
“I
’m sorry I snapped,” he says. “But Spence is freaking out after what Ms. Stitski said at the assembly. He knows damn well she meant him when she said those things about being cruel and stuff. It’s like she wants him to take the fall. He had nothing to do with it, though. No matter what anyone wants to believe. And I’d swear to that.”
“Okay,” I murmur. I can’t even look at him because of what’s gnawing away at my conscience.
“But, guess what? I actually left the plaza right after you did on Saturday. Right before the cops showed up. So you’re kind of like my lucky charm.” His smile is so sweet I can practically taste it on my tongue.
“Well, that’s cool, I guess,” I tell him. Extremely cool. Jake actually listened to me and understood that I was genuinely concerned! Ask him to the dance! Right now, stupid! Except “I’m stopping off at the plaza,” comes out, instead. Idiot!
“Sounds like a plan. I’m in. Need a Gatorade. Hey, let me at least treat you for saving my life, okay? Anything you want.”
“A bag of chips and a Coke,” I tell him.
“That’s it?” He grins and I melt a little. “That means I still owe you.”
“No you don’t,” I insist as we push our way into the convenience store. “Anyone would have done the same thing. You think I was just gonna let you die?” The way I did with Kit?
Jake looks at me funny, and his face changes ever so slightly. I’m sure mine has, too. Why did I even say that? What a dumbass line after what happened with Kit.
Jake looks like he’s about to say something, but then he heads down the aisle for the drinks. I scan the bags of chips. Hmm, new flavour on the shelf. Chicken and gravy? Never tried that one. Just as I reach for the bag, Jake comes pushing past me. He hands me a Coke and five bucks. His face is stiff, his eyes shifty.
“I just remembered. I’m supposed to be somewhere, and I’m late already.” Then he’s gone like a shot out the door.
“Huh, that’s weird,” I say to the clerk who’s staring at the empty doorway. “Guess he wasn’t as thirsty as he thought. He’s treating me. Which is why he gave me the five bucks.” I hand over the money, wondering why I felt the need to explain Jake’s strange behaviour.
From the corner of my eye, I spot someone striding up the aisle from the cooler section. She’s holding a milk jug, and she has her hand on a kid’s shoulder. She’s dressed smartly in a tailored, grey suit, but her face looks worn, used up. My insides turn to mush. Kit Stitski’s mom and brother. I grab the chips and pop from the counter.
“Keep the change,” I say, then dash out the door without even looking back.
My hunger rumbles have turned into something like nausea. As I walk home, I can’t even break into the bag of chips. The instant I laid eyes on Kit’s mom and his little brother, Kevin, everything awful that happened four months ago came spinning at me like a rogue tornado. Yet again.
In the news reports, it said that Ms. Stitski didn’t even realize Kit was missing from his bedroom until she went to wake him the next morning. The last time she checked on him, he was playing an online game in his room. At some point after that, he’d left their huge home on the outskirts of town. Everyone’s theory was that he saw something about the party on social media and he left his house.
The news also said that the police were asking for witnesses. They wanted to talk with anyone who’d seen Kit at the field party, so they could try and track his final steps. His mom came forward as well, to speak to the media and make an emotional plea on TV.
Just like at the assembly on Friday, she begged for somebody to give the authorities something to work with. There had to have been over a hundred kids at that party, maybe even one-fifty (it’s not like anyone bothered to count). But in the end, maybe ten kids stepped up to tell the cops they’d seen Kit that night. Nobody said they’d seen him leave though.
The coroner’s inquest called it “death by mis-adventure.” Kit Stitski had wandered away from the party, slipped off the edge of the quarry, and drowned. Everyone knew that Ms. Stitski wasn’t thrilled with the verdict. But she had such an intimidating way of voicing her opinions, it was sure to send any potential witnesses scurrying like scared mice. Who’d want to face the wrath of Joan Stitski, the angry mother bear looking for retribution? I’d certainly kept my distance from her. What if she could tell I knew something?
Because of that, I never went to Kit’s funeral. I told my parents I was too upset, which wasn’t exactly a lie. And I just hung out in my room that day thinking about Kit, while my folks went to a family funeral out of town. But if it were a lie, it wouldn’t have been the first one I’d told them about that night. I was ashamed too, for not having the guts to step forward and tell the police what I knew. And now I can’t even live with myself anymore.
Monday evening I can’t concentrate on school work. I can’t stop thinking about Jake, and what triggered his bizarre reaction in the convenience store. One minute we were hanging out together, and the next he was gone, totally ditching me there with the so-sad Stitskis.
He looked as if he’d seen a ghost just before bolting. And maybe he had, the same as me when I saw Kit’s heartsick mother and brother. Was Jake haunted by his memories of Kit like I was? Like the Stitskis obviously were? Much like Banquo’s ghost from Macbeth, Kit has become a “horrible shadow” on all our lives.
As I hunch over my English essay after dinner, it’s almost as though Kit is right there at my elbow.
“Quit my sight. Let the earth hide thee,” I murmur to my empty room, and shiver. That line from Shakespeare got stuck in my head the instant I read the play in theatre arts this year.
Guilt is haunting me just like it was Macbeth. No wonder I can’t stop thinking about that spooky scene. And if I wasn’t crazy about Shakespeare’s plays before, now I’m beginning to despise them.
Ms. Raven, our drama teacher, told us that it’s bad luck for actors to say Macbeth in a theatre during a production. Apparently, the play was eternally cursed after an actor died during the original production, when a real dagger was used instead of the prop.
Nowadays, actors have to call it “the Scottish play,” and if they mess up and say the word Macbeth, they have to spit over their shoulder or run around the theatre three times and recite a line from Shakespeare. Weird, but fascinating. We all listened, rapt, to her spooky stories about the play’s performances centuries ago. I suppose those tales hit home even more for me since I happen to have a ghost of my own.
I can practically hear Kit whispering in my ear. “What time is it, Clementine?” He said the same thing to me almost every day in middle school. Sometimes it drove me nuts, but I always told him the time because it seemed to make him so happy. He stopped saying it in grade nine, though. I guess it’s because I hardly ever ran into him anymore. Until the night of the party, just before he disappeared, when he said it for the very last time. Now I’d give anything just to have him ask me again.
As soon as I turn my phone on after non-line time, the texts start flying.
R u ignoring me Clems?
Srsly what is ur problem?
I ignore those two, hoping she’ll give up and go away. I answer a few texts from some of my other friends, but Ellie keeps on trying.
I know ur txting every1 else.
Sorry Els, missed ur txts. Sup? I definitely do not want to know what’s up.
Can u cover for me this wknd?
Ur mom is on 2 u, u know, I text back. U can’t keep lying to her. Me neither.
U don’t understand ☹ this is majorly IMPORTANT.
It always is!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Clems, I’m helping YOU. By NOT telling. Help me plz!
Again, I want to pitch my phone at the wall or flush it down the toilet. Hmm. Maybe that would work. People drop their phones into toilets by accident all the time.
But I’m sick of trying to find excuses. I need to find a
way to get rid of this Ellie problem once and for all. And I guess there is one. But I still don’t think I can come clean to my parents. Or face Ms. Stitski.
Tell me what u need at school tmrrw, I text back.
Then I shut my phone off for the rest of the evening and head to the family room to watch Big Bang Theory reruns with my family.
Ellie makes it easy to unplug from my phone. I’m totally loving this new house rule!
6
I dread meeting up with Ellie this morning, but it has to happen eventually. She’s in my theatre arts class, and that’s on today’s schedule. I head there after announcements.
The rest of our classmates are already trickling into the auditorium by the time I arrive, some through the shadowy wings, and others up the main aisle. I love everything about theatre arts, but the best part is how we get to be anyone we want to in this class, as encouraged by our teacher, Ms. Raven. Ellie is already waiting for me, sitting on the apron of the stage with her long legs dangling. As soon as she spots me, she waves me right over, and I go, feeling a bit like a well-trained dog. She only has to snap her fingers or whistle, and there I am, wagging my tail, or at least pretending to.
“Hey, Els.” My lips feel too tight to form a smile.
“God, you’re hard to reach.” She tilts her head. “I didn’t see you for the rest of yesterday, and you didn’t even meet me after school.”
“Wow, I totally forgot. Way too much on my mind. There’s this essay that —”
But she cuts me off and just starts blabbering. “Okay, so this weekend. Mac is going to party with his university friends. He’s staying in their residence, and he wants me to come! Can you freakin’ believe it? Me hanging out with university kids! Sick!”