by Deb Loughead
“Should we say something?” Jake whispers like we’re in church.
“Yes. We definitely should. But why don’t we just talk about him? Like, remember the Circle of Friends group we formed for him in middle school? And how once a month we’d take him to the movies or bowling?”
“Yeah, I went on a few of those adventures,” Jake says. “He used to get so caught up in the movies that he’d talk out loud to the people on the screen and tell them what they should do.”
“And get mad if they didn’t take his advice! And remember how much Kit liked singing? Especially that Great Big Sea song, ‘Ordinary Day.’ Sometimes he used to walk through the hallways singing it.”
“Yeah, and he loved dancing, too.” Jake smiles. “Remember how at dances he tried to cut in on every couple. Or else just danced alone, boogied like mad. He didn’t care if we laughed, because he was laughing, too. He always seemed to be in a good mood.”
“Except when he was in a bad one,” I remind him. “If things didn’t go his way, he’d get all stubborn and just sit in the middle of the floor with his arms crossed.”
“He’d just park himself wherever,” Jake adds. “Middle of the classroom, middle of the cafeteria, or the hall, it didn’t matter, and nobody could ever move him!”
“Unless somebody offered him a watch. That was the easiest way to get him to co-operate, remember?” I stand there blinking for a minute, staring at my candle flame flickering in the soft breeze. “Everybody knew that. I’m sure at one point or another, he tried on every watch that anyone ever wore.”
“He wore mine a few times,” Jake tells me.
“Mine, too. But he always begged to wear Ellie’s …” I pull the wristwatch out of my pocket and really look at it. “Because of the beads and stones. He had a rock and mineral collection, remember? So he was crazy about this watch.”
“Oh, crap.” Jake locks his eyes on mine. “You don’t think …”
“Yeah. I actually do, Jake. I think that somehow or other Kit got hold of Ellie’s watch that night. And somehow or other, Kit and the watch ended up down here.”
“But why didn’t the cops find the watch back then?”
“It was tangled in those roots. I only saw it because I was looking straight at it. Maybe once they found Kit that day, nothing else mattered. Death by misadventure, remember? It was so obvious that he lost his footing up there and wound up in the water. And this,” I stare at Ellie’s watch, “has got to be why she started that rumour about Spencer.”
At dinner Thursday evening, I keep my mouth shut about everything.
The rest of them talk about what’s going on at Zach’s school, like a trip fundraiser selling chocolate bars. Then my mom, who teaches at the same school, explains what happened after the latest meeting about Kevin. Apparently a social worker is going to call on Ms. Stitski early next week. Next, Dad, a history teacher at an arts-oriented high school, gives us a lesson on ancient Greece. Ho-hum.
Throughout it all I stay quiet, missing half the conversation. And getting weird looks.
There’s plenty I could talk about, especially with the stinging scrape on my belly as a reminder. But I can’t bring myself to discuss our candle memorial or the figure at the top of the ledge. Who was that anyway?
I also can’t stop thinking about the watch that’s still in my pocket. I know that the next thing I have to do is confront Ellie.
Mostly, I stare into my plate of tuna casserole and don’t make eye contact. When Zach mumbles something about me being lost in outer space with my alien friends, the look I level at him says more than any words could. He turns away quickly, like he’s afraid he might be vaporized. After that they all act as if I’m not even sitting at the table.
Later that evening, during non-line time, I head into the kitchen for a snack. My mom is still in there, leaning on the counter with her back turned, so she doesn’t even hear me coming. And I know exactly what she’s doing just by the angle of her neck and elbows.
“Hey, Mom, whatcha doin’?” I ask in a perky singsong voice.
She spins around. “Clem! You startled me. You shouldn’t sneak up on people that way.” Her phone has already vanished into the pocket of her cardigan.
I offer her a wry smile. “Why? In case ‘people’ get caught cheating?”
She gives me a sheepish smile back.
“You’re right,” she admits. “Ten lashes with a wet noodle. I was googling something. But it could have waited. You’re saying you haven’t cheated yet, Clems, even when you’re alone in your bedroom?”
“Yup. Just following house rules. For shame, Mom.” I shake my head as though I’m utterly disgusted with her behaviour. “And they say today’s kids are techno-obsessed!”
“My bad,” Mom says, hanging her head.
“God, Mom, you did not really just say that.”
When she nods, and pulls a gangsta pose, we both crack up.
That night Jake and I text goofy costume ideas until we finally sign off. But my brain is still spinning madly in every direction.
I can’t stop thinking about the dance. It’s only two days away, and all our costume ideas so far are dumb. And what about that English essay that’s due next week — when will I get that done? I have to meet with Kevin at the library on Sunday afternoon to help him with science. Though, who knows if his mom will actually let me help him, after she kicked us out of her house?
After that, my thoughts land momentarily on our theatre arts assignment, and hang out there for a bit. I can’t stop thinking about Kit, and everything Jake and I remembered about him at the quarry today. Does everyone else have their own memories tucked away like we do?
And right then and there I hit on an idea. What better way of honouring Kit than by putting together a series of sketches about him? A sort of “Kit Revue.” Most kids in our grade knew him in one way or another. Everyone had a soft spot for him, I’m certain of that. He was a loud and lively presence in middle and high school — if he was anywhere nearby, you always knew it.
Before I fall asleep, I write the Kit revue in my head. And even though I didn’t want to at first, now I have every intention of presenting my idea for a theme in Ms. Raven’s class when the time comes. Scenes From a Life — something like that. I even get up to scribble some notes, hoping I’ll be able to decipher them tomorrow. And finally, after I have something down on paper, I manage to get to sleep and stay there ’til morning, without a single dream of drowning making my eyes fly open.
Friday morning, I’m running late and don’t even have time to throw a lunch together before heading to school. My folks are long gone, so I can’t beg a ride from them. It used to be so easy when I got driven every day, back when I went to Mom’s school, like Zach still does.
I hate getting caught in the hallways after first bell and being sent to pick up a late slip from the office. Some kids are great at avoiding it, but it always seems to backfire on me.
So I leave the house at a run, scuffling along through the crisp leaves littering the sidewalks. After a few blocks I’m out of steam, and I slow to a loping trot as I wind my way through empty streets toward the high school. It’s chilly out, hoodie weather, with puffy muffin-top clouds and a goose-bump breeze. With Halloween drawing near, homes are already decorated for trick-or-treaters — jack-o’-lanterns, fluttering ghosts, giant spider webs, and eerie porch scarecrows that look ready to leap to life. It makes me want to hurry.
Only a couple of blocks from the school, a car pulls up beside me. Not just any old car. Mac’s blue Wildcat. Ellie’s in there, too. I look away and pick up my pace even as the car slows to a crawl beside me. The tinted window slides down.
“Need a lift?” Mac calls through Ellie’s window.
“I’m almost there,” I tell him without turning my head. Right now those spooky stuffed porch people are starting to look like my best friends.
“Come on. Get in, Clem. We want to talk to you about something.”
“Don’t have time. The bell’s ringing in like five minutes.” Faster still, even though my leg muscles are screaming for mercy. I do not want to have this conversation. To be walloped by their insane demands about this weekend. I will not co-operate anymore.
The car speeds up and screeches around the next corner, out of sight. Thank god. Until I turn that corner, and realize the Wildcat is parked by the curb now, facing the wrong direction. And Mac is leaning against the driver’s door with his arms crossed. Waiting for me.
I refuse to meet his eyes, stride right on past, don’t even glance toward the car. I’m in the clear, yet my heart is still hammering harder than it should be, because this guy just creeps me out. Then a hand grabs my sleeve and wrenches me around.
Mac’s face is too close to mine. It isn’t a friendly face. What can Ellie possibly see in his dark probing eyes and tight, angry lips? What is the attraction? And why is he hanging on to my sleeve?
“Come on, just get in the car. We need to ask you something, okay?” He’s still gripping my sleeve. My gaze flicks over to the passenger seat where Ellie leans forward, watching me with panicky eyes. Why?
“Nope, not happening, dude,” I say, and hoof him in the shin. When he yelps and lets go of me, I take off running.
The rest of the way to school is a total blur. I keep glancing over my shoulder to check if they’re following me. I have absolutely no regrets about kicking him, either. He so deserved it. No wonder Ellie is a basketcase these days, latched on to such a jerk.
Now I have an even better idea how she got her bruises and split lip. How can she throw the blame at her mom just to protect this jackass of a guy? How can she live with herself for telling such a humongous lie? Yet she seems to be terrified about something. So why can’t she just ditch him? That’s what I need to know, now more than ever before.
Just as I reach the school, Mac’s car peels away, and I spot Ellie bolting through the front doors as the first bell rings. She’s clearly trying to avoid me, and for good reason. But she isn’t getting away with this latest incident if I can help it. It’s time for her to come clean with me, once and for all, about everything she’s hiding.
I try to catch up, but lose sight of her in the hallways when she disappears into the swarm of kids hurrying to homeroom. I already have a plan, though. I slip out an exit, cut across the quad, and step back through another door on the other side of the school. Where I practically slam right into her. Her eyes fly open as she pushes past me.
“Wait!” I catch hold of her arm. “Tell me the truth for once. I want to know what the hell’s really going on, Ellie!”
“Nothing.” She practically shoves me with her shoulder. “I’m gonna be late, and I’m already in trouble for being late twice this week.” Her angry eyes bore into mine. “Why are you acting like such a loser all the time?”
She turns away with a scowl and disappears around a corner.
I can’t stop wondering who the real loser is. Me, or the girl with the abusive boyfriend?
12
Not so easy to concentrate when you start the day like that. I try my best to focus on my teachers’ droning voices, but it’s nearly impossible.
In first period, Ellie won’t glance my way. All through class she stares into space looking utterly grim, despite a couple of warnings from the teacher. At one point she has her head down on her desk, which makes me wonder if she might be sick.
At lunchtime I don’t see her, so I spend my time talking to Aubrey and a couple of other kids about their ideas for the theatre arts revue. I keep quiet about mine, though. I don’t want to mention anything until I’ve got a better idea of the concept. Some of theirs are okay, like a theme based on fairy tales, where we’d perform songs, dances, and scenes from well-known animated shows. I like the Looney Tunes revue, too, based on old cartoons. That could be fun. I’m still stuck on my idea though.
And as I chew my way through my lunch, barely tasting it, I keep one eye on the doorway, watching out for Ellie, but she never shows up. Uneasiness bubbles in my belly. I wait at her locker for a while, but she doesn’t show up there either. I ask around, but nobody has seen her since first period.
I run into Jake in the hallway shortly before the bell. He hooks his arm through mine as I’m zooming past. I know there’s distress carved into my face because I can actually feel it. Jake sees it, too, I can tell right away. I try to adjust my features to look something like nonchalant. It doesn’t work though.
“What’s going on?” he says “You look freaked out about something.”
“It’s Ellie, as usual. I haven’t seen her since first period. She didn’t show up at lunch. I’m thinking of calling her phone, even though I’d hate for her to think I’m worried.”
And I’m just about to call when my text message alert goes off. I hold up one finger and dig into my backpack. I can feel him watching me, and can hardly wait to tell him how I got myself out of my fix with Mac this morning. But as I read the text message on my screen, my stomach does a swan dive to my toes.
Clem, it’s Ellie’s mom. Do you know where she is?
Oh god, what can I say to Mrs. Denton? I want to at least give her something.
She was at school this morning in first period with me, I text back.
School called. She wasn’t in second. Skipping a lot. On probation as it is. Very worried abt her.
I feel I should offer her something, maybe even come up with an excuse. But what’s the point? I can’t keep lying for my ex-friend and covering her butt as she digs herself into an even deeper hole. Sorry, Mrs. D. Haven’t seen or heard from her since.
Thnx. That’s all she says. I feel sick right to my core.
“Where the hell did she go?” I ask, staring at Jake. “Why would she leave the school when she’s already in a crapload of trouble?”
“Maybe she didn’t leave,” Jake says. “Maybe she’s still around here somewhere.”
“Hmmm. Maybe you’re right. Sorry, gotta run!”
I head straight for the girls’ washroom, just in case. I push through the door. Three girls are just washing up, splashing each other and laughing before drying their hands. One stall door is shut with no feet showing underneath. I sidle into the stall beside it and lock the door. And as soon as the girls leave, I stand on the toilet and peer over.
Sure enough, Ellie’s crouched in a huddle on the seat again. She has no clue that I’m looking down at her.
“You moving in here permanently, Ellie?” I try to say it in a nice way because suddenly I just might feel a whole bunch of sorry for her.
She looks up, startled. Her mouth quivers, then she bursts into tears.
“I can’t take this anymore,” she says, gulping through sobs. “I’m so sorry for what Mac did to you this morning.”
“I’m not sorry for what I did to him. He’s a jackass. And it wasn’t your mom who hurt you, was it? Why did you lie to me?”
Ellie sniffs and shakes her head. “God, you don’t really think it was Mac, do you? Because it wasn’t him. I just hurt myself doing something stupid, that’s all. And I didn’t want to talk about it. So I just said it was my mom.”
“Come on, Ellie. You expect me to believe that? Especially after the rough way he grabbed me beside the car? What the hell was that about? And I saw the bruise on your arm, you know.”
Ellie sighs. “There’s a perfectly good explanation for that one, too. But you’d never believe it either. Look, Mac’s not so bad, really. Once you understand him. His life’s totally messed up right now. There’s tons of stuff bugging him. And he just kind of has a temper.”
“Huh. More like a lit fuse. Your mom texted me. She’s looking for you. The school called her, you know. She says you’re in trouble already. Why’d you skip again today?”
I dig into my pocket and pull out her watch, which I brought to school just in case this opportunity popped up. “Because of this, maybe?” I dangle it in the air over her head.
She gasps. “Where did you find that?” She tries to grab it.
“You were at the quarry yesterday, weren’t you? Looking for your watch with Mac. Did you lose this the night Kit died?” I hold it just out of reach. “Is that why you started the rumour about a fight between Kit and Spencer? Was that part of your backup plan? In case you somehow lost control of the situation, and of me? And needed someone else to get the blame?”
Bingo. Her face changes quickly; that mist of sadness and angst evaporates. She hops onto the floor and starts spinning tissue off the roll. She uses the wad to wipe her nose and face. Raccoon eyes again. I don’t like those eyes.
“What happened to Kit?” I ask.
“You have to give that back to me,” she says, ignoring my question. “Honestly, it’ll help solve a huge pile of problems for me.”
She drops the crumpled wad in the water, flushes it, then steps out of the stall.
“And why’s that?” I step out of mine.
“I can’t really explain everything right now.” Next thing I know she’s on her phone, texting madly, a twisted smile on her face. She looks up at me again and holds out her hand.
I shove the watch into my pocket.
“Come on, Clem. I need to have it back, like right now.”
“So, how did it wind up where I found it, Els? Hah…wind up! Get it?” After all the crap she’s been putting me through lately, taunting her feels good.
Her mouth tightens, and her eyes well with tears again. She starts blinking fast. “I don’t care where you found it. I just want it back.” She takes a step toward me.