“Have a good day,” she calls after me.
Willa’s mom’s car is pulling up to the curb when I step out onto the porch. I slip into the back seat. “Hey, Willa. Hey, Marlene. Thanks for coming to get me.”
Willa grumbles some kind of response. Marlene gives me a tight smile in the rear-view mirror. I sit quietly and think about Mom, and how it’s nice that she’s taking an interest in herself and how she looks. Not that she needs to, but who knows? Maybe she’ll meet someone. Dad’s been gone for twelve years now. She’s due.
A few minutes later Marlene pulls up in the school drop-off lane. “There you go, ladies.”
“Thanks!” I say and scramble out the back.
“The housecoat’s a nice touch, don’t you think?” Willa says as she slams the car door shut.
“Sorry, what?”
“She’s wearing her housecoat under her jacket. And her pyjamas!”
“Oh. Well, it’s not like she’s the only mom who’s ever driven her kid to school in her PJs.”
Willa glares at me. “I can’t remember the last time I saw her in actual clothes.”
“Calm down and cut her some slack. She could be a little out of sorts, what with all that’s happened, you know, with your dad and stuff.”
She doesn’t say anything as we walk to the front entrance of the school.
“Getting dressed up might not be high on her list of priorities right now, that’s all,” I add.
“Yeah. Whatever.”
Once in the foyer, aside from the janitor un-stacking chairs in the cafeteria, the school looks empty. The teachers are already here, but probably all in the teachers’ lounge doing whatever it is they have to do—yoga, black magic, intravenous caffeine drip, a good old-fashioned game of Twister—to help them face another day at the West.
Wordlessly, we both peel off our jackets and tie them around our waists. Willa shifts her eyes one way up the hall then down the other. She gives me the all-clear nod, takes out a roll of tape, hands me a small stack of papers, and we get to work.
All posters, flyers, and notices are supposed to be approved and signed by the office. Ours are neither, so we have to be super ninja, sliding along walls and checking around every corner like we’re CIA or something.
When we’re down to the last flyer, I say, “I think I’ll put this on the bulletin board outside the cafeteria.”
“We finished just in time.” She jerks her head toward the window. The parade of buses is starting to pull up in the bus loop. “I’m going to my locker. I’ll see you later in English.”
“Okay.” I quickly put up the flyer and jam the tape into my back pocket just as clusters of kids begin to trickle in the front door. I step back to make sure I hung it straight when—
“Hey, Lizzie. You’re here early.”
Garret. I spin around. “Uh…” He’s wearing his West varsity jacket. How does he always look so perfect? “Yeah…” I have to stall for a minute to pull myself together. My eyes drop. It’s then that I notice a smear of peanut butter across the stomach of my sweater. Sweet. “I guess. A bit.”
He smiles, possibly finding my loserliness adorable, and peers over my head. “What are you looking at? Did they post a date for the coffee house yet?”
“Uh…” I slap my hand over the congealed peanut butter. “Did you go to the band meeting about the trip?” I blurt. It’s all I can think of to say. It’s either that or “Can I touch your hair?”
“I had to rewrite a physics quiz. I heard about it though. Are you going?”
He’s asking if I’m going. I have to swallow first. “I’d love to, but I dunno. It’s a lot of money. Are you?”
“I’d like to…but there’s Trish. She wouldn’t be too keen on me going. You know, without her.”
I frown. “You can’t not go because of her.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know if it’d be worth it. She’d be super ticked.” He leans sideways, toward me. “You know how she can get.”
Do I. God, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t pray some family will show up on our doorstep and say there was a mix-up at the hospital. We’ll make the trade and I’ll finally have my very own real human sister.
“Anyhow.” He steps around me and toward the board. “So is there anything—hey, what’s this?” He’s looking right at my flyer.
“Oh, that?” I squint and pretend to read the ad. “I don’t know…I think it’s just some silly—” It’s too late. He’s reciting the email address out loud.
“Genius!” he shouts.
I was not expecting that. “Genius? You think so?” I say, smoothing my hair with my hand. “Really?”
“Totally,” he says, still looking at the flyer.
He does seem impressed. I’m beaming from ear to ear. I so badly want to reveal that I’m the genius. Well, 50 percent of the genius.
“Who do you think it is?” He tugs on his chin. “Like, who do you think is behind it?”
I shrug and try to look innocent.
He takes one last look at the flyer and laughs to himself. “Well, I guess I’ll see you later.” And he strides off down the hall.
* * *
In a matter of hours, every single flyer has been removed by school officials. But they were obviously up long enough, because by lunchtime, all anyone is talking about is the website, as well as its anonymous creators. Who are they? I hear it asked over and over again while I’m standing in line at the cafeteria. A half dozen names are tossed around. Of course, none of them are ours.
Willa has her laptop at school, but we can’t risk anyone looking over our shoulders, so we wolf down our lunches and walk over to Starbucks to check our email. We already have six people wanting to hire us.
I’m blown away. “That was fast,” I say. “Who knew?”
Willa gives me a smug smile. “I knew.”
“Okay, smarty pants.” I peel back the sippy tab on my skinny vanilla latte. “So what do we do next? Reply, right?”
“Yes, siree,” she sings, but then her face clouds over. “I forgot about payment. How are they going to get the money to us?”
“Could we get them to e-transfer?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know about you, but my mom can go online and see my balance.”
“Yeah. Mine too.”
“And I’m not sure how thrilled my mom would be with our new business venture, especially after she sees what I got on my math test. It would just be easier to deal in cold, hard cash—less of a paper trail.”
I flick the edge of my plastic coffee lid while I think about it. “They could mail it. We could get a post office box at Shoppers Drug Mart. It’s close to school. It’d be easy for us to collect.”
“Brilliant. We’ll go there after school and see about renting one.” Willa starts typing. “I’ll just tell them payment details will follow.”
I watch her fingers fly over the keyboard. When she’s done, she clicks her laptop closed. “This is really going to work,” she says.
I can’t help thinking she might be right. “New York, New York, here we come.”
Chapter 5
The Goodbye Girls has been up and running for a couple of weeks now. People don’t seem to care anymore who’s behind it, just as long as someone’s willing to do their dirty work for them.
We’ve successfully completed seven breakups—seven already!—and have a whole bunch more lined up. It’s almost too easy. Even our transportation problem, which I had worried was going to be a major issue, miraculously solved itself.
Willa’s older brother, Sean, is taking a year off after high school to, from what I can see, sit around the house playing video games. Luckily for us, for the bargain price of a Whopper combo meal, he’s willing to do pretty much anything, including driving us around while he listens to his crappy emo music. He doesn’t e
ven ask what we’re doing.
Because we don’t want to be seen, all our drops have to be executed under the cloak of darkness. But we’ve got it down to a science. Sean takes us on a drive-by so we can check out the house and decide on the best approach. Then he lets us out a little ways away and we backtrack, mostly through wooded areas and neighbouring yards. We ring the doorbell or knock, run and hide behind the nearest shrubbery, parked car, or garbage bin, and spy until we see someone take the basket inside. It’s really our only way of guaranteeing delivery. So far, there have only been a few tiny glitches.
Like, this one time a father-type answers. “Ellen. Call the tree guy!” he hollers back into the house. “Marg and Bill finally decided to apologize. That spruce is comin’ down!”
Crouching in the darkness, Willa and I look at each other. “They’ll figure it out,” she whispers.
Another time, Lauren, a girl from my Drama class, opens the door. She looks down at the basket. She knows what it is, and immediately bursts into tears. A giant knot balls up inside my stomach. I watch her standing there sobbing for what feels like an hour. She slowly shuts the door without touching the basket.
Willa and I make our way back to the car in silence. As we settle into the back seat, Willa holds up a handful of mini chocolate bars—leftovers from Halloween. Her mom always buys too much. “I know that was brutal,” she says, “but he would have broken up with her anyway.”
I nod, but don’t take any bars. I’m not hungry.
I notice Lauren isn’t in Drama the next day.
Then there’s Jordan Short. He’s in grade twelve and he’s one of Trish’s friends. Well actually, he’s Garret’s friend, so really only Trish’s through association. Therefore he escapes the label of giant asshole, a label I save for the majority of Trish’s “close” friends. Anyhow, his locker is near mine, and he’s pretty nice. We yuk it up sometimes between classes. He and this girl Kelly Mason have been going out since junior high. But then last week, Kelly hires us and is willing to pay top dollar.
Those few days before the impending breakup, I can’t look Jordan in the eye. When he cracks some corny joke about an upcoming assembly, I force myself to laugh, though on the inside I feel a bit like crying. It’s weird, knowing something about someone that they don’t know themselves. He has no clue what’s coming. And every time I pass Kelly in the hall all I want to do is scream, “Are you crazy?! You clueless cretin!”
The night we make the drop at Jordan’s, he opens the door and looks up and down the street, then down at the basket. Even though the porch is dimly lit and we’re across the street, I can see him frowning with confusion. After a few seconds, his face clears and it dawns on him. He picks up the basket and throws it against the garage door.
“There’s a hundred bucks shot to hell,” Willa whispers.
He isn’t at school the next day either.
* * *
Over breakfast I finally tell Mom about the trip. I can’t believe it’s only two months away! It’s not like I can wait until the week before and say, “Hey, by the way, I’m going to New York, but no worries, I have the two thousand bucks to cover it.”
She sits at the kitchen table looking totally wiped, as usual. Now there’s guilt and sadness mixed in there too. “You know I’d love to see you go, Lizzie, but there isn’t—”
“It’s okay, Mom. I’m going to look into the fundraising stuff they’re setting up at school. Kids who went last year said you can really make a lot of money.”
She presses her lips together and doesn’t say anything.
“It can’t hurt, right?” I say in a super positive voice.
Squeezing my hand, she smiles. “You’re absolutely right. It can’t hurt.”
“Here’s a wacky idea,” Trish says sarcastically, hanging off the fridge door. “Get a job.”
Mom sighs. “Trish. You know I’m not keen on you girls working during the school year. The money from your summer jobs should get you through. I want you to concentrate on your schoolwork.”
“And I’ve tried to get a job, Trish,” I point out. “You know I have.” In spite of Mom’s wishes.
Trish bats her eyelashes and mimics what I just said under her breath, of course loud enough for me to hear.
I shoot her my best death-ray glare. Then I turn my attention back to Mom, who’s oblivious to what’s going on behind her. “Willa’s going to help me brainstorm too,” I say. “And I think I’ve got some things I can sell online.”
Mom gives my hand another squeeze. “That’s a great idea.”
I shovel in a mouthful of Shreddies. “I think this might be doable, Mom.”
Trish is looking at me suspiciously from across the kitchen. I can tell her spidey senses are tingling. Dammit. I figured she might be a problem; that’s why we set up shop at Willa’s. I can’t risk Trish snooping around my room, which I suspect she totally does. If she ever discovers what I’m up to, it’ll be all over the school before the first bell, and my social life, or what little there is of it, will be non-existent.
Note to self. Keep an eye on Trish.
* * *
Jordan’s back at school. Garret’s leaning against the lockers talking to him. They look like they’re having an intense conversation. I wonder if it’s about Kelly and the breakup. Do guys talk about stuff like that?
They both clam up as I get closer.
I jerk my head hello. I still can’t seem to look Jordan in the eye.
Hiding behind my locker door, I try and jam all my junk inside. My Science textbook falls out twice.
I hear Jordan call out, “Catch you in Bio, bro,” and Garret say, “Later, J Short.”
The two-minute-warning bell rings and I dig out my English binder. When I close my locker, I see Garret sliding the side of his body along the wall of lockers until he’s next to mine. “Trish here yet?” he asks.
He’s wearing a light blue, button-down oxford shirt. It’s the exact colour of his eyes. He should seriously consider wearing it every day. “She’s got C block off, doesn’t she? She’s probably in the caf.”
“Oh, right.” He nods. “So, did you practice that new symphony yet?”
“No.” I’ve been too busy helping destroy people’s lives for my own financial gain. “I tried, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Why does Mr. Fraser always pick such snoozefests?”
He laughs and watches me fiddle with my lock. He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave, not that I’m complaining. I try to think of something to say. “Uh…I heard Jordan and Kelly broke up.”
“Yeah,” he says. “He got one of those breakup baskets.”
“Oh?” My voice cracks. “Did it…make it easier?” I know it didn’t.
“Not really. Came out of nowhere. He’s pretty messed up.”
“That sucks.”
“There was a dartboard in there with Kelly’s face on it, though. He liked that. And beating the crap out of the DVD sort of helped.”
The Hangover. When Kelly answered the questionnaire, she said it was his favourite. “I think he was supposed to watch the DVD, not beat the crap out of it.”
He raises his eyebrows. “I don’t think he was in the mood to watch a comedy.”
“Yeah. I getcha.” I start down the hall. Garret follows me. I turn, walking backward. “I guess everyone assumes it’s only girls who get their hearts broken,” I say. “But that’s probably not true.”
He shrugs and glances away, like maybe he shouldn’t admit to anything.
“Guys maybe feel they have to hide it more,” I add.
Garret gives me a funny look. “It’s hard to believe you and Trish are sisters. You aren’t alike at all.”
I smile. “Thanks. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Chapter 6
Mom slides the newspaper across the kitchen table. “I can�
��t get the nine-letter word.”
Spinning it around, I stare at the Word Target for a second. “Obtrusive.”
She grabs the paper back, rolls it into a tube, and whacks me lightly on the head. “Show-off.”
I shrug innocently and drain the milk from my cereal bowl.
Then—“Mom!”—the world’s most annoying voice shouts from another part of the house. “Can you take me and Madison to the mall tonight?”
Mom sighs and doesn’t answer. She has this thing about conversational yelling.
“It’s like she’s new here or something,” I say, wiping milk off my chin.
“Mom!” Trish shouts again, louder.
We look at each other over the table and shake our heads.
Finally Trish shows herself. “Mom!” she huffs. “I’ve been talking to you.”
Mom slowly turns in her chair. “That’s not talking, that’s screaming.”
“God, Mom. I was getting dressed. You should be happy I’m multitasking.”
“Oh,” Mom says dryly, turning back around. “My apologies then.”
“So can you?” Trish says.
“Can I what?”
Trish throws her arms in the air all dramatic. “Drop me and Madison at the mall.”
Mom leaves her hanging as she takes her time flattening and smoothing out the newspaper and erasing a letter in the crossword. “No, I can’t,” she says. “I have plans.”
This time it’s Trish and I who look at each other. “Plans?” we both say at the same time.
Mom’s head is down, studying the puzzle. “Yes. I’m meeting some…people after work.”
“People.” Trish frowns. “What people?”
“Don’t you worry about it,” Mom says.
Trish and I look at each other again over Mom’s bent head and exchange words with our eyes. Do you know anything? No, not a clue.
“Well, like, where are you going?” Trish says.
Mom pushes out her chair and stands. “Trish, honey, as I said, don’t you worry about it.”
The Goodbye Girls Page 3