It starts to snow. I stop and pull my hat and mitts from my knapsack. Every move I make is a huge exertion on my body. My limbs feel like dead weight. I jam my hat on, tuck in my bangs. Does Mom really treat me differently than Trish? She has to, doesn’t she? We’re two totally different people. I’m sure Mom would have made her raisin-less muffins too, if only she’d asked. And had Trish ever said anything about Europe? I don’t remember. Maybe.
And as far as the secret club thing goes—it’s not like it was on purpose. It didn’t really have anything to do with her. Plus, after what she did to Willa, I’m glad she felt left out.
First block is almost half over by the time I make it to school. I debate whether or not to slip into class. I might as well. A “late” is better than an “absent.” I tell Mr. Mahoney that I missed the bus and had to walk—true-ish.
The rest of my classes go by in a foggy haze. At the end of the day, I come upon Garret at his locker. I back up, turn, and walk in the opposite direction before he notices me, then I duck into the art room. While I hide out, I slump against the door.
A heaviness pushes down on my chest. I roll over and inch one eyeball to the edge of the glass panel that runs along the side of the door. The hall is empty except for Mr. Scott, who’s talking to Constable Miller, our school’s liaison officer. My head starts to swim and my vision blurs a little. What are they talking about? He was really serious about bringing in the police. I roll back against the door and wait until the room stops spinning. It takes a while.
I gotta do something.
So I do.
At the main office, I stop at the reception counter. “Is Mr. Scott here?” I ask the secretary.
She nods, shuffling through a stack of paper.
“Do you think I could see him?”
“Name?” she asks glancing up at me over the rim of her glasses.
“Lizzie Turner.”
She presses a button on her phone. “Mr. Scott. There’s a Lizzie Turner here to see you.”
“Send her in,” a voice crackles back over the intercom.
“Go ahead,” she says.
“Thanks.”
Mr. Scott’s door is open. He’s sitting behind his desk, looking exactly as he did a few days ago, with what seems like the same pile of folders spread out in front of him. Makes me wonder if he ever left.
He gestures to a chair on the other side of his desk. “Have a seat.”
I draw a shaky breath and sit.
“What can I do for you?”
“I, um…the other day…well, I lied. And so I came to confess…well, partly confess.”
His eyebrows knit together. “Please. Continue.”
“It was me,” I say. “I’m The Goodbye Girls. Or girl,” I correct. “I needed money to go on the New York trip, so I came up with this idea to break up with people for a fee.” I let all the words tumble out of me before I change my mind.
Mr. Scott steeples his fingers and leans back in his chair. “I confess, Lizzie. I’m very disappointed. I wouldn’t have expected this from you. But like I mentioned, I’ve been wrong before….”
“I did not do those other baskets. The mean ones.” I say it firmly because it’s the truth. “I had nothing to do with them.” I can live with taking responsibility for the stuff I did do. There’s no way I’m taking responsibility for the stuff I didn’t.
He stays quiet for a minute. “What about your friend, Ms. Carlson?”
I shake my head. “She didn’t have anything to do with it. She has tonnes of money.” I keep shaking my head. “Nope. No need to do anything like this.”
“I see.” He stays quiet for a minute, just looking at me, like he’s trying to figure something out. “This operation must have been quite the undertaking.”
“Yup.” I hope my face isn’t as red as it feels.
“I remember taking down your posters. Though a part of me appreciates your entrepreneurial spirit, I have to question the moral implications.”
I stare down at my hands folded on my lap.
“I mean, profiting from other people’s misery,” he clarifies.
I want to say, “They were all going to break up anyway,” but I don’t.
“And I’m sure there must be something in our policy about using school property to perpetuate a business of this sort, as in one for your own personal gain,” he continues.
I want to argue this point too. Because we didn’t use school property. But again I keep my mouth shut and stay focused on my hands.
He doesn’t say anything for so long, I look up. He’s tapping his still-steepled fingers against his lips. If he’s trying to make me sweat, it’s working.
“Now that you’ve confessed to being the one behind these Goodbye Girls, Lizzie, why should I believe that you are responsible for only some baskets and not others?”
I can see where he’s coming from. I mean, why confess at all in the first place? I’m not even sure what I’d hoped to accomplish—maybe just to make it all stop. After thinking hard, trying to come up with some sort of answer, I rip a page from Trish’s book and use almost her exact words. “Do you actually believe I would send a basket like that to my own sister? That’s pretty harsh.”
“I suppose you have a point. Though I’ve been a high school principal for over ten years. Nothing really surprises me anymore.”
I give him a weak smile.
“As you well know, Trisha was very upset by this whole thing.”
“Yes. It was devastating,” I say, trying to sound sincere.
“What I still can’t understand is, why would someone target your sister, Allan, and Olivia, and then name you as the mastermind behind it all?”
I don’t answer.
“Are you sure that it just didn’t go off the rails somewhere?” he presses. “Maybe you got talked or pressured into doing a few things that maybe you’re not proud of? You know, if that’s the case, now’s the time to come clean.”
“I’m telling you the truth, Mr. Scott. I did do the original breakup baskets, but I promise you, I didn’t do those last three.”
He keeps looking at me, as if he’s waiting for me to crack or something. Then he says, “And you can’t think of anyone—an enemy, perhaps—who would have?”
A mental image of the photo I took of Bradley’s email forms clearly in my mind. My phone is in my pocket, only inches from my hand. My thumb twitches, like it’s itching to pull the trigger. A million thoughts race through my head. Do I give Trish up? Why should I take the bullet for her? She would never do it for me. The choice is clear, isn’t it? I have a school record to protect too. But if I do give her up, what does that say about me? That I’m a vindictive bitch like her? And if she misses her chance at a scholarship, do I really want her here, with me, for the next who knows how many years? She would be unbearable to live with. Maybe I’m more selfish than I think I am….
With my heart smacking against my ribs, I lower my eyes, and say, “I have no idea.”
I hope he hasn’t taken a course on reading body language, although it probably should be mandatory for high school principals.
He clears his throat loudly. “I’ll be honest. I don’t have much to work with here. No one has made a complaint other than your sister, but she didn’t give me anything to go on. I very much believe the police should be involved, but I will need her to come back in and tell them her story, make a statement.”
I jerk my head up. “Wait. You mean you’ll only get the police involved if Trish wants you to?”
“Well, yes. But if no one wants to get the police involved….” He shrugs. “There’s not much I can do. I can’t force them. Thus far, there’re no leads, no proof.”
I let his words sink in. “I don’t think she wants to pursue it,” I say slowly.
His forehead creases in a frown. “I find that hard
to believe. She must want to know who did this to her. She is the only one who’s come in to talk to me. She knows how serious this is. I’m still hoping she can convince Allan and Olivia to come in as well.”
“Actually, I think she’s pretty much over it now.” I swallow down a huge wad of something stuck in my throat. “She told me all she wanted to do is to put it behind her and move on. You know, focus on her last semester of high school.”
He gives me a doubtful look.
“So am I in trouble, sir?” I ask, hoping to distract him from all my lies. “Like, for The Goodbye Girls stuff?”
Not answering right away, he opens a file folder. I assume it’s mine. His eyes travel down the page. “I see your name is on the list for the New York trip, so your business venture obviously paid off,” he says, a tinge of disapproval in his voice.
He’s going to ban me from the trip. Then all of a sudden it hits me. Do it. I don’t even want to go anymore. Why would I? Willa and I have been dreaming about it forever, but now we’re not even speaking. If I go on the trip, all I’ll get is icy silence. I’m not close to anyone else in band. There’s Garret, but I can’t glom onto him the entire time. I know my fantasy New York romance can’t really come true on a band trip. I’ll end up sharing a room with some random girls. It’s not a dream, it’s a nightmare.
“I’m not going on the trip,” I say.
His eyes widen.
“Yeah.” I nod my head. “I’m not going on the trip,” I say it a little louder this time.
“May I ask why?” he says quietly.
Feeling my eyes start to sting, I blink a few times. “Personal reasons.”
“I hope nothing serious.”
“No, no.” I have to keep blinking so the water doesn’t come out. “Just something came up.” I jump up from my chair. “Can I go? I forgot my mom’s picking me up,” I lie.
“Of course.” He politely stands. “But could you please encourage your sister to change her mind and come back in? Tomorrow’s the last day before Christmas break, but if she comes to see me in the morning, I can arrange a meeting with Constable Miller in the afternoon, if that’s the direction she chooses.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say as I practically run from his office, down the hall, and into the girls’ bathroom. Once I check under all the stalls and know for sure that I’m alone, I hang over the sink and let the tears come.
Chapter 30
The next day goes by painfully slowly. The school’s clocks must be broken. It takes forever for the bells to ring. Doesn’t matter much. Hardly anyone showed up for classes, deciding to get a head start on their Christmas vacation. But not me. Good ol’ Lizzie never misses a class.
I gather my things from my locker. When I slam the door it echoes through the empty hall. Even the nerdy keeners make it out before me. The last few whiz by, trying to make the bus. Guess they have lives too. Everyone but me. I slowly shuffle my way down to the front entrance. All the classroom doors are flung wide open, most of the chairs already stacked on the desks, ready for one last cleaning. No staff or teachers staying late today.
As I round the corner, I hear a loud ticking coming from the band room. Mr. Fraser is sitting on a stool with headphones on, tapping his baton against a metal music stand. I hesitate outside his door. I was going to send him an email, but he’s here now, so I might as well finish ripping off the Band-Aid.
“Mr. Fraser?” I edge closer and repeat his name a couple times till he finally hears me.
“Oh, hey, Lizzie.” He smiles, takes off his headphones, and lets them hang around his neck. “I was just listening to that symphony from our last class. You guys are sounding pretty good.”
I force myself to smile back. “That’s great.”
“What can I do for you?” He snaps his finger. “You’re probably here to make your last payment.”
“No, no. It’s not that. I, uh…actually, Mr. Fraser, I’ve decided not to go on the trip.”
He frowns and sits down behind his desk. “But Lizzie, why?”
“It’s, um, personal reasons.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No, it’s—no, nothing. Thank you, though.”
He opens a drawer and takes out a black notebook. “I’m sorry to lose you, Lizzie. You’re a strong flute player, the band’s going to miss you.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
He leans back in his chair and flips open the notebook. “Unfortunately, because you’re cancelling so late, you won’t get your deposit back.”
“I know.”
“But I can write you a cheque for the rest of what you’ve paid.” He does some scribbling and then rips the cheque from the book.
“Thanks.” I fold it up and slip it into my back pocket without even looking at it.
“And again. I’m sorry you won’t be joining us. I hope everything works out.”
I feel myself starting to blink again. The tears are on their way back. I force another smile and leave before I collapse into a soggy puddle on the floor.
It’s almost dark when the school doors finally swing closed behind me. I walk down the path that runs between the school and the library. My phone chirps. It’s Garret.
Still haven’t seen u. U ok?
Ya sorry, I lie. I had tons of work to finish before break.
Where u now?
Leaving school on path to lib, I text. Though it takes me a while. In spite of the cold, my fingers are sweaty and slip on the screen.
Gr8 I’m at cgc I’ll come meet u we can go home together.
I get a sick feeling in my stomach. I start to text, I’m not sure we should see each—then I gasp. Jesus. I hold down the backspace. I was about to break up with Garret via text just like Todd did to Abby. I shake my head. That text was the seed from which the whole idea for The Goodbye Girls grew.
I text, Ok.
The Canada Games Centre is right across the street from the library. Garret is crossing the parking lot by the time I emerge from the wooded path. He waves and jogs toward me. He smiles his perfect smile with his super white teeth. It almost takes my breath away. But then the sick feeling in my stomach returns with a vengeance. It’s all I can do not to double over.
“Hey, stranger,” he says.
“Hey,” I say.
“I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”
I don’t answer. I just give him my best fake laugh.
“So to kick off vacay, a bunch of us are going skating at the Oval tonight. Wanna come?”
“I don’t have skates,” I say quickly.
“That’s okay. They have ones there to borrow. For free.”
“Garret…” My heart starts thumping. I take a deep breath in through my nose, out through my mouth. “You’re one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met, but I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
His head jerks back. “Really?”
“It’s all my fault. It’s nothing you’ve done or anything.”
“Your fault.” He frowns, thinking for a minute. “Is this about Trish?”
I nod. “Sort of. She said she was fine with me seeing you. But she wasn’t. And I should have known she wasn’t.”
He thinks some more. “I guess I always knew that might be a problem.”
“No. It’s on me.”
“Did she say something to you?”
I swallow and lie. “No, I can just tell.”
“I see her and Jordan hanging out together a lot. She always looks happy.”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “Looks can be deceiving.”
“It’s too bad,” he says. “I like you.”
“I like you too.”
“And I can’t change your mind?”
“No.”
We stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to say.
He looks over his shoulder. “The bus is coming. Should we grab it?”
“No.” I shake my head. “You go. I was heading for the library anyway. I have some books on hold.”
“Oh, okay.” His cheeks turn red. “Guess I won’t see you till the trip then, so…uh…Merry Christmas.”
“Yeah, same to you,” I say softly, staring down at my feet. I can’t risk letting him see my face.
I wait in the library vestibule, blinking back tears, watching as Garret gets on the bus and the doors close behind him. When it pulls away into traffic, I leave the library and slowly walk home.
Some time later, I find myself in the kitchen—I must have been on autopilot.
Mom is at the sink draining pasta into a colander. She takes one look at me and says, “Lizzie, what happened?”
I just stand there.
She pulls out a kitchen chair. “Sit down and tell me what’s wrong.”
I don’t sit down, I kick the chair instead. “You wanna know what’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong. You’re going out with Willa’s dad. You wouldn’t let me tell her. She found out. And then she found out I knew. And now she’s not talking to me. JUST LIKE I SAID WOULD HAPPEN. My sister’s a bitch. I just broke up with a guy I really like. And, oh yeah. I’m not going on the trip to New York.”
“Willa knows?” Mom lowers herself onto a kitchen chair. “She hasn’t said a word to Greg.”
“Gee, thanks, Mom!” I shout. “Thanks for focusing on that instead of the fact that I’m not going on the trip!”
Her face drains of colour. “Oh my god, Lizzie.” She holds her hands to her cheeks. “You’re absolutely right. I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head. “Save it.”
“No, seriously.” She reaches an arm toward me. “Tell me why. I thought you raised all your money. If you need more, let me help. I’ll get a cash advance on the credit card.”
“No, Mom. It’s too late.”
“I mean it. I’ll make up the difference. You were so excited. I want you to go.”
The Goodbye Girls Page 19