by Marnie Lamb
“I’m just warning you. Oh, and when you’re around Chanel, don’t mention anything about fathers.”
“Fathers? Why not?”
“You know her parents are divorced, right?” I nodded. “Two years ago, her dad left her mom for another woman. They went to the States and had a baby. Chanel never sees him anymore. He never calls or writes to her, not even on her birthday.”
“Wow. That’s awful.”
“Yeah. Amber told me the whole story. Anyway, Chanel’s pretty sensitive about it, so just don’t say anything, O.K.?”
“Of course not.”
As I followed her, I tried to keep all these new rules straight. No geeks, no puppies, no fathers. Maybe if I made a song of it, it would be easier to remember.
The face was becoming clearer now, emerging from the crowd of people with blank expressions and golden, copper, or raven hair. The face was in the centre, away from the others. It was looking at the others, and it might’ve been following them or watching them. I cared more about this face than I did about the others. I even gave it eyebrows and eyelashes, which wasn’t easy with pastels.
We were working on the art fair in class that day. The topic for our project was freedom. You won’t be surprised to hear it was Kallie’s idea. At first, I wasn’t enthusiastic. How did you draw freedom? Kallie suggested we each do our own mini-project about what freedom meant to us and shape our projects so they all fit together.
“If we each do our own project and put them together,” Kallie said, “we’ll get to do our own stuff without anyone interfering, but we’ll still be working as a team.”
So each of us was working on her own section. Kallie was forming clay figurines that were going to be part of a larger sculpture. Chu Hua was using acrylic paint to draw tiny, precise pictures that reminded me of the Hambrushinas Kallie and I had painted on the boxes. Marcia was using watercolours, but her paintings were so abstract, I couldn’t make out what they were supposed to be.
I was getting used to working with Marcia and Chu Hua, but I still found it hard to communicate with Chu Hua. Like the time she asked about the project during class. Kallie was absent that day and Marcia was getting something from the supply closet when Chu Hua said, “Hilary, how we suppose to make our work? What shape?”
I lifted a shoulder. “Whatever shape you want.”
“But what about other people?”
“Kallie said we could do whatever we wanted.”
“No, but how to fit with others?”
Now I understood. “Oh. I don’t know. We’ll probably cut our stuff along the edges and fit it together like a jigsaw puzzle.”
Chu Hua furrowed her brow. “Jig-saw?”
I wished Marcia would get back from the supply closet. She knew how to explain things to Chu Hua better than I did. “A puzzle.”
But she still looked uncertain. “Puzzle? ‘The man is puzzled.’ Puzzled, like confused? I don’t understand.”
“No,” I said, “like a puzzle. You know, something that fits together.” But she didn’t know, and by this time, I was so frustrated I was close to tears. “I’m sorry, Chu Hua, I can’t explain it to you.”
“Oh. Sorry,” she mumbled, looking down. She blinked several times, which made me feel even worse because I knew what it meant.
Later I told Kallie about the incident. “It’s just so annoying that her English isn’t very good. It makes it hard to work with her.”
But Kallie wasn’t sympathetic. “Of course her English isn’t perfect. Her family’s only been in the country two years. Up until this year, she was in an ESL class. And how can she learn English unless she works with people who have better English?”
Snap! I’d been holding the pastel so hard it’d snapped in half. The box was at the other end of the table, next to Marcia.
“Marcia,” I said tentatively. She and Kallie both looked up. “Can you pass me the box with the pastels?” I’d meant to sound friendly, but my voice came out all stiff and superior, and my thank you wasn’t much better.
Things hadn’t improved between Marcia and me, and my dislike of her had gone beyond the fact that she was nerdy. She just didn’t seem to have any personality, no likes, no dislikes, no opinions. If you could get her to speak more than one sentence in a row, it was an achievement, and she never started a conversation. I just couldn’t understand what Kallie saw in her. But when I told Kallie this, she said I wasn’t giving Marcia a chance, she was very shy, she had to open up to me. Well, it was like waiting all summer for a flower to open. I wasn’t sure it would before the autumn frosts killed it.
For Kallie’s sake, I tried to be polite to Marcia, but she never responded. So I wasn’t surprised when she turned back to her painting without acknowledging my thank you. Kallie looked at me, then at her, before resuming her sculpting. We continued in silence until the bell rang. As I stood up, I glimpsed Marcia’s latest painting. At first it seemed like a confused tangle of lines, shapes, and colours. But when I stepped back and stared at it, certain forms emerged.
“That’s a girl, isn’t it?” I said, pointing to the central swirl of colours. I hadn’t meant to say anything, but Marcia’s attentive expression made me bold enough to continue. “The peach part is her head, the brown is her hair, and the white is her dress. She’s standing with her face turned up to the sky, and it’s raining.” I pointed to the sideways oval shape of the peach, which could indicate an upturned face, and to the silvery white lines rushing to meet it. “And this,” I continued, indicating the swirls of green around the figure, “this is the grass she’s standing in.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly it,” Marcia said. Her voice sounded like how a ladybug’s would sound, if ladybugs could talk.
She gave me a watery smile, and our eyes met for the first time. I’d never noticed what a beautiful blue her eyes were, like a strip of the Caribbean Sea. But then, I’d never noticed her eyes at all. And they were quickly lowered again.
Kallie had been paying close attention to our conversation. “Hil, Marcia and Chu Hua are coming over tonight. I’m going to show them how to paint those wooden boxes. Remember — the ones we made in the summer? After that, we’re going to play Jeopardy. Do you want to come?”
My heart felt like it was being squeezed. It wasn’t only what Kallie had said, but the way she’d said it, in a lilting, friendly tone. It reminded me of the summer and all the times we’d hung around. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to spend that evening painting wooden boxes with Kallie, and I didn’t even mind that Marcia and Chu Hua were going to be there.
Then I remembered. Tonight was the dance. I couldn’t go. I asked Kallie if she could postpone it until tomorrow.
“Sorry,” she replied, with an apologetic smile, “but Chu Hua can’t make it then. You and I can do something another time.”
I nodded. The three of them didn’t bother to wait for me because they knew I’d be having lunch with Lynn today. As I gathered my school supplies, I watched them all walk out together.
In the back seat of Morgan’s car, I tucked my camera into the black velvet purse I’d borrowed from Lynn and smoothed my stretchy black skirt. Well, I’d done it. That day after school, I raced to the bank and got the money. The entire time I was there I kept expecting something to go wrong. The bank teller would ask me what I wanted the money for, and when I didn’t have a good enough reason, she’d press a secret button. Red lights would start flashing, sirens would go off, armed policemen would burst in, followed by my mother… But none of that happened. I got the money, I went to The Limit, and a salesgirl brought out my dress for me.
You’re probably thinking, Wait a minute, if you got The Dress, what’s this about a black skirt? The truth is, I didn’t buy The Dress. The Dress was gorgeous, but as I stood there staring at it, I felt like I was holding a stolen treasure chest filled with emeralds and rubies and gold doubloons. It probably seems weird to you, and I can’t really explain it, but as much as I wanted The Dress, it wasn’t right for me to have i
t. I felt I had to earn what was in the pirate’s chest, not steal it. Stealing it just wasn’t me. The Dress would be great for Chanel, but not for me. Not now.
So instead I bought a black two-piece outfit. It had long sleeves and was made of a see-through material with velvety patches and lined with satin. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was perfect. After all, I thought, as I zipped up the skirt in the change room, black does make you look slimmer. To my surprise, both pieces fit perfectly. Delighted, I twirled around and examined myself in the mirror. I’d had to pay more for this dress, but I felt like I was taking only one doubloon, when I wanted the whole treasure chest.
And it was all worth it that night. I swallowed, staring at myself in the mirror at Jason’s. I couldn’t believe that this girl in black, with the hair swept up on top of her head (done specially by Morgan while we were waiting for Lynn to change), the frosty pink mouth, and the lightly shadowed eyes, was me. I felt like I’d suddenly discovered I was a high priestess, and now I was going down to address an assembly of my people, who were anxiously awaiting my coming.
As I rounded the corner of the circular staircase, I saw the people gathered in the foyer turn to look. My cheeks tingled when I saw admiration and surprise in the faces of Lynn and Morgan. When I locked eyes with Jason, a little electric current passed between us. I slid my hand along the banister, flitting my eyes to and fro.
“Wow, Hil, you look amazing,” gushed Lynn.
I shrugged modestly. “Thanks,” I said, looking at Jason.
“Yeah,” he said eagerly. “You look really good.”
“Thanks,” I said again, smiling.
The whole way to the dance, I was beaming. Jason had curly red hair and big blue eyes, and Lynn had told me he was one of the three most desirable men in grade twelve. To be told by one of the cutest guys in the school that I, Hilary Boles, former sandball, looked “good” was beyond incredible. My body felt like it was drifting off somewhere warm.
The next thing I knew, we were standing outside the gym, handing our tickets to a girl behind a table. We stepped inside, into a heady mixture of flashing green and purple strobe lights and thumping rap music. The air had the cheerful chemical scent of designer perfume, with a salty undertone of sweat. I drank it in like it was pure oxygen.
Suddenly Morgan and Jason were gone, and a girl popped up beside Lynn and me.
“Hi!” she screamed.
“Hi!” Lynn screamed back.
The girl had stringy blond hair and was wearing a sleeveless blue dress. Amber.
“Oh my God, you look so good!” she shouted to Lynn. They gave each other a little hug.
Lynn turned to me just as the DJ pumped up the volume. All I could hear was, “My … Hilary.”
“Hi!” Amber shouted.
“Hi!” I shouted back.
She gestured for us to follow her. We wove in between guys in basketball shirts, scarlet-lipped girls dressed all in black, nerds in glasses and striped T-shirts, even some teachers dressed in tweed trying to pretend they knew how to dance. Finally, just as the music stopped, we reached the end of the bleachers, where Chanel and her group had just come off the dance floor. I took a breath. This was it.
“Hi, everyone,” said Lynn.
The exchange of greetings gave me an extra few seconds to clear my throat quietly before Amber said, “Everyone, this is Hilary, Lynn’s friend. Hilary, this is…” Amber introduced me to each person in turn, and I said hi. When I looked into Brett’s dark brown eyes, my voice caught and my hi sounded more like a hiccup.
“Hey,” he said, smiling back.
Then Amber said, “And this is Chanel.”
Holding my breath, I looked up into Chanel’s hazel eyes. She raised her dark eyebrows. It seemed like an eon passed before she gave me a brilliant smile, showing all her teeth, and said kindly, “It’s nice to meet you.”
A ray of pink light flooded my insides. I barely heard Tiffany ask, “Hey, you’re in our homeroom, aren’t you?”
I nodded eagerly, the pink light spreading through my body until Chanel said, “You sit with that weird girl, don’t you? What’s her name, Kallie?”
The pink light vanished. Chanel and Tiffany were staring at me, expecting an answer. I teetered on the brink of a cliff for a few seconds, before I skillfully pulled myself back. “I sit behind her.”
“Oh.” Their faces lightened. I could feel Lynn’s relief, almost as strong as mine.
A new song came on and Amber began pulling everyone onto the dance floor. I was alarmed when she grabbed my hand. I didn’t know how to dance. Lynn hadn’t told me I’d have to dance.
Before I could protest, I was on the dance floor, in the middle of the cool crowd. I stood there for a few seconds, until Amber smiled and yelled, “Dance!” I tried snapping my fingers and twitching my shoulders, but Lynn shot me a warning look. Glancing around, I watched Chanel and her friends. They were swinging their hips and waving their arms like snakes. I tried to copy their moves, but from the looks I was getting from the other seventh graders, I looked more like a middle-aged woman trying to learn belly dancing from a video than a member of the coolest group in grade seven. Once the other students noticed who I was dancing with, though, their glances turned from contemptuous to curious.
By the time I’d swivelled my way through three dances, my skills had improved enough for Chanel to smile at me. The next dance was a slow one, and since the girls outnumbered the guys, some of us would have to sit this one out. Of course I didn’t expect to be asked, and I wasn’t. But Lynn got asked by Brett Filburn!
As I sat on the bleachers, I took the opportunity to observe Chanel as she danced with one of the few guys who could match her height. I might’ve felt awkward if I was that much taller than everyone else. It didn’t seem to bother Chanel, although I did notice that she was wearing flat shoes again, while all the other cool girls had at least two-inch heels (wedge heels were really in at the time). Chanel wore a tight maroon dress with a see-through neckline and sleeves that was part of the fall — not the summer — collection at The Limit. Her hair was piled on top of her head, and several strands fell carelessly about her face. I’d had the impression that her makeup was heavy, but I couldn’t have said what colour her lips or eyelids were because I noticed her, not the makeup.
And now she’d noticed me. It had finally happened. I was acceptable, worthy, 100% geek-free. I was given a high school gold card, and I had so much to look forward to: dances, parties, new clothes, boyfriends. The pink light washed over me again.
When that slow dance ended, another began. But this time I wasn’t left sitting by myself. Kyle asked me to dance. I was thrilled, until we got on the dance floor and I realized I knew even less about slow dancing than I did about fast dancing. After a few bumbling attempts to put our arms around each other, we finally succeeded and began shuffling around like a pair of walruses.
Then our heads knocked together. “Sorry.” I smiled sheepishly.
“That’s O.K.” He smiled too, and I looked into his startling blue eyes. “I don’t really know what I’m doing either.” I caught a whiff of his cologne — a heavy musk that only made him even cuter.
When we walked off the dance floor together, I became aware of people staring at me. But instead of looking at the ground like I usually did, I whipped my head around to see who was doing the staring. It was three guys from my grade six class. They’d never looked at me as anything other than a sexless lump last year, but now they were huddled together, mouths hanging open, eyes glued to me as Kyle led me back to the bleachers.
I smiled and sat down next to Burgundy and Tiffany, who were snickering. “Oh, Hilary, we have to show you something. It’s hilarious,” Burgundy said.
The something turned out to be Mr. Benson, clad in a green wool vest and striped polyester pants, moving his head to the beat like a chicken. We dissolved into giggles.
I looked up to see one of the three guys, Jimmy, standing next to me. “Um … Hilary, would yo
u, uh, like to dance?”
I smiled. “O.K.”
Jimmy wasn’t the last one I danced with that night. Two other guys I didn’t know came up to me and asked. When I wasn’t dancing, I was sitting on the bleachers with whoever was there. I didn’t get to talk to Chanel much, but I did tell her I thought her dress was amazing, and I was rewarded with another megawatt smile.
Even better, she told me she thought my outfit was amazing.
“Thanks,” I said, feeling my face go hot. “Do I look too… I mean, does it make me look thin?” I asked anxiously.
I immediately wanted to cut out my tongue for saying something so stupid in front of Chanel.
“Definitely,” she said.
The evening couldn’t get any better.
But my perfect evening was nearly ruined when Heather Banks showed up. She and Amber hugged. Then she started talking to Lynn, while I tried to hide behind Tiffany and Burgundy. But like a disease, Heather soon spread to them. And when she finished with them, we came face to face.
A brief something that seemed like a mixture of disgust, surprise, and respect passed over her face before she shouted hi. I shouted back and she motioned for me to put my ear to her lips. When I did, she said loudly, “I really like your dress.” As she hit the dance floor with Amber and Lynn, I sat back on the bleachers, winded. Had Heather Banks just complimented me? Maybe she really had changed. Maybe Lynn was right and I should forgive and forget. I was on such a high that night I was willing to forgive anyone for anything, even my mother for not letting me shop at The Limit.
Ten o’clock came way too quickly, and Lynn and I had to leave, in keeping with our story of having been at the movies. Morgan and Jason came to get us. That’s when I remembered my camera. I really wanted a souvenir of this night, my first dance.
“Um, Chanel?” I said. “Could I get a picture with you? If it's O.K.,” I added quickly.
She smiled. “Sure.”
We put our arms around each other, and Burgundy snapped a photo of us.
“Hey Burgundy, can you get one on my phone?” Chanel said. I gasped. Chanel Winters wanted a picture with me!