To Rob Kempson: I wish I had known you when I was twelve.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Canada Day
Engagement Day
Cleaning Day
Dog Day
Research Day
Move-in Day
A Long, Boring Day
An Early Day
Lazy Day
Game Day
Unbelievable Day
Planning Day
Mission Day
Rainy Day
Wednesday with Denise
Phone Day
Bad Day
Shopping Day
Mall Day
Later that Day
Even Later that Day
Tournament Day
A Totally Weird Day
Party Day
Judgment Day
Wedding Day
Day of Truth
A Good Day
Tomorrow
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Other books by Vikki VanSickle
Copyright
CANADA DAY
For some people, summer starts with a bang. Literally. The annual Canada Day fireworks display kicks off two months of lemonade, flip-flops and, most important, freedom.
Canada Day has always been a quiet affair around my place; just me, Mom, Benji and Denise, sitting on the roof, eating popcorn and watching the fireworks. Most people in town head down to Victoria Park to watch them, but who wants to be in the middle of all the noise and the mess when you can lie back on your own roof where it’s quiet and peaceful? Well, except for Denise. She can’t keep quiet for more than two minutes at a time. But I’ll take motormouth Denise over a park full of screaming kids any day. But this year Mom has a boyfriend, and Doug has other ideas about how to spend a perfect Canada Day.
“You mean you’ve never been to the fireworks?” Doug asks.
“Nope.”
“Ever?”
“Never.”
“Whoa.” Doug runs his hands through his hair, like I just blew his mind. “You don’t know what you’ve been missing!”
“I know exactly what I’ve been missing: big, noisy crowds. Here, it’s just us on the roof: our own private viewing.”
“It’s like a big party down there! Come on, C-Dog. It’ll be fun, I promise! Please?”
Doug looks at me with sad puppy eyes that would put his dog Suzy to shame. Mom is pretty taken with him, and since he seems to be around for the long haul, I am trying to be patient.
“Fine. But don’t expect me to enjoy myself.”
“I think you’ll be surprised,” Doug says.
Doubtful.
“I think it’s a great change of pace,” Mom says, giving Doug’s arm a squeeze. “I know Denise will be game, and I’m sure your friends will be, too. Live a little, Clarissa!”
I don’t know anybody else who would consider going to a park to watch fireworks a fine example of “living,” but it’s clear the decision has been made. As usual, my vote doesn’t count.
Doug is so thrilled he actually rubs his palms together in excitement. “Rally your troops. We’ll head down around eight to get a good spot.”
***
“All right, team, let’s set up shop somewhere away from the ice cream trucks,” Doug says.
“And the playground,” I add.
Then Denise pipes up, “And the waterfront. Too many kids jumping in and out of the river. I’m not looking to get soaked, thank you very much.”
Denise and I don’t often agree, but neither of us likes to be bothered by young children. Doug leads us to the middle of the park, on a gentle slope. He sets up camp chairs for my mom, Denise and himself. My mom lays a blanket out in front of them. Benji, Mattie and I wander over to a picnic table nearby. The sky is still pinky-blue, and it’s at least an hour before sundown. We have plenty of time before the fireworks start.
“Want to walk around and see who’s here?” Mattie asks.
I’m just getting comfortable and already she wants to move. “Everyone I want to see is right here,” I say.
“Except Michael,” Benji says, grinning (almost) wickedly.
I don’t dignify that with an answer.
“There’re lots of people here. We probably know some of them. Come on!” Mattie says.
“You go ahead. We’ll make sure no one takes the table.”
“I’m not going by myself,” Mattie pouts. “I guess I’ll stay here.”
“Sorry we’re not as exciting as your boyfriend.”
Even in the semi-dark I can see Mattie’s neck flush. “Andrew couldn’t come.”
“Trouble in paradise?” I ask.
Mattie throws herself onto the bench next to me and launches into her latest drama. “Maybe, I don’t know! He was supposed to call me, and then he didn’t. And when I asked him about tonight he said he was busy but wouldn’t tell me with what! It’s Canada Day! What could he possibly be doing?”
“Did his family go away for the weekend?” Benji asks, trying to be helpful.
“I don’t think so. Their car was in the driveway.”
“Were you stalking him?” I know Mattie is boy-crazy, but most people would call staking out a boyfriend’s house just plain creepy.
“I wasn’t stalking him. I was in the car when my mother drove by, and I just happened to notice that the car was there.”
“Sure.”
“It’s true! I only have a week before camp, and then I won’t see him all summer! Unless he doesn’t care …” Mattie trails off, looking miserable.
“Speaking of camp, I can’t believe you’re leaving me. Aren’t you getting a little old for all that camp stuff?”
Mattie frowns. “What do you mean? I have two years left of regular camp, including this one, and then I can apply to be junior staff. You’re never too old for camp.”
“I don’t see what’s so great about it,” I mutter. “It’s like school except you have to sleep over. Outside.”
Mattie gasps. “Camp is not like school,” she says. “There aren’t any assignments or essays or teachers.”
“But don’t you have counsellors that teach you stuff?”
“Well, yes, but you can’t just pick up a paddle and start canoeing; someone has to show you how!”
“Someone like a teacher,” I point out. “And don’t you get badges for things?”
Mattie pauses. “Yes, but it’s not like you’re graded or anything.”
“And aren’t there a lot of rules about what you can and can’t do?”
“Yes, but everything has rules, not just school. Without rules we’d live in total chaos.”
“Is that something Andrew taught you?”
Mattie blushes. Her boyfriend is not only a mathlete, but a physics genius.
“Chaos theory happens to be very interesting and applicable in real world situations,” she says.
I cover my ears, blocking out anything that sounds like a definition. “Please, we are not in school. Stop talking like a textbook!”
“I think you would like it if you gave it a chance.”
“Camp or physics?”
“Camp.”
I don’t know. Limited electricity, no TV, no hot showers …
If you ask me, people who choose to spend a week or a whole summer away at camp probably wish they still lived in pioneer days. I have no romantic notions about the past. I’ll take my air conditioning and HDTV, thank you.
“And Benji, you’re no better: signing up to spend your whole summer with those drama kids.”
“The Gaslighters,” Benji corrects me, using the nickname created for and only used by the youth membe
rs of the Gaslight Community Players. “Plus, it’s not all day, we’re usually done around four. You don’t get up til noon, anyways, so that’s only a few hours you’ll have to fend for yourself.”
“There’s always Michael,” Mattie says slyly. I don’t respond. This is her getting back at me for the Andrew comments.
Michael Greenblat and I might be dating. I’m not sure. All I know is he calls me sometimes to go for a walk or to get slushies, and I go to his baseball games. We don’t ever touch or talk about whether or not we are dating, so you can see why I’m confused. Mattie is convinced that he is in love with me, but I humiliated him in front of a whole restaurant of people a few months ago, so I can understand why he isn’t in any rush to call me his girlfriend.
“Look! There he is.”
All three of us sit up and stare in the direction that Mattie is pointing. The crowds are getting thicker, and it’s just dark enough now that faces are getting hard to make out. But after some scanning I see that, sure enough, Michael is sitting in a camp chair surrounded by his entire family.
“Go say hi!” Mattie says.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You’re all watching me.”
“Would it help if we looked the other way?” Benji asks.
Too late. Michael has spotted us. I do a double take, as if I just happened to look up and see him and haven’t been staring at him for the past five minutes.
“Go say hi,” Mattie hisses. She has never sounded so bossy.
“Fine.” I haul myself up off the bench, brush the dust off my shorts and make my way over to where Michael’s family is seated, trying to ignore the feeling of Mattie and Benji boring holes into my back with their eyes. When it becomes clear I’m coming to see him, Michael gets up and walks to meet me halfway.
“Hi, Michael.”
“Hey, Clarissa.”
We smile at each other, neither of us sure what to say.
“So, have you been to the fireworks before?” I ask.
Michael nods. “Every year. You?”
“This is my first time. We usually watch from our roof, but there’s so many of us now it would probably collapse if we all tried to sit up there.”
I’m not convinced this qualifies as a joke, but Michael laughs anyway. I can’t tell if it’s out of pity or pure awkwardness.
“Is that Benji?”
I look over my shoulder at my friends, who wave innocently. I glare at them.
“Yeah. And Mattie. Do you want to sit with us?”
Michael looks stricken. “No, no,” he answers quickly. “It’s fine. I should probably stay with my family, anyway,” he gestures toward them. His mother, who up to this point has been watching our whole conversation with squinted eyes, as if focusing her laser vision on us, suddenly brightens up and waves. I am equally relieved and disappointed that he said no.
“Okay. Well, see you around.”
“Sure. If you’re not doing anything next Tuesday, maybe you could come to my game?”
“Okay. Sure. I mean, I think I’m not doing anything.”
“We play at Ferndale. Seven o’clock.”
“Okay, I’ll be there.”
Michael smiles. He looks relaxed for the first time in this whole conversation.
I make my way back, feeling confused. He wouldn’t have invited me to yet another baseball game if he didn’t like me, but why wouldn’t he sit with me? It’s like for every plus there is a negative, leaving me stuck in neutral.
Now I sound like the physics genius.
“Well?” Mattie says.
“I asked him to sit with us, but he said no. I think he’s a little afraid of me,” I confess.
“Do you blame him?” Benji asks. I try to elbow him in the side, but he scooches down the bench, out of the way.
“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” Mattie says with complete confidence. “Boys have short memories. Soon he’ll forget all about The Dairy Bar Incident, and you’ll be together by the end of the summer.”
“He did invite me to another baseball game.”
“What? Why didn’t you say that before?” Mattie clutches my arm with both hands. The sudden movement catches the eyes of both Denise and my mom, who have probably also just watched my conversation with Michael. Great. The last thing I need is a summit on the state of Michael and me. Not that there is any Michael and me.
“Ouch! Jeez, let go. I’ve been twice before. It’s no big deal; it’s just a baseball game.”
“It is not just a baseball game; it’s a gesture. It means he’s ready to move on from The Dairy Bar Incident.” Mattie calms down for one second to pout. “No fair — I’m about to go to camp just as you’re about to embark on a romantic summer.”
“Don’t get your hopes up. I can’t think of anything less romantic than a baseball game.”
Benji starts humming the song “Summer Nights” from the movie Grease and bopping his shoulders like he is a girl in a poodle skirt from the 1950s. I roll my eyes, but obviously it isn’t a big enough gesture because Mattie joins right in, and soon the two of them are dancing around the picnic table, doo-wopping their way through the number.
“I get it,” I say. “Summer loving. Ha, ha.”
Mattie stops, her hand over her heart. “What you have is so much more than just summer loving,” she says. “You and Michael are forever.”
If only I had something to throw at her. But I don’t. So I end up bopping along with them. “Summer Nights” is a very catchy song.
BOOM!
The crowd gasps as the first firework of the night explodes across the sky in a burst of yellow and red.
“Come on!” We hurry back to where the rest of our little party is seated, spreading ourselves across the blanket my mother laid out. I have to admit, watching the fireworks at the park is pretty great. It’s kind of corny, but I like how everyone oohs and aahs together as the coloured lights explode above us. I thought it might get annoying, but it turns out it’s a nice feeling. It adds a real sense of occasion to the fireworks. I love the moment between the boom of the firework taking off and the burst of colour and light. Each time I find myself holding my breath, just a little, until the streaks and swirls and stipples of light appear like magic in the sky. Doug calls out the names of the fireworks.
“You see that? That’s called a Roman candle.”
“That there is a spider; see how it looks like legs?”
“And that magnificent display is probably a crossette.”
It’s still hot out, but the grass is cool and that makes the temperature bearable. The display goes on for about half an hour. It’s a nice feeling, being surrounded by friends but not having to say anything. My mind wanders a bit, and I feel like I’m in two places: watching the fireworks, but also deep in my head, wondering about Michael. When the finale kicks in, the noise is deafening, and the display is so bright it casts red and yellows shadows across my friends’ faces. It seems like the organizers took every single firework and shot them up at the same time, pinwheels and sunbursts and spiders spiralling across the sky and then fading into nothing.
After the whizzing and popping has stopped, puffs of coloured smoke twist in the sky. Nobody moves, hoping for one last encore. When it becomes clear that the show is done for another year, conversations pick up again and people start moving toward the parking lot, clogging the sidewalks and paths like ants on a mission. I stay where I am, stretching my arms and legs until the knots in my spine pop and sigh.
“I love fireworks,” Benji says. “Don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Isn’t this a perfect night?” Mattie adds. “Couldn’t you stay here forever? You know, Clarissa, we do this kind of thing at camp all the time. Except instead of fireworks we go stargazing. I really think you should reconsider—”
“Mattie, stop!” I groan, rolling away from her camp pep talk. “You’re ruining the moment.”
I get to my knees, look back at my mother, a
nd then I freeze. Doug is kneeling in the grass in front of my mother’s chair, holding a little, dark box in his hands. I don’t need x-ray vision to know there’s a ring inside.
ENGAGEMENT DAY
As soon as she realizes what’s going on, Mattie grasps the arm of my t-shirt and starts murmuring, “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh,” under her breath. I wrench my arm free.
“Shhh,” I hiss.
It’s hard to hear what Doug’s saying, but you don’t have to be a genius to get the gist of it. He’s got a ring; he’s asking her to marry him. I creep closer, Mattie glued to one side and Benji clutching my hand. Part of me wants to shake them off, but the whole situation is so unbelievable that I also kind of need their physical presence to ground me.
“… and maybe this seems rash or sudden, but I’ve known for a long time that you were the one, and I was just wondering—”
Mom cuts him off, leaping out of her chair onto the ground, throwing her arms around him. “Yes! Yes, you wonderful man!”
Denise is frozen, one hand covering her mouth, the other holding a camp chair tucked under her arm. She is obviously just as shocked as I am. Mattie is the first person to react, somehow managing to jump up and down, squeal and hug me at the same time. When my mom and Doug manage to untangle themselves, she launches herself at my mom, crying, “Congratulations, Annie! This is so exciting!”
I watch the moment unfold, feeling strangely separate from it. A good daughter would jump up and down and cry and hug her mother and congratulate her, like Mattie. But I feel like I just met Doug. And I’ve never had a man living in my house before. Then, all I can think about is what if I run into Doug on his way out of the shower in a towel? Or, worse, what if I’m the one in a towel? It’s bound to happen eventually. And where will all his giant-sized stuff (shoes, tubs of protein powder, family-size boxes of cereal) go?
Beside me, Benji whispers, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, just surprised.”
Now other people have started to clue in, and complete strangers come up to pat Doug on the back or offer to take pictures. Denise has tears streaming down her face, and at one point someone mistakes her for the teary, but joyful, lucky bride-to-be. That’s almost funny enough to knock me out of my stupor, but I still feel like I’ve been struck dumb, like maybe the fireworks messed with the wiring of my brain.
Days That End in Y Page 1