Spirit Level

by Sarah N. Harvey

  I haven’t been in the apartment above the salon for years, and it’s smaller and dingier than I remember. And piled with boxes. Some of them are full of ancient salon supplies. Some are stuffed with Mom’s old university papers. A few hold Verna’s old clothes. I snag a yellow polka-dot shirt with only one tiny bleach spot on it. A box of books turns out to be mostly sociology texts. I send Mom pictures of all her stuff and she texts back Turf it. I drag the box downstairs to the Dumpster and toss it in.

  When I’ve gotten rid of all the junk, I start cleaning. Annabeth has offered to help, but I don’t want her to see the place until it’s clean and painted and furnished. Light floods in through the windows after I scour them with soap and vinegar and polish them with crumpled-up newspaper. The floor has the same lino as the salon but much less faded, and I scrub it until it almost gleams. Ditto for the shower stall and sink and toilet.

  I’ve been haunting thrift shops and have found a dresser, a wooden coat rack, a tiny kitchen table and chairs, a bed frame and a nightstand. I pay for everything except the new mattress, which Mom is buying. The apartment-size fridge and stove still work. Verna has an old overstuffed chair that she wants Annabeth to have. That’s about all that will fit in the room.

  Lucy helps me paint. Sunshine on the Bay in the main room, Blue Angel in the bathroom. Cloud White trim. Something called Rose Parade for the table and chairs. When the paint is dry, we haul the rest of the furniture up the stairs and arrange it in the little room, angling the big blue corduroy chair so Annabeth will be able to look out the window at the sky. Lucy has brought new towels from Nori and Angela—green as a bamboo shoot. The mattress arrives, and Lucy and I make up the bed with linens Mom has kept since my sunflower phase when I was about six. A white vase sits on the table, filled with flowers cut from Nori’s garden.

  “I always wanted to live here, you know,” I say to Lucy, who is curled up in the big chair.

  “It’s adorable,” Lucy says. “Annabeth is gonna love it.”

  The big reveal takes place on Saturday afternoon. It’s crowded in the little room—Shanti has brought her kids; Nori and Angela are there too. There’s champagne (soda for the little kids) and cupcakes from Cupcake Royale. Verna brings Annabeth up the stairs, a pink scarf tied over her eyes, and when Annabeth takes off the blindfold, I’m afraid she’s going to faint. Shanti puts her arm around her, grins and says, “Get a grip, girl.”

  “No crying,” I yell, but everyone does anyway.

  “Happy tears,” Annabeth whispers in my ear when she hugs me. “Happy tears.”

  And I am crying too. Mostly with happiness, but also because I haven’t heard from Alex since the day he walked out of my house, and I miss him.

  A few days after Annabeth moves into the apartment, the phone rings just as I’m falling asleep. I squint at the call display. Alex.

  “Did I wake you up?” he says.

  “Sort of. What’s up?”

  “I have to tell you something.”

  “Okay.” I’m wide awake now, sure he’s going to tell me he’s decided to go to Missoula with Meredith.

  “You’re not going to like it, but I couldn’t not tell you, even though Meredith would flip out if she knew I called you.”

  “Spit it out.”

  “When Meredith got out of the hospital, she asked her parents if she could have a few days with me, at our place, to sort out some stuff. Say goodbye. She told them they needed to trust her and give her some space before she goes back to Missoula. They agreed. Mark’s already gone back. He had to work. Her mom’s still at a hotel.”

  “So what won’t I like?”

  “Meredith’s decided to take the bus down to Mexico and see Daniel. She’s convinced he’s going to be murdered by a drug cartel before she has a chance to meet him. Which is not as crazy as it sounds. He’s in this tiny village in Durango. The drug cartels kill visitors all the time. I can’t let her go there by herself, Harry. I just can’t. No matter how much I care about you, if anything happened to her…”

  “Stop. I get it.” And I do, even though what he’s saying makes me feel faint.

  “So you understand?” He sounds so hopeful it breaks my heart.

  “Yup. Sort of.” What I understand is that I can’t do anything about their relationship. I can’t make him stop caring about her. I can’t make her less needy. All I can do is be myself, level-headed Harriet.

  “We’re going to call Barbara once we’re on the road,” Alex says. “And I’ll be back soon, Harry.”

  “If the drug cartels don’t murder you first.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “Sorry. What do you want me to say? That I think it’s a great idea? I don’t. And I don’t have to like it.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.” I can’t think of anything more to say, other than “Be safe,” which I whisper before I hang up. And now the tears come, drenching my pillowcase. I’m pretty sure I break the fifteen-minute rule.

  Lucy calls the next morning. All I can hear when I pick up are sobs and the occasional hysterical hiccup.

  “Lucy, calm down. Breathe. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not supposed to tell you,” she manages to say.

  “Not supposed to tell me what?” I sit up in bed and turn on the light.

  “That they’re leaving.”

  “It’s okay, Lucy. I already know. Alex told me.”

  “But it’s terrible. Right? Barbara and Mark are going to be so upset. I can’t even imagine doing something like that to my moms.”

  “I agree, but I don’t think Meredith sees it that way. And I bet Barbara won’t be all that surprised.”

  “Should we call her?” Lucy asks.

  “Who, Barbara? No,” I say slowly. “It’s between her and Meredith.”

  “But she’ll be so worried.”

  I sigh. “Yeah. I know. But Alex says they’re going to call her when they’re on the road. She might not even realize they’re gone until then.”

  Lucy blows her nose loudly. “Meredith thinks you hate her,” she says.

  “I don’t hate her. I just don’t trust her.”

  “But she’s your sister,” Lucy says, her voice rising on the word. “And she’s not okay. She got discharged from the hospital, but she’s so skinny.”

  “Maybe eating Mexican food will fatten her up.”

  “Why are you being like that?” Lucy asks.

  “Like what?”

  “Hard. Mean.”

  “I’m not trying to be mean. I’m trying to be…”

  “Sensible,” Lucy says. “I know.” It definitely doesn’t sound like a compliment this time. She hangs up, and I toss my phone onto the duvet and burrow under the covers. My last thought before I go back to sleep is, I can’t wait to talk to Gwen.

  EIGHTEEN

  TWO WEEKS AFTER school starts, I’m sitting with Gwen at Café Allegro, waiting for Lucy to finish dance class and join us. Nate has made us his “signature” drink, which he calls The Norton after his favorite actor. As far as I can tell, it’s just an iced chai latte, but it’s still good.

  “He’s cute,” Gwen says after Nate tells us about his latest role (Action, in a revival of West Side Story). “And he likes you.”

  “That’s what Lucy says, but I think he’s just a chronic flirt.”

  “So why didn’t he offer me a ticket to his show?” Gwen says. “Aren’t I hot enough?” She pretend-pouts and sticks out her boobs. I burst out laughing. Gwen looks ridiculously good—she’s in a short black-and-white, pleat-skirted designer dress she bought in Paris with her new stepmom. “I’m wearing Isabel Marant,” she says, “but I guess your boy Nate prefers whatever you’re calling your look.”

  �
��It’s my new line. I call it ‘Clean-Laundry Couture.’ Who’s Isabel Marant?” I ask.

  Gwen rolls her eyes. “Like you care.”

  I laugh again. She looks amazing, but out of place in the funky café. “So how was Dominique?”

  “Nice, I guess. All she does is shop and eat the tiny, perfect low-carb meals their chef prepares for her. Oh yeah, and go to Pilates. But Dad’s happy. Not that I saw him very much. Too busy making money for Dominique and me to spend. And for alimony and child support.”

  I reach over and take her hand. “I’m glad you’re back. Really glad. It’s been insane here.”

  “Sounds like it. You’ve, like, lived a whole huge life while I’ve been away. All the time I was in France, I imagined how bored and lonely you must be without me.” She snorts. “Last time I make that mistake.”

  “Yeah, I was so bored I found five half-siblings, my donor and a trans boyfriend.”

  “So Alex is your boyfriend? Even though he took off for Mexico with your crazy half-sister?”

  “Well, maybe not boyfriend. Not yet. But he says he’s definitely coming back, so we’ll see. Apparently Daniel wasn’t all that thrilled when they turned up unannounced. He made Meredith call Barbara so he could discuss the situation with her. Meredith might stay and work at the clinic for a while. Running the office or something. Alex says she’s a different person in Mexico. Focused. Happy. He thinks it’s because Daniel expects her to contribute something. Help out. Get involved.”

  “So that’s good, right? For you and Alex?”

  “I hope so. But I’m not holding my breath. Even if he comes back, he might get a call one day from Meredith and be gone again. And there’s the whole trans thing. It’s not exactly simple.”

  “Is it ever?” Gwen sighs. “Dominique introduced me to some of her friends in Paris. Her guy friends. They’re only a few years older than Zach, but they’re so—”

  “French?”

  “Sophisticated. Wine and steak frites, not beer and burgers and fries. And their clothes? Omigod, Harry! Pants that fit. Handmade shoes. Cartier watches. I’m not sure I can go back to baggy jeans and T-shirts.”

  “Give it a few weeks,” I say. “And Zach’s not that bad. He’s just not French. Or twenty-two. You’re experiencing culture shock. You’ll get over it.”

  “So what about you and Byron? Zach says he’ll be here soon. Does he know about Alex?”

  “Yeah. But not that he’s trans. That’s not my story to tell.”

  “You told me,” she says.

  “But I asked Alex first if it was okay.”

  “I get it. So I shouldn’t go around telling everyone at school that your new guy used to be a girl named Danielle?”

  “Not if you want to live to shop another day.”

  The door of the café opens and Lucy barrels in, coming to a screeching halt in front of us. “Omigod, are you wearing Isabel Marant?” she squeals. When Gwen nods, Lucy drops her bag on the floor, pulls her chair close to Gwen’s and says, “Where did you get it?”

  Gwen laughs. “I’m Gwen, by the way. You must be Lucy. And I got it in Paris.”

  “I’m going to dance in Paris one day,” Lucy announces. “And shop.”

  “You’ll love it,” Gwen says, “as long as you have lots of money. And I mean lots. Lucky for me, my dad is loaded. And he feels guilty, so it’s a win-win for me.”

  I know she doesn’t really mean it. No closet full of designer clothing can make up for the fact that her dad is gone and her mom is depressed and they had to sell their house and move into an apartment.

  As I half-listen to Lucy and Gwen discuss the latest Paris runway fashions, I think about what it will be like to see Byron again. We’ve been talking on the phone a lot. He knows about Alex; I know about a girl named Martha that he hooked up with in New York. He’s coming back for a lot of reasons, he tells me—not just for me. He says he misses the ocean and the air and Zach and the pizza at Delancey and the basketball program at our school and the Space Needle.

  But you’ve got the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty, I said the last time we talked. And pizza.

  Not the same, he said. Take my word for it. I’m not ready for New York. Maybe I’ll come back here for college, but for now I need the rain and the green and my friends.

  As I take a sip of my Norton, I realize that Gwen and Lucy have stopped talking and seem to be waiting for me to speak.

  “Did I miss something?” I ask. “Other than whether mink is making a comeback in couture?”

  “I asked you if you wanted to come for dinner tonight,” Lucy says. “You and Gwen. Angela and Nori are cool with it. They’re going to call your mom. We’ll make pizza on the barbecue. Celebrate the end of summer.”

  “I don’t think I can. I’m supposed to have dinner with Annabeth and Verna.”

  “They can come too,” Lucy says, her fingers flying over her phone. “The moms won’t mind. Please, Harry.”

  “You see what I have to put up with,” I say to Gwen. “Little sisters are such a pain.” I reach out and ruffle Lucy’s hair. She slaps at my hand.

  “I can see that,” Gwen replies. I don’t think I’m imagining that she sounds a bit wistful. It’s not like she can talk to her brothers about designer fashion.

  Lucy’s phone pings, and she reads the message. “Angela says that’s fine. Harry, can you let Annabeth and Verna know? Then we have to pick up some stuff for the pizza. And your mom needs to get some wine, but Angela will text her.”

  We get up and clear our dishes. Nate reminds me to come in next week and pick up my ticket for his show. As we leave the café, Gwen slings her arm around my shoulders. Lucy bounces along in front of us.

  “I’m glad you’re back,” I say. “I missed you.”

  “And I’m sorry I missed all the drama. Lucy’s great, and I can’t wait to meet Alex and see Byron again. It’s like a whole love triangle. So romantic.”

  “It’s not really a triangle,” I say. “More like a quadrangle. And it’s not very romantic to get punched in the face, let me tell you.”

  “I hear you,” Gwen says. “But it’s still an improvement over your usual boring existence. Am I right, Lucy?”

  Lucy giggles. “Have you seen what Alex gave her?”

  Gwen pokes me. “No, I haven’t. Hope it wasn’t roses. Harry hates roses.”

  “Only the kind that come in a box,” I protest. “And he didn’t give me roses. He gave me a spirit level.”

  Gwen stops walking. “He gave you a what?”

  “A carpenter’s level. An old one. It’s pretty cool.”

  “So he gave you, like, an old tool?”

  “Yup.”

  And suddenly we’re all laughing so hard we can’t speak, and people are stepping around us on the sidewalk and smiling, because really, who can be mad at us? We’re sisters—by blood or not, it doesn’t matter. It’s our prerogative to disrupt the world with our lunacy. I remember what Meredith said when I first met her, about wanting to share her journey with Lucy and me, and I wonder if that will ever happen. I emailed her after Alex told me that Daniel wasn’t exactly thrilled to see them. I’m not sure why. Maybe it was because of something Annabeth said when we were at the salon one day. I’d been telling her about Meredith, and she stopped sweeping and said, Don’t you think everyone deserves a second chance? She didn’t sound judgmental at all—she never does—just curious, as if it was a question she asked herself all the time.

  So I wrote to Meredith, very cautiously, asking her to tell me about Mexico. Eventually, she wrote back. We’ve exchanged a few emails since then. We don’t talk about Alex or Daniel. She tells me stories about the kids in the village and how her Spanish is getting better every day. I tell her about finding Annabeth
a vocal coach. And now, as I walk down the street with Gwen and Lucy, I wonder what it would be like if Meredith was here with us, laughing like a loon and looking forward to a family dinner. Maybe one day she will be.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Robin Stevenson, Kirsten Larmon and Monique Polak read an early version of Spirit Level and provided me with thought-provoking, insightful and often contradictory comments.

  Cameron Duder and Leo Forbes Knox helped me to understand what it means to be transgender; Tim Prekaski shared his encyclopedic knowledge of Seattle; the divinely talented Claire Butterfield was my musical director.

  Allison Cooper wrote the moving article that is quoted on page 126.

  Lu Bittner and the whole Bittner/Silver clan of Bella Coola and Hawaii inspired me to include a transgender character in the story.

  Jen Cameron and Maggie de Vries were unfailingly supportive and encouraging, even when I pronounced the book total garbage. My children, Fiona and Christian, continue to be my biggest fans and a source of much amusement and joy.

  The Orca Pod was, as always, a delight to work with, as was the Orca Kennel—Ketch, Mayva, Kira and Nutmeg.

  Family dogs Ping-Pong, Scout, Kingsley and Cocoa (RIP) reminded me that sleeping in the sunshine and chasing your own tail are perfectly acceptable life goals.

  The BC Arts Council’s generous support made it possible for me to meet my self-imposed deadlines.

  And finally, Barbara Pulling, editor extraordinaire, guided me through the dark woods of numerous revisions. Without her, this book might well have been total garbage.

  Thank you, one and all.

  SARAH N. HARVEY is the author of numerous books for children and teens. She lives in Victoria, British Columbia, where she works as a children’s-book editor. For more information, go to www.sarahnharvey.com.