Roxie stood up and stretched. “Sure, but I have to call . . . home.” She wrapped her mouth around the word “home” like she was trying it out. Even her eyes looked a little puzzled, as if she was stepping into unknown territory. The fact she’d even thought to call somebody about her whereabouts looked like progress to me.
“Life is looking up, kid,” I said. “Smooth sailing from here on in.”
My words were hopeful, but even as they slipped out of my mouth, I realized that they probably weren’t too grounded in reality. Still, sometimes it’s best not to know what’s just around the corner.
CHAPTER FIVE
Tuesday morning came way too soon. I woke late to the drum of raindrops on the roof and water splashing down the inside wall where I’d left the window open overnight. Jumping up to slam it shut, I craned my neck to look up at the dark clouds hanging in the sky like tufts of black cotton batting, heavy with enough rain to turn my hair into a frizzy, finger-in-the-light-socket mess.
I threw on some jeans and a not too wrinkled blue T-shirt before making my way to the kitchen for a glass of juice. Dad was sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper when I entered. He looked up at me over the sports page and gave me the thumbs up.
“Nice hair.”
I ran my hand through one side and tried to shake it out. “I was planning on a shower and a leisurely breakfast, but my alarm didn’t go off,” I groaned.
“Helps if you set it,” he said, ducking back behind the paper.
“Very funny,” I said half-heartedly. It was too early in the morning to even think about pretending I had a sense of humour.
Luckily, Dad took pity and dropped me off in front of the school at ten to nine. Ambie had given up waiting for me in our usual spot, and I didn’t feel too good about that. I’d promised her I’d be there on time, for sure for sure. Maybe I shouldn’t have been quite so definite.
I snuck into the opening assembly, where Principal Kirkpatrick talked about how wonderful it was to have us all back. She almost looked like she meant it. The effect was ruined by a grade niner belching really loudly, resulting in a ten minute lecture on what constituted inappropriate behaviour and what would get us expelled. We were late leaving assembly, and Kirkpatrick told us to hurry to homeroom for attendance. I sat with a few girls I knew, but Mr. Topper shooed us out as soon as he handed us our timetables.
I had just made it to biology on the second floor and found an empty desk when Mr. Williams strode into the room. He was short and stout, with flaming red hair to his shoulders and a droopy moustache. No-nonsense was his middle name. I opened my binder to a clean page and grabbed a pen out of my case. For some reason, I looked over to my right. A boy I’d never seen before was staring at me with startling blue eyes the colour of ripe blueberries. He had straight blond hair cut in short layers that suited his high cheekbones and square jaw. He was dressed in a ripped green sweatshirt and patched jeans. When he saw me looking, he smiled and pretended to write in the air, letting me know he needed to borrow a pen. Could somebody possibly have come to class more disorganized than me? I dug around in my case again and handed him my back-up. “Thanks,” he said.
“No problem.” I turned my eyes back to Mr. Williams, who’d begun pacing like a caged lion at the front of the class while he boomed out the class rules. Any thoughts I had about the new boy disappeared as I began taking notes. Mr. Williams insisted on milking every second out of his allotted time, and I had to race to the first floor to be on time for French class with Madame Grégoire, a recruit fresh out of teacher’s college. I hoped she’d find her teaching legs soon, or the boys in the class were going to drive her into another career by Christmas.
I didn’t meet up with Ambie until English class third period, when she plunked herself down in the seat behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. I swung around. Ambie’s eyes were outlined in black and dusted in satin blue shadow, and her hair was pulled up into a French braid. She was wearing a black and silver striped top I’d never seen before and looked like she could be modelling for Glamour magazine. “Forget to set your alarm again?” she asked.
“Just thought I’d start the year where I left off last term,” I said. “You know, don’t turn over any leaves until someone kicks them over. How were your first two classes, by the way?”
“Oh, all right. Grade Twelve math and chemistry. They look pretty easy.”
Ambie wasn’t hallucinating. She was something of a genius when it came to math and science. “Hey, who’s that cute new guy?” She motioned towards the same boy who’d borrowed my pen in first class. “Looks like he could do with a friend.” He was sitting slumped back in his seat with his arms folded across his chest, a sea of calm amidst a group of boys who were tossing a sponge football back and forth at the back of the room.
“No idea,” I said. I looked around. I noticed the other girls in the room looking at the new guy with interest. I didn’t imagine he’d be lonely for long.
“Looks like the artistic type,” Ambie said. “Gaunt face—high cheekbones, sensuous lips, tortured eyes . . .”
“You’re nailing those adjectives, Amb,” I said. “Have you been reading romance novels again, by any chance?”
Ambie grinned. “I think his sister may be the new girl in Grade Twelve math. They look alike, although her hair is dyed red.”
Since Springhills isn’t that big a place, new students stand out and become topics of conversation until we can figure out where they fit into our social order. In the teenage world, everyone is slotted into a category that it can take a lifetime to get over—or at least, that’s what Mom told me. Ambie and I weren’t in the popular crowd, but we weren’t classed with the nerds either. I think I leaned towards the jocks, and Ambie flirted with being an egghead, but we tried not to be that predictable. Maybe we were just kidding ourselves.
Ambie leaned closer. “Have you got a spare next class? We could go back to my place if you want. I have something excellent to tell you.” Her eyes flashed with excitement.
At last she was ready to spill her secret. “Sounds good,” I said as the class went suddenly silent. I swung around in my seat to find the grouch of the English department, Mrs. Bailey, staring us down at the front of the room, her bulging eyes unblinking behind black-rimmed glasses. It seemed like as good a time as any to start paying attention, so I reached down to open my binder to a fresh sheet of paper.
Ambie shut the door to her bedroom, and I flopped onto her bed on my stomach beside Madonna the cat. I buried my head in Madonnas fur and heard a rumble of purring that seemed to vibrate out of her belly. “How old is Madonna?” I asked.
Ambie flung herself into the chair beside her computer. “Ten. That’s like seventy in people years.”
“She’s fatter than last time I saw her,” I said, running my hand down the softness of her back. The purring got louder.
“Dad says he’s going to sign her up for aerobics classes.”
“I’d pay to see her ride a stationary bike,” I said.
Ambie laughed. “Or pumping some iron strapped to her little paws.” She bent down to turn on her computer.
“So, what’s going on with you?” I asked, trying not to sound too nosy. “You said you had something to tell me?”
“Come look at this,” Ambie said. I pushed myself off the bed and went over to stand beside her. She clicked on the e-mail icon then opened a folder she’d labelled “Research”.
A number of e-mails popped up from someone named Martin Donaldson.
“Who’s Martin Donaldson?” I asked, pointing to his name on the address lines.
Ambie looked at me and smiled her secret cat smile. “Promise you won’t repeat what I’m about to reveal?”
I felt my stomach drop. Had Ambie fallen for some weirdo over the internet? We’d all been warned about the dangers, but Ambie was a soft touch when it came to people taking advantage of her. I nodded and hoped I wouldn’t have to break my promise.
Ambie studied
me for a moment until she seemed satisfied. “Martin Donaldson,” she paused dramatically, “. . . is my real dad.”
I took a second to absorb what she’d just said. Ambie’s mom had left Ambie’s dad when Ambie was a baby—under mysterious circumstances—and had refused to tell Ambie anything about him, even down to his name. If Ambie’d been in touch with her biological dad, this could turn the Guido family upside down. She was staring at me, waiting for my reaction. “Nobody else knows we’re e-mailing each other,” she said, as if reading my thoughts, “and you promised you wouldn’t tell.”
CHAPTER SIX
How did you get in touch with him?” I asked, lowering myself onto the edge of the bed. “I thought your mom wouldn’t even tell you his name.”
“She wouldn’t,” agreed Ambie, “but I didn’t get in contact with him. He found me.”
“After all this time? Why would he make contact now?”
“He said he’d always wanted to be in my life, but circumstances prevented that from happening, but now he’s back in the country and feels the time is right to get to know each other.”
“Where is he living?” I asked, still trying to digest the enormity of her secret. “Have you seen him?”
Ambie shook her head. “He’s out west and can’t get away. Some business deal he’s involved in.”
“Wow, Ambie,” I said. “Don’t you think you should tell your mom about this?”
Ambie looked down and picked at a broken nail. “I knew you’d say that. I wanted to tell her, but any mention of my dad always sends her over the deep end. Marty asked me not to say anything for a bit, so we wouldn’t upset her.”
Marty. “I don’t know, Ambie. This doesn’t feel right.”
Ambie shrugged, but when she looked at me, her eyes were determined. “He’s my father, Jen. My real father. I owe it to him to see if a relationship is possible. I know Mom would forbid it, but I’ll be sixteen in January. Then she’ll have to let me do what I want. This way, I just save her from worrying.”
“But Ambie, you don’t know anything about him,” I said. “Maybe he’s not . . . trustworthy. Your mom must have a reason for not wanting you to see him.”
“Well, if your mom had her way, you and Leslie wouldn’t have anything to do with your dad. Parents aren’t always the best judge of what should happen in our lives, especially when they get divorced.”
I had to admit, Ambie had a point. I knew she’d always wanted to know about her biological father. She’d spent a lot of time over the years wondering who and where he was, so finding him must have been like a dream come true. “So, where’s he been all this time?” I asked, relenting. I didn’t want to alienate Ambie, who could close up like a clam when she wanted to.
“Hong Kong.” Ambie’s voice lightened. “He never remarried, so he hasn’t any other kids, but he says he’s living with a Japanese woman named Suki. He met her when he was travelling.”
The phone on the desk rang, and Ambie picked it up. “Jen? Yeah, she’s right here.” She put her hand over the receiver and passed it to me. “Your dad,” she mouthed.
“Hi, Dad,” I said. “Sure, I’ll pick something up on my way home. Okay. See you in a bit.” I handed the receiver back to Ambie and stood up. “Dad says Uncle Phil and his new lady friend are coming over for a barbecue, so I have to pick up some salad stuff. Do you want to come for dinner?” It would be a chance to ask more questions and make sure she wasn’t going to do anything reckless.
“No, but thanks. I have some math homework to do,” Ambie said, standing too and opening her bedroom door. “I’ll meet you at school tomorrow morning in our usual spot.”
“I’ll remember to set my alarm.”
“Always a good idea,” said Ambie, punching me lightly on the arm.
I followed her down the hall to the front door, walking past her mom, who was ironing in the living room and watching an afternoon soap opera. “How was your first day back?” Mrs. Guido asked. Her eyes crinkled up as she smiled at me.
I was having trouble reconciling Ambie’s kind, plump mother with streaks of grey in her hair as the one who’d left her husband under dicey circumstances. “It was okay,” I said. “I’m not too far behind . . . yet.”
“Keep up the good work, dear.” Mrs. Guido’s eyes tracked back to the two people locked in a passionate embrace on the screen.
I stepped towards the open door, which Ambie had swung open. “See you tomorrow,” she said, her eyes fixed on mine. “And remember, Jen. Not one word . . .”
I knew that I should have learned my lesson a few times over about keeping secrets. It’s not like I hadn’t come close to disaster a few times because I’d tried to handle problems by myself. But there was no way I’d ever share Ambie’s secret because that would have hurt our friendship in a way that it might never recover from. I convinced myself that maybe Ambie’s dad was a good guy after all, and Ambie’s mom had reacted out of the craziness parents often let take over when they’re mad at each other. I should know. My parents had put in enough crazy hours to give lessons. Besides, now that I knew Ambie was in touch with her real dad, I could keep an eye on her and head off any bad decisions—or so I wanted to believe.
Before I knew it, it was Friday morning, and I’d made it through the first week without forgetting any homework or being late for class. That was probably because my social life—the same one I’d promised myself would be healthy and full—had dropped off the radar screen. Dad was working long hours in the shop, and sometimes wasn’t even home when I went to bed. I kept myself busy reading The Sun Also Rises for English class. I’d never read Hemingway before and didn’t think I’d like this book, especially since the cover put me off. I was surprised though how much I got into his writing style and how he could show so much emotion in a few words. I made notes as I read it through the second time and actually had an outline going for my first essay, which was worth forty percent of my final mark and not due until the week before Thanksgiving. Maybe I related to the book so much because I felt at one with Jake’s tormented love. Pete had e-mailed me a second time with a promise to call, but that had never happened, so I was feeling down about him and my life in general. Even Leslie hadn’t bothered to phone me as she always did when we were apart.
I plunked myself down in my usual seat a whole ten minutes before Mr. Williams was due in class. The effort to be on time was costing me, and I closed my eyes, trying to catch a few more minutes of sleep. I’d almost zoned out the noise around me when I heard a voice I didn’t recognize. Opening my eyes, I watched the new boy slide into the desk across the aisle from me. He was talking to Toby Manning, self-professed class clown. Because the new boy hadn’t been to class since Tuesday, I’d figured he’d switched out of biology and English. I couldn’t say that I would have blamed him. Mr. Williams and Mrs. Bailey were two of the tougher teachers Morton T. High insisted on keeping on staff. My other nemesis, Miss Dragot, had transferred schools the year before, but Williams and Bailey were expanding their reigns of terror to fill the vacuum she’d left behind.
Mrs. Bailey’d been around since they’d first invented feather pens and parchment. She remembered teaching Dad and Uncle Phil English years before, and not fondly. “So, you’re one of those Bannons,” she’d said when we’d first met, spitting out our last name like a bad seed. My summer prayer had been for her retirement, but my luck with wishes seemed to be following the usual pattern.
“No can do. I didn’t get around to taking any notes,” Toby said, grinning, his dimples the size of small craters. “I’m Toby Manning, by the way.”
“I’m Evan Quinn,” I heard New Boy say. “We just moved here from the States.”
“Cool,” Toby said. “I don’t remember seeing you after Monday. Were you getting settled in?”
“Something like that,” Evan said just as Mr. Williams banged his books on the desk so we’d stop talking. As usual, the crack of books on wood worked its magic, and all eyes turned to the front of the room
.
After an hour of note-taking, Mr. Williams set us free. I was cramming my binder and biology textbook into my knapsack when Evan stood and moved into the aisle between our two desks. He looked thinner than I’d remembered, and his face was pale, like someone who’s recovering from an illness. He held out the pen I’d lent him the first day of class. “Thanks for the loan,” he said. “My name’s Evan.”
“Glad to be of help,” I smiled. “My name’s Jennifer. Would you like to borrow my notes too? You must be the first person in the history of education ever to ask Toby Manning for his. Directions to a party, yes. Notes, no.”
Evan’s eyes sparkled. “It’s lucky then that I’ve found somebody conscientious. You look extremely organized.”
I opened my binder and snapped open the rings. “Here.” I handed him some sheets. “This is a day for firsts. I’ve never been called organized before either.”
We started towards the door. “Where do you go next?” I asked.
“Geography with Mr. Collins.”
“Good luck,” I said. “He’s the reason I’m taking French. One year of Collins was enough.”
“I’ll give him your regards,” Evan said. “See you in English.”
“Okay,” I said. “See you then.” I dropped my eraser and stopped to pick it up. Cindy, who’d been following close behind, stumbled against me. I turned to face her.
“So?” she giggled. “What’s the verdict?”
“On the new boy?”
Cindy nodded her head vigorously.
“He’s . . . he seems nice. I can’t say I know that much about him.”
Cindy started walking with me down the hall. “I heard he’s weird. Danny Gibbons tried to ask him some questions, and New Boy . . .”
“Evan,” I filled in.
“Yeah, well, Evan acted all mysterious and wouldn’t tell him anything except that his family moved around a lot. Danny said that it sounded like they were on the run.”
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