Finding Hope (11 page)

W
hy
hadn't he shown up? I'd sat in the café for half an hour, breathing in the smell of freshly baked scones and percolating coffee and flipping th
e pages of a book without reading a word. I'd chosen the book carefully, something that would impress him. Hoping I looked brainy but not pretentious. As I sat at a table by the window, I forced my eyes to stare at the pages, not the door. My phone sat in front of me, frustratingly silent. I'd turned it on and off twice to ensure it was in good working order. Where was he?

Lizzie, Emily, and Vivian walked past outside, their arms linked so they took up the whole sidewalk. I slouched down in my chair. It was the third time I'd seen them go past. This time, Lizzie paused at the glass. The gold letters spelling out “Grace's Café” on the window were at eye level, obscuring her vision. She sank down, our faces inches apart but separated by glass. I felt like a zoo animal as she peered at me, her breath fogging the window.

Turning to my book, I tried to concentrate, but she kept staring. My heart beat faster and I angled my chair away from the window, reaching for my glass of water. I glanced at the clock. Devon was now forty minutes late. Why? Was he sick? Had he forgotten? Had he seen the Ravens mocking me at the window and turned away? A list of reasons for him not showing ran through my head, and a sick feeling rose in my stomach.

I should text him. What if something was wrong? But—and the thought made my heart ache—what if he
had
come and then chosen to leave? Texting him and not getting a reply would confirm it.

“Love.” The owner, a short woman with reddish hair and a ruddy complexion, waddled to my table. “Are you going to order something? Can't have you sitting here all day with only a glass of water.”

I glanced out the window. The Ravens had disappeared from view. “Sorry. I was waiting for someone, but I guess they aren't coming.” I shut the book, not bothering to turn down the page. Just then, a tall, good-looking boy came in. His hair was brown, like Devon's. It could be him! A rising wave of hope flooded through me and I looked at him with an expectant smile, waiting for him to spot me.

He did. His eyes flickered over me and then to the table behind me, where an older couple sat. They rose to give him a welcoming hug. It wasn't Devon. My face fell and the owner clamped a hand onto my shoulder.

“I've some day-olds in the back,” she said. “Did you want one to take with you?”

She was kind, but pastries weren't going to lift the heavy weight of disappointment that had settled in my stomach. He hadn't come. Or had, but then changed his mind about meeting me.

She bustled back in a moment with a white paper bag. Butter had already leaked through, dotting it with shiny grey spots.

“Thanks,” I muttered, fumbling with my jacket, and darted toward the door. The old brass doorknob turned in my hand and I slid outside. The air had turned chilly overnight. Leaves from the old oak trees overhead floated down. When I shut the door, all three Ravens were in front of me. Standing a few inches too close, I had no choice but to look at them.

Lizzie smiled, her eyes narrowed to slits. “Waiting for someone?”

“No,” I answered quickly.

“Really? It looked like you were. I wonder why he didn't come? I assume it was a boy. You fixed your hair. It almost looks nice.” She hissed the last word.

I gritted my teeth and turned in the other direction, but all three shuffled in front of me. I was trapped.

The café door jingled open. “Your bag, love! You left it on the chair.” The owner stood halfway outside, my purse extended at the end of her mottled, fleshy arm. Lizzie and her friends moved aside so I could take it. “What are you three up to? Seen you standing out here loitering. Get on with you before I call the school. You know the rules. Go on!” She shooed them away with a flap of her hand.

They shot me a warning glance and turned away, hair shining in the sun, and linked arms again, like carefree schoolgirls.

“Best stay away from those ones.” She gave me a look of motherly concern and went back inside.

I wished I could.

I
couldn't concentrate on my homework. Words floated around me like a mist. I grabbed some of them, lifting up the hem of my skirt and inscribing them on my thigh, vandalizing my body.

Thick shadows

Suffocate

Pressing from all sides,

Gasping, I struggle.

Like a noose

They get tighter.

There hadn't been any emails or texts from Devon. No explanation about why he hadn't shown up. I'd spent the rest of the weekend moping, going over in my mind every possible reason he hadn't shown. Some of them gave me hope, and others turned dark and twisted.

The mattress springs squeaked. I felt along the wooden frame under my quilt. I'd carved a poem into it last night. I liked the feel of the gouged letters, under my fingertips.

I had a history mid-term to study for. But every time I opened a book the words swam across the page and my mind started to wander. Even in class, I zoned out. Sometimes it was about the Ravens, what-if questions:
What if I'd cut Cassie's hair? What if I'd never started hanging out with them? What if I'd never left Lumsville?
But always my thoughts drifted back to Devon:
What if he'd shown up?
A vicious circle.

There was a beep from my computer. I had a message. Scrambling to my desk, I opened my email, praying that it was from Devon.

Monday, September 22, 4:04 p.m.

To:
Hope

From:
Devon

Subject:
Sorry

Sorry I didn't meet you in town. I've been sick. Food poisoning or something. I really wanted to meet you, and I'm not just saying that. Let's try again on Saturday. I promise not to eat the cafeteria's Friday Night Surprise again.

D.

I laughed out loud with relief when I read Devon's email. He'd had food poisoning. Oh, thank God! I'd never been so happy to hear someone was sick in my life. He hadn't stood me up. The knot of worry in my stomach unravelled and turned to feathers, tickling my insides.

I couldn't wipe the smile off my face as I replied to his email.

Monday, September 22, 4:08 p.m.

To:
Devon

From:
Hope

Subject:
Weekend

I hope you're feeling better! I was so sad when you didn't show up.

I'd love to meet you this weekend, but it's actually my birthday, so my mom is either coming in to the city, or I'm going home this weekend.
L
At least it means a break from RH, but it screws up our plans to get together.

H.

Tuesday, September 23, 6:32 p.m.

To:
Hope

From:
Devon

Re:
Weekend

I want to celebrate your birthday. We should go out somewhere for dinner, but it can't be the weekend after next, because that's homecoming and my parents are coming in. We'll discuss their favourite topic: whether or not I have a girlfriend. Wish I knew what to say …

D.

Tuesday, September 23, 6:35 p.m.

To:
Devon

From:
Hope

Subject:
!!!!

What's that supposed to mean?! Email back right away and EXPLAIN YOURSELF! If you're asking what I think you're asking, then YES!

Love, H.

L
ouie
's owner gave me $200 as a reward.

But it was tainted. The way she'd handed it to me, like I didn't deserve it, even though she'd told me on the phone that if it was Louie I'd found, she'd pay.

I tried to tell her where I'd found him, but she was in such a rush to get away from me that she didn't want to hear. Stuck-up bitch.
I'm as good as you
, I wanted to tell her.
You think you're so much better than me? Well, you're not
.

I didn't realize I was mumbling till a kid on a bike asked his dad who I was talking to.

Two-goddamned-hundred-fucking dollars! The thought coursed through my head. Finally, something good had happened. I had to be smart about this, I told Storm. Not blow it all at once. I had to find a place to crash first, and warm clothes. And a leash for Storm, so she wouldn't get lost.

And then, the sweet hereafter. I'd find a dealer.

The money was all in twenties, fresh from a bank machine. The wad of cash bulged in my back pocket. I put it in the one with a button so it wouldn't fall out. Safe with Hope's poems.

Ha! Hope. I didn't need to find her now. If I did, I could show her how well I was doing on my own.

Some kids sat on a grassy field, playing guitars and a bongo. Hippies. From the walking path, I could smell the pot they weren't being very careful to hide. “Hey, man!” I called and raised a hand in greeting. Storm tugged at the leash to get closer to them, desperate to be friends with everyone. “You guys know anyone around here?” I asked, waiting to see if my vague question would be understood.

“What are looking for?” a guy with shaggy blond hair asked, eyeing me.

I crouched down so we were all at the same level. “Crank, if you got any.”

A shadow of distaste crossed his face. “Nah, man, we don't do that shit. You gotta head downtown for that.”

There was a girl with them. She wasn't pretty—her nose was too big and she had huge, buggy eyes—but I used to be able to get what I wanted from girls. “Well, what do you guys have?” I asked her.

She took me in and pulled her legs under her skirt self-consciously. “Just the pot.”

“You mind, man?” The blond guy said. “This is a private party.”

I stood up and yanked on Storm's leash, pulling her away from sniffing their blanket, on the hunt for some food. “I don't mind,” I said, sneering at them. As if I wanted to hang out with a bunch of hippies anyway. “Which way's downtown?” I called to them as I walked away.

They pointed to a bridge that crossed a river.

I didn't have time to wait for Storm to pee. I hurried her along, half dragging her toward whatever lay downtown, at the promised land of dark alleys and vacant buildings.

T
he
streets got dirtier. A few abandoned buildings with plywood nailed over their windows, weeds growing up the sides of the houses, and empty lots filled with garbage. It smelled gritty here, like gravel and exhaust. A steady stream of cars flowed past, pressing forward.

Storm and I hurried too. She was giddy like me, leaping, then catching the leash in her mouth and trying to play with it. The wad of cash thick in my pocket. I'd get mugged if I didn't spend it.

A beige car drove past. Mom's car. The brake lights flashed on, glowing candy-apple red and my throat squeezed shut. She'd come to find me. The elation I felt shocked me.

But when I looked again, I saw that the woman in this car had long blonde hair. It didn't stick out frizzy like mom's. And she was tall. Mom's head didn't go past the back of the seat. I stared at her through the window. She looked straight ahead, maybe ignoring me. Or maybe just not seeing me.

I wondered if Mom had noticed I'd left Lumsville, or if she even cared?

“What are you doing?”
Like a keening animal, she'd asked that question too many times. When I came home hyped on meth, when I raged in my room for no reason that she understood, when I ran my bank account dry, when I sold my hockey gear, when I punched Dick, when I stole her bank card.

I never answered her. Not with the truth, anyway.

“What are you doing, Mom?”
I should have fired back. Letting me go off with a hockey coach we barely knew, letting him drive me and stay in hotels with me, letting him touch me and making me touch him.
What were you doing, Mom, to let that happen?

Hot anger pulsed through me. My hands clenched, balling up into fists at my sides. Black seeped into the corner of my eyes, making everything go dark.

A guy, one who looked like me, only with a full beard and wearing a baseball cap, crossed the street and bent down to pat Storm. I yanked her away from him, too hard. She slipped and yelped.

He stood up and watched me, small blue eyes peeking out from a grizzled face. Coach Williams had blue eyes. “What the fuck are you looking at?” I said. Yelled. He stepped away and held up his hands in surrender.

I took a step closer to him, intimidating. He backed up until he was against a wall. Broken shards of stucco lay at his feet.

“Don't you follow me! Leave me alone!” I screamed in his face.

He shrank from me, protecting his face. Emblazoned on his inner arm was a tattoo of a cross, with points like a dagger. A dagger through the heart. It pierced me. I could feel it go in and slide out, thick, oozing blood dripping from it.

But it wasn't my blood. The guy's nose was bleeding. Had I done that? I stared at the throbbing knuckles on my right hand. He cowered against the wall, begging me to leave him alone. Storm barked, warning me of something.

“Run!” her bark said. So we did.