I Know It's Over (3 page)

Anyway, I thought Sasha was a type-two girl if I ever saw one, but that didn’t stop me checking her out from time to time. It didn’t make me right either. See, she was as far from being a type two as any girl I’ve ever met.

The whole thing with us started back in June. Everyone was in a good mood because the sun had finally come out to stay, everyone except Mom. Not that I blame her. She’d obviously bought into the “till death do us part” deal. I mean, there she was with a vegetable garden, a cushy part-time job at the library, and a reasonable facsimile of the perfect family. Then Dad blew it for her by escaping to this swanky condo in Toronto. No wonder she was pissed. But the fact is, life is like that. Things start to suck when you least expect it. Like now Mom has this crappy admin job and half her waking life is ruled by Mrs. Scofield, bitch of the century.

Sometimes I can sit there and listen sympathetically to Mom’s complaints. I understand that it sucks and that it helps to have someone else say it out loud for you, but then again, how many times can I say it? The drill gets a bit much, especially when nothing ever changes and whatever I say doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference.

That’s why I went to the mall with Nathan that night in June, although it’s on the bottom of my list of appealing places to visit. My job at Sports 2 Go means I’m there enough as it is, and sometimes the fact that the mall seems like the only place to go makes me determined to stay home. But everything is situation specific, I guess, and in that particular situation—Mom itching to recap the latest evidence of Mrs. Scofield’s ever-expanding ego, and Nathan sounding bored out of his skull and begging me to meet him at Courtland Place—the mall genuinely seemed like the best option.

But I had second thoughts as soon as I got to the food court. Nathan wasn’t alone. He and Sasha were standing by the railing, looking down at the ground floor and talking like they’d known each other forever, which knowing Nathan was highly possible. Think of that person in your high school that gets along with everyone—whether they’re a skater, a jock, or the most painful nerd in the world. Nathan’s that person—the guy that’s everybody’s friend. He’s been that guy as long as I can remember.

“Hey,” I called, walking towards him and Sasha.

“Hey, Nick,” Nathan replied, not offering an introduction because he knew as well as anyone that the entire population of Courtland Secondary was already known to each other—at least by name.

“Hi,” Sasha said, abandoning her standard Nick Severson non-greeting. She was wearing loose cargo pants and a reasonably tight T-shirt and the minute I noticed that, she folded her arms in front of her chest as though she’d noticed too.

“So what’re you doing?” Nathan asked Sasha. “You coming with us?”

“I better call Lindsay and see what’s up,” she said, reaching into her side pocket and pulling out her cell phone.

“Catch up with us later if she’s not showing,” Nathan offered. The two of us pushed off in the general direction of food. “She was supposed to meet Lindsay here, but she never showed,” he explained.

“Yeah, I figured that out,” I told him. I didn’t mention that I wasn’t in the mood for another person. Nathan is the kind of guy I could say that to, but it was too late, his offer was already out there. That makes me sound antisocial, right? Most of the time that’s not true. Ask Keelor, my best friend in the universe. He’d tell you I was up for anything. Partying with Vix and the girls. No problem. Dodge math class, smoke a joint in the park, and laugh at joggers. Okay. Midnight hockey followed by endless amounts of beer, spilled in sleeping bags that’ll have to be washed out the next morning. Maybe a girl next to me in the sleeping bag. Maybe not. It’s all okay, most of the time. But every now and then I just want to keep things low-key. Have a quiet conversation or whatever.

Nathan and I split up in front of Taco Life and I headed towards DQ, in the mood for something’s flesh. My order was in the middle of being assembled by some cranky Korean guy, who was probably a lawyer or something like that in his home country, when someone sidled up next to me and crowded my space. Why do people do that? Do they have some kind of mental retardation when it comes to personal distance?

I squinted over to check for signs of mental deficiency and was surprised to find the complete opposite. Sasha was standing beside me, looking equally uncomfortable with the proximity. “Where’s Nathan?” she asked.

My eyes scoured the food court and landed on Nathan’s red T-shirt in front of Gino’s Pizza. “Over there.” I tilted my head in his direction and glanced back at the Korean guy, who was happy enough to take my money, even though he couldn’t spare a smile. See what I mean? There are times when I shouldn’t be around people.

“Hey, I ordered fries—not onion rings,” I told him, pointing to my full tray.

“Yes.” He shook his head in aggravated agreement. “I remember. There is a new girl today. I am sorry. I will get your fries.” He disappeared back to the grill to rip into the girl, leaving Sasha and me to our world of awkward distances.

“So,” Sasha said.
So?
I leaned against the scrap of counter not occupied by my order and raised my eyebrows at her. A piece of her hair fell forward a bit and I swear, I almost reached out to slide it back behind her ear, just like that, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “Well,” she added.
Well
and
so.
Must be my turn to jump in and expand the conversation. But no, she managed another sentence and saved me the effort. “I’ll grab us all a seat.”

Off she went to complete her mission. Me, I waited for like five minutes while my order got straightened out and then the guy let me keep the onion rings too. By the time I got to the table, Nathan and Sasha were deep in conversation.

“…call my dad,” Sasha was saying. “I can never think of anything to do at the mall. That’s Lindsay’s department.”

“Like him.” Nathan pointed at me as I sat down next to him.

I made a face that demonstrated how right he was.

“So what’re you doing here, then?” Sasha asked. Her long brown hair was tucked back behind her ears again, and her eyes, so dark they’re practically black, were stuck on mine.

I raised my eyebrows again and motioned, with exaggerated weariness, towards Nathan.

“I guess it’s unavoidable,” Sasha said, smiling. “Everybody ends up here sometime.”

“Twice a week at least,” I told her. “I work downstairs at Sports 2 Go.”

She nodded. “I haven’t been in there in ages. What’s it like?”

It’s okay actually. The guys there are good to joke around with. We all help each other out with the customers—make sure to throw some at whoever’s lagging behind in sales that day. I always have sales to spare anyway. Practically every girl that walks through the door approaches me. Seriously. I look a lot like my dad, which is a good thing, apparently. He’s got salt-and-pepper hair, but it used to be pitch-black like mine. I also have his green eyes and a lot of other stuff—his weird super-pointy elbows and his cat allergy.

I told some of that to Sasha—the work stuff—and then the three of us moved on to Nathan’s job, which involves lots of chopping vegetables and rushing waiters. According to Nathan, the new waiter, some French guy named Xavier, was a real prick, acting like he was above the kitchen staff and spending more time on break than he did serving. The way Nathan complained made it sound more funny than irritating, though, unlike my mom.

“What about you?” I asked Sasha. “You working?”

Sasha eyed my onion rings hopefully. “Mind if I have some?”
Nope.
She thanked me and reached across to grab some from my tray. “Um—no, not really,” she said, getting back to my question. “I babysit for some people around my neighborhood, but my parents won’t let me have a real job during school. I’m teaching sailing at the lake this summer, though.”

“Cool,” I said. “Have you been doing that long?”

“Long as I can remember—my dad taught me.” She shook her head and let out a groan. “I can’t wait to start. The babysitting is such a drag. There’s this one family: twin girls and an older brother. The girls are okay, but the boy…” She bit into another onion ring. “He’s completely over-active, so he’s not supposed to have any sugar. Then one night I came downstairs after putting the girls to bed and he was in the basement with a half-empty box of Cocoa Puffs, playing with his dad’s saw.” Nathan and I traded looks as we laughed. “Yeah,” Sasha continued. “Then this other time I came down and he’d pulled the ladder out of the garage and was up on the roof.”

“The roof,” Nathan echoed. “That’s wild.”

“Yeah,” Sasha said. “I don’t think he means anything by it. I think his parents are just too restrictive, you know?”

“Like somebody not letting their kid have a part-time job,” I offered, then wondered if Sasha would take it the wrong way and think I was putting her down, which I wasn’t.

“Right.” Her lips jumped up into a smile, like a signal to keep going.

“So what happens to people like that—aside from the roof climbing?” I flashed a grin back, wondering if I’d been wrong about her. Maybe she wasn’t one hundred percent serious all the time. Maybe she wasn’t one of those people who believed they had to play out their high school label. Sometimes I get so sick of that shit, you know what I’m saying? You don’t have to talk to me because our friends are tight and you don’t have to avoid me because they’re not. But I know that’s a hypocritical thing to think because I do it just as bad as anyone.

“I don’t know.” Sasha put her concentration face on. “They probably get on the honor roll, get a scholarship for a good school, and end up with a PhD—something like that.”

“Yeah, probably,” I agreed. “Sounds boring, though, doesn’t it?” Don’t get me wrong, I have okay grades. I’ll get into university, without a doubt. There has to be more to life, though. I’m thinking one day I’ll visit the pyramids, go on safari, get stoned in Amsterdam, and hook up with a French girl with a sexy name like Anaïs or Solange, some cool girl who walks around with a guitar on her back.

“You have a better idea?” Sasha pressed her hair back behind her ears although it hadn’t come loose again. “Forget I said that,” she added. “I don’t want to know.”

“Hey, now I’m offended,” I said lightly.

“No, you’re not,” she countered, still smiling, and she was right. At that moment she could’ve said anything and not offended me, as long as she kept smiling in my direction.

Nathan grabbed the table and chuckled. “Looks like your dirty mind is showing, Nick.”

Sasha wiped her fingers on her napkin. “Everybody’s got a dirty mind,” she said indifferently.

Tell me more.
Was that my line? Instead, I leaned across the table and said, “I meant to tell you before—I really liked your story.” Ms. Raines, English teacher extraordinaire, was always saying that she wanted to keep us thinking for ourselves, not just force-feed us Shakespeare. That led to a lot of creative assignments. The particular one I was talking about was supposed to be about home. No other instructions. Just a story about home. Ms. Raines read a few of them to the class after she’d marked them and Sasha’s was the best of the bunch.

“Thanks,” Sasha said, sounding surprised. “I liked yours better. It was so…I don’t know…so natural.”

Normally English isn’t one of my better subjects. Obviously, I speak the language, but I’m not into picking stories apart for the sake of it and I don’t give a shit about metaphors or whatever. In fact, I don’t even read outside of class. Math and art come a lot easier. Somehow that story turned out all right, though. The guy in it, Terry, had quit university and was on the train home, feeling completely relieved—even though he’d pissed his parents off—because he’d finally made the decision. I thought Ms. Raines would like something like that. I didn’t think I would, but I was wrong.

I meant it about Sasha’s story being better, though. Way more profound. Like something you’d read on an exam and afterwards there’d be questions about character motivation. Basically it was about this family immigrating to Toronto and having a tough time settling in. None of them could speak English, for one thing, and they had no idea how to get on the subway or anything.

“Mine was trying too hard,” Sasha said. “Yours sounded like it really happened.” She made me feel like pulling my story out and reading it over. She also made me wish we were somewhere else, somewhere I could test the vibes between us. I guess that meant she was right about dirty minds.

We didn’t get into it any further that day, though. Sasha announced that she was going to call her dad to come get her and Nathan and I sat there arguing about where to go next. There are only three places in the mall that don’t bore me: sports stores, entertainment/electronics stores, and the place we were sitting just then. Nathan, on the other hand, could spend an hour in the bookstore or trying on watches and holding his wrist up to me for approval.

I don’t want to make him sound like a stupid stereotype or whatever. He wasn’t obsessed with clothes or anything, he just enjoyed whatever he happened to be doing at any given moment in time—even if it meant eating bad fast food at Courtland Place with two people who usually ignored each other. Nathan and I had known each other since we were eleven and had played on the same hockey team for the last three years. Me, him, and Keelor, that’s how it was. You play the game with someone for long enough and you know exactly what they’ll do next on the ice. That’s the way it was with the three of us up until this year when Nathan surprised us by packing it in. Said he didn’t love the game the way he used to.

Keelor, the Courtland Cougars team captain, took it kind of personally. To tell the truth, so did I, but I figured Nathan had other things on his mind. See, I’d noticed some things about him by then. He’d never come out and said anything, but I’d caught him giving other guys
the look.
It was always lightning-fast, but I’d seen it often enough to know it meant something. I suspected that Keelor had caught on too. So there were three of us walking around not talking about that because sometimes it’s just easier not to, I guess.