Interference (8 page)

5

Becky listens to Rachel. Rachel says she has been kicked out of the house because she was eating a muffin on the couch in the living room. “Can you believe how unfair that is?” Rachel says her mother scooted her out, told her to get some “air.” “Air? It's freezing out here.” Rachel says it's not fair. Her brother, Charlie, gets to stay inside, but she has to go out and it's cold and miserable.

Rachel moves on to bad-mouthing Charlie. She's always on about him. He's eight years old and a pain in the butt, she says. Becky shoots hoops and tries to avoid stepping in the torn-up grass, in the dirt around the basketball net. She doesn't have a brother so she doesn't wonder about Rachel's brother, Charlie. She has a dog. But Rachel has a dog too. And Becky's dog is nothing like a brother, even if he is the same age. Eight. Which is old in dog years.

Rachel says, “You aren't paying attention, Becky,” and quickly steals the basketball from her. She shoots and sinks it. Then she runs around in circles, whooping and waving her arms around, and then she falls in the dirt.

“Why'd you do that?” Becky says. “I was on a roll. Five more and I would have made thirty.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Rachel says and rolls around.

“Dog poop,” Becky says, staring at Rachel. She holds the ball close to her chest. “You're probably rolling in dog poop. You're an idiot.”

Rachel smiles up at her. “Wouldn't you like that? You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“Yeah.” Becky turns to the hoop and shoots. “It'd be great.”

“That's my net, you know,” Rachel says. “I don't have to let you play if I don't want to.”

Even though Rachel is wrong, it's Charlie's net, not hers, Becky doesn't say anything. Becky has no idea why they play together. They have nothing in common except living directly across the street from each other. Nothing else. Rachel is spoiled and bossy; she doesn't even like basketball. In fact, the only thing Becky likes about Rachel is Charlie. He's quite nice. Shy and calm and clean. Which is odd because Charlie and Rachel's house is so messy.

Becky likes clean. She likes orderly, organized, tidy houses. She likes to vacuum and dust her room every day. And even though she loves her dog, she won't let him lie on her bed.

Across the street Becky's parents are putting up the Christmas decorations. The wreath from school, the lights, the reindeer that lights up and moves its head up and down. Becky stops shooting and watches her father. He looks strange from over here. Becky isn't used to seeing him from afar. He looks like someone she doesn't know. A stranger. Stranger Danger. Like that guy that she thought she saw hanging around the schoolyard last week. The one with the black hoodie with the word “Falcons” on the chest, the hoodie that covers his face, that puts his features in shadow. Becky thought she saw him watching the girls play hopscotch but by the time she'd found a teacher on the playground to tell he was gone and she decided that she'd probably just imagined him. After all, the police have been coming to her school all week, giving lessons on being safe, on being aware of your surroundings. Becky wondered if she might have been a little afraid because of this — maybe she was just hallucinating him. Overreacting. Like Annabel Hunter did when she ran into Mr. Berton, the janitor, down in the washroom. He was only cleaning, something Becky is pleased about. She is amazed, actually, as she didn't think those bathrooms ever got cleaned. Annabel acted as if the janitor was a murderer and ran screaming up and down the halls until the principal put her hand over Annabel's mouth and led her directly to the office.

Then there was the whole boring assembly about overreacting. About being “aware” but not too paranoid. Becky doesn't know how you balance it. Annabel really did see the janitor in the girls' washroom and he
is
freaky looking.

Becky's molar is chipped slightly, and Becky stands there worrying her tooth with her tongue. She doesn't want to tell her parents about her chipped tooth — she isn't sure what happened, it was just chipped one morning when she woke up, probably from grinding her teeth — because she hates the dentist. Really hates him. More than she hates dirt. And she's not overreacting. He pokes at her gums with little metal tools and always seems to hit a nerve. She's told her mom that her teeth are sensitive but her mom says she has to get them cleaned anyway. The chip is annoying and is cutting into her tongue and she can't help playing with it. Becky takes off her hair clip and puts it in her mouth over the chip so she won't bother it. She sucks on the clip. The hair clip tastes like summer, like chlorine and sweat. It smells like mould. A bitter, earthy smell.

Becky's father is still there, plugging in the lights which sparkle in the dimming light. Her mother is nowhere to be seen. Becky remembers that man awhile ago who helped her dad rake. That scar-faced man. Becky feels shivery. Even though he wasn't wearing a “Falcons” hoodie, Becky wonders if he could be the same person hanging out at her school. There was something in the way that man stood, his hands in his pockets, his face covered. Becky isn't sure. All men look the same to her. Even the scar-faced man looks the same as every other man. They are all tall and big and featureless.

“You have to pass the ball, Beck,” Rachel says. “Or I won't play with you anymore.”

“We should have two balls,” Becky says. “Why don't we have two balls so we can each shoot.”

“That's not how you play, stupid.”

“You can play any way you want to play. I don't want to pass the ball when your hands are probably covered in dog poop.”

Rachel's mom comes out looking for Charlie. She looks frazzled. She's holding one of her bears, half dressed.

“He's in the house,” Rachel says. “You let him stay inside. You made me come outside. To freeze to death.”

“Charlie,” Trish goes back inside, calling him. Then she pops her head out again and says it's time for lunch, and her head disappears again. Then the bear comes out, held by her outstretched hand, and it says, “Now!” The girls stare at each other. Rachel glares.

Saturday is often like this. Becky goes over to Rachel's. They play inside or outside. They fight. Becky heads home and hangs out in her room with her dog. Cleans a bit. Tidies up. Sometimes her parents take her out for dinner. They go to the pizza place or the fish and chip shop. Sometimes they just pick up food — rotis or burritos — and come home with it and eat it in front of the TV.

Tonight Becky had Mexican, and now she's in her bedroom watching some shows on her laptop while her parents watch their own movie downstairs. She can hear her mother laugh every so often. She's loud when she laughs. There are a lot of things that bother Becky about her mother. Her laugh is just one of them.

Becky wonders if the guy with the Falcons hoodie was staring at her. She's not sure. He just stands there and stares. The guy who was raking with her dad that day kept looking at her. He had such a freaky face, Becky can't even describe it, sliced in two, a giant scar. Even though he worked hard, raking, Becky was sure he kept looking at her. And he put a spin on her dad. He made her dad nervous, Becky could tell. Maybe it was his face. Becky thinks a face like that would make anyone nervous. After the guy left that day there was a lot of whispering between Becky's mom and Becky's dad, but she doesn't know why. Maybe because the man up and left without taking any money for his work. Even Becky thinks that's weird. Why would you do anything without getting paid for it? Becky's mom said he would be back the next day for money. But he never came back.

Becky spent the drive to the Mexican restaurant telling her dad all about Stranger Danger. He listened carefully. Becky likes how he always listens. In fact, he connected what she was saying with the raking man. Somehow he connected it. Even though Becky said nothing. Her dad said he didn't want to make her nervous. Ever. He said he was sorry he panicked when he couldn't find her after the man with the weird face left that day. He said she shouldn't worry about that man, have nightmares or anything, but by saying this he made Becky scared. She wasn't really afraid of the man until her dad said that. But then thinking of that scarred-up face, that weird half-face — well, now she is scared. And her tooth is bothersome and there is a bit of Mexican food stuck in it, where it's chipped, and Becky is digging at it now in front of her laptop in her room.

Bringing up that man made Becky want to watch something really tame. She picked from all the old DVDs they have in a box in the living room. She thought about a Christmas movie. It was almost time to start watching those:
The Grinch
,
It's a Wonderful Life
,
Scrooge
,
A Christmas Story
. But instead she chose a DVD of old
Hannah Montana
episodes. They aren't taking her mind off anything. Becky has no idea why adults would want to frighten children. It seems that everyone Becky knows is a little more worried these days. Before the police started talking to everyone at her school Becky felt like a kid. Now she feels like an adult. She feels as if she has a responsibility to do something, but she doesn't know what.

And even though she's mad at Rachel, right now Becky wishes Rachel were here. Watching a DVD with her. Becky's eight-year-old dog isn't proper company. He falls asleep quickly and snores as loudly as her mother laughs. Outside Becky can hear Rachel's mother goofing around with Charlie in the driveway and talking loudly to the new neighbour. She can hear Charlie bouncing a ball in the dark and Rachel's mom says something about hockey and the new neighbour says something back. Her little baby, Carrie, who is really cute and sweet, makes a loud squealing noise and everyone over there, in Rachel's driveway, laughs.

For a while, after the raking man came, Becky's father started driving Becky, Rachel and Charlie to school even though he never usually did that. He drove them up to the schoolyard and then he sat in the car until they were safely in the fenced area. He did this for a couple of weeks and then he stopped, and Becky, Rachel and Charlie walked together again like they used to. Rachel complained. She liked the rides to school. The warm car. She blamed Becky and Charlie for everything. She said it was their fault Becky's dad had stopped driving. She said it was Charlie's stinky feet and the way he always cleared his throat.

Each day is getting colder and darker. The leaves are all off the trees. Becky notices this when she walks home. She has nothing more to scuff along in. Christmas can't get here fast enough. Becky has asked for a rechargeable DustBuster, among other things. She figures she can hang it in her closet and use it to suck up dirt anywhere in the house. Her mother thinks this is funny. “What twelve-year-old wants cleaning supplies for Christmas?” Becky heard her say to someone on the phone the other day. “What about jewellery? An iPad even?” She laughed.

Ha ha, Becky thinks. I'm a joke. If she had a daughter who wanted to keep her room clean she'd be a pretty happy, lucky mother. What's wrong with people? Becky worries her chipped tooth. Besides, Becky knows that her mother is just as clean as she is. Becky has caught her vacuuming the same rug three times in one day. She is aware that her mother wipes counters obsessively.

For the last couple of days the guy in the hoodie has been standing outside the schoolyard looking in. He's back. Becky has seen him. She has pointed him out to her teachers, but whenever they look the guy is gone. The teachers have begun to ignore her. One of them, Mrs. Spruce, even mentioned the boy who cried wolf. She told Becky to calm down, to stop “overreacting.” But he is there. After a while he appears wearing a down jacket. She can't see his face clearly with his heavy jacket on and a scarf and a toque, but Becky knows it's the same person. He has this casual way of standing, like he's happy to wait there for the rest of his life, like he doesn't ever need to move. Most people move from one foot to the other, they shift their weight, but this guy stands like a statue and watches the schoolyard. Same way the guy who raked the leaves stood. Becky has, however, come to the conclusion that he isn't there to see her. Because when she runs back and forth he doesn't move his head to follow her movements. She isn't sure who he is looking at. Maybe he has his eyes closed, Becky can't tell.

And every time she draws attention to him, every time she tries to point him out, he isn't there anymore. He is gone.

Because of Annabel's “overreaction” to the janitor in the bathroom, the kids in her grade seven class have to go to the bathroom in pairs. Girls with girls. Boys with boys. Down the long hallway, down the long staircase, to the basement of the school. Becky has been forced to pair up with other girls in her class even when she doesn't have to pee. She wouldn't pee at school anyway, not even if you paid her. The toilets are disgusting. No one bothers to flush. And the floor is wet and sticky with toilet paper. Becky usually stands just outside the door to the washroom and tells whomever it is she's escorting that she'll wait for her there. Becky won't even lean against the wall while she is waiting. She stands stiffly, trying not to touch anything. Her tongue bleeds where she rubs it against the chip on her molar.

Sometimes she has a stomach ache from holding her pee in all day, but Becky knows that a stomach ache is better than all of the things she would catch if she used the bathroom.

The nightmares Becky has been having for half her life — since she was six — are getting worse. She used to wake crying only once a week — these days she's up most nights, clutching her pillow. But because she is twelve, Becky doesn't bother her parents anymore. She stays in her clean, tidy room, trying to stop her heart from exploding out of her chest, trying to remember what it is that is scaring her. She doesn't know. Becky can't remember her nightmares anymore than she can remember to feed the dog before school. When she wakes up sweating, the visions disappear as quickly as the guy standing outside of the schoolyard fence. As it gets closer to Christmas the visions stop, to be replaced by dreams about the Grinch and Santa and angels and bells. She remembers these ones. One night Becky dreams about eating an entire turkey on her own, just grabbing the meat off it as it sits on the kitchen table. Scarfing it down. When she wakes up, her stomach growls fiercely and when she goes downstairs for breakfast, she throws up in her bowl of cereal.