Leftovers (20 page)

Sullivan laughed last night when I was over at his house while Mr. Vickerson attended a school board meeting. “Sarah, don't you know what a tragedy it will be if I survive cancer only to die of sexual frustration?”

Doesn't he get what a big step it is for me just to slide into third base by candlelight?

Sullivan does get it. Mostly. A typical pre–make-out conversation goes like this:

“One candle, Sullivan. Not fifteen!”

“Ten?”

“Two.”

“Seven?”

“Two. Final answer.”

A few days ago, with a written recommendation from Dr. Fred in my hand, I walked across town with Judy to offer my services at the local veterinary clinic. I want to volunteer behind the scenes: taking the boarded dogs for walks, playing with kittens, talking to parrots. I want to get a feel for the everyday workings of an animal hospital, to see if I've really got the guts to work with animals for a living.

Turns out that one of the hospital's weekend receptionists left last week to go back to university. Pre-vet at Guelph. Given my experience at Camp Dog Gone Fun and my glowing reference from Dr. Fred, they hired me on the spot to replace her. And I get paid! Not much, but it'll be nice to give up my shifts at Doughy Donuts and still have some cash on hand to go out with Sullivan
and
buy ingredients for my dog biscuit experiments. (My mother made me put the promised payment from Helen at Tricks for Treats, Inc., straight into my university fund. Boring, but necessary, since my father's restaurant is finally on the market, but so far no takers. Bad karma, you think?)

I make a huge spaghetti dinner for my mother and Tanner to celebrate Tanner's popping of the big question last weekend. Mom said yes.

Thank God or Matthew McConaughey, because planning her wedding takes her mind off me. After I came
home from Camp Dog Gone Fun, I'd hear her roaming the house late at night, mumbling to herself, asking the furniture and the walls if I will ever forgive her for not seeing through my father, oblivious to the fact I already have forgiven her. (At least that's what I tell her. And myself.) She also worries out loud about Sullivan and me. About whether one of us will get hurt when it's time to leave for university. About whether she should do something about us spending so much time up in my room after dark. About whether she should be grateful that I'm not like those girls she saw on Dr. Phil a few weeks back, out walking the streets in fishnets, spreading their legs for crack.

“Sarah?” Mom says, wiping her mouth on a napkin.

“Yeah.”

“This sauce is even better than...well, let's just say it's the best sauce I've ever eaten.”

Yay, Mom. There will be no leftovers tonight.

Tanner seconds the motion, pushes back his chair and carries his empty plate to the dishwasher. His days of eating Hungry Man dinners are so over.

“You ready?” he asks me.

Tanner, of all people, is teaching me to drive. He takes me to the Canadian Tire parking lot after hours to practice. Judy comes along on these test drives—somehow her hot breath in my ear as she hangs her big hairy head over the back of the driver's seat is reassuring, not distracting. Tanner doesn't complain about the doggy smell or hairs in the backseat of his new car. As far as I can tell, his only
problem with Judy is her insistence on licking his face every time she sees him.

Tanner never asks when I'm going for my license. He knows it's not about the driving for me. It's about the photo
ID
. But it's nice to know that he's making sure I'll pass when and if the time is ever right. (Or, at the very least, if I'm ever tempted to steal his car again, I won't crash it.)

He says if I ever change my mind about working at the clinic or writing cookbooks, I can come work for him at Canadian Tire.

“You think I have an aptitude for selling gardening tools and plumbing supplies?” I ask.

“I think you have an aptitude for whatever you set your mind to, Sarah.”

Tomorrow is picture day, I remember as I reach over Judy's bulk to switch off my bedside lamp. (Our sleepovers are nightly now. I need a bigger bed.)

Mom says that I don't have to show up to school in the morning. That I don't have to sit for a picture just to prove to her or Sullivan or anyone else that I'm okay now.

Because chances are I'm not okay. Not yet. Maybe I'll never be able to “Say cheese!” Maybe it will have to be enough that I make a fantastic three-cheese omelet.

But I'm going to show up to school and try it anyway, and just hope that I don't upend any tripods. I'm going
to wear my unofficial Camp Dog Gone Fun sweatshirt, the one that Judy and the other dogs walked over with paint-covered paws on everyone's last day on Moose Island. It's not really classy. The Riverwood High School fashion police will be on high alert.

But I'm thinking it will boost my courage. I never had the courage to tell anyone about my father and the Polaroids, but I'll do whatever it takes to find the courage to move forward with my life.

I know I shouldn't recommend unlawful behavior as a way to get ahead, but, well...it worked for me. Moose Island is where I got what we at Camp Dog Gone Fun call a new leash on life.

Many thanks to Sarah Harvey and the rest of the wonderful team at Orca, whose expertise brought this book to life.

Heather Waldorf
was born in Ottawa and raised in small-town eastern Ontario. She now lives in Toronto with Moose, a twelve-year-old golden retriever. Heather is addicted to green tea, jigsaw puzzles, mystery novels and the
TV
show
Bones
. Also a lover of the great outdoors, she's never written a novel that doesn't, at some point, put the main character in a canoe. Her previous novels for teens include
Fighting the Current, Grist
and
Tripping.