Leslie's Journal (2 page)

At recess, no one would talk to me. All the boys wanted to do was run around like a bunch of morons screaming their heads off. But the girls—they were just plain mean. They were all in groups acting cute and when I’d come over they’d turn their backs on me and start to whisper and laugh. Mom had made me wear this brand-new outfit with a sweater vest. Nobody else was wearing sweater vests, though, because apparently the Fashion Police had decided they were against the law or something.

Anyway, there I was, feeling like a giant dog turd. I knew I couldn’t cry—that would be too embarrassing. So instead I acted like I had something very important to do and marched off the asphalt to the fence at the back of the school yard.

There was a girl there with big cheeks and glasses, sitting under a tree, reading a Harry Potter book. She looked pretty normal, except she was moving her lips. So I sat down about twenty feet from her and pretended to stare at this anthill, like I was a member of the junior science club or something. What I was really doing was praying my dad would get fired so we could move back home where I at least had a few friends. (I can hardly remember their names anymore, except for Laura Wilson, who stopped calling me after three lousy months—even though she’d sworn eternal friendship on her cat Fluffball’s grave.)

I was just about to lose it when I heard a voice. “Oh, hi. You’re Leslie, right?” I looked over and it was Moving-Lips Girl. “I’m sorry for being so rude,” she went on. “It’s just that Harry’s in the middle of a spell and I didn’t even see you come over.”

I shrugged as if I didn’t care one way or the other.

“My name’s Katie. I sit three rows over from you. Where are you from?”

“Seattle.”

“Seattle? But that’s in the United States!” Her eyes went all big, like this was the most amazing thing she’d ever heard, and we’ve been best friends ever since.

I love Katie. I couldn’t have made it through last year without her. During the stuff with my parents—the yelling, the fights, the separation—she was always ready to listen or make me laugh. Even when her mother told her to get off the phone—“It’s Family Hour, Katie!”—I knew she’d find a way to sneak to the basement washroom and call me back on her cell. And for Katie, calling back after getting the Word is a big deal.

Katie is what adults call “well behaved”—which they apparently think is a compliment. Personally, I call “well behaved” being a suck, and it’s the one thing about Katie that sometimes bugs me. Luckily, Katie
knows
she’s a suck. “I just can’t help myself,” she laughs, eyes bulging. So how can I stay mad? I mean, “I can’t help myself” is exactly what I say, only about getting in trouble.

I guess that’s why we’re friends: we forgive each other. Katie says when she looks at me she sees a terrific person who really wants to do good. I say that when I look at her I see a spawn of Satan who really wants to cut loose. I’m not totally teasing. The reason Katie loves to be shocked by my stories is because I do and say the stuff she can’t.

Katie’s biggest problem is her mother. Mrs. Kincaid is this giant spider sucking the life out of her. She’s this giant slug oozing slime. She’s this—don’t get me started!

Let’s just say that Mrs. Kincaid thinks everyone and everything should be nice. As in “Don’t you look nice!” Or lovely. As in “Don’t you look lovely!” Or just about perfect. As in “Don’t you look just about perfect!” Not perfect, mind you. Just about perfect. That’s because she thinks the only perfect one is her. Naturally, Mrs. Kincaid doesn’t think I’m nice or lovely or anywhere close to being just about perfect. What Mrs. Kincaid thinks I am is trouble. As in “Leslie Phillips is nothing but trouble.” That’s what I heard her say to Mr. Kincaid one night last year when she thought me and Katie were down in the rec room watching
TV
.

At first I was hurt. I’d always thought she liked me. But obviously things had changed since my parents’ separation and the move into our dump of an apartment and me starting to go wild. “Acting out” is how our family counselor put it when I got caught sneaking home drunk. To hear my mom tell it, you’d have thought I was an alcoholic or something.

“But you’re only in grade nine!”

“Yeah, well, I’m fourteen, so get used to it.”

That’s when the counselor said I was “acting out.” “How would you know?” I yelled. “You’re just some turd. Get flushed, why don’t you?” I never went back.

Anyway, I decided I didn’t have to care what Mrs. Kincaid thought. After all, I was Katie’s friend, not hers. At least that’s what I figured till Katie phoned last year at the end of spring break and said we had to talk.

“But we always talk,” I said. “We’re talking right now.”

“This is different. We have to talk in private.”

“Well, this is private. Unless your mother’s listening in again. Hello, Mrs. Kincaid, isn’t it a lovely day out? Why, I’d say it’s just about perfect.”

“Cut it out, Leslie. I’m serious. We really have to talk. In person.”

My heart started thumping because Katie was sounding so weird. I imagined maybe she had some kind of terrible disease or her parents had been killed in a car crash. We decided to meet at two o’clock at my place, because my mom would be out doing groceries. After we hung up, I just sat there shaking, thinking of how I’d have to act brave and comfort her.

But when Katie arrived she didn’t look sick or anything. Just sort of fidgety. And she smiled a lot, really fake, and said, no, she was fine and her parents were fine and wasn’t spring break great and they should give a prize to whoever invented it.

“Cut the crap, Katie,” I said. “I’ve been worried sick all day. What’s the deal with this Having to Talk? In Person. In Private.”

“Well ...” She took a deep breath and started scrunching her knees and staring at the coffee table. “My mom ...”

“Yeah? Your mom what?”

“My mom thinks we shouldn’t spend so much time together.”

My stomach went hollow. “Why? Is she afraid we’re turning into lesbians or something?”

“No.”

“Well, so what if we were? Your mom is a bigot.”

“No, she isn’t.”

“Yes, she is.” I gulped for air. “She hates me.”

“She says we should expand our circle of friends.”

“Yeah, right. That’s just a nice way of saying, ‘I think you should stop seeing Leslie.’”

“It is not.”

“Besides, I don’t want to ‘expand my circle of friends.’ I want things the way they are.”

Katie started flapping her hands and looking at me all helpless like she always does when her mom means business.

“It’s not fair. First Dad runs out on me. And now you.”

“I’m not running out on you.”

“You are so.”

Suddenly I couldn’t take it anymore and started to sob. Without even thinking, Katie gave me a big hug and I hugged her back and we didn’t let go. When I settled down, she took my head in both hands and stared deep into my eyes. “Leslie,” she said, “you’re my best friend in the whole world. And you’ll always be my best friend. Cross my heart.”

Katie looked so serious and sweet I wanted to cry all over again. But instead I started to giggle. And then she started to giggle too. Before we knew it, we were both rolling around laughing and everything seemed okay again.

But Mrs. Kincaid meant business: Never trust a mother who smells like hair spray. Our first day back after the spring break, she had Katie hand out invitations to a sleepover. Naturally I got one too—Mrs. Kincaid was too smart to make Katie take me off the list. But it was all part of her master plan. Because instead of Katie and me doing something fun on our own, we’d be with a bunch of other girls. Other girls who hate me and make me feel left out.

Head of the Leaving-Me-Out Department is Ashley Walker. She goes to Katie’s church, and ever since that first sleepover she’s butted into our friendship. She makes Katie feel guilty if she doesn’t participate in their stupid youth group activities. So instead of doing stuff with me on the weekend, half the time Katie ends up being Ashley’s buddy at some charity car wash or geeky youth wiener roast.

Katie even made me come and hear her and Ashley the first time they performed in the church’s junior choir. I almost puked watching Ashley flounce around in her polyester choir robe, like she was a big deal or something.

Last summer was worst of all. Ashley got Katie to go with her to the church youth leadership training camp, so for two whole weeks I was stuck on my own. “You could’ve come,” Katie said. “The youth group’s always looking for new members.”

Yeah, right. New members who are nice and lovely and just about perfect.

God, I hate Ashley. I told Katie, but she said I shouldn’t be mean because Ashley has problems too.

“Like what?”

“Dermatitis.”

“Dermatitis?” I laughed. “You mean she’s all scaly.”

“Leslie, don’t make me choose sides.”

“Is that a warning?”

“Just don’t.” Katie turned on her heel and walked off. I felt lost. She never used to get mad at me. What happened?

Life doesn’t make sense. It’s against the law for somebody to steal your bike, but apparently it doesn’t matter if somebody tries to steal your best friend. Well, you can always get a new bike. But how do you replace a best friend?

Four

T
oday is Friday. At lunch I go into the cafeteria, and see Katie and Ashley A-hole with a bunch of other girls clumped by the window. Katie and I used to have lunch alone, only now her table’s turned into Girl Central. They’re always in a group, pointing and whispering and generally being embarrassing. Right now, they’re staring at the track.

“What’s the big deal?” I say.

“Leslie, look. By the goalposts,” squeals Katie. “He’s just transferred and his name is Jason McCready and he’s a senior and he has a motorcycle and ohmigod!” She sighs and does this fake fainting routine like I’m supposed to be impressed she’s got hormones.

When I look out, I see it’s him, the guy from the office. And come to think of it, he
is
pretty cute, slouched all alone against the goalpost, one knee slightly bent, hands in his back pockets, head back to catch some rays. He looks like an underwear model with clothes on.

“Oh, him,” I say casually, as I stuff my face with the last bit of my tuna sandwich. “We’ve already met.”

“No way.”

“Not my type,” I yawn, and I turn away like he’s the last thing on my mind.

“Liar,” Ashley sneers. “I’ll bet you’ve never even seen him before.”

“Oh, no? Well, I’ve not only seen him before, I’ve given him the finger.”

Katie gasps. “What did he do?” Her eyes are like pies.

“Nothing. He just smiled.”

Katie is in awe. “Smiled? You mean he likes you?”

The idea hadn’t crossed my mind, but I’m not going to say no and look stupid in front of Ashley. So instead, I check my nails. “Some of us have what it takes.”

“Liar,” Ashley sneers. “If you and Jason are such good friends, let’s see you go out and talk to him. He’ll tell you to get lost.”

I’m trapped. But I’m not going to let Ashley show me up.

“Candy from a baby,” I laugh, and I head out to the track, praying by the time I get there he’ll be gone.

He isn’t. When I get within range, I slow down. Stop. I can tell he knows someone’s there, but he keeps his eyes closed and lets the breeze play through his curly brown hair. His shirt’s hanging out and open, and under it he’s got on this incredibly tight T-shirt. Can I breathe?

I can feel the girls stare at me. There’s no turning back. “Hi. You must be Jason.”

A pause. “If you say so.” His eyes are still closed.

“We, uh, we met in the office.”

He opens his eyes. They are sooo blue. “Then you must be the principal.”

For a second, I don’t get it. “Uh ...” I want to run. But I’m frozen.

“Are those your friends?” He nods towards the caf.

The girls have their faces squashed against the window like they’re in kindergarten. They look demento, especially Katie, who’s waving her hand so fast I’m surprised it doesn’t fall off.

“Friends? I’ve never seen them before.”

He smiles. His teeth are whiter than white. “Come here.”

I take two baby steps, then toss my head and walk right up. Without warning, he puts his arm around me and gives me a kiss. And not just any kiss. He actually slips me the tongue!

He smiles again. “Gotta go,” he says.

“Okay.” I feel sort of absentminded, like an amnesia patient in some Movie of the Week. My knees are wobbly. I try not to fall down.

“By the way, my name is Leslie,” I call after him.

“Right,” he says. He waves, real casual and slow, and keeps on walking. I turn to the cafeteria window and curtsy. Katie’s eyes are right out of their sockets. Ashley looks like she’s just had a heart attack.

And me? I’m in love!

Five

A
fter school on Friday, I found his locker. On the first floor in the south wing. Number 1124. Just my luck. It’s miles away.

Spying on a guy’s locker is tricky, because if he finds out, for sure he’ll never want to see you again. But this morning I couldn’t help myself. All weekend I kept thinking if I wasn’t there when Jason arrived, he’d meet some other girl and it’d be all over.

I tried to blend into the walls, walking slowly up and down the corridor, pretending to read
To Kill a Mocking-
bird
, then stopping for some water at the drinking fountain. Dumb or what? I looked like a browner and I had to pee all morning.

To make matters worse, Jason didn’t show. He’s not even here today. Maybe he’s had an accident. Maybe he’s switched schools. Or maybe I’m being stupid, which is probably more like it. I bet he’s just skipping, which is what I’d be doing if I wasn’t trying so hard to see him.

Jason, Jason, Jason. Love is a killer, especially if you can’t talk to anyone about it. Like, if I tell Katie how I feel, she’ll tell Ashley and Ashley’ll tell the world. As for Mom? Get real. When I’m suicidal she laughs it off as a “phase,” and when I’m happy she gets suspicious.

I’m extra obsessed on account of I wanted to see Jason after my shitty weekend. It was Dad’s turn to have me, only he was busy Saturday. Fine. He’s
always
busy Saturday, working overtime, he says, since Mom is out to nail him in the divorce. (Which she says is a lie, but that’s another story.)