One Lonely Degree (21 page)

“Okay.” My face is hot. I want to hide or climb into his sweatshirt with him. I can’t decide which.

Jersy crouches down and runs both hands through Samsam’s coat. That’s the way I always say goodbye to Samsam too—on eye
level. Strands from Samsam’s sandy coat affix themselves to Jersy’s sweatshirt like a second skin, but Jersy doesn’t notice. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. He looks at me as he gets to his feet. “I’ll talk to you soon,” he says.

“Bye,” I warble.

Jersy stands in front of me in the doorway for so long that I imagine I can smell his sweatshirt, even with the distance between us. He stands there for so long that it seems like one of us will have to say something.

But nobody does.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi
.

Jersy swings my screen door open and pushes off on his skateboard. He flies down my driveway and onto the road, his sweatshirt billowing up behind him. I watch him until he disappears, until it’s just me standing there with Samsam, staring off into the summer night, listening to the grass grow.

TH
e
PHO
ne
r
I
n
GS
four times before Dad answers. He sounds out of breath, and I’m so nervous that I almost hang up. I picture him rushing indoors, a thick hardcover under his arm. He’s wearing his blue striped polo shirt or the gag gift T-shirt his students bought him last year. The T-shirt says, “What if the Hokey Pokey is really what it’s all about?” Dad thought it was hilarious—he still does.

“Dad,” I say hesitantly. “It’s me.”

“Finn, how are you?” He sounds outright cheerful.

“Okay.” He’s not mad at me for taking four days to call. How come that doesn’t make this any easier? “Tired. They work us really hard at the store. Break’s the only time you get to sit down. I’m getting blisters on my feet.” Both of my big toes are wrapped in bandages. I’m so delicate that it’s not funny.

“It sounds like Audrey lucked out,” Dad says.

“Maybe.” She doesn’t think so.

The two of us are quiet, each waiting for the other to speak. It reminds me of last night. Then I remember what Jersy said about me being sorry if I didn’t talk to my father. It’s true, but talking to him hurts too. He’s only been gone three weeks, but he’s changed everything.

“Are you coming back?” I ask.

“I don’t know, Finn.” That horrible sinking feeling whips at me. “I might start looking for somewhere else to live in a few weeks. Somewhere around Glenashton.”

“Have you told Mom that?” She wouldn’t have plucked her eyebrows if she knew. I can’t believe he’s doing this.

“Finn.” Dad’s voice is calm. “This might be something we can’t resolve. Right now I just need some time to myself to think things through.” I’ve heard all this before. He can call it what he wants, but he’s giving up. “But I’d love to have you up here with your brother for a few days. There are bunk beds in the second bedroom, and it’s just a five-minute walk down to the lake.”

“I can’t. I never have two days off in a row.” I could ask, maybe, but I won’t. “Daniel will come, though. He’s all excited about it.”

“I know.” Dad’s tone isn’t lighthearted anymore. “That’s too bad about your schedule. Are you sure you couldn’t swing something for next weekend? Swap shifts with somebody?”

“I don’t think so.” We’re talking, aren’t we? He can’t have everything. Besides, even if I wanted to go, even if I wasn’t mad at him and found someone to trade shifts with, I couldn’t leave Mom alone. She might spend the whole weekend in bed.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll be driving down to pick up your brother next Friday. Can we at least have dinner then? The three of us could catch a movie.”

“I can do that.” I’ll let Daniel do all the talking. I’ll be a shadow. That’s the closest I can come to satisfying everyone.

“Good,” Dad says, halfway back to lighthearted. “You know this is only temporary—the distance. We’ll be able to see each other much more in the fall.”

He wants this summer to be over as much as I do. It’s an unpleasant end, but he can see past it to a new beginning. He’s looking forward to the fresh start. That’s the big difference between us. I don’t want to get used to this emptiness. Even Mom shouting on the doorstep was better.

“Finn?” The emotion in Dad’s voice makes me flinch.

“What?”

“I’m really glad you called.”

Massy and Kaitlynn James come into Play Country together a couple days later, his arm possessively around her bare shoulders. Nishani points him out to me from the bottom of the ladder. “Another one of Aneeka’s conquests,” she remarks. I’m halfway up and afraid to look down in case I go vertigo and fall over the side.

“Who?” I say, but I’m already turning to look anyway. My head spins when I catch sight of them—Massy’s tangle of dark hair and Kaitlynn’s tan midriff. They were both at Sadie and Brian Nielsen’s that night in September, but I’ve seen them a hundred times since. Maybe the fact that we’re not at St. Mark’s makes it different, or maybe it has something to do with hearing about Christina. I don’t know why they suddenly remind me with a vengeance, but
it’s not fair
. I scratch at one of my eyelids and stare at the ceiling.

“Come down,” Nishani calls. “I’ll do it.”

“It’s okay. I just shouldn’t have looked down.” I steady myself and keep climbing, turtle-like, up the ladder until Looney Tunes Monopoly is within reach. I grasp the box between my fingers and work my way slowly down, reminding myself to breathe.

On the ground Nishani smiles at me. “Good girl,” she says proudly.

Yup. Somebody give the girl a medal.

“I didn’t know your sister had a thing with Massy,” I say. It must’ve been before he showed up on Audrey’s radar.

“Uh-huh,” Nishani says nonchalantly. “For about three weeks.”

Next thing we know, Massy and Kaitlynn James are walking up the board game aisle towards us. Kaitlynn’s crazy high heels are tilting her forward, and Massy’s stuck on her like moss. Her foundation’s as thick as Liquid Paper, but her skin’s as bumpy as ever. How does Massy kiss her without streaking her paint job? I bet he goes straight for her boobs, afraid to look up.

If Audrey were here, we’d kill ourselves laughing the minute they cleared the aisle. Massimo and Kaitlynn James hooked up after all. It’s too stupid.

“Hey,” Kaitlynn says, stopping next to me. “You work here?” She doesn’t remember my name—if she ever knew it in the first place.

“Yeah,” I say. “How’s it going?”

Massy stops next to us. His gaze swings over to my face for two seconds. Then he blinks and stares at the shelves behind my head.

“Not bad.” She pauses and leans into Massy. “We’re just taking it easy.”

Massimo’s about as animated as a cardboard cutout next to her, and I wonder, for the first time in months, what lies Adam told him about Audrey and maybe even about me. At the time, Audrey said she didn’t care what it was, that it was only Massy’s reaction that mattered, but she must have wondered too. She just didn’t want me thinking about Adam any more than I already was.

Even now, ten months later, I’m so itchy in my own skin at the thought of him that I could scratch right down to the bone.

“Hi, Massy,” Nishani says from behind me. “You still working at Sobey’s?”

“Yeah.” Massy squeezes Kaitlynn’s waist as he eyes Nishani. “How’s your sister doing?”

“Good,” Nishani says.

“Good.” Massy’s lips curve up, but they never quite make it into a smile.

“Come on.” Kaitlynn bumps her hip against Massy’s leg. “Let’s check out the video games.”

“Yeah, right.” Massy’s head jerks like she just woke him up. “Have a good summer, Nishani.” His dark eyes leap over to me. “See you later, Finn.”

That’s the first thing he’s said to me since last fall, and it makes my stomach twinge. “See you,” I croak.

“Bye,” Kaitlynn says.

I watch them move down the aisle, Kaitlynn tottering away on her honey-colored legs and Massy’s hand around her waist. It’s so stupid. They’re actually together, just like Audrey predicted. And after ten months Massimo finally feels like he can say three meaningless words to me.

Is that supposed to make me feel better? Like I’m finally finished with this thing because Massy decided to start speaking to me again?

I don’t feel better. I feel like maybe nothing ever really changes, and that’s so unfair that it can’t possibly be true. The thought loops around in my head for the rest of the day, and when Mom comes to pick me up later, my head is throbbing with the weight of forgetting all over again. I want to climb into bed, pull the sheets to my chin, turn up the air-conditioning, and listen to Our Lady Peace.

“Did you take your vitamin this morning?” Mom asks, eyeing me sharply.

“I don’t remember,” I mumble. “I have a killer headache.”

“You look white as a ghost,” Mom says. So what else is new?

After dinner I put on my scruffy old track pants, drink ice-cold chocolate milk out of the carton, and almost trip over Samsam in the hall. The phone rings on my way upstairs. Mom answers it from her bedroom. I begin to eavesdrop from the hall and then stop myself cold. What difference does it make who she’s speaking to or what she has to say? What can I do about any of it?

So I dive under the covers with my earphones, and soon there’s only Raine Maida’s voice, a relentless beat, and my lungs filling up with oxygen. I’m not sleepy but I shut my eyes. I just want to
be
and not have to think about it for once.

Mom has other ideas. She touches my shoulder, scaring the shit out of me. My eyes pop open as I tear off the earphones. “Jesus, Mom, you shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!”

“I didn’t know you were sleeping,” she says. “Do you have any uniform shirts for the wash?”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” I grumble. “I was trying to sedate my headache.” I get up and shuffle across the room like an eighty-year-old woman. My closet door’s half open, revealing an inside-out Play Country shirt lying under a black bra. I surrender the shirt and collapse back onto the bed.

“Anna invited us over for a barbecue on Sunday.” Mom smiles. “The three of us. You’re not working, are you?”

“No, I’m doing Saturday this week.” I shove my feet under the covers, and suddenly it hits me that a barbecue at the Mikulskis’ will probably mean seeing Jersy. I don’t know if I’m ready for that. Last time was so weird that I haven’t fully recovered yet. Showing
up at his place Sunday could make things even stranger, and where will I be then? “This weekend?” I repeat.

“This Sunday,” Mom replies. “Anna and I have been meaning to get together for dinner, and she thought this would be just the thing.”

“I was thinking of maybe getting together with Jasper or Maggie on the weekend,” I lie. “I haven’t seen them since school let out.”

“You can see them on Saturday night,” Mom points out. “Or some other time this week.”

I’m not quick enough to reason my way out of that one. My defense mechanisms need work.

“Okay then,” I tell her. Maybe I’ll get lucky. Maybe Jersy won’t be home anyway. Even if he is, we’ll all be hanging out by the pool eating burgers. There won’t be any time for weirdness. Besides, Mom really needs to get out and enjoy herself. I don’t want to drag down that operation. I’m sure Dad will do that soon enough.

“Good.” Mom nods. My inside-out Play Country shirt is folded over her arm, and her hair looks tidy enough, but all traces of makeup have been scrubbed from her face. She looks like a “before” picture from a makeover contest.

“I’m seeing Dad next weekend,” I say suddenly, watching Mom’s eyes. “I told him I couldn’t go for the weekend but that we could hang out on Friday night before him and Daniel drive up to the cottage.”

“He’ll be pleased.” Mom’s eyes crinkle up. “He really wanted to spend more time with you last time he was down.”

Last time I didn’t want to see him. I still don’t. I don’t want Mom staring down at me with small eyes either, like she’s glad I’ve decided to make my father happy. I’m sick of feeling sorry for
everyone. Why can’t they take care of their own problems and leave me out of it?

I fake a yawn and tug my earphones on.

Mom takes the hint and moves towards the door. “I don’t know how you can listen to that with a headache,” she says, grabbing the doorknob.

It’s better than aspirin. I switch the music on, close my eyes, and let it carry me away.