Soldier Doll (17 page)

Elizabeth blushed and shook her head furiously. “No.” Her voice was firm. “We're just friends. We're both doing that soldier doll thing I told you about. He's just nice.”

Emily shook her head, her wavy, red hair falling into her eyes. “He wouldn't bother talking to you all the time if he didn't like you.” She spoke with authority. “Trust me. I know these things.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “How do you know?”

Emily sipped her iced coffee. “I have an older sister,” she said airily. “She's twenty.”

Annie rolled her eyes and leaned conspiratorially in toward Elizabeth. “That's her answer for everything,” she whispered loudly.

Emily glared at her, miffed, and stuck out her tongue. “It's true, though,” she said. “Carrie is a very valuable source of information. She's already in university.” She said the last word reverentially.

Elizabeth stirred her own iced coffee absently. “He doesn't like me,” she said again. “He's never asked me to get together alone or anything.”

Annie frowned. “That is weird.”

But Emily shook her head. “There must be some reason for that,” she said. She picked a sugar packet off the table and fiddled with it.

“Yeah, the reason is that he only likes me as a friend!” Elizabeth said good-naturedly. She changed the subject to some new music she'd downloaded, and they hadn't discussed it again.

Now, though, she feels a familiar sensation in the pit of her stomach as she messages back and forth with Evan:

• Gr8 news! So you're going to London??
  
• I think so, yeah!! In the fall.
  
• Wow, lucky. London AND you'll probably miss school.
  
• Ooh, hadn't thought of that! You're right!
  
• Don't know which I'm more jealous of. How come you haven't friended Boris, by the way?
  

Elizabeth blinks, rereading the words on the screen.

• Boris has his own Facebook page??
  
• Sure. He's a popular guy.
  
• I should have realized. OK, doing it now.
  
• We should celebrate this new development. You busy? We could go grab something. My night off.
  

Elizabeth stares at the laptop. She reads the message again to make sure she's read it correctly. Then she reads it five more times, trying to think of a clever response.

• Sure.
  

She winces, waiting.
Sure
? Why did her sense of humor always seem to evaporate at the most inopportune moments? She liked to think of herself as witty.
Sure
wasn't witty. It wasn't anything.

• How about some ice cream? Sick of coffee. Had 6 cups today at work.
  
• 6? How do you sleep?
  
• Tax law.
  
• ???
  
• An old book I found in the store. Works every time.
  

Elizabeth laughs. She thinks he's probably telling the truth.

• Which ice-cream place?
  
• Near the bookstore. Do you know it?
  
• Ya, of course.
  
• Meet at 8?
  
• Sure.
  
• K, c u soon.
  

Elizabeth's fingers tremble slightly as she logs off. She goes to her closet and rummages through it, frantic. Why doesn't she have any nice clothes? Everything suddenly looks worn and ugly. She pulls out a few things, but none of them are right. Yanking a fifties-style, yellow sundress off a hanger, she glares at it. She tosses it on top of a growing pile of discarded choices.

“What's going on here?” Her mother sticks her head in the doorway. She notices the pile of clothes on the floor. “If you get rid of all that, you won't have much left to wear.”

Elizabeth pauses and looks over at her mother. She blushes slightly. “I'm trying to find the right thing to wear,” she mutters, turning back to her closet.

“For what?” Her mom looks at her, curious, and her eyes light up. “Did he finally ask you out? Evan?”

Elizabeth cringes.
Ask me out? No one talks like that anymore
. “We're just going for ice cream.” She feels embarrassed. “People don't ask each other out, Mom. He's not coming with flowers.”

It's her mother's turn to roll her eyes. “Who suggested it?” she demands.

Elizabeth goes redder. “He did.” She picks up a lavender tank top and looks at it, considering.

Her mom smirks at her. “Then he asked you out, did he not? I win.” She puts her hands on her hips.

Elizabeth sighs. “It's not like that.” She pulls on a pair of skinny jeans with the lavender shirt.

“That looks great.” Her mother smiles. “Have fun. When are you going?”

“Eight.” Elizabeth brushes her hair vigorously.

“Careful with that thing.” She nods at the hairbrush. “It's not a weapon.” She turns to leave, but first smiles and gives her the once-over. “You look great, Liz. Seriously.”

“Thanks.” Elizabeth feels nervous. “I won't be home late.”

“Just text me if you're going to be later than ten-thirty. I worry. I can't help it.” She smiles again and ducks out of the room.

. . .

It's still light out when Elizabeth reaches the ice-cream parlor. Evan isn't there when she arrives, and she stands outside, feeling awkward. Mesmerized, she watches a green electric sign across the street flicker on and off. Where was he? She feels like everyone is looking at her. She gets out her phone and pretends to be absorbed by the screen.

“Sorry!” Evan appears next to her, out of breath. He's wearing the “Satan” shirt again. His jeans are torn at the knees, and Elizabeth wonders briefly if he tore them on purpose. “I was halfway here and had to run back to get my wallet. It's been a long day.” He gestures toward the door. “Should we get in line?” The line is long, winding around the inside of the shop. Children weave in and out of it, going back and forth to the counter to press their faces against the glass to try to decide on a flavor.

Evan gets her a raspberry waffle cone and insists on paying.
Does that make it a date?
she wonders. She isn't sure. They sit down together at one of the outside tables. It's getting dark now, but it's still hot; the patio is packed. Next to them, a small girl drops her cone and wails loudly. Elizabeth takes a tiny bite of her ice cream and wipes her mouth delicately with a napkin. She watches the girl's father get back in line; he looks tired.

Evan has opted for peach, in a cup. He offers her a spoonful. “Mmmm,” she says, tasting it. It's delicious: cool and refreshing. “I'll have to get that next time.”

Their eyes meet, and there is an awkward pause in the conversation. Elizabeth notes that Evan's cheeks are slightly pink as he quickly launches into a story about his day at the bookstore.

“So this guy comes in,” he says, lowering his voice, “with a box. So I know already it's going to be a bad day.”

“Like I did?” Elizabeth smiles, a teasing expression on her face.

“Not exactly. The contents were…unusual.”

“Unusual?”

“Yeah.” Evan is blushing now.

“What was in the box?”

“A bunch of…um, I guess there's no other way to say this. Sex books.”

“Sex books?” Elizabeth feels her own cheeks go red.

“Yeah. Like, instruction manuals…”

“A bunch of them?”

“I know, right? Like, why would you need so many? You'd think one would be enough.”

Elizabeth snorts with laughter into her ice cream. She feels some on her nose and hastily wipes it away.

“Wait, I haven't told you the best part.” Evan is grinning.

“It gets better?”

“Way better. This guy, he's a teacher at our school. He teaches biology.”

“Biology!” They are both laughing now.

“So he recognizes me, right? And he starts muttering something about research.”

“Research? Like for class?” Elizabeth guffaws.

“I guess. It was so embarrassing. We were both totally humiliated. I gave him twenty bucks just to get him out of there. Sam is going to kill me. We don't even have, like, a sex section.”

“You can put them in science,” suggests Elizabeth, feeling witty.

“Ha. I'm for sure going to get him next year for biology now, and the whole year is going to be, like, beyond awkward. It will be, like—” he stops suddenly.

Elizabeth waits for him to continue, but he doesn't. “What is it?” she asks. She notices him staring at something over her shoulder. She turns her head to see what he's looking at.

It's a girl. “Evan!” The girl waves and makes her way over to the table. She sees Elizabeth and raises her eyebrows. “Aren't you going to introduce me?”

“This is Elizabeth.” Evan's expression is wary. “Elizabeth, this is Trish.”

Trish looks at Elizabeth, sizing her up. “You dripped ice cream on your shirt,” she says rudely. Elizabeth looks down in horror and grabs a napkin, then starts dabbing at it.

Trish turns back to Evan. “Ashley's getting back tomorrow!” She gives him a bright smile. “You must be so excited.”

Elizabeth looks up sharply.
Ashley?

Evan pales. “Right.” His voice is neutral.

“You guys were so adorable at that party, before she left,” Trish says sweetly. She turns to Elizabeth. “Ashley and Ev are the cutest couple.”

Elizabeth stares blankly at her. She looks at the cone in her hand and feels nauseated. She needs to get rid of it.
Where is the trash can?
She looks around, feeling panicked.
Why couldn't I have just ordered a cup, so I could leave it on the table? Why am I such an idiot!

Elizabeth stands up, still holding the cone. “You know,” she says hurriedly. “I really need to get going.”

Evan jumps up. “No, wait.” He reaches out to take her arm.

Elizabeth wrestles her arm away from him. The ice cream has dripped everywhere now. It's all over her hands, her jeans. The floor.

“You're making a real mess with that.” Trish stares at her in amusement. Elizabeth makes a small noise and turns away, moving quickly toward the street. “Who is she, anyway?” she hears Trish ask.

Evan ignores her. “Liz!” He rushes after Elizabeth.

She is on the sidewalk now, breathing heavily. She glares at Evan. “What do you want?” she says. Her voice catches. She looks around and notices a trash can, finally.
Thank
God
. She turns her back to Evan and heaves the melted cone inside. Her hands are a sticky mess. She wipes them on her jeans; it doesn't matter how she looks now.

“Liz.” His voice is desperate. “I'm sorry. I can explain.”

“There's nothing to explain.” Elizabeth takes a step back from him. “Ashley's your girlfriend?”

“I can explain,” he says again. “It's complicated. We broke up before the summer. Trish is Ashley's best friend. She can be kind of a…” His voice trails off.

“Yes, I can see that.” Her voice is as cold as the ice cream they nearly finished eating.

They stand facing one another. Elizabeth folds her arms protectively across her chest and glowers at him.

“I'm sorry,” he says again. “I really—”

She cuts him off. “You should get home,” she says brusquely. “Ashley's getting back tomorrow.” She turns and begins walking quickly. She feels her left foot scrape against the inside of her shoe and winces.

“Elizabeth! Wait. Come on—
please
.” Evan's voice is pleading now.

She walks even faster, gritting her teeth. Her left foot drags slightly. She notices some blood on the satin fabric and feels the tears prick at her eyes. Her cheeks are hot and wet.

“Liz!” She hears his voice again, but doesn't turn back.

Chapter 11

Toronto, Canada

2007

“Liz?” Her mother is hovering outside her door. “Can I come in?”

“Whatever.” Elizabeth's voice is listless. “I don't care.”

Her mom enters the room and sits down on the bed, careful not to sit on a pile of old T-shirts Elizabeth was sorting through for a clothing drive—before she lost interest. She's at her desk now, her laptop open in front of her. On the screen is a vintage clothing website. She scrolls down the page, only half looking at it.

“Evan keeps calling here.” Her mother looks at her, questioning. She pauses. “What, exactly, happened?” It has been two weeks since the date with Evan. It isn't the first time her mom has asked this question, nor is it the first time Elizabeth has ignored it.

Elizabeth shakes her head. “I don't want to talk about it,” she says again. Then she looks over at her mother in surprise. “He's calling—really? Like, on the phone?”

“Yes.” Her mom raises her eyebrows. “I know you guys pretty much consider the landline to have gone the way of the phonograph, so I think he must really want to talk to you.”

Elizabeth shakes her head again. “He's a total jerk.” She gives her mother a sidelong glance. “What's a phonograph?”

“An old record player.”

Elizabeth smiles slyly. “What's a record player?”

“Right.” Her mom tosses a pillow at her. “Very funny.” She pauses again tentatively. “You can tell me what happened, you know. It may be hard to believe, but I was once a teenage girl too. What was it? He gave you the just-want-to-be-friends speech?”

Elizabeth is quiet for a minute. “He has a girlfriend. She was away for the summer.” Her cheeks flush as she relives the humiliation of the evening. It feels good to talk about it, to finally get it out. She hasn't told anyone, not Emily or Anna. Not even Katie back home.

“Ah.” Her mother nods sagely. “The on-again, off-again girlfriend.”

“This girl showed up.” Elizabeth turns her chair around fully, so she can face her mom. The words are coming easier now; the more she speaks, the better she feels. “The girlfriend's best friend. She was a total—well. You know.”

“I think I do.” Her mom's voice is sympathetic. “Girls can be so mean.”

“Not fair to totally blame her though,” Elizabeth says, angry again. “Why did he act as if he liked me if he had a girlfriend?”

“Well,” her mother's voice is cautious, “How do you know he
doesn't
like you? Maybe he was planning to break it off with this other girl. What did he say?”

“I don't know,” Elizabeth admits. “I wouldn't let him talk. I just left.” She gives her mother a helpless look as she picks up a T-shirt and absently fiddles with the collar. “It was so embarrassing and horrible.”

“I'm sure it was.” Her mom reaches over and puts a hand on Elizabeth's knee. “Have you thought, though, that maybe he feels just as bad as you? He seems pretty desperate to talk.”

Elizabeth shrugs. “I don't know,” she mumbles. “I wouldn't know what to say.”

“You might be missing out here, Liz.” Her mother's voice is gentle. “You're not punishing anyone but yourself.”

Elizabeth sighs. She looks at her mother, considering. “Maybe you're right.” She sounds reluctant.

Her mom smiles. “I'll bet that was painful.”

“I only said
maybe
,” pouts Elizabeth. She brings her knees to her chest, hugging them.

“Fair point. You're right, it may be way better to spend the rest of your summer sulking indoors,” says her mother. She takes the T-shirt Elizabeth has been playing with and folds it neatly, placing it back on the bed.

“That's not fair. I spent at least two hours sulking in the backyard yesterday.” Elizabeth gives her mother a little half-grin.

“I stand corrected. So, are you going to call him back?”

“No.”

“Really? No?”

“I'm not going to call him.” Elizabeth gives her mother a sly glance. “I might send him a text or something though. The phone is for old people.”

“Right. You must be feeling better. You're acting like your charming self again.”

“I try.” Elizabeth turns back to her computer and pulls up her Facebook page and stares at it. Should she send Evan a message? What should she say?

“Huh?” She looks up, realizing her mother has been speaking.

“The door.”

“What door?”

“The front door.” Her mother gives her an odd look.

“What about it?” Elizabeth asks impatiently. She's mentally composing and editing a message to Evan, but can't get it right.

“It just opened, space cadet. Dad's home. Suppertime. Go wash up and come downstairs.” Her mother reaches over to ruffle her hair, briefly, before Elizabeth can protest, then leaves the room.

Elizabeth glances at the clock and blinks in surprise. How is it six o'clock already? Looking at the screen, she notes Evan's photo—he's changed it to one of himself holding Boris up on top of his head. Her eyes linger on the picture for a moment, smiling. She'll send him a message later, she resolves. Feeling more cheerful than she has in days, she puts down her pen and snaps her laptop shut.

. . .

Should
she message Evan? Maybe texting would be better. Or an e-mail. Back at her computer, Elizabeth drums her fingers on the keyboard. She's still a bit angry—ice cream for dessert at dinner reminded her again of the ice-cream parlor—but it does seem he has made a rather valiant effort to get in touch with her. She can't even imagine calling someone's house and having their parents answer. Decisively, she pulls up her Facebook page again, but then frowns. What should she say? She takes a deep breath and stares at the screen. Finally, she types:

• Hi.
  

He responds almost immediately.

• Hey. FINALLY. I need to talk to you. Can we get together?
  

Elizabeth taps her fingers again, thinking. How to respond? She isn't sure she's ready to see him.

• Kind of busy. What's going on? My mom said you are calling??? On the phone???
  
• Yeah. You won't respond to my messages or texts. I need to explain about Ashley.
  
• You're engaged?
  
• Funny. Listen. I broke up with Ashley.
  
• Trish said you're the cutest couple.
  
• Trish is an idiot. Anyway, Ashley and I are done. She met someone else anyway. At her camp.
  
• I'm sorry. You must be heartbroken.
  
• Wrong again. Please Liz? I really like you. OK? (That was hard to write.)
  

Elizabeth stares at the screen.
I really like you
. Her heart beats faster, but she still feels unsure. She recalls the humiliation of their failed date and pauses. She doesn't want to get hurt again.

• It's really over with A?
  
• YES. I swear.
  
• You were a jerk.
  
• I was. I'm really sorry.
  
• Are you?
  
• I am throwing myself at your feet, begging for forgiveness.
  

Elizabeth laughs. She feels a bit better.

• I'll think about it.
  
• Progress! Come on, can we go out again? I miss you.
  

Elizabeth feels her cheeks flame as the last of her anger melts away.

• Well…OK.
  
• I'm coming by at 8.
  
• Not the ice-cream place.
  
• Are you crazy? We'll go somewhere else. Maybe just a walk.
  
• OK. See you soon.
  

Elizabeth logs off and looks around her room. What should she wear? She eyes the pile of discarded T-shirts on the bed. Maybe she has been too hasty, planning to give these all away. She fishes out a mint tank top and stares at it for a moment before tossing it back down.
Maybe I'd better go through these again. Just to be sure
. She picks up a blue halter and tries it on.