Something Girl

Something Girl

Beth Goobie

orca soundings

Copyright © 2005 Beth Goobie

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data

Goobie, Beth, 1959-
Something girl / Beth Goobie.

(Orca soundings)
ISBN 1-55143-347-8

I. Title. II. Series.

PS8563.O8326S64 2005    jC813’.54   C2005-900420-7

Summary:
Will Sophie speak up about the abuse at home?

First published in the United States, 2005
Library of Congress Control Number:
2005920478

Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Department of Canadian Heritage’s Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP), the Canada Council for the Arts, and the British Columbia Arts Council.

Edited by: Melanie Jeffs
Cover design: Lynn O’Rourke
Cover photography: Firstlight.ca

Orca Book Publishers
PO Box 5626, Stn. B.
Victoria,
BC
Canada
V8R 6S4

Orca Book Publishers
PO Box 468
Custer,
WA USA
98240-0468

08 07 06 05 • 5 4 3 2 1

Printed and bound in Canada.
Printed on 30% post-consumer recycled paper,
processed chlorine free using vegetable, low VOC inks.

for Otis, Nathan, Doug and Shane

Chapter One

My boyfriend, Larry, was driving me back from a dance at a high school across town. He pulled his car up to the curb outside my house. It was past my curfew, so I opened my door and started to get out.

“Hey,” Larry shouted. As usual his stereo was on loud, the bass booming.

“What?” I shouted back, keeping my door open. I’d promised my dad I wouldn’t
be late. He was going to be mad about this, really mad.

Larry rolled his eyes and turned down the stereo. “Well, uh, Sophie,” he said, tapping his fingers nervously on the steering wheel. Then he said, “I think I’ll be going out with Wendy from now on. So it’s over between us, okay? I’ll still see you around school, and we can talk if you want, but that’s all. Don’t get your hopes up and try to get me to change my mind, because I won’t.”

I sat there, just staring at him. The fact that he was breaking up with me wasn’t a surprise. Neither was Wendy — he’d spent all night dancing with her. It was just that I didn’t know what to say. I never do. I’m completely dumb and boring — a waste of time to talk to.

Stupid
, I thought, looking down at my feet.
Stupid, no good, nothing girl
.

“So,” said Larry, revving the engine. “See you, I guess.”

Then he turned the stereo back up, so I got out. Before I’d even closed the door, he
took off down the street, tires squealing. For a moment I just stood there, staring after him. We’d been going out for three months, and every day I’d been expecting him to break up with me. I was surprised it had taken him so long, actually.

I started up the front walk to my house. As I did, the door opened and there was my dad. He didn’t say anything, just stood and watched me. Right away I got a creepy feeling in my back — cold and tingly at the same time. Something was going to happen — I knew it was.

“Late again?” he said as I got close. “Get in here, now.”

My knees went weak, and my heart started pounding through my whole body. I squeezed past him in the doorway, trying not to touch him, but he grabbed my arm. Then he closed the door and shut off the porch light.

There was no light inside the house. Everything was in shadows — just me and my dad
and his big dark anger. Before I could move, he grabbed my head with both hands.

“Coming in late,” he hissed. “Breaking your curfew. Waking me up in the middle of the night. And you’re on probation for stealing. Hanging around with a no-good boyfriend who’ll get you into more trouble. Trouble, trouble, trouble — you’re nothing but trouble.”

He banged the back of my head against the wall. “Stupid,” he said. Then he banged it again. “No good,” he said. He banged it again. “Nothing,” he said.

Then he just kept banging my head against the wall.
Bang bang bang
. My brain was sliding around in waves of blackness.
Bang bang bang
. There was nothing I could do, nothing I could say.
Stupid, no good, nothing girl
.

Finally my dad stopped. He let go of my head and let me slide down the wall to the floor. For a moment we stayed like that. He leaned over me and panted. I sat there holding my head, just to make sure it was still there.

Then my dad turned and went upstairs. I listened to his footsteps walk up each stair, then into his bedroom. The bed squeaked as he got in and lay down. I could tell he’d left the door open. This meant I was going to have to be extra quiet going past it when I went to my room.

If I could stand up, that is. When I tried to lift my head, the pain was like a gun going off. It hurt to rest it against the wall, and it hurt to let it just hang. So I sat with my chin in my hands, trying to hold my head steady and away from the pain. This helped, but after a while my arms started to wobble.

I put my hand in my mouth and bit down on it hard, so it hurt more than my head. Then I made myself stand up and start climbing the stairs. The whole time I kept biting my hand so I wouldn’t think about my head. When I got to the top of the stairs, I stopped and listened. I couldn’t hear my dad snoring, so he had to be awake. Just thinking about this made my head hurt more, so I bit
down harder on my hand and started down the hall.

Quiet, I was being quiet. I was tiptoeing. But when I got to my dad’s door, he was standing in it and watching me.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, not looking at him.
Please, please
, I thought.
Don’t hurt me. Just let me go to bed, please
.

He didn’t say anything, just watched me go past him and down the hall. When he got like this — quiet and staring — it was the worst. Anything could happen — anything.

But tonight he just watched me. Quiet as anything, I walked past him and into my room. I didn’t close my door because that would make him mad. I got straight into bed without undressing. Then I lay there in the dark, trying to listen past the pounding of my heart.

I couldn’t hear anything. This meant he could still be standing in his doorway, listening. Or he could have gone back to bed. Or he could be right outside my door, waiting to
see if I made any noise. Whatever I did now, I couldn’t make any noise. It was important to be absolutely quiet. I couldn’t roll over. I couldn’t breathe heavily. I had to be quiet,
quiet
, QUIET.

I had to pee like crazy. I’d drunk two pops at the dance, which was stupid.
Stupid, no good, nothing girl
. I should have known better than to drink anything. Now I was going to have to hold it all night.

Was he out there listening?

Quiet, I had to be
quiet
.

Chapter Two

When I woke the next morning, my dad was gone for the day. I could tell by the way the house felt, as if there was more space in it. Even on Saturdays my dad went to his office, where he sold real estate. Like he said, he had to bring in the money to take care of my mom and me.

I was glad he was gone, so I could get up slowly. My head still hurt and my body felt
heavy and slow, as if I was getting old. I went downstairs, step by step, really carefully. I tried not to think about what had happened last night. That was over and done with, and today was another day. Like my dad said, it was important to start each morning completely fresh.

My mom was sitting in the kitchen when I came in. She didn’t look at me, just stared out the window. It was a nice day outside, but she stared out windows a lot. Too much. It was kind of hard to take sometimes.

“Your dad told me to tell you to mow the lawn,” she said. “He wants it done before he gets home tonight, and no excuses.”

I nodded. I had mowed the lawn last weekend and the grass had hardly grown. But my dad liked things to look good. A real estate agent’s house had to look the best on the block.

After that my mom just stared out the window. I didn’t tell her anything about my date with Larry and she didn’t ask. I used to
tell her things and she would ask questions. But now she just stared out the window, so it was like talking to no one.

I ate some cornflakes, then went outside and mowed the lawn. This made my head hurt worse, so I took some aspirin. Then I biked to the river to visit an old fort that my friend Jujube and I had built. It was made of old boards and a large piece of metal, nothing much. But some trees hid it, and no one knew about it but Jujube and me. This made it a good place to go when things got bad at home.

When I got to the river, I wheeled my bike into the trees and locked it. Then I lifted the blanket we’d hung over the fort’s doorway and crawled inside. There were more blankets on the floor, and some old sofa pillows. It was a bit hot and smelled like old sofas. But when I lay down, I got really sleepy. It was different here from everywhere else, just lying in the fort with the river making pretty sounds close by. I didn’t have to worry about my
dad telling me to keep quiet. I didn’t have to worry about not having my schoolwork done, or other kids laughing at me. I didn’t even have to wonder why my mom stared out the window instead of talking to me. I could just breathe and look at the sun shining through the cracks between the boards. It was so nice, not having to worry.

I think I fell asleep, because suddenly I heard someone crawling into the fort. Right away fear slammed through me the way it does when I’m surprised. I thought,
It’s my dad!
But then I saw it was Jujube and relaxed.

Jujube got her nickname from those bright jelly candies. One of her eyes was blue and the other green. It made her look kind of alien. When I first met her, I wanted to call her E.T. but there was a spaced-out kid down the street who already had that nickname.

I got to know Jujube because I used to babysit her. Now she was twelve and kind of young for me to be friends with, since I was fifteen. But she was smart, and I liked
the way she was always talking. I wasn’t a talker. I mostly just listened — like my mom, I guess.

“Froggy!” said Jujube, sitting down beside me.

Froggy was my nickname around the neighborhood. My dad gave it to me when I was little. I’m not sure why. Maybe he thought I looked like a frog or something.

“Yeah?” The aspirin I’d taken was wearing off. My head was starting to hurt again. I wasn’t really in the mood for Jujube’s talk.

She poked me in the arm and leaned close. “You won’t believe it,” she said with a grin. “I’ve figured out the next place the aliens are going to land.”

I rolled my eyes. Aliens again. Jujube was always talking about them. So I just said, “You watch
The X-Files
too much.”

“It’s a good show,” she said. Then she handed me a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips. “Here.”

“Thanks.” I tore open the bag and started
eating. As usual, I was starved. It was probably way past lunchtime.

“Where did you get that bruise?” asked Jujube.

“What bruise?” I stared at her. How could she see the bruises on the back of my head?

“There.” She pointed to my arm. When I looked at it, I saw some purple fingermarks.
My dad!
I thought.
Last night
. But I shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

“I bumped into something,” I said.

Jujube sighed, and it got really quiet. Then she must have decided to change the subject because she said, “I’ve figured something out. Something really interesting.”

Jujube was smart and liked to show off her brain. She won science awards and got a lot of ideas. I called them her “crazies,” but I was kidding. She really was smart.

“The aliens visit Planet Earth every 3,594 months.” Jujube talked slowly, as if she was announcing the discovery of a new planet.

“Uh-huh,” I said, trying not to laugh. “What about it?”

Jujube’s voice sped up so fast, I think it got ahead of her brain. “Well,” she said, “aliens always leave a sign to show where they’ve been. I’ve seen it in pictures of their landing sites. You have to look really close, but it’s there. It’s awesome.”

“What sign?” I asked.

“It looks like three triangles,” said Jujube. She pulled a notebook and a pencil out of her pocket and drew a picture. It looked like three triangles that had bumped into each other.

“So?” I asked.

Jujube’s mouth just kept going. “The first place they landed was in the Middle East,” she said. “I think most aliens land there first. Maybe it’s like a cosmic energy place, or something. Then it was South America, in the Andes. I think they’re going to land here next.”