Wake (26 page)

Ava quickly resumes her original plan. “Let’s go out.”

*

Ava’s car is a lemon yell ow Gremlin that she won off her brother. well , it’s mostly yell ow, in between the rust spots. He bet this piece of shit on a footballgame and she took him up on it. And Ava loves this car, even though it’s fuck-ugly, falling apart, and can barely pass emissions testing.

We have no idea where we’re going when we pull out of the driveway. There’s nothing to do, so we’ll just drive around ‘until we find trouble,’ as Ava so touchingly puts it.

She turns on the radio and searches for a station with good reception. She settles on an obscure AM station without too much static. They’re broadcasting “Cecelia” by Simon and Garfunkel. Ava turns it up and sings along.

I change the station.

“My car, my music.” She changes it back.

“I hate this song.”

“Nobody hates this song.”

“I do.”

“I can see broken-hearted depressives hating it, but come on. It’s a great song. And adultery is natural, don’t you think?”

I don’t say anything. We travel for a few more minutes without conversation, listening to this annoying song. When it ends Ava switches the radio off entirely and asks, “Who?”

“What?”

“Who broke your heart?”

“No one.”

“Give me a name so I have an excuse to crack her skul .”

“Ava,” I complain. I don’t need to involve her in this.

She smiles with surprise. “It’s not a she?” Typical Ava. She lives in fear of being stereotyped as ‘the gay friend,’ even though she plays both sides.

“I’m not gay.” Though it’s the second time in two weeks that I’ve been asked. “And I’m not seeing anyone, and haven’t been since I moved here. No broken heart, so lose that theory, okay?”

Ava mulls that over for a few seconds. “Yeah, bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit.”

“Emily didn’t mention anything about a girlfriend, but she’s always been such a spazz around you that it’s no wonder she’d leave out that little detail. So come on, who is she?”

“No one.” I need to change the subject before Ava really gets pushy. “Are you still with that guy? The dipshit with the ponytail and the GreenPeace shirt?”

“Phil? Eh.” Ava shrugs. “He’s a little political. Keeps blowing me off to do
important
shit like protest for PETA. Fuck’m.”

“Good.” I never particularly liked him. He was always pushing some agenda. I wonder if he’s ever had an original thought, because all I’ve ever heard from him are the platitudes and PR bullshit that he gets from environmental groups.

“So who’s the girl?”

“God damn it, Ava, I said there is no girl.”

“I’ll ask Elise. She’ll blab.” She’s right. Elise will talk about anything with minimal prompting.

“She’s just a friend.”

Ava laughs, gleefull that I’ve given in. “A fuck-friend? Or a friend you want to fuck?”

“Neither.”

“I watched you do her in your head while playing Bach.”

“Ava,” I complain. Worse than being caught at it is the way she describes it.

“Does she like you back?”

“No.”

“Why not? You’re adorable.” Ava reaches over and taps my nose. Great. Because every guy aspires to be ‘adorable.’ Nobody wants to date guys like that. They’re the poor schmucks that continually get sorted under ‘friend.’

“I pissed her off.”

“That is a habit of yours.”

“Shut up.”

“Remember—”

“No.”

“Or—”

“
No.”

“And the time that—”

“Will you be quiet?”

Ava blows a raspberry at me. “When are you going to learn to stop pissing off the girls you want? This is so fourth grade.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“You’re a guy. How complicated can it be?”

I end up telling her the whole story in all its pathetic detail. How I hated her guts at first, but was too lonely to pass up trading insults with her. How she made me soup and slowly brought me around to thinking that she was a nice person, she just had a short temper and a lot of anger. How she was nice to me and invited me places and my family liked her. I even tell Ava about the music late at night and how I can’t sleep if I don’t talk to her first.

“Fucking hell, you’ve got it bad,” Ava says with an appreciative chuckle.

“She hates my guts right now.”

“Of course she does. You’re a chronic fuck-up.”

“I told you this was different.”

“How?”

“We usually do stuff on Saturdays. She made plans last weekend and didn’t tell me, and I snapped on her for blowing me off.”

“That doesn’t mean she hates you. She’s just sore about it. Girls hold grudges like that.”

“I apologized for snapping on her. She won’t even look at me.”

“Did she apologize for blowing you off?”

“We didn’t exactly have firm plans…”

“So which is it? She blew you off or she didn’t?”

“It’s complicated.”

Ava rolls her eyes. “Your life is fucked, my friend.”

We stop near one of the rocky beaches on Lower Rideau Lake and sit on the hood of the car, watching the waves and clouds roll in. I tell Ava about the get-together after the school dance, the first time since moving here that I’ve felt normal. She thinks it’s hilarious that a school dance is the highlight of the social calendar here.

I’m not mad at Willa because she didn’t include me in last weekend’s plans. I can’t change the past, so it’s useless to dwell on a weekend with her that I’ll never get back. She probably did have a full car, considering how many friends she has.
That
is why I resent her: she has people she can be with. I only have two, and one is my little sister.

“This bullshit has changed you,” Ava says, and rubs my head. I think she means my cancer. “You’ve gotten used to being taken care of. You used to be so full of initiative.”

“I am not used to being taken care of.”

“Yeah you are. It’s to be expected, I guess, after all that time in the hospital, and your mom looking after you, and Elise.”

“It’s not like that. You have no idea. We haven’t seen each other since last June.”

“That’s a lot to put on a girl. I assume you’ve been chasing her, since you’ve already fucked up, and probably not by accident.”

“I’m not chasing her. I know it’s not fair to her.” It wouldn’t be fair to put any girl to the choice of being with me, and I couldn’t stand the humiliation of having her say no.

“Maybe when you recover a little more.”

“This whole thing will blow over by then. It’s just a stupid crush.”

Ava laughs out loud like she’s just heard the funniest joke in the world. “No way that is a crush,” she cackles.

“Shut up. You know jack shit, all right?”

“When you have a crush on someone you’re infatuated—you see all the person’s good traits but none of their flaws. You like the idea of the person more than the actual person. This chick is different—you notice everything about her, including the unpleasant things.” Ava playfully nudges my shoulder. “You’re falling for her.”

“I am not.”

“Have you written her a song yet? That’s always your go-to when you’re really into a girl.”

“I haven’t written her a song, damn it.” well , not really. The fact is that Willa sounds like a cell o, and I can’t play mine right now, so writing any music about her consists of doodling staves on napkins. But that does
not
mean I’m falling in love her. I just like to…y’know, do her in my head and think about her all the fucking time and orchestrate little gestures to make her smile.

“Do you ever meet a person and swear you can hear, like, theme music around them? Like they have their own special tune?” Ava says.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“You sound like Haydn’s
Pereira
.”

Typical Ava. “You’re cheating on Phil with a cell ist, aren’t you?”

“That is entirely, completely…beside the point.”

I snicker and she punches my shoulder. Not as hard as she used to, because I look breakable now, but hard enough to let me know she’s annoyed.

“Is your girl into music?”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t play.”

“well that’s a shame.”

The wind is starting to pick up along the beach. I can smell rain moving in, so I suggest we go home.

There really is nothing to do in Smiths Falls, after all. On the drive home Ava tells me about her plans to go back to music camp for another crack at some scholarship money. Hearing about her plans and being excited with her is almost enough to make me forget about Willa. Almost.

When Elise gets home from school, she sees Ava’s car in the driveway and comes tearing up the stairs with the force of a small tornado, chanting “Ava! Ava!” in a voice that could strip wallpaper. She bursts into my room and throws herself on Ava.

“My little whore,” Ava greets her warmly. Elise beams like that’s a glowing compliment. “You been using that trick I taught you?” Oh God, what trick? Elise nods like her head is on a spring.

“When did you get here? How long are you staying?”

Ava laughs at Elise’s enthusiasm. “I got here this morning.”

“You’ve been here all freakin’ day and didn’t tell me?” Elise stamps her foot.

“I had to cheer this twat up,” Ava says of me, and rubs my head roughly. “I can’t stay much longer; have to get back to the city.”

Mom calls up the stairs to Elise and she drags her feet along the carpet with a huff. “Coming!” She points a finger at Ava. “And don’t you dare leave without saying goodbye.”

“I won’t,” Ava promises. The second Elise is out of earshot she turns to me and says, “Dude, your sister turned hot.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Ava leaves around four o’clock to be back in Ottawa by dinner time. After Elise squeezes the hell out of her, we hug goodbye on the porch and she claps me on the shoulder. “I’ll see you soon. Try not to suck too much cock before then; you’ll injure yourself.” Ava descends the porch steps and waves over her shoulder. “Later, slut.”

It’s hard to believe, but I actually missed her.

Friday

It’s Elise’s birthday party tonight. Mom and Dad will be out of the house for the evening in what I think is a remarkable display of trust, and Eric and I will be ‘supervising’ the party. Nonetheless, Mom and Dad aren’t idiots. Mom locks her office, Dad hides the box of cigars he normally keeps on the mantle, and they lock the liquor cabinet. They also place a fire extinguisher on the kitchen counter ‘because accidents happen.’ Mom is a hippie with more wayward youth stories than she cares to divulge, so it’s Dad that reads us the riot act before they leave: no smoking, drinking, nudity, drugs or ‘ingenious’ pranks while they’re gone.

Eric asks for a full breakdown of what falls under the ban of ‘ingenious pranks.’ And it’s quite a long list.

Dad is just getting to the part about no water ball oons in the house when Mom comes in with her purse, ready to leave, and says, “I’m not condoning anything, but if circumstances require it, there are condoms in the bathroom cabinet.”

Excuse me while I go hang myself.

I’m putting chips into serving bowls when Elise comes downstairs, dressed up for the party. She has on this black knee-length dress with lace in layers around the skirt and along the col ar. She makes a lot of own clothes, and this dress must have taken her weeks. It’s extremely detailed and fits perfectly. She’s sculpted her hair into loose ringlets, made her eyes dark and smoky, and donned a red beret that slouches over her left ear. She looks like
the other woman
in a 1950s movie, dangerous and beautiful and charming.

“You look good.”

She giggles with delight and the image is broken. She’s still my little Elise, even if that dress does make her boobs look…there.

“I’m gonna go start the music.” She begins to skip away, and then remembers that she’s dressed nicely and puts on a flirty little swagger instead. Where the hell did she learn to do that?

Eric and I are still setting up in the kitchen when the first of Elise’s guests arrive. Figures Carey would be the first to show up. She squeals over Elise’s outfit and then they start to whisper frantically in the foyer. What the hell are they planning?

Eric breaks me out of my reverie by loudly dumping a bin of ice cubes into the sink. We fill the sink with ice and pop, guestimating how much we’ll need. Elise invited about twenty people. Some of those might bring unexpected dates. This house could get pretty crowded by the end of the night.

The guests arrive in twos and threes, in the carpooling nature of teenagers. Some I recognize from the social planning committee, or from clubs and teams at school. Elise is quite the social butterfly, after all.

By eleven the party is in full swing. I hang back a little, drifting from room to room. No one talks to me and they avert their eyes when I pass by. I bet if this wasn’t my house they’d be whispering, “Who invited
him
?”

Out on the porch, I notice Carey flirting with a tall , dark-haired guy who looks too old for her. It takes me a few seconds to place his face: he’s on the basketball team. What is it with these girls? Is it some sort of fad to date a basketball player this week?

I go to the kitchen for another ginger ale. As I cross the front hall the door opens and another cluster of guests welcome themselves in and Fuck. It’s. Him. I didn’t think he’d actually show. I mean, a party is a party, but what self-respecting senior has the time of day for a pipsqueak like Elise?

Speaking of Elise, she’s doomed. The chick this asshole brought with him turns more heads in three seconds than any other girl has all night. She’s sexy. She’s dark. She’s charismatic. The only justice in this world would be if she were as dumb as a rock.

Elise comes dancing across the house to greet this particular guest. Kipp tells her happy birthday and gives her a one-armed hug—his girlfriend is holding his other hand.

“I’m glad you could make it.” Elise surprises me by giving Nina a hug too. Either she’s a better person than I thought, or she is
way
better at this game than I first suspected.