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  “What do you mean?”

  “Is your bedroom on the ground floor?”

  “Yeah, but …”

  “Could you climb out the window?”

  I moved to the window and pulled my blind shut, even though it was still light out. “What for?”

  “I just think it would be fun to see you before I go.”

  I wanted to say, “Why didn’t you call me earlier, then?” but for some reason I couldn’t. “What time?”

  “How about eleven thirty? I’ll meet you at the top of your street.” Tick-tock, tick-tock. Why couldn’t I have a quiet digital clock like most normal twenty-first century people?

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Sure you can. I did it all the time when I was your age.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “If you don’t want to hang out, I’ll have no choice but to call my friends Tyler, Steve, and Brad. I have spent the last four nights in a row with them. All they do is drink, and I do believe my liver is starting to disintegrate.”

  I took a deep breath. “I’ll think about it.”

  He gasped. “I throw myself at your mercy for the sake of my health, and all you can do is think about it?”

  I had to laugh. “Sorry.”

  “No, don’t apologize. I respect a girl with principles. Go ahead and think about it. But remember, you only live once.”

  He crushed some ice between his teeth as he hung up. I tried that the other day and it hurt! He must have no sensitivity to hot and cold.

  My stomach is fluttering and one leg is pulsing, which makes my whole bed jiggle. I don’t know what to do. Sneaking out sounds like an adventure. I might get a second chance at kissing. But, can I trust him? I’m just not sure.

  It’s a warm night, inviting, almost tropical.

  Should I go?

  Wee hours

  I was just getting ready to attempt escape when Mom tapped on my door. “Natalie?”

  Stupid me for leaving my light on. It was 11:20, and I was sitting on the edge of my bed. “What is it?”

  Mom seemed to interpret this as “come in.” She opened the door. She was wearing her plaid housecoat and slippers. “You’re still dressed?”

  My second mistake.

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Aren’t you tired from all your dancing?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Why don’t you come and play Scrabble, then? I’m not ready for bed yet either.”

  “Don’t you have anything to read?”

  “Oh, yes. Tess of the d’Urbervilles. It was one of my favorite books when I was your age. I’m rereading it to see why I found it so powerful back then.” She pulled off the headband that she uses to keep the hair out of her eyes when she’s reading and rubbed her scalp. “But I’ve just finished Part One, so it’s a good time to stop for the night. Besides, my eyes are getting sore.”

  Figures. The only time she takes an interest in me is when she’s too tired to read. Well, bad timing. If only that author had made Part One a little longer. Thanks to him, I couldn’t meet Kevin.

  “What do you think, Nat? Want to play?”

  I sighed. “I guess so.”

  She brewed chamomile tea as the kitchen clock ticked in the midnight stillness. A crane fly flew in the window and landed on my forearm. When I brushed it off, it wobbled into flight, all spindly legs and feeble wings. Mom made some good words, like brink and quest. I wonder if Kevin walked by and saw our light. It bothered me to think of him out there, but I felt thankful, after all, that Mom was awake.

  Friday, July 9th

  “Kevin’s mad at you,” Sasha said as we changed into our pointe shoes at the back of the studio.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He says you stood him up.”

  I crisscrossed long pink ribbons over my ankle and wrapped them around my leg.

  “He says he waited at the end of your street for half an hour last night.

  I fumbled with the knot, my head bent.

  “Is that true, Nat?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Is it true you were supposed to meet him?”

  I couldn’t look at her.

  “What were you two planning to do, anyway? Go have sex in his car? You know he got a girl pregnant last year, don’t you?”

  Ms. Kelly called, “Sasha and Natalie, will you be joining us for pointe?”

  My skin prickled.

  “Coming,” Sasha sang.

  Ms. Kelly divided the class into two groups for the long combination. During my group’s turn, Sasha and Jamie lounged on the barre, whispering and watching me. I could only cope with the relevés and echappés. After that, I lost my center. I couldn’t balance on the piqués and couldn’t pirouette. Ms. Kelly kept me after class for what seemed like a thousand repetitions.

  “My star pupil, Petra Moss, is going to be teaching you ballet next week, and I’d rather you weren’t a total embarrassment to me,” Ms. Kelly said.

  When her back was turned, I put my hands on my hips and flapped my lips open and shut: blah, blah, blah. I was already sick of hearing about Petra Moss.

  By the time I left the studio, everyone was eating lunch on the grass. The seniors were clustered on the far side of the lawn, in the shade of an oak tree. When I approached, they all stopped talking. Someone muttered, “Slut.” It must have been Sasha. They all stared at me.

  My stomach knotted up. The sun blazed and my toes were bleeding. I did an about-face and returned to the studio. In my mind, I remained with the girls on the grass and watched myself walk. I saw the back of my head, my stiff spine, my lumbering legs, the image overexposed in the bright noon sun. Someone called my name and I ignored it. I entered the building, blinded by the sudden dimness, grabbed my bag, and left.

  Mom had dropped me off, so I didn’t have my bike. Miles from home, without a plan, I followed the road to the Dallas cliffs. Open ocean. I needed that breeze; I wanted that water to cool my feet. Stairs led down to the beach. I kicked off my shoes. The salt stung the ripped blisters but soothed the swelling. I burrowed in my bag for cucumber slices and apple juice.

  Women with young children dotted the beach. On the cliff top, bikers sped past, and a couple of people flew kites. Normal people enjoyed the summer outdoors. They didn’t coop themselves up in a studio. I didn’t have to go back to that nasty place.

  But how could they label me a “slut”?

  I eased my feet back into my sandals and climbed the stairs. I wanted to stroll—like a “normal person”—but my blisters hurt too much. I sank into the first available bench and stared at the waves.

  “Hey.”

  Someone sat down beside me. I turned my head. Kevin! He lit a cigarette.

  “How did you know I was here?”

  “Didn’t. This is called bumping into each other.”

  “Right. Sorry, I’m just not myself today.”

  “Then who are ya?” He turned his head towards me as he took a drag.

  “Well, according to your sister, I’m a slut.”

  “Get out of here.”

  “What did you tell her anyway?”

  He looked straight ahead, folded his left arm across his chest, and exhaled. “I told her the truth, that you stood me up.”

  I swiveled and grabbed the backrest with one hand. “I never promised to meet you, I just said I’d try, and now she thinks we were planning to have sex in your car!”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yeah, and she said you got some girl pregnant last year.”

  He slouched and stretched his legs further onto the sidewalk. A dog walker had to alter her course to get around him. Kevin waited for her to p
ass before he said in a low voice, “Don’t believe everything you hear, Natalie.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I believe; she’s turned the whole studio against me!” My voice caught in my throat. I jumped up and ran down the path. I didn’t want to cry in front of him. But he caught up to me and held my arm.

  “I’m sorry, Natalie. I shouldn’t have said anything to Sash. That was really stupid of me.”

  I wiped my eyes and stepped away from him. “What are you doing here, anyway? You were supposed to be leaving town.”

  “Shipment of trees got held up, so the contract got postponed. I’d rather spend the extra days kicking around here than up in Prince George.” He flipped his wrist to look at his watch. “You playing hooky this afternoon, or what?”

  “I’m not going back there.”

  “Can I give you a lift somewhere?”

  Behind him, the cliff dropped into the sea. A parasurfer caught a gust and flew ten feet into the air. “All right.”

  We crossed a field, ducking Frisbees, to reach his car. “What do you say we pick up some cold ones and head out to a lake I know?”

  I shrugged. If my reputation was ruined, I could at least have my adventure. “Why not?”

  He stopped at a Cold Beer and Wine store and disappeared inside. When he returned with a six-pack, my shoulders tightened. What if he drank them all? How would I get home?

  We left the city and drove down country roads lined with evergreens that cast cool shadows. Horses grazed in fields. I breathed in the scent of pine and began to relax. I’d forgotten how much I loved the country. Mom and Dad used to take us hiking, but that had pretty much stopped by the time they split up. And Mom’s idea of an expedition usually involves a bookstore, not a park.

  “It’s nice to get out of the city, don’t you think?” Kevin said.

  We’d been driving in silence. A comfortable one. “Yeah.”

  Kevin turned down a narrow, tree-lined road and, after a minute or two, pulled over and cut the engine. “Where are we?” I couldn’t see a lake or any other cars.

  “We’re here. Hop out.” Kevin grabbed the beer and led the way down a dirt path to the shore of a lake about the size of two skating rinks. We climbed onto a ramshackle wooden pier. Fir trees surrounded the lake, its surface a calm, green mirror.

  He twisted open a beer and passed it to me. I hesitated to pick it up. Then he cracked one for himself and said, “Cheers. To playing hooky.”

  That got to me: Why shouldn’t I play hooky once in a while? I’m not getting any rewards for being a “good girl” anyway, not the way my so-called friends treated me today. I took a swig.

  I’d tried beer before, with Sasha. It isn’t my favorite thing. But it went down smoothly on such a hot day. Soon we were drinking a second. I felt even more floaty than I had when I’d left the studio. The blisters on my toes throbbed every time my heart beat.

  “Time for a dip!” Kevin said.

  He stripped to his shorts and jumped in. With my leotard for a swimsuit, I followed him. The cool water buoyed me as I floated on my back. Treetops pointed into the dome of blue sky. I sculled with my hands and feet. When I tried to stand up and couldn’t find bottom, I panicked and thrashed. That sobered me up. I swam back to the pier and climbed out.

  “Getting out so soon?”

  “What are you trying to do, drown me? Bringing me out here, giving me beer, telling me to swim?” Black spots swarmed my vision.

  As Kevin pulled himself out of the water, his muscles flexed and water ran off his arms and chest. He shook his bangs from his eyes and squatted beside me. “Are you okay? I forgot you’re not used to drinking. Two beer is probably quite a lot for you.” He rubbed my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  The spots had cleared. “Yeah.” I lay down, the wooden slats under my back, and he lay beside me on his stomach. He closed his eyes and, to my surprise, started to snore. I turned my head as he slept. His wet curls glistened. Around his neck, his silver chain caught the light. He had folded his arms under his head and his biceps rippled a bit. I reached out and stroked his arm.

  He opened his eyes, startled. Then he grinned at me. He slid his palm on to my stomach. Heat spread like tiger balm below his hand, making my thighs and crotch tingle. I twisted onto my side. He faced me, too, then we were kissing, blood rushing in my ears, our bare skin touching, still cool from the lake. His tongue tasted like beer this time, not cigarettes. A much better flavor. He nuzzled my neck and moved his head down my chest. He pulled down my top so I was naked to the waist, then smothered me with his body—it was too much, too much, I liked it but not so fast, the nerve endings died in my breasts, they were lumps of fat jiggling on my ribs with no sensation as he gnawed them and tossed his head like a dog with a rubber toy.

  We heard voices, thank God, and that made him stop. He threw his towel across me and rolled away. Otherwise … I hate to think what might have happened. I lay on the dock taking deep breaths and fumbling with my leotard. When I made it home, I told Mom I was sick and escaped to my room. Dizzy with sunstroke and beer and kisses. An underage drinker and worse. And none of this would have happened if Sasha hadn’t called me a slut.

  Saturday, July 10th

  How to erase yourself: lie on a chaise longue and cover your face with a baseball cap. Keep a pitcher of iced tea beside you and balance a glass on your sternum. Drink from a bendable straw. Don’t move. Don’t talk. Don’t obsess. (Forget about that guy’s mouth on your neck, his hand on your leg, his weight on your chest …)

  “Let’s sleep under the stars tonight!” Paige said.

  I groaned.

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you think it would be fun?”

  I didn’t bother to move the cap. It had built-in ventilation holes but still smelled like sweated-in canvas. “I just can’t get excited about anything today.”

  “Fine.” Paige hates teenage apathy. “I’ll call Jessica.” She stamped inside.

  But Jessica can’t make it, so it’s back to me. I wish I didn’t feel so low. I’ve taken two baths and brushed my teeth five times, but it’s like washing a window that won’t get clean. Fingerprints stay smudged on the wrong side of the glass.

  Night

  “Cassiopeia is supposed to be a woman tied to a chair,” Paige said. She learned constellations on a rainy day at her softball camp last week.

  “Really?” I studied the pinpricks of light overhead. “It just looks like a W to me.”

  We lay side by side in our sleeping bags on the balcony over the garage. The smell of resin wafted from a pair of fir trees that brushed the house. I breathed it in deep.

  “It was her punishment for bragging about her and her daughter and how beautiful they were.”

  “I can’t imagine Mom bragging about us, can you?”

  Paige thought about it. “I guess not.” She paused. “I’m sure she’s proud of us, though.” Her statement hung in the air. “Aren’t you?”

  I had to struggle not to poison Paige’s view of our parents with my own doubts. “I’m sure she’s proud of you, Paige.”

  Stargazing made my problems shrink, anyway: I was just one miniscule life form in an infinite cosmos. Every time I exhaled, the night air absorbed a little of my worry and left behind sweet fatigue. We spotted the Big Dipper, the Little Dipper, and the North Star. Paige claimed to see a constellation called Lyra. That would make a pretty name for a girl, I thought, as I drifted further along the Milky Way.

  When I woke up in the middle of the night, the stars had swept into different positions. It made me dizzy to think of the earth moving that fast underneath them. Next month, the meteor shower happens, and I wish Paige was staying so we could watch it. Or better yet, that I was going to Ontario with her. Maybe I can still get Dad to change his mind.

  Sunday, July 11th

&nbs
p; Mom, Paige, and I picnicked at Thetis Lake today. Mom regaled us with the plot of Tess of the d’Urbervilles, which she just finished re-reading. It was a bit much for Paige, and she went off to get a Popsicle at the concession stand. Mom was worked up about the way Tess’s fiancé treats her once he discovers that she had a child without being married: as a used, impure woman. And even worse, Mom says that Tess only gets pregnant after being raped! Mom was really angry about the whole situation. She wasn’t blaming the author; she says he was exposing the “hypocrisy and sexism in Victorian society.” (I think I’m quoting her right.)

  My gross feeling lifted as she talked about it. For a few moments, nothing that happened this week mattered. Everything shifted perspective. That’s the thing about Mom. She’s so clueless that I could never tell her about fooling around with Kevin, or being called a slut, but sometimes she creates these mental viewpoints that give me a new way of seeing things. I dove into the clear green lake and swam to Goose Island—which was, as always, carpeted with turds.

  Monday July 12th

  As I approached the change room this morning, raised voices inside made me pause with my hand on the doorknob. Tension pushed Sasha’s voice up half an octave. I heard Kevin’s name and yanked open the door. Sasha had her back to me and was pulling on bike shorts, which Ms. Kelly allows instead of tights in hot weather. She spun around when she heard me and snapped her mouth shut. Jamie, never the most sensitive person, bulldozed ahead. “So what happens now? Will he go to jail?”

  I couldn’t hold back. “What happened?”

  Jamie said, “Kevin was driving under the influence and he got into an accident.”

  “Oh my God!” How much of that beer did he drink at the lake?

  “I’m not discussing this with her.” Sasha turned her back to me and rummaged in her knapsack.

  Jamie glanced from Sasha to me and back. She looked almost smug, which confirmed my suspicion that she’d always resented our friendship. I waited to see whose side she would take, but I should have known. Jamie stepped up to Sasha, slipped one arm around her shoulders, and murmured words I couldn’t make out—she was either building Sasha up or tearing me down, maybe both at once. Either way, my presence obviously grated on them. I bolted and, as I flung open the outside door, crashed into Lisa.