I Know It's Over Part 19

"Before we broke up," I say factually. "Yeah, we did."

"And when did this happen?" Mom asks.

"Yesterday." My throat's drying out. I don't have an ounce of water left in my body after what happened at Sasha's earlier. "I just saw her today."

"Do her parents know? Is she being taken care of?"

I nod leadenly. "Her mom took her. She's at home with her now." Mom's head slopes towards mine and I keep going. "I couldn't tell you before. You take things really hard." I slump down in my chair. "I didn't know what to say."

Mom's head snaps up again. It's the wrong thing to say, I guess, but it's the truth. "You can always talk to me, Nicholas. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"I can't always," I argue. "You can't expect that."

"But you told your father?"

"Yeah," I admit. "That's different. He's not around all the time." I'm too tired to do this with her. Why should I have to explain the way things are? Why can't she just open her eyes and see it? "Anyway, that's not the point. I'm telling you now. If you turn this into something about him..." My face is throbbing red. I can feel it.

"I'm not doing that," Mom says evenly. "But you can't expect me to hear something like this and not give it a second thought-because this is what's been upsetting you lately, isn't it?"

"Since Christmas Eve," I confirm. "I couldn't get away from it."

"And now?"

"I don't know." I shrug. "Nothing's the same."

"No," Mom says. "Of course it isn't." I stay quiet and stare at my knees. "This is a very serious situation. This is something you could be dealing with for a while."

"I know that."

"Okay." Mom folds her hands into her laps and squints at me like she's about to say something intense. "What do you want me to say to you?"

My head jerks up. "I don't know." I stare past her. "I don't know."

"But I'm sure you know nothing like this should ever happen again." Mom leans in so I can't ignore her.

"Yeah, of course."

"Because right now you may think you'll never find yourself in that situation again, but you will."

I've already decided to listen to whatever lecture she has in store for me. My face is fixed in a pa.s.sive expression and I nod as she continues.

"I hope talking to your father helped."

"A bit." My jaw twitches in surprise. "He was pretty good about it, but I haven't talked to him for a while."

"Maybe you should give him a call," she says. "I'm sure he'd want to hear from you."

"Yeah, I might." An idea begins building in my head and s...o...b..a.l.l.s with momentum. "I was thinking maybe I'd go down and stay with him for a few days. Just to get away, you know?"

Mom blinks and looks into my eyes. "It's not a bad idea if it's all right with him."

"I'll check," I tell her, and before I know it, I'm standing. "Thanks."

Mom stands too and then we're both standing there trying to pretend this isn't as awkward as it seems. "Go ahead and give him a call now," she suggests. "Let me know what he says." I take a step towards the door and she adds, "Dinner's in about forty minutes if you're interested. Holland's friend is staying."

I shake my head and Mom nods sympathetically and says, "I'll put some aside and you can have it later."

"Thanks," I say gratefully.

Upstairs, I pick up the phone and dial Dad's condo. He has a lot of late meetings and I expect to get his machine, but he answers.

"Nicholas, how are you?" he asks. "What's happening?"

He could've called me himself to find out, but I let that go and fill him in on the last few days. When I come to the point about staying at his place, he interrupts with: "Nick, this isn't enough notice. Bridgette's sister and her family are coming in from Calgary on Sat.u.r.day, and you have work and school, I'm sure."

"I can call in sick," I tell him. "And I won't miss much school."

"The thing is I have plans, Nick." Dad puts on his hearty voice. "What do you say to two weeks from now? I'll come pick you up and we can get tickets to a Leafs game-the whole thing."

Two weeks seems like a life sentence and I say, "No, that's fine. Do your family thing with Bridgette. I'm cool." In fact, my words are like ice. I never ask him for anything and all I'm asking for now is time. Not even a full consecutive twenty-four hours, just time.

"Nicholas," Dad says. His tone's all "don't be that way."

So okay, I won't. I hang up and flick on my stereo. After a minute the phone rings, but I don't pick up. Thirty seconds later there's a bang on my door and Holland swings it open and says, "There's a man on the phone claiming to be your father."

"Did you ask him for proof?"

"I didn't think of that," Holland says. "Are you picking up or what?"

"No." I'm not going to beg him so what's the point?

"What?" Holland scrunches up her face. "Are you guys fighting?"

"Yeah, so go downstairs and hang up the phone like a good little girl, okay?"

"I don't think so." Holland picks up the receiver and places it facedown on my bed. "Do your own dirty work, Nick." She shuts the door gingerly behind her and I stare down at the abandoned receiver.

"h.e.l.lo?" Dad's voice is sputtering. "h.e.l.lo? Nick? h.e.l.lo?"

"Okay, fine," I say irritably, my fingers closing around the receiver. "I'm here."

"There was no need to hang up, Nick." Dad's really worked up; he sounds like my parents' divorce all over again. "If you'd listen for a moment-all I'm saying is that next week is out. We have theater tickets tomorrow and Sat.u.r.day we're leaving for Montreal for two days. So, I'd really like to do this in two weeks' time." He pauses and then adds, "I'd like to see you."

"Just us?" I need to make my temporary escape now, but I can see that's not going to happen this week. "Because it'd be cool if it could just be me and you for a change."

"All right, Nick," Dad says. "We can do that, but you have to realize Bridgette is important to me and that's probably not going to change anytime soon."

"That's your business," I tell him.

"Sure, but it'd be nice if the two of you could get along."

"I'll be nice. But I'm not going to promise anything else. You can't expect me to like her just because you do."

"Okay," Dad concedes, frustration rumbling around in the back of his throat. "I'll give you a call next week and let you know the arrangements."

"Thanks," I say sincerely.

"Are you going to be all right?" Concern gives his words a razor edge.

"I'm okay. I just need to get away from everything for a while."

"Sure," Dad says genially. He's already forgiving me, silently ascribing my att.i.tude to everything I've been through lately, or at least that's the way it sounds. "I think it's good you told your mother. Most secrets don't do people much good." He didn't say all, I notice, and I still believe in good secrets, but they're fragile.

After Diego's gone, I throw my dinner in the microwave and tell Mom I won't be going to Dad's for a couple weeks yet. She doesn't ask me to explain; she says it'll be good for me to spend some time in Toronto and that the time frame will give me the chance to book s.h.i.+fts off work. I realize I never told her about leaving the Courtland Cougars and fill her in on that too.

The next morning she wakes me up, stares down at me, and says, "I wasn't sure you'd want to go school today but I thought I'd check."

I must've forgotten to set the alarm, but I want to go to school and I mumble that in barely coherent morning English. Mom smiles and tells me that with everything that happened yesterday, she forgot to mention that the company she interviewed at wants her to come in for a second interview.

"See?" I say. "I knew you'd do good."

"They're interviewing three other people too, but I'm still in the running," Mom says, her lips stuck in a grin. "The second interview is on Monday." She tosses her head back in mock aggravation. "There goes another sick day."

Monday's also Sasha's first day back at school and the thought of that makes me shudder. I want her to be there and I know I can't avoid her, but I know exactly what it'll feel like to see her again-like I'm missing a layer of skin. I don't know how to walk around like normal all day when I can run into her at any time.

But for today, at least, I don't have to deal with that. My egomaniac English teacher makes jokes at various students' expense, and Keelor hunts me down in the hall and wants to know how I am. I can tell he doesn't get it, but at least he's trying. Keelor wants me back on the ice as soon as possible, but he's trying not to push it. Everybody's being so good and concerned and I'm glad, for sure, but underneath that there's another part of me that nothing even touches.

Ms. Navarro has the radio on during art cla.s.s, like always, and it relaxes me a little even though it's jazz. Nathan talks to me in a mellow voice through the whole thing and that relaxes me too.

"So what happened to the journalism student from New Year's Eve?" I whisper. "You ever going to see him again?"

"Naw." Nathan stops sketching and looks up at me. "Not really my type."

Here we are again. I'm clumsy at this, not like him, but he needs to know that I'm going to try. Seriously, I mean it. "You know there will be somebody, though," I say under my breath. "It's just this stupid small town."

"Maybe." Nathan's eyes are suspicious.

"For sure," I tell him.

"You know." His tone turns breezy. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to tell me something."

"Shut up." I roll my eyes at him. "You know what I'm saying. Don't be an a.s.shole."

"I know. Thanks for the approval rating." Nathan grins and shakes his head. "You're so uptight, Severson. What're you gonna do in university when the gay city boys start hitting on you?"

I give him a suitably dirty reply and Nathan busts his gut laughing. I laugh too. I laugh so hard that it hurts and I bend over clutching my sides. Ms. Navarro glances in our direction and I straighten up, this goofy grin stretched across my face.

I wish I could spend all day in art cla.s.s, but the bell doesn't care. After it rings, Nathan and I file into the hallway, which is swarming with skaters, posers, stoners, brains, and jocks. Everybody's got someone to be and a group of people to be it with, but sometimes I'm not in the mood for it, you know. Sometimes it all feels foreign and phony. Like a big waste.

The difference is today I'm just glad I've got somewhere to be and I look over at Nathan, ex-jock and present everything, and say, "You want to watch the game at my house on Sat.u.r.day?" The Leafs are playing the Boston Bruins and Nathan still watches the games. You can be an ex-hockey player, but I don't know if it's possible to be an ex-fan.

"You asking Keelor too?" He stops in the middle of the hallway.

Like I said before, Nathan always knows. "Like old times," I tell him. Not that I think it'll change anything between the three of us, but I guess I need it-even if it's just for a few hours.

"Sounds good, but I'm still grounded," Nathan says, arching his eyebrows. "Why don't you guys come by my place instead? Sound cool?"

It could be. I could even be looking forward to it except that it's a day closer to Monday and there's not a person in the world who can help me pull that day off.

Mom drives me over to Sports 2 Go on Sat.u.r.day morning. My driving test is nine days away, but I'm exhausted. I slept for seven hours, but I could climb back in bed and do another seven no problem. A coma's exactly what I need right now, but what I have is Mom in the driver's seat, telling me that we'll have a lot more money if she gets this job. She's so psyched about the thing that we get to the mall in record time. I'm worried that she might spontaneously combust before Monday if she doesn't calm down.

My manager, Brian, is kicking around the store when I get there. A rack of fifty-percent-off outerwear that n.o.body wants has been shoved to the back of the store; otherwise there's no sign of the post-Christmas-sale madness. Grayson hovers around the whole morning, describing his weekend in elaborate detail. Personally, I have trouble believing that anyone who shoots off his mouth that much gets laid more than twice a year, but I stop just short of telling him that he's full of s.h.i.+t.

Sometime after two Grayson sidles back up to me and points, as discreetly as a guy like Grayson can, towards a girl strolling through the door. "The tall ones are the hottest," he says definitively. He bites his lip and groans.

I turn and take a long look. This isn't something new from Grayson, but sometimes he happens to be right. Turns out this is one of those times. Keelor's cousin Jillian is gliding towards us, wearing three-inch-tall shoes and black pants slung just below her waist and smiling right at me.

"Blond too," Grayson says. "You think it's natural?"

I think I came close to finding out. I smile back at her and start walking. We meet in the middle of the store, where I feel Grayson burning a hole in the back of my T-s.h.i.+rt.

"My uncle's driving me back tomorrow," she says. "Owen said you worked here so..." She shrugs like it's not a big deal. "I had some stuff to pick up and I thought I could say goodbye at the same time."

"It's good to see you," I tell her. Maybe it's not a big deal, but it's something. She has to be four inches taller than me in those shoes. I feel like a dwarf or a ten-year-old kid staring up at her and I just have to ask, "How tall are you anyway?"

"People always ask that," Jillian says with a laugh.

"And what do you tell them?"

"Five eleven and a half," she tells me, standing even straighter. "Without the shoes."

"It looks good." My stomach dips as soon as I say that. I shouldn't be this glad to see her.

"Yeah, you too." She grazes my shoulder and studies my face. "Your eyes kill me." She says it like she's fooling around. I am a midget, after all. I'm also bad news.

"Uh-huh," I say doubtfully. I toss a glance at Grayson and motion to the door. He's recovered enough to nod back and I tell Jillian I can take a quick break.

We take a seat by the fountain and she says, "So how are you? Did you see your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, I did. She's doing okay."

"I'm glad." The look on Jillian's face makes it clear she really means it. "You were pretty worried."

The word doesn't begin to cover it. I explain about breaking the news to my mom and my upcoming trip to Toronto to spend a few days with my dad.

"It sounds like you're working some stuff out," she says.

"I guess." I nudge her arm. "What about you? How's your mom doing?"