16 Things I Thought Were True (11 page)

Amy picks up my mood and stops talking and turns the radio to a local station. An Eminem song comes on and I reach for the volume and turn it up. Under his anger and aggressive rapping, I feel his desperation and hope, and it feels similar to mine. The song works with my mood. I lean back, staring out the window as we zip past colorful, vibrant flowers sprouting from green grass on the side of the highway. It's fragrant and lush. The island throbs with life. The cuss words contrast with the sweetness. It's perfect.

Eminem screams to a finish, and the car is silent with dead air.

Amy turns down the volume button as the DJ breaks into the silence with a falsely cheery voice tinged with panic.

“We're here,” she says.

Reality crashes back.

8. You can tell by looking if someone has their black belt in karate.

#thingsithoughtweretrue

We're in front of the hostel. It's an old house, painted burnt yellow and squished up beside a church. A Canadian flag sticks out the front along with a blue flag I don't recognize.

“It's small. No Hilton or Marriott,” Amy says, peering over the steering wheel.

“Welcome to budget travel. It's cheap. And it'll be clean,” I say. “It had great reviews online. I promise.”

“You got great reviews online,” she mumbles.

“I got a lot more bad ones than the hostel,” I say. “It's really cute. It'll be fine.”

“There's a parking lot at the back,” Adam says. “Turn left.” He's looking out the window, reading a sign. Amy finds a spot right away and turns off the car.

“Awesome driving,” I say to Amy. “We made it!”

I have a sudden urge to forget about my plans, forget why I've come to the island. We could sightsee and be tourists and live for the moment. I could forget I have a dad who dumped me before I was born and a mom at home recovering from heart surgery. Forget both of them. I've been good at ignoring her texts. I could ignore him completely.

I choke on my own breath. My forehead beads with sweat. I can't ignore him. After eighteen years, I'm here to confront him. I'm about to meet my dad for the very first time. A huge, embarrassing sob explodes from my chest as loud and delicate as the foghorn on the ferry.

Amy reaches across, opens her glove box, takes out a box of Kleenex, and shoves it at me. “I get a lot of nosebleeds,” she says.

I nod, swallow, hiccup, and use the Kleenex to wipe up my face. “Sorry,” I say again and sniffle. Adam's sitting on the hood of the car. He escaped as I was losing my grip.

“I don't usually cry. I think I freaked Adam out.”

“I think you did,” she agrees. “But that's okay.” She nods toward Adam. “He's a boy. They can't handle emotion. I, on the other hand, with all my lady parts, am good in a crisis. Jake says hi by the way. He's worried about you.”

Her whiplash-quick ability to change the subject lightens the mood. “Amy.” I wipe under my eyes and blow my nose. “You are awesome. Never change.”

“Why would I change?”

“Why indeed.” I put my hand on the door. “No wonder Jake likes you. Should we go and check in?”

“You're sure you're okay?”

“I'm totally fine,” I lie.

“And Jake and I may become friends, but you came first.”

I push the door open before I start blubbering again.

Adam jumps up when Amy and I climb out of the car.

“I'm fine,” I call to him. “Fine.” I put my hand up to cover my eyes from the sun, but mostly to block myself from him. “Let's go check in.”

The hostel is clean inside and smells like fresh laundry detergent. An older lady greets us at the check-in counter and asks for ID. She checks it over while she explains the house rules. When she hands us back our ID along with a fresh set of sheets for each of us, I giggle at the shocked expression on Amy's face.

Adam glimpses at her too. “You don't make your own bed at the Hilton, Amy?” He laughs.

The woman ignores us and comes around the counter to take us to our four-person dorm room. She walks ahead of us and points out the community kitchen. Amy's eyes get even rounder. “We're not going to cook for ourselves, are we?” she whispers to me.

“Not if you don't want to,” I whisper back.

Some of the heaviness on my heart lightens and floats off into air. “We haven't even talked about what we're going to do now that we're here,” I say.

We plotted our route, looked at maps. I booked the hostel, and Amy bought an army load of car snacks, but we never really discussed the order of what we'd do once we arrived.

“We'll figure it out,” Adam answers. Amy's too busy scanning the place with bugged-out eyes to answer.

“We have to share a washroom?” she squeaks.

I pat her on the shoulder. “Communal washrooms. You're roughing it, girlfriend.”

We walk inside the bedroom. There are two bunk beds across from each other. Cheery paintings of different flags hang on the wall. There's a small window at the end of the room that looks out onto the street. The lady tells us a few more rules about curfew hours and then leaves. I glance outside, surprised it's still light out. It feels like it should be dark. It's been a long and eventful day.

I make up the nearest bottom bunk bed. Amy throws her expensive-looking luggage bag on the bottom bunk on the other side.

“Seriously. I have to sleep on the top?” Adam scowls but plops his gym bag on the bunk above Amy. I breathe a secret sigh of relief. I don't think I would get much sleep if he were right above me.

“You snooze, you lose,” Amy says.

“Is your girlfriend going to meet you here?” Amy asks as she and Adam tuck in their sheets.

“My girlfriend?”

“Yeah. That's why you came, right? We don't have time to stop in Vancouver, so how else are you going to see her?”

“Uh.” He glances at me as he tucks in the top sheet on his bed. “Not sure. Haven't figured it out yet.” He presses his lips into a frowns and adjusts his blanket.

“You and your girlfriend have a fight or something?” Amy asks Adam as she unzips her suitcase.

“No.” He pushes his glasses up his nose and throws his gym bag on the blanket.

“So? Do we get to meet her? I've already got her pictured in my mind.” Amy makes a face.

“She looks nothing like that face you just made.”

Amy ignores him and walks over to the window. “Hey, check out this guy.” Amy points out the small window of the room. I follow her finger. Adam looks too.

A guy about our age is walking a black lab without a leash. He's shirtless and his chest is dark, smooth, and very defined. His face is beautiful, and he's smiling.

“Wow. I think that's the guy you're supposed to marry,” Amy tells me.

I laugh. “Me? He's too perfect. Why not you?”

Amy shakes her head back and forth. “Nah. I don't really see myself getting married.”

“Well, I do. You picked him. You get him.”

“Yeah. 'Cause it's that easy,” Adam says.

Amy takes out a cosmetic bag from her luggage and holds it up. “I need to go to the washroom. Do you think it's safe? Should you come with me?”

I cross my arms and glare at her. “You can handle it.”

“This is so weird. There are other people here using it too. I saw a group of boys in the room down the hall.”

She starts walking toward the door and then stops. “Wait, where do we leave our stuff if we go out?” she asks. “This is almost dangerous.”

I pull a padlock from my backpack and hold it in the air. “We'll get a locker. Didn't you see them by the entrance?”

“Ugh,” she says. “I didn't realize we were staying at a prison.” She disappears out of the room.

“Too much?” I ask Adam.

“She'll survive. She may be a little pampered, but I sense she's very adaptable,” he says.

I laugh again and take out my phone, realizing I've hardly had it out in the last few hours—and surprisingly, I didn't miss it. I snap a few photos of the room to post to Twitter later. I point the camera at Adam next. Instead of striking a muscle pose or something, he stares back at me, his face serious.

“Hey, Morgan,” he says softly.

Goosebumps travel up my arm, and I lower the camera.

“That was not the guy you were supposed to marry,” he whispers.

The blush starts at my toes and swoops quickly all the way up.

Amy walks back in the room then, her eyes on us. She narrows them and puts her hands on her tiny hips. “What're you two up to?”

“Nothing,” Adam says, yanking his gym bag off the top bunk. “Want to go for a walk? Check out downtown?” He tosses the bag on the floor with a thunk. “You guys hungry?”

“Not even a little,” Amy says. “I have enough Cheezie calories to keep me fueled the whole weekend.” She plunks her little butt on the bunk she's sleeping on.

“Yeah,” I agree. “I'm full of junk food too.” Deep breath. “Plus, you know…I should figure out what I'm going to do. About my dad.” I grin but hold it in place for about one second before it disappears.

“Yeah. What's the plan? You haven't said,” Amy says.

“I have an address.” I sit on my bed and search my backpack for my ChapStick. “For the dad guy.” I try to laugh, but it comes out flat and fake, and neither one of them even smiles.

“So what's the plan?” Adam asks and sits down beside me. My legs stiffen.

“Well, I thought I'd do it tomorrow. At his home. Show up.” I rub my lips with ChapStick and press them together, trying to ignore Adam's thighs.

Amy stands, takes a step across the floor, and sits on the bed on my other side. And then she reaches out her arms and hugs me so tightly I can barely breathe. My hands stay down at my side. When she pushes me away, she stares into my face, her nose inches from mine. “I totally understand why you're such an emotional mess,” she says. “It even explains some of your exhibitionism.”

The earnest expression on her face breaks some of my tension, and I giggle. “I know. Right?”

Adam laughs too. “Amy, you're growing on me.”

She leans across me to smile at him. “I am? Really?”

“You are.”

“Well”—she leans back—“I don't have a crush on you anymore, just so you know.”

“My loss,” he says.

She grins. “Plus, you know, you do have a girlfriend, even if you are afraid to see her in person.”

“I'm not afraid.” But he develops a sudden interest in his sneakers and bends over to re-tie laces that look perfectly tied to me.

“No? Well, you don't seem excited. Maybe you like the
idea
of a girlfriend? That's what my dad says to me. That I like the idea of a boyfriend but I don't want the emotional implications.”

“You mean, like sex,” Adam says and then pulls in his chin and ducks to avoid smashing the top bunk with his forehead as he stands.

“Sex is physical. Not emotional,” Amy tells him.

“Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.” He walks over to the window and looks out. “You'll find out.”

“How do you know I haven't had sex? Maybe I'm a closet nympho who happens to look young.”

“Amy.” I untangle myself from the bed and stand, holding out my hand to her. “You don't have to pretend to be all jaded just because you look young.”

She narrows her eyes at both of us, ignores my hand, and flops on her back, staring up at the top bunk. “Whatever. I'm so a virgin.”

“I'm shocked,” Adam says. My evil glare is directed his way, and he shuts his mouth.

Amy sits up and hugs her knees in a yoga-like movement. “You need to do it. Tonight. Do it now.”

“I'm not a virgin,” I say, wondering if she's trying to foist me off on Adam.

She bats her eyelids slowly and claps very slowly. “I'm happy for you. But. I was talking about going to see your dad tonight.”

“Oh.” I pretend to laugh, but it sounds like a baby's cry.

She crosses her legs and ticks off a finger. “You're not hungry.” She ticks off another finger. “And you're not in Victoria to sightsee.” She scrambles off the bottom bunk and grabs her bag. “You're not going to relax until you do this.”

“What? Now? No. Not now.”

“Why? Why wait? It's not like you'll sleep a wink until it's done.” Amy grabs her car keys and throws them. My hand automatically shoots out to grab them. She throws her arms in the air when I catch them and jumps up and down like a cheerleader in the final play of the game. “Go. Take my car!”

I flex and unflex my free hand, jiggling the keys up and down in the other. “I can't.”

“Why not? It's not like you made an appointment to see him,” Amy points out.

My heart pounds. I spin the key chain around and around on my finger.

“I think she's right,” Adam says from where he's leaning against the windowsill. “The sooner you do it…the sooner it's done.”

“As painless as tattoo removal,” I mumble.

“It's not going to be any easier if you wait,” Amy says.

“But I don't want to strand you guys. You should, you know, go downtown, see some sights.” I glance at Adam. “Call your girlfriend.”

“Forget my stupid girlfriend,” Adam says.

“Stupid girlfriend? Why is she stupid?” I welcome the opportunity to bounce to another topic.

“Seriously. Forget my girlfriend.” He moves his hand back and forth, close to his neck, in a slicing motion and then clears his throat. “We can walk to lots of places from here.” He walks to Amy and drapes his arm across her shoulder, and she sags from the weight he puts into it. “Right, Amy?”

“We could come with you if you want,” Amy says to me and scoots out from under him, punching him on the arm.

Adam rubs it. “What is it with you women and your punching?”

“You just told me I looked ten. And now I'm a woman?” Amy asks.

I bat my eyelashes to keep in the tears stinging behind them, but this time it's happy tears for the two of them arguing and keeping things real.

“I think you should do it, Morgan,” Adam says, still massaging his arm. “And we could come with you.”

“No!” My voice cracks and I clear my throat again. “I need to do this alone.”

“You don't have to,” Amy says softly.

“Thanks. But I need to.” They've already seen enough of my humiliation. This is the type of thing meant to be experienced solo. I lick my lips and taste the cherry wax and then squeeze the keys tight, and the teeth of the keys make an impression on my skin. “I don't want to drive. I can't drive. I'll get in an accident. I'll be too distracted. I'm going to call a cab. That was my plan anyhow.” I lift my arm and throw the keys back to Amy, but she misses and they clatter on the ground.