Blue Gold (19 page)

“Come and get it, everybody!” declared her dad, dishing the salmon steaks onto a platter.

Fiona pulled her cover-up over her head, accepting that her swim—along with her smartphone—would have to wait.

 

WHEN FIONA'S DAD
dropped her back home later that night, Fiona discovered that her mom wasn't yet home from her weekend camping trip with friends. Spared the usual debrief that followed a visit at her dad's, Fiona booted up her laptop and checked her Friendjam account. A bunch of people had posted since she last checked yesterday. Megan wouldn't be back from camp until next week. Lacey complained about being held captive at her family's cabin for another two. And Ryan had updated his photo. He must have been working out since they broke up, because he wasn't looking so ridiculously skinny anymore. In fact, he was actually looking pretty buff. But Fiona didn't care—she would never forgive him for basically calling her a slut.

Fiona remembered Katie's drawing and typed a few keywords into the search box. Congo…mining…Sylvie. Up popped a page on a website—
Help Sylvie!
—with the girl's photo. The website was raising money to bring her to Canada.
Enough with the guilt
, thought Fiona.
I don't even have enough money to buy a phone
. But there was something captivating about Sylvie's picture. The page said nothing about how she'd gotten the long scar across her face. She was staring into the camera with a strange look. Kind of angry, kind of scared.
What am I doing here?
her eyes seemed to ask. Fiona saw there was a video, and clicked the icon.

Sylvie was walking along a red dirt path, passing mud huts and scrubby trees, looking over her shoulder to address the camera. She was speaking French, which Fiona didn't understand. There were English subtitles, but they were so blurry that Fiona could barely read them.

The girl led the camera toward one of the huts. There was a little girl in a hand-me-down dress, about Katie's age, seated on the ground outside, playing with a wooden doll, and a pouting boy a little younger than Brandon standing in the doorway. The image went dark when the camera followed the girl inside the hut, but an angry woman could be heard, shouting something, and the girl shouted back. A corner of Fiona's mouth lifted in a knowing expression.
Must be her mother
, she thought. Then a shrunken-looking woman came out of the hut into the light, blinking, feebly waving away the camera with her hands. Sylvie came back into frame again and the woman started yelling at her in some African language.
Definitely her mother
, thought Fiona.

She was so wrapped up in the video that a sudden knock at the door made her jump.

“Hi! Can I come in?”
Speak of the devil.
Fiona's mom barged in without waiting for a reply. “Just got back!” She planted a kiss on Fiona's forehead. She reeked of campfire smoke and her curly hair was wildly frizzy around her freckled face. “How was your weekend? Oh, h
er
!
” she exclaimed in the same breath, seeing Sylvie on the screen. She sat down on the edge of the bed in her grimy camping clothes and she was off, talking a mile a minute about victims of war.
More guilt
, thought Fiona.

“Did you send money to this website?” she asked when her mom paused for breath.

“Of course I sent money.”

“Mom, you can barely make the rent!” said Fiona. It wasn't exactly a secret that her mom didn't make much from the magazine articles she wrote.

Her mother folded her arms across her chest. “I'll find a way to pay the rent, Fiona,” she replied.

Fiona didn't want to fight. She turned back to the laptop and exited the video, flipping to Friendjam and pretending to read posts. For several moments neither of them spoke.

“Okay,” said Fiona's mom finally, her voice tight as she got up from the bed. “I can take a hint. I'll see you in the morning.”

“Mom,” Fiona said as her mother reached the door. She turned back. “What does this Sylvie have to do with Dad…I mean, with his job?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Dad said something about being bugged by reporters because of her.”

Fiona's mom opened her mouth to reply, then she seemed to think twice.

“I don't know,” she replied, in an obvious lie that was meant to say,
It would be wrong of me to speak against your father
. “Goodnight, my love,” she said. “Sleep well.”

She closed the door behind her. Fiona was left to wonder, as she so often did, why her parents ever got married in the first place.

 

ON MONDAY
, Fiona started her shift at the food concession at eleven. It was slow at first—the hot bodies of Kits Beach liked to sleep in on Monday mornings. Fiona kept busy cleaning the ketchup and mustard dispensers, all the while adding up in her mind how many more paychecks it would take before she could afford a smartphone.

“Hey, Fiona.”

Fiona looked up from daydreaming to find Ryan standing at the order window. He was going shirtless, presumably to show off the baby abs he'd acquired over the summer.

“Hi,” she said back, maintaining her cool. He was the last person she wanted to see.

“How's it going?” he asked.

“Good. You?”

“Good. Just got back from camp. I was a junior counselor this year.”

“Cool. What can I get for you?”

“Make it a large fish and chips,” he said, scanning the menu board.

Fiona rang his order into the cash register. “Anything to drink?”

“Coke.”

“Got it.”

“Is something wrong?” asked Ryan.

“Why would anything be wrong?”

He was scowling. Fiona got it—he was pissed that she was being so unfriendly. She wished he would take the hint and go away—this was so awkward!—but he just stood there, shaking his head.

“You could at least talk to me.”

“I
am
talking to you.”

“Why are you being such a bitch?”

“I'm not!” Fiona spat back. “I'm just doing my job.”

Cathy lumbered out from the kitchen at the back, stiff with arthritis. “Everything okay here?” She was old enough to be Fiona's grandmother, and she was just as protective as one.“Fine,” replied Fiona evenly. “Could I get a large fish and chips?”

“Coming up,” said Cathy, giving Ryan a warning look as she headed for the deep fryer.

Ryan handed Fiona a twenty. She gave him his change and poured his soft drink.

“We'll call your order when it comes up,” Fiona told him, avoiding his eyes as she set the drink down on the counter.

“Why did you break up with me?” he blurted suddenly.

Fiona looked up at him, surprised to see a hurt look on his face. “You called me a slut, Ryan,” she told him.

“No, I didn't!” he shot back. He seemed flustered, and confused.

“That's what you were thinking.”

“I tried calling you. You never bothered to call me back.”

That was true. Fiona's mother had given her the message, but Fiona had been too angry to talk to him, and had managed to steer clear of him at school until the summer break.

“So? I was busy,” Fiona replied, lamely.

His face pinched with anger. “Just forget it,” he said bitterly, and strode away.

“What about your food?” Fiona called after him, but he kept walking without turning back.

Now she felt bad. She should have at least returned his phone call. But at that point, she had wanted nothing to do with him.
Is it so wrong
, she thought,
to want to forget about last year's mistakes—including Ryan?
She was sorry that Ryan's feelings were hurt, but she refused to feel guilty. Guilt was what had made her take that stupid boob shot in the first place, when she was trying to make it up to Ryan for getting sick at Jeff's party. And she was willing to admit that maybe—just maybe—the real reason she broke it off was that the thought of him made her cringe about what a dumb move it had been to send him that selfie.

From now on, I'm going to be smarter than that
, she decided.

All she wanted was a fresh start in grade ten. Maybe, eventually, she'd be able to explain it all to Ryan. Maybe they could even be friends. But for now, she decided, she was going to concentrate on reinventing Fiona.

AT THE END
of Laiping's seventh week in Shenzhen, she went to the row of bank machines outside the American-style restaurant and lined up along with the hundreds of other workers waiting to receive their paychecks. When it was her turn to put her card in the slot, she discovered with relief that the company had at last put money in her account. It was only two weeks' pay plus overtime—the company was still withholding her first month's earnings—and deductions had been made for the dormitory and the cafeteria meals. That left her with a little less than 600 yuan, from which she still owed Min 110, and she had to send at least some of the remaining yuan home to her parents.

“You're a good daughter,” her mother said when Laiping talked to her later that morning over the computer at the Internet café. “When can you send the money?”

“Right away,” Laiping promised.

Laiping was exhausted from last night's shift and needed sleep, but before going back to the dorm, she went to a financial services kiosk and stood in line for almost another hour—which gave her plenty of time to consider just how good a daughter she was. A good daughter would send all of her money home, but that would mean waiting for her next paycheck to buy a mobile—another two weeks. Laiping decided that she could be a good daughter and be good to herself, too. She sent 250 yuan home to her parents, and kept nearly that much for herself, hoping it would be enough to pay for a basic phone.

When she reached the dorm, Laiping fell into a heavy sleep. Fen shook her awake far too soon.

“Let's go, lazy!” she said, adding “
Okay?
” in English to show off how much she'd learned from her book.

Laiping was off for the rest of the day, and she and Fen had made plans to go into the city in the afternoon to shop. They walked to the subway station where Laiping had first arrived nearly two months ago, and boarded a train for the main shopping district. The subway car was crowded and they had to stand up, holding onto hand straps as the train jostled along. Laiping looked around at the girls in their pretty tops and short skirts and wished that she could afford to buy some new clothes to replace her jeans and T-shirt, but she knew she barely had enough money for a phone.

They got off the train and climbed up to street level, where Laiping finally got her first real look at the city. It was just as Min described it—block after block of shiny new buildings rising up to the sky, enough apartments for hundreds of thousands of people. Laiping wondered who could possibly afford to live there—and if she ever would. The sidewalks were jammed with smartly dressed girls and guys—it seemed that no one in Shenzhen was old! Shop after shop was bursting with all sorts of things to buy, from shoes and handbags to TVs and cameras. Laiping had never seen so many brand new things in one place. She wanted them all! Fen was shopping for clothes, and she called everything she saw
cute!
, practicing her English again.

“Look at them,” she said to Laiping, pointing to a couple of stylish girls in frilly tops and sleek skirts walking along together with their heads bowed over their mobile phones. “I bet they're office workers,” she said enviously. From that point forward, Fen pulled Laiping into every dress shop they passed until she found a similar top and a skirt and bought them. “
Address to success
!
” she said in English, then translated for Laiping's benefit, “That means, dress for success!”

Everywhere they looked, there were shops and street vendors selling mobile phones. The ones the street vendors were selling were cheaper.

“That's because they're stolen,” said Fen.

Stolen or not, Laiping could only afford the street vendors' mobiles. She bought the cheapest one, for 175 yuan, and a phone card for fifty yuan, leaving her just enough for subway fare back to campus.

It was evening now, and the restaurants and clubs they passed were full of laughter and loud music. Laiping wished they could go in and join the fun, but neither she nor Fen had any money left. At any rate, the legal drinking age was eighteen, and their fake IDs said they were only sixteen. They had to content themselves with swaying to the music out on the sidewalk, and with people-watching.

As Laiping and Fen rode the subway back to the factory campus, the fatigue and frustration of the past weeks faded away. For the first time, Laiping felt she'd had a taste of city life—and she loved it.
All the hard work has been worth it
, she realized, happy at the thought of her very own mobile, resting in her pocket.

 

IT WAS NEAR MIDNIGHT
when Laiping and Fen entered their dorm room.