Breakaway (18 page)

It’s another one of those knock-me-over-with-a-feather moments. I sit down on the kitchen tile.

“It won’t be a big expense. I’m telling all the girls to buy black cocktail dresses, something that suits them. Nothing slutty. The guys are wearing black tuxes. Jamie and I will be wearing white of course.”

“What about Cory?”

There’s a brief pause.

“I told you about Cory and my ex-boyfriend, didn’t I?” Brittni adds, “Are you going to do it or not?”

She makes me feel like I’m on a list of potential bridesmaids. If I say no, she’ll phone the name beneath mine. I don’t know much about weddings, but finding bridesmaids shouldn’t be like recruiting players for a three-on-three tournament.

“Why me?” I ask.

“You were a great teammate, Jessie,” she says. “I could always trust you to be honest.”

It’s the nicest thing she’s ever said to me. Maybe the only nice thing.

“I’d like a few more details. Are you getting married in Estevan?”

“Are you kidding? I live in Regina. That’s where all my friends are.”

Not
all
your friends – apparently.

She tells me more about her plans for the wedding and reception.

When she’s done, I ask, “Can I get back to you on Monday?”

“Sure,” she says. “Thanks for thinking about it. It means a lot.”

“Talk to you soon.” I put the phone back in its cradle.

“Who was that?” Mom asks.

“Brittni Wade.”

Her brows tie themselves in a knot as she tries to put a face to the name. It’s fun watching them unravel when she figures it out.
“Brittni?”

“Uh huh.” I sit down at the table and pick up one of the photos. It’s a shot of Courtney and me at the Forestry Farm in Saskatoon. I’m about eight, and Courtney is probably two. Man, she was a cute kid. Those were the days when she followed me everywhere, imitated my every word and gesture. Sometimes I’d wake up at night, and she’d be curled up beside me like a kitten. Nowadays if I say one wrong thing, her claws come out.

“Remember Courtney
before
she hit puberty?” I ask Mom. “She was just your average spoiled-rotten kid.”

“We never spoiled her,” Mom says. “And don’t change the subject. I want to hear more about Brittni. Was she inviting you to her wedding?”

“She wants me to be a bridesmaid.”

“But you were never friends. As I recall, you didn’t even like her.”

I pick up another photograph. “She had some good moments, like the night of Jodi’s accident. Then again, she had some really bad ones.”

“Exactly.” Mom takes the photograph from my hand and places it in the frame she uses for cropping.

“I’m curious. I think I’ll tell her yes.” I pick up a photograph of me with a side ponytail and promptly tear it in half.

“Jessie!”

“Mom, there’s no way that picture’s going in.”

Mom scowls at me and crops another photo. “Curious about what?”

“What Brittni will want to do to my hair, for one thing.” I pull back my bangs. “And we probably won’t have a team, so we won’t be getting an invite to the Mac’s after Christmas. No point in pencilling
that
on my schedule.”

Mom’s eyes get droopy. “I hope you’re wrong about that.”

Courtney wanders into the kitchen, holding her phone. I never see her without it. She goes straight to the fridge and pours herself a glass of milk. She stands and drinks, texting with her free hand.

“Girls like Brittni have very expensive tastes,” Mom points out. “That bridesmaid’s dress isn’t going to come cheap.”

I explain to her about the dresses.

“That sounds very practical,” Mom says. “But maybe you should find out who else is in the wedding party. It won’t be much fun if you don’t know anybody.” She pauses and thinks. “Would you take Evan?”

December suddenly seems a long ways away.

“Who are you talking about?” Courtney asks, leaning against the counter.

“Why don’t you come sit down?” Mom pushes a chair away from the table. “Jessie will tell you all about it.”

“No thanks.” Courtney doesn’t look up from her phone.

“Courtney, Mrs. Gedak wondered if you’d babysit Breanne tomorrow since there’s no school,” Mom says.

“Gia and me are gonna hang out,” Courtney says.

“Maybe you could hang out later,” Mom says.

“I guess.” Courtney continues texting.

“Would you be able to go over there around eight thirty?”

“Yeah.” Courtney wanders out of the kitchen.

“I thought that phone was for emergencies,” I say.

Mom starts digging through photographs in a recipe card box. “Unlimited texting is cheap, Jessie. It’s not a big deal.”

“She’s wearing you down.”

“She is not,” Mom says.

“Whatever.” I lean my chair back. “Do you think Sue and Bud will quit?”

“Can I give you some advice?” Mom asks.

“As if I could stop you.”

Mom selects a photo from the box and picks up her utility knife. “You better do something now. Before that meeting with Minor Hocky.”

“I agree. The question is...what?”

“You’re the captain. You figure it out,” Mom says. “Meanwhile, I’ll get ready for Thanksgiving. Good thing your grandma’s bringing the cabbage rolls and your favourite cookies.”

“Awesome.”

My phone plinks. It’s Evan.

Why haven’t you called me?

“Got to go.” I grab the cordless phone again. “Evan’s headed to Victoria tomorrow with the Dinos. Time for a pep talk.”

“Say hi to him for me,” Mom says. “And Jessie?”

Something in her tone makes me stop in my tracks.

“Be honest with him. Okay? If you’re not as serious as he is, he needs to know.”

“I’ll tell him – when the time’s right,” I promise. “But this isn’t the time. He has a big weekend ahead of him, and midterms coming up. I’ll tell him. After.”

“Don’t wait too long,” Mom says.

–
Chapter
Twenty-five
–

Y
ou want us
to write letters to our coaches
and
Estevan Minor Hockey?” Kathy asks. “How’s that going to help?” It’s Friday morning. I’ve rallied the Oilers to an emergency meeting-before-the-Monday-meeting in my basement. Larissa and a Rookie are the only ones missing.

“It won’t hurt,” I say.

Jennifer asks, “What should I write in my letter, seeing as how I wasn’t there? What should
I
apologize for?”

“Can we deal with your letter later?” I tell her.

“I’ll need some help writing mine,” one of the Rookies says. “I have horrible spelling.”

“Have you heard of spell check?” Carla asks.

“I’m beyond spell check,” the Rookie says. “I can’t even spell Christmas.”

“I can spell Hanukkah,” another one says.

“Shut up!” Kathy says. “You’re driving me crazy!”

The Rookies look at their feet, cowed.

“I’m a good speller, and a good writer,” one of the Rookies says, the one who was Carla’s D partner against Swift Current. “I’ll explain what happened, eat crow, and we Rookies will sign it. How’s that?”

“Good idea,” I tell her. “What’s your name again?”

“Dayna,” she says, smiling.

“Dayna, you’ve got potential,” I tell her.

“And also bedhead,” Carla points out. “Didn’t you even try to make yourself presentable this morning?”

“Jessie said it was an emergency,” Dayna explains. “I came straight over.”

“Yeah, the pajama pants were a dead giveaway,” Kathy says.

I tuck my feet under my own pajama pants.

“I think you should tell the truth,” Kathy says to me. “It would make a huge difference with Sue.”

“Oh no, it wouldn’t,” I reply.

“Sue loves you,” Crystal says.

Everyone stares at Crystal.

“I didn’t mean like
that,”
she says.

“I don’t know about everyone else, but I’m getting sick of your martyr routine, Jessie,” Whitney says.

“Martyr routine?” I reply. “I thought I was anal?” It’s on the tip of my tongue to let it all out, tell everyone what Whitney’s been up to.

That’ll only make things worse, my little voice says.

“Cool your jets, both of you,” Carla says. “Kathy’s right. The truth from you wouldn’t hurt, Jessie.”

“What I’d like to know,” Kathy says, “is how this rumour about Jessie ever got started in the first place. It had to come from somebody who was at the party.” She looks at Miranda. “Teneil’s been blabbing about it at school all week.”

“Teneil and me don’t even hang out. She’s not much fun these days.” Miranda says. “And I didn’t tell her anything.”

“Then who did?” Kathy asks.

“This isn’t the time for a witch hunt,” I say. “We need to concentrate on getting Sue and Bud back.”

“And Jodi,” Crystal says.

“Has anybody seen Jodi lately?” Randi asks. “Any chance she’ll change her mind?”

I tell them about my conversation with her outside the church, leaving out the part about Whitney. We’ve already lost our best forward. The last thing we need is for the girls to boot Whitney off the team.

“I can see why Jodi’s quitting,” Kathy says. “But it still sucks.”

“It’s better than her getting another concussion,” Carla says. “And the way she was playing, it was only a matter of time before that happened.”

After the girls leave, I spend the rest of the morning catching up on homework and housecleaning the main floor. At noon I call Courtney to see how things are going and make sure she gets Breanne fed. The kid’s the pickiest and slowest eater I know.

Then I park myself in front of the computer in the kitchen and start thinking about my letter. Why am I being so stubborn, I ask myself. Why don’t I just tell the truth?

Because you’re afraid Sue won’t believe you, my little voice says.

It’s funny Crystal says Sue loves me because I sure never get that impression. Most of the time she treats me like I’m a position, not a person.

Maybe I won’t tell the truth, I decide. Maybe I’ll just talk about our team and hockey and what it means to me. Maybe that’ll be enough.

I start typing, and I don’t second-guess a single word. I just let it all hang out. My hopes. My dreams. My teammates. My learning curve as a D-man. Everything I ever thought and loved about the game. I’ll go back and revise later, I keep telling
myself. It’ll be too sappy otherwise. I’m halfway through page six, and bawling like a baby when the doorbell rings.

“Shit!” I tear a tissue out of the box and blow my nose.

Now somebody’s knocking on the door. When I open it, the ground shifts under my bare feet.

Evan.

–
Chaper
Twenty-six
–

“W
hat are you
doing here?” I ask, dabbing my eyes.

He stares at me. “What happened to your face?”

“Rug burn. No big deal. I’ll tell you about it after you tell me why you’re not on your way to Victoria.”

He walks through the door and puts his arms around me and pulls me close. “It’s okay,” he whispers in my ear. “I’m home for good.”

Two thoughts strike me instantaneously:

1) He’s quitting.

2) He’s quitting because of me.

The words keep rebounding in my head. They have a hollow sound, like a basketball bouncing in an empty gymnasium where a boy is perfecting his dribbling. Putting in hours and hours of practice, honing the skills to attract university scouts.

See you soon, he told me, over and over again. Even though I knew I wouldn’t see him for weeks.

Because that’s the way you wanted it, the little voice says.

“What did you do?” I can barely get the words out.

He removes his arms, then cups my face in his hands, and drags it upwards, so I can see the happiness in his tired eyes. “I quit,” he says.

“You quit basketball?” I ask.

“I quit everything,” he says.

“School too?”

“Yes.”

This isn’t happening, I tell myself. It’s not. It’s a bad dream. Or I’m not really here. I’m somewhere else. Anywhere else.

“Come sit down.” I grab his hand. “We need to talk about this.”

He pulls me back and kisses me, long and hard, in a very un-Evan like way. It scares me. I don’t mean
he
scares me. I could never be scared of Evan. But the power of his emotion is frightening, and so is the knowledge that I control it.

When he finally lets me go, I take him to the kitchen, pour him a glass of cold water, and sit across from him, holding his hand across the table.