Breakaway (25 page)

“Funny you should ask,” he says. “We were going with five attendants, but now I’ve added Mark, so Brittni has to find another bridesmaid.”

My heart jumps. Suddenly I don’t feel sick. “Do you mean Mark Taylor?”

“Yeah. Here’s Brittni now. I’ll get her for you.” Jamie sets down the phone.

Mark will be all alone, my little voice says. Didn’t Holly say she had a tournament in Ontario at New Year’s? Now what are you going to do?

I hear Jamie and Brittni talking before she picks up the phone. She sounds angry.

“Hi Jessie,” she snaps. “I’ve just had a run-in with my florist. Looks like I’ll be finding a new one. What’s up?”

My desire to back out has evaporated.

“Um – not much. Just checking on your plans.”

“Did Jamie tell you about Mark?”

“Yes.”

She softens. “Too bad about his knee and everything, but it worked out for Jamie. He wanted Mark to be a part of our big day. He phoned him last night, and Mark said he’d do it, so at least
something’s
gone right this week. Mark’s pretty bummed out. Have you talked to him lately?”

“Not since it happened.”

“He was pleased to know
you’re
in the wedding party,” Brittni says.

My heart leaps again. “He was?”

“You and Mark have some history,” she says. “Want to tell me about it?”

“That’s all over,” I say quickly. Brittni is definitely not someone I’d confide in. “Tell me about how the plans are coming.”

She has a lot to tell me. Apparently the florist isn’t the only one to get the axe. But I’m not listening.

Mark.

“So are you bringing an escort?” Brittni asks at last. “I’d like to know – for the seating plan.”

“I won’t be bringing anyone,” I assure her.

You don’t need to now, my little voice says.

“Got your shoes?”

“Yes.”

“Remember, I’m buying the jewelry. I ordered it at a discounted rate through the salon.”

“That’s great.”

“Something wrong, Jessie?” she asks. “You sound like you’re sick.”

“I’m just tired.”

“How’s your hockey season going?” she asks.

“Not bad. We’re almost at .500. Four wins and six losses.”

“Who do you play next?”

“We go to Regina tomorrow.” I consider asking her if she wants to come watch, but I know better.

“Look, Jessie, I have to go.” She sounds distracted. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

She hangs up.

I set down the phone and stare at the ceiling.

“Why didn’t you tell her about the Mac’s?” I ask out loud.

You know why, my little voice says.

– Chapter Thirty-five –

I
go to school
in the morning, even though I’ve got a pounding headache and I’m all stuffed up. In homeroom, I’m shaking like crazy and running a fever. Mr. Gervais takes one look at me and buzzes the school secretary, telling her to call my mom. He escorts me to the office himself.

Mom walks in fifteen minutes later.

“What about Sunny?” I ask.

“We can pick it up later. Right now, I’m getting you home and into bed.”

“But I have a game tonight!”

“No hockey for you,” Mom says.

“You should get her tested for mono,” the school secretary says.

“The
kissing
disease?” Mom asks.

“I’ve seen a lot of it around here.” The secretary peers at me over her reading glasses. “Believe me. I know mono when I see it.”

That scares the hell out of me. We’ve talked about mono in health class. All the way home I’m checking my neck for swollen glands and my abdomen for bloating.

Where would I have gotten mono? I haven’t...

Lightning bolt.

Oh yes, you have, my little voice says.

Well, then Liam better have it too. If I had a voodoo doll, I’d make sure of it.

I go straight to bed and sleep until after suppertime, with Rufus curled up beside me. He’s the only one happy with this turn of events.

The Oilers beat the Rebels 4–3 in OT that night. I get a thousand texts from the girls while they’re on their way home from Regina.

Missing hockey sucks. Being sick sucks.

I stay home from school on Friday. My head is pounding, and my nose is stuffy, but the fever’s under control. Courtney comes home at noon and makes me a bowl of chicken noodle soup. Sometimes she manages
not
to be a pain in the ass.

After she leaves I have a hot bath. As soon as I get out of the tub, I notice the spots on my stomach and legs.

“What the hell?” I towel myself off.

My fears about mono are coming to fruition.

Later in the afternoon, right around the time the spots start itching, Dad comes home early from work and takes me to Dr. Bilkhu. Sitting in the waiting room at the doctor’s office, I feel like I have a big M painted on my forehead.

Damn you, Liam MacArthur.

Dr. Bilkhu checks my ears, nose, throat, and stomach, checks my lungs, and makes a few notes in my folder.

“Do I have mono?” I ask him sorrowfully.

He spins around in his chair. “Have you ever had chicken pox?”

“When I was a baby.” I stare at him. “Mom said I only had a few spots. I can’t get it again, can I?”

He nods. “If you had it very young, and didn’t have many symptoms.” He turns back to his desk and writes more notes. “Take ibuprofen for the headache and an antihistamine at bedtime to help with the itch.”

“What about during the daytime?”

“Calamine lotion. Lots of it. And no hockey until I see you again, Princess.”

–

T
he Oilers lose 5–1 to the Rebels on Saturday afternoon while Courtney’s team hangs a licking on Fort Qu’Appelle at the LMC. My sister trumpets about the Xtreme’s 7–1 victory downstairs while I lie in bed with my pillow covering my ears.

I do not share her joy.

I’m too miserable. I’m covered from head to toe in red welts. Even the bottoms of my feet itch. There are blisters inside my ears and between my fingers. I’ve draped a sheet over my dresser mirror, so I don’t have to look at myself. No way am I going to school until
all
the spots are gone.

“You have to look at the bright side,” Kathy says when she phones me on Sunday.

“There
is
no bright side,” I tell her.

“What if this happened just before Brittni’s wedding?” Kathy asks.

“Point taken,” I concede. “But missing the wedding wouldn’t
be that big a deal. I’d rather go to the Mac’s with you girls.”

“Funny you should say that.” Kathy sounds edgy. “I thought you were backing out.”

“I couldn’t,” I tell her. “I’d already committed.”

“You have a bigger commitment to your team,” Kathy says. “Here we are, finally hitting our stride, and you’re getting all flakey on us.”

“I’m not flakey,” I assure her. “I’m itchy. Should I send you a picture?”

“Spare me.”

After she hangs up, I drop the phone on the bed, startling Rufus. “I really would rather go to the Mac’s,” I tell him, ruffling his head.

I turn up the volume on my iPod to shut out the voice.

–

I
faithfully follow Dr. Bilkhu’s instructions, especially for the spots on my face, and they start to heal. Thanks to daily homework delivery, courtesy of Amber, I manage to keep caught up in my classes.

By Thursday afternoon I’m presentable enough to go back to school. There’s a nasty scab on my temple, but my hair pretty much covers it. Long sleeves and a scarf do the trick for my arms and neck.

Mom insists on driving me even though I tell her I’m okay to drive myself.

“I don’t want you overdoing your first day back,” she says as she pulls into the parking lot behind the Comp. “And no hockey practice tonight.”

“I know. We have a bye weekend anyway. Dr. Bilkhu says I can go to practice next week. He’s pretty sure I’ll be good to go for the Notre Dame tournament.”

“When’s the first game?”

“A week from today. Then there’s a game on Friday and two on Saturday.”

“Sounds like too much too soon,” Mom says.

“I’ll be fine by then. Quit worrying.” I open my door.

“What time should I pick you up after school?”

“I’ll get one of the girls to give me a ride.” I climb out of the Explorer and reach for my backpack. “See you later.”

The back entrance is great for avoiding people. I manage to slide through the afternoon without attracting too much attention. In history, I’m actually ahead of the class. In calculus, wonder of wonders, I’m rocking the derivatives.

At the end of the day, while I’m waiting for Amy in the main foyer, I see Liam’s football buddies, but I don’t see Liam. I’d like to ask them where he is. Ever since the party at his place, I’ve wanted to apologize to him...although I’m not sure where I’d begin. Self-conscious about the marks on my face, I turn my head and let the guys go by.

Amy shows up a few minutes later.

“Hey!” she says. “Welcome back to the Land of the Living.”

“Thanks.” I shoulder my backpack. “Sure I won’t make you late for practice?”

“No worries. I’ve got time to drop you off
and
pick up Subway.”

We step out into a cutting November wind. The light is already changing as Planet Estevan hurtles towards the shortest day of the year.

“If it weren’t for hockey, I’d hate winter.” I’m puffing from the effort of keeping up with her long strides.

“Yeah, it bites.” She turns to look at me. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“What do you think?” I jiggle my backpack. “I’ve been missing for a week.”

“Will one more day hurt?”

“What have you got in mind?” I ask.

“I’m heading to Agribition early tomorrow. My brothers are competing in the rodeo, and the whole fam’s up there. I stayed back because of practice tonight.” She gives me a little push that nearly knocks me over. “I could use a sidekick for the drive.”

“Are you coming back tomorrow night?”

“No, but my auntie is, if you need a ride. Or you can bunk at the hotel with us.” She pauses. “Just so you know, we all snore.”

“I can’t skip out after missing a whole week!”

“Get your mom to call the school and tell them you had a setback.”

“I can’t ask her to do that.”

“No wonder Whitney calls you Captain Anal,” she says. “McIntyre, when will you cut loose?”

–

T
he next morning I’m sitting beside Amy when she heads north out of Estevan. It’s six thirty, bitterly cold, and that November wind is roaring. The cold seeps into my guts as well, where a frozen lump of guilt resides.

“What did you tell your parents?” Amy asks, turning on the heater full blast.

“I left them a note.”

“Whoa, Jessie.” Amy picks up a pop can and spits a brown blob into it. “You’re out of control.”

“You’re
out of control. How can you
chew
so early in the morning?” I ask.

“It’s not a matter of choice,” she says. “I’m compelled by powerful forces.”

“I heard it’s worse than cigarettes. You’re going to get mouth or throat cancer for sure. You should quit.”

“And you should quit being a mother hen,” she says. “Want to stop and grab something in Weyburn? I need a coffee.”

I am about to remark on
that
habit as well, but I catch myself in time. I feel like a rat for slipping out of the house without telling my parents.

“You’re seventeen,” Amy says, as if reading my mind. “It’s time to start thinking for yourself.”

“You’re
the one doing all the thinking,” I reply.

Amy laughs.

Just before Weyburn, Mom calls.

“What are you doing?” she demands.

“Like my note said – driving to Regina with Amy.”

“But you just missed a week of school!”

“And I did a whole week of school while I was cooped up in my room. I need some fresh air.” I look at Amy and tell a lie I know will appease Mom for the moment. “I’ll be home by suppertime.”

Amy scowls and starts to protest, but I shake my head.

Mom sighs loudly. “You’re going to have a setback.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom.”

“You’ve got warm clothes? And winter boots?”

“Yes.”

“Call me at noon and let me know how you’re doing.”

“I will.” I give Amy a wink. “Will you let the school know I couldn’t make it in today? You don’t have to lie. They’ll assume I’m still sick.”